In Which She Writes

I have nothing to write, which I think means I should just can it, and perhaps try to sweep the spaces where the wall meets the floor, especially in the corners, where dust is building up.

Instead, here I am writing. I haven’t written anything of substance in a good long while, and even my drafts folder lacks any and all inspiration (exception: a blank post with just a title, “If My Priest Delivered My Baby”).

There is the big, looming topic of living with a perinatal mood disorder, and the struggles of confronting big life changes during that time, and also of the challenge of finding healthcare providers to assist in treatment, and also-also, we could talk about trauma, and re-trauma. But I’d rather not.

There are terrible, upsetting things going on in the world right now, and everybody knows every last thought I have on all of them, which isn’t to say I won’t be talking about them again soon (looking at you: racial injustice, abuses of power, gun violence, all iterations of privilege). Just not at this moment, which is, of course, a privilege.

We are happier here in Santa Fe.  The lot of us.  I have work I love, Winnie has a delightful school, Mike has new hobbies and time with the kids, and Georgie discovered egg yolks, which she may love more than us. I have written less about Georgie here, primarily because there *is* a Georgie, and when there was just a Winnie and no Georgie, there was more time and space and breath to write about Winnie. Now that there is a Georgie, there is less space to ponder and shape Georgie’s narrative, but more space to let Georgie actually BE a Georgie.

Have you met Georgie? If not, let me tell you, she is a DELIGHT. Really. She’s not a “good baby” because there is no such thing as a bad baby, or moral judgements when it comes to babies or toddlers, but she does smile an awful lot and makes really delightfully inappropriate sounds during church. She loves her sister, and her sister loves her. It is beyond what I can understand, watching the two of them. They hold hands when they sleep. They poke each others’ faces and laugh when they are awake. They blow raspberries at each other, and genuinely acknowledge one another in a way that they do not for anyone else.

I don’t want to project or mold their relationship, tell them how they should or shouldn’t relate, except to be kind to one another and to themselves, but boy-oh-boy is it a special thing to watch.

We are happier here. Winnie loves school. She loves the routine of walking out the front door (after you! she says), of walking in the front door of the school, of placing her shoes near the door and joining in the fun. She loves the routine of saying goodbye to her school at the end of the day, of getting her snack in the car, of grasping her sister’s hand in the adjacent carseat. And, by all accounts, she loves everything in between– the time outside, feeding her class fish, cracking nuts, her movement teacher, lunch with her friends, even her naps. “I sleep at school,” she says.

We are happier here, but we miss our friends in Brooklyn.  Winnie said this week, “All my friends live in New York.” Winnie also said this week, “There are my friends! This person is my friend, this person is my friend, this person is my friend,” about folks who live here. We have had people over for dinner! We have hosted playdates! We have tried and failed to make plans with people just like we did in New York! But growing those relationships takes time, of course.

We are happier here. Our friends Suzy & Wampus generously lent us their house for our first few months here, and it is more space than we know what to do with. Let it be known that I have run around with my arms flapping just because I could. We will gather the few folks we know for cocoa and carols soon, and I will think about all of the carols we sang with our friends in New York, and the cups of cocoa, coffee, tea we shared with those friends and others.

We are happier here, and there is lots of work to be done. Self-work, vocational work, building community work. Luckily there is rest, too, for us and for the girls– there is space to breathe, and the cool mountain air is just right for breathing.

 

 

 

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