I was talking with a sister last night, a sister who has her hands full of delicious toddler, but so

I was talking with a sister last night, a sister who has her hands full of delicious toddler, but so longs to write again, and I was telling her there will never be a good time to start writing again. You just have to START.

Then start some more.

You have to make a grace pact with yourself to put it down, in words. Maybe five of them at a time. Maybe in crayon. On Post-its and grape juice spattered paper towels.

The memory is a beautiful thing, but it’s highly fallible. It wants to remember, but it’s like water – it needs to be trapped. WORDS are traps, snack-size Zip lock baggies in which I contain my slippery memories.

My time is not my own. Being a mom means I will have to leave things as they are, in a state of disarray, probably covered in some or copious amounts of feces …

(of COURSE the second I wrote THESE words, my little beastie’s eyes pop open on the monitor. GO BACK TO SLEEP, BEASTIE.)

So I’ll say it briefly, because present over perfect.

.

My person and I, after three extremely long days (but really like 7 weeks, which in newborn time is really 37 billion centuries), well, we happened to be in the same room at the same time, brushing “our toofs” as I like to call them, when our eyes met in the mirror.

After 12 years with the same person, you sort of begin to hear their voice with your eyes, hear their thoughts with your heart. The need for spoken words dwindles.

He smiled.

I smiled.

We walked toward one another, each gripping a Sonicare, and we melted into each other. I put my head under his neck and he put his arm around my waist, and we held each other, tightly, intentionally. And although words aren’t always necessary, sometimes they’re just nice, so around a mouth full of minty foam, i said, “I love you,” and he said “I vluv oo, too.” Then he pressed his toothbrush against my shoulder, and so I did it back, and we tickled each other with our vibrating toothbrushes and played and giggled, and that gap created by the love and sacrifice required to love a child shrank. The edges peeled back and the layers of sleep deprivation softened, and Love Won.