Personal

on growing a baby

Last year I wrote this post, about being childless on Mother's Day. And this year, I'm 20 weeks pregnant. Halfway there. Typing those words brings tears to my eyes, because it's something I've wanted for as long as I can remember, and I am so grateful to be growing this child inside of me. It's the hardest thing I've ever done, and I keep thinking about all of the women all over the world who do this alone, or who do this even though they don't have enough food to eat, or who do this because they don't have the choice not to, and my heart breaks for them. I feel connected to every mother who has come before me and every one who will come after. 

My entire life I have wondered what it would feel like to grow a baby. At first it was crippling nausea and exhaustion, and no motivation. Now it's much better. Some days I don't even feel pregnant, I just feel bloated. But it definitely doesn't feel like an alien has invaded my body, which is what I imagined as a child. It's still my body, and the human growing inside (now the length of a banana) is an extension of me. It is part of my body, and I think I will always feel that way. 

I have felt the baby move a few times, always like a little butterfly fluttering its wings. I look forward to the kicks becoming more regular. Sometimes I sit and try to will it to move, and it doesn't. It's just another lesson on this path to motherhood, that I have no more control over this than anyone else. 

This pregnancy has had a calming effect on me. I have never felt this relaxed or at peace in my life and I am really happy. The gratitude overpowers any negative thoughts that creep in. It's shocking how much my body has changed in such a short amount of time, and when I look in the mirror I try to replace any critical thoughts with gratitude for what my body is capable of. I am in awe.

childless on mother's day

This day last year was hard for me, desperately wanting to be a mother and knowing that if I could only get through it, it would be the last Mother's Day that I wasn't. And I was wrong. I never imagined our journey to conceive would last this long (and it's really a drop in the bucket compared to how long many couples try) but this Mother's Day I am not feeling as much angst. I know I will be a mom someday. Holding in the feeling of my heart splitting for something I want more than anything was the hardest part. I felt like I was walking around cloaked in a blanket of sadness that no one could know about and it was a lonely place. And I have more compassion now because of it.

Mother's Day is a complicated holiday. There are those of us who are missing our mothers passed or who never had a mother present. There are those of us who have lost children, which is the most heartbreaking of all. There are those of us longing to be mothers and those of us in the trenches being told to enjoy it while they're young because they grow up fast! And there is so much damn pressure.

I hope for all women, no matter where you find yourself, that today is a day you can love and appreciate yourself for all you have to give. You are no less, you are everything. And my own mom? I couldn't have asked for a better one. She made motherhood look effortless and she mothers with endless joy and intention. She's the warmest, most generous person I know and I am lucky to have her as my example. I love you mom.

In the Garden

Over the past few weeks we have been powering through on our yard, and we plan to get a lot more done between now and June (my parents booked their flights!). Yesterday we finished installing a vent in the ceiling of our greenhouse (that we converted from a wood shed) and we said goodbye to our lovely cover crop: we gave it a good weedeating and then our very kind neighbor came over and rototilled. Just like that, our garden is ready for planting.

One thing I have pieced together in recent months is that homeownership highlights strengths and weaknesses. As much as I hate to admit it, I'm not much of a self-starter when it comes to house and yard tasks. I often shut down (and would rather go find something to eat) when faced with a challenge. Give me any menial task (weeding, laundry, dishes) that doesn't require much thought, has visible signs of progress being made, and can be completed in a set amount of time, and I'll do it until it's done. But if a project requires critical thinking, problem solving, or if it's something I've never done before, I get intimidated. Fortunately, my husband excels in all of the areas I am weakest. This is why I married him.

On Saturday we got excited about a kitty up for adoption, but when we met him he wasn't excited about us. We're going to wait until the right one comes along. I am a strong believer in the "we don't choose pets, pets choose us" philosophy, and I have a pretty terrific track record to back it up. :)

In other news, TOMORROW MORNING I FLY TO CHICAGO!!! It'll be my first time in the windy city, and this trip is equal parts business and pleasure. But because I love my work so much it's really all pleasure. I am so excited!

Saying Goodbye

I am so unbelievably sad. We had to bury our Little Kitty yesterday morning—a bright, beautiful morning—after he was hit by a car. He was three. 

…

I am still in bed when Batman jumps onto my nightstand. I part the curtains so he can step onto the window sill. He is perched there for a long time, and I later realize he can see the street from the window. 

Jeffery is in the kitchen washing dishes, singing about Little Dude like he does, when I hear a knock on the door.

Our neighbor is more flustered than usual, apologetic for waking us. “We weren’t awake,” I assure him, stumbling, “I mean asleep. We’re awake.” 

“I’m so sorry to have to tell you this, but your cat has been hit by a car.”

“It wasn’t our cat—” I blurt out, and take stock of the kitties. Batman is in the bedroom and Little Kitty—

I look past him to the street. Through the white fence I can see him, fluffy black tail, red tag, lifeless. 

I shout for Jeff, who is still singing, oblivious to the knock on the door (you can’t hear anything through cedar walls), I shout again, louder. He comes. I retreat to the couch to sob.

…

Batman watches from the window as we dig a grave. Tears spill on the soil. We hit rock about three feet down.

…

I sit on the porch in the sun, and Batman comes out and joins me, sniffs the air. The breeze picks up, and cherry blossoms fall around us like snow. 

He never got to experience summer. Since moving into our home and letting him out into the world we’ve watched his personality blossom. He would chase us around the yard like a dog, always wanting to be where we were. He was so particular. He loved perching on fence posts and curling up on the rice straw between the rosemary and the garlic, safe from the world. He loved being outside. And when he was inside sleeping, he had to have a pillow. 

I need to eat something. The pit in my stomach, the ache and the hurt and the sadness and the pain, is magnified by my hunger. I haven't had anything and it's almost noon. I set the water to boil for a third time.

…

All day Batman looks at me with these huge wondering eyes. We let him outside and he sniffs all around, searching. How do you explain to a cat that he won’t see his little buddy again?

It’s crazy how much you can love an animal. How much joy they can bring to your lives. I think about how much less hair I’ll have to clean up as a consolation, and it doesn’t make up for the gaping hole. In just a few short years he completely stole our hearts.

Life is fleeting. You never know when it’s going to be the last time you see someone. His life was so damn short, but every day was full.

A few months ago I was playing around with my camera settings and decided to make a double exposure. To do so, you select a photo that’s on your memory card and then you take a second photograph. I chose this one of the kitties:

And then I snapped a shot out the window. The tip of his tail becomes a little tree, right above where we buried his body. I find it hauntingly beautiful.

Hug the ones you love. And please please drive slowly.

On Trying to Conceive

This rain has me not wanting to get exercise or figure out what to make for dinner. It has me curled up in bed with my kitties, groggy from the nap I just took and wanting to take another. It has me choosing hot cereal with nuts and maple syrup over eggs and veggies in the morning, and dreaming about long walks and sunnier days. Or maybe I’m just blaming the rain and what I really want is a baby in my belly and a full workload. After nine months of obsessing over my fertility, I recently joined a Facebook group for women who are actively trying to conceive. It’s nice having a place where I can speak openly, because not talking about it isn’t helping anyone. I don’t know what I was afraid of before. Maybe I felt like we hadn’t been trying long enough. Maybe I was embarrassed, because I thought it would happen easily. Maybe I was scared and I didn’t want to jinx it.

On a warm day in December, I was hanging sheets to dry on the clothesline. Sheets I bought with you in mind—your dark hair and milky skin, sleeping soundly amongst the violets. I could envision you playing between them as they dried, laughing—mouth wide, cheeks rosy. I felt a hollowness in my stomach, empty and raw. The sheets hung there, cold and wet in the weak winter sun. I didn’t expect this wanting—this longing—to be so visceral. My arms ache for the weight of you.

It’s March, and we are planning our garden. I picked a vase full of daffodils and they made me so happy. It’s definitely a nice distraction, nurturing our green things along, excited by new growth and blossom. And then sometimes I just have to let myself be sad. Sad because I’ve wanted this for so long, and I have to keep waiting. I feel like my whole life has been a lesson in patience, and I’m still not very good at it.

Lately

The other morning, though the kitchen window everything was still. This past week I have felt a shift in myself. Rather than feeling overwhelmed by how much is different, I have started to appreciate what is special.  White fences framing little Victorian houses on Richardson street, dogwood trees announcing themselves with a flush of pink. I have settled into a routine that feels comfortable, instead of just foreign. This place has changed since our arrival. When we first got here it was still 90 degree days and warm nights, and we reveled in how our house stayed cool despite the heat. Now we are always bundled up, anticipating when it is time to turn on the thermostat, my L.L.Bean slippers have become my new best friend, I look forward to slipping them on more than most things. Last night I stopped at the back door to look up at the sky lit with stars, but it was too chilly to stand there, hair wet from the pool, longer than an instant. The days are short and they will continue getting shorter until our first Christmas in this new home.

I find myself excited by the light, which tends to happen this time of year. When I round a corner on foot or in the car and see a spot that would dance nicely in the background of a photo, I look forward to returning with my camera and a beautiful subject or two. 

Ava has started calling out for me, "Auntie!" and when she does, I find myself ever so attentive. "Yes, Ava?" The child has me wrapped around her little finger, and I wouldn't have it any other way.

I am starting to feel emboldened when I talk to strangers, which I expected to happen much faster than it has. It's easier to strike up conversation than it was when we first arrived, and every time I do I find my world expanding. It gives me more to contemplate than the contents of my own mind. 

The number of living things in our care continues to grow, as we get more plants in the ground and fill rooms with greenery. I've been reading more, and it feels good looking forward to turning pages, followed by an emptiness when a book I'm enjoying comes to an end. It makes me eager to find the next one. 

our home

We had seven of our favorite people over for carnitas last night, and more of our favorite people are scheduled to come, and I can't wait to share our home with them. A home is such a wonderful thing to be able to share with people. A space to gather, to eat, to rest. I feel so lucky and at the same time so sad for all of the Californians who have recently lost their homes. I would be devastated and we have only known ours for a short time. But I already love it. Mostly I love the light. And I am excited to capture how it dances off the people I love.

A Self Portrait

A self portrait, because it's been a while, and I don't want to lose myself in memories of this place. Nine days until we move into our home, and as much as I hate so many things about this apartment, I am beyond grateful for it. How much it allowed us to save in such a short amount of time, three and a half years of our noses to the grindstone while redefining ourselves a few times over. I taught myself how to be an entrepreneur in this apartment, I went back to school to study photography, and while living here I became a nanny, and a swimmer, and a homeowner. I turned 25, 26, and 27, which feel like the most defining ages so far. I remember the excitement of coming home with a new lens for the first time, it felt like Christmas, only better. And bringing our kitten home, who drove us absolutely crazy for the first two and a half years and now is the sweetest thing I can imagine, he surprises me with his sweetness every day. This is the only home he has ever known, and I can't wait to show him what else is out there (besides the landing at the top of the stairs and the contents of our fridge). The landscape of our lives is about to change drastically. This limbo period is strange, being physically in Oakland, but already dreaming about life in the mountains. In our garden. In our home. It finally feels like we're living our life, the one we have built for ourselves with the choices we have made, and it feels good.

Memorial Day // We Bought a House!!!

This post is long overdue. When big things are happening in real life, the blog gets neglected. The last six weeks has been an absolute whirlwind, but I want to make sure I get this post up so that I don't forget.

Jeffery turned 30 over memorial day weekend, and we went up to Grass Valley to celebrate. We had previously gotten the ball rolling with a lender, and had started talking to our realtor about what we were looking for in a home. We hadn't planned on looking at houses until July, but we were up there and there was one home we wanted to see, so we made an appointment. What's the harm? ;) These photos were taken in the evening after we had fallen in love and made an offer. I was a ball full of nerves while we waited to hear back if our offer was accepted. This little cutie was a great distraction.

The next morning we walked to the coffee shop, making a slight detour to see the house again. This is the across-the-street neighbor's beautiful garden. That afternoon we drove to the mountains and hiked the Sierra Buttes trail with our friends. The anxiety mixed with the winding roads did a number on my insides. But the views were incredible and the company couldn't be beat, so a pretty good distraction overall. I was trying not to get my hopes up, but when I fall in love I fall hard and fast. I was already all in, dreaming about the possibilities, and simultaneously trying to talk myself down from the ledge. It all felt so charged. After moving to England and getting married, this was the biggest decision we had ever made. I really didn't want to end up disappointed. 

I don't know how I had service, but somehow near the top of the mountain I got the text from our realtor informing us that our offer had been accepted. (!!!!!!!!!!!) 

The next morning we met up with this little cutie and walked to the park.

So much has already happened since then. We closed on the 30th of June, we got the keys on Friday and worked all of 4th of July weekend to make it ours. We are blown away by the generosity of our new community, so many people have already pitched in to help. When we're all moved in we're going to cook a huge feast to thank everyone, but even that isn't enough. We're going to pass it along by lending our efforts to others, which I'm just now realizing is the true meaning of community. We have spent so many years feeling isolated in the city, and now we know that life doesn't have to be like that. 

 Mostly we are excited for what's to come. We love our little old house, and we love Grass Valley. 

Birthdays

I've been struggling with coming up with something to say about turning a year older. It has been quiet on the blog for the past few months, and I have to attribute it to not having a lot to say, or a way to articulate it. I have also felt myself wanting to keep things more private lately. This I will share.

Time is moving really fast. A little under a year ago I sat down with my paternal grandmother and we talked about time. I asked her when in her life she felt like time moved the fastest, and she told me that it had never moved faster than right now. That the older she gets the faster it flies. I feel that way already, and I can only imagine how I will feel fifty years from now, if I'm lucky enough to still be around. Things are really good with me right now. I don't think I've ever been happier or more sure of my place in time. I feel appreciative for so many things every day, which is probably why things are speeding by. In the past I have had (what felt like) long periods where I dreaded getting out of bed, I felt anxious, and time crawled, but that isn't now.

As an adolescent I knew that life would get better once I was an adult and felt like I had some control. And it has. And it keeps getting better. I have wanted to be 27 since I was 19. To me, 27 represented the age when I would have it all figured out. I don't have it all figured out, but I'm happy to be here. 

The best part about getting older is that you get better at life. You have more experience to draw from and you know what works for you and what doesn't. In the last year I have been less set in my ways and I have seen how growth can come from being open to new ideas. And I have surprised myself. I have taken on Bob Marley's philosophy, and am liberated by it: don't worry about a thing. There really is no need. Things will come up. And I will deal with them the best I can, enlisting the help of my people if necessary. Perspective is everything and a positive attitude can get you a long way. I am healthier than I was a year ago, which started with what felt like my body falling apart, but I found solutions and am now better off than I was before. 

I had a wonderful birthday. I told Jeffery I wanted him to do something to surprise me. Anything. So we packed a picnic and hiked the Sibley Volcanic Regional Preserve. I can't believe I've never been, it's so close. It was a perfect day, the wildflowers were blooming, and the views were terrific. We had dinner at Penrose in Oakland and it was one of the best meals of my life. We ordered the whole trout for two, which was absolutely beautiful, buttery and delicate, and we talked about the future. We have been talking about the future for the past twelve years, but I don't think we have ever been so right about it as we are now. It feels so close, and if we just keep doing what we're doing, we'll be there soon. And I know there will be challenges, but every little thing gunna be alright.