Autumn In New York

I cannot wrap my head around the movement of time. Desmond, who turned 6 months old last Wednesday, is hiking his tuchus in the air as if to crawl. I will blink my eyes and I will have children in their twenties.

My days are full. My days are rich.

I have returned to work and am remembering how much I enjoy being around children. My classroom is bright and airy. The tinkling of the piano and the sound of teeny tiny bare feet padding on the floor make my heart feel happy.

While Shane was putting Mahalia to sleep last night, she put her hand on her chest and said, "When you love someone it feels like your body loves them." My girl will love intensely and hurt intensely. She stands on the toilet and admires herself in the mirror while I floss my teeth, "I am so pretty." She is. She is drop dead gorgeous. "Your hair is brown and straight. My hair is blond and curly."

When I hold Desmond, he pats my back with his right hand and plays with my hair with his left hand.

Returning to work was easier this time around. I sat in a meeting, doodling in my notebook thinking to myself, "this is not work. this is like a break for me." I was excited to see my colleagues and friends. It means much to me, being there without the weight of worry. I spent so much of my time last year with my head in the clouds, worrying about birth defects. I am not pregnant. I might not ever be pregnant again. How is it that this chapter of my life has already come to a close?

(I secretly worry that I will never be able to appreciate life as deeply as I would like. The days move too quickly and not a profound thought has been thunk. It's all I can do to get to work and make sure my kids get fed.)

I have been deeply affected by the sharp decline of a sick friend and my mom reminds me that with age, life gets "heavier and heavier." Autumn, for all of it's beauty, is somehow the most painful season change and for me carries with it the most visceral nostalgia.

I cannot stop listening to this song.