looking back to now

what will i remember about my firstborn baby twenty years from now?

just one month now, and already my little beauty has changed.
her little body is stretching out her newborn sleepers,
and she is holding up her head to see the world beyond my shoulder.
her cheeks are noticeably chubbier,
her cries have grown stronger, and some of her first hats no longer fit.
her eyelashes are darker and longer, and i find her more beautiful with each passing day.

will i remember when my baby was so small she fit easily on scott's arm?
will i remember her soft, round head and golden hair?
will i remember those first squeaks that first night in the hospital?
will i remember her dainty fingers and toes or that her first diapers barely stayed on her lean body?
will i remember her coos, smiles and wide, blue eyes looking into my soul?
will i remember being surprised at the sharpness of her fingernails
or that i cried when she was crying herself to sleep?
will i remember the tears i cried asking God for her? 
will i remember praying for her each night with my hand practically covering her little body?
will i remember her eager frustration when it was time to nurse or the sweet look of serenity when she was done?

barely seven pounds now i find it hard to imagine little aspen all grown up, but i know it will happen.
every parent i know says to savor these moments because too soon they will be a distant memory.

so as i hold her in my arms, or put her little feet into her cozy sleeper, or lift her from her crib,
i'm savoring.  every chance i get i kiss her sweet head and tell her how much we love her, and that Jesus loves her even more than we do.

i want the memories to root deep into my heart.
remember this, new mama.
remember.

Stretched

stretched
skin and body
as life grows in the space between my heart and hips.
stretched
mind to envision
a person evidenced by my protruding belly.
stretched
time counting
as months became weeks became days.

yet the stretching has hardly commenced.

those who have walked a step ahead speak of

stretched bodies longing for sleep,

stretched arms aching with the holding,

and stretched hours of unceasing cries.

yet their stretched smiles hardly contain the joy

and stretched hearts overflow with deepened love.

photographer: the lovely heather mavel

 like the physical marks i'm beginning to wear

as evidence,

i never requested stretching.

though it comes as no surprise that

love requires expansion

at least of heart and soul

if not of body.
and for this life and love,
i am willing.

-e.m.ott

2011

hope still

i talked with my dear japanese friend the other night. 

when she called the miles across the continent and the ocean between us disappeared as we connected.  she asked about my pregnancy and we shared about work, marriage and children. 

a kindred spirit she is indeed - a friend many years beyond living and working in the same town still knows the things i love and eagerly relates them to me.  she possesses a depth of character that challenges me still and a simple trust in Jesus and ear to hear His voice that reminds me to keep listening.

as the night drew later, and my 9 month pregnant body began to long for sleep, we prayed together.  when she prayed for scott and me and our little baby, she said something that i won't easily forget.  she thanked God for this little life within my womb, and then she went on to thank Him for continuing to give life as as sign that He still has hope.  hope in the people of this world - in us- that He hasn't given up on us.  

even amidst all the muck and despair that surround, hope and new life remain.  my own growing belly testifies that new souls are still being given breath.

and that yes, indeed, there is hope still.    

kicked in the head

since the moment we discovered we were pregnant again, scott has longed to not only feel this baby move...but to be kicked in the head by our little one in the womb.  don't ask me why.

it seemed like it took months for me to finally feel her or be sure of that what i was feeling was this baby within, and then another month or two passed before scott finally felt her too.  but now normal means that i feel this baby girl wiggling, squirming, and doing somersaults beneath my skin constantly.  often scott will lean his head down and say, "kick daddy in the head," to which she had failed to obey.  apparently this little girl has a mind of her own...


tonight when scott came home from work, he kissed me and greeted our baby by kissing my belly, as he always does.  then he leaned his head in, and said, "she kicked me in the head!"  a moment this daddy had been waiting for was realized, and sweet it was.

 

soul amnesia

"I am beset by chronic soul amnesia.  I empty of truth and need the refilling.  I need to come again every day - bend, clutch, and remember- for who can gather the manna but once, hoarding, and store away sustenance in the mind for all of the living?" - one thousand gifts p.106
 

woken early this may morning, 

the baby within perhaps preparing me for coming nights

of lesser sleep and waking cries.

its hard not to bemoan a sleep-in saturday, lost again to wakefulness.

in the bright morning light i climb the stairs, the late spring

sun blinding me in my ascent.  with tea in hand, i open a book i've 

been savoring lately.  the words penetrate me 

in their honesty and call me to a life marked by giving thanks.

yes, soul amnesia is my chronic illness.  how quickly i fail to remember that only in worship of my God are things set to rights within me.  like the flowers bending before the sun has lifted their heads, it is only in stopping amidst the rush of life to bow low and gather the manna He offers me this day, that i can be fed.

texture

one of the benefits of working two needles and 

a ball of yarn is this-

a new texture reveals itself in your hands.

baby blue alpaca moves between my fingers

the touch of spun wool a gift

repeating

smooth bamboo needles the color of honey

slide in and out of every stitch

creating

covers for hands, necks and new baby skin

flow from a single strand 

moving

in a particular fashion

a pattern emerges where consistency is revered 

leaving

behind a new beauty

a texture of seeds and purls, knits and cables

weaving

and always, some yarn remains

a stash or remnant from which consider anew

beginning