.

Some days

I am little more than a milk factory

and a professional baby-starer-atter (for lack of a better phrase simply because goodGodthisboyissobeautiful)

All of my clothing choices are glorified pajamas

.

I am in a fog of sleepiness, trying so desperately to be present

because the only unanimous advice I've received is that "it all goes so fast: enjoy every moment!"

.

.

.

Never before the birth of my son have I been so deeply aware of my boundaries, so profoundly aware that I am being asked - no - implored to grow past my comfort into my potential everyday greatness,

into the Bigger parts of me using limited resources of frayed nerves

and too little rest...

It's kind of like being asked to make a lovely wedding cake

at the 11th hour missing a few key ingredients but you

pull it off

.

.

well,

.

most days you do

and when you don't, there's grace and forgiveness

and phone calls to your mama friends who know.

.

So I breathe in the smell of spilled milk

and Burt's Bees diaper ointment (most assuredly the combined perfume of the era I find myself in)

type with one hand,

staring at wee O as he nods off in the crook of my arm.

When he is fast asleep and tucked into his tiny chair

I pour myself a rootbeer float-

ahhhhhhh.

I find a half-hour window opening

and into the studio I go,

tooling some of the leather work I will be revealing next week

on the theme of winged hearts and feathers...

a coup, truly.

What are your senses gathering where you are?

What gifts did this day give you with its generous heart?

What did it ask of you?

xoxo,

S