One week later, I’m feeling closer to myself than I have… well, all year. Longer, actually. The last many, many months have dragged me across uncharted and incredibly rocky terrain, shredding my stability and grinding gravel into my view of the world. You know. Sort of.
But this morning? Not a single looming uncertainty on the horizon. Energy. Patience. An unexpectedly friendly number on the scale. Golden sunlight through golden leaves. Half-giggled conversations with Natalie. Sweet-smelling baby snuggles. Recovery.
Our sweet Sophie Ruth was born last Wednesday, already months old in size and awareness of the world. One week later, her peaceful little presence is filling in the blanks of our family, her spontaneous smiles and squeaks eclipsing even the stress of a dirty kitchen (::shock::). One week later, the four of us find ourselves meshing together, layers beneath our skin. One week later, life is full of the kind of mushy metaphors that will only sound butchered and Hallmark-y when typed out loud. But trust me, they’re true.