Hold Fast

Today is one of those clear, crisp beautiful winter days. The mountains are covered in snow, the valleys are hidden in fog, mist coming off the fields and rainbows painting my ceiling. And yet it's one of those days where my heart is in my throat and every minute is spent trying to think only about this minute and trust the others will follow because that's their job. So I hug my baby, hug my husband, send up a thank you to Who Knows Who that we are alive and healthy and happy (knock on wood) and reassure myself that's all that matters.

Yesterday was cold and harsh and raining snow and the sour stench of foreboding clung to everything. The reason yesterday was so foul arrived as promised, and with the anticipation gone I can breathe again. Today's here and I can handle this moment. But only this one. I've spent the last few weeks holding onto hope for friends, wondering who I am praying to, wondering how it makes a difference if it's in the cards already. Now I find myself wondering all those things for myself and the lack of answers is just as disconcerting.

I feel like you do moments after taking a spill. You just rest there for a moment, still and present. Trying to get back up means effort and having to face what might be damaged from the fall, and anyhow the perspective down here is refreshing.

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I got up early, freecycled and brought Bella to the library for story time, anything to fill my day and distract my thoughts. I tried out a few awkward pick up lines and managed to get another mom's phone number. Her baby was all over the place, blabbering cruising and crawling and I once again had to bite my tongue so I wouldn't ask Bella why she was content to just sit and observe. Chill, Shawna, she lives her own life at her own pace and someday she will crawl all over you in her own way.

Both of us hopeful about having found a like-minded mom, we parted ways with promises to connect again. Here I sit at home in a sunbeam, a baby snuggle nursing as I rock and type (talk about talent, maybe I could get a few rows done as well...). When she wakes up we'll plant seeds for our garden. We'll sit and dig our fingers into the earth and just be. I'm really looking forward to re-centering myself through the garden, showing Bella the ins and outs of nature. Each little seed is a promise. A promise to be here in the moment, communing with nature, a promise to hold out hope without knowing what is to come. Hope without expectations.