Touched
by Kym on March 12, 2012
Touched in the head. Heart-touched. Touché! Touch is as much a part of our lingo as it is of our lives, and while it makes me blush a little to admit it, I need certain forms of it more than I realized.
Since Grace was born my life has been filled with baby-touches. The feel of Gracie in my arms, her tiny fingers clutching at one of mine, the unbelievably soft skin of her cheek nuzzled against the side of my neck. My mother heart has been overflowing with all the senses, the sight, sound and smell of her. But touch overwhelms them all, maybe because it’s the most powerful manifestation of her need of me.
And while my arms are filled with Grace they aren’t filled with Emma, Becca, Claira, or Neil. At times I find them aching for my other loved ones, to be free enough to dole out hugs and cuddles and cheek-carresses at will again. I see in the faces of my other daughters that they feel remote from me, as if Mommy has become an island, the path to which only time and touch can make a bridge for.
Most of all I miss Neil, hate feeling that remoteness between us. I watch a myriad of TV shows in the middle of the night while nursing. They keep the exhaustion at bay somehow (I cry if I attempt to nurse in silence). And then later, in my few dreamings, the heroes of my dream-stories attempt to take on the faces of television characters. But always, always, by the end of the dream, the false faces are stripped away and it is Neil. Whenever I dream about love, I dream about him. The two are the same to me.
Sometimes when I’m nursing Grace, Neil comes to my side, strokes my cheek, and smiles down at me. We tell each other we miss each other. We give voice to the quiet ache, the simple human desire to hold and be held. And the simple touch of his finger to my cheek builds the bridge to my island, brings me within reach of heart and home again.
It’s a strange time in our life, this welcoming of newborn baby Grace. There is so much of sweetness and delight in the experience of her. My remote island is not an entirely lonely one because she is here with me. Neil and I smile at each other and say, to everything a time and a season. Because this time is brief and in many ways meant to be enjoyed.
Perhaps it’s simply a consequence of loving so many, that my arms are always aching to hug the loved one who has been out of them for the longest time. I’ve hugged and cuddled all four of my girls this morning, and I’ll spend much of my day missing Neil. When he walks in the door tonight and the girls run like mad to hurl themselves into his arms, I think I might join them . . .
Does absence make your heart fonder?
Grace
by Kym on February 28, 2012
I woke up this morning in a small puddle of drool. For me, exhaustion = sleep drool, but I’ve never been happier to be exhausted.
Meet Grace Amelia VanderHorst. Born February 15th via emergency(ish) c-section, at seven pounds three ounces. She was discovered to be in distress during a non-stress test ordered by my ultra-cautious doctor, and while it wasn’t a crazy panicky rush to get her out, the doctors agreed to play it safe and get her out early. So we had her a full week earlier than planned, and I didn’t pout TOO much over the sudden change. In fact, the sweet nurses at our local hospital kept patting me on the shoulder or leg or head, telling me how well I was handling everything. A very clever move on their part as I believed them and behaved myself all the better for it.
Baby VanderHorst went through several names her first two days in the world. Elsie, Abbigail, Anne, Sarah, Amelia, Ellie, and Anna. We tried them all on, dismissed some quickly, kept others for hours. But it wasn’t until we tried calling her Grace and Gracie, that everything slid into place. And I learned that you don’t have to have a name for someone to love them, but that it helps. Focuses the love like a sunbeam through a piece of glass – intensifies it somehow. There really IS something in a name, I think.
And life is crazy and wonderful and tiring and hard, but also somehow easier than we expected it to be. With four little girls to raise, I think it might always be that. But even on the days that start with my cheek smushed into a puddle of sleep-drool, I know I have accesses to joy. I know, I remember, because we just added another one. Welcome, Grace. You’ve joined a family who lives loudly, geekily, and fallibly, but who love hard, sing, dance, read, bake . . . oh yes. We’re going to have some fun, little love.
Stay tuned for more pictures. I’m not much of a blogger these days, but I can at least promise my few readers some serious cuteness.
Peek-A-Boo
by Kym on February 14, 2012
What do I love most? The fact that she has an easter basket on her head, or the way that her hair is still curly from her evening bath? Those crazily blue eyes and the memory of her shouting, “Ah BOO!” and giggling like mad?
It has to be the lit-up-with-joy-ness of her. The luminescence. I feel like the world’s energy crisis could be solved if only we could find a way to plug in to THAT.
And even now, bone weary tired and eight days away from welcoming our fourth (and last) little one to the world, I can’t help pausing to marvel over the access to joy that these children of ours are. They open windows in my heart and mind both, and by that light I see and feel delights that I never could without them. Okay, so that sounds unbelievably corny now that I come to type it out, but that’s the truth of the feeling and I won’t let the backspace key eat it up.
Prepared
by Kym on February 13, 2012
There are days in my life which are simply made of awesome. They’re the days that spread a Jack-Nicholson-as-the-Joker freaky grin across my face, and they’re the days that inspire a certain amount of guilt because seriously? Can it be fair to cram that much awesome into one day when at other times awesomeness is in short supply?
And there’s one thing that all my so-fabulous-I-could-just-burst days have in common. I helped make them happen. Oh sure, there are days of spontaneous amazingness in my life, but for the most part, the best days are the ones that I prepared for. The days when I wake up and find that my fantastic self of the day before has laid out clothes, set the table for breakfast, packed school bags, set food to defrost in the fridge, done all the dishes, tidied the house, etceteras and so forth . . .
See what I mean? Made. Of. Awesome.
So, Saturday night I started having contractions. The inbetween kind that kind of hurt but not enough to induce panic. It wasn’t the first time this had happened this pregnancy and at first I wasn’t too alarmed, but when they were intense enough to wake me up, and when they started coming ten minutes apart, I became . . . shall we say, concerned? I’ll skip to the end of the story so you don’t wonder if I’m writing this post from a hospital room, ultimately it all came to nothing, but I had several VERY uncomfortable hours this weekend wondering if our carefully laid plans for a c-section next week were going to be tossed out the ole window.
I can’t claim to be happy about the HUGE dose of uncertainty that’s been added to our current life situation. I’ve really come to love looking at that date on the calendar, KNOWING when this baby will arrive, and suddenly that date’s gone all wibbly-wobbly in my mind. But what did make me seriously happy this weekend was realizing that we’re ready for this baby. Oh sure, there’s still a small list of things I’d LIKE to get done beforehand. The house could be cleaner. There are a few loads of laundry I should get folded and put away. But the really important stuff? Like have childcare for the other kids arranged (and backup childcare to boot), and food in the fridge, freezer, and pantry. Like having the car seat ready and bags packed and our list of maybe-this-one-or-maybe-that-one baby names picked out. That’s all done.
And as I enjoyed the peace of that this weekend, I realized that many of the most awesome moments in my life are the ones that I’m prepared for. The ones I’ve put at least a little bit of effort into. And for a former fly-by-the-seat-of-her-pants girl, that’s a pretty darn huge realization.
That said, Yesterday Kim did NOT do the dishes (she claims having contractions as her excuse – the whuss), so I’m going to tackle them now so that Afternoon Kim can read a book instead of worrying about getting the dishes done before it’s time to make dinner. I’m awesome like that.
How do you prepare for awesomeness?