Later, his friend is coming to make cookies with him and as we discuss this he says, "So and so eat cookies and get fat." Ugh, I think. "No, no, no... cookies don't..." but what should I say? "Make you fat..."? I say, "Cookies are good." And he says, "Yeah, Mama, cookies good." Our chatter goes on all day. We go outside and he runs down the street. This is funny to me because he just takes off running and for a while doesn't stop. Well, he doesn't stop until he sees a puddle. He sees a puddle and stomps in it. Puddles are his favorite outdoor thing right now. Next, it will be mud, though he doesn't like when his hands get sticky.
We sit at night and I tell him to talk to baby. Baby is growing in my belly, four months along. He says, "Hi baby, how ya doing?" He places his head on my belly button. We read books. We snuggle until he falls asleep. I leave him in his "Mosey bed."
The baby is growing and making me tired. The sun is finally close. Spring mud and then summer. The days are fragmented... I steal time to write when I should be grading papers and creating lessons. I steal time to daydream when I should be revising essays or working on grant applications. I steal time to sit and watch Moses when I should be doing laundry, cleaning, organizing and doing any number of things around the apartment that desperately need getting done. I steal time against time and know that the stolen moments are what keep me.
I'm working on completing a collection of essays about loss and longing. These two forces seem to rule my life. It's not that I've "suffered" a lot of loss. It's more about what is given up in order to fulfill one's longings. At least, this is what it's about for me now. Although, when I started work on these essays, I think loss and longing meant something different to me.
More than anything I want to steal away to a cabin by the ocean or in the woods beside a stream and work on this project. But --more than anything-- I wanted to have a second child sooner rather than later. I am pushed and pulled in various directions by longing. Nothing forces you out of yourself as much as a child, especially a two-year-old.
Listening, listening for spring. To smell the cold warming, the mud and the first new life, is to feel fully alive in a way that I never understood as a younger person. In Vermont, as in many northern places, people go wild with spring.
I am thinking of the baby in me and wondering who he or she will become. I am thinking of her body fattening and willing her to swim down, head first, and not be breach like her brother. I think she is a girl, but I don't know and I won't know until she arrives in September.