bulbs pushing up from the rich mulch of autumn and winter
their brilliant colours, and promises of returning light and life
the abundance, and sacred hum of fertility.
sheep, heavy.. begin to lamb steamy, slippery black babies in the fields
there will be births and deaths, and it will all unfold, just so..

the skies are so deeply black at night, and knowing that just a few paces north- brilliant hues of green and purple dance across the night
mysterious and murky, and all the divine secrets of the universe colliding in one spilling of paint on the earths surface
sliding off into nothingness, as if it was never there at all… a hushed secret
it makes me ache, knowing that it’s right there, unreachable… like something in my bones and blood needs to witness the magnificence of northern lights

with all of these tangling roots.. stretching and sighing under foot
i’m brought back to planting my own roots down firmly
my feet to the earth, with a stretch and a heave and ho. cracks and pops in my young bones.
my fingers aching to dig into the rich soil and untangle some fine mess
to sow seeds and nourish our bodies in the summer sun

getting spun around dizzy, too caught up suddenly- in living in the future of ‘what ifs’
a gentle reminder
to simply be
and enjoy these gifts of today

looking through all the pictures from her first year of life..

today, you signed ‘milk’ while saying ‘mulk? mulk?’
i’m astonished.. because i’ve only been signing ‘milk’ to you for the past week.
now i’d better step it up and give you a few more words for your little hands to spell out for me

it’s been raining a cold rain.. so we’re cooped up in the house and it’s a bit miserable all around. i know you’re ready to get outside and stretch your legs- running and greeting everyone.
instead, you’re pulling everything out of bins and shelves, making a mess and talking to yourself and your toys
we’re ready for the warmth of the sun..

the very last mama made the most powerful example of why her ‘nest’ is so important exactly how it is..

i bare stretch marks with no shame..

i’ve talked about them through different points of my womanhood, i’ve shown the world my post partum pooch- no bravery necessary- there’s nothing brave about celebrating our beautiful bodies.
stretch marks.. my body, the world- stretching. becoming. from girl to woman, and woman to mother.. my body stretched and gave way, and i have the map to tell my journey on earth- etched into my very flesh.

my stretch marks, my sacred ode to womanhood. the memories of life changing and life growing, the original nest, ever expanding..

whether your body stretched to carry a life, or your fertile lands were scarred on battlefields of fertility medicines, never to carry life within- you were birth marked. your swollen belly, or belly so taught- your heart carrying your baby in another woman’s womb- stretched and birth marked.. becoming.. all the same. your story etched into your very being, etched into your flesh. your body cradling your baby- from whatever walk of life they came.

mamas, and sisters, and daughters- it’s time.
your birth markings are uniquely yours, and tell the beautiful story of your time here upon this earth. from your wombside waters you rushed down on, to the becoming of moontides. from maiden to matron to crone.

goodness me, honour that beautiful self. it’s time.

getting to test out the kinderpack toddler

i love wearing claire, it allows me to transition through my day doing whatever i need, and is an instant ‘reset’ button for her. climbing into a carrier, or wrap, or sling- her entire being is soothed and mellowed.. snuggling in deep, and often drifting off to sleep.  my much loved ergo has grown too small for us now (though, it’d still fit most children her age) so i’m loving the possibility of finding a bigger sized carrier for us to continue with.

all a tangle and twist of ‘why am i feeling this way?’
aching for signs of being ‘cured’ of PCOS, and emotional, knowing that my baby is quickly growing from her babyhood and well into a toddler.
the sudden dawning thought ‘what if i have to go through (in)fertility like before?’ i can’t bring myself back to that place.. it seems impossible to be there again when i have claire, when i don’t want to focus any energy and be in such a negative place hormonally and emotionally.

but of course, i wouldn’t be going back to ‘that place’. there is only the journey ahead, whatever that might bring. i’m not in the space to even think about that.. still.. the what if’s are calling..

the past few weeks have been so odd.. up and down, split. my stomach turning with the sky. rain and drizzle and the promise of the sun coming through.

tears spilled and breathing in the scent of my baby, as deeply as i can. holding her tighter, longer.. studying her face as she sleeps. all part of it.. this mothering thing. of letting go and making room, of letting babies grow up and explore further away. it’s bittersweet- i love watching her interact with people, so bold and brave and unquestionably loving everyone… and at the same time.. my baby. my baby. my baby.   my baby, stay my baby forever..

–

all this funk and hormonal shift. this moon and her intense pull..
trying to remember to nourish myself in ways that is good for my soul.
sepia melting on my tongue
hips swivel in circles in the hoop
bring myself back to my art..
nourish myself, lovingly.
a reminder to feel, whatever i feel.. without judging it. (sometimes that’s the hardest thing.. right? simply be.ing. without judgement)

how are you nourishing yourself these days?