I made chocolate chip cookies today.
Normally, this wouldn't be bloggable content. But I have not made cookies since August, and as I was slowly sifting the flour into the butter and eggs and sugar, I felt myself breathe a sigh of relief as I watched everything merge together.
Life hasn't felt normal in forever. First it was the announcement: little lion man is coming. Our days went from slow and methodical to frenzied and kinetic. We danced around the tiny one bedroom apartment washing onesies and finding nooks and crannies for a crib and swings and his changing table.
He's coming; he's coming, I would hear in my bones. Like a prayer. An incantation.
It was a season of forward motion. Of what-was-once-now-will-be-different. We barely had time to catch our breath and take a look around before we got the call that it was time to head to North Carolina. And from there? Well, from there we just hit a sort of stasis. All of this movement and rushing and hoping took the form of holding vigil on the shore — both for our son's arrival and the green light to go home.
This stasis followed us back to Texas.
And I mean, I get it. Adding a baby to the mix of your daily rhythm does more than alter a few things here and there. It's a bomb of diapers and formula and teething and kisses and spit-up and sleepless nights and laughter and wondering who you even were before this magical human came into your world and changed its molecular structure.
But seven months later, we're starting to find our balance. I'm starting to feel myself breathe. I'm feeling the pull of ordinary time sink into my veins, beckoning me to enjoy the rest.
Jubal is in his high chair, gnawing on a wash cloth. He sings while he rubs his gums with the cloth, his mouth opened as wide as it will go, his eyes closed, his head slightly tilted. I see the cookies on a plate next to him, and smile as I watch Russ methodically plan our dinner of fried chicken.
This is my life now, I think to myself.
And my heart bursts with joy.
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