the untitled post.

so, i’ve worked as many hours this week as a regular working mama, and i’m drained.
i miss her…even though i’ve been with her.

and while i’ve been posting shoots and ramblings, i miss a good write.
i have to write. it is my therapy. my get-away. my friend.

next week, we shall make time for cupcakes. and painting. and a trip to somewhere special.

she is loving her sock monkey as of late…thank you, aunt e!

hormones from all this little bean stuff have volumized the emotions as of late and, while that lends itself to the less attractive end of oh, say feeling more overwhelmed lately and/or turning small catastrophes into thinking my world is coming to a bitter and complete end, they too bring the sweeter rewards of aggrandizing little goods into earth-shattering beauty. as if cryderman maudlinism wasn’t enough, i now cry at sunsets. texts from my sister. any baby. and her doing anything remotely related to human life & form. which is pretty much everything.

and, with more work to do these days, i stretch to find inspiration to keep new creative ideas coming. and while i do find it in nature, anthropologie catalogues, photography websites, music, books…it doesn’t take but a minute to realize that my greatest inspiration always lies in this little i feel so lucky to call mine.

my favorite moments today…after a long day…
we replaced our old sheets with fresh, clean cold ones.
slid into snuggy p’jams.
turned on our nightstand lamp.
and rested.
quietly. with books. and a dog.

and i studied her and that moment like a museum painting.
the way the tight stripes hugged her tiny frame just so.
the calm and security our big familiar bed gives her.
how she’s grown. and changed.

i didn’t read to her tonight. instead, i let her do it herself, turning the hard pages slowly, taking it in…pointing to bunnies and moons and mittens and telling her own story in a half-jarbled string of words that came out distorted behind her pacifier. yes, she read to herself tonight while i mawkishly teared up, stroked her hair and kissed the dickens out of her pale forehead. and she pretended to be all nonchalant, focusing on the book rather than her affectionate mama, but i knew she was takin’ it in.

a lovely closing for the almost-end of a long day in a very long week.
there shall be more to write later. and more discoveries and adventures and marrow-of-life-sucking experiences.

but for now, all i shall say is…
i love her so.