meditations of a blueberry

Eyes closed, I look up to the sky, breathing in the last wisps of summer while I taste the promise of Fall on the tip of my tongue. I feel the last warmth of the sun's rays rest on my face as summer promises to return again. The breeze gently caresses my cheek as it continues on past, swirling the falling golden leaves at my feet. My babies' laughter and screams waft into my ears like a melodious symphony from a master musician and I smile as I feel a tear roll down my cheek. I stand at the precipice of the next phase of my life. Goodbye birth. Goodbye babies. What has so far defined me for the last 7 years is changing. And with that, comes the realization that I too must change. And yet. And yet, I feel stagnant. Unable to push forward. Frozen in fear at taking the next step. The first step. Uncertainty abounds. And thanks to an unwelcome resident in my brain, I am unsure if this fear and uncertainty is due to its grip on me or not. But no. I r

Years ago when the only little I was chasing around was E, I went on a few babywearing walks. On one such walk, we took a break at a playground for the bigger littles to play and while I was nursing E, I overheard a conversation that has stuck with me since. A wonderful and wise mama was having a conversation about being finished having children. She said she had expressed possibly wanting more children when her partner said to her, "there is more to being a mom than pregnancy, birth, and breastfeeding." (it was a long time ago, I may have the exact wording slightly wrong.) For years, those words have rattled around in my head, but I didn't truly understand them until now. Tonight, I took the crib down and changed it into a toddler bed for the last time. And although we didn't use it much with Miss A, it was still a symbol of babyhood that remained in my bedroom. The symbols of babyhood are slowly leaving my house. Baby clothes here, infant bucket seat there,

As the sun prepares to set on another August 1, I sit alone in my thoughts surrounded by people I love. And though I know the love is true and that I'm not alone, I feel guilty. Guilt for forgetting. I almost forgot the date. Eight years ago, August 1 marked the beginning of the end . I almost forgot today. I almost forgot that we found out that the life that we were so eagerly expecting was not to be eight years ago today. When I realized that today was the anniversary of that awful weekend , my heart seized. The guilt began to seep into my brain. The tears flowed from my soul. How could I forget? For eight years, I have sadly anticipated August 1, reliving the pain through my memories. Wondering if there was something I could have done, though I know there was nothing. Remembering the moments of fear until it was finally confirmed. This year, I thought about it a few times throughout July, and then completely forgot. I think about it often, but usually this time o