Saturday, January 14, 2012


 (an email i sent to my husband in the middle of the night)

It's raining. I hear it on the street and wonder when the pub closes as I listen to a few men chatting away.  I'm awake in the night, nursing your smallest baby.  She's returned to her sweet coma now and I will sleep again soon.  You are with our boy, our firstborn who is so much heavier than she is in every way we could name. He's needing us more now than ever and I'm not able to carry his weight just yet. I see you though and I know how you are lifting us all up right now even with your sore back and the upheaval of it all.  He was wound up like I'd never seen before tonight as we worked hard to create space for him to sleep.  I need you on my team.  I cried a little as you danced with him, unsure what I would do without you. Hormones and Bon Iver and I had no idea what a wonderful dad you would be.  I married you because you were so handsome and look what I got.

I hope you are sleeping soundly and dreaming of the peace and settledness that will come, at least briefly soon and then forever.

Shall we do it all again in the morning?

Yes, we shall.

my handsome boy with his wee girl.


  1. I love your love and your babies and your dedication to doing life well.

  2. 10:36am

    It's sunny. I feel it in this office room even though I can't see it, it's mugging me. I slept all night–6am is now considered a full night's sleep in our house. Not 5:45 though :) I didn't have to rock/dance/shake our child to sleep last night, there was peace. But in the next room–you with our daughter–there was pain and discomfort. Your breasts were overfull because of the need of our son lately in the nights. Your body has been trained to comfort and give life to our children, but this only continues because you keep sacrificially choosing. And now you are in pain today and were all through the night, but I know you wouldn't have changed anything. You are the source of our family, an abundant source. Even though you're tired and wounded we have needed you so much–we suck the life out of you. But you are overfull. I married you because you had nice breasts, and they still are.

    I hope you are resting this morning as my dad cleans our honey-spilled breakfast drawer, and may that honey and your breasts be a sign of the fullness and unceasing of God's grace and sustenance to you today and forever, minus the pain.

    I love you dearly.