What can I say? Having a kid seems to put into perspective the value of time.
Before now, there have only been a handful of moments I have wanted to live over and over—the time I saw my dad for the first time after a major surgery, the week I spent with Jordan in Pennsylvania after we started dating, the hike to Tinker Cliffs last July. These days, though, the days I wish I could return to gather together in a growing mound of memories. I am already nostalgic for days that have not yet come, wistfully affectionate for the days that have gone by.
I am dancing with Ruby around the room, her cheek to mine, and the light is golden and her eyes are bright.
I am lying down as Ruby nurses, her eyes closed and her hand resting on my chest over my heart.
I am leaving the house to run an errand and Jordan is sitting with Ruby on the steps in front of our house, pointing at honey bees as they slurp nectar from the purple flowers that drape over the railing.
I am walking into a coffee shop and all eyes are on me and no eyes are on me because they are on my little girl and she is smiling at them and blessing them all with a moment of pure joy.
I am turning off the faucet and reaching for my towel and Jordan is strumming his guitar, singing Ruby a song about workers' rights and the union.
I am unbelievably tired, aching from exhaustion, but Ruby doesn't want anyone else, she only wants me and I hold her close and stare into her blue eyes and she stares back.
I am sitting under a tree, holding Ruby close, watching her watch the light and the leaves, watching a new person marvel at an old world.
I don't know when I'll get around to creating a recipe or blogging about food. I don't even know when I'll write again. Sometimes, I miss having a spare hour or two to edit photos and test recipes. But this is a season, one I already know is painfully short.
I am sitting on our bed and the room is a mess and it doesn't matter because Ruby is sleeping.
...and all is well.