Wednesday, February 18, 2009
Cold, gray sky, and sometimes I wait. I imagine if I wait long enough I'll have something to say that's not about the baby; something witty or wise or somehow compelling; something that has nothing to do with feeding or sleeping or pooping or smiling, nothing to do with our long walks down the avenue or our visits with friends, nothing to do with seeing an orange for what seems the first time or hunting down the name of a bird because the name suddenly seems to matter. I tell myself that if I wait long enough there will be something other than this love that has consumed me for almost three months, but it doesn't seem to be happening. There's just her and me and this love. And C. And sometimes the wind or a bee or a bunny or the tea in the kettle, but mostly just us, just this, just love.