Transitioning and Always Dawn or Dusk

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Dear friends,

A few glances into our nest these past few weeks. Time has taken on an entirely new meaning. The little one is suddenly one-month-old and we are suddenly one month into parenthood. And somehow, it always feels like dawn or dusk. It's as if the sun is always rising or setting and another day is just ending or just about to begin.

Sleep is seldom and infrequent. And I am realizing that this feeling of lightness and drifting and tiredness are actually the new ways of being. We are in transition and time is meaningless. I'm not convinced there are still 24 hours in each day but some days there are 30 and other days there are only 12 or 15. Evening and dark and light and waking and resting are all inverted and, somehow, it always feel like daybreak or sunset.

Soon enough, I will return to the studio and to your beautiful blogs and to the other parts of myself that have been patiently waiting while we've been immersed with our newborn. For now-- just a few photos in low light cast with a bit of what is bewildering and also very new. And, my dearest Maxwell Forest, you are full of quiet mornings peeking out from the California fog and also the most radiant and cloud-coloring dusk.

xoxo,
k

Welcome to the World, Little One.

***Welcome, Maxwell Forest***

Dear friends,

Our son has finally arrived! As many of you might have suspected given the long delay since my last post--he was born two weeks ago after a long, complicated labor. After some health hiccups I am happy to say that we are both home and turning the corner towards recovery. As a result, I'm learning the art of surrender very early on in motherhood and I'm also learning to slow down to a snail's pace (a very slow snail's pace) and let the days wane and wax as they will.

He is bewildering and magical and beautiful all at once. And we are exhausted and time has taken on a new meaning and, of course, sleep too. I keep seeing this image of a tiny mythical creature falling through the paper ceiling of my life and landing in my arms. Part human. Part animal. Part myth. Part fairytale. Like a satyr. Or a centaur. Or more like a tiny human with brown sparrow wings tucked against his perfect newborn back. He's other worldly, like he burst through this very fragile divide that separates worlds and now we are learning to occupy this human world together. I tell you, he's magic.

Time is suddenly irrelevant. So until soon, friends, until soon. And in the meantime... Welcome, Maxwell Forest, that bright light is the sun.

xoxo,
k