There are so many emotions around the end of a school year, which is also the end of Luke being 3 soon. And in this case it's the end of two years with the same teachers in the same room. It is the end of a routine, and even the rut-like and abrasive aspects of the routine now seem like treasured facets of a bejeweled life. "What was mine," as Ann Beatty's perfect book title puts it. Reflecting on that, almost gaping at your own inability to see.
And so it is with having kids, where you have so much heaven on earth to lose. And you must lose it.
But losing goes with gaining, so it's not so simple as all that, right? Earlier today I was remembering a moment I had after bringing a newborn Halna home from the hospital. We'd had the baby, named her, kind of learned nursing, filled out all the paperwork, put her in our new car seat that we 'd had professionally installed, and arrived home . Now what? Oh my god, this is forever. It was one of the most deeply uncomfortable feelings I've ever felt in my life. I don't say that to be cute. I don't exaggerate. It was a great blue whale of a feeling passing slowly beneath, like in an ocean on the other side of the earth, dragging on my solar plexus. My fingers were numbed. My head was dumb with fear. I could feel my heart beating far away. I didn't think I could stand it, certain it would last like this, unbearable and present, for all the moments to come. But it passed and here we can cut to immeasurable, unforeseeable bounty and infinite true-to-themselves nows. And it's all still lovingly connected to that first terrible encounter with immense vulnerability.
Halina signing in today for one of the last times in Room 2.

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