No and know are keeping me busy and torn.
Briar with her knowing and Avery with her noing
It’s not easy, this letting go and standing by.

I catch myself pouting, a little jut of the lower lip here,
a barely stifled whimper for just one more kiss.
I don’t want to slow them down, or impose my needs,
but my yearning to luxuriate in this time of dimpled
bottoms and wet kisses is oppressive.

I read your stories- Jack and Ben, a guilty Nutmeg, a deliriously happy Chelle, an exasperated but charmed mama in the trenches and I take solace. Some walk a path parallel to my own, others are years ahead, yet each of you lift me up. I can see the beauty of 6, the complexity of 8 and remember the wonder of 3 months.

Even if you don’t leave your name or offer a trail for me to follow back to tales of you and your days, I am grateful for you. This journey is made that much sweeter by the people I share it with, so thanks for coming along.

And Sarah, thank you for drawing me back time and again. You are as dear to me as that h is to you.