I am feeling all vulnerable today.
It happens sometimes.
What’s that phrase for the overcurved surface of liquid in a glass?
That magic tension that supports and holds the water above its seeming limit.
Another sparkling drop. And another.
Until that last one falls . . . breaks the surface tension. And there is a tumbling and a spilling, and a return to equilibrium.
Convex meniscus.
Yes, thank you. I knew you would know.
I have not yet had a return to equilibrium.
I am fragile and delicate today.
I am all overfilled with emotion.
And on this day of magic tension?
There is so much powerful magic.
Magic in the soft yielding pudgy flesh of a baby. A baby crawling on the grass beneath me. I reached down to pick her up and put her back on her blanket, where she was determined not to stay. As my hands met her middle, as my skin sought hers, the sensation of sinking into this child who was not my child was overwhelming for a minute.
I was just stunned as memory washed over me. How could I have forgotten what this felt like?
It was not so very long ago that my children felt this way. And my hands sought and sank into my daughters’ yielding flesh as I lifted. Not so long ago.
But I had forgotten.
Magic in the harder, less cooperative flesh of my own children. We were at the lake today, and I ran out of the aerosol sunscreen that the girls prefer. So I instead helped rub in the squeezed-out dollops from the tube they do not prefer.
And beneath my hands . . . their shoulders, their backs, their necks, their faces.
Oh my god.
And as they ran from me, impatient to the water?
My hands were on fire with the knowledge of who they once were and who they are.
And who they have yet to become.
Magic in my face in the mirror. In my own flesh. In this face I see my daughters. I see that baby who is not mine. I see my mother.
I see me . . . . many versions of me.
And I am overwhelmed by the enormity of it all.
And also by my smallness, my role in this world.
Stunned.
I have tension today.
Magic tension.
I await the return of equilibrium.
Drop by drop.
Sounds like an amazing feeling… it’s a wonder we don’t spend every minute of every day feeling like that, knowing how fleeting and mutable everything is. Overwhelmed by how small we are.
I love those moments of awesome openness and appreciation.
But to live always like that?
Would be exhausting.
I like equilibrium.
i don’t even know where to begin with how i feel about this post. i am feeling vulnerable today as well (for different reasons). stretched to my mental limit. waiting for my emotions to settle back to baseline. or to explode. thanks for this. really loved this one.
I am so glad we touched today.
So glad.
sometimes i come to read you, looking for funny. and i realize, when i find you on a not -so-funny day, i needed this, instead.
you impress me, kris, with your strength and with your fragility.
love to you.
Thank you.
It has been an awesome day, but a fragile one.
And as I do not write things out ahead of time?
When I sat down to post? This just spilled out.
Sometimes in my life, there is spillage.
Love this post.
My niece is going to be three weeks tomorrow. When I saw her last week she was still so tiny. She’s isn’t even 7 lbs. All tiny and squishy making the baby grunting noises. My guy is still little but was never that tiny. I couldn’t believe how fast the last nine months went. And I know that I will wake up one day and wonder where the last nine years went.
Time?
Slips away.
And although you are standing right there as it passes?
Still it slips.
Today I drafted a post for next week, much along the same lines. Something happened the other day, completely innocent, and it rocked my world. It’s amazing how the little things can do this to us, isn’t it?
Wait.
You write posts a week ahead of time?
I am doing this all wrong!
Oh no, not usually. Only if I get something in my head and I don’t want to forget about it, which happens more often than not. But usually, I write my posts the night before, or morning of.
OK . . . whew!
Babies have a way of making even the strongest person melt. My son is still a toddler but I was hit with the reality of having an almost 2 year old. Seriously, I just started 2nd grade like 2 weeks ago…now I’m married, mama, full time emnployee, home owner, 3 dog raising, sister and supporter, and ALL GROWN UP. One day my own son is going to be all grown up and I’m pretty sure that will happen tomorrow. And I long for another til I ache. Babies, they are magic.
OK, but guess what?
For me? Babies are never magic. I am not a baby person at all.
And so the magic of this particular baby?
Caught me completely off guard.
Completely.
i keep trying to grasp at this thing called time and make it stop.
i saw a different person today when i looked at my son. his hair was longer. he was making a different face. he had learned a new sound.
he didn’t look like my baby.
my husband is a different person. he used to be all gangly and over-long and skinny and all just a big neck. he used to sit and listen to my problems with my high school, college, boy friend, family problems.
now he does that, but he is someone else.
where does it go? this thing called time? we can’t see how much is left, and we can’t see where it is going.
sigh.
Heavy sighs.
Thank you for understanding.
Wow!
What makes this post special for me is that it leaves me wanting to read more. As with my taste for wine, I don’t know how to tell what should be considered great, but I know what I like.
Beautiful, amazing stuff here. Thank you for sharing – especially when you are fragile!
Gary -
I love you.
And sometimes?
I love you.
I cannot find any better words than Katie who just commented before me.
Just as I get used to what my son looks like, he turns into another baby – a bigger, louder, funnier one.
Kris, I’m just glad I read this post (occasionally, I miss my daily dose, rarely though) as it makes me realize I’m not crazy and I’m not alone with this hard-to-name feeling.
And thanks to you, I can call it magic. Simply magic.
That hard-to-name feeling is not always with me, for which I am grateful.
Because although it is a gift?
It is a burden to feel so much . . . magic tension.
Sigh.
I was struck just a day or two ago by the slim, toned muscles on a body which was, in my heart, still round and yielding.
He can sing to me now. For just one heartbeat I saw when he wouldn’t want me to sing to him anymore.
And then he wanted a lullabye, and the world kept turning.
Magic, indeed.
Sniffle.
I love you. Will you go with me? Circle yes or no.
Yes.
A million little immature circles . . . around yes.
gah
::blink blink::
i may have a tear
mine are almost still babies
also almost children
i get choked up by those thoughts
who they were
who they are
who they will be
it hurts my heart
but it mends it at the same time
::big BIG sigh::
Sometimes?
The moments of connectedness in this comment section?
Are themselves magic and overwhelming.
Much love.
I am so relieved…When I started reading your post, I was afraid you were going to talk about scientific stuff (like chemistry–something way over my head).
As I continued reading, a wave rushed over me. I, too, felt somewhat emotional today. I held my first-born grandchild (the son of my first-born daughter). He is almost four-months-old and I didn’t realize I would love him so much. Didn’t think it was possible. My two youngest (ages 12 & 15) were with me. To not only realize the changes, but accept the inevitable, is hard for me. I’d like to age gracefully but, as I see the future unfold (also caring for my aging mother), I become increasingly fearful…
okay, enough of that! Hope you had a wonderful day. and glad your girls didn’t get sunburned.
It is hard to see the past and the present and the future all laid out before you.
Very hard.
And there is always fear.
Push that part down.
I am at a loss.
You have made me want to go wake my sleeping babies.
To squish and appreciate the squishiness that is Matthew.
To hold Katie close, because she is in that in between place…between Matthew and Maj and Kallan…the in between place where her limbs are longer, her smushy places becoming more firm with each passing day.
I do not want to imagine the day when they aren’t here with us anymore. I want to pause time…to breathe them in, to memorize their laughs.
Time is not my friend.
Thank you for making me appreciate them even more. I hadn’t thought that possible.
No . . . time is a friend.
You are going to want to be here for the future. And there can never be a future without a slipping away of the past.
And this present.
But the future? You are going to want to be there for that.
Trust me.
One day I will experience this…
And on that day?
You will be all weepy and mushy.
Like me.
Sigh.