Somewhere East

In that moment I felt completely at peace. Brooklyn Meadow in my arms, gently resting on my growing, 19-week belly. The guest bedroom dimly lit by the cheap, plastic nightlight positioned in the corner of the room.

Nuzzling her head into my neck, she began to twirl the loose strands of hair that had managed to escape from my messy, everyday “mama” bun. I have never before felt more content. It was during this hour that I fully knew I would never be able to put the pen down. Literally. My forever inspiration blossomed from my absolute need to remember every last detail. I needed to write to survive. To understand. To live.

Her breath became heavy. Placing her in her crib, I made my way for the door.

In just a few short weeks, I would come to find myself missing this far-off, in the middle-of-nowhere home on Sunset. I just never realized how much…

“Mama Bird”

There I was. Day old sweatpants, Ralph Lauren exotically-patterned night gown tied in the most casual knot, resting just above my growing belly. Relaxed and barely clinging to my waist, a brown lightweight down parka planted its roots, fanning with each carefree twirl I made. The heat, oppressive, warmed my very soul and through that very air, swirled an aroma of Magnolias and the nearing hope of warmer days.

The sun, shining down, created the most perfect old film effect of my world. Time moved slow during moments like these. B entered my frame, twirling, arms spread wide. Flutters of giggles glided over the birds’ happiest of chirps.

We flew amidst the wildflowers, racing past the trees of grapes, the sweet taste of Spring dancing on our lips.

Forever in my heart wild child. Mama loves you.