I’ve been meaning to write. But it’s weird. Perhaps I’ve mentioned, I don’t really know who I’m writing for when I write here anymore. I started writing for women who were trapped in darkness and needed light. Sharing mine felt like a way to reflect mine, and that felt awesome. Then, over the years, when I’ve had none, I’ve stopped writing for lengths of time because I just couldn’t spare any. My most recent stretch of silence has been the opposite- so much growth and good stuff happening- so much Muchness that writing about it just felt very self-indulgent. But ya know- so does this explanation, which I somehow feel I’ve written before. So I’ll end it now and move right along.
When you start following the pull of your muchness there is no guarantee where it will take you.
Mine is taking me to San Diego. Yahoo!!
Three months ago, in the midst of a gray nj winter, the constant iPhone weather app updates of what was happening in the sunshine state just got too annoying. I turned to my hubs- who is as obsessed with that weather app as I am with glitter and said- ok, so let’s move. Within weeks we were on a plane to check it out and within days of returning we announced our plan to move across the country.
So here we are. Within a week of quietly sharing our decision on facebook we’ve found a buyer for our house and today we accepted an offer.
As I lie in this bed (a lovely 4-poster that the buyers negotiated into the buying price) it dawned on me that this is the home where our children were born. And we will be leaving it.
I remember my first night in this home. With a construction mess still downstairs Elie and I lay in the dark admiring how big OUR bedroom felt in OUR house. It was so excited- a time in our lives just pregnant with possibility. And Molly. That little bean had blossomed inside me and was scheduled to make her debut in 3.5 weeks.
I hadn’t been sleeping well for a while so it didn’t surprise me that I kept tossing and turning as Elie slept soundly next to me.
I kept dozing and then waking to roll over from the discomfort.
I probably should’ve read a pregnancy book at that point (I hadn’t) or just used my brain, but my intuition muscles were about as sore as my back and as underused as the dusty treadmill we’d hauled into our new family room a few days prior.
I got up to pee and saw blood and flipped the hell out.
I’d been to the ob earlier that day (I’d already been having contractions, but didn’t realize they’d feel like the baby was just shoving her tush into my lungs) and she told me I might have a bit of spotting from her exam and not to worry if I did.
But, ya know, I worried. I woke Elie and called the dr who told me to relax but if I was really nervous I could go to the hospital.
Like a clichèd scene from a rom-com we drove to the hospital- me begging him to go through the red lights and him the befuddled husband about to shit a brick.
We got there and they asked me, crying and unable to walk from the pain, if I was having contractions. “No” I said. “Just cramps.”
The nurses then pulled out a big stamp with the word IDIOT in giant red letters and stamped the top of my intake forms.
10 hours later molly was born- small but fierce and beautifully healthy.
17 months later my twins were born. Still.
In this same bed I drowned in my tears for months and months.
And 13 months after that, Liat arrived-
Big and healthy with the most joyful and light-filled energy. “A little dose of Sunshine” -so many said about her- strangers and those who knew her better.
That nickname found her and follows her. Sunshine. The name of her sister, whose energy I believe she carries inside her.
Our family is complete.
The two children we always wanted, plus two more that no one sees but us. Two daughters who have changed our lives in amazing ways. Two daughters who made us the parents of twins. Two daughters who we are so lucky to have had the heartbreak of knowing.
What a gift they’ve given us.
Now, as I lay in this bed, where I nursed both my living daughters and my broken heart, I look forward to the next stage of my life. A new beginning. A new perspective. A new state. A new zip code.
But not a new area code. No one will ever convince me to trade in my 646 NYC cell phone number.