10 months

today we woke up late, all three of us in a tangle, and then i fixed french toast and eggs. i poured water over coffee beans and heard the neighbor's screen door slam outside. i thought about how nice it might be to make cinnamon rolls. i wrote, saturday, family brunch, cinnamon rolls, gold dust peaches, vanilla bean, on the chalkboard and nodded. the day was already hot and golden and milky. later, aspen and i ducked under the trumpet vines by our bedroom window and walked into town. i tried on three shirts and a dress in a fitting room while aspen sat on the couch beside me and took the gift cards i'd gotten for my birthday from the pockets in my wallet. i thought for a while and then bought the dress, because it was red and soft and made my cheeks catch flame. suppertime came and we ate and bathed and swept the floor. aspen and i stood by the parking lot and watched dad pulling thistles from the cracks in the pavement. our neighbor came outside to fetch the mail. she asked us how we were, and we talked for a while about eating meat, about the drought, about the grey cat who'd just had a litter of kittens under her porch.

i don't want to forget today. perfectly slow and ordinary. today, i woke as myself. today, i woke and my postpartum depression had lifted, like a fog, like old glasses, and i felt alive for the first time in ten months. i woke and i loved my daughter completely, more that i ever had. i woke in the hungry skin of a lover, of a mother, of a woman. i didn't even know how much i felt like a corpse until this morning, when i woke and every inch of myself was alive with love and wanting. today is the very first day; i am reborn.