The enormity of being both a young parent and a medical resident is beyond my experience, but I was flooded with affection and admiration for my daughter and son-in-law who are navigating this cup-runneth-over world with astounding love and stamina. I couldn’t leave my Fiona days without acknowledging her parents, who had around 90 minutes a day with the light of their world this past week, 90 minutes of easy immersion, no pressure, no fanfare. They were drawn to Fiona upon homecoming like magnets, like bees to a fragrant flower, arms reaching, lifting her into the air, encircling her into their bodies’ orbit. That baby is profoundly loved. More personally moving is something extra-sweet in my daughter’s love towards me, as if she’s seeing me in an enhanced light (or suddenly seeing the wrinkles?). My goodbye hugs from Nellie held something new that I can’t quite define. Whatever it was, it was magnificent. My 60th year in 60,000 words Day 319: 153 words, TOTAL = 52,040; 7,960 remaining
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When I was about eight years old I discovered a secret hiding place in a giant white pine in our front yard. About fifteen-feet up, four massive branches extended out and up from a natural platform that fit my body perfectly. At sunset after a rain, I marveled at the drooping clusters of pine needles, sparkling with raindrops. It was my “Silver Chamber,” and whenever life leaves me worried, stressed, angry…I close my eyes and take myself there. There have been one or two others – precious, interior, meditative spaces, where I feel the perfection of the universe, secure, at peace. This morning, my last morning with Fiona, I sang her to sleep on my chest, felt the tension leak out of her restless body and settle against me. I closed my eyes to soak in the fullness of the feeling, and tears welled. I don’t pray much, but “Thank you Gods” chanted in my brain. Here is another heart home, another precious, secret space to return to again and again. My 60th year in 60,000 words Day 318: 170 words, TOTAL = 51,887; 8,113 remaining *I love the simplicity of days with this small human - observing Fiona’s fascinated observations of her pudgy hand, fingers opening and closing; watching her eyebrows lift in wonder or knit in curiosity; listening to her linguistic experiments, her complex, indecipherable storytelling. I have nowhere else to be, nothing else I must do. *Memories of my stay-at-home mom past have reawakened – that self-recriminating, vaguely pathetic query to the working parent around 4/5pm. When might you be home? The memory of those harried, stretched-thin days rises like a fever. Help – my brain and my body are depleted. But isn’t the working parent more worn than I am? *Being with a hysterical baby (Tessa calls it Tyrannosaurus screaming) is harrowing. It reminds me of the gut-wrenching strain of grief. Maybe that makes it empathy. In any case, one round of Tyranno-baby is enough to instill avoidance-tactics at all costs. *The purity of Fiona’s smiles, her supple body’s burgeoning, insistent power of life – miraculous. My 60th year in 60,000 words Day 317: 161 words, TOTAL = 51,717; 8,283 remaining CORRECTION: Tessa's phrase is actually "Pterodactyl screaming." Perhaps my error is an indication of the ferocity of my emotional response.
Fiona and I had a full outdoor schedule in yesterday’s perfect weather. Today we’ll hang at home and rest Gramma’s back. First – trail walking in Robinson Woods. Fiona car-napped while I listened to Ann Patchett’s The Dutch House on CD. Better to sit in a parking lot with the AC on than disturb naptime. We picnicked by the pond, then, fully formula-fortified, headed up the road to Fort Williams Park, Portland Head Lighthouse, people to charm with Fiona’s flashing smile, and the crashing sea. Back home, after another car nap and Patchett update in the driveway, we set up a Fiona-sized hot tub in the backyard. Post-3pm, attention spans and contentment levels diminish. Movement helps. We strollered across town to visit Auntie T, but I had to carry little girlie for the last ¼ mile. When the crankies come, nothing suffices but physical contact. I’ll take it, this dear warm bundle in my arms. Still, Mom and Dad’s arrival was most welcome. My 60th year in 60,000 words Day 316: 162 words, TOTAL = 51,556; 8,444 remaining I braved an outing with Fiona yesterday: thermos of warm water, baby-bottle with pre-measured formula powder, diapers, wipes, change of clothes, sunscreen, water bottle, hats, toys, teething crackers, baby sunglasses, Ergo-baby carrier. I should have had food for me, a blanket, a garbage bag. This stuff takes practice. We visited Two Lights State Park in Cape Elizabeth. Using Fiona’s outward-facing carrier is like holding a little octopus against my chest, arms and legs flailing. I couldn’t see her expression, but she made lovely cooing sounds. One young mom was walking the rocks with her two girls. She watched Fiona’s face take in the crashing surf, and laughed – “You should see the huge smile and wide eyes!” Foamy waves rolled in over tilted layers of striated rock like mounds of stone baklava. I dipped her toes and one pudgy hand into the water, pulled back her hat flap, and witnessed one of those bright-eyed reactions to this unfolding world of wonders. My 60th year in 60,000 words Day 315: 160 words, TOTAL = 51,394; 8,606 remaining A woman selling household innovations showed up at my door when my kids were little. I noticed that her pamphlets included sports equipment and office supplies, and asked how she happened to have her kid materials in hand at the door. She laughed. “Oh, they teach us to look for BCOs in the yard.” BCOs = “Brightly colored objects.” Sure enough, the telltale primary colors of plastic play were strewn around our driveway and yard. I thought of that this morning as I began my 6am proofreading session at the dining room table, next to one of Fiona’s entertainment stations – vibrant with BCOs. They are uplifting colors and make me smile. Why do grown-ups become so drab? My 60th year in 60,000 words Day 314: 117 words, TOTAL = 51,234; 8,766 remaining I’m not sure if I’m more taken by the things I remember – silly rhymes, games, and songs, how to hold a baby, feed a baby, clothe a baby, bathe a baby) – or by the things I’ve forgotten – the back work, the constant attention demand, the scramble-brain, the triumph of lulling a baby to sleep and the ferocious defense of naptime. We’ve had a great day, but…whew! I’m thinking of a postcard I could write to my husband: “Having a wonderful time. Wish you were here.” That just about sums it up. My 60th year in 60,000 words Day 313: 91 words, TOTAL = 51,117; 8,883 remaining Yesterday we celebrated Nana’s 89th birthday a day early, since Jonathan’s working today, and I have begun my Fiona week. Nana is beginning her 90th year on July 4, accustomed to birthdays with American flags and fireworks. Neuropathy makes her unsteady on her feet, so she uses a walker, but she lives mostly independently. Retirement communities can get lonely, especially now, and visitors bring out her joyous smile. Nana has always been playful and brought sparklers along for the festivities. She was bereft when her mylar balloons escaped into the sky. Today, July 4th, I spent the day with Fiona, who has lived for 8 months, 2/3 of a year. She can’t walk yet, but loves to try, each hand grasping a grown-up’s finger for balance. She is remarkably independent, entertaining herself most of the day. However, she’s always on the lookout for interactive games. Peekaboo and crazy dancing elicit beaming smiles and throaty baby-chuckles. She was bereft if I left the room for too long. My 60th year in 60,000 words Day 312: 166 words, TOTAL = 51,026; 8,974 remaining Scenes of home as July ascends:
Overhead grasses reach, bend, and droop. Fading daisies wilt and brown. Powdery-green scum skims and clouds the pond. Bullfrog voices are pitched ever lower, and bird song calms. The assiduous care of baby everythings loses urgency. Offspring fate is largely sealed; either they have fallen prey to something, or they’ve grown to strength and near-independence. Jonathan made me a walking stick with a narrow, inset, oval-shaped flaw at the top that looks like the eye of Sauron. He polished it to a smooth finish. I walk the paths like a sorceress, restraining the power that hums through her mighty staff. The dogs were unimpressed. My 60th year in 60,000 words Day 311: 110 words, TOTAL = 50,860; 9,140 remaining As we watched our last Adirondack sunset, a text came in from my project manager at She Writes Press. Attached was my proofread manuscript, ready for my final, fine-toothed-comb run-through. This will be a good project to dig into while I’m taking care of fabulous Fiona over the coming week. I also now have five good blurbs (back-cover testimonials, used for all kinds of online and in-print advertising) from a good collection of award-winning writers, including two Pulitzer Prize winners and a #1 New York Times Bestselling author. I’m feeling wonderfully affirmed by those, and you can see them on my blog here. Things are slipping out of idle and moving forward once again! My 60th year in 60,000 words Day 310: 114 words, TOTAL = 50,750; 9,250 remaining |
AuthorRobin Clifford Wood is an award-winning author, poet, and writing teacher. She lives in central Maine with her husband, loves to be outdoors, and enjoys ever-expanding horizons through her children, grandchildren, and granddogs. Archives
January 2024
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