18 October 2013


a few film photos that were taken when we spent a day by the cold, foggy sea. just the two of us, with our growing girl in my belly. 


there is a stark contrast between life then and life now. so much more spontaneity and leisure. so much more sleep too. but not nearly as much sweetness and contentment. not nearly as much good. when my hair is wired and colorless, I want to remember all that I am feeling right now. to have my daughter on my chest, her quick heart beating against mine. nights spent with Steven rocking her sleep with the tub water running to console her. him humming her songs that we used to sing loudly together on night drives through the island. my mornings beside her and the way she rustles before waking. when she has several minute long cooing conversations with the hanging plant in the living room, or the gold light fixture in the dining room. she is so beautiful and smart. a child that has came in and uprooted who I was, and taught me so much about what is important. the one that made me a mother.

she is the apple of my eye.
she is my all.

life as we knew it is light years behind us now. our days are spent soothing our sweet, sensitive baby. trying to keep our heads above water. learning to be parents. learning to be a family. all the while, learning how to hold on to the vital bits of our former selves.

the woman I was before Anabel feels like a stranger now. some parts of me, I long for still (mainly the woman who regularly showered...ha), but we are getting there. day by day. I see the girl I was in the eyes of my infant. in the heart of my husband. I see her still. even though my body has been altered to house and birth a human being, my eyes are tired, and my hair is unkempt. I see her. I am a mother, and I know that I was constructed to be exactly that.

as I think of our future together as three, I see so much of the forgotten pieces of our past. as we prepare to move across the world next year, I am reminded of our beginning on the shores of the east china sea. to be able to take anabel back to Japan for her first four years of life. the country where Steven and I met and fell in love, well, there is so much significance in that. I'd be lying if I said I wasn't terrified, but my heart has felt pulled to go back since the day I left. we are so lucky. what an opportunity.

I remember a couple years back, begging God - in one breath - to allow me to be a mother, and to allow us, somehow, some day, to go back to the country that we left behind over five years ago, and missed so deeply. to be given both at the same time is overwhelming, and wonderful.

I was heard.

I cannot wait to experience the months ahead of us as we continue to grow and learn how to thrive in this new life of ours. I cannot wait to give our daughter a journey that most dream of. and to show her where her father and I became a pair.

this transition is a giant, scary one, but as I have whispered into anabel's little ears since the day she was born...

"we can do hard things."

4 comments:

  1. What a beautiful sentiment- we CAN do hard things. You verbalized so many of my thoughts on motherhood- the endless balancing game of trying to appreciate the moment, while still wanting bits that just don't fit into your everyday any longer.

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  2. It makes me so happy to think of Anabel reading these things when she's older and seeing how much she was loved right from the very beginning.

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  3. I stumbled across your blog today, and you are an amazing writer (and it sounds like, mother too!). My boyfriend and I lived in China and Thailand, where we conceived our baby, and like you I want to show him all of it. Check out my blog if you want to- fanciesofc.blogspot.com. It sounds like we have a lot in common! I just love how you word things and think of things. Your words make me see my body/pregnancy/child in a whole new light, so thank you. Absolutely beautiful!

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