my studio - once packed with a jeweler's bench, tiny tools and heavy machines - is now converted into a birthing room. a big tub sits in the middle of the room waiting to be filled with water, with me, perhaps with marvel. what is usually my creative work space has become a space for a different kind of creation altogether.
i'm due in 2 days and am trying to wait patiently for the marvel's arrival, but patience has never been one of my virtues. i don't know that i'll ever hold a child inside of me again. we don't plan on it. and so every once in a while i remind myself to close my eyes and really notice how it feels to carry mars, to share my everything with him. i want to hide this memory somewhere deep inside me so that someday, when i need it most, i can find it and revisit the here and now.
and yet i know that i can never come back here. i already barely remember who i was before i was a mother - i am only bits and pieces of that woman now. what will i later remember of these years? which seconds will ingrain themselves in the folds of my brain, embed themselves in the walls of my heart?
i don't know. i feel ready to meet my son, but part of me wants to hold on to these days of just me and ian and koruna. so all i know to do right now is to make room. make room in my body for my son. make room for marvel's arrival. make room for our expanding family in our home. make room in my heart for more expansive, exploding love. make room for the memories.