Writing Else Where

Blogspot won't let me log in so I'm writing here

and copying it later. It's after midnight, but I'm counting this as Friday night.

Still not taking my time to write my "Why I am writing this" speech. It's in my head, I'll get it down eventually.

Speaking of getting it down . . . Since the first breastfeeding days . . . err, nights. . . being up alone at night makes me feel somehow linked to all the other mamas out there doing it. Snuggling sick little ones, nursing the tinies through the night - the little ones who haven't yet learned to abandon life for sleep for these longs stretches we call normal. Just mamas, fixing their own little piece of the world. Making it better, making it work for someone. Redemption in the tiniest piece of the universe?

I would pace the living room in our first little house with R., before I learned to tuck her in with me in dark, and picture the landscape as it would look from much higher. Darkness, with lit windows here and there where mamas rocked their babies. Other mamas looking out into the darkness not asleep, because something was suddenly more important than the most basic need we have.

Once again words don't sum it all up right. They're weak things to stuff feelings down into. "Use your words", but sometimes words just don't get it exactly right.