life fresh from the dryer

the moment after Pepper was born

I just pulled Pepper's baby blanket out of the dryer, bundled it around my nose, enhaled deep and exhaled
tears.  The smell was of a newborn sweetness, milk, and new life.  I huddled around this memory. I was shocked by it's potency.  I slid to the floor against the washing machine's humming.  Like the last hug of a lover, I held on. It started slipping the moment it came to me.
This will never be mine again.
My time for fresh life is past.  Now I have obnoxious sacks of angst bouncing against each other.  They are chaos and raw potential, and I have to figure out how to organize them. There are many paths, and we stumble together, holding hands, trying to find the right one.
My sister is next.  Her baby is coming in November.
And it's ok that I won't have another newborn baby.
In a way, I am more able to relish this baby than she is.
As my Mom was with mine.

having a conversation on the Train at Lagonn

I never understood why my mom was content to hold my crying babies.
I just wanted to get the hell away from them.
But she would always take the bundle.  She'd lay it down gently and re-wrap it slowly.
Then she'd just rock and coo with a gentleness that seemed unending.

I think I could do that now.

Pepper is the best for taking naps with, just as her Aunt Nennie.