First the Babies

"I want to paint
the living room gold."

"We just painted it green."

"The green isn't right. I want gold."


"I want the afternoon sun to come in and make the space light up like El Dorado."


Last weekend
sent me into the loving arms of Laura (owner of the fresh boutique Dear Lizzie). In the whimsical space of her store we stood talking about motherhood.

"When you are sick and pregnant nothing is quite right." She noted.

Yes! That is it! Nothing feels quite right.

Like the green in my front room.

It should be gold.


I didn't have anything
to wear to the Relief Society General Broadcast last night. I looked at my closet and nothing mentally fit. I could've tried some dresses on, but my mind had already decided. I didn't want to wear anything I could see.

So I put on my black stand-by dress and tried to revive it with some green accessories. I used to be cute, I swear I used to be cute.


After the broadcast
I went to dinner with my sisters. We ate at Rooster. Rooster seems to be the only thing I can stomach. I think it is because my friends make the food, and I love them and feel love from them.

But I can't make food right now, because my love seems restricted.


When my friend Lani
was pregnant with her fifth baby I asked her what she fed her children.

"Frozen anything."

But I knew Lani wouldn't--in her right mind--feed her children anything defrosted. Not with her admirable devotion to a natural lifestyle. I didn't know then what I know now.

I want to be Lani. If I can't be Lani I want to be as much like her as possible.


Back at Rooster.

"I don't go to bed with any big hopes for the future." I confessed as we ate lava cake. Except the day when Chup lets me paint the living room gold.

"Sounds like first trimester." Observed Page.


My mother's house is adorable. Every pillow, vase and sculpture sings a happy song.

Nothing is chirping at my house. I haven't vacuumed in weeks. I refuse to vacuum when I am gestating. I get to pick these things, right?

"Were you concerned about having a cute house when your children were little?" I asked my mother.

"No, but I always tried to have a clean house." She replied.


Tonight Chup and I took The Chief up the canyon to see the unveiling of autumn. I would like to use these words to describe the foliage: spectacular, breathtaking, glorious.

I asked him, "Are any negative thoughts positively useful?"

He answered, "I am going with no."

As we drive out of the canyon I noticed the gold in the sunlight. It was the perfect hue for my front room.


We are in the green living room tonight.

I put some flowers in an orange vase on the coffee table.

The Chief climbs on top of it and knocks it over.

Chup grabs him off.

I put the vase back up in position.

The Chief climbs back on top of the table and knocks it over again.

Chup grabs him off.

I position the vase again.

I think, what am I doing?


I am not right.

And that is the point. I am not right because I am not listening to what is right. Right for me, my body, my season of life.

My season is not about house decoration. It is not about glass vases on low centered tables (as lovely as it looks, and it looked lovely). I need a simple house without toddler traps. Good organization and lots of cues from nature.

A clean house.

My season is not about fashion. It is about picking a few items, showing off the best part of my body. Easy laundered shirts for the inevitable snot trails that end up on my shoulder area. Look nice, but not encumbered.

Clean clothes.

My season is not about cooking elegant meals. I do not have the heart to treat food the way it should be treated. It is okay to eat peaches, apples and toast. Pirate Booty and Lorna Doones.

Just eat something.

My season is for babies. For sleeping when my baby naps and early morning bottle swapping. For belly and breast expansion and retraction. Music in the nursery and afternoons in the backyard. A season for schedules and predictability. A quiet time, a time to be at home, a time to focus on growing and gathering.

Love this season.
(I don't want to ask my energy to do more than this, though some women can.)

Then, then, then! I will start to dream again. I will dream of the season of glass vases and vacuum lines in my carpet. The time to cultivate a more sophisticated wardrobe and mornings to stay in bed until noon. I will earn my way to a kitchen full of spices and surprises. Parties, gatherings, social outings.

First this. Then the gold living room.

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