Of babysleep angst, dilated pupils as a metaphor, house smells, and Jennifer Garner’s baking.

  1. Up for an hour in the dead of night, comforting, tucking in, kissing on the forehead, snuggling. Again. It’s been every night for a week (two?). I’m giving her grace because of the casts and the bronchitis, but I’m worried about enabling bad habits, about how I might be causing her unsettledness with my own.
  2. There he is. Right where he should be. Maybe where he always was. But now I can see him, feel his weight in the fabric of the air–a tangible presence of his own.
  3. Fuck cancer.
  4. It’s similar to speaking another language before I’m fluent. I don’t know the words to explain what’s happening to me. She’s incredulous; I’m frustrated. But there’s a referral at the end, so something clicked.
  5. Dilated pupils as a metaphor. Opening up too far, perceiving too much at once, can hurt you.
  6. Lists of lists.
  7. I’m so cold my phone doesn’t register my touch. Time to go.
  8. The soul-exciting mustiness of summer clothes brought out of storage, the particular scent of a house that’s hibernated too long coming to life as spring warms the bricks outside.
  9. Jennifer Garner’s adorable baking gives me far more joy than it probably should.
  10. The tyranny of the blank Excel workbook.

Author: Ellie

Uppity stardust. Will eat (almost) anything.

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