motherhood · Poetry

It’s Never Going to Be Pastels for Us

I can’t really imagine a world where my husband and I pose in pretty neutrals with our squishy baby all cuddled with us perfectly.

My favorite newborn photos to have are the selfies, the real-life snaps, reality without swaths of pastel.

I love having blurry renditions of cuddles, togetherness, and quiet hospital videos I make myself take because I know I’ll regret it if I don’t! (And I wish I had more.) The lack of fanfare matches the intimacy of the season and I love that. Life. Us experiencing it. Us in love. Us growing. Us without pastels.

The season after Shasta was born had us wrapped in a beautiful cocoon. I struggled hard and there’s no denying that, but I also remember how much honest-to-goodness magic bubbled from that first year with Shasta. I’m almost halfway to a year with Heidi and it’s been far less cocoon like. But as a woman I have grown. I am emerging. And I am deeper in my motherhood. The bright, vibrant, layered reality has replaced the magic. Of course, magic moments to come, but it’s a reality now that feels full and big and so vibrant with life.

When I was thinking of our newborn//infant season with our radiant Heidi, this poem practically wrote itself. And it matches how we’ve chosen to document the early days with a newborn. No pastels. Never pastels. But extraordinary and very real beauty nonetheless.

GROWING PAINS (on marriage, parenthood, life❤)

between arguments,
long tiring
nights,
long lasting
infant cries,
there were lows
weren’t there?
but still the roses
grew,
and how the sunflowers
bloomed,
and baby smiled too.
grins, first laughs,
and bright-eyed coos,
forgiveness was
our Marriage
Song,
and a second round
of Morning Glories
burst out
in a day
or two.
I think they call
this
growing pains,
I think they call
this
Love.

-S.V.F.

motherhood · Poetry

Forget Me Not (poem for night feedings)

photo from the first few weeks earthside with Heidi.❤ April 2022

Forget Me Not

to memorize the feel of you
in my arms
I feel is impossible.
I won’t remember this,
how sweet it is
past midnight,
the rise and fall,
the gentle swaying,
over where you sleep.
I’ll put you down
soon,
not yet.

I want to remember this,
the feel of you
against my chest.
how all my love is
communicated,
and uncomplicated
and you know
how deep it goes. . .
past midnight,
the rise and fall,
the gentle swaying
however long you need,
longer.

and if I can’t remember
this,
I hope you know
that as you grow
I have memorized
you
the way
only a mother
can.

and if I can’t remember
this,
how sweet it is
past midnight,
I’ll look at you
bright flush of youth,
all grown up,
and know
I’ve not missed
anything at
all.

and if I can’t
remember
exactly how it feels
the feel of you in my arms,
I’ve loved trying to
memorize,
loved this mother’s life
trying to freeze time,
knowing it has the
upper hand.
who thought clocks were
a good idea?
but that same clock
and its upper hand
gives some acquiesce.
in the quiet, here we are
us nudged slow
past midnight,
everything is still
except-

how we sway,
and rise and fall,
how sweet all this is.
I kiss you softly,
lay you down.
I smile, smile, sigh.
clock ticks again with its
upper hand,
but I have two arms too,
and they aren’t bound
by hours.
so there are things
a mother
will not ever
forget,
remember them
or not.

-S.V.F.


Heidi’s birth story

Mommy Is Human But Here (on early postpartum)

The 4th Trimester (on the first 3 months after birth)

motherhood · Poetry

Hello There

I am allowed to love you,
though all I know of you now
is two pink lines.

a strange comfort found
in realizing there’s no safe zone
for life.

5 weeks or thousands,
I can celebrate you here
without ever hearing
the heartbeat.

I am afraid.
I want you forever.
but either way this goes,
I’m going to love you
past that.

so, without the illusion
of a safe zone,
or holding my breath
to the next milestone. . .

I’m left with you–
beautiful you,
and all my love
for your whole life.

hello there.
I am your mother.

S.V.F.