Surely I didn’t let this much time go by since I wrote anything down here — I must, between June and now, have written down something!
Be that as it may — it does little good to worry at my words, or at their absence. It is a new school year, a blank slate. My oldest daughter is long and lean and tan and gimlet-eyed, she swings a leg over her blue bike (brand-named Moxie) and pedals into her future.
My work is practically done! I feel both proud and sorry. First I had no children, and then — it seemed like suddenly but it actually was not — I did. Tiny newborns who demanded attention from me that I hadn’t, up until that minute, known how to give another human being.
And now, it feels like seconds later — my job has become the inverse of that. To step back. To ignore the maternal clutch I can’t help but feel as the spokes of the bicycle wheels flash in the sun and my firstborn rides off without looking back, standing up on the pedals, her back straight.