Right around Henry's birthday, Matt moved out of our home for the second time in the last year. I'm not sure who reads this blog. I only give this link to people I hold (at least fairly) dear and even so I have little expectation that anyone does read, especially considering the long gaps in upkeep. This is all a really long way to say that if you are reading this, then you probably have enough context to understand the complicated and sad nature of this change in status with someone who has been much beloved and rooted in my existence.
I'm only trying to acknowledge the change, I guess. I think I've done some good work towards processing everything that has happened, but it's pretty slow work and I'm trying to honor that. My life looks much different than it did not so long ago. My parenting responsibilities have become much less constant... an interesting experience during a developmental stage that is marked by its constance. I certainly feel a loss as far as my experience as a mother goes, and I know that I'll continue to mourn that-- though my time with Henry is rich with love and joy, and my time with/to myself almost profoundly nourishing. I feel myself on the precipice of a period of independence and actualization. I'm focusing on Henry, my work, my health, my relationships, my home, and letting go of all the rest for now. I'm expecting to have a quiet winter.
I recently acquired a record player. By acquired, I mean almost singularly focused on (outside of my normal responsibilities, of course) for the better part of two weeks. I was also the lucky recipient of many of the vinyls that had been sitting in my parents' basement for the last 15+ years. I'm finding it hard to feel lonely in the company of music and records, so many of which I remember from hours and hours spent listening while lying on the floor of my parent's living room. Now, in eerily similar moments, I get the sensation that time is not linear and everything might just be a-fucking-okay.