Let’s get to the point. I gave birth to my second son Leo two days before my family moved late last September from our sweet, sleepy suburban neighborhood into a new hipster ‘hood back into town. (Ironic, I know. A growing family moving, gasp, ITP!).
Six weeks later, after three break-ins on our street, when meeting with a security salesman to arm our house with steel door frames and every other type of safety sustenance besides a roaring pit bull, my husband got the dreaded-but-coming phone call from his then boss: “You’re fired. Done. Get outta here. You stink. And, oh, happy holidays!”
My eyes red with tears, hands trembling, belly threatening to be sick, that balding black-haired salesman with the Brooklyn accent comforted me like a deck of oracle cards: “Honey, believe me, from personal experience, this is the biggest blessing. I can tell your husband is a good person, and we need more of that kind in this world. You are being watched over. Even though you can’t see it, a better opportunity is on its way. You deserve money and sustainability but also fulfillment.” I listened like a whimpering Golden Retriever lapping up his blessings, signing up with his services on the spot.
While our house has remained crime free besides some sticky fingers snagging a large handful of outgoing thank you notes and an Amazon package from our porch, our move to be closer to our comforts of favorite extracurriculars and resources admittedly has proven to be a little stiff and slow to open.
But, I remind myself we aren’t the only ones to have a second baby. We aren’t the only ones to move with said child at a fresh three days old. We aren’t the only ones whose bacon-bringer, dough-maker loses his job at the slowest freelancing time of year. We aren’t the only ones hustling to pay the new mortgage while wondering who replaced our once-sweet, tow-headed three-year-old angel with a raging Sasquatch.
We are good. Not hands-folded, pie-making, showing-up good. We are internally Good. And we are opening. The stiffness of moving and losing as well as the slowness that blankets us sleep-deprived parents does eventually ease.
We are taking our long talk-walks. We are writing and meditating before bed. We are planting orange and yellow lantana and purple petunias. We are waving to the runner-neighbor who shouts “welcome to the neighborhood!” We are exhaling the ubiquitous witchy ones who stir the community cauldron. We are turning off the cluttering noise of the Today Show in the morning. We are squeezing in more yoga within the breathable boundaries and sacredness of the mat. And, sometimes Sasquatch wants to wrestle instead of choose a yoga pose before bed, but we fly with it.