I don’t know if it is the Italian or mother in me, but I am deeply
satisfied cutting a ripe banana into small round slices to feed my
children. I guess it’s the innate drive
to nourish. I’d get that same feeling
right before feeding my babies milk, sinking into bed, blurry-eyed, while all
the day’s corners fell. Every
noise vanished. Every void, filled.
Watching Renee felt very, very close to how I feel when
feeding my children. It was Mother's Day, and nineteen years since I'd seen her last. There she was, gentle mother, bent over her bow-mouthed
babies, swooping pails, collecting nostalgia. In those hours, Renee filled the hole of curiosity I have
for friends from my past -- as life has pushed on so selfishly, sometimes there’s
barely time to look back. And for
those few hours, the nineteen years between then and now disappeared. Because there she was, looking just
like she did way-back-when, and in the moment, filling my cup.
I've stumbled across your blog and am finding both your photographs & your words to be so beautiful. Your thoughts on whether or not to have a third baby are so similar to my own. And your discussion here about feeding your children are exactly the same feelings I have. The physical feelings of my breasts emptying & nourishing my babies was always so amazing & like nothing I can explain. Even still, I love filling their plates and watching them empty them.
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