This childhood.

Back home to the bun life and living room dance parties with this one. I was going to write that we are back on our routine. I am not sure that exists right now. He’s living a childhood much different than mine. While, yes, I’m home with him most days. The others, when I’m pulled to my calling to be with others, for days or weeks, my work, my life, my creation; he bounces off to his dad’s shop. It’s a space of the artisan, furniture making, full of dust and dirt, a place to witness his dad’s joy and creation. This child is living a much different life than mine; a world of creativity and passion, that began to grow while in my womb and has continued to grow since the day his he met the world. He’s been there through the falls and losses, gains and triumphs. Surrounded by 4 small walls and a life of experience. A producer and director before he could speak, the quiet cheerleader rooting us along, individually and as a unit. He’s been there all along.
I don’t know that I’ve ever witnessed any of my parents, all four of them, in their life’s work, their joy, their creation. A job to me through them meant stress, exhaustion, overload, money scraping, and hours spent away from the table. I wish I could give them back their time; the only way to do so is to start with the man in my hands. His childhood is much different than mine. I never planned for him, and that’s where it all began. It’s the unplanned, uncertainty of it all that gave us life in our creative roles as parents, lovers, and charged us to go out and do and Be.
This is the fuck yes life.
Thank you.
Thank you.

stephanie birch