When will I ever learn to leave the baby alone while she’s napping? We nap together, you see, and it’s so easy to lean down and kiss her head. And then she stirs and wants to nurse again. I don’t mind. Clearly I am not napping at the moment, despite Seth’s unusually strict instructions before he left for work to get some sleep today after a wakeful night with Addie.
No, I’m dreaming instead. Of knitting and woodworking and painting and gardening. We’re at the point in our little house where we we’re close to finish-work projects. We’re not there yet; I can’t sew couch cushions or paint cabinets doors for example. But I can think about these things now that we’re getting used to functioning on our day/night schedule, and now the weather outside is green, and the baby can almost sit up on her own, leaving my arms free for minutes at a time. The migraines are an eternal presence in our life and we navigate them the way we do everything else at this point: slowly and for the most part gently, all of us together. There’s no other way to live in this tiny house.
Sometimes I think about moving into a standard house, away from this half-built home on wheels. I like to put things away, you see. Have space to sew. All of our books on shelves instead of in boxes. But then I think about the loft beams from 1793, or the conversations I had with the guy who cut our cedar siding, or the day we popped our trailer check into the mail, or putting up the roof sheathing in the bitter cold. And I realize that I’d miss this house and the care we’ve lavished on it. The sense of belonging it’s brought us. How strange and wonderful that a moveable house serves as a stable base for two adults who have felt adrift more times that I can count.
I think it lies in the making. We have always been looking for home, but now we are truly crafting the life we want. Other folks seem to have found their way sooner than us. From the outside, they have seemed comfortable and happy, while we’ve felt like the little match girl looking in. But now here we are, too, with this creating we’ve set ourselves up for. Not just the house — the baby and food and handcrafts and the farm. As I like to tell Seth, we are trending happy these days.
Our making is somewhat cyclical with the farm season. Gone are the hygge knitting and guitar playing, as we welcome gardening (although my attempt at seed starting this spring was a failure), herbcrafting, what housework we can squeeze in on Sundays, and preserving. Is it strange that after 13 years together, I’m finally noticing this rhythm? You know what? Don’t answer that. Better late than never.