22/01/2026
One year ago today you were born.
I don’t have clean words for how today feels, given all we’ve lived this year.
It’s joy and grief holding hands, too big to understand.
Gratitude so big it makes my chest ache.
Love so deep it feels ancient.
I’ve had a lot of loving friends check in on how I feel today and I don’t have words to answer.
I think I feel tender. Raw. Vulnerable to the world.
Like a little turtle without its shell - soft to the world, exposed, alive, scared.
It feels like the emotions are all too big my body can’t quite feel any of them, so I’m a bit numb, surreal, but not in necessarily a bad way.
The grief doesn’t often hit me as I’d expect on the big days. It usually sneaks up on me in the ordinary moments.
Last week I make river peanut butter chickpea curry and loved it so much. And on that random Tuesday evening, I sat feeding him, sobbing in gratitude that I was alive for this.
But today, I’m Just, present.
In the magic of ordinary moments.
In the wonder of getting another year.
In the sacredness of celebrating life after everything it took to keep it.
When I don’t know what to do with my feelings
I bake. I cook.
Blending intention and instincts.
And today I made an heirloom tomato pesto burratina galette.
And in the most beautiful unexpected way, river, who his 4 months ago would gag at a banana touching his tongue, shared the whole thing with me. Our first true shared meal.
And it was everything I needed.
Happy first birthday, River.
You helped save my life.
You’re our brightest joy spark.
The reason my heart knows new depths.
My heart learned a new shape meeting you this year.
Fighting for you this year.
And I will spend my life loving you into yours.
