As I drove away from the appointment I was smiling. I was listening to this really loud, so loud that when I was stopped at a stop sign the old man dead heading his flower pots beside me just looked over and smiled at me. If you listen to it while you read this allow yourself to picture Solomon singing it to you, about you. Like it’s a wild love on yourself love song. A true fall in love with you song.

As I was driving I was feeling happy and I was feeling sad. It was the first time someone other than my midwife rubbed my belly since having Birdie. It felt intimate and sensitive and very very vulnerable. I couldn’t place why until she just asked. “What does it feel like right here?” Her hands were gently placed over my womb, Birdie’s home for 10 whole months.

It felt sacred. And like it needed to know it was safe. But more than anything it felt like it needed to be celebrated. With confetti and sparkles and a hot freaking bath filled with flower petals. Celebrating the fact that I did it. Again. When I never thought I’d even be able to do it once.

I’m sitting outside tonight with the most incredible full moon shining down on me. A hot cup of tea that was sent to me in the most awesome postpartum love package from one of my closest friends who has transplanted to Germany. She wrote me a note on my birthday last week and in it she shared that she appreciated how I allow myself to be vulnerable.

Truth.

It doesn’t always feel comfortable (obviously). It feels vulnerable to be vulnerable. But it also feels so good to be honest and truthful finally. I spent a large portion of my short life lying. Lying to make others feel better, lying to make myself feel better. Embellishing stories and thoughts because I felt like the way things happened for real, or the feelings I had weren’t worthy of being told just as they were.

When I said to Jeff tonight that I still struggle with feeling worthy of my pregnancy with Birdie he stopped me. He reminded me that regardless of how I felt and feel, I did it. We did it. We made magic again. We made a baby again. I birthed her and she’s here, in real life.

And I get that. I see that.

But what I (think) I’m struggling with is the fact that we missed out on some kind of celebration. Like a welcome to this world and also a celebration of what my body did and held and embraced and endured. We went from pregnancy and struggle to connect, straight to labour and birth. And then boom! Earthside. And big sister. And home. And cleaning and resting. Nurturing and nourishing. And just being such an active part of life.

So I’m planning a party. It’ll be a like an end of the fourth trimester ceremony.  With champagne and a bath and candles and a big walk around the lake. The same lake that I walked to encourage her out of my body on Tuesday May 1st. It will be an occasion to allow myself to realize that my body is safe, and worthy of love (always) but also now that it’s now carried two humans.

And if you’ve carried a human or are carrying a human, or one day want to carry a human please join me for a hullabaloo on July 25th. Because honestly I think at some point after having babies we should be showered in confetti – like I’m visualizing rainbow confetti and sprinkles. Or maybe it’s a tree that’s covered in tiny flowers that just feels like it could scoop you up and give you the biggest squeeze. And maybe there should be bubbles there too and potentially sparklers. Yes, definitely sparklers.

I know I say it all the time but our bodies are amazing and I feel like after today and sitting here tonight, I just want to keep shouting from my balcony “OUR BODIES ARE MAGIC” (and also thank you to this amazing full mother moon for reminding me where we came from and where we’re going).

Forever pointing me to my own personal true north. Where the pine trees stand tall and are illuminated by her amazing light. And where her darkness just wraps us up in the juiciest blanket of love and understanding.

To the child of my child: I may not be around when you read this but I want you to know that this morning I walked on a path and I could see the full moon above the pine trees. It was very bright and round and full and it made me very happy to see it. Someday you will be watching that same moon. I hope it makes you happy too. Love, Your Grandfather.

Leonard Cohen