The last five months since Finley Grace Warner's birth have been full. Full of the nearly indescribable privilege of helping her father help her mother give birth to her and being there at the moment she entered the outside world. Full of her cries at all hours of the day. Full of her sweet smelling head nuzzled against my neck. Full of her smiles and then chuckles and now belly laughs. Full of the delicate art of learning to live with one's daughter and son-in-law. Full of adjusting to weather -- something we don't have in southern California. Full of missing my husband, my house, my dogs, my friends and my stuff. Full of introverted discomfort with making new friends but making them just the same. Full of the best ice cream I've ever had from cows that sometimes graze in the pasture across the road from us. Full of finding my way around a new area. Full of chickens and turkeys and geese and their sad, untimely deaths to accident or predators as well as their planned deaths to fill the freezer. Full of fresh lettuce straight from the garden, eggs still warm from the hen and pounds and pounds of tomatoes -- so many tomatoes that there were days when I day-dreamed of burying them in the compost pile rather than help with preserving them.
The last five months have been very full and I am grateful.