By Mandy
My Dear Moon Baby,
I am writing because I feel you leaving me.
I am writing because I need you to know that I'll always hold you in my heart. I'll always love you. And I'll always be your mommy.
I am writing to honor you. Because you deserve a tribute, my magical fleeting baby moon.
Thank you for choosing me to hold you. I am so grateful for our time together. I know that soon you will be gone...into nova and sky and strawberry moons and the pure exhilarating magic of summer. But right now, my sweet one, right now, you are still tucked inside of me.
But we know for sure you're slowly leaving...
I've been bleeding for six days now. The blood went from faint to brown to bright cherry red. Paint drip-drops splash and swirl in the toilet bowel. The water becomes velvety and red like a rose.
Two ultrasounds, two labs for blood work. Two doctor's visits. A trip to the hospital. And then tomorrow, you will be done here with me. If there are any more remnants left of you in the morning, the doctor will pull them away because you are not meant for this limited world, my tiny one. You are shapeless. Boundless. Effortless. Made for pixie dust and angels. Supernovas and falling stars.
This will be our last night together as one body, my baby moon. Tomorrow, I'll have to give you wings to fly away from me. So, I'm holding you extra close tonight. I'm relishing these last quiet moments I have with you.
All these days, Moon Baby, I've been holding Sofia to my belly so that you could feel her warmth. I've been whispering to you, "This is your sister. This is your home. I am your mommy and we are here to take care of you. It's safe for you here with me."
Last night was the full moon in Sagittarius. I put on just a sundress without any underwear. I wore all my prayer beads around my wrists and my neck. I filled a mason jar with water to collect the moonlight for you and I meditated outside directly underneath the full white shining moon.
I lifted up my dress and I sat in the grass. I bled directly onto the ground for you. I tried so hard to keep you with me, Moon Baby! I thought the energy of the earth would root you to me. You'd feel grounded, stable and safe. I thought you'd stay with me.
But you had much more powerful lessons to teach your mama.
You are teaching me to let go of attachment. You are teaching me surrender and release and trust, and these are all lessons I have so desperately needed to learn.
And so I really do thank you.
I give you wings, my sweet magical baby moon.
I give you back to the sky.
But I know you'll visit us when you can, little one.
When Sofia finds her first four leaf clover, that will be you. The unexpected rainbow after the storm will be your light. And that silent observer inside my own mind, the one who gently teaches me to watch rather than react -- I'll find you there, too. In the space between each breath. At the base of an exhale. And in those magnificent leaps of faith, I'll know that's you. You, taking care of me.
I am writing because I feel you leaving me.
I am writing because I need you to know that I'll always hold you in my heart. I'll always love you. And I'll always be your mommy.
I am writing to honor you. Because you deserve a tribute, my magical fleeting baby moon.
Thank you for choosing me to hold you. I am so grateful for our time together. I know that soon you will be gone...into nova and sky and strawberry moons and the pure exhilarating magic of summer. But right now, my sweet one, right now, you are still tucked inside of me.
But we know for sure you're slowly leaving...
I've been bleeding for six days now. The blood went from faint to brown to bright cherry red. Paint drip-drops splash and swirl in the toilet bowel. The water becomes velvety and red like a rose.
Two ultrasounds, two labs for blood work. Two doctor's visits. A trip to the hospital. And then tomorrow, you will be done here with me. If there are any more remnants left of you in the morning, the doctor will pull them away because you are not meant for this limited world, my tiny one. You are shapeless. Boundless. Effortless. Made for pixie dust and angels. Supernovas and falling stars.
This will be our last night together as one body, my baby moon. Tomorrow, I'll have to give you wings to fly away from me. So, I'm holding you extra close tonight. I'm relishing these last quiet moments I have with you.
All these days, Moon Baby, I've been holding Sofia to my belly so that you could feel her warmth. I've been whispering to you, "This is your sister. This is your home. I am your mommy and we are here to take care of you. It's safe for you here with me."
Last night was the full moon in Sagittarius. I put on just a sundress without any underwear. I wore all my prayer beads around my wrists and my neck. I filled a mason jar with water to collect the moonlight for you and I meditated outside directly underneath the full white shining moon.
I lifted up my dress and I sat in the grass. I bled directly onto the ground for you. I tried so hard to keep you with me, Moon Baby! I thought the energy of the earth would root you to me. You'd feel grounded, stable and safe. I thought you'd stay with me.
But you had much more powerful lessons to teach your mama.
You are teaching me to let go of attachment. You are teaching me surrender and release and trust, and these are all lessons I have so desperately needed to learn.
And so I really do thank you.
I give you wings, my sweet magical baby moon.
I give you back to the sky.
But I know you'll visit us when you can, little one.
When Sofia finds her first four leaf clover, that will be you. The unexpected rainbow after the storm will be your light. And that silent observer inside my own mind, the one who gently teaches me to watch rather than react -- I'll find you there, too. In the space between each breath. At the base of an exhale. And in those magnificent leaps of faith, I'll know that's you. You, taking care of me.
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