Bill is working hard to support our family. He bought us a house. It’s so beautiful. When I look at it, it makes me want to cry. It’s unbelievable, really, and when I walk through and feel its sturdy bones, I feel sheltered and protected, something I haven’t felt in a while. Anxiety levels have been on maximum since Teo; how I love him so.

A patch of orange hair grows fuller by the day, glistens gold in the sun. He is the colors of desert earth and stone. People remind me, when they approach and rekindle their own babies, how quickly he will grow. It’s remarkable, truly. In the morning, he wakes up resilient, shining and bright, and makes a lot of noise. He moves his arms, and kicks; sometimes grabs my nose and hair: pulls chunks of it from my head. I kiss him. His breath smells like slightly soured milk.

Our home sits near a river. The neighborhood seems diverse, although most of the people I’ve met remind me of  ‘Up North’.

I met the woman who lives across the street. She is exactly my age, raising twins: a boy and a girl.

“I’m exhausted,” she said.

“How do you do it?”, I ask.

“You just do,” she said.

Her adorable children recline on a large bean bag. They stare with big eyes.
Each holds a bottle of filled with apple juice and they’re watching a cartoon. It looks glorious.

New Neighbor is organized; well kept. I like her. Unfortunately, she’s moving. There’s a thing going on with her landlord. Sounds like they were once close and something fell through. Too bad, I think.

I met New Neighbor’s landlord the other day. She spotted me coming out of the house. She had on neat sweater and matching hat, and approached as I made my way down the front stairs. There are things I notice about her that remind me of the confusion that surrounded my mother when I first noticed her decline. When I see New Neighbor again, I mention it:

“It’s dementia,” I say.

New Neighbor is not convinced and shakes her head in disapproval.

“It’s too bad,” I say, “She will need a good friend, soon.”

Then there’s the other neighbor, a man named Linda, who my friend M. pointed and stared at through a window, asking me over and over again, “His name is Linda? He’s a man! I’m serious, come over here and look at him.”

“I know, M. Please stop! He can probably hear you, and I’m certain he can see you.”

Our house: there is a garden that needs to be tilled and many leaves to be raked; floors that need to be sanded; lots of work actually.

My baby awakens. Until next time…