God, she's good!

Yes, ordinarily I would be talking about Pook. And she is really good but as I sit here Sunday morning while she naps I've been reflecting on motherhood, her first birthday party that happened yesterday, and just the moment that is my beautiful life. I will certainly write and share photos of the party later- but right now I'm still, we are still, taking in all the love that was shown to us yesterday. As I get older, I realize that giving gets harder (just because of responsibilities, bills, stress, work) and so when people show up like they did for Pook but really to support and celebrate me through my first year of newmommyhood I treasure their words, hugs, and wishes like the true jems they are.

What to do with all of this newmommy goodness? How do I put into words that while everyone agrees "I just need to calm down about things" to assure myself that I'm doing a good job and don't need to fret over every single Pook issue, to just relax and go with the flow- I think of Pook and I want to do what I can for her, when I can, the way she needs it. It's really not me trying to be the perfect mom, or make up for what I think she should have but doesn't get, its really about reflecting the goodness that is Pook. It really hard to put into words but I don't see myself as overdoing for Pook- just only doing. For many things and people in life we don't give our all, we don't do half of what we could but I find myself inspired- to do my best for Pook.

Gwendolyn Brooks has captured what all the goodness is about perfectly- I read this poem and said "God, she's good!"

LIfe for my child is simple, and is good.
He knows his wish. Yes, but that is not all.
Because I know mine too.
And we both want joy of undeep and unabiding things,
Like kicking over a chair or throwing blocks out of a window
Or tipping over an icebox pan
Or snatching down curtains or fingering an electric outlet
Or a journey or a friend or an illegal kiss.
No. There is more to in than that.
It is that he has never been afraid.
Rather, he reaches out and lo the chair falls with a beautiful
crash,
And the blocks fall, down on the people's heads,
And the water comes slooshing sloppily out across the floor.
And so forth.
Not that success, for him, is sure, infallible.
But never has he been afraid to reach.
His lesions are legion.
But reaching is his rule.