Content

Today I am hibernating in the bedroom behind closed doors, trying to keep the cold out. Our house was originally built in the 1920's, an uneven blend of creativity and poor craftsmanship. The oddities make it endearing in the way all old homes are, with crooked walls and unexplained corners, and a draft that makes the floorboards like ice on bare feet. The bedroom is the warmest place, with two large windows that filter sunlight through the blinds and scatter bright patches across the quilts and carpet. Even the sound of the dryer in the next room makes me feel warmer.

I've built a fort on my bed, a circle made out of pillows and books, the blanket I've been making all year. There have been too many thoughts in my head lately, a flood of ideas that make me feel like I should be accomplishing more in life. But today, it's quiet. I have to force myself to stop and appreciate one thing before I can move onto the next. Like Isaac. He is sleeping beside me, his arms stretched over his head and ending in two tight fists. I love the way his eyelashes are gold, then brown, curling slightly at the ends. How his ears are pointy at the tip, like a baby elf. The design of his birthmark on the back of his neck, like a red constellation. How he responds to my voice when I am speaking to him.

Yesterday I was bottle-feeding him and he placed both feet around my arm, like a little monkey holding his food up to his mouth. He paused nursing so he could smile at me from behind the bottle, milk spilling down the side of his cheek, his eyes wide and alert. And laughing. Eyes can laugh. Inaudibly, perhaps, but there just the same. It's in the way they understand something, a connection that doesn't need words.

In a few hours Tim will come home, and we will go get coffee and read, or talk, or do nothing. We've begun spending most evenings this way, driving through small towns to find coffeehouses where we can be alone. I look forward to these evenings more than anything else, just sitting quietly behind my book, looking over at Tim and feeling so. . . content.