In the first few months after the baby is born, I experience a singing clarity: Milk! Diapers! Milk! Diapers! Lusty oxytocin! Sleep! Cheez-it binge! Sleep! I have cleared out a space–no, cleared out my whole brain–for this time, and I have no expectation of writing. It feels good to sink wholly into the physical, answering needs like playing whack-a-mole: hunger, got it; poo, got it; exhaustion, nailed it, and in between, losing myself in the baby’s depthless black eyes.
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