Braxton-Hicks: My House Was Just Practicing

I’m sitting here in the almost-dark because we lost power. Two candles have been burning for 8 hours because they are awesome candles. We lose power fairly often here because of windstorms; we live on a hill. I adore it every time.

The house is peaceful. It is normally too exciting, full of sounds that block sleep, impede thought, create ruptures between us. I can here a train now. The wind. The stars. The clock ticking. My son wants to read more, and we start singing automatically, a round of “Row, Row, Row Your Boat.”

Is my house normally like a womb? A protective place full of the sounds of its systems. A place that immobilizes me. A place I can’t stay forever because I’m not a baby.

But, take away the electricity and I feel motivated! I slept better. I get to cook on a camp stove. I cried at the stars. I discovered some awesome candles. I wrote poetry. We told stories. I feel connected to my family and curious about the real world outside.

Well. The power will be back on later today most likely. Back to the womb, tethered to my placenta.

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