Hey, you. Remember me? I know, it’s been… a minute.

Some things have changed, good things mostly, some hard things.

I’ve lost people, and found some others.

I’m a mom now, that’s pretty cool. Pretty all consuming and exhausting but oxygen providing. She is sustenance and love wrapped up in chubby little arms and a little toothy smile.

At some point, years ago, when I came back to Colorado from Philly and settled into the frenetically paced routine of my day job, I started to work out every morning. Exercise had always been my greatest ally in the battle I’d had with my own thoughts so I would run until I drowned them out or they started to run along side me. Along the way my husband got me a peloton bike and I’d ride in the quiet darkness of morning. Setting my alarm a little earlier each day, I reasoned that now that my academic training was over and I had a job I ought to build a routine.

It worked for a long time.

Bike. Run. Lift. Coffee. Dog walk. Meditate. Begin the day with the world.

It was lovely.

Turns out though, babies don’t give a shit about routines. Heading back to work has been its own crazy adventure. Between pumping sessions in a windowless office and zoom calls and classes, I try hard to hear that quiet I cultivated all those years ago. Because it’s all a little bit louder now.

Louder isn’t always a bad thing though, and in this case it’s a beautiful cacophony of sounds I never knew I could love so damn much. When my mornings imploded with cries, little nibbles and little fists, tiny laughs and the hums of me and my spouse, I decided to embrace the noise. I want to soak up all that noise, in the one good ear I can hear it with.

I ride at night now. I run at night now. I lift at night now. I find my voice careening into the endless expanse of nighttime as I quietly sing along to music as I go.

It’s not easy though, though it’s been many years since the last surgery I live with what is certainly a chronic fatigue. One balance nerve, the incessant ringing in my deaf ear and a day of performing normal in a world not built for the wobbly, single sided deaf woman with a stiff neck and pain in her shoulders, leaves me a bit listless when I come home.

After scavenging for dinner with my partner, listening to the laughs of our baby girl, I take her to bed. I close my eyes and listen to her quietly eat, the shadows of her tiny hands rubbing her beautiful little eyes dance across my eyelids. I am at peace.

With gratitude then I shore myself up to ride at night, to build strength in my body, for her, for my family, for myself.

I ride at night. Knowing I will get a little less sleep but that I’ll be a little more me, so that when I’m with her, she gets my whole heart.

So yea, remember me? I’m different now. I’ve lost a lot of people, and found one…or more aptly made one. And my tumor has almost certainly grown as a result of my pregnancy, and that, while not ideal, is most certainly fine with me, because it means I get to know her, to love her, to be with her, even while I keep living with Herbert.

If you need me, I’ll be up late, bleary eyed, but grateful, finding my own voice so I can share it with her. I hope in my strength she mirrors her own.

See you in the morning.

Peace and love,

Samira