From the minute I was strapped to the surgery table, I lost full use of my appendages. I could barely use them to rub her tiny cheek as the nurse held her against me. And since then they have never been empty. Days so full of the sweetest inspiration, too full to ever create anything. As I type this, a year after starting this piece, I am quickly putting thoughts to “paper” (thank you, Notes app) before the snot and the tiny limbs and the questions come running down the hall. Inevitably finishing these lines with just my right thumb. Kaleidoscopic was a word we learned while witnessing our monarch garden companions. I hope that no matter how much I am carrying, I will always hold on to those early morning memories, to the beauty and nuance of change. Kaleidoscopic. A complex mix of elements. Motherhood is kaleidoscopic. Even at rest.