I’ve got my back to the moonlight.

For the moment, anyway. The window ledge is extra wide and lined with plants. i’ve got pillows propped up against it, but later when i go to bed, i’ll lie flat, and fall asleep with the moon in my face. the bed is on the floor since my daughter sleeps in it with me and I have, for many years, been pretty much a floor dweller anyway.

I like most things low.

Of course, saying this I am remembering those last moments of pregnancy where my daughter had gotten a lot more low, and those were aching days. I loved being pregnant until then, until I became cumbersome and so did she and I was ready for the next step of miracle to begin.

My due date came and went. Days and days went by. Finally, she came.

Now she sleeps next to me each night. I love sleeping with her, mostly. And then there are times when I miss my own life of defining who got to sleep in my bed, when, and how…

But like any love relationship, this here and now of having her there is something sweet that I can count on right now.

This now is fleeting as many things in childhood are, except those things we fight, and then relax into saving…

So I accept that no one else will be joining me here for the moment. It is worth that small sacrifice for this, though, for the regularity of this sweetness and comfort, for the gifts of the present.

I know, too, that my choices from here on out, and that the others who may eventually sleep in my bed, will be and are affected by her presence, regardless, in a way those choices and people never were before – thank god, it means I have more respect for myself, more responsibility to care for myself, to do only those things (and people) that serve my highest good. This is actually a very good thing.

This does not mean, however, that I feel any guilt whatsoever about going out last night, enjoying some social lubrication, dancing to great live music and exchanging pleasantries with a really good-looking someone else who “didn’t have the kids tonight”. It’s nice to be understood in that respect.

I am pretty sure I didn’t make too much of a fool of myself except in all the very best ways, and I drank a lot of water the last hour I was there, went to bed sober, got up on time, did a quick excuse for yoga and resumed the everyday tasks of feeding and wiping and dressing and Duplo-assembling and hugging and kissing and redirecting impending blowouts and I thought to myself, there are some times when the high road is appropriate. And sometimes, such a rare and unpredictable sometimes, tequila is what gets me high.

Shaking an uninhibited ass on a dance floor does the same thing as often as I can (which at this rate is about four times a year). And all this makes me a better parent. Swear it.

Just an hour of silliness and flirting reminds me of how I became a parent in the first place – there is a me that has opened, fully, that has flowered and then bloomed, ecstatically.

Eventually, I believe my daughter will look back upon me and see my faults, see the things I have fought to learn that the following generation is always so lucky to have handed to them. I hope, too, tho, that my daughter can look back at me and believe that I loved as wisely as I foolishly allowed myself to, that I laughed a lot and danced when spirit (or good bass) moved me, and that I had a good understanding of my medicines.