Self Portrait

Self Portrait Tuesday: Life Documentary Series #4 /  by Christina Rosalie

MORNING It is dark when I wake up. Rain pouring down, smudging the window with tiny rivers. It has been three weeks of rain.

I shower. The rooms in my small apartment are dim and blue and quiet, except for my baby's excited babble.

I dry my damp skin and wait for the collection of memories and present moments about my life to gather in my mind, making the daily mosaic whole of who I am. I dress.

The solid metal of my belt buckle. Jeans. These are the things I put on every day, that in some small way, make me who I am.

My son crawls up my legs. He needs dressing too. He asks for every fragment of my soul. All of my love, right now, this minute.

My hair is wet. Yesterday the hair dresser asked, "What products do you use?" I shrugged, "Nothing. Some days I'm lucky if I get it brushed." Her laughter tinkled through the salon, polite, young.

The heady earthy scent of coffee comes to me from the kitchen. Already on the floor, a myriad of blocks. I breathe in. I breathe out. I am here. Now.

Self Portrait Tuesday: almost a documentary /  by Christina Rosalie

I've spent a great deal of time behind the lense of my new camera this past week, documenting my favorite subjects. We survived the return trip from NJ without major incident, but yesterday was a wash. Exhaustion crept over us and we napped most of the afternoon, the three of us to the bed, limbs flung out, the lines between us blurring. Next week, a real documentary.

Self Portrait Tuesday: September Body Part Challenge /  by Christina Rosalie

My feet, bare, in flip flops all summer. Since I got pregnant last year, they've been unadorned---I couldn't reach my toes, for my belly. Now, I never have the time to fuss with nail lacquer and little brushes. My feet are strong and tan. My toes, nimble. I can pick things up with them, or draw, or write my name. I climb with them, run twenty miles a week. Walk to the grocery store, the farmer's market, the park, carrying my weight, plus the wriggling weight of this baby boy I have.

His feet, new and soft as cream, just now encountering the downward pull of gravity for the first time. He curls his toes when he nurses, thrusting his feet about in delight. He puts them up high on the handle bar of his stroller, like a lazy teenager with his feet on the dashboard of some too-cool car. And last night, at 3 a.m. he was awake in his crib for awhile, playing chortling to himself softly in the darkness. Then he made a mighty grunt, and pulled himself up into a STAND. Feet quivering, toes down first, and a grin so huge, we could see even in the dark.

Self Portrait Tuesday /  by Christina Rosalie

I am standing at the window by my desk. When I hung them, the curtains were too long, so I cut them. Because I didn't hem them, the bottom edges are frayed. Bean has just discoverd them and is enthusiastically tugging on them while trying to climb my leg. I hold the camera out and snap a picture. This is it. Then I scoop Bean up, and tickle his tummy until he lets out a delighted peel of laughter, then set him down beside my desk. I download the picture, and am surprised by it. Rebel? Maybe. More likely: sincere, serious, intense, determined, pensive, thoughtful.