Small Islands

Two weeks have passed since Naomi arrived.

Today I had my visit with Alex, our midwife.
We also had three visitors — friends visiting , bringing us food and warmth with them.

In the last few days I even managed four walks.
To the park.
To the beach.

For the first time since birth, I feel something returning.

Aliveness.

The bleeding is less.
The pain is softer.
Sometimes I even feel like a superhero — as if I’m fully back.

But I know that feeling is a little illusion.

My body reminds me gently that I’m still rebuilding. I have to be careful with where my energy goes. Even something as simple as screen time drains me quickly.

So I nap.
A lot.

Life right now is beautifully fragmented.

Naomi eats every three hours, and each feeding takes about an hour. By the time we finish, change, settle, breathe — it’s almost time again.

Time doesn’t flow anymore.
It arrives in small islands.

My favorite moment of the day is the bath.

Warm water.
Oil.
A slow self-massage.

I mix olive oil with a little Ayurvedic oil, warm the bottle in hot water, and just take my time. It feels deeply nurturing — like giving my body a thank-you after everything it has done.

These two weeks we had something precious.

Time just for us.

To find our rhythm.

Inside our apartment we are slowly building a new map of life:

Where the changing station lives.
Where we sleep.
How we sleep.
What we eat.
When we eat.
How we move through the day together.

Cooking.
Resting.
Learning.

It feels like learning how to live again.

And maybe that is what these first weeks really are —
not a return to life,

but the quiet creation of a completely new one.