Sunday one day after one month. These moments are hard to find and I should be doing more with them—laundry, dishes, find my clothes. One thing I know to be true: these things will still need to be done. They will not go away.

I bought a camera yesterday and have been wasting time with it since. Pictures of the baby girl. She’s eating her fingers like they’re just another meal.

She’s sleeping now. I got the black skirt I bought to wear to my father’s funeral out of the cellar and fixed the seam that had come undone at the slit. I am going to a wake this afternoon, for my father’s neighbor. At one month after birth I am about the same size as I was at almost two months pregnant. At least I hope I am, I haven’t tried the skirt on. I haven’t got anything else to wear so it must be true.

I should go now and get ready. Abigail is getting into more of a routine; I hope to be able to write more often.

Finding both my hands free for the first time in weeks, dinner done and waiting and Baby Girl on her daddy’s shoulder. Nurse nurse nurse- my daily routine. Little bits of doing things in between. Mostly laundry, mostly diapers, an occasional walk. She sleeps well most nights and I sleep

Wrote that last night, the time was short-lived. Right now the baby is sleeping and that worries me. If she is sleeping now will she sleep later? If she doesn’t sleep later when will I sleep? Strike that, little sounds of waking are coming from where she lies. Some like stretching, some like cooing, some about to be upset that I am not changing or feeding her.

Before I need to go I should say that I read your email and will write back soon, I hope. I look forward to seeing you, hopefully I will make it, but it is too early to promise. It all depends on the baby girl.

Quick note- while I was checking my email I took that quiz about fucked-up composers and was Joe Strummer. A girl (woman, I should say) I knit with is good friends with a woman who was married to Joe Strummer when he died. This knitter also has a mother-in-law who lives in London and is called London Joan. London Joan calls from London and says “This is London Joan.” London Joan sends European baby clothes. Gloucester Abby get them handed down and finds they suit her well.

One week old. I don't know what to say. Waking up to see that she is breathing, singing to her wrapped in my arms. New sleep patterns, new ways for everything. Watching her eyes lighten from steel grey to blue. Changing her and dressing her and taking good care. Friends stop by with love and fruit. Holding her close, as close as I can.