Essay from the bathroom.

Connection to home is my form of balance. When I'm off scrubbing the bathroom it will slowly rock me back into rhythm. My friend calls doing such things 'making home.' Gorgeous, yes?

I have the moment where I still can't believe we have lived here almost 8 years and still have the baby blue sink, one of the first things I dreamt of changing. I scrub it with a magic eraser every few months to wash off the scum from five bodies sharing one tiny bathroom. And it glows. When I was a child I loved cleaning the bathroom sinks. I used that powered comet and I loved seeing it go from scummy to clean under my hands.

My mind comes to life. Ideas flow, lists that only a right-brained, highly sensitive would understand start to form; which means a list that will be forgotten too. I write in my mind as I scrub. On my hands and knees, grateful for having paper towels (rare in this house) so I don't have to use a hundred little cleaning towels. I'm sure I'll remember the words later. I'm always sure. It is sometimes as though I haven't been introduced to parts of myself.

No, I won't really remember I later remember.

I remember being pregnant on these same hands and knees which now feel almost like a different body, scrubbing this space for the first time. I am a mama of three kids now. This house is full. We use so much toilet paper now. I have two boys; did I ever think I would have two boys?

Stepping into the shower to use my own power to wipe the walls and clear the stains, more memories; the shower I would stand in after Eli was born and relive his birth, every time, every shower. My voice screaming. Then remembering he is safe. Still the child I worry about the most, the one my body can almost feel every time he is hurt, connected somehow deep in our senses.

The bathroom felt bigger 8 years ago. My life was tinier. There are seven toothbrushes I count as I wipe off the shelves. Toothpaste and fingerprints on the walls.

I imagine stretching it out, first the bathroom and then my visions of my life. My dreams. How can I expand this bathroom? How can I expand my path.

The match strikes and I light the candle. Every sparkling bathroom must end with the flicker of a candle smelling of frankincense or sandalwood or jasmine.

The sink is still blue.

We are still here.

Somehow I am bigger now.