It was something they preached in their webinars—surrender to the universe, trust the mysteries. When Angeni looked to Aurora for her approval, Aurora gave the slightest nod. The nod said she would accept the addition of Sitka, but she didn’t have to like it.
From day one, Sitka had offered to help with Freya during the nighttime hours. They fell into a natural rhythm together. Angeni took care not to mention the arrangement on social media. She continued posting photos of Freya resting on her chest in the early-morning hours, letting people think the baby had been there with her all night. She continued to mention her exhaustion—because even with help from Sitka and the others, shewasexhausted—and then reminded herself and her followers that this was all just a phase in this precious season of life.#blessed #grateful
She wasn’t ashamed that she had overnight help. She was living in accordance with how human beings were meant to live. New mothers were supposed to be surrounded by other adults who could offer care. It wasn’t her fault that so many people had distanced themselves from age-old traditions to pursue the modern version of success—a massive home in the suburbs, big enough for six people but housing only two, significant distance from family and friends. Whenever people were critical of her circumstances—must be nicethey wrote—she chalked it up to envy.
She did include Sitka in some social media posts, introducing her as a new member of the community. Angeni appreciated that Sitka was Black. Or half Black. Or some percentage of Black—Angeni knew it wasn’t appropriate to ask for a specific racial breakdown. In any case,Sitka’s presence was the perfect solution to the hordes of people who had begun criticizing Angeni for, as one person wrote,promoting an all-white cis community with zero interest in representation of BIPOC or queer people.
As if Angeni could control the demographics of her social media platforms. She happened to be a white woman with a white husband and a white baby. Sue her.
Angeni hoped that Sitka would want to stay on The Land long-term, but they hadn’t discussed this yet. Aurora, Matt, and Jer each lived in their own four-hundred-square-foot A-frame cabin made of logs from pine trees felled on The Land, while Angeni, Erik, and Freya lived in the main house. Their master bedroom was a family bedroom. They’d taken the king-size mattress off its frame and put it on the floor—it was safer for Freya that way. When Sitka arrived, they gave her the guest room down the hall. If she stayed, they could build her an A-frame cabin too. They weren’t paying her, after all. Instead, they were giving her a home, a community, a priceless sense of belonging.
“How was last night?” Erik asked Sitka.
Sitka stretched upward, exposing her perfectly taut midriff, and yawned dramatically. Angeni wished Sitka would try a little harder to conceal how fatigued she was. It made Angeni feel guilty, and guilt was one of the most toxic emotions for her nervous system. She had spent years becoming a person who did not feel guilt for having her own needs, for prioritizing her own rest and rejuvenation.
“She did not want to settle last night,” Sitka said.
Erik lifted a coffee mug to Sitka, an offering, and she nodded. He poured her a cup, set it in front of her as she sat at their giant island. The island was made of cedar from The Land, and Sitka liked to run her hands over it, tracing the grain lines with her fingertips.
“I’m wondering if it’s a growth spurt,” Angeni said. “It felt like you brought her to me to breastfeed a dozen times!”
Angeni had to remind all of them that she was still doing the work in this situation—creating milk in her body to feed this child. It took an enormous amount of energy, physically and mentally.
“I’m sure it’ll be better tonight,” Sitka said. “I bet she naps really well today too.”
“She already took her first one,” Angeni said.
Freya reached her chubby baby arms out toward Sitka, a big toothless grin on her face. She adored Sitka so much. Angeni had to continue to remind herself that this was a good thing.
“I can hold her,” Sitka said to Erik, and Erik put Freya in her lap. She was bouncy and giggly, and Sitka’s coffee kept almost spilling out of her cup as she got Freya settled.
“Careful with the coffee,” Angeni said. She couldn’t help herself.
The side door opened, and Aurora came in, wearing her paint-covered sweatshirt and jeans. She’d recently returned to her past love of painting, covering huge canvases in splotches, Jackson Pollock–style. She wanted Freya to participate, to dip her little hands in the paint and press them to the canvases, but Angeni was too concerned about the chemicals in the paint leaching into her daughter’s skin.
“Morning, all,” Aurora said, going straight to Freya and nuzzling her face. “Is she extra cute today or what?”
Angeni beamed. “She is, isn’t she?”
“Ilovedyour post this morning, Ang,” Aurora said.
“I haven’t seen it yet,” Erik said, taking his phone from his back pocket. He read aloud: “‘All that I am, or hope to be, I owe to becoming a mother.’”
“Aww,” Aurora said, hand to heart.
“Beautiful, honey,” Erik said.
“Isn’t that an Abraham Lincoln quote?” Sitka said, still bouncing Freya—and the coffee—in her lap.
Angeni’s response came out like a screech: “Abraham Lincoln?”
Sitka’s eyes remained fixed on Freya as she said, “Yeah.”
Erik tapped at his phone, then lifted his head and said, “She’s right. I mean, it’s sort of a paraphrase, but—”
“But Abraham Lincoln wasn’t amother,” Aurora said.
“Right. He said, ‘All that I am, or hope to be, I owe to my angel mother.’ Looks like his mother died when he was nine,” Erik said.
