Felicity

I never in a million years imagined I’d end up here.

Here is Dublin, the city I once thought I’d left behind.

Here is an extraordinary house overlooking the Irish sea in exclusive Dalkey.

Here, at this exact moment, is bent over the kitchen sink, pulling clumps of mashed sweet potatoes out of my hair while I use one foot to keep the baby swing moving lest Ella wakes up. At the same time, I’ve got an eye on Romeo. He’s in his high chair, a few feet away, as he continues to squeeze pieces of the soft sweet potato in his chubby little fists until the burnt-orange vegetable flesh squirts out between his fingers. Romeo squeals with delight at this bit of magic—much the same way he did when he smeared pieces of the potato in my hair moments ago as I was giving Ella an extra second of my attention.

Here is surprised by motherhood to two infants, one by birth and one by adoption, after years of living with the disappointment of “unexplained infertility.”

Here is being married to one of the world’s most famous rock guitarists, or as I once knew him, the boy who was my friends-with-benefits schoolmate.

Here is at my wits’ end caring for these two precious babies—six-month-old Romeo and three-month-old Ella—while my husband is at the studio all hours finishing up his band’s sixth album.

Here is at the crossroads of both loving and struggling with every minute of it.