I have timidly typed comments on other blogs about the horrors of little ones upchucking in the middle of the night. You see, truth is, it’s not something Sean and I have had to deal with, that is until the night before last. Briar threw up on me once when she was less than a year old, but it was in broad daylight and was over as quickly as it began. Avery has never thrown up. So, when I’ve read about other parents being woken by ominous splashes and mournful wails, I’ve not wanted to jinx things. And don’t worry, I am not going to regale you with the specifics of what came up. I just have to share a bit of the story…
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I have been complimented for being a dreamer, been confided to that my ability to believe and have hope are enviable. I pride myself on approaching the way I parent my girls and treat my marriage as passionately as I would the pursuit of a dream, because that’s what they both are to me. Politically I have cooled, I used to be much more vocal and ardent, whether it was about freedom of choice or funding of the arts and things like Headstart. These days I beat my chest only when talking about organic foods and flexible schedules. I am more inclined to be less bold with my opinions, partly because I am a liberal living in a conservative region, a registered democrat in…
Categories: Me
Somewhere along the way between bemoaning the overrunning cups of my bra and the shrinking in the dryer (shut up, it does too happen) underwear, I think I might have forgotten something, eventually it does end. Brring, brring. S: Hello? Caller: Hey, you guys free on the 26th? S: Of March? Caller: No, April. S: Sure, why? Caller: Carter’s birthday party. Great, a party. A wonderful-didn’t-have-to-watch-mournfully-out-the-window-to-be-invited party. The 26th? My due date. It’s March. Technically we are entering the third week of March, or at least the third line on the calendar. My beautiful calendar at work still reads February. My brain and the speed at which I am preparing for this baby, still register as February. Last night a gathering of people, some…
Categories: Me
Unveiling my belly is always vastly more slapstick than soft lens.
Today, I slipped on the supermom suit. For one moment I felt like the kind of mom who sends thank you notes, bakes cookies and delivers them in seasonally appropriate bags and vessels to all the neighbors. For one afternoon I watched my girls through blurry eyes as tears of relief, satisfaction and delight streamed from the corners of my eyes.* *And, the icing on the cake which I didn’t realize until now, those shoes are impeccably lined up as opposed to the haphazard dogpile they usually resemble.