I wake up each morning to a life I never imagined, even when I dared to dream for the perfect fairy tale – three daughters, each magnificent and dazzling in her own way, prancing, singing and questing at every turn. A loving husband who looks at me with a mixture of marvel and passion, his hands reaching for mine in the night, at the dinner table and on walks. A house brimming with the kind of electricity born from a life rich with love and memories. Between morning cuddles, impromptu vocal performances and declarations of love as strong as in our earliest days of courtship, I am blissfully adrift, unable to focus on any one thing, rather alighting on one delicious experience after another.…
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Unless of course the punctuality in question is related to the critter brewin’ inside a mama’s belly. Karen put out a call last night to all those ladies that endured more than 40 weeks of pregnancy. Seems that Sam at Temporarily Me is clocking in at 6 days past her “due date,” which, when you are overdue becomes, “The great lie told to you by callus and incompetent medical professionals.” The idea was to share some funny stories about futile attempts to smoke the baby out. I found that as I waited (twice) for labor to happen, while my due date shrank in the distance, that those around you who are not pregnant find no humor in nontraditional methods of helping baby along. “I…
Categories: Me
Life post-delivery with a toddler and one shower: A 3 and half year old on breasts: “Why ya got those big things? What are they?” Same child on a 3 week postpartum belly: Patting it, “It’s kinda like a pillow.” And commenting on what’s at eye level: “Why are you all fuzzy down there?” I’m telling you, it doesn’t get any more glamorous or morale boosting than this.
27 days of learning that time is unforgiving. Waste a minute and it’s gone. Fritter away an afternoon pissed off about this or that and all you’ve done is lost an afternoon. Last night I was watching the girls play as a slideshow of picture flowed on the monitor above their heads. Incredulity doesn’t begin to scrape the surface of how I feel about Briar turning four this year. Four. If four years can go by in the blink of an eye, then before I know it I’ll be watching our daughters at 4, 6 and 8. 12, 14 and 16. **** Gulp. **** While my mom was visiting she looked at Avery, so sure and independent, and said, “That one, she’s just on…
Categories: Random
As I type this there are exactly 14 frazzled, over-processed strands of I’m-going-to-fall-out-any-minute, postpartum hair, which is free of any of the $12 anti-frizz serum I bought and has been neither blow-dried nor brushed yet today, that I am futilely attempting to blow out of my eyes. I get a kick out of the use of “yet,” as if there is some hope that despite it already being 4:45 6:15 in the afternoon evening, that I might actually get to “doing ” my hair today. Briar is upstairs hollering at me, at first I thought it was the standard, “Mom! Mom, I pooped!” delivered in her trademark sing-sing screech, but I was wrong. Upon more careful listening I heard, “Mah-um! Mah-um, there is no…