Four years ago today, a tiny baby boy with an incongruously long name made me a mommy.
For lots of reasons, I figured we were just done. Chief among those reasons is the fact that I’m not enthusiastic about becoming a mom of a newborn, again, at the age of 38.
My husband and I consider having a third kid. It feels like a secret that I shouldn’t share. I can feel the judgements coming on. People close to me will take one look at the tilt-a-whirl state of our lives, and wonder why we would deliberately pile on more. Then again, most people won’t bat an eyelash, we’re
Dear Baby, Well. Here we are. Still living in the same body. I can’t say I thought I would be blogging this week – I figured that by now I would be kissing your toes and drinking in your smell (well, realistically, that you’d be expelling bodily fluids onto me and keeping up all night).
I don’t usually announce my maternity to the world within the first few weeks, but then, I don’t usually find out I’m pregnant unexpectedly. In the spirit of openness, here are my thoughts on how a third pregnancy can be much different from the first two: 1. “Do you know how it keeps happening?”
Have you ever noticed how much people delight in telling you, “Your life is REALLY over now!” once you become a parent? Scratch that – it actually starts in pregnancy. Any happy news, any milestone or new skill, people are just foaming at the mouth to let you know how much your life is about
To my Baby: My beautiful, tiny, pink, wrinkly, chicken-legged, newborn baby. You are one. It’s such a strange feeling. It seems like just yesterday when I became your mom, but the last 12 months feel like 12 years worth of events rolled into one. I have to say that I’ve got a little bit of
On the day my daughter was born, my bladder woke me just after 5:00 am. I was alone in bed; my lawnmower-caliber snoring had driven my husband away again. I was still over two weeks from my due date and not yet feeling any urgency about having my baby or feeling “done” with pregnancy. My urgency
I plagiarized a book when I was Kindergarten. I re-drew the illustrations, inserted my own version of the narrative, and assembled the pages for my teacher to review. I was proud. I didn’t have any concept that this was wrong – and at the age of 5, why would I have had any such
My own personal witching hour takes place each night during that long span between turning off the light and falling asleep. I’m not sure quite what it is about those last moments of the day – something about feeling utterly helpless just waiting around for sleep to come – but this is when the bad