"Getting older's not been on my plans"

  When I was pregnant with Owen, mom took me, just days before his birth, to get a pedicure. She and I always enjoyed getting our nails and feet done, and this was her treat to me. This time, with Claire, was no different. Mom took me on August 6th to get my "pre-birth" pedicure. I chose a bright pink because bright colours make your skin look more tan.   Mom always said her polish lasted a long time because she didn't wear many closed-toe shoes. Mine didn't. I wear steel-toed boots and closed-toe shoes everyday.    This time is different. I have just a sliver of polish left. The last vintage of the time she and I sat in the massage chairs next to each other talking about how things were going to change with a new baby.    We laughed at the thought of Owen and his new baby sister. We smiled at the thought of me groggily waking each morning getting nothing but a few moments of sleep. We basked in the moments of just being there with each other.   I told white boy I wan

  There's a song, by Superchick, I used to binge when Andy died. The first time my mom heard it she looked at me and said, "They wrote this about you."   "She never slows down.   She doesn't know why   But she knows that when she's all alone,   Feels like its all coming down   She won't turn around   The shadows are long and she fears if she cries.    that first tear,   The tears will not stop raining down" I'll admit it, I've barely cried for mom. Most certainly a lot less than I ever imagined, and I think perhaps I am just waiting for the fall out. But, to experience a fall out, one has to be pushed to their literal brink.    Welp, I've hit it. I hit the wall. I hit the wall so hard, I'm a glob of goo running down slowly. And that first tear isn't stopping.    I'm laying beside my 5 week old, listening to my husband snore, (begging him to stop) running on 2 hours of sleep in the last 48, with a sick toddler in the other room

  It is customary in a eulogy to begin with a name, a date of birth, death date, those who have gone before and those who are left behind. However, mom does not deserve customary. So this letter is for her… Mom,     I feel like I am back here too soon. Once again, I am giving words about someone that I loved most who left me too early. Monday afternoon, I sat in front of Father Desmond and he asked me this, “Give me one thing that describes your mom.” I will admit I drew a blank. How could I take your entire life and micro focus it into one thing? How could I take you and break you down into a simple idea of one thing? I can’t.     I mean… How can anyone describe the North Star without seeing it? The only star that never rises or sets. The only star that is in the same place every night. The star that is the easiest to find and the one by which we navigate.  How can anyone describe a compass without using one? The most accurat e means to guide us through the muck and the mire. The inst

  It's something really...that moment of clarity. For the past 36 hours, I have been waiting for that moment. The one that makes it all just--fall in line.    I thought it would be the moment I was wheeled into the OR for my scheduled c-section. It wasn't. I thought it would be the moment I got to see if my daughter actually had hair. It wasn't. I thought it would be the moment I got to smell her breath to engulf the smell of life as I did her brother. It wasn't.    I just couldn't find it. And yet, for the last 36 hours all the wonderful little things I got to experience as I held my new little baby were leading up to the one I was missing.    You see...since I found out I was pregnant, I have been carrying around this deep-rooted sense of disinterest. Did I really want another baby? Did I actually want this? I had the perfect son who really had all the love I could hold. How would I ever love someone else as much as I loved him?    I didn't think it possible.

   If I knew that having a baby would be like this, I just might not have done it. If I knew that I would be void of every shred of energy molecule, I would have asked white boy if we could find an alternate route. If I knew that I would function at the basest of levels, such like a paramecium, I would have said this is not for me.   Now, I say these things having had a wonderfully easy pregnancy with my son. It was a breeze. I had no issues. Had it not been for the fact that I felt the hiccups and the occasional gymnastics routine while my stomach protruded outward, I wouldn't have known I was pregnant. All that to say...I was expecting another easy peasy pregnancy. Ha! I'm a flipping idiot.    I don't complain to throw in the face of all those who can't get pregnant. Or, even complain about what some would consider miniscule in comparison to what others have gone through. I do it because it is happening to me and I can't fix it. I complain because damnit...it suck

   I often wonder why, after almost 11 years, I post inevitably 2 times a year...without fail. Will I ever not? His birthday and his death day. And perhaps because those 2 days are and will always be very important to me. The day God gave him breath and when He took it away.   However, this year is slightly different. This year when we raise our glasses to toast his birthday we will toast the coming of his new niece or nephew.    *sigh* Here we are...the beginning of our second trimester of our second child, and I am still doing all I can to drum up my excitement and glorious anticipation. I've spent the last 8 weeks dreading the concept of 2 under 2, the bringing back of the bottles, the months of sleepless nights, and all the awful things that come with a newborn. And I am overwhelmed.    But, I also have spent the last 2 months looking at my son and knowing that as madly in love as I am with this kid, I will grow to be just as madly in love with the next. A strange and foreign c