. . . chromosomally typical, thumb-sucking, peekaboo-playing baby.
And it’s either a boy or a girl. We’re certain that it’s definitely one of those.
But we made it through the ultrasound three months ago (THREE MONTHS AGO!!??) without discovering which.
. . . → Read More: It’s a . . .
This is a hard post to write. Maybe the hardest I’ve ever attempted. Which, considering the not-easy topics I’ve written about before–blighted ovum, infertility, cancer, miscarriages, death of a parent–that this post would feel the hardest bears a touch of irony, I guess.
And I’ve attempted to write it no less . . . → Read More: Considering It: Between the Wilderness and a Promise
Shaaaaaeeeeeeeeeesh, October. She’s always a doozy around here.
October 2012 was no exception.
Mostly because, very unexpectedly, this:
(***WAIT. STOP RIGHT THERE. Before you get all woooo-hooooey, let me just caution you that this isn’t a post about a pregnancy, but a post (oh, sweet Heaven, yes another one) about a miscarriage. Okay, if . . . → Read More: Considering It: My Heart Will Choose to Say
In June, I put a photo of some cards from my father up in the header (this one, here). And then I never explained the photo. I had intended to. But it became one of a couple dozen unfinished thoughts of this summer.
* * * * *
Once . . . → Read More: Unfinished
I start writing; I quit writing.
I start; I quit.
Start; quit; start; quit.
Eh. That’s okay. I mean, it has to be, right? So of course it is.
I feel mostly like I’ve found my groove again . . . everywhere except for here. . . . → Read More: I Am Rung
“Think where man’s glory most begins and ends, And say my glory was I had such friends.” –William Butler Yeats
I am overwhelmed by your kindnesses.
Cards, texts, emails, calls, messages, comments, and an old-school, hand-written, two-page, beautifully-eloquent letter.
An abundance of food, including The Salsa (!!), and even strawberry-jalapeno cotton candy (!!!).
. . . → Read More: I Have Such Friends
After posting this morning, I realized that I’ve neglected to tell you the joke about the girl who lost her father while she’s in the middle of an estrogen-pill-popping protocol as part of readying herself for another embryo transfer. Which is just as well on account of: no punchline. On account of: . . . → Read More: We, Appropriately Inappropriate (Alligator)
I’m going to level with you: I don’t know what I’m doing.
I mean, I know what I’m doing–the motions I’m making, the checklist of details and minutiae I’ve outlined, the probate forms I’ve drafted, the gathering into order what was already in order but what feels better to reorder and . . . → Read More: Treading, Treading (Flailing, Thrashing), Treading
Some glad morning when this life is o’er, I’ll fly away; To a home on God’s celestial shore, I’ll fly away (I’ll fly away).
I lost my voice, Sisterhood. It started in March, a hoarseness, a rawness when trying to express some words, some thoughts, and I discovered that it was . . . → Read More: That Glad Morning
Saturday night we met up with a large group of friends for a food and game night. During one round of “The Newlywed Game” the following question was asked of the husbands: “What does your wife have too many of?”
Most of the husbands answered ‘shoes’ or ‘clothes’ but one gave . . . → Read More: Considering It: The Togetherness In Which We Are Held