The things

Some things I can’t write about. Because how do you find the words to describe what it’s like to lie awake with a newborn, feeding, changing, patting, singing, cooing, vigilantly watching? To know that you are the most important thing in this creature’s existence, you are their all, their everything? How do you describe the […]

this is an epic puke post

A week ago a tore my calf muscle while walking into my house.

For the sake of drama and excitement and just plan lack-of-suck I wish I could tell you I tore my calf muscle while rock climbing or chasing down a purse snatcher or something, but no, I tore it walking from my car to my house.

a birth – day one

When Baby D was born, he was born crying and robust. His APGAR scores were high: 9 and then 10. His colour was good. He appeared healthy and strong. We placed him skin to skin on my chest, and as he calmed his breathing settled into small rhythmic moaning sounds. We thought they were adorable. He was adorable.

a birth – the beginning

Birth stories make me cry. They touch on something really tender within me – a deep joy, a longing, a sadness. They trigger memories of the feeling of completion that comes when as moms we welcome our newborn for the first time. They trigger memories of an unmatched joy. And sometimes, they trigger memories of pain, of trauma, of loss.