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 […]
Sometimes all you can do is hang on. And that’s ok. Hanging on can be your one job for now. The world needs you, even when you don’t see it.
Some days, I find comfort in words. Choosing them, arranging them, seeing how they reflect what’s going on inside my brain. Often, I find myself writing something one day and reading it another day and asking myself who on earth wrote that? Because I’m not eloquent. I don’t choose words that carefully. It couldn’t be […]
Consider the following statement: ‘Penicillin has been scientifically proven to be better than Erythromycin in most cases. Approximately 3% of the population is unable to take Penicillin, although many people believe that they cannot. There are many risks associated with taking Erythromycin. People who choose Erythromycin over Penicillin need to be fully aware of the […]
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.
Around my ‘tween years, my dad became involved in the planning, building, and birth of a housing co-op. I spent summers here until I was 11, when my sister and I moved in with him full time. My dad was an aging hippy, and many of the other co-op board members were too. The co-op was filled with an eclectic mix of creative types: musicians, artists, photographers, crusaders. There was drama, and at times it was a bit too close-knit of a community, but for the most part, it was a pretty cool place to live.
The class was playing bingo. It was French, and he didn’t know the words, but it didn’t matter. He knew the alphabet, so when she wrote the words on the board, he could visually match them to the ones on the playing card.
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.
I haven’t talked about my miscarriage very often, or with very many people. There’s a perception that these things need to be kept hidden, that they are private. Maybe we join a pregnancy loss forum where we discuss it with other women going through the same thing, maybe we talk it over with our partners or therapists, but we don’t talk about it publicly.
We’ve been trying to get you to take a bottle. Sadly, I don’t qualify for Employment Insurance so since stopping work, my income has dropped to zero, which is putting a lot of strain on our family. So I need to work (note I did not say I want to work).