May 20, 1990; around 7:00 am

My bedroom door opened slowly and Mom hovered a moment before stepping through. I was lying face down in the rumple of childish covers where I had, five weeks ago, given away my awkward virginity. As the bed shifted under Mom's weight, I turned my face away from her.

I'd pulled my hand away from the shrill of my clear telephone moments earlier and knew the call and my mother's morning visit were connected. I didn't want to know how. I already knew what ringing phones meant so early in the morning.

So, it not-really-shocking confession time: every single post here...sucks. You don't have to tell me. I already know it.

This is not at all me rolling around, tearing out my hair and asking for compliments. If I wanted compliments, I'd say "Hey guys, tell me I don't suck. I really need to hear it right now." I have exactly no shame. There is nothing wrong with asking for validation.

This was an...interesting week. Seattle's doing her typical crazy person's weather thing; all over the map and making everyone appreciate layering - clothing, not hair. Nobody knows if we're too hot or too cold until that sweet spot in the late afternoon when everything is just right. Exceport, none of us can breathe because nature has shot her load of jizz...I mean pollen so now we're all high on allergy meds.

Originally posted to Livejournal September 19, 2009 - six days before my son was stillborn

21 weeks and man, are they going fast. Pregnancy always seems like such a long period of time in theory, but all of a sudden we're over the halfway point and CRAP where the hell are we going to put this thing when it gets here?! Our house is plenty big enough, but the space isn't at all laid out for an amorous couple, a ten year old spastic case and a squawking infant. Add to that the awesome timing of trying to toilet train the baby when Jonas hits his teen years, and the remodeling of our decommissioned basement bathroom gets moved a bit higher up the list of house projects, suddenly ranking higher than the kegerator.

The sacrifices that parents make for our children... we really should get a bigger tax credit for it.

Originally posted to Livejournal October 5, 2009.

The reality of what has happened penetrates inch by onerous inch.  I've found myself trying to get out of bed in the middle of the night by rolling over and pushing myself up to maneuver a belly that just doesn't exist anymore.  At the store the other day, I almost picked up a baby food cookbook.   When I realized the implications, I cursed and Ian had to steer me out of the cookbook aisle.  I worried the pages of the diabetic cookbook that I'd picked up so I could learn how to better cook for Mom and focused on two of my four daily tasks: breathing and walking.

My sister tells a story about a time when she went to our dad, concerned that Mom was mad at her.

"She hasn't talked to me all day," my sister said.
"That's nothing," Dad replied. "She hasn't talked to me all week."

And so it went.

She slid the flower behind her ear, its curling stem trailing down behind her earlobe. It tickled a little, but she didn't let him see her fidget.

She tucked her dress between her knees and squatted in front of him. "And how was school?" she asked as he pulled off his boots at the front door.
"They had crackers for snack again," he grumped.

Originally posted to Livejournal October 6, 2009

Today was our postpartum visit to make sure that everything is healing as it should after the birth. The girl at the front desk was checking me in, and upon seeing my appointment in the calendar, looked up with a wide grin and said "You just had a baby?!" I murmured that he was born at 21 weeks. She asked how he was doing and I responded blankly "He passed." Her face slackened and she whispered her apologies.

Every day, a line of children walk past my house on their way back to school. Last year, I heard a little girl cry "This is a witch's house!" She actually sounded afraid.

I laughed in agreement.

The yard has always been a bit of a burden; overgrown and unruly, our first years here we were explorers in our private jungle. Slash and hack and why in the world would they plant this thing so close to the house? Cut everything down, though I promise we don't hate nature.