Beach Walk

Beach Walk

I’m reading a book about creativity in motherhood. The author’s diligence and tenacity towards her writing craft makes me think about all the times I could sit down and write but don’t. The book makes me want to take my writing more seriously, make it a priority again. I think about adding it back in, maybe just a little.

I make grand plans and set my alarm for 5:00 A.M. I’ll get up before the kids get up and write for an hour. When the alarm goes off, I snooze it for ten minutes. When it goes off again, I stumble downstairs, pour myself a cup of coffee, and stare at my computer screen. I write one sentence. Then I shut my computer and go back to bed until 6:15 when my kids get up.

Soooo that didn’t work. Soooo I’m not a morning person. Soooo I’m not going to try that again.

But I still feel like I’m supposed to be writing more, so I decide to try writing during nap times. In small margins of borrowed time. That sort of works. Sort of will have to do.

I need an outlet to distract me right now. I’m living in another in-between time: no longer pregnant after two miscarriages but hoping to be pregnant again. It’s a stage of grief and moving on and hope and I don’t know what. Maybe writing again will bring healing? Maybe writing again will just give me something else to think about? I’m simultaneously trying to raise two little boys, thoroughly caught up in the throes of young motherhood, desperately needing this outlet.

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Staying Present

Staying Present

“I don’t have to poop!!!!!!!!” 

I’m sitting on the bathroom floor next to where my two year old is screaming at the top of his lungs on the toilet. We’ve been at this for twenty minutes. 

“It’s time to poop, George. Put the poop in the potty.”

I know the kid has to go. He knows he has to go. He just won’t. We’ve been potty training for about two months and it’s been going well. George got the hang of it remarkably fast. Until we had a bit of a regression. Now he’s afraid to go number 2 and it’s a whole thing

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Snuggle Bunny

Snuggle Bunny

On our way home from the restaurant, Rob and I stop in at Target to pick up some prescriptions I need. After picking them up, I pull on Rob’s sleeve and nudge him over to the baby section. I run my fingers over the onesies, some socks, a little sweater.

Then I see it. It’s a little outfit, a soft green waffle-knit sweater paired with green and white striped pants. On the sweater it says, “Snuggle Bunny”.  It could work for a boy or a girl. I pick up the 0-3 month size.

I haven’t let myself dream yet. I haven’t let myself go there.

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I have a follow-up appointment with the midwife a few weeks after the D&C. The appointment is supposed to be with the surgeon, but he is stuck at the hospital for something. I wait in the room for about twenty minutes before a midwife sticks her head in.

“I’ll be in with you in just a second,” she says. “I’m gonna fill in.”

She comes in a few minutes later and runs through a checklist of questions. Am I still bleeding? Any pain? No and no. She clears me for intercourse. I’ve already filled out the postpartum depression screening (did you know you can get postpartum depression after a miscarriage?) and I assume she’s already looked it over. Sad? yes. Depressed? No.

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