rommie has not received any gifts yet
Most of you know that I've lost a few pregnancies, some that I've posted about here and some that I haven't. I should be over it by now, and I know it. Instead, I still find myself freaking out for no reason. I'll be reading through a craft book, see something with a child's drawing on it, and have a panic attack. I mean, trouble breathing, shaking, the works. My mind keeps running in circles and telling me that I'll never have a child--everyone else has children, why can't I, when I'd…Continue
My mom and I are complete opposites in many ways, which tends to cause conflict. She likes to remain ignorant of any potential unhappiness until it's already engulfed her. I, on the other hand, prefer to know as far in advance as possible so that I can get all my worrying done ahead of time. That way, when the bad times come, I'll have gotten the panicking out of the way and have gathered enough information to confront the issues head-on.
This, however, is not about my…Continue
Lots of crying today. Happy crying, grumpy crying, spilled-milk crying...just crying. I've been kind of hyper-emotional lately.
The crying over spilled milk (okay, iced tea, but still) is kind of self-explanatory.
The grumpy crying is over wanting to call various dear friends and have them squeal over the phone and be happy for me. At least I got to call my midwife, who did indeed squeal and dance around her living room.
So yeah, you know…Continue
I am not the appropriate person to unload to about how much my father sucks. I lived with, and largely in fear of, the man for 18 years. Unlike you, I did not choose to be in that situation. Go complain to your friends. Go get divorced. I don't care. Just because I am by far the most mature person in our family (scary, that) does not mean I can be your biweekly emotional support.
While we're on this topic, I really didn't need to know that he…Continue
My baby is an autumn baby.
His hair is the color of straw, shining and sweet-smelling. His eyes are the color of the sky under which he was born--not the pale, hopeful blue of spring or the rich, lazy blue of summer, but a deep cobalt, shot through with pewter, pale storm clouds of grey gathering around the pupils. When he smiles, which is often, the skin around those eyes and the button nose below them crinkle. He has his mama's grin.
My baby is not ahead, or…Continue