At the dry cleaners the elderly shop owner smiled at Artie, who was crouched at the window peering at lucky cat figurine.Continue reading “Great Expectations”
When Artie was around 18 months, Tom and I felt like we’d gotten into a good rhythm. I’d written this post a few months before and was still enjoying this early phase of toddlerhood. Artie was happy at home, happy at his daycare, happy at our friends’ homes and various playgrounds where he proved to be surprisingly independent. He was always down to explore or up for a jump.Continue reading “This is Not the Age”
If I could press pause on Artie’s age, it would probably be right now.Continue reading “This is the age”
At the park, Tom and I took turns pushing Artie in the swing – his latest obsession – when a little girl wearing a periwinkle blue princess dress and floral sun hat came up to us.Continue reading “Little Angels”
A few weeks after the baby was born, my mother called and advised me to start keeping a diary for him.
“Just a line or so every day,” she said. “They change so quickly and you’ll want to remember the smaller moments from these days.”Continue reading “Portrait of the Baby at Nine Months”
On Monday this week, Tom turned thirty-eight. A year and three months have passed since I last wrote Tom’s Thursday Thoughts, though there wasn’t much writing, just the last few rather bittersweet photos I’d taken of Tom the day we left New York. Continue reading “Tom’s Thursday Thoughts on Turning 38”
Our neighbors have a fat toddler.
Continue reading “Sydney Coronavirus Days, 2”
I should be napping because the baby is (finally) napping, but these blog posts aren’t going to write themselves.
Since my the last post, some things have gotten easier. Cracked nipples have healed and I no longer stay up later to pump. Going out and about with the baby has become a normal occurrence and something I look forward to. Continue reading “Mr. Baby, Go to Sleep”
We have yet to regularly call him by his name. We went with Arthur, with James and Ho as middle names. He can go by Arthur, Artie, James, Jimmy, Artie Jimbo as a friend suggested, or as his maternal grandpa (whom he looks like) sometimes refers to himself, “Ho”. Whichever suits his fancy in the future. But right now, around these parts, he’s “the Baby.” He is who he is. But we’re still trying to figure him out.
We knew life with a newborn would be hard, but of course we didn’t really sit down and consider just how effing hard. I don’t think anyone can accurately imagine the actual pain of interminable sleep deprivation. All I can say is I understand how sleep torture can be effective. There have been dark days when all I wanted was for someone to come and punch my lights out. Continue reading “Mr. Baby”
Pregnancy is a test of willpower. It seems to be a series of tiny tests I conquered somewhat regularly in the second trimester but now, nearing the end and feeling fatigued most of the day most days, find myself failing one after another.
Should I get out of bed? Should I read something aside from internet trash? Should I eat something aside from cereal? Should I go to yoga? Should I get up in the middle of the night to go to the bathroom, turn to my other side, or get a drink of water? The discomfort is great but my lack of willpower is often greater. I wonder, when labor strikes, where I’ll summon up the energy to push the baby out. There is an alternative to pushing, I know, but I’m hoping all the lying around right now is actually self-preservation for the big day. One can hope. Continue reading “Pancakes”