Sunday, November 11, 2012

My Life as a Flemish Painting

If I were a liar, I'd say that motherhood fit me like a glove.  That I felt perfectly fulfilled all the time.  That I never asked myself, what the H happened to my awesome life, my autonomy, my ability to take one of those deep, free breaths of the untethered?

I'm not a liar.  I wouldn't say the first.  I wouldn't say the second.  I sometimes ask the third, fourth, and fifth.

But then, other times, like tonight, when James and I walk Edie around in the stroller until she squirms and squishes, and then we each take ahold of a baby-hand and walk her down the lamp-lit street, and she looks at her shadow, toddling along with her jeggings and round belly, and I look at that shadow just as hard, maybe sometimes I would say the first, and I would say the second.  And I'd still wonder the third, fourth, and fifth, but the questions are quieter, farther away, almost a whisper.


  1. Is it creepy that I love love love reading your entries. That I think you could have your own late night show. That I think you should write a book and actually publish it, so that I could further and more intensely LOVE LOVE LOVE your writing?

    From a fan,

  2. hey dude, this is good, and it actually expresses pretty much how I feel too. thanks for putting it in words.

  3. I think more mother's feel this way than we can see simply because verbalizing it is amazingly difficult so no one tries. But THIS pretty much sums it up. So, thanks.

  4. Sums it up for me too. You're good at that. Wish we lived on the same street. We're going to see you in a few weeks, k? promise?

  5. actually, just realized, Thanksgiving is NEXT WEEK, whoa!

  6. baby jeggings can do so much.

    love it, high five.