Saturday, April 30, 2011


What a different feeling it was walking out of that hospital today compared to 17 months ago.

On my way out, I stopped and saw you one more time in the nursery. You looked as normal as any other baby, sprawled out, all blond and sweet.

You certainly don't replace who was lost...

but you may fill a space in some hearts that were aching.

I noticed, walking to my car, that it was parked in almost the same exact place as last time. But this time, there wasn't the whiff of autumn leaves and sorrow.

This time, the scent in the air was life...and


I cried the whole way home.

all I do all day is clean

Yes, all I do all day is clean.

And it doesn't seem to make a difference.

It is annoying.

And then people say, "You should train your kids to clean up after themselves more!" which I know will pay off, but it's double the work now.

And if we are to have 4 kids, I'm really going to have to have some well-trained kids.

What are your secrets to cleanliness nirvana?

Also, I think we would probably make his first name his middle name, and give him a new first name. Who knows. Very interesting to hear all of the perspectives!

Thursday, April 28, 2011

Jess' Post

Jess' Post. She is a guest blogger and she doesn't even know it!

The following could be applied to anything mothers love to compare themselves with each other about...birth choice, nursing, etc., etc...

ow that I've had three babies I feel slightly more qualified to talk about the mother's "birth experience" and what it all means in the grand scheme of parenting. I can say with honesty that it doesn't mean a damn thing. Whatever my birth experience it is certainly not carrying me through the nights up with a feverish baby, or cleaning up poop or helping me keep my cool when my son launches a metal toy train at the TV. It doesn't help me keep the house clean, read to my kids, feed them healthy food, or pay for anything. And the kids don't remember a thing about it so they really don't care. They'd much rather I sacrifice myself in a myriad of other ways. 

Currently, natural childbirth is considered the benchmark of the perfect entrance into motherhood, the sacrifice of the mother experiencing pain and risk to herself and whatever else is supposed to be involved in the process to be what is best for the baby. So many women get caught up in the idea of the perfect birth that they seem to forget that the perfect birth is one that has a healthy mom and baby at the end of it, no matter what route is taken to achieve that goal. Flickering candlelight and a plastic wading pool in your living room while Jack Johnson croons in the background is not required. Being at the hospital isn't "giving in". Accepting pain medication or augments that help labor like pitocin are not succumbing to "the man". Not all OBs and Certified Nurse Midwives who choose to deliver in the hospital are acting out of self-interest when they offer options to women in labor. C-sections are not the horrendously dangerous procedure they are made out to be in the natural birthing world. Sometimes they are necessary for a safe and healthy birth. 

My sister in law just had her baby via C-section due to her son's breech position. I am pretty sure she was hoping for a vaginal delivery because of the easier recovery and other benefits to mom and baby but she explained to me that the hospital she delivered in was still able to meet her needs for immediate contact with her baby, nursing soon after the birth and having him room in for his bath and other early life procedures that occur on new infants shortly after they are born. I was thinking of her experience and her decision to have a c-section even though it was not her ideal birthing scenario when I read about a local VA direct entry midwife named Karen Carr who chose to go ahead with a homebirth for a woman carrying a breech baby. The baby did not survive delivery and the mother had been advised by her original midwifery group that she needed a hospital birth for a safe delivery and yet she found Karen Carr in the final weeks of her pregnancy so she could go ahead with her preferred homebirth experience. 

I think what is so tragic about this is that the mother in question probably thought all was going to be well and a lot of time breech vaginal deliveries are possible. But there are good reasons why most doctors and midwives do not attempt breech vaginal deliveries and almost no one assists at a breech homebirth. I'm sure this mother would go back and change every decision she made so her baby would still be alive. I empathize with her. I am just sad that things have gotten to a point in which women place so much value and emphasis on how the baby makes its arrival rather than just that the baby arrives safely. 

The first act in a very long line of selfless acts a mother makes is to make good choices during her pregnancy. Most women choose to avoid poor foods, smoking, alcohol and a slew of other things that are not safe for the baby they are carrying. So why is there such a loud cry for birth choice? Why are women up in arms that this midwife is being held accountable for the death of this baby? Birth isn't just about the mother it is about the baby too. 

I am pro-life. I do not believe women should have the choice to damage their baby because it is inside their body. Birth choice when it only benefits the mother's ideal falls into this camp for me. I'm glad so many women get to experience their ideal birth but it doesn't always work out that way for all women and their birth experiences are no less meaningful or valuable even if they occur heavily assisted in a hospital surrounded by beeps, equipment and drugs. I'm tired of the natural birthing movement drowning out the value of the miracle of birth no matter the circumstances of the baby's arrival.

birth choice

This "natural birth" thing has been something that's been getting me increasingly nervous and agitated.

It almost seems like women love to compete with each other, seeing who can have the "most natural" or "breastfeed the longest" or, you name it. Anything to do with motherhood, early infancy, but doesn't really have much to do with the great long span of parenting.

My friend Jess summed it up best, and I could just kiss her for it.

Tuesday, April 26, 2011

don't be embarrassed, honey. just vomit.

I know, I need to change the song. Sorry. One of my James Taylor faves but it is oddly depressing. It's a song sung to his son.

Speaking of sons, mine is lying in Scott's recliner (yes, Scott is Archie Bunker), listless and non-functioning. It's sad to see your kid like that when they're usually bouncing around the house. We were supposed to have a play date today here, but after he threw up in his mouth at the health department AND THEN SWALLOWED IT, I decided maybe we should give him a few days to feel better.

I'm feeling it, too. THANK YOU, play date friend, for taking Lu instead for a few hours. She sure talks alot, doesn't she????

Anyway. Never swallowed my own vomit.

On Easter Sunday, however, I was sitting in the mini van with Asher at the in law's house, because he was being annoying on the way over to their house and had to sit there for 5 minutes before he could go inside and discover his Easter surprises.

Suddenly, I felt the urge to vomit.

I did, everywhere. I caught most of it in my mouth and spit it out in the driveway.

Now this is a neighborhood where you're arrested for a year if you leave your trash cans out for 4 hours over the trash-man pick up time, so I was slightly concerned the neighbors were watching...ready to report.

I told Scott about it afterward and he was scouring around the driveway as we were leaving, trying to catch a glimpse.

He is truly SICK!

I explained to him in hushed tones as we were saying goodbye to my in laws that it probably evaporated into a driveway crack, as it was mostly saliva and liquid, and he just shook his head, laughing uncontrollably.

"You're a trip, you know that?"

You don't say.

I have trouble keeping the house clean, I hate cooking, I can never buy pants high enough to hide my tall butt crack, but at least I make him laugh.

In other news, we have been obsessively googling potential problems that may be dealt with in later years with a certain little baby in our house. Mainly, just freaking ourselves out.

I'm usually the one to go on Googling binges, not my strong, stalwart computer nerd of a husband. Last night when he came home we talked about our respective Googling fores, vowing never again to touch the computer keyboard to spell out g-o-o-g-l-e-.-c-o-m again, and enter into the little search box the words we were Googling.

I was cleaning off the stove and generally feeling sick to my stomach. He was sitting on the couch. I turned to him and said, "I just need a good cry."

And I cried my everloving eyes out.

for him, for them, for us, for all of it.

On Easter our pastor talked about the consequences of sin.

I don't know that you see it in any more real a way than when you are a foster parent.

And yet, I know we are to have him here, right now, for a purpose.

And when we start to think about what the future may hold and then we get a little queasy and need to vomit in a trash can,

I remember...

and I wonder...

what if someone had told me, before my first pregnancy,

"Um, yeah, you're going to be pregnant with twins but one's going to turn into what we practioners like to call "paper fetus", meaning the bigger one just turns it into a little calcified blob before delivery. The living baby is going to come out with 1/4 of her large intestine, no functioning but*t hole (if I have ever seen a neonatologist do the happy dance, it was upon discovering all of our kid's anomolies), a col*ostomy bag for the first 4 years of life, a slew of surgeries to correct it, including much time off work for your husband and countless trips back and forth to Ohio to see specialists. What else am I missing...daily ene*mas, catheters, and close doctor supervision for the rest of her still up for it?"

And I would have looked at Scott, and he would look at me, and we would have said, "let's adopt."

Life is not without pain, my friends. You can't avoid it.

And look at what we would have missed out on:
Senior picture pose #1
Senior picture pose #2

Sunday, April 24, 2011

saves me

**originally posted March 22, 2008**

It's always a crapshoot, cleaning out old files.

Marriage license, old receipts, recipes that sucked. Hospital bills, medical records. And then I see it, and reading it for the 300th time still turns my bone to concrete.

"Examination of 'Products of Conception, Baby B" - autolyzed fetus, extremely macerated, as a result gender is undefinable. There are what appear to be several loops of colon protruding from the abdominal cavity, as well as many other abdominal organs....fetus appears to be incompatible with life."

Death does seem to be incompatible with life, doesn't it?

A mother nurses her child, another mother weeps for her lost one - her first Easter without.

lovers swoon, cancer cells multiply.

A rose blooms, a man in a bed takes his last breath as the sun makes its descent down whitewashed walls into night.

dogs bark, a homeless boy shrinks deeper into makeshift existence as cold prevails.

This life, I can never make sense of it. And maybe that's the point. Because if I could make sense of it, I'd have no need for it, the thing that saves me:


Tuesday, April 19, 2011

being still

Today everything is annoying me.

I decided I need to take time and be quiet, like Emily is doing. I have been LOVING reading Eat, Pray, Love...she talks SO much about quieting her static mind and NOT allowing negative thoughts to enter her mind. She talks about guarding her mind like she is guarding a harbor from attacking ships.

It's a constant thing.

There are so many things I say "yes" to, and I need to curb it. I want more time reading books, playing games, teaching my children things they will need in years to come.

I don't want to *wish* when those years are here that I would have done more with my kiddos *now*.

I also need more time hanging out, in person, with those people who "fill my tank", so to speak.

Yesterday afternoon was one such time with one of my best friends. My house was a disaster area and she could have cared less.

I don't want to *wish* when those years are here that I had taught them the things they needed to learn now.

That said, taking a week-long break from the blog and Facebook.

Can I do it? Place your bets. Let's face it, kids. Any time you are sitting down to email/Facebook, whatever, it's time taken away from the beauty of the present moment.

Let's put it this way: If I want to post a cute picture or an observation I will, but I won't feel PRESSURE to do it.


BM is now laughing out loud. It just may be the cutest thing ever.

Asher keeps wondering when he (Asher, not Baby Man) has to go to a foster home.

Lucy doesn't think she can get a drink of water by herself.

We have a secret shop tonight where we will eat copious amounts of food, and not have to pay for it. Lucy sometimes likes to talk really loudly about the fact that we are on a secret shop, right before the server comes.


Lots to teach them.

Sunday, April 17, 2011


I am reading Eat, Pray, Love. I really like it. That woman thinks alot like me. I would love to get to the place where I am less cerebral and more heart-intuitive. I'd like to spend less time wrestling with my thoughts and more time living in the moment.

This pregnancy is defnitely my toughest so far, physically. I always feel on the verge of vomiting and the throat burps are disgusting. No one believes me when I tell them I am 6 months pregnant, and they ask me if I have small babies. I don't! I just have a long torso, I guess.

Scott and I are still watching Ghost Adventures:

Baby Man has another visit tomorrow. I wonder if his parents will show. 

I looked totally white trash this evening, standing on the front lawn, pregnant, with a baby on my hip. My hair was all akimbo from my nap and I had mascara smudges underneath my eyes. 

Some lady at Target was whispering to her daughter, "How could she already be pregnant again?"
I feel like I need a sign that says, "Foster mom."

Scott calls the kids' hands "meat hooks". He just told Baby Man to hold his bottle with his "meat hooks".

BM is threatening to hotline us.

Thursday, April 14, 2011

new best friend

Never in my 5 previous pregnancies have I craved beer. Heck, I usually don't even LIKE beer, unless it's Miller Chill. I crave heavy, hoppy beer. What does that say about this child? Scott opens one and I drool from across the room.

Anyway. Introducing:
    Pipsylou's new best friend

Wednesday, April 13, 2011

Jelly Bean Gorge

I am currently gorging on Starburst Red Fruits Jelly Beans.

I got some information about Baby Man's bio-rents that annoyed me.

Basically, erratic and dumb behavior.

People, are you going to work at this or aren't you?

I feel like every time I get new information it sends my mind reeling again.

How do I separate myself from the emotion of the situation?

Why does their behavior annoy me so much?

How do you separate taking care of your foster child with dealing with bio-rents?

Please tell me before I order bulk on Amazon.


I LOOOOOOOOOOVED your suggestions. When I am feeling that way, it's best to get BUSY. Then I forget about feeling sorry for myself.

Last night at dinner, Lucy said to me, "Wow, mom, your arms are getting really fat!"

I looked across the table at Scott and said, "I think I might cry."

He said, "Seriously? She's six. She doesn't have an internal monologue yet."

"I know, but the fact that she doesn't and kids say whatever comes into their head means that it's TRUE!"

"It is true, because you are pregnant. You are supposed to be gaining weight for the baby. I think you look great."

And I cried.

And then he asked if I needed a hug, and I said yes.

Can I handle 15 - 17 more weeks of this random emotion?

It sounds like F-O-R-E-V-E-R, and that makes me cry harder.

Tuesday, April 12, 2011



Any stress-relief tips for a girl who can't seem to get ANYTHING done when EVERYTHING is begging to be done?

Monday, April 11, 2011

Fear vs. Hope

When I am not busy, Fear creeps in.

It's the busy moments of the day that I am safe.

Fear comes when I'm lying in bed at night, wondering if I've felt Baby Girl move all day. Then the guilt kicks in, and the thought, "If I had only paid more attention, she wouldn't have died."

I automatically assume she's dead.

And then she kicks.

Some may come to this blog and see that ticker above and my belly pictures and think, "Oh, another annoying pregnancy blogger telling everyone she can about her pregnancy."


The principalities have a daily battle in my head. Satan has a heyday with my worries, and God gently beckons me to "let go".

Ah, that freedom that comes with utter acceptance.

Fear tells me to take that ticker down, to quit posting pregnancy pictures like this pregnancy is going to go anywhere.

Fear tells me to lie down at night and give in to all of the horrible scenarios running through my head.

Fear tells me to give up.

Hope reminds me of a baby girl born 6 years ago, now jumping up and down in her brightly colored dress with ruffled sleeves as she sees me pull up the minivan to pick her up at school. The girl they said would never make it past birth.

Hope reminds me of a healthy, screaming baby boy born 4 years ago after the most freaked-out pregnancy ever.

Fear reminds me of all those babies lost, of that time "wasted", of all the time spent worrying, miscarriage after miscarriage, if I would even get pregnant again and if the baby would die again.

Hope reminds me of all we have gained through the loss, of the intangibles that will forever mark the halls of our memories of these years:

the tears cried by one and soaked up by the other,

the renewed appreciation for our living children,

the simple joy in being alive,

the joy of having this little Baby Man we would never have had were it not for our losses.

Hope reminds me that Fear hates it when I turn my face to the sun, leaving in my head-turning wake the shadows, writhing and wiggling to find the darkness again before the light eats them alive.

Fear tells me to not get too attached; it will hurt too much if she goes.

Hope tells me to revel in every minute, that none of us are guaranteed tomorrow and I will always wish I HAD revelled in every minute, no matter what.

Fear tells me that her safety is all up to me, that I've failed before, that if the worst happened I would never recover.

Hope tells me that God can handle this alone, that her story is already written, that I can relax, and breathe, and handle with grace whatever comes our way.

Hope offers her hand.

I place mine in hers, knowing full well that this is the right decision.

Sunday, April 10, 2011


25 weeks


Friday, April 8, 2011

7 sentence status update.

I officially feel miserable.

This thing is all up in my sinuses.

I feel like I got hit by a mack truck.

Baby Man apparently feels the same.

Scott, Lucy and now Asher are the pictures of health.

This kid is kicking my bladder ALL THE TIME.

I have heartburn like you wouldn't believe.

Thursday, April 7, 2011

how it is

As a foster parent, it's very important to limit what you share about your foster child's case, and with whom.

This is the reason I'm maddeningly vague. I promise, it's not to annoy you.

The rollercoaster is unbelievable. And still, he is here with us, day after day after day. Even when he's in pain from the RSV fever, he's smiling away at us.

This morning I was feeling really anxious. It's passed, and there's spinach lasagna in the oven and the kids are bathed and in their pajamas.

They are going to bed at 7 pm. ;)

I am feeling quite accomplished.

Who can give me some great time period movies or series I could find on Netflix?

Tuesday, April 5, 2011


This morning started all right, got up and dressed, Lu was late for school running out the door with Scott, Asher put shorts on, which weren't quite right for the weather, and Baby Man had a doctor's appointment.

I was sent two birth announcements today and they had the weirdest effect on me. Instead of making me happy and joyful, they sent me into a sobbing fest that involved about 16 baby wipes, snot on the sneering wheel, Asher saying, "Are you OK, mama?" and Baby Man snoozing away in his car seat.

I was texting a friend and she said that last week she went to a baby shower where everyone was sharing funny birth stories.

"Well, I wanted to share," she said, "But when mine involve scalpels and an urn, that's sort of a buzz kill."

I started laughing, and then, there in my driveway, I sobbed my ever-loving guts out. I cried until I didn't think that it was possible that there were any more tears to cry.

Then I cried some more.

The fact is, this baby, or Baby Man, or any other baby, don't "heal" me of what was lost. They don't "make up for" who is missing in our lives. They don't negate the toilet paper rolls bought and used on my runny nose and leaky eyes, loss, after loss, after loss.

And they certainly shouldn't be expected to.

I think I've *wanted* to be in this place of expectant waiting for so long where things are looking good, that it has blindsided me a bit to be feeling negative emotions amongst the positive. Anger at people who expect me to be "healed" and act like a "normal pregnant woman". What is that, anyway?

 I don't know what to do with it.

How do I act? What do I say to people when they ask when I'm due? How do I relate about birth stories and  centimeters dilated and no medical interventions needed, whatsoever?

If I opened my soul up to you, there would be sunshine in one corner and tears in the other. Those  I love now and those I've had to leave behind. There would be band aids on the walls, pretty, shiny ones with lots of color, meant to distract you from the fact that underneath, those walls still shake with memories of earthquakes past.

And trust me when I tell you this:

aftershocks have no respect for time lapsed.

Monday, April 4, 2011

doesn't add up

OK. I am going to the pediatrician to talk about reflux. Getting teething tablets too, just to be on the safe side. You ladies are a font of knowledge. YES!!!!!!!!!!

Also, it is quite funny to watch people mentally try to figure it out: I am visibly 5 months pregnant and toting around a 3 month old.

There was this older couple gawking at Costco today and I wanted to say, "Doesn't add up, does it?"

Someday it will probably pass the mental filter and I will say it, and then it will become an amusing post.

doc vs. chiro

doctor: "Well, just because he's spitting up doesn't mean there's a problem. As long as he's not spitting up more than 1/2 of his bottle every feeding, and as long as it doesn't seem to hurt him, he'll be OK and we don't need to do anything about it."

me: "How would you like to vomit half of your double-decker with cheese and strawberry milkshake every time you eat it?"

doctor: "Have a nice day."

chiropractor: "Yes, that's probably very uncomfortable for him. It seems to be a problem with the cervical spine. I won't treat you like you're a moron when you ask questions, trying to advocate for your child and get him more comfortable."

Hmmm...doesn't take a brain surgeon to figure out which one I would bring Christmas cookies to.

Sunday, April 3, 2011

what's up

Thank you to my lovely husband for giving me THREE hours of naptime yesterday afternoon. I heard him changing diapers, cleaning up spit up, settling disputes, starting medical procedures, and answering the door and phone...all so I could rest. THANK YOU SCOTTIE!

I was talking to a friend at our monthly girls' night on Friday night and she said she isn't very good at extending herself grace, though she extends it to everyone else. I am guilty of that. My days are full of lots of "shoulds". I "should" be playing more with the children. I "should" be making better meals. I "should" be working harder on Baby Man's baby book. I "should" call my friends back more quickly. I "should" keep the house sparkling clean. I "should" exercise. "should", "should", "should".

Tomorrow is another visit. I was wondering why I feel anxious on Sundays, but I know it's because there is a visit looming around the corner on Mondays. It's such a strange mix of emotions that I don't quite know what to do with.

Tuesday is another court date. I am not going to this one. It is too stressful for me and at this point, the judge is focusing on the bio parents, not on us. I will hear from his social worker how it went.

I will be 24 weeks on Tuesday, which is a little crazy to me. Do you know how it is, when you feel like you haven't been pregnant for long, and yet it seems like forever? She is VERY active. I have a name I love and Scott likes too, so chances are she will be that name. We're still reserving the right to change our minds.

I've been more anxious than usual and the 40mg of Zoloft isn't cutting it. I talked to our home social worker who said she had the same problem during pregnancy and went on Celexa. She sent me articles about it and I'm going to ask my OB about it at my next appointment. Just need something to settle the nerves and calm the racing mind.There is alot on my plate and I think I could use some help in the area of just plain feeling calm.

Saturday, April 2, 2011

Asher's adventure

us last week, making Rice Krispy easter eggs - Asher's favorite activity is baking!
Last night I went out with some girlfriends to eat, then came home around 10 pm.

Asher was sleeping on the couch next to Scott, and Baby Man was sitting in his Bumbo, Lucy in another chair. I greeted everyone but Asher didn't wake up, and Scott told me he'd been sleeping for 2.5 or 3 hours. He had had a 101.5 degree fever that morning, for which I gave him Ibuprofen.

Scott said that at dinner Asher had had his tongue sticking out, and when Scott told him to put it back in his mouth, he just did it more (not unusual for our four year old, I might add.) What WAS unusual was when a few moments later, according to Scott, Asher fell forward into his plate and was unwakable. Scott tried unsuccessfully for 5 - 7 minutes to wake him up, but he wasn't budging. Finally, he got him to stand up and walk to the couch, but when he tried to do this, he stumbled over his own feet several times.

His speech was slurred and he told Scott he was tired, so Scott covered him up on the couch and let him sleep next to him for the next 2.5 to 3 hours. When I got home and heard all this, I tried to wake him up. Of course at first he was really groggy, and we began asking him questions about his sister's name, etc. "Mmmmmmy sssssssssssiissssssy's name is W-w-w-w-wucy..."

I asked him to walk across the room, and he fell again. Scott just looked at me and said, "Um, this isn't right," and that's when I started to get a little freaked. We knew it probably wasn't meningitis as his fever wasn't high enough, but the behavior was odd and making us think something neurological like a seizure.

We went upstairs and consulted Dr. Google, and the more we read the more freaked out we became (Scott is stoic in all situations, so seeing him freaked out made me more freaked out). I called the ask-a-nurse line for our local Children's hospital, and after I told her the symptoms she said, "It sounds like a seizure or a head injury. You need to get him to the hospital right now."

This is when I started crying and thinking, "What kind of dork parents don't take their kids to the ER at the first sign of this?" You know how it is, though, you think, "Oh, he's just waking up, he's groggy," or, "He has a fever, that's why he's acting odd..." but all this stuff together really made us wonder.

We got to the hospital, he and I, and they evaluated him. We were able to get in pretty fast and my dear sister in law was there too (love her). She just shows up. LOVE IT. The doctor did a neurological exam on him, and said he looked fine neurologically. He then looked in his ear and said, "Oh. Yes. This is extreme."

He let me look in the ear and it was the nastiest puss-filled view ever:

It should have looked like this:
 I asked about all of the other symptoms and he said that kiddos don't respond because they can't hear you, they fall because their middle ear is affected, and usually they feel horrible because they have a fever as well. The slurred speech can also happen because they can't "hear" themselves speak like they normally can.

I felt a little foolish bringing him in, but felt better when he said it was the right thing to do because these symptoms can be neurological as well. THANK YOU GOD! SOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO relieved. It is so crazy how a normal night can come crashing down around you and make you think of ALL the worst-case scenarios (and of course my  mind went to brain-tumor and seizures), and have you crying your eyes out as you drive to the hospital with your listless kid in the back seat.


They put numbing drops in his ears because the doc said this infection looked bad, and probably really hurt. I could tell they made a difference because he was chattering about his hospital adventure on the way home. I think the middle child likes to have all of that attention sometimes.

When the nurse was assessing him he had heard what I had told her about his symptoms so was purposely making his tongue hang out and stumbling around.

That made us both laugh.Hey, when you're often overlooked in the attention department, there's no better time to try to get some more!

I love you, my sweet, sandy-haired gem of a boy. Your stubborn behavior annoys me and I know we have a rocky road ahead, but how thankful I am for your sweet sharing spirit and your cute little observations on life.You are always the first to tell me Baby Man needs a change, and sometimes I walk into a room and you are already feeding him his bottle.

I love your heart, and I don't tell you nearly enough. You are always wanting to bake those messy sugar cookies I hate to make, but I promise you we will make them today. Somehow we always think there's going to be an endless supply of time in which to do all these things.

Last night after our adventure, as you slept, I stroked your face and watched your chest rise and fall.

I am so grateful for you.