Time ticks down. 

I am her and she is me. We are different genetically but our hearts, they’re sewn from the same cloth. She comes to me when life has us both reveed up. We are screaming inside with the answers to our deepest fears. The ones we only dare whisper to each other. We talk the talks of childhood and beliefs. We dance around our questions, our insecurities, our life. We talk about the internal clock that powers both of our hearts. Always ticking down, down, down.Running out. 

We talk about the things we don’t dare to ask. We look at each other with knowing eyes. I am her and she is I. We know because we were there, together, holding hands and gluing the soles of our shoes back together. Our mother may have called us beautiful from time to time, but she called us strong more times than that. Our mother raised warriors, survivors, and beasts. 

We never spoke about the monsters of our childhood because monsters weren’t real, even if you did see them crawling across the floor, faceless, in the dark. And we were there, together, holding hands and tucking our feet deep under the covers while shutting our eyes tight. As we grew and the monsters became real and they would yell, close to our faces, with alcohol drenched breath, about how stupid we were, how much of a disappointment we had become. We were there, holding hands, caring for our mothers and whispering in the night about how we’d wish he’d just die. 

I am her and she is I. Older now. Raising warriors, survivers, and beasts. Moving on and forgiving the monsters of our dreams. There is an invisible string that sometimes calls one of us across town. We look into each other and understand the things that are unspoken and we are together, restarting the clocks in our hearts, standing up and choosing to believe our stories won’t end the way they do in our dreams. 

I am her and she is me. 


Gratitude and slowing down

The last few months have been a huge race… running toward the new house, trying to get the old house sold, juggling new work schedules, school activities, family obligations, and a new baby. 

It seems in the last couple months I was so stressed and anxious that I kept seeing red, finding it hard to breathe, and using my most over used phrase of I need a break. 

Things have slowed down this week, schedules figured out, the baby is finally on a day schedule to go along with his already established night schedule. Old house is in motion to be sold, and the new house is ours. For the first time since W was born I feel like this is it. It’s working and we can do this. 

Today, this morning, snuggling him in silence. Thankful for my time with him I realized wow, he is actually mine.  Even though his pregnancy was typical and okay, despite all of my anxiety and everyone else’s,  I didn’t actually think he’d be here. And now he is… and we are a completed family. 

I’ve always hated the term “rainbow baby”. After losing Benjamin and reading and talking and watching others who had experienced the same thing I hated that term with every fiber of my being. Rainbow baby. Thought it was the stupidest shit. The rainbow after the storm. I still hate it when people send me photos of rainbows. Awe look! Benjamin sent us a rainbow! Shut up, no he didn’t. That shit happened because of rain and science. 

And I laugh about it. Not because it’s funny. But because it’s sad. Because that’s what I do. I’m so the person who laughs at funerals. Because I’m awkward. But hey, it’s who I am. 

So W is not my rainbow baby. He’s just my baby. My baby who put all of my fears to rest even though i thought for sure that I would not carry another baby to full term and have it be born breathing. And technically, I guess he wasn’t full term. One week shy of it because I had awesome doctors watching me closely, watching him, and making sure they beat my body to the punch. 

I feel like this is all over the place. I guess my point is this week I finally have the opportunity to feel grateful for how things are going. I have a sleeping baby in the living room, and though sometimes my overly anxious heart makes me go over to him to check if he’s breathing, I am so happy to have him here. I am so happy to be here.