The good postpartum news: when I wake up, I no longer feel like there is a strong possibility that one family member or another might actually not survive the day. But oh! How fast life is coming at us these days. Contemplating another week feels like I am facing down the eye of a hurricane, head on, the cold wind beating at my cheekbones, the hard storm weathering away my old face like an ancient rock on the beach.
But that is how we wanted it, right? I never wanted things to be dull. And there is rarely a middle ground between dull and the Category 5 hurricane.
Our Margaux, our delightful juicy mango of a baby is now three months old:
No, the answer is no. Look, I have to be done - the boppy pillow that lasted through six newborns finally breathed its last:
Oh, and writing: I always feel vaguely disappointed in myself if I haven't blogged, or worked on an article that day; but really that is too much pressure on myself at this point in my life. That the children are all fed and alive at sunset is all that matters. Still, I hope in the hazy future - those years shimmering way down in the distance, when all of my children are in school - I am not too tired, or senile, to write anything good.
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