Happy Anniversary!

Today I've been married to my dear sweet loving husband for five years. If I am generous I would say we have known each other for five years, six months, but honesty forces me to admit it has been a bit less than that. Yet I can't imagine finding a better mate if I spent ten years getting to know him. Not perfect on all counts - but the perfect compliment for my own too numerous imperfections. We were meant for each other I believe - meant to be together.


We've managed to pack a lot into our five years together. Seven pregnancies, a thriving business lost, four addresses in three different towns, three schools, foreclosure, a glimpse at homelessness...... yes there is more. We have been stripped clean in many senses - extras left behind to make room for the good stuff - better stuff. We've clung ferociously, even obstinately to our values, scarifying much in their name. I often wonder if we are right.

Lots of good things have happened to us in five years, but I would be Polly Anna's perkier baby-sister if I denied the bad stuff. Or if I lied and said I am better for having experienced it all. Parts of me are better - but it's not "all good" my any means. I feel shell shocked sometimes. A true survivor of war would certainly balk at my cooptation of the term “shell shock”, just as I balk when people compare the deaths of their cats the deaths of my babies. But I don't begrudge them lest I be begrudged.

Someone who should have known better than to be so unkind recently asked me why I “let” some of the particularly difficult things we have struggled through happen to our family. What a luxury to have never tripped on pebble that catapults you into a shit hole. We are an intelligent, educated, and hard-working pair, and it happened to us. I dare say it could happen to anyone. That is why I want to tell our story - it is as American as any Horatio Alger tale - and it happened to us.

Noah is calling

Noah has been asking for my attention  rather insistantly the last few days.  Things I haven't thought of in many weeks pop into my mind - randomly.  His birth.  Waiting for the contractions.  My doctor.  No heartbeat.  My cluelessness.  Being alone.  Wailing in me sweet gentle husband's arms.  The seering grief.  And the guilt.

There are so many things I want to say about our life as a family while I carried Noah.  It isn't a pretty story.  It ends in such a vicious irony that my mind still reels at the thought of it.  How could this have happened in real life?  Even the schmaltziest melodramatist would have dared pitch this script - and he likely would have been laughed out of the meeting.  But it did happen to us - to me - to Noah.

We got a camera fo Christmas!