When talking last weekend about our Door County vacation, Ger said “That was a great vacation. I really enjoyed myself.”
I blinked and said “Really? What parts did you enjoy?” Continue reading
anxiety
When Anxiety Strikes Again
Photo by Steve Halama on Unsplash
When I was in sixth grade, I suffered from hives that covered my entire body. They lasted for six months, unforgiving red circles that itched. I saw doctors, I missed school – no one could figure out what was going on. Finally, the pediatrician said “Let’s run a culture for strep throat – sometimes it can present with hives.” Culture was positive. A course of antibiotics later and the hives were gone. Continue reading
In Honor of a Father
This past weekend was Father’s Day. Celebration, reflection, and sometimes hard. I cannot make it through Mother’s Day without thinking about the two babies that we lost. How can I not, when their birthdays are tattooed on my back, an ever-present reminder that I have five children? I need a day of distractions. Continue reading
For Better or Worse
Before I was discharged from the hospital after delivering Iris, I asked the doctor to write me a prescription for an anti-depressant. I knew that losing two babies inside of six months could send me into a dark place. When placed on a six-month holding pattern before trying for a baby again, I became rigorous in my self-care. The medication, weekly therapy, yoga multiple times per week, baths, and natural beauty products became a ritual to stay afloat. I hear the words loud and clear from the grief community: take care of yourself, take care of yourself.
Beautiful and Terrible
Somewhere out in the darkness, a phoenix was singing in a way Harry had never heard before: a stricken lament of terrible beauty. And Harry felt, as he had felt about phoenix song before, that the music was inside him, not without: It was his own grief turned magically to song…” ― J.K. Rowling, Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince
It seems to be an infinite juxtaposition, this pregnancy: beautiful and terrible. Writing has been my transcription of the clash between the two. The experience has been something like the Russian sage that grows around my mailbox: lovely and sweet smelling, while also wild and uncontrollable. The beautiful enmeshed with the terrible somehow makes it bearable? Continue reading
