We’re home.
The hospital was, as hospital stays go, a positive one. I cannot say enough good words about the women and men who cared for us there this weekend. Their kindnesses, big and small, and their expertise set our minds at ease during a very stressful time.
Shaggy is fine. He has an anatomical abnormality that [...]

The weather makes today perfect for cups of fragrant tea and naps.
Shaggy is napping, and I have a big cup of coffee in my hand, but our location leaves something to be desired. The boy is in his hospital crib, deep in slumber. In fact, he sleeps better here than he has ever, anywhere. Last [...]

The hospital becomes familiar quickly.
After five years of navigating the medical system while my father lived with and then ultimately died from cancer, I got to know how hospitals work.
You have to finesse the nurses; doctors swoop in and out. It’s the nurses who deliver meds on time and fetch extra pillows and bedding.
The cafeterias [...]

In the middle of the night
I call your name
- John Lennon
***
I rise to the surface of sleep quickly, too quickly. He grunts softly beside me, not quite crying and not quite resting. His legs kick up; I see one pajama-clad foot rise over the side of the bassinet.
I sit up and wait.
Will he go back [...]

There are some phrases you don’t want to hear in the pediatrician’s office.
Phrases, like, oh, say, “breathing issue” and “St. Louis Children’s Hospital.”
Shaggy has this funny kind of gaspy, gulpy breathing thing he does, intermittently and most often when he is eating. It sounds like a scary squeak, one I knew wasn’t quite right. I [...]

Welcome to The Home of The Fussin’ Illini

Yesterday was awful.
Even with the perspective that some rest and a new morning bring, yesterday will go down in the annals as perhaps one of my worst mothering days.
This whole week, in fact, can suck it. I lost my temper more times than I care to admit, culminating with a terrible performance where I screamed [...]

I want to write, I want to keep the words moving, keep them on the outside. I don’t want these words inside to back up.
I don’t want to choke on them.
When The Poo was born it felt like a slow death by drowning. Drowning in sorrow, in fear, in exhaustion … my memories of her [...]

You forget.
Nature’s way, I imagine, of convincing you to procreate again.
You forget just how long the hours between 2 and 6 a.m. can feel. Only four hours - 240 minutes - and yet, the seconds tick by so slowly that you fear you may never see the sunrise again.
But it does come, slowly, each day. [...]