I recently recieved mung bean sprouts in my organic basket of fruit and vegetable goodies from Mama Earth. Mung bean sprouts are unfamiliar to me, but determined not to waste food I needed to figure out what to do with them.
As a child my family and I spent a lot of time there. Every Saturday we found ourselves at the Cedarbrae Public Library, partaking in the free programming they offered. For us, the library was an inexpensive place for families to read, learn, and have fun. I got to borrow and read a lot of books, watch puppet shows and, listen to storytellers with my mom and siblings. We didn’t have much, but we had the library, which was a whole lot.
Nine months postpartum, I’m a heavier version of myself. I weigh more than I ever have In my life. I weigh more than when I was pregnant. But it’s ok. Well, it’s not ok…I don’t like it.
I’ve never been much of a coffee drinker. Actually, I’ve never been a coffee drinker at all. I never felt I needed it, nor did I like it very much. But during that week of early commutes downtown, after sleepless nights with a baby...I was excited to get my daily mocha. I felt like I’d joined some exclusive crew, that I’d never been apart of.
No matter how hard we think about it, we can’t figure out how we could have possibly entered a whole other country without knowing it. What about border control? Immigration officers? Passport stamps? We had seen nothing to tell us we’d entered Peru. We hadn't heard anything either. No, “Passengers, we’ve arrived at our destination.” … Continue reading Illegal Entry
I felt as though I was in a rut. I felt quite unmotivated and couldn’t muster the energy to write, anything. I felt like I wasn’t accomplishing what I’d set out to achieve in terms of my writing goals. This feeling has passed however, and six months into 2018, I look back and realize that I’ve written about 12 blogs so far. How can I feel down about that? At this halfway mark, in 2018, with only 12 more months to go of maternity leave, it’s important that I reevaluate my writing goals. I need to use my time effectively. I’m writing, great. But, what am I writing? What do I want to write? I already know the answer to that question. I want to write children’s stories...picture books...children’s literature.
I feel like my body isn’t mine. It’s its own entity, doing it’s own thing. I try to breathe through it all. Everything I thought I would want to do while in labour is gone. My plans of dancing this baby out, gone. All I want to do is lie down. But it doesn’t work. Not much offers any release. Only during the breaks between contractions, do I feel no pain. I’m rubbed and massaged. I try to dance, for a bit...but then another contraction rocks my body.
It’s spring. There are blossoms everywhere. I’ve always loved Spring. Always thought it to be a beautiful prelude to the warmth to come. This particular Spring I have an extra spring in my step, literally. The birds chirp more loudly. Blossoms shine more brightly and even look bigger. I am filled with quiet optimism.
Boy? Girl? Keep it a surprise? The midwife hands us a folded piece of paper with the gender enclosed. Do we look? Do we wait?
I was pregnant, again...for the second time this year. I was hopeful. It was a year of sometimes painful, sometimes uncomfortable, always cautious, sweet anticipation.
12raisins 