"And my God will meet all your needs according to the riches of his glory in Christ Jesus." Philippians 4:19
Dear precious son of mine,
I write this to you from my knees.
You left the Lord and His angels six weeks ago.
And while I am blessed beyond measure to have you, I am so sorry your peaceful existence has ceased.
I'm sorry you have come into a suffering world where hate and violence reign supreme. Where members of the human race disregard the true miracle of human life and take it without a regretful glance or mournful thought.
I'm sorry your chin quivers when you cry.
I'm sorry your fists clench in pain with gas from my Tabasco Sauce addiction.
I'm sorry I don't get to you before you call out for me. Or when I have to put you down. Or when I can't soothe you with my words.
I'm sorry I yell at your Daddy because his world has not changed as much as mine.
I'm sorry I tell you to stop when you are just doing what you know how to do.
I'm sorry.
Your Mama is flesh. And fails often.
I love you and I'm doing the best I can.
Friday, April 19, 2013
Monday, April 8, 2013
One Month
In diapers, in spit ups, in sleepless nights...
In gas pain, in swadddles, in loss of my hands.
In feedings, in sucklings, in why are you crying?
How do you measure a month?
In pee pee, in poo poo, in loads of laundry?
In cold food, in pacing, in bouncing on my knee.
In long hugs, and back pats, constant burping and sighing...
How do you measure a month in your life?
I'm not gone. I'm just consumed.
In gas pain, in swadddles, in loss of my hands.
In feedings, in sucklings, in why are you crying?
How do you measure a month?
In pee pee, in poo poo, in loads of laundry?
In cold food, in pacing, in bouncing on my knee.
In long hugs, and back pats, constant burping and sighing...
How do you measure a month in your life?
I'm not gone. I'm just consumed.
Thursday, March 21, 2013
And Then There Were Three
"For you make me glad by your deeds, Lord; I sing for joy at what your hands have done." Psalm 92:4
My son is two weeks old today. My son.
Just those words are miraculous.
But the real flesh, blood, and soul are beyond my comprehension. I heard the advice. I listened to the experienced. But never in my wildest dreams did I believe something so natural that occurs so often could be seen as surreal.
It's all true... You don't know until it happens to you. And when it does, nothing else matters more than that being in which God created specifically for you.
These last 14 days have disappeared into a nursing, sleep deprived, dirty diaper haze and I remind myself to stare into his eyes, to relish his skin on my skin, and to not take these moments for granted because they are truly ONCE in our lifetime. So I will continue to weep tears onto his smooth cheeks and vow not to miss this.
I thought I'd share my birth story. I thought wrong.
Despite the fact, I would like to and have forgotten a good portion of the 50+ hours of labor I spent on my hands and knees moaning through painful uterine contractions that never seemed to progress or digress, the actual birth is as vivid and glorious as one would hope. And it's uniquely mine to keep.
13 songs...
57 minutes and 31 seconds
That's how long it took from my bag of waters breaking to his sweet shoulders slipping into this world and straight into my loving arms. And I've got his arrival set list committed to memory.
Natural Mystic 3:26 Bob Marley
Bad Luck Blue Eyes Goodbye 6:28 The Black Crowes
Joey 4:11 Concrete Blonde
Warehouse 7:06 Dave Matthews Band
Welcome To The Boomtown 5:32 David & David
Roadhouse Blues 4:04 The Doors
Honeysuckle Blue 4:51 Drivin 'N' Cryin
Mona Lisas and Mad Hatters 5:01 Elton John
Me And The Devil Blues 2:56 Eric Clapton
You Turn Me On I'm A Radio 2:40 Joni Mitchell
Somebody's Baby 4:03 Jackson Browne
Dog Days Are Over 4:13 Florence + The Machine
Psycho Killer 4:20 Talking Heads
Welcome my little Rock-N-Roller and into the soundtrack of my life.
**Bonus Nursing Tracks
Mr. Brownstone
Do You Wanna Touch Me?
Cowboy
Pow Pow
Everyone Deserves Music
My son is two weeks old today. My son.
Just those words are miraculous.
But the real flesh, blood, and soul are beyond my comprehension. I heard the advice. I listened to the experienced. But never in my wildest dreams did I believe something so natural that occurs so often could be seen as surreal.
It's all true... You don't know until it happens to you. And when it does, nothing else matters more than that being in which God created specifically for you.
These last 14 days have disappeared into a nursing, sleep deprived, dirty diaper haze and I remind myself to stare into his eyes, to relish his skin on my skin, and to not take these moments for granted because they are truly ONCE in our lifetime. So I will continue to weep tears onto his smooth cheeks and vow not to miss this.
I thought I'd share my birth story. I thought wrong.
Despite the fact, I would like to and have forgotten a good portion of the 50+ hours of labor I spent on my hands and knees moaning through painful uterine contractions that never seemed to progress or digress, the actual birth is as vivid and glorious as one would hope. And it's uniquely mine to keep.
13 songs...
57 minutes and 31 seconds
That's how long it took from my bag of waters breaking to his sweet shoulders slipping into this world and straight into my loving arms. And I've got his arrival set list committed to memory.
Natural Mystic 3:26 Bob Marley
Bad Luck Blue Eyes Goodbye 6:28 The Black Crowes
Joey 4:11 Concrete Blonde
Warehouse 7:06 Dave Matthews Band
Welcome To The Boomtown 5:32 David & David
Roadhouse Blues 4:04 The Doors
Honeysuckle Blue 4:51 Drivin 'N' Cryin
Mona Lisas and Mad Hatters 5:01 Elton John
Me And The Devil Blues 2:56 Eric Clapton
You Turn Me On I'm A Radio 2:40 Joni Mitchell
Somebody's Baby 4:03 Jackson Browne
Dog Days Are Over 4:13 Florence + The Machine
Psycho Killer 4:20 Talking Heads
Welcome my little Rock-N-Roller and into the soundtrack of my life.
**Bonus Nursing Tracks
Mr. Brownstone
Do You Wanna Touch Me?
Cowboy
Pow Pow
Everyone Deserves Music
Friday, March 1, 2013
Non Focused Awareness
"Wait for the Lord; be strong, and let your heart take courage; wait for the Lord!" Psalm 27:14
The day circled in red and mediated on for the last nine months has come to pass. An hourglass whose sand falls at a steady cadence on an even surface is as elusive as the Dodo Bird in his nest. Time ticks away these subsequent calendar days and my moments of absentmindedness kick into high gear. Gears that have stalled or decided that neutral was the optimal position. I've reached an anterior position, as the bug's head presses further into my pelvis making my bathroom breaks more noticeable. Speaking of notice, wasn't February 27th explicitly spelled out as the cut and dry eviction date? Who didn't get the memo? Are God and Baby taking a certain amount of delight in their closed door conversation that keeps me on the fringe? The brink of insanity? I'm ready to kick in the lock and seize my property. You can have my breasts, I want my freedom of movement. I want my uterus back. A uterus that freezes up every time my cell phone pings another question from inquiring minds. No, I haven't had my baby yet. No, I haven't as you so delicately asked, popped out my kid. How's about I pop a mother's little helper and sleep until labor? Oh sleep....A bygone era. A time of restful repose. A quiet world where pineapple was a fruit, not a cervix softening means to an end that I blend with ice and chug with chilling anticipation. Is anticipation making me late? It's certainly keeping me waiting.
He said come unto me and find rest for my soul for His yoke is easy and His burden is light. But my climbing weight is a burden. And despite my better self, I ask will he/she be worth the wait?
Every day you get one more yard
You take it on faith, you take it to the heart
The waiting is the hardest part....
The day circled in red and mediated on for the last nine months has come to pass. An hourglass whose sand falls at a steady cadence on an even surface is as elusive as the Dodo Bird in his nest. Time ticks away these subsequent calendar days and my moments of absentmindedness kick into high gear. Gears that have stalled or decided that neutral was the optimal position. I've reached an anterior position, as the bug's head presses further into my pelvis making my bathroom breaks more noticeable. Speaking of notice, wasn't February 27th explicitly spelled out as the cut and dry eviction date? Who didn't get the memo? Are God and Baby taking a certain amount of delight in their closed door conversation that keeps me on the fringe? The brink of insanity? I'm ready to kick in the lock and seize my property. You can have my breasts, I want my freedom of movement. I want my uterus back. A uterus that freezes up every time my cell phone pings another question from inquiring minds. No, I haven't had my baby yet. No, I haven't as you so delicately asked, popped out my kid. How's about I pop a mother's little helper and sleep until labor? Oh sleep....A bygone era. A time of restful repose. A quiet world where pineapple was a fruit, not a cervix softening means to an end that I blend with ice and chug with chilling anticipation. Is anticipation making me late? It's certainly keeping me waiting.
He said come unto me and find rest for my soul for His yoke is easy and His burden is light. But my climbing weight is a burden. And despite my better self, I ask will he/she be worth the wait?
Every day you get one more yard
You take it on faith, you take it to the heart
The waiting is the hardest part....
T. Petty
Why WIlmington?
Since we left grand ole Gotham, I've answered this question in a variety of ways, citing a number of reasons.
This article in Garden and Gun counts them out without the defenses...>>
This article in Garden and Gun counts them out without the defenses...>>
Sunday, February 24, 2013
My Brothers In Christ
They said they wouldn't, now they are, and just like that...they're all sold out.
Looks like I'll be scalping with a baby on board.
Looks like I'll be scalping with a baby on board.
Thursday, February 21, 2013
This Is Your Brain on Pregnancy
"Behold, children are a heritage from the Lord, the fruit of the womb a reward." Psalm 127:3
I'm drawn to the color orange these days. I think it has to do with my longing for the infamous cup of Mud Coffee Coco sludge with steamed half and half I'd treat myself to on a frosty morning on 9th Street with the sun filtering through the hope springs eternal Ginkgos.
That's one answer.
The other could be, the accent wall in what will become baby's room is orange. And I find myself staring at it, slack jaw with anticipation for the moment again when I can savor a hot, dark cup of Joe that doesn't make my heart race with jitters and turn my already burning chest on cinder blocks into an active environment of pure lava.
Until then, I will sip this faint brown water, bang on my computer keys, and sing in a shrill voice "Those Were The Days, when all it took was ground beans to makes me smile and some good, primitive, sex to get my uterus to contract.
Now, I just focus on it.
And like I watched pot. It doesn't boil.
Here's what has been the biggest surprise of the powerful life force growing inside me...
In my last month, I have managed to shrug off celebrities and posers Barak Obama and Tiger Woods engaging in a game of golf on an exclusive course on yet another presidential vacation despite press corps' aggravation.
And this woman who painted Zeta Reticule aliens on my college apartment walls, who is passionate about the moon and stars and drinks from a Roswell mug, just simply uttered the words Asteroid and Meteor as if I was saying hello and goodbye.
Cop killers, lovers quarrels, decomposing bodies in hotel's drinking water cisterns, liberals hypocrisy of turning the other cheek to their savior's love for killer drones all have become muted background noise in a once deafening world.
And as the lost and rather loudworld has continued to spin around me, the more I've gone inward.
The more I've resided inside, the more peaceful I've become.
And in this relative peace, I've realized that while my pelvis seizes up and my middleweight MMA Fighter clobbers and kicks my rib cage well after the bell has rung...in the words of Metallica great James Hatfield...because of this new being...NOTHING ELSE MATTERS.
"Trust I seek and I find in you
I'm drawn to the color orange these days. I think it has to do with my longing for the infamous cup of Mud Coffee Coco sludge with steamed half and half I'd treat myself to on a frosty morning on 9th Street with the sun filtering through the hope springs eternal Ginkgos.
That's one answer.
The other could be, the accent wall in what will become baby's room is orange. And I find myself staring at it, slack jaw with anticipation for the moment again when I can savor a hot, dark cup of Joe that doesn't make my heart race with jitters and turn my already burning chest on cinder blocks into an active environment of pure lava.
Until then, I will sip this faint brown water, bang on my computer keys, and sing in a shrill voice "Those Were The Days, when all it took was ground beans to makes me smile and some good, primitive, sex to get my uterus to contract.
Now, I just focus on it.
And like I watched pot. It doesn't boil.
Here's what has been the biggest surprise of the powerful life force growing inside me...
In my last month, I have managed to shrug off celebrities and posers Barak Obama and Tiger Woods engaging in a game of golf on an exclusive course on yet another presidential vacation despite press corps' aggravation.
And this woman who painted Zeta Reticule aliens on my college apartment walls, who is passionate about the moon and stars and drinks from a Roswell mug, just simply uttered the words Asteroid and Meteor as if I was saying hello and goodbye.
Cop killers, lovers quarrels, decomposing bodies in hotel's drinking water cisterns, liberals hypocrisy of turning the other cheek to their savior's love for killer drones all have become muted background noise in a once deafening world.
And as the lost and rather loudworld has continued to spin around me, the more I've gone inward.
The more I've resided inside, the more peaceful I've become.
And in this relative peace, I've realized that while my pelvis seizes up and my middleweight MMA Fighter clobbers and kicks my rib cage well after the bell has rung...in the words of Metallica great James Hatfield...because of this new being...NOTHING ELSE MATTERS.
"Trust I seek and I find in you
Every day for us something new
Open mind for a different view
And nothing else matters..."
Open mind for a different view
And nothing else matters..."
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