Yesterday, I sure felt like I might be having a baby.
Then it all stopped.
This is familiar territory. Last time around I had several weeks of pretty intense prodromal labor, followed by a sudden birth.
I'm enjoying working my way through the birth stories on this blog; it's very encouraging to know that this sort of thing happens to other women too. And that it will all be over . . . sometime in the next month or so.
On the bright side, slipping in and out of labor does have it's poetic advantages, and I'm having fun tweeting the experience. Not progress updates, of course; just micropoetry.
In night grown tender
with moon's dread light, I hold
my full-orbed belly.
Yes, contractions make me melodramatic, even when they don't actually produce a baby.
Meanwhile, I've been reading some good stuff around the internet:
Sarah Winfrey has some great insights about helping kids deal with their emotions. (It's good advice for grownups, too!)
Sarah Bessey's writing is like a glass of cool water for the soul. Here's a gorgeous and bracing meditation on the sufficiency of Jesus.
Tania Runyan's haunting new poem explores similar themes, posing the question to Sarah's answer, I suppose.
And Jenny Rae Armstrong explains why you should stop treating your husband like a toddler and actually respect him.
What have you been reading lately?
Such Hours Held
3 days ago