Tag: life

Heaven help me, the toddler has learned how to use doorknobs. Today she put on her shoes and tried to head out the front door to play, all on her own. Need to keep a close eye on that one.

The baby is two months old already. Time is flying by, yet I barely remember living without him. I love his smile.

Summer is in full swing. The freezer is stocked with popsicles and ice cream to help beat the heat, and the splash pad has been dug out from the garage. The children are running rampant. Surprisingly, the first sunburn of the season wasn’t mine (for once).

But I did get sunscreen in my eyes, ha ha.

Yeah, I’m kind of a dork.

There’s no such thing as too much potato salad.

My lips are finally getting some color back, and I’m managing to make it through the day without a nap. Yesterday I had enough energy to put Baby Boy in the sling and bake a batch of chocolate chip cookies.

That’s the secret to getting anything done with a newborn, you know: Baby wearing. I like the carriers made out of soft, stretchy fabrics. The other secret is nursing pillows, for sit-down projects like knitting or writing.

I’m craving a slow cooked pot roast with plenty of potatoes and carrots, so we’ll aim for that next.

But no onion.

Onion always results in a fussy baby with a gassy tummy afterwards.

I finished off the liquid iron that I was on, and have since taken a small step backwards in my recovery — I lost enough blood during my last labor to leave me anemic. I’m mostly feeling a little more tired, and a little more out of it mentally.

I’m torn on continuing another round of liquid iron, but I hate the taste. I’ve decided to see how the chelated pills treat me, and I have no plans on physically exerting myself any time soon.

I also need to do a bit better on keeping up with my hydration, but the kids keep drinking all of my electrolyte stuff every time I mix up a pitcher, lol. Maybe I should get a bigger pitcher.

Baby boy likes having his hair stroked.

I spent some time poking around my crafting room yesterday, and I have Way. Too. Much. Yarn. Need to do something about that.

I’m really glad that I wrote Alice and the Warden.

Since I’m expecting #6, I’ve been ravenously hungry for stories about pregnancy and babies. Heck, I even watched Bridget Jones’s Baby, even though I don’t remotely care for the subgenre.

Unfortunately, the majority of stories love to revolve around the “pregnancy is shameful and/or dangerous!” trope. Either female characters are moaning about how their life is over, or it literally comes close to ending because of some pregnancy related complication.

Aaaand it doesn’t stop there. After the baby is born, there’s the constant complaining about how a helpless human needs someone to care for it — as if being depended on is the worst thing that can happen. “Woe is me! I can’t be selfish all the time anymore!”

It’s so sickening.

Especially because I know women who are like that in real life.

Me? I’m the sort of person that wears jewelry that depicts pregnancy. I firmly believe in honoring the Divine Feminine, and rant about how our Christian-normative society demonizes the most powerful magic women possess: the ability to create new life. Not everyone thinks that the very existence of humanity is something shameful.

While the homebirthing community has plenty of women similar to me, none of them are writing novels. Too many of them have gone off-grid, I guess.

I’ve spent the last several months trying to find decent stories about pregnancy and babies, but now I’ve given up. I’m reading my own novel.

Alice is so sweet and loves her family so much, it’s like a breath of fresh air. Finally, a character who is full of hope and doesn’t hate everything about life.

In a very literal sense, I wrote that novel for myself.