I have a piece on dealing with pregnant aches up at Pagan Families. It expands on part of my earlier post about birth prep. If you try it, let me know what you think! As with the sleep posts, it’s geared toward motherhood but applicable to other situations.

I have dried purple roses lodged in my throat, which Ted’s mom sent me for my college graduation, ten years ago this summer.  It’s hard to know where to start talking about all the  hopes and relationships that have corroded since then.  This June Ted’s father died and now the days Rebecca would’ve spent sailing and stargazing with her grandpa are gone, too.

The years that weren’t happy were at least interesting. It warmed my spirit to sit by cosmic fires, but now when I look back on all the times we had to be strong, it’s searing.  Be a creme brulee, not a fire-safe, I tell myself.

So we spent our tenth wedding anniversary drinking with friends, which is exactly the sort of thing Ted and I always used to do on occasions when we were supposed to be romantic. Rebecca kept escaping into the Hallmark, a 20-month old sentimentalist. Then we couldn’t drive home, so we walked over to Home Depot to look at rugs. I thought it would make a wonderful story if we bought something stupid on impulse, but he didn’t.  We debated the idea loud, cheerful, drunk, and free–and left restored.