My womb is a special place. I know that’s true because three of my kids are forever asking if they can go there.
“Mom,” says my 5-year-old, “can I sweep in yo womb?”
“Cael,” I reply, “do you think you can manage to get a broom in my womb? ‘Cause I know I grew twins in there, and it may appear externally that it’s still capacious, but I’m almost positive that I can’t get a whole broom up there. Maybe a hand-broom, but a full-size version is right out.” ...
Last week, I wrote about Feelin’ Groovy, or choosing to be in a groove instead of in a rut.
One of my current, generalized, I’ll-have-no-idea-when-I-actually-achieve-it goals is to live a healthy, active life.
That’s been a particular challenge and something that has taken an incredible amount of head space.
I was a healthy weight as a child. ...
I went to bed at 6:00pm last night. Sick. Terribly sick.
The kids care when I’m sick. Just because they don’t respect my privacy and can’t leave me alone doesn’t mean they don’t care. I mean, they’re in my room every 5 minutes. Caring.
They’re right next to the bed, their hot breath in my face. “Are you OK, Mom? Mom? Mom? Mom? Are you OK?” ...
