I've never been this pregnant before.
Ezra died at 33 weeks, 5 days. I woke up yesterday with Sunflower at the exact same gestational age, and wondered if I should spend the rest of the day staring at the sky waiting to be hit by lightening. The morning was spent wallowing in a funk on the couch while still in my pjs and pink fuzzy robe. But then a friend called, with an offer of a visit with her and her 3 month old, and a promise she'd bring lunch. And so somehow the afternoon flew by, a large part of it spent with a sweet little boy sleeping on my shoulder, Sunflower kicking him from inside my belly. It was exactly what I needed - a very obvious and physical reminder that most babies live. At least so I'm told.
the Stirrup Queen's Completely Anal List of Blogs That Proves That She Really Missed Her Calling as a Personal Organizer
The Consequence of Intimacy
9 hours ago