Skipping Town

Only in the on-line sense - otherwise it would hardly be news-worthy, would it? Skinny-armed baby, travelogue, birth, milk, midwifery musings and other flotsam and flora to be found at our very own cozy spot on-line: www.durafemina.com Come visit . . and change your blogroll. . . we like your company! (and shortly, individual posts will red-direct)

how to take up space

what goes on

I knit soakers, which are then grossly misappropriated

we wash lots of diapers and then bask in their post-dryer warmth

homemade pizza dough is perfected by the LD

sometimes we sleep

and sometimes, we sleep on each other

trifecta of danger

I woke up yesterday being eye balled by these giant specimens and I had to quickly go back to sleep for a minute. The cuteness, it is overwhelming at times. There was snow smashed into every crevice of our street today making for an exhilarating automotive thrust through the ice ruts not to mention a thrilling bout of morning labour for the lovely daddy (I wonder if he'll dig my car out in the future when I get called out at 4am? is this an unreasonable dream?)Red.skirt.lust. Please, someone, contrive for this skirt to enter my life in a more visceral way than me clicking on the Etsy store from whence it comes 18 times a day (it's handmade! of recycled material! by a struggling artist! there is so much good to add to the world via this skirt!). To sum: baby googlers, snowstorm # 28 of the season and Etsy.com . . . dangerous things all Also: to the person that stole my bag of groceries, or perhaps contrived to evaporate it unbeknownst to me, or who finds it in a deep snow drift: enjoy the prune juice and chocolate pudding!

sleep

I am not sleeping this night-time because we, this elegant little dyad of us - can sleep any time. Can curl up and sink our noses into each other's folds that are scentless in their familiarity. Custard-silk creases. Luxury trimmed in richness. I am also not sleeping because I'm not at home and everything is a quarter-turn past perfectly comfortably familiar. The realization of this is tedious because it reminds me how hard and long it feels before things settle into home-ness. And this, of course, juxtaposes with the back-to-other-side-world-ness that is forthcoming. And the thought of reworking that transition, yet again, is a little achey and sharp. Perhaps tacking on an entourage this time around will rub the edges some. I'd like that. And I'd like sleep.

snow bebe

because today is Bach's concerto for two violins on repeat, hand-knit socks, chicken soup - and this is what you do for some vitamin D in mid-february-canada

bright & shiny

Four months of sweet, tumultuous, time-blurred mundane perfection. If I was more prone to be less cerebral, I'd spend my days with a blissful grin plastered on my face, expressing my joy and contentedness out loud. However, since such acts would likely cause me to disown myself - not mention bewilder the people around me, I will stick to measured bursts of syrup en ecrire. So, time has passed, the idea of a complete person inhabiting my innards becomes more and more impossible to contemplate, and is replaced by a sense of wonderment that a shiny little love-nut has managed to implant in the universe, like an overnight cherry-tree-blossoming or a sudden thunder storm. How, I have to ask, does one sit down, ever, and write what is termed a 'birth story'? How to ever make a sheaf of words into something explanatory, descriptive, memorable - when the very thing it puports to discuss is still being lived, breathed, absorbed and fragmented. With every bright and succulent day.