Small Step No. 12

There are two ends of myself, continually in the midst of battle with one another. There is, on one end, the desire for posterity. For being the memory keepers for my children, for being the memory keeper for myself. There is a desire to document these sticky beginnings of each other – all throughout the

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Stretch Marks

The way I see it, a baby grows in your belly, or perhaps your heart, and stretches each to the max. A nudge here, a push there. Stretching, expanding, breathlessly requesting more room from you – inside, outside – until you think you cannot possibly give another inch, another minute, another day. (You do, of

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Sleep Training (Or Not)

How’s he sleeping? asks Bee’s Chinese teacher. Good sleeper? the barista smiles. Are you guys getting any sleep? prods my mother-in-law. My answer is always the same: Well… — Scout is not, by definition, a good sleeper. He’s prone to waking up often in search of his pacifier, in search of comfort, in search of

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Corralling the Crafts

Bee is both collector and crafter, wildly imaginative and unsurprisingly resourceful (sounds not at all familiar). Her desk lives in Ken’s office, and often, the pair can be found whiling away the afternoon in tandem, fully immersed in their own respective projects. In Bee’s world, Q-tips become fishing rods. Pom-poms become hedgehogs. To say nothing

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Small Step No. 11

Bee and Ken took a quick trip to Florida last week, and upon returning, I asked her what her favorite part of the trip was. The mid-day ocean frolics? The spotting of a sand dollar? Sunsets with Grandma? The airplane snacks! she says with certainty before launching into a full-on recitation of the contents/flavors/exactness of

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For the New Mamas

I’ve got a soft spot in my soul for new mothers, the first-time kind. The bewildered, shaky, anxious-ridden variety who keep one vigilant eye on the clock (when did the baby last feed?) and one distracted eye on the conversation at hand (sorry, what was that?). The ones who fear the nail clippers. The ones

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Apart From You

“Put the baby in the center of the bed. Go outside; take five deep breaths. Come back.” This is the advice my midwife offers me as a 3-day old mother, the orders she gives after hearing my tears over the phone, the baby’s shrieks, the panic in my voice. My confidence in motherhood silenced by

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The Longest Night

2am, the alarm rings. When you’ve got yourself a baby with boundless energy and a little girl with endless questions, 2am is sometimes your magic hour of silence, of writing, of work. While the two littles are tucked safely in their beds, I pad into the dining room for cinnamon tea and words. It is,

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