My Lovely Miriam

Miriam and I have known each other since the 6th grade. We've written notes about boys, gossiped about girls, walked home together, skipped class together, cried and laughed together, lived together, pretended to be together to deflect unwanted advances, flaked on each other, always given our honest opinion to each other, raised kittens together, been annoyed with each other, driven cross-country together, visited each other in the hospital, bought each other lunch, and loved each other for over thirteen years.

Throughout my own pregnancy I had Miriam by my side, pregnant as well. I can't begin to tell you how perfect it was to have not only her support but her complete understanding during this time where a woman is simultaneously in the limelight and hushed away in a corner. Being able to discuss the nitty gritty details of what exactly happens to and inside a woman's body during this process helped me to deal with all the unpredictable moments that somehow become common place.

Do the Twist

I am stunned by my little boy. He pushed and pulled himself off of my lap last night and straight onto Birch's. It was a very rudimentary crawl and really more funny than impressive display, but he did it and we were not prepared for that. He's three months old. Am I crazy or is this happening a bit early? We'll see if this becomes a regular occurrence or if it was an isolated incident. I'll tell you one thing, he was wiped out after it and fell asleep (back on me) a few minutes later. Man, he's a cutie.

The Tale of Keats Rabbit

This morning, spurred on by delicious challah bread french toast, I read Keats the first story he's ever actually paid attention to: The Tale of Peter Rabbit by Beatrix Potter. While Birch manned the espresso machine and Olive sat outside in the sun staring up at Pierre the Hummingbird, Keats listened attentively, looking back and forth from me to the pages covered with small illustrations of Mr. McGregor and that mischievous rabbit scurrying through the cabbages. He laughed and threw his hands together, plunging them into his mouth, sucking on his favorite (the left hand), and smiling away as Peter Rabbit ducked under the gate and escaped the farmer's sieve and boot. (By the way, I totally forgot that Peter Rabbit's Pa bought the farm thanks to Old Mr. McGregor and became the main ingredient in a pie! Man...) I am under no delusions that Keats actually followed the plot line, etc., but he truly was listening and was happy listening. How exciting!