I had a lovely little idea that February would be the perfect month to focus on intimacy, and then I inherited a newborn baby.
It must be a strange experience to have an injury that your family does not know about. We keep writing you letters as if nothing has happened.
I find myself loving what we make: things that mean something to me. Or sometimes, distressed letters from Walmart. Yeah, that works.
I just purged my house, nesting, frenetically sorting through every closet, every drawer, to remove all that we don’t need. And now I am buying more.
I never considered myself a fearful person, but with growing responsibility has come growing anxiety. Surely if I worry enough, it will help somehow…
I wrote this piece many weeks ago, about living as a foster parent and a woman. Now at last I am young enough to share it.