There is such a thing as the infant phantom cry. I listen to it for hours each night until it becomes a reality. Then I stumble and trip to the source.
— I miss taking showers at normal hours. I miss checking emails during the daytime.
— Tygh tells Sienna boys only want one thing — to get in her diaper.
— I want my own vibrating chair. And my own sleep sack.
— I wonder what breastmilk tastes like. No, I’m not going to try it. But I wonder.
— Breast pumps were made by men. Wanting to experiment in torture techniques. Torture techniques of cows.
— At what point does it become bad form to step out into public wearing the same clothes? 2 days? 3 days? A week?
— I want to paint Sienna’s toenails. Don’t worry. I’m resisting the urge.
— I wish I had memories from when I was 2.5 weeks old. But for Sienna’s sake, I’m glad she doesn’t.
— We went to a seminar on adoption and attachment the other night. I’m still processing my feelings about it, but will write on it soon.
— Tygh came home the other day to find me sitting outside feeding Sienna, and Brae running around the driveway in a shirt — just a shirt. No pants, no diaper, no socks, no shoes, just a shirt. His wet diaper was strewn next to the garage. His pants were nowhere in sight. And he was playing basketball (of course). Tygh walked up to me with a smile and said, “Darling, have you just given up?” Yes, yes I have.