30 June 2006

take a trip to the coast

Growing up in FL, I literally grew up in the waters of the Atlantic. The Atlantic is an ocean that is beautiful in it's own ways. The water is always warm, the sand is soft and has a way of just melting underneath your feet, the hotels and high rises that line the sand are full of people who are always ready to tell you a story or give you a soda as you spend the daylite hours in the waves. You can literally just run strait into the water and stay there all day.

The first time I saw the Pacific, I was left breathless. I was 17 and had just moved away from everything I had ever known. There were 3000 miles between me and my beach-going friends, me and my family, me and my world. Here I was in San Diego, a place where people dream of being, where people spend their life savings just to visit.. and I couldn't really find a hint of pleasure.

Until I visited the Pacific.

The water is FREEZING. In fact, there is rarely a day when you can just run into the water without your breath catching in your throat. You have to inch your way in.. little by little, and even then, you can't stay in for more than a few minutes. The sand is a mixture of brown and black and it's not nearly as soft as the sand on the opposite coast. But the scenery is breathtaking. The hotels and highrises are replaced with jutting rocks that the waves break themselves against over and over. There are families of seals that call these lovely beaches home and you can stand on a bridge and watch these seal moms and dads and babies dive into the water and sun themselves on the rocks.

It's a place where you can sit and just marvel at the wonders of nature.. and how one place can be so similar and yet SO much different than another.

Today my son is 7 months old. He has been to both coasts. He has dipped his feet into the ocean of my childhood and now, the ocean of his.

What a miracle life.

29 June 2006


So, I'm not really sure why I stopped writing. I was 7 months pregnant with Gage the last time I sat down to put my thoughts on paper. And even then, I could only come up with a picture. Granted, it was a picture that pretty much summed up my entire situation at the time. A picture that featured me and the father of my soon to be child looking rather awkward and uncomfortable as we stood and obvs. posed for the camera. "Michelle, Bobby! Look over here!" In a vague attempt to try (.. and try) to mask the distance, I placed my arm on his stomach. If he had placed his on mine, he would have felt his son kick.

The product of that pose was a picture that showed what I had been denying for 4 months. What I had known all along. What I didn't want to face. All of my faith and all of my prayers and all of my "please.. Just please let him turn out to be an okay guy" had led me here. If you look in my eyes you can probably see it. You can't look in his. He's not even looking at the camera.

So, here I am. 7 months pregnant the last time I wrote. The mother of a 7 month old today.

I have sat at the computer every day of the last 10 months. Wanting to say something. NEEDING to say anything. Needing to tell the story of Gage's birth. To show off pictures of how he's grown from a 4 1/2 pound peanut to a chunky 19 pound BOY. To show videos of him laughing like a crazy drunk lunatic at his own reflection. To share my hopes and my inadequacies and my fears. To give LIFE to the emotions and the dreams and the fierce, all consuming LOVE I have come to learn in just a few short months.

So, maybe I'll start writing again. Maybe it won't be another 10 months and I won't be writing while trying to dodge the projectile toys thrown by a 17 month old. Maybe I'll tell my stories little by little.

And even though I'm still a little bit of this girl:

I am SO much more of this one: