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:


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