Firsts, lasts, and in-betweens.
November 02, 2009

Donald and I are both locals.  He grew up fifteen minutes away, in this house and that house and the other house over there.  His earliest memory is standing on the front lawn a stone’s throw from here, wearing little cowboy boots, listening to his mother call him to her side.  I grew up around the corner, in a house with so many memories they practically flow out the windows.  Our first kiss was on this road, underneath a street lamp that flickered and faded and died.

When we first met, we said that we would have great adventures.  We would fly away!  We would live where the wind and our whims carried us.  We would go anywhere.  We would have broad horizons!

My uncle married us.  On the day of our wedding, I peeked out the window and saw the two of them hunched over a binder, reviewing our vows.  The summer heat was thick and oppressive that day.  When my uncle pronounced us man and wife, my father hollered and we raised our hands in the air in celebration.  Then we hurried down the aisle, racing toward the air conditioning inside.

After my miscarriage, I bled and cramped for days.  He sat on the bed and squeezed my hand and told me that things would be different next time.  My heart hurt.  I have never cried so hard in my life and when he pressed me to him, I thought that the sobs might never stop.  But he smelled so perfect, and his arms were so warm, and soon enough my lungs stopped heaving.  We fell asleep like that, intertwined, found and lost at the same time.

When Charlotte was born, the doctor held her up.  I pressed my chin to my chest and squatted down and pushed as hard as I could and let gravity do the rest.  I watched her burst forth from my body, saw the doctor catch her, and felt my legs turn to jelly.  The doctor lifted her up above my head, the cord still pulsing and throbbing, all three of us covered in glistening goo.

Right now, I am watching my husband rock my baby to sleep.  He is carrying her in a wrap, her head upon his chest, his lips on her brow, hush hush hush.  Her eyelids are heavy and her limbs are tired and she is making those quiet sounds of protest that only a small baby on the brink of a deep slumber will make.  She is facing me, so that I can see them both.  He is pacing and bouncing and whispering to her.  It’s okay, sweetie pie, you’re okay.  Daddy’s right here.

I find myself remembering these moments together, everything from our first kiss under that street lamp to our last kiss over scrambled eggs this morning.  And I cannot help but think that even though we may die in this house, even though we have been locals all our lives, even though we have not conquered every dream and seen the whole world over…

We are still having great adventures.

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  1. By beyond on November 02, 2009

    beautiful post, just beautiful. happy monday, locals.

  2. By on November 02, 2009

    What a lovely post!

  3. By Adventures In Babywearing on November 02, 2009

    Oh, breathtaking.


  4. By Jennifer W. on November 02, 2009

    Love that you love your husband so.

  5. By Jennie on November 02, 2009

    Please let me know when your book comes out.  Seriously. The writing has already been done on this website - no editing required.  Just piece all of your incredible entries together, and you’re all set!

    This is possibly my favorite entry so far.  Thank you for being so transparent.

  6. By Heidi on November 02, 2009

    You’re making me cry. AT WORK.

    No, seriously, that is beautiful. You’ve got it in you.

  7. By Stephanie on November 02, 2009

    One day…we will meet. Because I love you guys, and we just have to.

  8. By Megan on November 02, 2009

    so beautiful…i’m a sappy mess!

  9. By Stephanie on November 02, 2009

    One word: Perfection!

    Enjoy being a local and enjoy being loved and supported. I wish we were “locals”.

  10. By on November 02, 2009

    You have a great way with words!!  I enjoy reading all of your adventures!

  11. By Carlyn on November 02, 2009

    this brought tears to my eyes, very beautiful. brightend my day. I know the pain you felt with your miscarriage I too cried until i didnt think I could stop, it hurt in ever corner of my body, Kips too. in the start of the miscarriage he would turn to my belly , point and say “you stay in there” which that too made me cry.

    I hope for many many MANY more adventures for you and your family you deserve it.

  12. By Sarah A. Schlothan Christensen on November 02, 2009

    Carlyn - When we were in the early days with Charlotte, Donald did that too.  He’d rub my belly and tell the baby to stay in there and stay safe.  I was so afraid of miscarrying again, and I always found it reassuring.

  13. By Elizabeth on November 02, 2009

    Totally.  And the adventures will continue to be great.

  14. By mommica on November 02, 2009

    “I find myself remembering these moments together”
    Isn’t it strange and wonderful to see your whole life in one moment? Love that…

  15. By Elly on November 02, 2009

    Oh <3. You are a amazing. Seriously. :)

  16. By Mrs. Sitcom on November 02, 2009

    So sweet.  We’re like that in a a lot of ways…definitely grandiose dreams of globe-trotting…but even when we’re doing ‘small’ stuff, doing it together *is* the adventure :)  Love it!

  17. By kbreints on November 03, 2009

    what a beautiful post. Just awesome….

  18. By Tabitha (From Single to Married) on November 03, 2009

    You have such a way with words - that was truly beautiful!

  19. By Jes the Bes on November 03, 2009

    Life truly is the greatest adventure, isn’t it? Amazing post. I just loved it.

  20. By Trenches of Mommyhood on November 04, 2009

    I love your writing anyway, but this one was PERFECT.  The best.





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