My first cross-stitch pattern.
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By now we’d have a newborn. But we don’t. Life would look like this: My mom would be here. I’d camp on the living room recliner, aching from the c-section. I’d be engorged and sore, shaking my head at the ridiculous notion that if it hurts, you aren’t nursing correctly. It hurts, at first. […] I should change the name of this blog, because lately it’s all about him. He decided he would take care of lunch, telling me he was going to make a sandwich. Good. I like kids who display life skills at an early age. “No knives!” I instructed, unMontessorially. Presenting Cheetos on Heels. […] |
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