Little Bird

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I posted a short piece I wrote in my head when I couldn't sleep last week and when I signed on today I realized ... it was formatted in a really strange way and therefore unreadable. Hopefully it's fixed now! I don't write here as often because as the kids grow my time shrinks and I want to protect their privacy, but I usually come back when I miss Charlotte. As the glow of Easter fades, Mother's Day and her birthday bring the missing to the forefront of my mind. I used to think I had something to say; that the words I shared here were important. They were important for my healing, but I think all of the pages I filled with words really could've been filed down to a few basic sentences. My first baby died. I'll always miss her. The three I am raising don't replace the one who is gone. On May 14th it will be ten years since Charlotte lived and died. With ten being such a big number I thought we would finally do what we've been talking abou

When life goes sideways, I write. I haven't been sleeping well. On the nights it's hard to fall asleep I tell myself stories. It's how I've coped since I was little and scared of the dark. This weekend Jonathan and I cleaned out old bins full of childhood memories. It reminded me I've always wanted to be a writer. I pulled out picture books I made, certificates I earned, newspapers I contributed to and handwritten notes from teachers about how I was going to be a writer someday because my work was so far above grade level.  When this idea flew into my mind last night while I stared at the ceiling I knew I had to write it down. And now I'm going to share it with you. I wrote this in chunks throughout the day. I handwrote bits at the breakfast table and then carved out two separate computer hours to finish it. It is not grammatically perfect and it likely needs a good edit, but I hope you enjoy it. The First Meeting  Emma tapped her fingers on the sm