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First There Were Two

We took this photo when there were two.

On a warm, July night, five years ago – when the sand burned the bottoms of my soles and the air smelled like salt and heat. I held my belly between the palms of my hands and felt the tangle of limbs kicking within. Two boys tumbled and rolled and life collided with possibility and promise.

And then, the waves rose and the sandcastles crumbled and the world which I had so tenderly held disappeared.

We took this photo when there were two.

Before we knew the babies were sick.

Before the rush of blood from one to the other.

Before his heart stopped.

Before the world changed.

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Feeling 26

I don’t do good with birthdays.

Never have. Probably never will.

My parents like to tell stories about my childhood birthdays: stories about how each and every one of my parties ended with me as an absolute wreck, tears galore. I’m pretty sure that’s why they stopped hosting them when I turned twelve. Turns out I’m better suited to marking the passage of time in a more subtle manner.

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A Polar Bear Birthday Party

Twelve months ago, the baby in the incubator looked more like a broken bird than a plump polar bear. During those early days, we were so focused on making it through the next hour that we couldn’t even dream of the next week, let alone an entire year.

But before I knew it, I was mailing out birthday invitations and dreaming of coconut covered cupcakes and polar bear guestbooks. A month of naptimes were spent making bunting, pompoms, and paper snowflakes. Our Costco membership card was broken in, presents wrapped, fondant rolled, and an overflowing igloo cake was stuffed in the oven, cried over, and very nearly stomped on. (Never again!)

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Happy St. Patrick’s Day

As far as I know, neither Andreas nor I have Irish roots but we cannot deny our indisputable fascination with the country. Our family has yet to visit the Emerald Isle but given the chance, we would be on a plane headed over the Atlantic in a heartbeat. Is there any sound more lovely than the lilting melody of an Irish accent? Oh, to spend the day traipsing around crumbling castle ruins and soaking up the breathtaking beauty of a lush, green, countryside or craggy, windblown coast. And truthfully, a good part of our fascination probably centers around the music. On road trips, we spend hours blasting this song on repeat and when Alistair is in his jolly jumper, there’s nothing like some good Irish music to get him bouncing. My research on an Ireland trip has officially commenced. Now if only our bank account would agree with my plans…

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Celebrating Ali’s first Valentine’s Day

The other day, I took Alistair out for a walk in his jogging stroller. Usually, the instant his five point harness snaps shut, his eyes close with equal ferocity and he’s out for the duration of the stroll. But this time, his baby blues were open wide in amazement. Birds, trees, cars and tall buildings – these are pretty spectacular sights for someone who has previously only been able to see as far as his feet.

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