Today was a good day for a hundredth post.
In the deep parts of winter I do my best to remember the promised day, the first day you can feel warmth on your skin, and not just because you’ve caught a blade of sun and there’s no wind.
If you know it you know it,
and if you know and you were out in central Vermont today, you recognized it.
In the deep parts of winter I do my best to remember the promised day, the first day you can feel warmth on your skin, and not just because you’ve caught a blade of sun and there’s no wind.
If you know it you know it,
and if you know and you were out in central Vermont today, you recognized it.
A hundred does feel like a bit of a milestone; it’s both my hands counted ten times. That’s got to mean something.
The better part of a third of a year, it’ll be a defining feature of 2023, but not the defining event of this year.
That goes to my partners pregnancy. This being a public blog that anybody can read, though few do, I haven’t written overtly about that fact because of the first trimester secrecy act. A fact of life I was ignorant of for nearly 32 years.
The better part of a third of a year, it’ll be a defining feature of 2023, but not the defining event of this year.
That goes to my partners pregnancy. This being a public blog that anybody can read, though few do, I haven’t written overtly about that fact because of the first trimester secrecy act. A fact of life I was ignorant of for nearly 32 years.
As we’ve passed into the second trimester, other humans that I wouldn’t want to share what would likely be the most profound tragedy of my life with, can hear about our fastly approaching lifechange.
The first trimester secrecy act, as I called it, is a fascianting bit of social management. The implication of miscarriage therein always struck me as both disturbing and kind of charming?
On the one hand miscarriages happen every day; many, many women experience them every single day. They are common and are not a mark of shame. Given the commonality of it such concerted reluctance to be exposed to the news of one feels odd.
On the other hand a vast conspiracy to spare aspiring mothers the discomfort of having to explain that actually the pregnancy they told you about ended, over and over, is touching.
I do pray every morning and night, and sometimes randomly throughout the day that the first trimester secrecy act remains a cute social quirk I can write about on my blog, and nothing more.
I feel obliged to not end this 100th post on such a note. The remainder of 2023 promises to be the most profoundly beautiful 265 days of my life so far, the good old days as they’re laid down by the norn, hot and fresh.