Love gets harder as you go, yes. But it also gets better.
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Brandon and I had been trying for a baby for almost a year when I got pregnant. The faint pink line appeared on the pregnancy test on a sunny Saturday in September, three weeks after we moved to Maryland.
By Tuesday, I was peeing blood.
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I also did not really want to write about it, I just wanted to drink wine and complain to Brandon, so that is what I did.
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The public discourse is exhausting and nasty from every side, and it seems sometimes like nothing in the world is simple and objective. It was nice, for a night, to be reminded that actually, a lot of things are.
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It was one of the best days of my whole life and one of my favorite things we've ever done together.
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North Carolina “snow” did its best to keep us grounded. We escaped anyway.
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Below is a post about my new year's resolutions, or lack thereof, which I finished writing and then didn't post because most of it is about books so I thought I needed to go take some artful photos of the stacks of books all around my house. And then I didn't do that, because I have a job and a life and, it turns out, not a lot of motivation to take artful photos of the stacks of books around my house.
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I cooked a lot — mashed potatoes, baked praline sweet potatoes, buttermilk cornbread, deep-dish apple pie — but I don't do food photography (everything looks disgusting no matter how hard I try), so you'll just have to trust me on that one.
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One whole year of being Brandon’s wife.
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