Home Run

We stand in the foyer of a large house, sunlight streaming across the floor. There are pocket doors and there are stained glass windows and there are staircases with carved finials. It is a house far too grand--far too grown-up--for the likes of me.

"So," says the real estate agent. "Do you need time to think? Would you like to make an offer?"

I look to Spiceboy. The hardwood floors creak as we shift from foot to foot.

I think of our tiny New York apartment. The apartment we lived in when we got married. The apartment where we had our baby girl. How did we fit so much hope into such a tiny space?

Do we have enough hope to fill an entire house?

Spiceboy's expression is perfectly blank--from the smooth planes of his cheeks, to the corners of his mouth, to the depths of his eyes. But I know what he's going to say before he says it.

I am trying to keep my poker face. He gives me an imperceptible nod, then turns to the agent.

"We'd like to make an offer."

There are handshakes and paperwork and promises. And then it's just the two of us, standing the middle of the sunlight and the creaking floors, and he folds me into his arms and whispers in my ear:

"We are going to have a wonderful home."

Your Username and Password are Incorrect

Just now

I stood in the kitchen with Alice

and she reached up

and curled her hot little finger into

my palm

and leaned her entire body against

my leg

and looked up at me with big, sleepy eyes.

While Alice naps

I could be:

working

cleaning

eating,

getting things done.

But instead,

I am claiming this

sleeping baby

quiet house

snow-covered

moment

For myself.

This Is What A Relationship Looks Like From The Inside

It's early morning. Alice has just woken up and I'm in her room, changing her diaper, when I let loose with a gigantic fart.

It's only after I do it that I realize the baby monitor is still on in our bedroom, where Spiceboy is attempting to get a few extra minutes of sleep.

"Hey!" I yell. "Did you hear that one?"

"Um...yeah," says Spiceboy.

"So what do you think? Good one, right?"

Spiceboy ponders for a moment before answering, "Nice reverb."

Birthday

One year ago today--at this exact moment--I went into labor.

And at 2:53 am on August 16, 2008, Alice made her entrance into this world.

Every day, she teaches me about patience, and laughter, and about the utter uncertainty of everything.

Oh, and poop. Every day, she teaches me something new about poop.

I remember holding her in my arms when she was just days old and weeping. "She'll never know, I sniffled. "She'll never know how much I love her until the day she becomes a mother herself."

And that, dear readers, is the irony of being a mother.

Happy birthday, monkey girl!

Before (39 1/2 weeks pregnant)

During (Alice, minutes old)

After (Alice, 11 months)

So Much Unobstructed Sky

Last night, I stood at my back screen door (yes, I have a back door now!) and held little Alice in my arms and watched a summer thunderstorm roll in.

As the sky went from bruised purple to black, Alice beat her little fists against the screen door. The trees grew still and the birds grew quiet. And then the wind kicked into high gear, blowing our hair back from our faces, a welcome relief after a day of typical Pittsburgh humidity.

We listened while the thunder cracked across the sky, and watched the lightning pierce through the clouds, Alice curled like a hot little comma against my neck. We watched until the sheets of rain splashed through the screen and splattered against the window, blurring the world outside.

Later, Spiceboy and I put Alice to sleep, whispering "The Itsy Bitsy Spider" while the cracks of thunder faded to distant rumblings.

Afterward, we stood in the kitchen, making dinner (yes, we now have a kitchen that's large enough for BOTH of us to stand in at the same time!). In the distance, I spotted the sunset, bright pinks and oranges nudging out from under the black clouds.

"Oh, look at it!" I cried in delight to Spiceboy.

"It's been a long time," said Spiceboy, "since we've seen so much unobstructed sky."

First Day in Pittsburgh

For the first time in four years, I reside in living space that is more than one room! I've spent the morning walking around in wonderment.

Just a little while ago, I was toweling my hair dry in the bathroom when I heard a strange squeaking sound coming from somewhere in the apartment. I listened closely, and decided it must be Spiceboy working on something. It took me several minutes to realize the squeaking sound wasn't Spiceboy doing his fix-it magic on our new place.

The squeaking sound was coming from birds.

Birds that are chirping right outside my window.

What a concept!

19 Days

In honor of the fact that I only have 19 days left on the island of Manhattan, I will list 19 things I will NOT miss about the city:

1. Climbing 48 steps to get to my apartment. With bags of groceries. And laundry. And a baby. And a dog.

2. Carrying Alice's stroller up and down the subway steps.

3. The horrible pee/bleach smell that permeates the Canal St. station early in the morning.

4. Second Avenue subway construction.

5. Crowding into the 6 Train at rush hour.

6. The uncaring and mostly inept employees at the neighborhood Walgreen's.

7. The incredibly long lines at places like Ikea, Trader Joe's, and Whole Foods. Seriously. It's not to be believed.

8. The enormous cockroaches.

9. And rats.

10. The pervy doormen who work at the next building over. Ick.

11. Not having a real oven. Or refrigerator.

12. The way our bathroom water goes from normal to hypothermia-inducing-cold to third-degree-burn-hot in under two seconds.

13. People doing the "Blackberry stop" in the middle of the sidewalk, crosswalk, etc.

14. Women who push their dogs in strollers.

15. Women who dress their dogs in Burberry. I mean, really.

16. The odd, fishy smell that emanates from the restaurant on the corner, thus prompting us to call it "The Stinky Beach."

17. Fighting for seats at the movie theater.

18. Not being able to find really obvious ingredients at the grocery store.

19. Living in 350 square feet. With a husband. And a baby. And a dog.