baby in the bath

sleeping on a 12-hour car ride

I take it hungrily at odd angles, my head bobbing like a newborn's until it sinks drowsily to the nearest surface--Jude's carseat or the hard, grey plastic of the car door, my back shlumped over, the window hot and sweaty on my face.

I wake up to moments of flat, scrubby land, passing in whirls of browns and muted greens, and then fall helplessly back.

Would that I could slip this sleep into a hip flask, take hits throughout the day when the lack hits like a hot flash, or long guzzling draughts in the still hours of the night when my ears strain into the darkness for quiet cries, my breasts hot and full of milk, waiting for him to drain them as if from an aquifer, my breasts like porous stone.

I awake with red sweaty lines across my face, drooling, drunk on the stuff.

Adoring Jude

Montana: Glacier National Park

This last week, Mike, Jude and I packed it up and drove up to visit family in Montana. We had a fabulous time. Here are a few pictures from the trip...

Verguenza

The day after Isabella of Castile gave birth to Katharine of Aragon in a temporary field camp, she passed her soft, mewling babe off to a wet nurse, mounted her steed and rode off with Ferdinand to continue the fight against the Moors (crimson velvet gown flapping in the wind, I imagine). A week after I gave birth to Jude, I waddled gingerly around our cul de sac, hanging dolorously on Mike's arm, stepping wide in my blue flannel pajama pants and Mike's oversized, holey Beatles shirt. Nothing like a fiery Spanish queen to put you to shame.

Despite my slightly longer recovery, replete with several birth "souveniors" (which did not include puerperal fever, like most of Isabella's contemporaries, gladly) today my midwife pushed and prodded and declared me whole. Although I have no immediate plans to mount a trusty steed or zealously join any kind of military campaign, I feel I can at least conquer my cul de sac with enthusiasm (minus the velvet gown, but only because of the heat) and maybe even push this ole' bessie to strolling boldly around the block, wee babe in tow, for no other reason than to feel this body move again.

The Men