real space.

  • A love letter to 2017.

      Dear 2017, I pray this letter finds you well. Kinda. Sorta. Not really. You see, you have been a big skim-board to the shin. An unpleasant, unexpected, cringe-worthy sting to what was supposed to be a pleasant walk along the ocean. Sure, maybe a lot of it was my own doing. I wasn’t paying…

    real space.

  • A year of parenthood. A year of grace. Lots and lots of grace.

    A year ago today, Brooks was twenty-eight days old.  I was twenty-eight days into motherhood.  Twenty-eight days into the biggest change of my life.  Twenty-eight days into a life of unpredictability, heart-wrenching emotion and exuberant joy.   Twenty-eight days.  Brooks was so little.  Everything was so new.  I was so lost. Postpartum depression, sleep deprivation…

    real space.

  • Put the fancy dress away.

    I’m sitting here in my pajamas, with sweatpants on with holes in the bottom.  My shirt is way too big.  My hair looks like I may have been electrocuted in the middle of the night.  My breath stinks because I haven’t brushed my teeth yet.  This is me.  On a Saturday morning.  In all my glory.  I…

    real space.