“Here she comes, Miss America…” I can still hear my Papa sing it, as he did every time I walked into the room.
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cultivating the beautiful ordinary by sharing our tales and our tables
“Here she comes, Miss America…” I can still hear my Papa sing it, as he did every time I walked into the room.
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I remember the feeling like it was yesterday. I was terrified.
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Four years ago, around this exact time, my then husband went under church discipline for reasons that don’t need to be brought to light, but they were crazy.
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I always have some apprehension and anxiety at the beginning of a new school year.
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It’s hot. Life is busy. Life is intense right now, but it has little to do with summer, or heat, or how intense the sun can get in the summer. I’m overwhelmed, to say the least.
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“Just relax through the contractions”, “Relax and take it easy until the baby comes”,
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There are three “stages” of labor. The second part, the part where your cervix dilates and you push and the baby is born, that part is called “transition”.
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It’s been three years now, almost to the day, and I still remember the fear, anxiety, and just plain dread that clouded that day.
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I guess March has always been a month of “Becoming” for me.
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Sexiness is not something I am comfortable talking about. There, I said it.
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