Browsing: Prose

This morning I woke to the music of the clock radio as I did several years ago – B.C. (Before Children). I lay in bed with gray dawn light filtering in the windows to my left and my husband buried…

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Another morning, another diaper breach.  Strip the baby, strip the sheets, toss the stuffed zebra, giraffe, and elephant into the laundry.  And as an added bonus, get the big green stinky mess in her hair.  Crap all over and all…

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For a better part of our children’s lives we are defined by them, or maybe, become defined by them. Then there comes that pivotal moment when we have done our job, hopefully with much success, and they go out into…

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In between fertility treatments, every time my husband Jose and I have half-decent sex when I know I must be ovulating, this stubborn little part of me still thinks we might have conceived naturally, that maybe the stars have aligned…

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I drive across the Henry Hudson Bridge and get off the parkway at Dyckman Street, an exit I have always associated with my mother but never taken before. It is mid-August, blue-skied and not too hot, and my mother is…

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