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The fighter

This picture was taken a few days after Emma was born. In a state of shock after delivering a 1 lb 12 oz baby, I was afraid to look at her and certainly didn’t want to hold her. It was like my maternal instincts hadn’t kicked in yet— the wires, the masks, the tubes were so intimidating. Sadly, I didn’t know my baby at all— I was so thankful the NICU nurses knew her rhythms and helped me learn what she was all about. And I was so grateful that my whisper, quietly echoing against the walls of the incubator, was enough to sooth her in those early rough days. All these years later, 11 to be exact, I am still a student of a fighting micro preemie and the nurses who taught me so much. Happy Birthday, kid!

Trucker Salute

Back in the olden days, when Paul and I were dating, he drove a Jeep. We’d drive around Cincinnati worry-free (or at least it seems like that now that I look back on it), Paul teaching me the appropriate hand signals to offer other Jeep drivers, while I soaked in Cincinnati, trying to discern if this could really become my forever home. He didn’t think I was paying attention then, but I was (at least a little bit). Then the engagement happened, and Paul bought a used Ford truck from my dad’s company (maybe that would win him over?), and I had to learn the appropriate hand signals to offer other truck drivers. He didn’t think I was paying attention then, either, and he’s probably right– I was planning a wedding!! Either way, after thirteen years of lessons, I think I might have it down.IMG_E0122.JPG