on occasion, when i’m feeling too lazy to get up from the couch to get myself a snack, i remind my husband, quietly, of the drug-free labor i went through four months ago with our second son, Kasher.
it’s losing its effect. perhaps once a day is too often, but trust me: after 19 hours of contractions, screaming “just pull him out!”, and second-degree tearing, the respect was there, scrawled all across Trent’s features and he couldn’t bring me enough ice chips.
and Mary had no ice chips.
(will you join me, here, at A Deeper Story, for the rest of this post? and please, feel free to link up below. love e.)
1. link up a post (old or new) between wednesday and friday that you feel is ‘broken’ or ‘imperfect’ or somehow redemptive
2. put the ‘imperfect prose’ button at the bottom of your post, so others can find their way back here (see button code in right-hand column of my blog)
3. read at least one other person’s linked-up prose, and give ’em praise!