pullingcandy

January, 1980:You wish you were Nigel Short. At only 14, he is awarded a degree for playing chess. It seems to you that he has done more with three years less on this planet then you have with three years more. Upset, you cry for the sixty-three Muslim fanatics who were beheaded on the 9th, (they say you'll cry at the drop of a hat, emotional, women, pregnancy) and you wish you were Jimmy Carter's first lady. Instead, you're just pregnant and watching television on a Saturday night.February, 1980:Televised winter Olympics and homemade potato salad keep you entertained for part of the month, but the butterfly kisses in your stomach remind y...

Dear Unborn Child, Whom I Let Go;When I was thirteen and four months old, and you were thirteen years younger, I decided to let you go. You squirmed in opposition beneath my ribcage, up against my pelvis, and I licked my lips and tried to smile while I leaned my forehead on the cool glass of the car, hellbound.I remember sea weed insertion, dilation, cramps and bleeding. Orange smoothies from Dairy Queen that I threw up, and I hoped you were mingling in the remains of my summer day treat, so I could put this behind me. Pretend I was 'moving on'. I laid in the bathtub of a hotel room for six hours, trying to melt you away in scalding water ...