Between the ages of 7 and 12, I lived on a dead-end road two miles south of nowhere. There were only eight houses on the gravel road, and none had children except ours. We had something like three acres, but at that age I thought our yard went on for miles and miles. We picked blackberries that grew along the barbed wire fence to the west and ran from the snakes that sunned themselves in the overrun, empty lot across the street. But what I remember most fondly was the tree. There grew one climbable tree in the back yard. It was of indeterminable species; I only know it was the kind with thick bumpy bark that grew lacy, pale green lichen throughout the year. I dragged to my tree two old boards from a deconstructed picnic table, wedging one in the deep V that split its trunk into two Siamese twins. The other I balanced precariously among some larger branches about halfway up. I spent most of my hours playing there in my wildly complicated imaginary life. I had multiple imaginary si...

The other day I went to the mall because I was in desperate need of a new shirt for a dinner event. And I mean desperate . Most of my wardrobe is at least three years old -- the pants I decided to wear were actually approaching first-grader status. They grow up so fast, you know? Anyway, as I was traipsing from one store to the other in an unsuccessful search for something that said both spring! and I'm still young and cool!,  I found myself standing in front of JCPenney staring at an alarmingly fake garden scene. It featured emerald green Astroturf for grass (a cruel joke -- parts of our lawn are still covered in an inch of mushy snow), a profusion of ruffly pastel flowers the size of my head, and a park bench where an otherwise sane adult would pose for pictures while wearing a freakishly larger-than-life bunny suit and clutching your children. Apparently, parents will pay money for this to happen, and commemorate the surreal experience with a photo. That's when it daw...

I had high hopes for how I’d feel when I finally got pregnant. And I had plenty of time to think about it, too, because I had struggled for more than three years to get to that point. And when I say struggled, I mean pushed a boulder up a hill. Thanks to incredible modern science and the generosity of a stranger, we finally succeeded. I thought would be flooded with maternal instinct and overwhelming love for this tiny being to whom I was inexorably linked. Overnight; instantly; forever. Except once we got that boulder over the summit, we encountered many tiny boulders on the way down in the form of small pregnancy complications. I didn’t feel maternal and glow-y. I felt anxious, incredulous, and nauseous. I was first diagnosed with twins, then we lost one, then I had a complete placenta previa (which eventually resolved), then I spent the latter half of the pregnancy borderline gestationally diabetic. With my belly getting ever bigger, much of the time I felt like had an alien living...