Flowers and Owls

 More than a year has elapsed since I last posted here. I'm pregnant, after losing my first go-round last year, quickly had and quickly lost and quickly had again. I am living somewhere else with the new and usual sort of ambivalence that comes of being in another place. I'm not exactly unhappy or exactly happy, but a bit disoriented in some interesting ways I am still afraid to articulate. Hoping I keep this bairn in me so I grow nice and round, though my mother didn't show hers very clearly, and I can't predict how full I might appear. No telling how my father's blood might bear on how I bear my womb. Still learning that my womb is a place, a true place. Time brings further revelation of my own body, my organs, my secrets, secrets that are mostly secret to other parts of myself. I am around more people than I have been since I was a child. I don't quite know how to be a thing which has friends, how to be friendly. Still stubborn, moody. Hope I don't lose this baby. Won't write about the father here now, too soft to touch with words in this place yet. Sending my love to the whole of language, which has provided this journal as one of its gifts.