it takes a village

this looks even worse now that i have it up on screen. so not human.

shall i tell you how it feels when i walk? the fluid in my ankles and the tops of my feet ripple and reverberate and it seems as though the earth is shaking and the airwaves echoing with every step. never before have i felt such a kinship with godzilla.  

at times, this sense of massiveness even eclipses the wound in my belly, but just for the record, breastfeeding-way worse. dramatic enough? ok, moving on.

this might be a good time to thank the many, many people who offered their help in this first month: our families, friends, neighbors, and even several strangers.  

especially my mom, who presented us with well-cared for children and an orderly, deep-cleaned house when we came home from our 5-day hospital stay. 

and then oma & opa came down to stay with us and completely took over the household responsibilities while also entertaining our poor, sick boys. in my paranoia, they were quarantined downstairs while baby edie and i remained upstairs. i'm still not allowed to climb stairs, so my meals are simply placed before me, my laundry is folded with perfection and punctuality, and the boys are kept at a safe distance. they want so badly to get a hold of their baby sister, but are forced to look from the top of the stairs and blow sterile kisses. 

and not to be forgotten, bapa & grandma karen, sisters, in-laws; all cooks, caretakers and chauffeurs. at the risk of sounding cliché,  i don't know how we would've done it without you.

what i wouldn't do -  a fine frenzy