Journal Excerpt

I could probably be certifiably psychotic based on all the horrible tragedies I worry about befalling her. D once admitted he got worried about her waking up from sleep. I was like, naw, that doesn’t bother me. I’m too preoccupied hoping she doesn’t get bit in the face by a dog, lose a hand, develop autism or Asperger’s, tumble down the stairs. It’s really quite macabre. I never knew I was capable of such fanstastical fears until now. Whereas I used to watch sad romantic movies and cry, now I watch sad movies about children and cry.

Someone once said, “my mind is a bad neighborhood I try not to walk into alone.” Someone also said, “having a child is like having your heart walk around outside of you.” It’s a bad combination.


I think the cats think she belongs to them. They are always hovering. In every picture or video of her, there are these black-and-white furry forms gliding silently in the back. When she sits in her baby chair, Winnie curls up at her feet. When she’s flailing her arms about, Chloe maneuvers herself so she’s inadvertently petted. They don’t seem to be bothered by her random banshee squeals, or by the fistfuls of hair she pulls from their hides. I figure this lasts until she starts running around pulling on their tails.


Sometimes she reminds me of a very old woman. Particularly when her head flops forward and the lumpy back of her neck is exposed.