Everyday I touch my incision and think “this is where they took my baby out of my body”. I feel like a f-cking Frida Kahlo painting. After I wrote that, I stared at the sentence for a few minutes and thought about my thick pregnancy hair and eyebrows and tried to stop myself from thinking about signs. I keep thinking so many things are or were a sign…except I don’t believe in signs. Except I saw a Frida Kahlo exhibit in Minneapolis a couple of years ago and when I recently read The Lacuna I spent five nights in a row looking up Frida Kahlo and Diego Rivera on the internet. It’s not a sign, I know it’s not a sign. But only because I don’t believe in signs, otherwise I’d probably think it was a sign. <\/p>\n
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Sometimes I reread my posts here and think I’m a self-indulgent turd. Other times I am so glad I’m writing like this. Most times I miss writing funny stuff. I just can’t really get there yet I guess. I still laugh a lot, it’s not like I spend all day moping around and sobbing. Not all day every day anyways. <\/p>\n
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If I do end up childless* like Frida Kahlo I hope I am also inspired to create something like she did. It doesn’t have to be something as important or huge as her body of work…but it’d be nice if it was. <\/p>\n
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\n* After I published this, a friend emailed me that I was already a mother. She is completely right, and I don’t take that for granted. I just meant childless as in no children in my arms, no children to watch grow and learn. Tommy Jr is my child and always will be, but I hope someday to have a baby at home with us too.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
Everyday I touch my incision and think “this is where they took my baby out of my body”. I feel like a f-cking Frida Kahlo painting. After I wrote that, I stared at the sentence for a few minutes and thought about my thick pregnancy hair and eyebrows and tried to stop myself from thinking … Continue reading “It’s Not A Sign”<\/span><\/a><\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":3,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[1],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-2066","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-uncategorized"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"http:\/\/www.poorluckyme.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/2066","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"http:\/\/www.poorluckyme.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"http:\/\/www.poorluckyme.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/www.poorluckyme.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/3"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/www.poorluckyme.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=2066"}],"version-history":[{"count":6,"href":"http:\/\/www.poorluckyme.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/2066\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":3515,"href":"http:\/\/www.poorluckyme.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/2066\/revisions\/3515"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"http:\/\/www.poorluckyme.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=2066"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/www.poorluckyme.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=2066"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/www.poorluckyme.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=2066"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}