Do not ask, jokingly or otherwise, when the recently married woman you know is having kids.

It might have been easy for you to conceive.

You might have had a perfect pregnancy.

Your labor and delivery might have been a walk in the park on a warm slightly overcast day.

You might know 15 couples who are happily expecting.


If you don’t know the woman’s fertility history, and let’s face it, it’s none of your goddamned business, anyway, it’s rude and often hurtful to ask such a question.

“When are you having kids?” seems so innocent.

You know what answer I have?

The only one possible, “I don’t know!”

I’m sorry, but it should be more common knowledge in our culture that Pregnancy & Childbirth is not a simple set of circumstances. They are complicated; sometimes ugly; often heartbreaking.

There’s a reason it’s called The Miracle of Childbirth.

Some people have it super duper easy and get pregnant without trying.

Well, we did the first time, I guess. And that baby is dead.

But since finally getting to a point where we feel comfortable thinking about it again, we’ve been ‘trying’ for a normal pregnancy for months now, and guess what, not only is it not as easy every time, but it’s STILL NONE OF YOUR BUSINESS.

So, please, ask about my new haircut. That’s a little less invasive.

Stay out of my uterus unless you are my unborn child, and if you are reading this, you probably are not.


Near the end of my junior year of high school, I auditioned for and was somehow miraculously accepted into the A Capella Choir. Just in time to participate not only in the regular yearly performances but also, greatest of all, in that year’s concert tour in England. The experience of being part of A Capella was the most rewarding in all my high school career. When I say I was raised in New York, I sometimes want to add that when it comes down to it, I grew up in London. What I mean by that is that during the years I lived here, I had a week long adventure there during which my entire life changed.

It’s sort of stock advice, but I’m serious:

Travel. Study. See the world.

Your experiences will develop for you new and more glorious senses. Experiencing other cultures, seeing new horizons, you can’t help but learn about yourself and grow as a person.

The life altering effects of that choir trip didn’t end upon landing back in America, nor even upon graduation from high school two and a half months later. Because of the friendships forged during our choir year and solidified in London, I eventually met, fell in love with, and got married to my husband.

So, back to present day:

Every year at Xmas time, A Capella does a Vespers Concert.  I have sung as part of Vespers three times.

1. My senior year.

2. The following year for the 75th Vespers Concert & Alumni Reunion

3. Five years ago for the 85th Vespers Concert & Alumni Reunion.

Today would have been my fourth year. This year marks the 90th.

And I had been planning to go, and sing, and celebrate my favourite experience from the 90s.

However, due to what I can only snark about being a huge lack of communication skills, very little information about the organization of the event was passed around, and just a few weeks ago I finally got the info about signing up (or rather, the email address to which to send my new contact info so that sign up info could then be sent to me). Well, that didn’t happen. Whoever was responsible for getting info out to us failed miserably. I never did manage to get signed up. I’m upset about this. And I’m upset they wanted us to pay to participate. At the busiest, brokest-assed time of year, when I’m struggling to pay bills, and celebrate the holidays in some vague way, and not lose my mind over the worst anniversary in my personal history. They suddenly wanted us to pay admission to a concert we were In.

Just, No.

Am I regretting missing the concert? O yes. In that ‘it hasn’t happened yet I can still change my mind’ panic that happens whenever I force myself to miss something that I’ve been planning on for months. I’m way not into the Holiday this year. I can’t muster the excitement I always tried to find in The Magic of Christmas. This is, in my opinion, the absolute worst time of year. To force myself to sit through the concert, hopefully without sobbing (out of personal grief or hilarity over how that one teacher’s solo sounds like he’s saying, “Come for Tea, My Peeeeooople!”), would be cruel to myself and those around me, as well as a waste of an afternoon.

So this evening while my fellow singers are belting out The Messiah or whichever traditionals they picked this year I will be enjoying the harvest of those friendships, built all those years ago, in my own house, with my husband, sister in law (a fellow A Capellian), and some friends, playing D&D, and chilling with our dog.

Blessed Solstice, bitches.


I shoveled this morning!!! 🙂


But then it kept snowing….


why. bother. ugh.

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