In defence of sharing baby photos on Facebook

This morning I overheard a conversation in a café between two people who were lamenting the change in their Facebook feeds from drunken house party photos to baby pictures. It’s a common, now clichéd complaint about the social media site – it even lead to the creation of Unbaby Me, a web tool that replaces baby pictures on Facebook with photos of cats and sunsets.

I know that over the past few years, my own newsfeed has morphed from documenting parties to parenthood, my husband and I becoming part of the baby photo posting set. As for the photos of my friends’ and relatives’ babies? Continue reading

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100 Words on Love: We Share a Life

We share a life now. You and I. And like the patchwork quilt that cloaks our sleep, we tug at it, this way and that. You’ve always called me “the blanket thief.”

We share bottles of wine, holidays and secrets. You give me your name and I clear space on my bookshelves. Your library mingles with mine.

We divide the pain and joy of our worlds. You carry me. And sometimes, I carry you.

Tonight, I breathe you in as you lie asleep beside me. My head folds into your shoulder. A jigsaw complete. And you share my insomnia, unknowingly.

This article was previously published on The Good Men Project as part of their 100 Words on Love series

100 Words On Love: In Sickness and Health

I sit on the edge of my bed, in the psychiatric ward. My hand is lost inside my husband’s.

A psychiatrist asks questions with practiced kindness. I rattle off answers I know by heart. Sleep, appetite, mood, meds.

And then there’s a test. Part of admission. And I don’t know the answers. I can’t do the sums. Can’t draw the object. Can’t spell the word. My brain is mud.

My husband’s poker face slips. I can hear his concern in the silence. He squeezes my hand gently as I swat away tears. I’ve never felt more broken.

Or more loved.

This article was previously published on The Good Men Project as part of their 100 Words on Love series

A Few Good Men

My husband and my brother regularly go to the movies together. Generally, they watch films I have zero interest in seeing, such as The Fast and the Furious number anything. They call these beer movies: they smuggle alcohol into the cinema in backpacks like teenagers to endure the (poorly reviewed, more often than not, yet not-to-be-missed) film.

Over the last few years, this moviegoing has become a firm tradition. A ritual. And it’s something that makes my heart smile.

Brothers in law. It’s a relationship not discussed nearly as often as that of the mother in law or even sisters in law. Less drama perhaps? It’s no less important. At least not to me. Continue reading