Thursday, November 23, 2006


This time last year, I spent the entire weekend huddled on the couch, trying desperately to avoid throwing up and not succeeding very often. I was miserable.

This year, I am exhausted and verging on delirious; Moxie's description of a head filled with hot sand is becoming more apt by the moment. And yet as I type this, there is a sweet little girl two rooms away, kicking at her jungle gym and squealing at her dogs and her daddy. She grins when she sees me, and she flaps her arms with delight when I pull my shirt up to nurse her. She buries her head in my neck when she's tired, and she leans back against me as she curiously surveys the whole world.

And then there is that daddy of hers, that husband of mine, whose love for us is palpable. He is generous and thoughtful and largely too good to be true.

We have much to be grateful for this year -- material things, yes, but more importantly family and friends and furry creatures. But most of all, that much desired, much dreamed of, beautiful little girl. Ess gives Thanksgiving a whole new meaning.