Sick Baby

She can only sleep in my arms. Every time I put her down, she coughs. We pace the floor all night long. Sometimes I sing to her, or hum, or talk, but sometimes I'm holding back tears as well.

The moon reflecting on the . . . it's just a river, really, but lagoon makes me feel I live a more romantic--and warmer--existence in in The Middle of Nowhere . . . anyway, the moon reflecting on the river, at least, can be counted on for a bit of prettiness amid the snuffly frustration of our nights.

Dim lights go on and off at various times all night next door. I spend some of these long hours wondering just what is going on over there. Too many odd things. Remind me to tell you about the birdhouse . . . with the wires snaking down the post. Too odd, really. But too tired right now . . .

Trip. Back.

We're back. We went on a very long trip. Maine to Colorado and back. Just the two of us.

Trapped with a baby on an airplane didn't seem like fun, so we just drove and drove.

The GPS thing was our guide--she spoke with a British accent. We leisurely crossed the country, staying in hotels with pools that she could splash in, sometimes driving for eight hours, sometimes for three, and listened to Sesame Street songs. But she likes Ani DeFranco much better...