Sunday, July 2

Heat everywhere. Cars dive by with radios blaring. Kids light fireworks in the park. It is summer no matter how I try to deny it.

These are things I have meant to say:

The perfect tree on my street blossomed and then lost all of its blossoms. The little girl in the back yard has been stealing my peas. I saw the guy who looks like Jim at the market again. Small strokes.

The drive to Lynn was less rewarding than I had hoped.

Strawberres and rhubard, heavy cream. Peas with ginger and garlic. Morning sickness all over again. Tired, tired, tired. Belly big and ankles swollen. Counting down in weeks.

Baby sleeping. She's not so baby anymore, with letters and please and nipple and coffee. Trying to make this last month of just her count. Cddle, read, kiss and tickle.

World Cup fever.

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