Giving Birth
The birth of our daughter will live in the fibers of my being for the rest of my days. What a profound privilege it was to grow with her, carry her, and bring her to us. It was Summer all along; I can hardly believe it.
Pictured are me and our daughter, Summer Nelson Mindnich, shortly after her arrival. Summer is a name I have adored my whole life—so much so that I once wished it were my own, especially as my birthday falls on the Summer Solstice. Summer also happens to be Winter’s opposite, a loving bridge between Aunt Wynter (my sister-in-law!) and the season around which so much of Nils’ life revolves. Nelson is my grandmother’s maiden name. If our daughter carries even half the gusto and wit of Dorothy Duffy, her great-grandmother, we will be more than lucky.
What It’s Felt Like
Recalling the last nine-months of my inner dialogue— moments in time I will never be over, and never want to forget. A longer read, and perhaps only interesting to me, but a tearful joy to write. Pregnancy and carrying this baby have brought me to my knees, a gift I am unsure I was qualified to recieve, but will cherish forever.
Pictured above is me, 38 weeks pregnant and brimming.
On Pregnancy
I have so much — perhaps too much — to say about pregnancy and my experience with it thus far. I am immeasurably grateful for the mothers in my life, and endlessly impressed by women. This is a small ode to them, and my application to the club.
Pictured is the cutest woman I know, my mother, a mom three times over, on her recent trip to France.
A State of Disbelief
An ode to something more profound than Earth’s natural processes, and a gift I wish for everyone who aches for it. My first pregnancy continues to render me wordless, though I would be a fool to not try.
Long Overdue or Right On Time?
Four months off the blog, nearly 300 days in France, and plenty of life and running in between. This one’s a little messy, a little too much, and hopefully right on time.
Pictured is Lucy and I on The Sentiero Azzurro in Cinque Terre, Italy.
Maybe I’m delusional.
Hello, it’s me again, dragging on about the complications of not knowing who you are and questioning decisions that you made 15 years ago, only to find that they may or may not have lasting implications for your future. Moral of the story? Make the cookies.
So, can we talk more about this?
I present to you a behind schedule, overly vulnerable blog post that explores the intricate struggles of life with elephants in your head! Yes, elephants. Because that’s what family planning is supposed to feel like, right?
“Are you happy?”
How often do you feel like you are asked whether or not you are happy? If the answer is never, move to Annecy and let me know what you find.
Pictured is Lucy on a walk along the canal, snapped during a particularly amplified moment of Moving Abroad Blues.
Details
Here you will find the nittygritty logistics of our relocation, at least those that we have encountered thus far. This is quite different from the previous two posts; less emotional, more factual. If you have unanswered questions, please ask. If you are also harboring stories about moving with a dog, do share.
Pictured is Lucy at the airport in Salt Lake City prior to 17 very stressful hours for both of us.
Why are we here?
An ode to couches, old and new.
And to dads, when they are right and wrong.
Pictured is our First Annecy Couch. "First" because I am not sold on it being the couch, though I am quite proud of the effort it took to settle it into the apartment.
It’s a start.
Who knew that an international move just as you were getting settled into your 30-something-life would be difficult? An expert from a Wednesday at home, and a long overdue "hello" to a very special woman in Laconia, New Hampshire.