OT: a mother’s love.

OT: a mother’s love.

Does it extend across species?

I just read the saddest story in the Huffington Post about a baby elephant in China that was attacked and subsequently abandoned by its mother. The little one cried for five hours (just typing that made me teary-eyed), and the story made me want to gather up this giant baby in my arms and console him.

It was this sentence that started the welling of the wet stuff:

“Photos taken of the crying baby elephant, named Zhuang Zhuang, show tears streaming from his red eyes and down his face. In one shot, he is seen lying under a blanket while he appears to weep.”

The accompanying photo (not the one above) finished me. I couldn’t bear to watch the video.

Generally, I’m a hardass to the human condition, but I’m a big animal-sucky; almost any picture or video of cutelings can set off a series of “awwwwww” from me. And heaven help me if said photo or footage is about abandoned or distressed animals.

On a normal, non-pregnant day, I’m gutted. With all the hormones coursing through my veins lately, I simply cannot.

friday the 13th: part II.

friday the 13th: part II.

What? Not this again…

Today marks the second occurrence of Friday the 13th this year. It’s been a fairly innocuous day thus far, yet I can’t help but think back to Friday, September 13th, and the bomb that was dropped on me that morning.

I have talked about my superstitions in various posts in this blog, but aside from a single unfortunate coincidence, I’ve no real ties to (nor fears about) this day. Still, in keeping with the somewhat ominous tone of Friday the 13th, I thought I’d share something that I’ve been keeping to myself for a while…

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I am a creature of the night, and my habitual night owl tendencies have been thrown into overdrive by my inability to sleep comfortably for any stretch of time. To fill the hours between sleep and wakefulness, I rely on my old friend internet to keep me entertained. I’ve mentioned that I’m an avid reader of mommy blogs, but my natural curiosity finds me poking my nose into things that are likely best left alone while pregnant.

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short and sad.

short and sad.

RIP Donte Isaiah Smith. September 20, 2004 – July 25, 2013

My cousin Heather’s little boy, Donte, passed away today – just a month and a bit shy of his ninth birthday.

He’s been ill the last few months, so it was kind of expected. The family lives in Barbados, but come up to Toronto every year to visit relatives, grandparents, cousins, etc. Heather seemed to know that this might be Donte’s last trip to Toronto. She hinted as much to me, but never expanded on her hunch. And I didn’t pry.

Donte wasn’t your average nine-year-old; after he was born, he developed an encephaly, which doctors attributed to a possible stroke in-utero some weeks before his birth. It wasn’t even detected at the time, because he looked “normal.” Complications arose a few days later. By then, it was too late to do much to help him. Donte had already suffered massive brain damage, and doctors advised Heather to take him home and love him for a few weeks, as he wasn’t expected to live beyond that, anyway.

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