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"Near the blue Ontario's waters, our Alma Mater dear. . ."
Two weekends ago, while commuting home before a visit to my parents house and to attend my ten year high school reunion, I reflected on where and who I was ten years later. On the subway I wrote:
Thinking about the past opens a sort of flood of emotions and memories. It is now 2010. When I look back at where I've come, I am pleased and slightly amazed. Never, Never, would I have imagined I'd live in Brooklyn and be married with almost four kids and be a decent designer working at a prestigious publishing house. I attribute it all to the Lord and His goodness.
As my wife and I walked to the door the night of the reunion, I was pretty nervous, walking into an unknown: of who I'd see, what they would think, and what we would talk about. Fortunately the night, and the trip overall, went better than I had hoped. I got to catch up with four of the seven friends I had hoped to see, and discovered that people don't change all that much.
The weekend was summer all wrapped into one. I finally got to show Emily the shores of Ontario and have a good salt-free swim. We enjoyed a bonfire, BBQ, and an amazing amateur fireworks display at an old friend's home. Elizabeth got to spend time with Aunt Megan, Gramma, Grampa, and Great Gramma. Emily enjoyed the frigid temperatures of the my parents home, while I got to dig in the dirt with Elizabeth, swing, and climb a tree. Unfortunately we didn't see much of Matt. My brother was busy in the shop working on Pedro (our former car) so that he could take us home to Brooklyn for his last family road trip.
Pedro has moved on to new owners and our family is moving on to new life experiences. But it's good to look back on the miles you've gone and how you've been helped along the way. —Adam
Playing with Great-Grandma
Tim and his wife, Rebecca.
Emily taking a break. We're talking with Sarah, one of Adam's closest friends in HS.
Another old friend, Josh, who runs his own tattoo parlor in Santa Barbara.
The reunion organizer asked Emily to pose sideways. 
At Lake Ontario. Elizabeth has such good manners. Look at that pinky.
Daddy and daughter.
This morning I was sitting with some friends—a young couple like Adam and me, who also have a little girl. They were off conversing about something and when I looked their way, the wife had her arms around the husband's neck and they were smiling and talking. I quickly looked away, though they weren't doing anything especially private. But in that moment, something inside me cried out in pain.
Pregnancy does strange things to you, and not just to your body. (Though those things are strange indeed. Who knew stretch marks could be blue?) I find myself startled when I see someone bend over to pick something up off the ground or when I see moms sitting on the floor with their children. At the post office, at a store, walking along a sidewalk, I feel bewildered and angry if I can't find anywhere to sit down. Why wouldn't they think of that? Doesn't everyone want to sit after five minutes on their feet? I wonder at the self-absorption that makes me see all the world through the lens of my own disabilities.
And it's not just the physical. As I watch romantic scenes in movies, I alternate between incredulity and bitter jealousy. How can she stand being so close to him? changes to why don't I feel like that anymore? It's not fair. I look at pictures of myself on various outings with Adam, before the pregnancy and even before Elizabeth, and I'm shocked by the change. I used to look so happy. So alive. I've never been one to think much of my looks. But at times I almost weep when I see how pretty I used to be. Or, more accurately, how pretty I used to feel. I used to be a wife, lover, friend, and mom. Now I feel like all I am is a walking baby incubator. I suppose that's why it hurt to see my friend with her arms around her husband's neck. There was no baby belly between them. No weight weighing her down. Just youth, happiness, and love.
Of course, I don't know the inner struggles my friend and her husband may be facing. And I know that, all too soon, I will remember, as I did after Elizabeth was born, how "easy" it was to take care of the triplets when they were inside me. But for now, like my toes, these things are hard to see.
Whoa Nelly! That's some belly!
But all joking aside, I'm really grateful how well things are going. No shortening of the cervix. No bed rest. No hypertension. None of the manifold complications that are so common to multiple pregnancy. I do admit that at times, I almost wish I would be put on bed rest. Especially when it's as hot as it has been and my energy seems to drain away with every drop of sweat. But heat waves aside, I really don't have much to complain about.
So what about names? We actually sat down and made a list, with Kim's help. She looked up names on the Social Security website (mostly around the turn of the century) and we gave our thumbs up or down. We have a good list now, though Adam still stubbornly refuses to accept Dorothy. Grandma names are cool! So the debate goes on.
In the meantime, they're holding their own World Cup inside me. (I suspect a goal is scored every time they make me run to the bathroom.) And Baby A, the farthest one down, is doing his very best to break my pelvic bone. The little dears . . .
"Near the blue Ontario's waters, our Alma Mater dear. . ."
Playing with Great-Grandma
Tim and his wife, Rebecca. 
Emily taking a break. We're talking with Sarah, one of Adam's closest friends in HS.
Another old friend, Josh, who runs his own tattoo parlor in Santa Barbara.
The reunion organizer asked Emily to pose sideways. 
At Lake Ontario. Elizabeth has such good manners. Look at that pinky.
Daddy and daughter.
