but I will not forget thee

It must hard being the 7th child.
Once in a while, while juggling the needs of her six older siblings she has been forgotten. Once I got her all ready to go, put her in her car seat and then went to the parent teacher conferences without her. I didn't even remember I'd forgotten her until one if the teachers asked how she was doing. (She was safe at home with daddy and slept the whole time.) but it surprised me. Since when do nursing mothers forget their baby? I mean, seriously, our boobs ache when we go too long without them. 

Tonight is forgotten her again. She was asleep downstairs and I went to go to bed, forgetting to bring her up to bed until after I saw her bed empty. 

This is an amazing, happy, awesome baby that I have waited 7 kids to get- to forget her would be to ignore all my motherly longings since I started naming my future children when I was 12. 

Ah, how thankful I am that I have someone in my life who will never forget me.  

Isaiah 48:15
Shall a woman forget her sucking child, that she should not have compassion on the son of her womb?  Yeah, they may forget, yet I will not forget thee.
Behold, I have graven thee; on the palms of my hands....

I always laughed before the punch line anyways.

After reading through a lot of my old posts (full moons can do that to you), I realized that I am technical writer who is attempting to write something humorous. But the harder I try at conveying humor, the more technical the details become, in hope that others can see the connections of what could have/should have or maybe possibly will happen and find the exquisite dead pan humor in the situations as they mostly didn't unfold. Many of the situations can be summed up in either your laugh or you cry, especially in the intense concentrations of theses events that are apparent in my everyday life.

In attempt to convey the intense emotions (that are locked away to be dealt with at some future time) of these situations, I have tried to show the moments that bring exquisite joy, pain, and weirdness to my life, often written near the moments for the rawness/freshness to be truly exhibited.

But the humor, the humor and little ironies, and the large ironies of life that I so enjoy can not be adequately recorded with out much time and contemplation given to each word and phrase of each post. It is hard to share the inner working of my mind in words. Perhaps I should take up painting great works of art that can only be enjoyed once I am long dead.