Slow Sunday morning scrolling through old photos. Nearly all of my LA pictures look something like this. I miss LA and the unleashing effect it has on me -- my own personal Vegas, but the transactions and encounters carry on long after I leave. Excluding my pregnancies, I’ve never stayed away this long (since moving there in 2007). How glorious a reunion it'll be, but when, nada clue. 🖤

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3 years ago today -- 3 weeks before meeting my darling Annie Girl -- I was headed, once again, back to L&D. ⚡️ Just looking at this, the stress was so consuming, I can actually FEEL it now. ⚡️ I did not enjoy being pregnant, and I do not believe I was very good at it. Heaps of gratitude and anticipatory joy bouyed me through the fear, miserable meds, prelabor paranoia, etc. I was entirely, deeply in love with my children before we met eyes; meanwhile, I found carrying them physically in my body entirely, deeply unnatural. [And yes, this word choice is intentional and true. It's just how it felt for me. Still, to this day, I'm shocked, genuinely, that I did that, grew like that, and not in any kind of pat-oneself-on-the-back kind of way, more like "Who possibly thought THAT was a reasonable idea!?" kind of way.] Anyway. For these reasons, I don't revisit my pregnancies. And really, why would I when the priceless gifts they provided are fully animated and autonomous now, just in front of my nose or clinging to my legs where they belong, requesting ice cubes, glue sticks, and 'squeezy Mama hugs?' [🤗] But, lately, unintentionally, some visceral pregnancy memories are flickering back, and I think I know why. Then and now are such different times, but hard times all the same. I used to have to repeat to Bewildered Pregnant Abbey, "You only need enough strength for today. Tomorrow's strength will arrive tomorrow." And it always did. And it always does. And it always will. I don't know if anyone at all may benefit from reading this, but just in case, there it is, here it is.... Tilt your head up to what I like to imagine are the heavens for a "Serenity now...! / For the love...! / WTF...! Whyyyy...?" exhale, then just keep hanging on. And if hanging on feels harder than you think it should, please message me. I'm here. I mean it. ❤️ [Squeezy virtual hugs.]
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#pregnancydiary #writingmotherhood #mamadiaries #womenwriters #pregnancysupport #womenwhowrite #writinglife #abbeyclelandlopez #preggolife #writeon #writersofig #abbeyclelandlopez #pregnantproblems #writerwoman #keepcalmcarryon #mamapower ...

A high school boy once told me, "Your eyes are so navy, they're almost black, except when you've been crying. Then they're pretty." I've thought of this random, throw-away comment EVERY TIME I've gone out in public post-crying for twenty years. (So not thaaat often; I'm not much of a crier. I'm more apt to grab a pen or a baseball bat than a tissue, but nonetheless, EVERY TIME it applies, I hear it.) We're all walking around with these long-ago-spoken, unsolicited remarks, whether we're aware of them or not -- the compliments, insults, back-handed-something-or-others that burrow in our brain, crafting one brick in the complex building of Moi. In early story development, writers are tasked with creating characters' unique lists. What did someone say about her voice, her hair, her height, the way she ate, the way she laughed, the way she walked, the way she didn't hesitate to speak her mind... until she did? What remarks -- lovely, encouraging, innocuous, seemingly innocuous, confusing, annoying, hurtful, detrimental, dangerous, cruel, trajectory-changing -- does she still hear? Do we still hear? Do we still serve up like a pastry or a poison to the characters in our lives? As writers, we're most interested in the slippery, conflicted, strange ones. The ones that linger, in part, because they're puzzling. (Did he want me to cry?) #amwriting #writinglife #abbeyclelandlopez #writeon ...

How is everyone? Do I know anyone else who is still home ALL the time, as if it's late March or April or May or June or July or August or September? As if a pandemic is still raging? Oh, please don't answer that. I may be in what some could call "a mood," and feel salty about some particular answers, and that's honestly not me, not my style, not good for anyone, not what's in my heart. 🧡 We, my family, have very good reasons to stay put all the time, so we do. Every every every day. 🧡 I did, however, do something very out of the usual today. I picked up a gown from the tailor. I had dropped it off on March 3rd for an early April wedding that would never be. My adored tailor has been stranded in Thailand, while I've been firmly rooted 4 miles from the shop. None of this matters, except that she did an excellent job, and when this era comes to a close, which it will -- no doubt -- I'm wearing that gown (sooo yummy: a floor-length, colorblocked, structured, strappy-backed, secondhand designer stunner) as soon and often as possible. 🧡 So. Carry on. I love you. I feel you. We really are in this together. (Unless we're not, and then please feel free to kindly + temporarily eff off. (Told you. Salty! 💋💋) xx Real Human Experiencing Real Things #abbeyclelandlopez ...

Thought it'd be easier to mass-update here, instead of texting the MANY inquiring parties separately. After seven weeks on backorder, following an alarming "we're not sure we'll be able to fulfill your purchase" email, my limited-edition, pre-order-only Fiona Apple "Fetch the Bolt Cutters" official sweatshirt has arrived. Thank Shesus. We can all finally start sleeping better. 🙏🏼✌🏼🙊 But seriously, #fionaapple and I have been through a lot since I fell hard for her in middle school, and #fetchtheboltcutters is, as always, freakishly apropos and prophetic and haunting and fun. Though every song MYSTIFIES my Anthony, for me, these are the anthems soundtracking this most bewildering + frightening + m-f'ing-angry era of my life. "I move with the trees / in the breeze / I know that time is elastic." Long live my 👑 queen 👑.

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