Tell me the truth, do I look...

This morning on the N train two people asked me if I'd like their seat. And not just overly polite businessmen, but a headphone wearing teenage girl and an old lady. So of course I wonder if look pregnant. I fret about this from Canal to 34th Street.

In honor of a friend who is expecting and several who have newborns, I am posting a 3 year old photo of Kirsten that I love, but that she'll skin me alive for when she sees it. (Kirsten, you are gorgeous! You know it! Now the world knows it!) See, there's a little Caden-bun in her oven, not that you would know it.

I had her pose by this one sun-bleached stucco wall on the side of our house. The people who lived there before us had a pig named Sweet Pea who was kept in a pen in this corner of our yard. Next to her pen was a slaughter table. (Talk about pressure. I feel that way sometimes too, Sweet Pea.) I never met Sweet Pea. I imagine her as a little pig with wings and a halo floating up to heaven. But she had a small intersection in our yard named for her--my aunt painted a little sign in her memory to hang on the 19th Century reproduction faux-gas street light my parents bought to adorn the spot. They created their version of a formal garden there, with little Japanese Maple trees, a fountain, tiled walkways, a bench, flowering overhangs and stone statues that my friends found creepy. When my dad got home from work, he and my mom would sit out there together and chit chat before the family dinner rituals began. I like this random little memory.

Anyway I love the tattoo-ed patterns those little branches make across K's arms and face. And of course the expression on her face tells me she's calmly thinking about cutting me as soon as I turn my back.

This photo was taken with an Olympus OM 1 and then sepia toned.

R.I.P. Sweet Pea