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	<title>Margot Merrill</title>
	<link>http://margotmerrill.com/writing</link>
	<description>on modern parenthood and the writing life</description>
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	<item>
		<title>Learnin&#8217;</title>
		<description><![CDATA[I'm starting to see how having a baby could be not only possible, but possibly beautiful.]]></description>
		<link>http://margotmerrill.com/writing/?p=255</link>
			</item>
	<item>
		<title>Going Back</title>
		<description><![CDATA[And all I had to do for a week was to care for Alejandro–which wasn’t half as hard as it is here, when I’m working and constantly running around–and to show him the small things I remembered: the dock, the clams, the constant need for life jackets and bug spray.]]></description>
		<link>http://margotmerrill.com/writing/?p=241</link>
			</item>
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		<title>Knocked Up and Feeling Down</title>
		<description><![CDATA[You're not supposed to be depressed when you're pregnant. You're supposed to feel lucky and blessed to have the Power of Breeding. You should feel smug, as this song, recently shared by a FB friend, reminded me: “Pregnant women are smug. Everyone knows it. But nobody says it. Because they’re pregnant.” It’s kind of catchy. If I wasn’t so depressed, or pregnant, I’d laugh.]]></description>
		<link>http://margotmerrill.com/writing/?p=228</link>
			</item>
	<item>
		<title>The passage of time, the passage of Minos</title>
		<description><![CDATA[With Minos’ inevitable passing, I'm pushed off the mesa of my young adult life. ]]></description>
		<link>http://margotmerrill.com/writing/?p=216</link>
			</item>
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		<title>Riding with Strangers</title>
		<description><![CDATA[Pretty much every weekday morning, I get into a stranger's car. We don't talk as we drive across the Bay Bridge. I focus on my iPhone, get caught up on personal emails. Or I stare out the window, watching the giant cargo ships going to and from China and who knows where. I see Alcatraz [...]]]></description>
		<link>http://margotmerrill.com/writing/?p=188</link>
			</item>
	<item>
		<title>the Technology Kid</title>
		<description><![CDATA[Alejandro’s heard us tapping away at our computers since before he was born. As a baby, he was propped in my or Rafael’s laps as we worked on creative or work-related docs; answered emails; or surfed the internet. He’s seen the interfaces of YouTube, iTunes, FaceBook, and email since he could focus his eyes. Raf and I are both immersed in technology–it’s the age we live in, and the professions we’ve chosen. And Ali’s our son.]]></description>
		<link>http://margotmerrill.com/writing/?p=190</link>
			</item>
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		<title>Oh, Yeah. The Power of a Vision.</title>
		<description><![CDATA[I have to ask myself: well, how did we get here? (Talking Heads: the days go by / water flowing under ground...) I think it had something to do with the broad brush strokes on that piece of paper on the fridge. We weren't studying it, but it was at eye level, and it reminded us what we wanted. It was a vision, a loose outline with lots of positive intention.]]></description>
		<link>http://margotmerrill.com/writing/?p=158</link>
			</item>
	<item>
		<title>Time</title>
		<description><![CDATA[Is it normal to feel like time is diced up into tiny slivers, or powdery grains of sand? Before Alejandro, time used to feel…chunkier. Like, I could grab a chunka that. A friend’s move, a personal project–yeah, sure, throw a chunka time at those! A walk though Golden Gate park to go to Amoeba Records? Duh. Bar time, beer time? Yeah, man, throw a good ole chunka time towards some q.t. with buddies!
]]></description>
		<link>http://margotmerrill.com/writing/?p=128</link>
			</item>
	<item>
		<title>Sleep</title>
		<description><![CDATA[I always loved to get my sleep on, but now I'm obsessed. ]]></description>
		<link>http://margotmerrill.com/writing/?p=115</link>
			</item>
	<item>
		<title>Antidote to the Y.S.Y.D.S. game</title>
		<description><![CDATA[If my book is never published and never read, I can keep torturing myself by playing out ridiculous fantasies where:
a)   It’s praised as “the voice of our generation,” “a cunning retelling of a classic love story gone awry,” and “San Francisco’s best tale since Tales of the City.”
OR (still in my head, that glorious beast):
b)   It’s assessed as “crappy white girl drivel. Its author should be water boarded for adding to the piles of typewritten trash in which the world is already drowning.”]]></description>
		<link>http://margotmerrill.com/writing/?p=95</link>
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