All in essays

Pandemic Birthday

Pandemic Birthday

Devon Sioui
essays, ramble, motherhood, marlo

I attempt to explain that I get how strange this is, and that I am sorry, that this has never happened before, and it is weird for me, too. But we can’t go back to the ball diamond, at least not for awhile. That we have to wait until it is open again. You then repeat it seventy-nine more times, because you are three. And then you gag because you smelled Gert’s yawn, or a bag of chips opening, or someone’s fart, or your own fart, because sometimes you can’t tell the difference, and because you are three, no matter what it is but especially about this, you are very accusatory.

Twenty Hours In April

Twenty Hours In April

Devon Sioui
essays, family, marlo

I wasn’t the birth warrior type, I knew I wanted drugs. I didn't have a plan, but based on what my medical team prepared me for, I expected to labour at home, have what my midwife referred to as a “tylenol-wine bath”, which to a nine-month sober person with a penchant for drinking, sounded really fucking good. I'd wait until my contractions were consistent and strong, and then I'd call my midwife, who would come to me.

Rejected Words

Rejected Words

Devon Sioui
essays, family, motherhood, #the100dayproject

Here's a blurb that didn't make "the cut" for my book. I think I tossed it because I thought it felt redundant; that I have perhaps made enough references to my broken vagina, my baby's facial injuries, the act of birthing him. But then it occurred to me that I might just feel that way because I still think about it so much.

Say Goodbye

Say Goodbye

Devon Sioui
ltlym assignments, essays, ramble, prose

Goodbye Morning.
Goodbye Yesterday.
Goodbye Poppa.
Goodbye Childhood Best Friend.
Goodbye Childhood Everything.
Goodbye Mark.
Goodbye Bad Habit.
Goodbye Other Bad Habit.
Goodbye Fear of Death.
Goodbye Bare Feet At Night.
Goodbye Very Short Days.
Goodbye City Patios.
Goodbye Pizza Every Night.
Goodbye Life Without B12.
Goodbye Wedding Succulents.
Goodbye Wish Tree.
Goodbye Thirst D.
Goodbye Angry Neighbour.
Goodbye Hair.
Goodbye Loft.
Goodbye Toronto.
Goodbye You (Most Likely).

Doby

Doby

Devon Sioui
essays, family, ramble

The cold really shrinks my fingers. I'd deduced it fell off into a snowbank, after I tore my house apart once I realized it wasn't on my finger. Part of me expected to find it when I moved six months later. I'd had some drinks the night I lost it, and, not being a stranger to losing things and terrified of having to relive the pain of losing it again in the morning, I scrawled myself a note on the chalkboard in the kitchen thinking I could ease into it.