I blog to avoid the internet.

Fifteen minutes tonight filling out permission slips and volunteer forms and her reading log - I feel so grown up!  There's never a moment I drop the responsibility, never a moment their care isn't a live current running underneath everything else happening in my brain, but sometimes, when I have a quiet moment to sit and really think, it blows my mind that I am a mother, responsible for the lives and well-being of two other entire humans.  What they eat, what they wear, when they bathe, how they play - I have a say in all of it.  Not just a say - I damn-near control it entirely.  It's crazy to me that someone let me have this much responsibility without checking to make sure I'm qualified in any way for this much power.  No Pressure.

G had her first parent/teacher conference today, and it lined up perfectly with C's follow-up pelvic ultrasound, so Jimi took the phone conference in the car with G in the backseat while C and I went inside for her appointment.  They were done with her so quickly, we were back to the car in time for the last part of the conversation.  Basically, she's awesome.  She's reading and writing at nearly a first grade level, which is awesome.  She's ahead of most of her class in math, but she needs to keep practicing on her counting (that jump from 29 to 30 fouls her up every time).  She's a little ray of sunshine, a joy to have in class, friendly and helpful to all of her peers.  I heard the part about how they had to move her to a new table because she was too social, and how they expect they'll have to move her again eventually when she gets social with this table too, and I grinned because, yep, that's my girl.

They told us not to expect C's results for a few days.  The technician took the pics, the radiologist "reads" them and sends results to our doc, then we should hear from our doc in a few days.  I want to hold a goshdang Kaizen event to get these people in line - can't we remove a step or two here and multitask to improve turnaround?  For gosh sakes.  Anytime you're in an ultrasound of any sort, you desperately just want to know, "Does everything look normal?"  She didn't halt the test and go get a doc for a second opinion or anything, so there's that, but when she was done, she did say that she needed to check with her doc and asked us to wait for just a moment.  I felt a small pit of dread drop itself into the center of my stomach, but she came back within a few minutes and said we were all set, good to go.  That doesn't answer any questions, though.  So we wait.  And keep sending out into the universe good vibes for no big deal.

My head is a mess, guys.  I'm so sad when I scroll through my social media pages - pictures of new babies and family gatherings sandwiched between horrid tales from sexual assault victims and memes joking about sexual assault survivors posted by men I previously believed to be Good Men.  I want to stay informed, but I've realized my desire to be informed is not so much keeping me abreast of current events so much as depressing the fuck out of me.  I can scroll for hours in twitter and facebook and Instagram, but I'm not gaining any new knowledge or enlightenment from it - I'm just following the crowd into the hole of chaos and awfulness.  I tried to step back last night; I drew myself a warm bath, threw in a bath bomb, turned on a YouTube meditation video to help with stress and anxiety, and tried to let it all go.  When my bath was over, I didn't feel any better, I felt lost and still so sad.  I asked Jimi if he would hold me; I just needed to lie in bed with his arms around me and feel safe.  He did, and I cried and cried until I couldn't breathe through my nose anymore.  I sobbed the big shaking sobs you cry when you're heartbroken, because I am heartbroken.

"I want to live in a world where everything is fair, where everyone is treated equally, where everyone has to follow the same rules."   Why is that too much to ask?

I am aghast at the state of our nation today.  I am appalled.  But I've been doing a little learning, and I'm learning that I shouldn't be all that shocked.  To paraphrase a post I saw somewhere by someone on some social media something:

The United States 

was formed by 

wealthy white supremacists 

to promote their interests and agenda.  

The system is working 

exactly as it was designed.  

In-fucking-deed.  

So yeah.  I'm having a hard time over here, but I'm taking steps to get better.  A social media hiatus between now and election night is on the agenda. I'm even avoiding some of my favorite podcasts, because they're political and informative and the facts they give stress me the fuck out.

Self care, right?  That should be the word of 2018.  It's the only way most of us will survive it.

Finnegan 2

G drew a picture of a cat and taped it to her wall a week or two ago - it was a white cat, and she wrote "Cat" above it.  She likes to label things, now that she can.  Today, I found her with a black crayon, making black spots on the cat.  She'd marked out "Cat" and written "Dog", and underneath that, "Finn".  She drew a black mark at the bottom of the page, "that's his fur that he leaves everywhere."

*Sigh*

We picked up his ashes yesterday; I had both girls in the car with me when I called to see if he was ready.  I should've thought better of that - Cora piped up, "We're getting our puppy back?"  The hopeful melody of her sweet voice broke my heart.  I had to explain again that we're just picking up his ashes.  That he's still dead, that he's not coming back.  "Ashes?" G was curious. "They turned him into dust?"  We talked a bit about that, what it would look like.  I told them to imagine the ashes under the grill, the ones they like to play in.   I sent out a silent thank you to the universe when we got through the conversation again without them asking how they turned him into ashes - I can't think how I would explain cremation technique without them being horrified.  "Did they turn his fur to ashes too?" G asked.  She had that sad, tentative voice that she uses when something is bothering her and she's trying to understand.  "Yes, baby, his fur too."  "Oh," she said, looking down.  "I wanted to feel his fur again."  Somehow I managed to not cry, but it took effort.  I lost it last night when I shared that anecdote with Jimi - he did too.  It's almost too much to bear, to think of his soft fur and what a good boy he was.

We got him picked up, though, got him home, on the mantle.  They included a paw print pressed into some sort of soft dough that will firm up permanently in a few days.  I don't know if that was great or terrible.  I cried last night for a long time.  It wasn't all for him, but a lot of it was.  I have so much guilt - I was not the greatest dog mom over the last 5 years, and I don't know how I'll come to terms with that.  I can't make it up to him.  I can't tell him I'm sorry.  I can't redo any of it.  I keep replaying this night in my head, one of our walks in his last few weeks, before I realized he was hurting - we were walking our usual route and he was being so slow, and I was in such a hurry, like I always am, to get to the next thing, whatever it was.  I lost my patience with him, I assumed he was just being pokey, taking his time, and I pulled on his lead and griped at him to "Come ON - hurry up!"  I would love to not have that memory anymore. When he was slow the next night too, that's when I noticed something was not normal.  Also, the weeks leading up to that, when he was so slow to get up and come to the door to go outside in the mornings; I assumed he was being lazy, or ignoring me - as if he ever did those things - and I would lose my temper and yell at him, "Finnegan, COME!"  I didn't realize until later, when I put the entire sequence together in my head, that he obviously was aching and sore and having a hard time getting up to go out - I was just so engrossed in my own bullshit, worried over my own morning checklist and timetable, I didn't even notice my best boy was having a hard time.  And if I go further back in this memory lane of self-hate - the days when we'd come home and he would be waiting there for us, and we'd blow into the house full of kids and to-do lists and walk right past him without much more than a "Hey Finn, you need to go out?" and we'd let him out, but then ignore him nearly completely until it was time to feed or walk him.  I noticed when he wasn't greeting us at the door any more, but I figured he was napping.  I didn't realize that those door-meet declines coincided with the slow mornings, or that our walks were gradually taking longer and longer, until it was just obvious, and then it was too late.  He deserved better than that.  I owed him more than that.

I want to defend myself, to tell how I was good to him, and to the other dogs in my life before him.  But then I remember that night on that walk, when I hurried him along when he must've been in pain, and I just hate myself.  

I had this ridiculous thought yesterday:  "Dog is God spelled backwards."
Then, "If the way we treat our dogs determines if we get into Heaven, I don't know if I'll get to go."
Then, just now, "If Finn is the one who determines if I get in or not, he'd let me in.  He was always so forgiving."

He used to love it when I'd squat down in front of him and hug him.  He'd lay his head on my shoulder or in the crook of my arm as long as I'd stay there, my face buried in his neck, my hands rubbing along his flank and back, telling him what a good boy he is and how much we love him.  I can almost smell his doggy smell, remembering it.  How soft his fur was, the way he'd lean into me.  I feel like if I get to meet him again, we'll do that, and I'll tell him all of this, and he'll understand, and he'll still love me like he always did.  In the meantime, though, I get to live with the memories, of both the good times and of when I was not a good friend to my best friend.

Finnegan.

I just couldn't do it yesterday - it was too sudden, too soon, too much.  And after the awful start to the morning, he seemed okay after we got home.  Sort of. I felt rushed. The girls needed time to comprehend what was happening.  I needed time to love on him just a little bit more.

The dog who had barely eaten in two days wolfed down the T-bone I grilled him, and gnawed on the bone off and on throughout the evening.  Mostly he just lay on the pillows and blankets and yoga mats I'd laid out in the living room for him, breathing in a way that didn't quite sound right to me - too shallow, too raspy? - his body trembling the slightest bit with each rise and fall of his chest.  We picked the girls up early and explained as best we could what was happening.  I think they get it; we're reminding them to talk and ask questions and that it's okay to be happy and sad at the exact same time.  When the sun came out, we all went out to the front yard and he meandered and sniffed and then went to lay under a tree.  That was his favorite tree back in the day, back before we had a fence and he always went outside to the front yard on a tie-out - he liked to lay there and smell the air and watch the world go by.  Friends came by to love on him one last time, to tell him what a good boy he's been - and to love on us, because they know how awful this is.

Eventually he decided he was ready for bed, I guess, and he went and lay in the middle of the floor in the girls' room.  He would move from side to side, but was not interested in getting up for any reason for the rest of the night.  We talked about how it would maybe be better if he just went to sleep and didn't wake up.  Jimi and I stayed up listening to folk music that somehow was all about losing people you love and reminisced about our lives with him - all the crazy antics that drove us crazy and infuriated us back then - things we wish he could do again.

He had terrible separation anxiety in the beginning.  He bent the bars of his kennel trying to escape it.  He destroyed all of the blinds in our houses - the one we lived in when we got him, and the one we moved into the next year - trying to get to us when we'd leave for work.  We took the best walks through the parks together, and he scared the kids because of his one blue eye and one brown eye.  "Ghost eye," Jimi called it.  He was always sweet and dopey, though.  He was always the best boy.

He loved to explore, and I spent the first 4 years in this house chasing him through the neighborhood when he'd escape through a hole in the fence; once, there was a foot of snow on the ground and I was in slippers, until I lost a slipper.  Then I was just in one slipper.  Fucking dog.  When we'd go to camp, I'd irritate the shit out of Karen because I was constantly yelling "FIIINN - AAAA - GAAANNN!", trying to find him after he'd wander off into the cornfield or around the corner to someone else's camp over and over again, coming back covered in something stinky and gross more often than not.  Using a tie-out was a pain in the ass out there - he'd get wrapped around stuff or tangled up, and besides, what dog wants to be tied up out in the woods?  

He loved to be with us.  If we weren't here, he loved to be with our things.  At first, when he was little, he'd love our things too much with his mouth - we lost a lot of shoes.  Eventually, he just wanted to lay with our things.  He'd make a pile, in the middle of our bed, of shoes and shirt that we'd worn most recently, and then he'd lay there.  All day.  Waiting for us to come home and scold him for making a pile of our things in the middle of our bed again.  Nah, we never really scolded him for that - we'd scold him for the shoe he'd destroyed or the harness he'd cut through again with his scissor-like teeth or the bag of bread he'd shredded and eaten while laying on a pile of our things in the middle of our bed.

When G was born, we sent the little cap they first put on her head home with Stacy, who was keeping Finn for us.  She gave it to him, and says he carried it around with him everywhere for the next few days, whimpering.  When we came home, he watched over her constantly.  When I'd sit in my spot on the couch and nurse her, he was there, right there next to us, with his head next to hers.  He showed extraordinary patience with both of the girls, and was almost always exceedingly gentle with them.  (He nipped at G one time, but she deserved it.  We used it as a teaching moment to remind her to be kind to her puppy brother.)

He did an awesome job keeping our floors crumb-free, though he did contribute what I feel is probably more than his fair share of mess in the form of hairs shed.

He was the best boy.

I slept in the girls' room, so I could be close to him, in case he needed anything in the middle of the night.  He didn't.

We got up late today, just before 7.  G turned the light on and told him good morning and kissed his head - he thumped his tail a few times.  I gave him a few minutes to wake up, then asked if he wanted to go outside.  He got right up and headed for the door, more steady on his feet than he seemed yesterday.  He went straight out the door, down the steps, into the yard.  He peed, sniffed around a bit.  Stood, sniffed the air.  Then he came up the stairs and stopped, stood for a moment, then his back end started to wobble and he fell over on his side.  I caught him and helped him down.  He was panting, but not too heavily.  He lay there for a few minutes before he was able to get up again, but he made it back inside on his own and lay down on his bed.  He drank some water, seemed okay.  Just okay.  It was so obviously time.

We had to wait for the vet's office to open at 9.  I cooked him another steak and he ate the parts I'd cut from the bone, but didn't have any interest in the bone itself.  He drank some more water, rested his head.

I pulled the girls together and explained again what was going to happen.  I told them to go tell him they love him, that he's been a great puppy brother.  "Goodbye?" Geneva asked.  "Yes, baby, goodbye," I answered.

We'd talked about taking the girls with us, about having someone keep them both, or just Cora, but in the end, I decided I wanted to do this on my own.  The vet's office has tiny examining rooms, for one thing.  And the chaos - I just wanted my boy to be able to go in peace, and when we come as a group we bring the chaos.  Usually it's fine - this wasn't one of those situations, though.  So Jimi said his goodbyes, the girls gave their last kisses and hugs and belly rubs, and I asked, "Hey Finn, wanna go for a ride?"  He perked up, ears alert, and got up.  He trotted across the living room, down the short hall, through the dining room and kitchen.  He hesitated at the steps, but only for a moment, then he was down them, through the gate, sniffing in the yard.  He didn't try to jump into the car, but he was waiting patiently for me to lift him into it.  I opened all of the windows and we drove the short drive.  There were lots of people in the small office already - I'd left him in the car to let them know we were here.  After checking in, I went back out and let him down onto the ground to sniff - there are great smells for a dog in the parking lot of a vet's office, I imagine, and that's before you factor in the chicken place next door.

When they were ready for us, I carried him into the small room.  They lifted him onto the table.  I held his face and looked into his eyes and told him how much we loved him, how he's the best boy, how thankful we were that he was part of our family.  It felt like he understood.  He was not scared, he was not panicked, he was not stressed.  As the medicine took effect, he lay down on the table, into my arms, and breathed a few last deep breaths, and then he was still.  It was done.  And it felt okay.  Deeply sad, but okay.

That's how I feel.  Deeply sad, but okay.

I'll miss that good boy.  He was the sweetest boy.

It's Tuesday. Here's what I think:

I'm so damned impressed by these kids in Florida.  I hope they change the world.  I'm trying to convince Jimi we need to go to Washington DC in March.  I may just go by myself.

Arctic ice is melting. Russia totally fucked up our last election.  More people died because someone's feelings were hurt.  Are we great again?

So many complicated thoughts.  So many things to worry about.  My kids ate cupcakes at 8:30 tonight.  WTF?

But.  Mountain pose.  Pay attention to your breath.  Be in the moment.  Calm.  Steady.

It isn't all bad.  There's Sheli and Dot.  And Mom.  And Jimi and those sweet babies who love you so much.  And the puppy and the kitty.  Life is sweet and good.

And Sheli made sables and I brought some home.  I'm going to eat one now.  One of the ones with strawberry jam, because those are amazeballs.

The world is really fucking scary.  There are lots of bad things happening every day.  Remember to look for the helpers.

Dot moved her momma into her home tonight.  Her momma took a train all the way from Oregon to Chicago, then she and Dot's sister rented a car and drove down, but there were lots of roadblocks and hiccups along the way, so they arrived about 24 hours later than originally planned.  But there was Dot, with a smile and a hug, and a warm healthy dinner, and a houseful of beloved friends, to welcome her momma home.  She's a real helping helper.  It warms my heart to think of her selflessness in this - the work she put into making sure her mom's room was just right, the details she watched.  She's a good woman.  I hope her momma can feel the love tonight.

Geneva did not get into the school we wanted her to get into.  Knee jerk reaction from me is to look into private schools.  I went to my 20 year high school reunion this past weekend, and I had a conversation with an old classmate of mine who is a teacher now.  As I found myself in the middle of telling this woman that I think public schools aren't the best choice for my little angels, I realized I'm an asshole.  This woman paid thousands and thousands of dollars to go to school for years and years so she could make a barely-livable wage to have the privilege of working in a public school.  She's signed up to buy her own work supplies because her employer can't.  These days, she's signed up to be an actual human shield should some gun-wielding nut decide to shoot up her school.  And she does it happily, because teaching is what she loves.  And there I was, saying that wasn't enough.  What in the actual fuck, Natalie?

So.  Maybe we're going to try out this public school thing.  I won't lie, these kids in Florida give me great hope for our future.  They are starting a movement.  If the Russian trolls are against you, I'm with you.  And I'm thinking - if I can find the money for private school, why can't I find that same money to donate to my child's public school?  Why can't I help boost their resources, literally put my money where my mouth is?  Maybe I can talk to some people and get them to feel the same way. Maybe we can start a thing.  Maybe.

I went on a tear this weekend - I believe the issue of school shootings is absolutely a gun issue, BUT, if you don't, that's cool.  If it's an education thing, let's fund the shit out of our public schools and give teachers and counselors the tools they need to educate and support and guide our children.  If it's a mental health thing, let's fund health programs and make mental health services readily available for everyone.  If it's a parenting issue, let's fund family leave policies so parents can attend to the individual needs of their children without fear of losing their jobs and/or going bankrupt.

There has to be an answer.  If we are the greatest nation on Earth, we can find a way to stop these massacres.  Doing nothing is not an answer, and it's not okay.  I think we're seeing the beginning of a movement that will make something happen.  I have hope.

When Trump was elected, my Daddy told me, "The US has survived things far worse than Donald Trump."  True.  But he's still pretty fucking bad.  The indictments that came out this past weekend show that Russia was actively working to get him elected because they believe that was literally the best way they could hurt America.  Our sitting President was elected by people swayed by Russians trying to harm our country.  That's a pretty fucking big deal.

I'm waiting for the leaders to emerge - the ones who lead the charge of infuriated and outraged Americans who demand justice for our democracy.  Surely we have elected someone to a higher office who is up to this task?

Things I'm worried about tonight:

.  How much difference does it really make in the entirety of your life, which kindergarten you attend?  I suppose not much.  Unless you go to a really bad one.

.  How does a parent identify, from the outside, a really bad kindergarten?

.  Is our president working for Putin?

.  What are we going to have for dinner tomorrow night?

.  Today I've heard three separate tales of how white people, as a culture, actively worked to destroy people who were different from them.  Three separate cultures, too.  WTF, white people?

.  Why haven't white people realized yet that we're the problem?

.  What happens to someone who is deported from the US, after living here for most of their lives?

.  Why can't I stop arguing with my 4 year old?

.  I give my kids most of the things they ask for; they usually respond by complaining about it.  How do I break that in them without beating them?

.  How many members of Congress are working for Putin?

.  I'm pretty certain the NRA is working for Putin.  Okay, not really.  Well, maybe.  But it's fucked up how much of our nation they control.

.  What is a religious person's objection to making sure peoples' basic needs are met? i.e. Universal healthcare, welfare, food stamps, WIC and SNAP, etc.

.  Why can't I find the motivation to move my ass on a regular basis?  I want to exercise more, to lift more, why don't I do it?

.  Is my husband reading this over my shoulder, or did he really want to stand next to me and pet my head in the dark dining room for 45 seconds?

.  Is the weather really turning to shit tonight?  Man, I hope the roads aren't bad in the morning.  Will need to get up a little early.  Maybe I'll get to bed a little earlier...but it's almost 11, so that's unlikely.

.  What am I going to wear to work tomorrow?

.  I still didn't play GO Fish with G tonight.  We've been talking about playing Go Fish since Saturday.  I suck at momming sometimes.

.  Is Cora ever going to be potty trained?  I'm so over buying pullups.

.  My 20 year high school reunion is a week from Saturday.  What in the fuck am I going to wear to that?

.  I really should spend more time paying attention to my sweet husband.

.  I should've gone to bed 2 hours ago.  I'm tired.

.  How can I convince my boss I deserve a raise?

.  I should walk Finn more.  Damn it, it's so cold, though!

.  He really does need a good brushing.

.  I need there to be more hours in the day.

.  I still need to get my damned oil changed.  Shit.

.  Ugh.  I need to get a copy of TurboTax and get started on our taxes.  Do i know where all our forms and receipts are?  Ugh.

.  Are we going to take an actual vacation this year?

.  Speaking of vacation - my balance was only 40 hours when I checked online today.  I need that fixed.

.  Why am I writing out a list of this stupid shit at 11 p.m., as I sip my hot tea and try to get myself ready for bed?  I already did my bedtime yoga, even.  Probably should've let this shit out before then.

.  Geneva and Cora's bedroom is a disaster; so is the entire upstairs, again.  And my laundry is piling up.  Nature loves chaos - i wish it didn't make me feel so fucking anxious.

.  And the kitchen sink is full of dishes.  I just can't, not tonight.  I have no energy, no drive.  It's no wonder my back aches, you should see the way I'm slouched in this chair.  (I straightened up, though, because that was dumb.)

.  I still need to make sure mom can keep the girls Friday night.

.  What are Maria and I going to do Saturday?

.  I forgot to tell Jimi Mom wants us to come over for dinner Thursday night.

.  When can Patricia and I get together in the next week? 

.  That's a lot of socializing and it's starting to freak me out.

.  I've got to get over this social anxiety bullshit.  It's making me a terrible friend.  But dammit.  Some days it just feels impossible to even read a text message, much less respond to one.  Natalie from 10 years ago would be aghast.

.  Stacy never emailed me today - I need to make sure I check in with her tomorrow.  We need to get the girls together soon, too.  More socializing, but they don't really count.

.  I hope I'm not screwing my kids up too badly.  I just want to be a good mom.

.  Jimi and I won't always be the parents of tiny children - it'll get easier to find time together, and it won't always be this hard to just get through the day to day.  Right?

Not even gonna read through this again.  Just gonna post it.  My Crazy: A Sample.  :)  Sweet dreams, friends.

Feel free to leave a list of your crazy brain commentary below. Show me I'm not the only one.

Go take a hike.

The weather broke in the last few days and now, this spectacular morning, the air is crisp and cool and it makes me wish we were camping.  Jimi said last night we can take the girls this morning to the park - but not just any park!  The park with the hiking trails!  It has a great little playground for the girls, and a short half-mile loop trail just past that.  The trail is easy and I think the kids will dig it, especially with promises of more playground playtime at the end.  I could sure use a good hike in my life.  I'm thinking of taking Finn and leaving Jimi at the playground with the girls so I can get an extra hike in - a half mile sure goes quickly.

Cora was up at 4 this morning, but Jimi got her back to sleep.  And then Geneva was up at 6.  It's Saturday, people!  She was so happy and giggly, though.  It's hard to be grumpy when you have a giggly four year old tickling you.  I let her have fruit flavored marshmallows after her Cheerios, so I'm probably the best mom ever...if you asked her right this minute.  Actually, she may not talk to you if you asked her right this minute; Netflix has Secret Life of Pets now, we discovered this morning.  Guess what they're doing right now?  Those girls I said weren't allowed to watch TV this weekend because we need a reset, a break from screen time?  Go ahead.  Guess what they're doing.

I'm drinking delicious coffee.  I really enjoy coffee at the kitchen table, with a laptop open to a blank screen and an open window of time to fill it with words that aren't important to anyone but me.  But that makes them important, right?  Even if they're only important to me, I still count, and things that mean something only to me still mean something.

I said 37 was going to be the year I stopped caring so much about what others think of me.  I said I was going to speak my mind, stand up for myself, say the words that are hard to say.  I said I wasn't going to be so afraid.  I'm doing a shitty job.  Part of this funk I'm in, it's fear.  I'm scared of things happening in the world around me and I retreat into myself and into my home, clinging to the things that are safe and familiar and mostly unchanging.  I need to be more brave.  Stacy and I had a good talk last night about the importance of saying hard things, speaking out when things bother you, saying "this is not okay" to someone who isn't treating you well.  I'm really good at giving her advice on how to do more of that; I'm really terrible of putting that advice to work in my own life.  Not that I have a bunch of people around me treating me poorly; the opposite, in fact.  But things that bother me, I sweep under the rug or work to ignore in the moment because I don't want to cause a stink, I don't want to be "that" girl.  Like when a co-worker says, "Yeah, I really jewed him down on the price..."  I want to punch the guy in the face.  Not literally.  I want to say, "That's a racist comment and I think you should reconsider using it in polite company."  Well, no.  What I actually want to say is, "Have you been living under a fucking rock? Do you hate Jewish people? I know that was a popular phrase a few decades back, but times have changed and it's not cool to be racist anymore.  Don't say that shit around me."  Either may make him stop using the phrase in my presence; neither will endear him to me, and may even cause conflict.  That's my hang-up.  I care way too much about what other people think about me, and I will avoid conflict at every possible turn unless there is just no other option.  Why do I do that?  Why do I allow someone else's opinions so much importance that I tamp down my own so as not to contradict theirs?  Especially in situations like this, where one of us is obviously right and the other is so obviously wrong?

I already have a bit of a reputation at work, I think, for being the liberal hippy.  The women's rights advocate who bristles at being called "hon" or "babe" by men just a bit younger than my father whom I've never met face to face but have been tasked with providing them excellent customer service, so I laugh and say you're welcome and roll my eyes and pretend it's no big deal even though it really does fucking dig at me because he would never in a million years say that to a man in this position and I know he doesn't mean anything by it but still, why is it okay?  Why is it 2017 and I have men who are strangers calling me honey on the phone when I'm simply trying to sell them steel?  Why do I have to laugh at their not-so-veiled flirtations and innuendos?  I'm not a prude; but if I object, if I don't brush it aside without blinking, I'm the problem.


Ugh.  I didn't intend to go down that rabbit hole this morning.  It's a deep hole and I don't want to be there today - I want to be outside, in the woods, hiking with my family!  And what else?  We are out of just about everything except condiments and dried beans and rice, so I probably should get to a grocery at some point this weekend.  And, surprisingly, our laundry situation is out of control; I think I have 6 baskets of clean clothes that need to be folded, and at least 3 loads of laundry to wash and dry behind that.  It never stops, maybe because I never get caught up.

Jimi did get our kitchen sink handled, though.  It's been clogging for the last week, and by Wednesday night, there was no amount of sulfuric acid that was going to unclog it.  We had a load of "clean" dishes in the dishwasher, with a pool of murky yellowish/brown water in the bottom of the machine.  The sink was full.  (We create a lot of dirty dishes.)  Jimi got an appointment for a plumber to come out, and at 9 a.m. Friday, I got a text:

My stomach dropped.  I told my coworkers I'd be back, and went outside to call him.  He sounded sick when he answered.  "So, uh, we're fucked, huh?" I said.  "Ha!  No, it's fixed.  The plumber told me to say that."  Nice, huh?  $99, problem solved.  Big sigh of relief.  And now those dishes that were in the dishwasher are actually clean and put away.  I'd like to tell you the sink is empty, but I try not to lie.  

.

Wednesday Night Whatever.

Everything in the news makes me heartsick and disgusted and scared.  Our collective apathy makes me feel weak and vulnerable. 

I try to remember that I am only responsible for, that I can only control, my actions - that I cannot take on the guilt of the bad people in the world.  I try to remind myself that what I have did not come from taking from the have-nots.  I want to do more, I should do more, to help those who have less, who need more, but some days it's a struggle just to get to the end of the day.  And then I feel terrible for not pushing a bit harder, as if my not making a bunch of sandwiches for homeless people is directly causing worldwide hunger to not be fixed already. 

Ugh.  The world is so ugly. 

This is why I stay home all the time.  It's safe in here.  It's full of funny happy people who love each other, even if they hit and scratch and bite sometimes, and yell, and cry and whine...still.  Way safer than your average public gathering these days.  Also, I'm always tired.  And taking the girls to other peoples' homes freaks me out because I'm afraid they're going to get on your nerves or break something or stain something.  And I still have stupid terrible mom guilt any time I leave them with Grandma because I feel like I'm imposing on my mom and abandoning my kids all at the same time, so it makes it hard to let loose and have a good time, ya know? 

This was supposed to be a Facebook post, not a blog entry.  Whatever. 

Kushner

When you read about Trump's Senior Advisor and Son-in-Law trying to set up a secret communication channel with Russia, ask yourself - "Do I think he would have done this of his own volition, without the knowledge and express permission of Trump?"

I know you can't convict on circumstantial evidence, but dammit people.  There is so much smoke, a fire is all but guaranteed.  And not some little tiny bonfire either - this is an all-out wildfire and our Democracy is what's burning. There's nothing partisan about this - these people are hiding treasonous acts, and the story is going to come out.  It's okay that you voted for him and put us in this terrible position - well, it's not, but we can't change the past now, can we? - but we have to come together as Americans and move forward with reason and rational thought.  You wouldn't accept this from any previous President, none of it.  This is not normal.  This is dangerous. 

I don't know what I want you to do other than admit that this man is a piece of shit and he's destroying our country bit by bit and needs to be replaced immediately.  We need a new election. 

The funk.

I'm pretty sure Geneva has a cavity.  I'm barely holding back the panic and feelings of failure.  I'm beating myself up for not being more diligent about getting her teeth brushed, for not getting her a dental appointment until her 4th birthday.  I'm terrified of what they're going to tell us.  Ugh.  This is not one of the things you're supposed to drop the ball on, Natalie.  WTF.

(deep breath, 1, 2, 3, 4...)

It is what it is.  I can't change what is.  We can brush our teeth twice a day like it's our prayers and we've suddenly converted to the religion of Enamel and we're very devout.  On the up side, I think Cora's teeth are okay...one out of two ain't bad?  ...heh... heh...  Ugh.

Cora had a bad stomach bug over the weekend, and is only now finally back to normal (5 days later).  They bring home every single thing that rolls through that daycare, I swear it, and we all take turns being the sick one. 

....and then, just now, Cora woke up grabbing her ear and saying "owwie owwie". 

This has been the sick year.  We're almost at a year since they switched to daycare centers, which is when the funk began.  Surely by some cosmic design this means that magically at a year they will have developed an immunity to all of the crud, or at least built up enough of a tolerance that Jimi and I won't have to take turns taking off work every week. 

The stories she will tell...

"You know what my great great grandmommy told me?  She said Pool Head Cover Off.  And then I came to you.  A better mommy.  You're a better mommy to me."

You know those "creepy things kids say" emails that used to float around and still appear occasionally on clickbait sites?  This is Geneva's contribution. 

She's been talking about her great great grandmommy, Donna, for weeks.  She says Donna died when bad guys broke into her house and killed her.  But she shows G all sorts of things and tells her all sorts of stories. 

Pool head cover off.  Pool had cover off?  A little kid drowned in a pool in the backyard of our home, years before we bought it but recently enough that we found little McDonald's happy meal toys in the backyard and basement and upstairs for years after we moved in.  The story we've heard is he snuck out the back door during a family event of some sort - a birthday party or baby shower or something - and got into the pool when no one was watching.  He was only little, 2 or 3.  Our neighbors remember it and have told us their versions.  The pool is long gone, and I use this story as a reminder of why we don't buy one of those >$200 pop-up things at Wal-Mart for some summer fun and relief.

I don't think G is the reincarnation of the kid who drowned in our backyard 15 years ago.  But her ramblings tonight were a little creepy.  Kids say the darnedest things. 

My new addiction.

I spend too much time reading the internet.  Reading about things that don't directly impact me, or things that do, but they all have something in common - I can't do anything about any of it.  Well, not much, at least.  I'll meet with a group of women later today to bask in political conversation, in a place where we can yell and bitch and gnash our teeth and complain and cry and be aghast and angry and motivated, where it won't be a huge social faux paus to say things like "Who gives a shit how the soup is, our President is a Russian puppet!"  We'll talk about how scared we are and how small we feel, how helpless and impotent.  We'll talk about the things that scare us the most, the issues we feel need the most immediate attention - and then one of us will remind the rest that we ARE NOT ALONE.  That I may be one person, but when I join my voice with theirs, we become a chorus, and there are choirs practicing this particular song all over our country today, right now.  And we will feel less alone, and a little less afraid, a bit less weak, a smidge stronger.  And we will start to write.  We will each write a letter or a postcard to our representatives on each topic each woman identified as the one most important to her, and we will mail our choir song to the people whose job it is to listen to us sing...

And that makes me feel a little bit better.  It doesn't feel like enough, and it isn't, not by a long shot, but it is what I can do today, while I also do the other stuff, the real stuff, the stuff I should be concerned with, the stuff I was concerned with before the political took over my brain...you know, the real stuff.  Like loving my husband, loving my children.  Raising them to be good people, teaching them to give a fuck about other people.  Because that's what we do as parents, right?  We try to teach our kids to be good people, to be compassionate.  Be super smart and funny and awesome in every other way too, but from the get go, at the start, be a good person.  That one thing is the most important. 

I don't know how to balance.  I don't know how to stay woke and not be deeply depressed and sad and angry.  I don't know how to reconcile my love for my Trump-voting fellow humans at the same time I am vehemently hoping for the worst of his policies to have the worst impacts on his voters just as a big fat "WTF WERE YOU THINKING I TOLD YOU SO!"  I am angry at the people who voted for him.  I am angry at them for putting our country, our safety, our very freedom at risk.  I am so angry - and not just on my own behalf.  I am terrified for my children, and I am pissed at his voters for stealing a bright future from them.  See?  I can't balance. I'm all doom and gloom - as I see it, unless he's forced out of office quickly, and our Congress mostly replaced in 2018, we're fucked.  Who needs clean air and water, anyhow?  Who needs our rich history of welcoming immigrants with open arms?  Who needs a respected leader believed to be ethical and moral?  Who needs separation of church and state?  Who needs educated citizenry? 

I cannot compartmentalize, this shit leaches into my thoughts during every conversation.  I could easily turn every exchange into a lecture about current events.  I am not fun at parties anymore. 

Every day I tell myself, "I'm just not going to go down the rabbit hole today, I'm not going to Twitter or Facebook or Reddit..." but I do, and I am like a fucking junkie, getting hits/new tweets/statuses every time I pull that page down to refresh, getting more enraged and outraged and indignant and shocked with each new blow dealt by digging journalists or overreaching strategic advisors...

My dad told me a few days after the election, "The United States has survived the Revolution, the Civil War, the Great Depression...it has survived bigger things than Donald Trump."  Sometimes, for a few moments, I'm able to step out of the noise in my head and look at it from thirty thousand feet, and I can see that he's right, and it makes me feel better.  Sometimes I tell myself that I am a married white woman with a comfortable income living in a comfortable middle-class home, with plenty of food, access to affordable healthcare, with reliable transportation and two happy healthy little girls to raise - stay the fuck out of politics.  Why do I care?  Why can't I just bury my head in the sand like so many of my friends and not read the shit, not pay attention, pretend it isn't there?  It's not like I am actively working to change anything - I haven't been to any rallies or protests or community events.  I'm just reading shit on the internet and getting pissed off, occasionally releasing a little tension with a bitter tweet or facebook share.  WHY? 

When I'm driving alone, usually I'm trying to find the answers to all of these big issues we're facing - how do you convince people that insuring everyone is the only answer to our healthcare problems? How do we get people to stop being afraid of each other and realize we're all the same? How do we convert coal- and oil-industry workers into entrepreneurs in the renewable energy fields?  I'm asking myself how I can be part of the solution.  Sometimes the answer feels like the big obvious one - run for office if you want to make the laws.  That feels way too scary and hard and like something that couldn't possibly be something I could be successful at, though, so I keep digging and thinking and trying to come up with something, anything.   And then I remember that I can't even get a handle on my laundry situation, so I'm really wasting energy focusing on the wrong shit here. 

I got up at 4:30 this morning, on a Sunday, so I could sit alone in the dark with my cup of hot tea (can't grind coffee beans at 4:30 if you want everyone else to stay asleep) and read Twitter and WP and Reuters and NYT in the quiet stillness, without interruption.  I was going to sit here and bathe in the bad news, just splash all around in it.  I'm glad I came here instead.  I think this is probably better for my mental health.

The Revolution Begins At Dawn.

I am so tense.  Reading Facebook infuriates me these days.  Reading the news makes me want to break things. 

What is happening?

We need, right now, to identify the people we want to fill our Congressional seats two years from now.  We need to identify them, and we need to do everything we can to help them hone their message and get their name and their platform out into the world and we need to get them elected.  We have to start now. 

We're going to march, me and mine.  I don't know how I'll convince Jimi, but we are going to march against tyranny. Against oppression.

That sounds so grandiose, so dramatic.  But this is real actual life, right now.  I can't even believe this shit is happening. 

That's what I say every day when I read the news: I can't believe this shit is happening. 

I love everything. I'm scared.

Geneva told me I'm a good mom and that she loves playing with me. 

Cora asks for me when she wakes up a lot of mornings now, rather than daddy.  It's okay that daddy is still her favorite, but it's nice to be wanted, too. 

My husband is the best husband, and I don't know how anyone familys without a Jimi.  He's the glue, man.  He is everything.  Everything.

My mom and dad are always there when I call them - they keep the girls when they're sick or because we want to go out, they buy me tires because it's almost Christmas and they know it's not a convenient time for me to spend an unexpected $600, they love us unconditionally and always are there to listen or give advice. 

My friends...my friends are the best friends.  They think I'm awesome despite all the evidence I give them to the contrary.  They love me even though I'm just me. 

I love my job.  I'm good at it.  It's not my dream, but I work with great people, and we have fun while we're doing what we have to do every day to make our dreams happen. 

I have a safe place to live.  I have reliable transportation.  I have access to adequate, affordable healthcare.  Our dog is a good boy except when he isn't, but even that isn't SO bad, in perspective. 

My life is everything I've ever wanted.  I'm so full - of happy, of shame, of joy, of hope.  If I could get some sort of guarantee that it won't end in the next 46 years or so, I could live my day to day happy and without a care in the world...

I'm scared for everyone who is not me.

I don't say that with sarcasm or to be witty or tongue in cheek. 

I'm scared for parents of sick kids, parents of kids with learning challenges of all sorts.  I'm scared for single parents.  I'm scared for parents who don't have extended families, or who are far from home.  I'm scared for women and men who are underemployed, underinsured.  I'm scared for those of us living paycheck to paycheck, with outstanding loans on our only modes of transportation, living in areas where there is little or no public transit, little or no upward momentum...

I'm scared our President is going to make my 401k go away.  I'm scared I'll regret not doing better at food storage.  I'm scared those will be the least of my fears...

I'm scared.

Moratorium

I've decided to mostly stay away from Facebook for the next month, at least until after the election is over.  My feed has become a 24/7 blast of screaming election noise, and I can't take it.  I wake up in the middle of the night panicked at the idea that Donald Trump could be our next President, worried how I can convince everyone I know to not vote for him.  I am so disappointed with it all.  And you know, it's all based on where we get our news.  It's entirely possible in this country for two equally intelligent people to come to completely different conclusions based on which station they tune their radio to on their way to work in the mornings, which channel they're watching when the nightly news comes on.  And we surround ourselves with people who think like us, so we repeat the same stories to each other, making fiction into fact, or embellishing fact into fiction. 

Anyhow, Facebook moratorium.  Sort of.  Mostly.  For today, so far.  I turned off the notifications on my phone, but I didn't delete it.  So there's how you know I'm not completely committed here.  I can feel a difference already, though.  Seriously.  My mind is quieter, I'm not as anxious.  I'm legit scared about the potential outcomes of this election, but I can't bear to think about it anymore.  I'm practicing my serenity prayer, practicing the power of positive thinking, reminding myself that I cannot change the way things will be - that I only have one vote.  I do not have the emotional strength to try to change peoples' minds.  I do not want to have debates with people I respected up until we started this election cycle.  So I'm going to try really hard to avoid any mention of politics for the next few weeks.  I'm not going to think about what is hanging in the balance. I'm going to focus on my family and myself instead of rich people who don't give one single fuck about me.  I'm going to do the best I can each day to recognize and appreciate how awesome this life is, right this minute, and I'm not going to worry too much about the big looming questions of the future and what may be.

Tonight, for example, after dinner, instead of me sending the girls off to play while I got more and more angry at the internet and all of the dumb people on it, my phone stayed in my bag, and Cora and I took Finn for a walk around the block.  It was awesome - we chatted and ran and laughed.  She's getting so big so fast, and I'm missing so much of it just for the fact of having to work and be away from her most of the day 5 days a week; I really should try harder to not waste the little time I do have with them with my face buried in a screen, my blood pressure spiking over things I can't control. 

They started a new daycare this week, and I'm so glad and excited for it.  This one is so far above and beyond what we had; they have a curriculum! they have two teachers in every classroom! they have cameras recording constantly! they are organized!  In short, I love this new school. It's closer to my office, and so far seems to have adjusted our commute in a way that gets us home in much better time.  Or maybe that's just the shifted traffic pattern now that the bridges and roads are opening back up along the KY/IN border, but whatever. 

Life is good.  I need to remember that in the moment, and not just at the end of the day, after a beer or two, when I'm getting all sentimental and reflective.  Life is so so good.  And so short.  I should not sweat the small stuff.  It's all small stuff.  When did I get so uptight?  What's got me all wound up and bitchy?  Maybe I need to disconnect from everything for a while, see if I can get down to the fundamentals.  I'm sure there are journals and study guides out there that help you discover yourself, right?  I'm not going to spend my money on one, but I'd consider reading some information like that online for free. 

I'm starting to talk crazy talk.  I think maybe it's time for bed.  Sweet dreams.  :)

39.6 - The end is near...

Tomorrow.  February 20, 2013.  I've been anxiously awaiting this day since June 13, 2012 - since that second pink line appeared as an answer to years of hoping and dreaming and wishing and wanting. 

Baby Girl is going to be here any day.  Probably not tomorrow, but tomorrow feels like the finish line. 

I can't believe we're here.  I have a house full of baby things -  I'm sitting next to a box of a dozen new cloth diapers, with my hypnobabies book in front of me, my arm resting across my swollen belly that shifts and moves every few minutes - I still can't believe this is my life, my reality, that I'm going to be a mom any day now.  Some time within the next 2 weeks, Jimi and I will be parents to a real live baby that is going to sleep in the bassinet that's currently positioned next to our bed. 

I just can't believe this dream is coming true.  I'm so happy, I'm so excited, I'm so scared.

At my appointment yesterday, the nurse asked if I wanted to be checked.  I'd previously said I wasn't going to do that - I know it's no guarantee of anything - but when the option presented itself, I answered with a sheepish "Yeah, kinda".  I wanted to know if there's any progress, if my body is doing anything to get ready to get this baby out of me.  When the midwife announced I was 2.5 - 3 cm, I was over the moon with excitement - my cervix works!  It's doing what it's supposed to do!  Hurray! 

So of course now, I'm horribly impatient and I just want her to show up NOW.  I'm ready.  Well, as ready as I can be, having never done this before and having no real idea of what in the fuck I'm actually in for. 

I'm scared.  I'm afraid of the pain that I'll be in after I come home.  I'm afraid that something may go wrong with all my best-laid plans - for a natural birth, for breastfeeding, for not being a horrible mother.  I'm afraid of the lack of sleep, and the demands of a newborn.  I'm afraid there's something we've not done, that something will come up we're not prepared for.  I'm afraid my hormones will take over and change the person I am.  I'm afraid that I'll be mean to Jimi.  I'm afraid the stress of having a new baby will change US.  I'm afraid my daughter won't be perfect, that something will have been missed, that something will be wrong.  I'm afraid that feeling that last part makes me a horrible person.  I'm afraid of how I'll react if that fear became reality.  I'm afraid of something terrible happening, some freak horrible thing that hurts my daughter. 

I tell myself over and over that these fears are all normal, and nothing to actually worry about, because everything is going to be perfect and fine and nothing will go wrong and she IS perfect and every little thing is gonna be alright so I shouldn't worry about a thing.  It's all going to be wonderful. 

I think it'd be really neat if she was born tomorrow.  Right on time.  Very punctual. 

I just want her to be here.  I'm ready for her.  I'm ready to start the next stage in our journey as a family - a family of three.  Three is a magic number.

37.6 - Entering the home stretch

We've reached "full term", and now it's just a matter of when she decides to make her appearance.    Her nursery is nearly complete, she has teeny tiny onesies and socks folded and matched and put away into dresser drawers, we have diapers that will fit her teeny tiny newborn bottom.  I have a pretty good idea of what's going into my hospital bag, but I've not packed it yet; maybe I should get on that, eh?  (I have the important stuff set aside and ready - stool softeners.  Post-birth poo is no joke, from what I hear.) 

We had two baby showers this past weekend - one Friday night thrown by Jimi's co-workers, and another Saturday afternoon hosted by my family.  Both were lovely and netted us some awesome gifts to help welcome our new arrival.  Maggie came down for the family shower and brought the burp cloths she made after the shower she hosted for us a few weeks back - looking through the messages and pictures from our friends made me teary-eyed all over again. 

I feel very loved right now.  I feel like I'm caught up in a net of love and happy and warm and cozy and safe and good.  I've had a life full of happy and love, but I don't remember ever feeling quite so filled to the brim with good things.  It's a great place to be, my world is these days, and knowing it's only going to get better with this baby's arrival is more than I can comprehend. 

I was very disappointed at my midwife appointment yesterday to learn that I've tested positive for Group B Strep.  I'd really hoped to avoid that, and learning that I'm a carrier has bummed me out.  My midwife was very good about explaining it all to me in detail, since I'd not bothered to do any previous research on it (hoping it wouldn't apply to me), and basically this means I've got to get to the hospital within 4 hours of my water breaking or when contractions (pressure waves) are 6-7 minutes apart rather than 3-5 minutes apart so I can have at least two rounds of IV antibiotics before baby girl is born.  I'd hoped to spend most of my early labor at home, but now we'll be heading out quite a bit sooner than I'd planned.  Fortunately, I was reassured that I can still move around and get in the tub, etc. while hooked to the IV, so I won't be strapped to a bed.  It's all going to be fine, just a bit of a change in my gameplan.  Whatever - I'd even take being strapped to a bed if it meant getting my daughter here safely. 

Perhaps it was psychosomatic, but within an hour of leaving the midwife's office, I started to feel sickly.  It got worse as the night progressed, with my throat getting more and more sore each time I woke for my hourly bathroom trip/flip to the other side.  I called my doctor's office before 9 a.m., hoping he'd be able to prescribe something to head off whatever it was trying to take hold of my body.  I'm usually a "wait three days and see" before calling the doctor sort of gal, but being within 2 weeks of my due date was enough catalyst to get my butt in gear immediately this time.  They were able to fit me into a slot that'd been reserved for a patient who'd done a no-show, but when the strep culture came back negative, the doc was sort of stuck on what to do for me.  In the end, I came home with a $50 Tamiflu script, just in case it's the flu.  I've since decided it's most likely a sinus infection, but I'm taking the Tamiflu anyhow - just in case, and because I paid $50 for it.  I went back to work after my visit, but came home around 1 and slept until it was time to pick up Jimi from work.  It's 8:30 now, and I'll probably be in bed in the next 30 minutes or so - I want as much rest as possible, to give my body a chance to fight this off quickly.  I don't want to be nine and a half months pregnant and sick.  I especially don't want to be in labor and sick.  Immune system, don't fail me now!

There are a million other words to say.  I'll get to them all eventually.  For now, though, Momma's tired. 

33.1 - My little pineapple

- Touch up paint in nursery
- Paint trim in nursery
- finish sanding dresser/changing table
- Paint dresser/changing table
- Paint drawer pulls for dresser/changing table
- Install ceiling light in nursery
- Clean carpet in nursery
- Order crib and crib mattress; assemble crib
- Make and hang curtains in nursery
- Make crib skirt
- Wash diapers and newborn clothes
- Complete birth plan
- Order breast pump
- Attend breastfeeding class
- Tour hospital
- Pack hospital bag
- Buy postpartum supplies (pads, etc.)
- Stock up on daily necessities (soap/TP/etc.)
- Make freezer meals

********************

 

I'm starting to freak the fuck out.  Less than seven weeks to go and that list is just the stuff I can remember at this moment that we need to do.  I nearly had a panic attack last night, lying in bed making that list in my head. 

Oh my goodness, there is so much to do.  SO MUCH.

 

Jimi reminds me that all she needs is a clean butt, a warm bed, and a full belly.  The rest is just details.  Of course, he's right.  But oh goodness, I want everything to be perfect and just right for her when she arrives.  I want to bring her into a home that's perfectly prepared and ready for her.  I want to feel calm and collected when I go to the hospital, not panicked and stressed. 

 

And then I worry, what if no one gets us anything from our registries?  What if we end up with none of the stuff we need for her, and we have to buy it all ourselves?  How will we afford all of it?  This is the problem with waiting until 6 weeks before your due date to have a baby shower, I suppose.  And then I feel like an entitled asshole for feeling like other people should buy us anything at all - of course no one has to buy us anything and it's shitty of me to expect them to.  But I think in the back of my mind I've just assumed that the people who know what babies need would hook us up, and that our sad lack of knowledge would be covered up by their generosity, because I'll be honest, I don't have a clue what babies need.  I've never done this before.  It's all new to me, and more than a little terrifying.  Who decided to let me be a mom?  I have no idea what I'm doing. 

 

We'll figure it all out, of course.  And Jimi's doing a good job talking me off my ledge, believe it or not.  I'm much calmer now than I was last night or this morning.  This is just the residual.

 

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Work has exploded in a bit of crazy, too, and that's not helping my stress.  Our administrative assistant is leaving in two weeks.  Did I mention my baby is due in seven weeks?  That means I've got next to no time to hire and train a replacement, in addition to training our salesman to take my place while I'm out.  Oh boy! 

 

 

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And our shower has been draining slow for the last few weeks, so I finally browbeat Jimi into fixing it tonight.  Now it doesn't drain at all.  It's 10:30 at night, and it needs to be taken apart completely so he can find the clog and get things moving.  Fuck.

 

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But baby girl is doing well.  She measures perfectly, her heart rate is in the 150s, her head is still down, and she moves all the time.  She's over 4 pounds now and 17 inches long.  I love her more every day, and despite the crazy surrounding her impending arrival, I'm so looking forward to meeting her. 

 





30.5 - A Nightmare

My second appointment with the midwives.  The nurse drew some blood and gave me a long stick with a brush to *ahem* insert, for a culture.  She had me pee on a stick - it looked like a pregnancy test, but tested my beta/hcg numbers.  I watched the numbers go up to 1000, then back down to zero, and I knew something was wrong.  She gave me a pregnancy test to pee on, a square with a little circle in the corner that I was supposed to aim for.  I peed on it and waited for the plus sign to come up in the middle - instead I got a weird line that looked like it may have been a plus sign one time, but the horizontal line was broken and misplaced.  I was starting to panic.  I went to the lobby and got my Mom - "Something's wrong, please come sit with me."  The midwife came in with a doppler and put it to my belly and there was silence.  "Are you sure you're pregnant?" she asked doubtfully.  "Yes!  I'm 30 weeks!" The tears started to fall, and suddenly I was having a hard time drawing breath.  As the midwife readied the probe to do a vaginal ultrasound, I looked at my mom and started to cry.  "The baby's dead, Momma.  Oh Fuck.  How could this happen?  She's been moving!  She was fine!"  I was becoming hysterical.  My world, my life, it was in shambles.

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When I woke up, I knew it was just a dream.  Still, it took every ounce of restraint not to panic and become as hysterical as I'd been in my nightmare.  I put my hand to my belly and felt the lump that is my daughter.  I pushed on it, then again on the other side, trying to wake her up, urging her with every ounce of my being to move, just a little kick, sweetheart.  She complied nearly immediately, and relief flooded through me.  I lay there for a moment, trying to slow my racing heart, then got up for another trip to the restroom.  When I made it back to bed, I tried to push the dream out of my mind - "It was just a nightmare, it's not real, she's fine," but I was too shaken to let it go that easily.  I reached over and touched Jimi's shoulder, hoping that he'd already be awake.  He wasn't.  I considered leaving him be, but in the end I couldn't comfort myself.  I spoke softly, "I had a really bad dream."  He was awake immediately, and rolled over to me, asking if I was okay.  I told him that the baby had died in my dream, and he shushed me, told me it was just a dream and it wasn't real and everything is okay.  He pulled me to him as closely as my nest of pillows would allow, and kept his arm around me, kissing my head and whispering sweet words to make the tears go away.  I was asleep again within minutes, onto another dream that was much less emotional and horrid. 

23.5 - Life is so pretty.

I love everything.  All of it is wonderful. 

My house is clean and dinner is cooking in the crockpot while I work.  My husband is a dream come true.  My dog hasn't pooped in the floor or torn up anything in weeks.  The cat hasn't thrown up in the hallway in at least a week.  My baby girl is growing and kicking and I get more excited every day about getting to meet her. 

I am starting to develop a few pregnancy-related complaints, though.  Like how my hips start to hurt/ache half-way through each day.  A heating pad helps a little, and so does a hot bath, but neither are guaranteed to bring lasting results.  I'm trying hard not to complain, though - the women in my birth club on BabyCenter.com were discussing their hemmorhoids yesterday, and so long as I'm not in that club, I'll shut the hell up and enjoy my sore hips, thankyouverymuch.  (I've added a tablespoon of milk of magnesia to my evening ritual, just to help my odds of staying out of that club.)  Other minor not-important-enough-to-bitch-about complaints include my right arm falling asleep if I sleep on my right side, and my feet/heels falling asleep regardless of on which side I lie.  In other words, I have nothing to complain about and feel like the most fortunate girl in the world - this has been so much easier than I'd dreamed it'd be. 

Two of the women in my birth club had micro-premies in the last week, one at 23 weeks 3 days, the other at 25 weeks 2 days.  Heartbreaking and terrifying, but so far, both babies are holding their own and making it.  My heart goes out to the parents and families of those little ones - I can't imagine their fear. 

Have I mentioned how much I love my husband?  He told me nothing would change if/when we finally married, and mostly that's been true, but I swear it feels like there's more love in our home these days.  He laughed when i said this and quoted his expectant father book, "Apparently, i'm experiencing some hormonal changes of my own - they're supposed to make me more loving and attentive to you and baby, to help me prepare."  Whatever the reason, I'll take it.  If you're my Facebook friend, I'm sorry for the sap overload, I just can't help it.  Imagine how disgusting it is in our house these days!

22.1 - This week I learn to love spaghetti squash

11 inches long and weighing in at a pound, our baby is the size of a spaghetti squash this week.  I can't believe something so large is inside me - it's mind-blowing to think about.  I like going to the grocery and holding the fruit/vegetable she's being compared to against my belly, and just imagining.  It was awesome when she was the size of a blueberry, and now she's as big as a squash.  Crazy!

The saga of the raccoon has ended.  Jimi killed it dead, and yesterday its remains were removed from my attic and now we're going to live happily ever after without wildlife in our upstairs.  I'm thrilled. 

I think my nesting is kicking in - I cleaned the kitchen for 2 hours on Sunday, and I've kept it spotless since.  I know it doesn't sound like much, but for me, it's quite the accomplishment.  I'm ready to tackle the rest of the house now - I want things neat and organized and de-furred.  My aunts are throwing us a wedding celebration on Saturday - having to get the place ready for that is an excellent motivator and excuse to clean everything. 

Jimi was on the phone a few nights back with his cousin Laura, and when she asked about me and how the pregnancy is going, I listened to my husband explain how well it's gone for me the last few months, and then he said, "She seems so much happier - I may just have to keep her pregnant!"  I laughed.  He's right, though.  I am happier, and thinking on his words, in that moment I realized that the burden I've carried fro the last two years, it's gone.  Just like that, I suddenly felt so much lighter.  That is what this happiness, this unbridled giddiness I've been feeling, that's where it's come from - I'm not terrified anymore.  I don't have the fear of infertility anymore.  I don't feel broken.  I feel strong and like this is what I was meant to do, like I was made for this.  My body was made to make this little girl, and look!  We're doing it!  I tried to explain this to Jimi, and he asked, "Was that weighing on you so heavily, Nat?"  "Oh, God, yes.  It was with me every day, every moment.  It was my burden to bear, and I've just realized it's gone and I'm free again." 

No wonder the sun shines brighter, the grass is greener, the trees more vibrant shades of yellow red and orange.  This little girl is changing my world view already, shifting my reality.  I love her so much, and I'm so grateful to get to be her mom.