Oh, Hai There

Being a mother is so much harder than I ever dreamed. The day in, day out struggle to keep humans alive takes more energy, both physical and mental, than anyone leads you to believe. I always wonder, is it just me? Is this job just so much harder for me than for other moms? Are other moms exhausted and beat down at the end of the day? From the moment I wake until I crash at the end of a long day, I am busy. I am cleaning, comforting, nursing, playing, cooking and otherwise keeping the kids alive and all 4 of us fed and clothed.

 I am so fortunate to be a SAHM. If I had to work out of the home on top of taking care of the little people, I don't know how I would function. I think about returning to work every now and again. I know once we get past this stage of little littles, I will return to work. That day frightens me. To not see what my children are doing at 11:30 on a Tuesday makes me sad. To take care of the house, dinner, laundry and all the minute details that go into daily life plus work 40 hours and commute simply overwhelms me. Fully and completely overwhelms me. I secretly wish that day doesn't come. Can I stay home forever?

 Since I last posted, I had another kid, quite awhile ago actually. The 2 are now nearly 3 and 15 months. We are back in our hometown again after living out of state for some time. It is nice to be home. Back to what we know, near my sister and close enough to drive to our other family for weekend trips. I do miss the friends I had, but this is home. This is where we want to live and raise our kids.

 I'm still blessed beyond belief, still drinking red wine and still finding that my cat has an easier time losing weight than I do.

Working It Out

Having a kid changes everything. I heard it over and over before I was pregnant. I knew it from watching my sister have 3 kids before me. Yet, nothing will prepare you for parenthood. Nothing can.

At times, I wonder if I have some postpartum depression going on. And then I dismiss it with that I am simply tired from the failure of my now 8 month old child to sleep for more than 3 hours straight. I chalk it up to the vast changes that we have gone through of moving to a new state, leaving our beloved friends/family/city/house for something neither of us really wanted but knew/prayed was best. I went from a high-strung career driven fool to a stay at home mom. He went from an easy job to a demanding job with super stress levels.

Some days – are great. I have a great time, I have it all balanced out. It all seems to work well. I am meeting people in the various groups I have joined, I am cooking and cleaning and loving my girl. I feel that I have it together, that I am enjoying this little life we have created. And other days – not so much. I am angry and spiteful and downright cruel to my husband and short-tempered with my girl. I am stressed and overwhelmed and angry. For no obvious reason.

Working isn't an option for me for some time. As long as we can afford for me to stay home, I cannot in good conscience place my child in daycare. My poor heart couldn't handle that after the PICU stay when she was 4 months old. Yet some days, I think I really need to go to work. For my sanity, for my child and for my husband.

I take it day by day. Hoping that it will be a good day. That I won't get angry and strike out at my husband. That I won't feel like crying when the baby cries. And many days work out. I feel good and accomplished at the end of the day. And others, not so much. And where I used to be able to shake it off and know that tomorrow will be better, now... I just worry that I won't be able to keep it together the next day either.

Can We Ever Be Happy?

Warning: This post has negativity towards both SAHM and WOHM. I dog staying at home and I dog daycare. I am trying to find my way, not critiquing what anyone else does or has to do.

I have been here before. It was when I first started this little internet space. I was 4 years younger and for several months enjoyed not working for the man. I tried my hand at Ebay and being a good housewife, cleaning and cooking, and caring for my hard working man. He looks back on that time period as the best in our relationship. I look back and see that I was unhappy and failed at it.

Now, it is different, yet much the same.

He got a new job in a far off land and I have decided to stay home. Again. But this time, we have a baby. A baby who had an ER scare such a short time ago. A baby who I cry about when I consider dropping her off at a daycare facility. Even dropping her in the care facility at the gym while I get my sweat on, I freak out the entire hour.

I can't fail this time. I have to like being at home with her. I have to make this work. Because the alternative will break my heart. While I may be relieved to get back into the workforce and meet people and do something besides babble baby talk and clean my stove, I would be leaving my precious child in the hands of a germy daycare. And after watching her with a tube down her throat, sedated and riding in an ambulance, the thought gives me chills.

The last few weeks in Houston, I knew this was coming. This fear. When people asked me what I would be doing in our new town, I said I wasn't sure. I was sure. I knew I would not go back to work leaving my girl to the wolves. Yet, I am terrified that I will be unhappy, that in a few short months, once the boxes are unpacked and our lives are as organized as they can be, that I will be lonely, sick of cleaning and caring for her and want to get back to a paying job with people that don't shit their pants.

How do I do it? How do I become happy with my new station in life? I thought after 2 kids, I would stay home with them. With the educational system as it is, I have seriously considered homeschooling in the future. Yet, early in to this new role, I have doubts. Will I be able to keep it together? Can I do this happily? Can my obsessive brain handle slowing down and doing what I believe is the right thing.

I don't know how to reconcile these matters. I know what I must do for my family. I have the support of my husband. My baby girl doesn't like being with strangers, as she proved at the gym one night.

This is what is best for my family. Now I have to make it best for me. I am going to get involved with mommy groups. Go to story time at the library. I am going to the gym both for a release and to loose this stubborn baby weight.

I will make this work. But I am scared shitless for the journey.

The Worst Time in My Life to Date - Part Deux

The first part of this story is here.

I was still not absorbing the seriousness of the situation.

Until the ambulance ride. Where they used the lights and the sirens. And swerved in and out of early rush hour traffic.

We arrived at the children's hospital a short time later. She was admitted to the ICU.

The ICU was pleasant. Which is such a strange thing to say. This hospital is designed for children who are deathly ill and it is a warm place, not a frightening hospital.

By now, it was approximately 7 A.M. Just before the ambulance ride, I spoke with my husband who was scared and wanted to fix the situation, but was states away, unable to do anything. I told him, after being told it was not a life and death situation, that he should stay put. He was at a new job and if things took a turn for the worse, I would let him know.

It is quite difficult to coherently discuss what all happened this day. She was admitted, tests were run, she was cared for and monitored. I received a breast pump and helplessly, pumped milk for my sweet baby girl. She had a breathing tube, a feeding tube, an IV and a femoral line put in her.

The nurse caring for my babe only had 2 children to care for, so she was constantly in the room. Checking, changing, monitoring. She changed all diapers, adjusted all machines. Once my girl was allowed to have some milk, the nurse administered the milk via the feeding tube. I was utterly useless, in the way, while someone else, while perfectly skilled and very kind, but not her mother, took care of my little girl's every need.

My girl was responding to everything well, they continued to lower the amount of oxygen she was given, weaning her off of it. She remained sedated so that she would not fight any of the treatments they were trying to administer.

Tests were run. Lots of tests. The initial test at the first hospital for RSV came back negative. The children's hospital didn't know what had affected my girl.

I hadn't slept but 2 hours, if that. The Ronald McDonald charities were connected with this hospital and, in fact, had sleeping rooms right on the hospital floor. These rooms are available to the families of the children in the ICU unit. I obtained the key for the room I was provided in order to take a nap. Little did I know that my father-in-law had also claimed the room we had been assigned. We ended up napping together on a queen sized mattress as we were absolutely exhausted. Awkward? Absolutely.

As this first day progressed, the doctors and nurses all stated how well she was doing. Looking back, I was still in shock. My girl had gone from normal to the ICU in less than 24 hours. How could this happen? What did I miss?

At the end of the day, I was told that if things continued well overnight that she might be released the next day. Again, how did my girl go from healthy to ICU to home in 48 hours????

I retired to the Ronald McDonald room for the night. My father-in-law went home – thank goodness!

The next morning, I was advised that my girl had done wonderfully overnight. A short time after getting to her room, the nurse and the respiratory therapist removed the breathing tube.

A short time later, with her feeding tube, IV and femoral line still in place, I was allowed to breastfeed her.

Again, just a short time later, I was advised that all of her lines would be removed and that we would be moved to the regular floor.

After a few hours, it happened. We were moved to the regular floor.

When they were preparing to move my daughter from the ICU to the regular floor, the ICU nurse called the regular floor nurse to advise of the status of the transferring patient. I overheard the ICU nurse advise the other nurse that the first hospital had probably jumped the gun on intubating my babe.

On the regular floor, it was cold and sterile. So different from the ICU unit. Such a weird contrast. I would have thought the exact opposite would be true.

I rarely saw the nurse on the regular floor. A nursing assistant came in every couple hours to check temperature and blood pressure, but otherwise, I was left alone to change and feed my child. The nurse came in only a few times during our stay! Such a stark contrast from the constant care of the ICU. I was frightened to even touch my child at first.

After an overnight stay on the regular floor, we were released to home.

No explanation. No diagnosis. Nothing.

My child's first illness resulted in an ICU stay. And I have no explanation whatsoever as to what caused it.

I am angry. And frightened. Yet I have no one to be angry at. What if the first hospital had not placed the breathing tube in and something tragic happened. How am I to know what to watch for when my child gets ill again? If she has the sniffles, how do I respond? What is a normal illness? In the midst of this crazy move, this was horrible timing (if there is ever a “good” time for your child to be admitted to the ICU!), however, I am so busy trying to move our lives to another state that perhaps it was good timing. I don't have time to dwell on the what happeneds, what ifs or what could have beens.

In the end, my sweet baby girl is fine. She doesn't care about the scariest time in her short life. She isn't affected. I wish I wasn't.

The Worst Time in My Life to Date - Part Uno

This is gonna be a long post. I am splitting it into two posts, not to be a pain and make you come back, but because I am tired... Worn from trying to move to another state in the longest, most complicated move ever known to man. I want to get this out for hell, who knows, prosperity sake. IDK... It just seems right to hit post...

When we woke up on a Monday a few weeks ago, my 4 month old kid made a weird sound when crying, inhaling sharply at the end of each cry. She wasn't coughing, not congested any more than she normally is in the mornings, didn't feel hot, overall, the sound was it.

She is watched by her grandfather in our home while we work. We told him to watch it and to keep us posted. Throughout the day, he didn't notice anything odd except that the noise didn't go away. Overall, she acted normal during the day. When I got home from work, she seemed a bit more clingy but she had no other symptoms besides the lingering cough. As the night progressed, she started to sound more and more congested and when she breathed, it was more hoarse than normal.

I was getting more concerned and at midnight, called my insurance company's nurse line. They listened to the sounds over the phone and recommended placing her in a bathroom with the shower running for the steam. I did so for about 20 minutes and it seemed to do just a bit of good. I slept upstairs in a spare bedroom with her because the small bathroom with the shower is there and the bedroom is smaller than the master and less drafty. I ran a humidifier for her and fell asleep.

At 2:00 A.M., I woke up. She was awake in her bed next to me and sounded bad. I again took her into the bathroom and ran the shower, hoping the steam would help her. After a short time, I called the nurse line again. I spoke with a different person. I explained that I didn't want to be a paranoid first time mom, but I was thinking of going to the E.R. The nurse agreed, we needed to go to the E.R.

When you are driving your child to the E.R., at 2:30 in the morning, do you stop at red lights? I didn't call an ambulance so I didn't think it was an extreme emergency. However, each time I slowed for a red light, I panicked thinking these moments could be important, are they so important that should I pull over right now and just call 911? I never did, but each red light my mind went to the worst place possible, yet reeled back by my initial hesitation to even go the E.R.

Finally, we made it to the E.R. We were quickly brought to the back and received immediate attention. She was initially given breathing treatments. I laid down on the stretcher or gurney? Holding her on my lap while they administered the treatments. The E.R. was pretty empty, there were a lot of nurses in the room. Wires were quickly connected, monitoring her heart rate and her respirations. Time is a funny thing, so hard to gauge. I would guess 20 minutes later, the nurses indicated that the breathing treatments weren't helping. They needed to intubate my baby.

Panic, fear, loneliness.

My father-in-law came to the hospital with us. My husband, who had accepted a position with a new company out of state hadn't been contacted yet due to the ridiculously early hour. On the drive to the hospital, I sent him a text advising him that we were going to the E.R., but I hadn't called him. He had to work and from 8 hours away, there was nothing he could do.

My father-in-law and I get along. However, we are both completely awkward with each other. So in the E.R., in the middle of the night, panicking because my poor baby is about to have a breathing tube inserted, I felt alone. Miserably, horribly alone.

Once the decision was made to intubate my babe, it was required that we be transferred out of the hospital. They didn't have a pediatrics unit in this hospital and now they had a very young child with a breathing tube inserted.

An ambulance arrived.

At Least I Don't Mention Mucus Plugs or Meconium

So look, I had a kid. And in having a kid, I had to go through the whole labor process. And I am told that it is all crazy life-changing, big deal hoopla. So I have written this down so I don't forget the cute little details of how my husband left me high and dry while I was screaming in labor. Or how Johnny Cash welcomed my sweet little one into this world. Or how I leaked amniotic fluid in a fancy rental car. So you may want to skip this one although I am pretty sure I could have been a LOT more graphic. Cuz childbirth is not for the faint of heart.

I had my last prenatal appointment on Wednesday, where I was 2-3 cms dilated. She was in position or “locked and loaded” as I called it. I felt really good still so I figured there was no way I was going to have her for some time. On Saturday morning, when Not Craig and I woke up, he poked my belly and said, “It is time, baby.” In response, I laughed and said, “No way!” I still had nearly 2 weeks until my due date! I played around the house for a bit, playing on my computer and doing a bit of light cleaning. My car had an issue so Not Craig took it to a repair place, where they told him that it was definitely a warranty issue and we needed it towed to a dealership. This, of course, is the vehicle we planned on bringing the little one home in, seeing that daddy's work truck was not the best choice and well, his fancy car definitely was a bad choice as we would have to strap her car seat to the roof.

I contacted the dealership and lined up a tow truck. We would need to drive about 45 minutes away to the dealership in order to pick up the rental car they would provide. We had to wait a bit for the tow truck so I started doing a bit more picking up around the house, when all of a sudden at approximately 1:30 PM, my water broke. I ran for the bathroom, laughing. Not Craig didn't believe me at first and I had to convince myself a bit that I hadn't just peed myself! I finally convinced both of us what had just happened and tried to figure out what to do next. I called my midwife, Janet, and we decided that I was fine to stay home for a while, and of course, figure out the car situation. I quickly got changed, and Not Craig and I set out to meet the tow truck driver and then drive across town to get the rental car. I felt fine the entire way to the dealership, where I insisted that Not Craig not say a word about my water breaking, what if they freaked and wouldn't let us have the car due to potential amniotic fluid damage!

When we got home a couple hours later, Not Craig and I just laid down to rest a bit. I don't know if I actually fell asleep, or just rested, but a few hours later, I got up and Not Craig remained asleep. I started cleaning the house while my contractions got a bit stronger. Walking helped me through the contractions, as did swaying my hips. I pulled out my ab ball, and sat on that for awhile as well, but as the contractions got stronger, I was more comfortable standing through them.

Around 6:30 PM, I started vocalizing through the contractions as they got stronger and more painful. I woke Not Craig up with one of my cries, and he anxiously asked if we needed to go to the birthing center. I had spoke with Janet a few times throughout the day and knew that I wanted to be pretty far along before I went to the birth center, but I was also fearful of the 30 minute drive. The last place I wanted to be when contracting every 3-5 minutes was in a car where I couldn't move. I went ahead and called Janet and said that I thought it was time to start heading to the birth center. She asked how I was doing, if I was drinking plenty of fluids, if I had ate. I told her I was a bit hungry, but didn't have much food in the house and we might stop on the way in and grab something small. I continued talking to her, answering her questions and coming to a decision about what do when Not Craig vanished. After I got off the phone with her, I pulled the remaining items I wanted for my bag, and was ready to leave. I locked up the dogs, and went looking for my husband. He was gone, along with the rental car and car seat!! He came back about 15 minutes and several contractions later, with McDonald's and Pop-tarts, my go-to meal of the last few weeks! I hurriedly asked if we could just go and eat on the way. I never ended up eating that meal that he so desperately went in search of...

On the way to the birth center, my contractions remained about 5 minutes apart. The pain wasn't unbearable, but I vocalized my way through them along with breathing. We got to the birth center around 7:40 PM. Janet was there and began filling the tub for me. She checked me and I was at 7 cms already. Polly, the other midwife, arrived a little bit later. I continued to labor while swaying my hips and bending over the side of the bed. The tub was filled, but I couldn't imagine standing up and crawling in to the tub at that point. One of the midwives placed some lavender oil and massaged my lower back through the contractions. Some time later, one of the midwives brought in the birthing stool, which helped take some of the pressure off of my horribly swollen feet, much to my relief. I then felt sick and said that I thought I was going to throw up. I was given a wastebasket, and Janet quietly said, “Welcome to transition.” I crawled up on the bed on all fours, not happy with the birthing stool. I leaned on Not Craig for several contractions. A short time later, I was asked to lay down and I did so. After several contractions, I started to feel the ring of fire and knew I was very close. The strangest thing for me during labor, was how in between contractions, I was completely conscious of what was going on around me, that I wasn't completely out of my head. When I was feeling the ring of fire, I kept thinking of the Johnny Cash song, and laughed to myself. I held on to Not Craig, breathing through what I knew were the final steps to getting my baby out. At 9:38 PM, my sweet baby entered this world.

All in all, my “labor” was 8 hours long from water breaking to birth. I would estimate only 4 hours of that consisted of any pain at all. I am actually amazed at how easy it all was.

I chose to have my baby at a birth center with midwives instead of a hospital because, well, hospitals scare the crap out of me. And I do not believe that doctors are all-knowing. When a pregnant woman goes to a hospital in labor, she is on a time clock to a c-section, with lots of interventions along the way. Despite the baby and mom being fine, hospitals are, thanks to my own sue-happy profession, overly cautious and would rather trust modern medicine and scalpels, over a woman's body doing something women have been doing unassisted since Eve. Instead, I had a wonderful experience with women who have really gotten to know me over the past 7 months, supported my decisions without question and did everything they could to ensure that I got the type of childbirth I felt was right for my little family.

And now, I will step off my high horse and get back to cuddling my sweet baby girl.

Entitled.

I have 5 weeks left of this pregnancy business. I don't care for pregnancy, have I mentioned that before? But the weird thing, the further along I get, the bigger I get, the more swollen I get, the more comfortable I am. The early months of back ache, heartburn and emotions have disappeared a bit. I am much more comfortable all around. I am sleeping better, have more energy. Which is really odd since I am about the size of a double wide.

I am terrified of actually having my kid. Not of labor, the miserable pain, but of having a kid to care for. Surrendering myself for what the kid wants - demands. Getting up every 2 hours to feed this screaming shitting machine that can't explain why it isn't happy. Not being able to just take off at a moment's notice. Not being able to poop alone. Wait. I have pets, I haven't done that for years.

Beyond the extra expense that a child brings. Holy cow! Daycare! I am too lazy to get off my butt and actually hunt down someone to take care of my kid so far. But from the stories I have heard from folks in this area, daycare is gonna run us between $800-$1,200 per month. Yea.

Another big cost I am fearful about is the new things I have pursued since becoming a living breathing house.

Pedicures and maid service.

Dude.

I am so glad I haven't partaken of these magical things before. I have saved myself a fortune.

I am in love.

I need a live-in pedicuring, housecleaning ass wiper now.

Because I really don't know if I can give up these wonderful treatments after the babe is here.

Pedicures. So nice. A bit of time to just relax and let someone else do the dirty work of making my toes look sweet and tasty.

Housecleaning? Wow, what is there to even say. Someone else comes in and scrubs my toilet for me. Scrubs down my glass shower and garden tub? Dusts the baseboards? Holy crap. I love having a wife of my very own!!

But. For a maid to come once a month and for a monthly pedicure, I am looking at just over $100. Ouch. That ain't cheap. And I am not sure I can justify those expenditures once I am able to bend over and paint my own toes and scrub my own toilet again.

And that, that right there makes me cross my legs even tighter and want to keep this baby cooking for a few more years.

Great Expectations

On Wednesday, we had 2 baby appointments. First, my regular appointment with my midwife and then our 20 week ultrasound – the big one!

My midwife put it so well, when pregnant, some women bloom. Others, they wilt. I am definitely a wilt-er. Back pain, difficulty sleeping, heartburn, exhaustion and hormones that would kill a 15 year old girl. I have not been pleasant to be around for the past few months nor have I enjoyed the past few months. At times, the thought of going through this again makes me want to cry. I do not want our child to be an only child, but man, this pregnancy stuff is not for the weak.

(Imagine there is a segue here.)

Since the beginning of time, I have seen myself as a tomboy. Growing up, there were dolls around, but I remember much more playing and getting dirty and just not girly-girl stuff. There were 4 of us girls, best friends for so so long. Kaytabug can correct me if I am glamorizing it, but we were not typical girls. We were much more rough and tumble than other adolescent girls. Strange since 2 of us had only sisters and 2 were only children.

To find out that I am going to be a mom to a girl was a complete and utter shock. I don't even know where to begin. I suck at applying makeup, I only get my haircut every 6 months, on the weekends, I am well known to not shower, I can't properly coordinate my clothing, I stumble in heels, I hate the Girls Next Door and have no idea if I should be on Team Edward or Team whoever the other vampire dude is. How do I do this? I am not a fine example of a woman yet I am supposed to raise this child to be one?

We both were 100% convinced that we would have a boy. Never so firmly has an idea been planted or desired. While each of us, I am sure, have different reasons for our desired sex, to have that replaced with the opposite has left both of us shaken, unsure of what to think and how we will handle what we are being blessed with.

It is funny how I have reacted in the days since we received the news. I have been shocked, saddened, disappointed. Tears of both sadness and extreme guilt have been shed. Yet the mama bear has come out in full force, I am so very angry if anyone says anything that implies that we should not be 100% thrilled with a girl. While my own disappointment is present, no one can speak ill of my baby girl.

I am saddened by what I consider to be a loss of a son for now. Yet I feel this sweet baby kicking me and my heart is so full of love for her. I have no idea how this will play out going forward. My baby doll is going to have to figure out for herself what shoes look best with that outfit, and how to curl her hair and apply makeup. I will be able to teach her about football and music and maybe even how to shoot a gun. The rest, we will have to wing.

Gotta Get Ready

For the past century (or 4 days), I have been taking care of my nieces who are 2 and 5. My sister decided to go into labor as soon as her husband was on the drive to Houston with the girls for their regular weekend visit. He met us at the hospital about midnight on Friday night and since then, I have been the girls' primary caregiver.

This is a totally different experience than the other times I have cared for the girls. Beyond the length, just the whole mindset behind it. Because soon, I am gonna have one of them. And of course, while I wasn't present for my sister's actual delivery, she went into labor at 5 pm Friday. She delivered at noon on Sunday. She got kicked out of the hospital twice because delivery wasn't imminent. The only thing that will scare someone who is pregnant for the first time nearly as much as watching an actual delivery, is watching someone who is in labor for 42 hours. And ya know, I thought it got easier with each kid, this is her 3rd, shouldn't they fall out by now?

I haven't slept for days in between hanging out at the hospital, waking up with crying kids, frequent knocks to advise that they were leaving to go to the hospital, because this is IT! When it wasn't, of course. Pooping muddy dogs. And sleeping on my couch with a 5 year old for 3 days.

The kids are great. They really are quite well behaved. Don't throw too many tantrums. Are respectful. Listen well.

But man, they sure are needy. Aunt Fianna, I'm hungry. I have poopies. I thirsty. I bored. I want to watch Dora. I want grapes. I want I want I want.

The need monsters frighten me. They anger me yet that is so not fair.

I have to figure out this business and fast.

I am not sure with one if I will be ready or able to stay home. But with the second kid, I would like to transition to a stay at homer. But can I sanely do it?

My sister, who is quite driven, hardworking and insane like myself, says that she works because it is just better for everyone. Makes mommy happy and keeps the kids busy. She recognizes that she would not do well as a stay at home mom. Can I do it?

I don't know.

I just know that after 4 days, I am dying to get back to work.

And that at 33, my days of sleeping on couches need to end.

And In Other News I Am Not Supposed To Blurt Out.

I know that only a few people regularly read this. And those few people also see me every day now on Facebook. Well, I am not gonna surrender this place, this one place where I talk about anything I want. So. Before you read on, you are sworn to secrecy. If you read on, I assume that you will not mention a word of this on Facebook. Or hint at it!

Are you still here?

Are you sure you can handle the truth!

Are you super positive that your lips can stay sealed?

Ok. This is it. One last warning.

Ya’ll. I know that I am about to commit a huge sin. I know that I am supposed to keep my frigging mouth shut.

And anyone that has been there can tell you, HA! Good luck!

I can’t not talk about it. It is all I can think about.

Yesterday, I was over at a friend’s house and had to shut my mouth for 3 ½ hours. I barely said a word the entire time for fear that it would escape my lips!!

And so look, I am going to spill my guts, because I must! Forget all the things that could go wrong, because you know what, it just isn’t going to go wrong. I am praying way too hard for anything to go wrong.

Ya’ll, I am pregnant.

Yes. Already.

It’s a shock that it happened so darned quickly. But! It happened during the marriage time so woohoo, it wasn’t a shotgun wedding!

I am guessing that I am about 3 weeks along. So according to the websites, I am not supposed to tell you until February. Well, I am not telling work and Facebook until then, but holy cow ya’ll!! I AM PREGNANT!!

We are both over the moon!

Crazy. So weird to imagine. So tired yet I am having a hard time sleeping knowing that I am gonna have a kid!

I have been soooo tired. The never-ending sinus infection. I am still a bit drippy, but nothing major, and hasn’t been major for awhile. But the tiredness. Would. Not. Stop. So yesterday was the day I had set a few days earlier. Day to take the test and rule it out. Well, it wasn’t ruled out!

Today I went to the doc who confirmed it.

I never knew how good it would feel to have your life turned upside down. I never knew how good I could feel when I feel like I will fall asleep at any second. I never knew how easy it was to sit on my couch for 2 days and do absolutely nothing nor have any desire to do anything!

Ya’ll. This is awesome.

Riddle Me This

I post a lot. A whole whole bunch.

On Facebook.

If you aren't my friend Over There, comment, email, whatevs. Find me and you will hear so much more of my day to day.

Because blogging is so early 2009.

Goodbye, Sugar.

I haven't experienced much loss in my time here on this blue planet. I have been extremely fortunate. I haven't had to deal with many heart breaks, sadness, or many deaths. So maybe this is why when they happen they hit me so hard. But then again, when I am reeling like I am from this death, maybe it is just this death. Maybe I would handle a different one, well differently.

One of my best friend's just lost her mom. She is one of a few moms in my life that I am fortunate enough to refer to as another mom to me.

I have been so heartbroken since it happened. I have cried regularly. For my friend, for her family, for me.

Of course, you never recognize how important someone is to you until they are gone. This person has been a near constant in my life for 17 years. She has answered the phone, the door, asked how I have been, provided meals, hugs, been a constant background effect to my friendship with her daughter. I have appreciated her, told her I loved her, hugged her, cared for her during sickness, her daughter's severe injury years ago, her husband's death just over a year ago.

Yet, she was always in the background. As my mother is to me. A constant in life. Yet in the background. I am getting married in mere days now. She stated that she would make my dress, yet I never took her up on it. Now, I long for that opportunity. She wanted me to wear a certain necklace of hers during my wedding, I pray we can find it before we leave for the wedding.

I miss her so acutely, yet she wasn't a part of my day to day, or even week to week.

The lack of her in life is shocking, yet before I went weeks without hearing her voice.

Once again, the importance of appreciating those you love while you can is brought to the forefront. Once again, too late.

I miss you, C.

Why Do Birds Sing When I Am Filling My Wine Glass?

The last couple weeks have been a doozy. I was sick for a good little spell, and my work is absolutely insane.

You know, I really wish that I wasn't worried about being dooced, because there is definitely some good blog fodder in my 8-5 plus a couple hours. Just let me go on the record with 2 points about working with attorneys: 1. Don't work for a female attorney (sorry, sexist as it may be, it is just a bad idea. I have never met a female attorney that I would want to work for. But then again, my boss today said, “You know what?” and my response was, “Chickenbutt?” So maybe I am a bit lax in how I feel a boss should act.) And 2. Fridays in legal are teh Suck. They Suck Chickenbutt. Give me a month of Fridays. Three out of those Fridays are going to include one or more of the following 1. me eating breakfast (cold oatmeal made at 9 AM), at 2 PM; 2. a secretary in tears by 10 AM; or 3. discovering that we missed a super important malpractice worthy deadline.

Today? All three blessed my sweet office manager desk. On top of a no-showing temp working for a female attorney who I then covered for the remainder of the day. Holy crap, ya'll. You wonder why I am drunk blogging right now.

AND ANYHOO (you know, that whole Dooce-able thing)!!! I am dropping lbs. Word to your mom. Today I wore a pair of pants that I bought just comfortable in size several months back. They weren't tight, not loose, just about right. I now need suspenders y'all. I was sporting a whale tail throughout the day without realizing it because my pants were hanging so low. I wish I could find a cool pair of chick suspenders because I would wear them just to show off how these pants so totally Do Not Fit me.

So tonight once I finally get out of my office way late, due to my ridiculous day and my ridiculous week, I went out to dinner all by my lonesome to try and decompress and become a better person that didn't want to shrink my man's head or shoot my dumbass dogs Right In Their Face. I stuffed myself silly with Shrimp Scampi. Holy cow, it was incredible. Since all I had ate up until that point today was about 300 calories, I could afford the calories (oh yes, I am counting calories like a big dog these days!) and oh how I enjoyed them.

So. Then I came home. Stuffed ridiculously full. My PJ's are screaming for me. I pull a tee that I, for disgustingly bloody reasons following my wisdom teeth removal, remember quite vividly despite heavy amounts of pain meds, fit me 3 years ago, but Has Not Fit since, the shirt fits tonight. The shirt fits y'all. And I nearly cried.

To summarize: Work Sucks. Female Attorneys Suck. Fridays in Legal Suck. Shrimp Scampi Freaking Rocks. Working Your Ass Off for 4 Months and Finally Seeing Results – Totally tear worthy.

I am so rocking the Kasbah. I hope your weekend is starting off ever so righteously as well.

Excuse me, I need to refill my glass.

After the Cut

Invasion of the Body Snatchers is Totally in Order.

Crap! It has been 2 weeks since I last posted! I really mean to update more. Yet, I cannot imagine life moving faster, yet I am just a girl with a man and some dogs and cats. If I had kids, how would I even have time to brush my teeth?

Ya'll. I am on Week 5 of the Couch to 5k program. The last day. Which means 20 minutes of straight running.

Yep.

I have ran it twice so far. The first time was hard. Really really hard. The second time was easier, but still pretty darned tough.

And you know the hard part? Admitting it really isn't so much physical as it is mental. Which is so freaking weird. And AMAZING!!

The first week, the running program was intervals of 60 seconds of jogging. And it was hard. Really beat me down hard. Make me pant and swear and want to cry. Now I can run 5 minutes, 8 minutes and even 10 minutes without dying. I can run 20 minutes taking a few short 30 second breaks. If I could get my mind right, my ass would be full on moving for 20 full minutes.

That is C.R.A.Z.Y.

I cannot praise this program enough. I cannot believe I am about to type this next sentence. I said it last night and got really really confused.

I like running.

Blasphemy. Ya'll. I do not like running. I am not a runner. I hate running. And have since I was a wee child. Yet, I am leaving that sentence all alone, because.... I think it is a true statement.

I haven't lost but 2 pounds since we started this program, what 8 weeks ago? I can't say there is noticeable change in the way my pants fit, but I can tell my body is firming up, I feel much stronger, more durable. Um, what kind of descriptive word is durable for my body?

I know my body will begin shedding weight soon enough. I am working hard. I am running my tail off. I am running until my face is scary red. Until my clothes are soaked through. I wake up most mornings and hobble out of bed, sore, muscles aching.

Yet there is obvious improvement.

I have never in my life. All my 32 11/12 years have ran as far as I am now running.

I am reading books on running. I am reading blogs on running. I am reading websites on running.

Who the hell have I become?

And when will I fit into a size 8 again?

Running won't kill you, you'll pass out first!

Running is hard, I've never enjoyed it. Back in middle school, we had to run around a park which was a square city block. Kaytabug may remember more, but I think we had to do 4 laps around it, or what equaled a mile. We had to complete the run within 12 minutes. I believe we did this once a week. Oh holy hell what torture that day was. I remember dreading it so badly. Even as a mere child, no more than 12 years of age, I could barely run that 12 minute mile.

I have been gaining weight for awhile. When I started this here blog in April 2007, I was over my desired weight by at least 15 pounds. I have added close to another 15 to that since. With a wedding some time in my future, with a closet full of clothes that don’t fit and the refusal to buy the next size up, I knew that I needed to do something. Motivation for that something? Meh.

Somehow, somewhere on my interneting, I came across Couch to 5k. An interval training program for running. Which takes you from the couch, being a fat lazy slug, to running a complete 5k. Without stopping to die. At all. Not even a small quick death.

Do not ask what I was thinking.

Truly, the program itself is pretty darned cool. The podcasts I am using play music and Robert Ullrey comes on to tell you when to run or walk. You run every other day, I have been doing Monday, Wednesday and Saturday. After the 3 runs, you move up to the next podcast. A bit tougher each week to get you ready to run a complete 5k without stopping once. Just to die. I just want to stop a few times to die. But it is not allowed.

It is getting tougher each week, although srsly! It has been tough the entire time. Now though, the runs are getting longer. And I am well into the program. Way too far in to quit because my mind does not allow me to quit. Anything. So in order to power through, I have taken up reading some running websites, some blogs, etc. Every website discusses running being an amazing mental endeavor. One quote being that running is 90% mental and the rest is all in your head. Har har har.

But come on, seriously, could I get some assistance? I need some help. How do you get yourself through an exhausting, painful run that you hate with the hatred of a 1,000 hate-filled haters?

Physically the run is painful, but mentally it is so much worse. If you think you will fail at something or that you are not capable of doing something, I can promise you that you are right. It is extremely difficult to keep motivated when you don’t think you can do something. Yet, telling yourself to ignore your stupid, fat, whiny body is super difficult as well. My body keeps telling my mind that I can’t do it. And my mind has a strong tendency to believe my body. Which I cannot allow it to do.

One helpful thing I have found through my quest for help with this running BS, is from one of my standard bloggy reads. Tess says it so well, “I've never finished a workout and said to myself, I wish I hadn't done that”.

Which is so true, I've never regretted running, once I'm done with it. Although I may feel like complete crap during the workout, I've always felt good that I finished the workout, proud of myself for showing up and doing it.

I have made myself a promise, what I am calling a Half Year Resolution. Well 2 actually, but only one that matters for this blog post. I will continue running for the remainder of the year. I will finish this running program and keep at it. Keep running throughout the year. Because I said so.

Any motivation techniques would be greatly appreciated. And check out the Couch to 5K. I really do like the program. When I am not hating it.

P.S. Tess also wrote the bestest post ever on Jon & Kate's breakup...not really about them, more importantly about flicking. Read it. I am consciously avoiding flicking my dear Not Craig. It is like a PSA for relationships.

Stolen Lines - Unrequested Advice

Tell me... have you ever thought...of changing your life?

You confide that you are not happy. You don’t like how he treats you, how he talks to you. You don’t like who you are becoming.

You claim to be miserable and want to change. But you continue to drink until you pass out. You continue to never leave your house. You continue to ignore repeated invitations from family.

You say you hate your job. You wish you were doing something more challenging. You are mad about the pay cut.

You are sick of your daughter acting out. You wish she would listen when you tell her to do something. You wish she would quit throwing tantrums.

Tell me... have you ever thought...of changing your life?

I know you are scared. You don’t know how to start. You don’t know how to do it. You are scared you will fail. That things will be worse. That things might actually get better.

But do you really want to stay where you are at. Living like you have been. I know you want more. I know that you wish you could figure out how to change it all.

You don’t see what I see. What so many others see. You have the strength. You have proved that countless times since I met you.

I know that you can do it. I just wish I knew how to make each of you see that.

(The first line was stolen from the play, Betrayal, by Harold Pinter.)

This is another entry in Grace's Stolen Line's project.

My previous entries can be found Here and Here.

After All This, A List? How Pathetic.

1. My job has been making me work very, very hard. It is not very nice of them and really screws up my blog reading and writing time, my Facebook quiz taking time, my Twittering, and my staring out my window time.
2. Dogs are really destructive. I am lucky I guess because my dogs don’t really destroy too many of my personal items, such as shoes, hairclips, purses, underwear, but they destroy my backyard. Dig holes, eat air conditioner lines, chew on hoses, and eat the wooden fence. They also escape into my neighbor’s yard and then escape into the street from there. Bad Puppy. Grow bigger please.
3. It would be much easier to lose weight if beer wasn’t so tasty.
4. I am not looking forward to summer because I have drank too much beer and ate too many chips over the past year. I am really looking forward to summer because I can drink beer and eat chips on my patio.
5. I have spent lots of time out in my yard recently. Scooping poop, fixing air conditioners, refilling holes and planting lots of plants. My hair is getting natural highlights as a result. I like this.
6. I wonder where my blog vibe went. And then I don’t really care because I don’t miss it. And then I think of how I really miss sharing my life here. And then I go check Facebook and forget.
7. I went to a Lasik consultation today. My vision. Ha. I am blind. If there is anyone out there that has worse vision than .525 or -5.25 ... whatever, you win a prize.
8. I am not sure what to do with my flex/cafeteria dollars now. I have lots of money to burn and no medical procedure to burn it on. Invisalign maybe? Boob surgery is not an acceptable expenditure, btw.
9. I don’t watch American Idol, but I heard something really big happened. But it happened to a guy who wears more makeup than I do. So I don’t really care. I stopped caring when Poison stopped playing together.
10. That is pretty pathetic to end my list with American Idol and Poison.

Shhh.... It's A Secret!

Living an online life, whether it be on a blog, Facebook, twitter, Plurk, MySpace, etc, etc and so on and so forth, can be a challenge.

For me, I have separated my blog from my Facebook, my twitter from Myspace, and plurk, yea, whatevs, I failed at that one.

I have 2 different identities – my blog, twitter and plurk life and then my Facebook, Myspace and real life life.

Only 2 people know about all of these. One lives with me and one has known me since I weighed no more than 25 pounds.

But yesterday, my careful separation failed me. I obviously used an email address that I shouldn’t have used.

One of my real life friends found my Twitter. And on my Twitter, until this morning, was my blog address. And in my Twitter comments, I know I have posted links here and there to my blog.

Whoops. I am a dumbass.

I talk candidly here. I say things that I want to keep secret from some folks in my real life. Not because I am dishing dirt or saying things I shouldn’t or sharing life secrets, just that this is where I vent. This is where I say stupid crap without worry that someone is gonna try and commit me. This is where I show what a complete and total fool I can be.

I love this person that found my Twitter. I do. She is an awesome person that I am candid with on most everything. Howevs, I really really don’t want to have to worry about other folks finding me.

I don’t want to think that my mom is reading this page. Or my ex-boyfriend, or the bartender at my local Cheers. I don’t want to censor everything here. And boy howdy, I didn’t censor my archives and I really don’t want words I have laid out in the past with a sense of privacy, misconstrued in the present, under different circumstances.

Therefore, girlie, if you found me, please, please, let’s keep this between you and me. I would really really supercallafragilistically appreciate it.

(And to the peeps that read this and don't know me in real life, Hi! How ya doing? Been awhile, huh? How are the kids? How is your job? Oh this weather, sure is crazy, huh?

We Surround Them

I grew up in a “traditional” home. God-fearing parents who sent us off to church on Sunday. Raised strictly by parents who may have had occasional marital problems, but worked through them out of love for each other, for my sister and I, and because they simply knew no other way than to stay married.

Though they had my sister when they were just out of high school, they strove to raise my sister and I with certain values. Honesty, humility, sincerity, courage.

Hard work and personal responsibility were driven into us. A requirement.

Thrift was a necessity as we did not have much money growing up. Gratitude for what we did have was taught over each meal, each gift we received.

Charity was never discussed. We didn’t volunteer or donate money. Charity was in our hearts. If someone needed a place to stay, they stayed over. If someone needed something, we shared what we had.

Now that I am older, about to marry and am thinking about children, I have come to believe in certain principles.

1. America is good.
2. I believe in God and He is the Center of my Life.
3. I must always try to be a more honest person than I was yesterday.
4. The family is sacred. My spouse and I are the ultimate authority, not the government.
5. If you break the law you pay the penalty. Justice is blind and no one is above it.
6. I have a right to life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness, but there is no guarantee of equal results.
7. I work hard for what I have and I will share it with who I want to. Government cannot force me to be charitable.
8. It is not un-American for me to disagree with authority or to share my personal opinion.
9. The government works for me. I do not answer to them, they answer to me.

I don’t believe many people can disagree with the values and principles recited above. The government, over the last 50 years has encroached on these values and principles. It has pushed against our freedoms and have sanctioned actions that I simply find deplorable.

This is not a fight against Obama, or the Democrats, or the Republicans. This is a fight against the government as a whole encroaching on our lives.

It is time America started standing up for itself. We have cowered too long in silence as our renegade government has enslaved us more and more each day. We have to take action, and this may very well be the first step.

I encourage you to take action, and go to one of the many meet-ups that are being organized to view this program. Take that first step, and acquaint yourselves with your fellow citizens who still give a damn about this country and what’s right.

There is strength in numbers and in the unification of people with a common cause.




http://www.glennbeck.com/content/articles/article/198/21018/
http://wesurroundthemmap.com