let it snow.

This kid rocks my world.  Happy New Year.

+++

From Neil Gaiman:

"I hope that in this year to come, you make mistakes.

"Because if you are making mistakes, then you are making new things, trying new things, learning, living, pushing yourself, changing yourself, changing your world. You're doing things you've never done before, and more importantly, you're Doing Something.

"So that's my wish for you, and all of us, and my wish for myself. Make New Mistakes. Make glorious, amazing mistakes. Make mistakes nobody's ever made before. Don't freeze, don't stop, don't worry that it isn't good enough, or it isn't perfect, whatever it is: art, or love, or work or family or life.

"Whatever it is you're scared of doing, Do it.

"Make your mistakes, nextyear and forever."

satellite

12-27-2011, day one.

Which sort of means that today was a highly rash and emotional day, filled with random crying, random teeth gnashing, and random oh-woe-is-me.  Because that's what hormones do to a woman when she's surfing the crimson tide.

I'm about to make my peace with Boo being an only child, in as much as I am not sure I can take the heartache every month, the feeling of loss and unfairness.  The meek won't inherit the earth because the meek don't breed indiscriminately, it seems.  But anyway, I do know that I'm blessed with my son, as he's MOSTLY good MOST of the time, and it could be much, much worse.

Even when he fiddles with his glasses constantly even though he knows he should be keeping them on his face.  Even when he continues to do so in the face of just having had his first pair replaced because they broke and a stern warning to leave the damn things on his cute little face.  *sigh*

Anyway, yeah.

Then there's the part of me that thinks maybe the universe is trying to give me a girl for my birthday, something along the lines of my mother and I.  (I was born on her 30th birthday.)  But, y'know, reading into things and such.  Maybe I should worry about my clogged tear duct instead, going to the dentist for the first time in two years, or finishing my damn kitchen.  Because that stuff needs to get done, too.

Sad but true.

oink

In the whole light of being more zen about the lack of a baby forming in my womb, I am trying not to be overly jealous or full of impotent rage when it comes to hearing other women bouncingly announce that they're pregnant.

So, my friend is pregnant, and she's 8 weeks along.  I am SOOO happy for her.  But then another one of her friends whom I have become friends with is now pregnant, maybe 6 weeks along, and while I know that her and her husband have been trying for a long time, beyond being happy for her, I feel this seething jealous anger...  My fucking body - it feels like it thrills in failing me.  Which, I know it's NOT like that, but still, emotions are silly.  Erik and I tried for a while, and then I had a miscarriage, and now we're trying again...  And I know it doesn't help that when it's my "fertile time", we end up only having sex once because we're either tired, or my tear duct plugs up and I'm in agony, or Boo vomits all over me and we're both worried for him rather than the business of getting it on.  I know that life gets in the way.

I know.  But still, there's a sadness, and a feeling of "when is it my turn?"  And y'know, maybe that's the problem.  Greedy, greedy.

different focus

I am trying to be not so obsessive about the baby thing.  And, y'know, for the most part it's been working, but that's because one of my bestest friends in the whole wide world is now around 8 weeks pregnant and I am fucking overjoyed for her and OMG so excited!

Also, there's been the business of the kitchen.  As in, we're heavy, heavy, heavy into the remodel.  Way deep.  Basically, we gutted the kitchen and now we're piecing it back together as we have time and money.  The push is on to get it even 80% completed by New Year's Eve because Erik and I are hosting my family's festivities.  And it will be an operational kitchen.  We have our beautiful new gas stove, we have our new (to us) cabinets, our sink and faucet.  Soon we'll even repaint the refrigerator (chalkboard paint for the win!) and maybe get our dishwasher.  The countertop is on order.  Things are definitely falling into place, and I am loving what I am seeing.  It is going to be a kitchen we can love and use instead of endure, like the one we just ripped out.

So, yes, there has been that.  It's been a worthy distraction.  And, well, it really ISN'T the end of the world if we don't have another baby.  But I'd still really like one.  We'll see what the Universe brings.

discouragement

Is the Universe trying to tell me something?  Is it saying, "Lady, you've got to learn to be more patient.  We're watching you with Boo, and sometimes it's wicked stupid the things that make you angry."  And maybe, if it is, it's right.

There are things, since the miscarriage, that I have had to deal with.  For the most part, I've learned a lot, hard lessons, humility and humble-pie...  But I still let stress and temper enter the mix, and I know it's not right.  I have a three year old.  They are button-pushers.  I have to take more deep breaths.

But then you get to the whole conception part.  The actual physical logistics of it.  And, really, you and your partner have to both be on track.  At the right time.  I try not to be frustrated because I know that sometimes that's just the way it is.  Maybe it's the Universe's way of telling me to slow down.  Other times, it just feels like I'm married to the only man in the world who can't just stick his dick in a wet hole and ejaculate.

Yet I don't want it to boil down to that.  I think for any child to truly be made, the two involved need to be connected, whether in mind or spirit (as well as body, obviously).  When I got pregnant with Boo and with the Baby That Wasn't a Baby, there was that connection.

It's just so hard to keep trying.  I keep feeling the clock ticking.

shedding

Day one of period.  Still not pregnant.

I think the dream I had the other night where I went to my doctor and she said I'd conceived but still wasn't pregnant was a true one.

A +

I'm all excited...  One of my bestest friends got a positive pregnancy test.  First kid.  She pretty much just got off birth control, and her and her husband weren't even actively trying.  But there you have it.  The plus sign, the double lines, whatever indication the test showed...  Pregnant.

I am super stoked for her.  I hope everything goes well and smoothly.  I even had a dream where I just WAVED a pregnancy test stick at her and double lines showed up.  Precognition?  Maybe.  Sometimes happenings and truths show up in my dreams.

And yes, I know, this blog has turned into the Baby Obsession Blog...  But this is the only place I can go and just dump.  And this is the stuff that's on my mind.  Other stuff, sure, obviously there is that...  There's ALWAYS something else.  But this thing with babies...  Yeah.  It's definitely a thing.  I fucking love babies.

obsession?

I'm not late.  In fact, I'm due in 5-7 days.  But I feel bloated.  My boobs hurt.  I can feel my uterus as a ball in the center of my core.

Maybe I'm pregnant.  Maybe this period will be a gusher.  Who knows?  But keep your fingers crossed for the former anyway.

effluvia

Day one of period.  Mark it down.  Keep track.

Also, the other night when I was biting into a particular piece of candy, part of the bonding on my front teeth came off.  It's not really noticeable to anyone looking at me (and who really stares at my teeth or smile hard enough TO notice?), but I feel like a huge freakin' snaggletooth.  But I stopped going to my old dentist because of some rudeness incidents that happened with my old bakery manager (yes, we had the same dentist), and I haven't been to the dentist since.  Yes, bad, I know.

However, NOW I can't really go until all my OTHER medical bills of past are taken care of.  I can't really afford to wrack up more expenses until I pay the other ones off.  October being the clusterflock that it was didn't really help.  I also need to go see the eyedoctor.  Oh joy.

So, here I sit, feeling funky of tooth, even if it isn't so.  I think that's an apt metaphor for life, actually...

calming down

It seems like about every month halfway through, at the miscarriage anniversary mark, my heart fills with a heaviness - this miserable ache that's hard to shake.  Add to that we're now actively trying to conceive again, this being my "fertile" time, there's an added sense of desperate urgency.  It's also fueled by the amazing and wonderful news of amazing and wonderful women around me expecting their own amazing and wonderful babies.  And I'm happy for that, I am.  It's not their fault that I'm jealous and tote around melancholy like it's in fashion.

But there's one thing I'm coming to realize, here in the now with the idea that OMG I HAVE TO HAVE ANOTHER BABY SOON is that *deep breath* it will happen right when it's damn well supposed to do so.  You get the child you deserve, not the one you think you need.

These past few months have been a really eye-opening time for soul-searching.  I have been extremely short of temper with Finn, short of fuse, ready to snap.  And that's not fair to him.  He doesn't deserve that.  How do I expect the Universe to grace me with another child if I can't appreciate and enjoy the one I have?  Yes, he's (almost) three and makes me grit my teeth, but I'm the adult and I am the one who needs to rise above the urge to scream and yell and stomp.  It's really sad when you and your toddler are having a heated contest of wills, and it's not just because he won't brush his teeth.

So, patience.  As we approach the new year, putting to bed all that is dying, I am trying to put to bed my hurt and my anger, to take deep breaths and to remember that life is to be enjoyed, not endured.  I am trying to laugh more, stop bemoaning my lot as much, and just shove on forward.  I am broke and I don't like working second shift.  But I have amazing friends and family, I have a job (with which I am lucky enough to be able to support my family), and work is progressing on my house.  There is tangible and palpable evidence that there are REASONS to shove on forward.  Good times will come, good things will happen, and any child that may happen to arrive will be worth the wait.

the day after

So, Wednesday night I bled pretty much a lot, then it tapered off.  Thursday we went to see Cars 2 (which Boo did pretty well at considering he's 2 1/2), and pretty much right after, the pain started.  In between the movie theater and home, I bled through a tampon and a pad.  And stuff just sludged out of me.  And kept coming.  I tried to check the internet - bled through.  I tried to eat some - bled through.  Sat on the toilet, got the sweats and shakes and nearly threw up and passed out.  Moved to the tub so I could lay down.  Read that if you were soaking through in less than an hour, plus the pain, you should hie to the ER.  So, after half an hour, emotional and heart-wrenching (I really do hate being the center of fussing), I cleaned myself off enough to bundle up a chuck and put on some pants and zoom off to the ER.

They got me in pretty quick, but, guess what, I'd bled through by then again!  (And if you've ever seen a medical chuck, you should know how bad that is.)  Set me up in a room, the ER doc checked to make sure the pain wasn't caused by a cervical blockage (it wasn't), and I got my first round of excellent drugs.  They did blood tests to check my hemoglobin and I bled.  Of course, not as much as before, but enough to be uncomfortable.  Taken to ultrasound where the tech found stuff still inside my uterus, including the blighted ovum.  And we waited.  I let my coworker know that I was at the ER and probably wasn't going to be able to make it to work, and she was so amazing about it.  (My job is not like an office job where missing one day of work means I just have twice as much the next day.  If I miss a day of work, someone gets shafted.)

Finally, we got me prepped for a d&c, and we waited for the OB on call (who happened to be the OB who saw me on Monday - my regular OB's husband, haha).  Finally he showed, we discussed the procedure and risk, I asked what I thought were very astute questions, and we moved to surgery prep.  Waited some more.  THEN, finally, the procedure, which I was blissfully knocked out for.  When the anesthesiologist asked me what kind of cocktail (besides the drug one he was giving me) I liked, I responded with Bloody Mary.  Then laughed at myself.  Ummm, yeah.  How apropos.  So yeah, blackout.  Then waking up in recovery.  Then going to a room until I could prove I was able to go home (walk, pee).  Then home and passing out.  No alarm.

And Boo was absolutely AMAZING the whole time.  Yeah, he got squirrely.  Yeah, he got a little crazy.  He's 2 1/2.  But he charmed the staff (wheedled so many snacks and goodies off of them), and kept telling me it was going to be okay and giving me hugs and cuddles, and STAYED UP UNTIL 3AM.  When we got home, there was no argument.  We took off his shoes and pants and he pulled his own sheet up and zonked out.

All of the staff we encountered (and there were many - I don't even want to know how many individual department bills we're going to get *palmface*) were freakin' brilliant and so, so nice.  A+ service.  Of course, great treatment and all, I'd rather not have to deal with it again!

But anyway, we're all good here.  I scratched the hell out of my right eyelid probably when coming out of anesthesia, and Boo split his lip open by running into a corner of a chair while in the last room (holy shit, I don't blame him - he was manic and tired and hadn't had the good drugs I'd had), and Erik was frazzled all to hell and back and exhausted...  But today is a better day.  I actually feel pretty much back to normal, only a little abdominal tenderness, some bit of heartache.  My body will heal, my heart will heal, and my life will go on.

I just hope I've reached my $2k out of pocket by now...

aftermath

Well, I guess my body decided for me what should happen. PURGE! Holy fucking purge. Owww.

Anyway, thank you for the thoughts and well-wishes. Now that the shock is over, I'm doing much better. The fact that I had a blighted ovum (empty sac) makes it easier to bear - knowing that I didn't lose a child but a pregnancy instead. Also, knowing that I have Boo already, and crazy toddler button-pusher or not, he is simply amazing and I am blessed to have him in my life. And knowing that I have Erik as my wonderful partner really helps.

All is not doom and gloom and despair. Am I sad and disappointed? Oh yes. But hey, tomorrow (so to speak) is another day. As long as I have lungs with which to breathe and legs on which to stand and determination with which to fight, I am here and strong and defiant. There is a lesson in this loss. If we have another pregnancy, and it's successful, and there is another child, that child will be the right one for us at the right time, just as Boo was. 

For now, though, Midol - oh how I love you.

period

So, Saturday early morning, when I got up in the middle of the night to pee, I noticed some "brown" stuff on the toilet paper.  Tried not to think too much of it.  When I woke up, it was still there, and my mind immediately went to spotting and miscarriage.  Turned on the tv to try to stop thinking about it.

Finn woke up and we were playing cars and I needed to pee.  This time when I wiped, there was dark red blood.  Well, yeah, I think we know what that meant.  I crumpled, there, on the toilet, sobbing and sobbing.  Finn came in (oh, why bother shutting the door with a toddler around?) asking what was happening, and then he went and got daddy "Momma's crying!"  Erik stumbled in, just woken up, to ask what was up, as Finn also said "What's happening?"  And then, yes, the realization.  More sobbing.

Finn came to me, put his arms around me, hand on my face, and said, "It's okay Momma.  It's okay."  I love him so much.

And, well, it will be okay, in time.  Right now I am just so very angry.  Sad and angry.  Ten weeks.  Ten hopeful weeks.  Dashed.

skunky

Pregnancy has gone from a weird alien state to simply a state of being.  The flesh remembers, and every so often my brain has those "Oh yeah!" moments.  But the thing that bugs me most this time (and at this point in time) isn't the nausea, the absolute ravenous it-will-never-be-enough appetite, the feeling of stretching, the occasional sciatic flare-up, the Super nose, or the fatigue.

It's the bloat and the gas.  Seriously.  They have been HORRIBLE lately, and I swear that I haven't been eating anything out of the ordinary lately, either.  Nothing to warrant the horrible stench emanating from my physiology.  I've been in the back cooking these past few days, and holy crap, has that been a good thing because then I haven't stunk anyone out.

Nine weeks down.  Thirty-one weeks to go.  *pinches nose*

Also, got a call from the doctor's office yesterday, a voicemail that I didn't receive until after closing hours.  Called back today and was talking to the doctor's nurse...  He basically was telling me that all the tests they ran (bloodwork - diseases and whatnot) came back normal and negative.  Then he paused and said, "Well, your pregnancy test came back positive."  I laughed and said, "I sure hope so!" to which he also laughed.  Because, well, yeah, wouldn't THAT be weird?

stats

Eight weeks, four days.
I've gained seven pounds (since last November).
Too early to check for a heartbeat.
Had blood drawn - oh joy.
Next appointment is July 27th, with my actual OB-GYN.

stitch 'n blocks

Boo got his first stitch/ER visit on Saturday.  Something about a tumble off his wooden stepstool and busting the skin near his left eye open on a corner.  The wound itself wasn't actually too bad, but being that he's 2 1/2 and I didn't want the wound to split back open or get infected and fester, to the ER we went.  Three hours later, he was stitched up and sucking on a popsicle the nurse gave him.  He's such a trooper.  I honestly think he's going to be upset when he doesn't have to wear a bandage on his face anymore.  He loves picking out what kind to put on.

In all, though, it's an experience I can go without reliving.  At all.

On another front, we went to the in-law's yesterday to do the Father's Day thing.  Since Erik's brother and family were there, and Great-Grandma S, it was a *perfect* time to spill the beans.

His parents have, for each grandchild, wooden blocks with letters set in the kids' room, first name and middle.  So, hey, we had some blocks and Boo didn't really play with them, and hey, they spelled the name we've picked out (first name only, which will go for either boy or girl, yes; middle name will depend on the sex).  I put them in a gift bag and had them figure out what it meant.   And they got it.  His dad even puzzled out the name.  Needless to say, they're happy.  Except maybe my nephew R, but he's four.  All four-year olds are assholes.

Now if I could only be so sure that my family will be so receptive, especially considering my brothers' reactions when I told them we were going to be trying for #2.  Oh well, we'll see.  I mean, what can they do?  If everything goes well, baby'll be here whether they like it or not.

bleargh

I seriously don't remember being this tired and wiped out or sicky feeling when I was pregnant with Boo.  Maybe I'm blocking that part out.  I DO remember being slightly resentful for being a slave to food, at least in the first trimester.  Seriously, it's a bitch.  And then, if you don't eat in a timely fashion, you feel sick.  Yeah yeah, I'm growing a person.  Still.  Ugh.

onset

Now that the reality of the situation is sinking in...  Wow, daunting.  And three weeks until I can ask to see if there's a heartbeat.  Three nerve-wracking weeks before I know if this baby will go the distance or not.  I think being ignorant of the pitfalls of pregnancy during the first go-around was bliss.  Then, there was no doubt that I would have a baby and that baby would be healthy and wonderful*.

I don't know if I could handle anything less than perfection a second time around.  I'm thirty-three years old.  I don't know how much more daring-do I've got left.

And then, of course, is the second emotion floating in my head...  That I'm betraying Boo.  That he'll think I'm replacing him, my sunshine.  When initially trying to convince Erik that a second child would be a good idea, I would cajole him with "I've got two arms."  And that's true, and there's no limit on loving your child/ren.  You just do until it pours out of you and it feels like it will rip you apart with its intensity.  But what if Boo doesn't see that?  What if he gets petty and jealous and angry (and I know he will for a while - it's a normal response) with me forever?  What if he sees it as me turning my back on him?  He's such a momma's boy, my boy.  I don't want to lose his love.  And I know I won't, not for having another child.

But these are my fears.  I want to things right (but I won't aim for perfection because THAT ideal doesn't really exist).  In the end, all I've got will be my family, warts and all.  I want there to be love and trust and understanding.  I want Boo to know that I'll always be there for him, as well as Baby #2, for as long as I have breath in my body.   

*(And now, 2 1/2 years later, he has surpassed any speculation or expectations.  Boo is a gift.  A sassy, sassy gift.)

implications

Considering how long the idea of another has been pinging around in my head, and these past since months have been ones of trying...  It's odd that now, finally, I'd be freaking out a little.  Like, dude, I know what to do with ONE.  What do I do with TWO? 

Maybe it's a little getting ahead of ourselves.  I mean, there's a whole new calendar year to roll around before we get to that.  There's already been discussion of how we're going to set everything up.  Our house is SMALL.  Finn's bed takes up so much room as it is...

And Finn's such a momma's boy.  I have no idea how he's going to take it.  At three, will he understand what it means to share, and that by sharing, it doesn't mean he's loved any less?  Oh I hope, I hope, I hope.

Until then, say a prayer, hope a little hope, think good thoughts, and breathe.

positive

If everything is correct, there's only about 35 more weeks to go...

gripe

It's really hard not to feel either resentful or second best sometimes.  I mean, when you put the ball in someone else's court, and they drop it, how are you supposed to feel?  It's not even for me, but for my son. 

And, y'know, it's probably in my own head, but still.  I'm doing all I can to offer opportunities.  Not my fault. 

Just don't break his heart.  There will be hell to pay for that.

bleak

I feel... broken.  Like every special and specific (major) thing I have wanted for ME is not going to happen, so I might as well face up to it.  It hurts.  I want to hide, crawl away and not be found.   It sucks to feel like wanting anything makes you selfish, that you deserve anything good at all.

Life without hope is a hollow, dangerous thing.

backslide

I'm trying to look at a bigger picture. 

Why?  See, Erik lost his job today.  Or, I should say, they let him go.  Not for anything he did or didn't do, mind, but because the small company he worked for really overextended themselves and hired him when they really shouldn't have done so.  They're not busy enough for his graphic artistry, and he doesn't want to learn how to run the production machines.

So here we are, back at the drawing board.  Back to being restrained in our purchases (which, honestly, we should have done anyway), back to my income alone (albeit, there will be supplementation from Erik's respite work with BJ), back to me REALLY feeling the crunch of wanting to be home myself instead of working.

Crossing my fingers that Erik finds a new job soon, and that it pays so awesome that I can FINALLY do what I have wanted to do for a long time - work part-time.  Oh please oh please oh please.

And Mercury Retrograde, damn you to the ends of the Earth!

in it to win it

If there is one thing I am sure of, it is that this summer is going to be more than just coasting by.  Erik, Boo, and I are going to DO things.  We are going to LEAVE THE HOUSE and be active.  We are going to hit splashpads, waterparks, zoos, museums, see friends and family, and enjoy each others' company.  Erik and I are going to remember that life is about experience, and Boo's got a lot to catch up on (compared to us).

Last year I spent most of my time still reeling, in shock from the transition from bakery to deli, from one company to the next, to working a solid wall of second shift and feeling cut off from the world.  Well, y'know, not much has changed in my work situation since then, but dammit, I am so SICK of it dictating how I am and what my outlook is like.  I AM NOT MY JOB.  I work to live, but I'll be damned if I live to work.  My first priority will always be to myself and my family.  My guys are the gravy to my potatoes, the peanut butter to my jelly, and if my mother's death taught me anything, it was to enjoy every damn minute because who the hell knows when it will be your last.

Rise and shine, World.  I'm on my way.

dreams

I was in labor, giving birth vaginally despite the whole "You can't have a vbac!" thing... because I was having a girl.  I distinctly remember the feel of the baby entering the birth canal, the crowning, and then the actual birth itself.  These sensations were so vivid.

And then we all saw that the baby was a boy instead.  And they clucked at me for fooling them into having a vbac birth instead of a c-section (because, obviously, having a boy made it dangerous).  I ignored them and welcomed the baby by name, his face still covered in white vernix and absolutely beautiful.

Then I woke up.

over it

Some days it really is overwhelming and daunting that I am the primary breadwinner.  I am sick of being the one to pay all the bills, to buy all the treats, to pay for all medical bills with MY flex money, and to tuck some money aside for "us" as well as Boo.

Yes, Erik has a job.  Sure, he buys the groceries...  Sure, sometimes he remembers to give me some money to help pay for the fancy phone and phone plan we HAD to have...  But sometimes is not regular enough, and it's still just me, paying everything.

I want to be the one who works four hours a day and then comes home and spends the rest of the day with my son, fitting in a nap and some tv.  I want to be the one where, if I wake up too early (or, like today, Boo wakes up too early), I don't feel like the world is ending because I'm over-tired and still have to deal with entitled customers instead getting an hour or so of much-needed shuteye.

I am sick of being the one to tow the line.  It's been four years now.  I'm over it already.  I want a fucking reprieve.  I want validation, that all this has been for something and that sometime soon I will get some kind of reward.  And I want to feel like I'm not whining when I express what I want.

trying

Y'know, when you're trying to get pregnant, and it's just not happening, it doesn't really help that it then seems like every damn woman around you is getting pregnant before you.  In an irrational way, in the way the mind tends to be, you think, "It's so not fair."  As if conceiving a child is a game, or something you can measure by a term like "fair."

It doesn't help that with this winter dragging on (and February, being the shortest month, feels like the freakin' longest), morale is down in the dumps.  Erik and I are both snippy and crabby and feeling down.  I think the "push" this month was too full-frontal, too tacky, too much.  There was nothing joyous about it, and therefore, nothing will come to fruition.  I know this. 

My problem is I really do want it too much.  In a desperately needy way.  I vacillate between being okay with it happening when it will and then panicking that because it hasn't happened already, it won't happen at all.  Pure bollocks, I know.  I know!  Take a chill already, right? 

And I AM enjoying Boo and my time with him.  He's just so amazing.  With his expanding vocabulary and ability to communicate, this is a new time of wonder, like all the other times of wonders for different reasons.  We broke out the Little People stuff that we'd packed away, and now we have to play a lot with him.  You take a figure and he'll take a figure and you'll talk.  His pretend voice starts with a low "Hi," and it cracks me the hell up every. damn. time.  I love that kid so much.  He's my all.

So when I feel needy and nutty, I just have to remember to breathe, that I have plenty right now, and an extra plenty would be an added bonus.  To quote Finding Nemo...  "Just keep swimming."

loss

I feel like such a hysterical knee-jerker.  I feel the symptoms and I want the result, but the test is showing a negative.  It's still early, still early.  What gives body?

*******

Since Erik's grandmother died, I've found myself in this weird headspace.  I mean, as far as grandma goes, I have no regrets as to our relationship or where we stood.  There's no unclosed closure, no misunderstandings.  Two days before she passed, I was able to give her a hug and kiss her goodbye and tell her I loved her.  

Doing that, however, made me realize that being ABLE to do such is quite the luxury and that, even over eight years later, I still have these tiny regrets over my own mother.  Because her death was an accident, I had no warning, no parting words or hugs & kisses.  I have this slight lingering thing where I self-flagellate for not having answered the phone, for not having made time for her, to talk or to visit.  The last time I saw her was two weeks before, at my house, and I remember the last words I said to her.  "You be careful," I said as I hugged her tight.  "Always," she replied as she gave me a kiss.  And that was it.  I let the answering machine pick up her phone calls because I couldn't be "bothered" with her hour-long gab-fests.  Bothered.  By my own mother.  Oh, how I wish I had known.  I would have let her talk into the wee hours of dawn if I had known.  

As for those phonecalls, my mother was just lonely, and I was her daughter.  I was born on her birthday, and we'd always shared a special bond.  Thing is, as with a good portion of new adults, you fell that you have to distance yourself from your parents before returning to them, to gain an identity, to be able to communicate as adults instead of parent/child.  I did that, too, but I was returning.  Her death stopped us from achieving completion.

But, as with accidents, there is no way of knowing.  That's what an accident is, and it's not like you expect to be planning a funeral for your 55 year old mother who had survived an abusive marriage as well as a battle with breast cancer.  How could you?  And so something I'm still struggling with is that I didn't get to say goodbye, and I can only hope and conjecture that she knew how much I loved her (and still do love her).  Sometimes I still see signs that remind me of her, and I like to think that she's putting them out there just for me, to let me know she's there, that she loves me, and that she understands.

candle vigil

Erik's paternal grandmother died this morning.  She'd been failing for a while, so it wasn't a huge surprise.  Still, it's sad.  Erik and Boo went out last night while I was at work and sat with her and his parents.  I was stuck at work and felt really helpless, but I'm glad they were able to be there.  I'm glad she was surrounded by people who love her on her last night in this world.

On the flip side, I have been experiencing PMS symptoms, yet I'm not due to have my period for another week.  So, please cross your fingers, light a candle, hope a little hope.  Not only would I be happy to be pregnant already, it would be good timing.  And if it is a reality, maybe I can have a little girl due in October.  Even though Boo says that he doesn't want a little brother or sister.  Ha.  Silly kid.

Much love all around. 

afloat

The best blogging is done at turbulent times, apparently.  Which is why I haven't posted in a while.

Once I realized that it wasn't just my manager gunning for me, somehow it was  better.  Higher ups, well, I've been threatened by THEM before, and if I lose my job, well, there are ways to make life work.  It'd be tight, but it would work.  Until that time, I am hanging on to what I have and doing my absolute best.  Make them feel like rot for getting me gone.  And for getting me gone because I make too much money and my benefits cost too much.  Because, in the end, that's what matters to corporations, apparently.

And once I realized that if I get pregnant, I will when it's the right time, I stopped being whiny and stressing out about it.  Now, that doesn't mean that I don't plan on lots of sex during the "fertile" time of the month, and that doesn't mean that I'm not a bit sad when I get my period.  It does mean, though, that I look at the next month as a new start.  A baby will come along if it's meant to do so.  I can do all the right things at the right times, but ultimately it's all a big game of chance.  I'm playing my hardest.

My more zen approach can also be attributed to the fact that I'm going on vacation in a week.  The prospect of time off always bring about happy feelings and forgiveness.  That, and I'm THIS close to being able to work on taxes.  Here's to hoping that my pension pay-out doesn't screw us over too much!  We have big things to purchase this year!  (Like maybe siding.)

Until the days prove otherwise, I'm just going to keep on swimming.  It's all I can do.