Wednesday, August 31, 2005

How did I live before this? I sortof remember going to work, putting on clean suits and brushing my hair back into a silver clip every morning, and wearing sensible shoes. I remember being a 'Mary Poppins' of receptionist divas, putting out fires and soothing nerves with a smooth smile and a pleasant manner. These days I drag myself into clothes around 9 AM, if I'm doing well, and yank my hair up in a scrunchie, and there are no performance reviews, or people to greet, or executives to take care of. There's just flipping channels on the tv in the background, and feeding the baby, and learning what her tired cry sounds like. I can avoid a lot of unpleasantness if I can head off her cranky times, and that means that I can sometimes lay down for a nap.

I spend more time in my kitchen than I used to. I love playing in my kitchen, and I think I forgot that when I was pregnant, and before that when I was working and just trying to get through the day so that I could go home and rest. And lately Munchkin's started to smile at me from time to time. She gets this delighted look on her face, and looks up at me, and I want to think that any time now she's going to start laughing.

Smooshable. I love my girl.

Monday, August 29, 2005

Today I was again struck with just how incredibly lucky I am. An acquaintance of mine had an abortion last week, because her husband didn't want the baby. She wanted the child. They have two already, and because of her schedule and his (dual military) had no idea how they would have handled another child in these days of frequent deployments and absences. He blamed her for the pregnancy, was constantly putting her down for being sick and tired and not able to do everything like she had before- I still am in awe at how she did it. Working mid-shift, coming home, getting the kids off to daycare, sleeping, ferrying around his brotherinlaw and sister, doing whatever the hell else he wants to- and he was bitching because she couldn't get laundry done, or grocery shopping.

So she had the abortion because he wanted her to, even though she wanted this baby, and now he's still upset with her because she's emotional and still tired, and still upset over the whole thing.

When I compare this to my own husband- when I've been equally sick for unknown reasons over the past several weeks, unable to do much more than care for the baby and drag myself to the couch on some days- he gets up early, cleans the kitchen, takes his full share of baby-wrangling so that I can get some uninterrupted sleep, holds me close when I'm just plain tired of being sick and depressed. He never blames me for being sick, he never wishes out loud that we hadn't had the baby, he never loses his temper with my inability to cope on a weekly basis. It's so odd how I've come to take his behavior for granted, when I used to think that all I deserved was the attitude of my friend's husband. In an ideal world, all men would act like a true partner and loving helpmeet. I am blessed.

Saturday, August 27, 2005

Today was the NICU reunion. We debated going, not going, and going. SailorBoy was all for going, but I had to battle with my depression/sick feelings all week, and kept thinking about how I was going to feel (shitty), how best to make it through (take lots of chilled water and wear sea-bands), and what would be the best time of day to do this (as early as possible).

Munchkin had a great time. She slept a lot, and looked absolutely adorable in her little daisy hat. The sun was pretty hot; I'm so glad that we've got AC in the apartment, because I knew that all I had to do was to make it home and everyone would be alright. There were hot dogs, and hamburgers, and nachos... I tried to stick with stuff that I knew would sit better in my tummy, but I ended up puking my guts out. Again. Still, a good time was had by all. This year the hospital started a footprint/handprint wall. Everyone was able to go upstairs to the NICU unit, and along the wall we wrote her name and birthdate, and put her two little footprints up there in pink paint. The head of the unit made a speech about how while it's nice to come back every year and see the families and former preemies doing so well, we should also think of all the parents upstairs right now, visiting their own babies, and know that it's good for them to know that we have reunions every year. It gives them some hope, in dark days, to see that yes, these children do thrive outside of the darkened NICU rooms. They grow big and strong and stubborn; and they smear baked beans across their faces and beg for one more bite of hot dog. They laugh and blow bubbles in the sunlight, and run screaming in delight across the courtyard that has seen so many parent's pain over the years.

This is where you started, my darling baby girl. This is where I birthed you in fear, and visited you daily for weeks. The day we brought you home was one of the scariest and one of the happiest of my life, all at once.

Pray to god I never have to sit through this again with you.

Wednesday, August 24, 2005

It's Wednesday. Hump day. The longest day of the week, besides Monday mornings and Friday afternoons when you just KNOW that something is going to prevent your early escape from the shackles of cubicle confinement. Not that I would know anything about that, because I always loved my jobs. Mostly.

Today I celebrate Hump Day with my darling daughter. She's laying on the floor as I type, and complaining because she's got to stretch out her arms to reach the happy apple, and this will tragically scar her young life. Guess I should start putting those pennies aside now; who needs college when you can pay cash for therapy?

Poor little girl, with the bright wide eyes and the chubby cheeks and the dimply elbows. Her tummy hurts. And she does Not want a nap, because she's not sleepy. Despite the fact that every time I pick her up and hold her against my shoulder those same bright wide eyes get heavier and heavier, and she's fast asleep instantly. But the second that I go to put her down, she wakes up. Not happy. Baby Angst has struck in suburbia. It's hard when you're only four months old.
Yesterday I left the house.

You may not see why this is so important to me, and you may not immediately care. You may even say to yourself, what the fuck is wrong with this woman that she has to make such a big deal about everything in her life?

Well, I'm depressed, that's why. It's to the point that unless it's a medical appointment, I literally have to fight myself to put on my shoes and leave the house. I don't want to get up. This is not a good thing. When it's a fight to get yourself motivated enough to walk as far as the corner mailbox, that's a big deal. I can't just snap out of this. Wish I could, though. I've got a cute little baby asleep on my lap, and she's just the most squeezable and cuddly little girl that I know. If this was not so, I wouldn't love her so much, and I wouldn't make the effort to deal with this depression right now.

It's all about the small victories in my day this week. I took a shower. Twice. I cleaned my kitchen and washed all those bottles, and made up the formula to the exact consistancy of clotted cream, and measured out her medication every 6 hours in little flasks that remind me of high school chemistry. I've made dinner for my family and I've done it on little sleep, and no restful sleep at all. Personally, I think it sucks that whenever I close my eyes this week I've got the PTSD nightmares. I think that the perpetrators should be hunted down and shot for this, but that wouldn't solve anything. There's no way out of this but through, and that's what I'm working my way towards right now.

Monday, August 22, 2005

well, it's been an awfully long time... I've got no real excuse, except depression and generalized Blues. The baby is doing well. Starting to take notice of her surroundings. I'm still a wreck. My platelets are still wierd, and my body's crapping out on me, and I feel like a little old lady more often than not. Am I going to be the Sick Mommy in her class, when she's old enough for school? Or am I going to be able to run around with her on the grass and play and laugh for hours? I don't know. Honestly, I don't care beyond her happiness right now. If I think about it too much I may just go nuts again, and I don't think that's the way I want to take this.

Have a good week, Everyone.