Watch out, World! KittyCat is discovering her feet today!

She's full of giggles and laughter, and it's so wonderful to watch her. This should be bottled as a cure for depression, since it's impossible for me to feel bad about myself when she's so genuinely happy. When I think back to all those weeks of depression following the pregnancy and birth, and the general unhappiness of her early months at home, it's hard to reconcile that with right now. KittyCat is on her tummy, face-first in her Dolly, and is in the process of wiggling her way across the floor to where I am. She's moved 6 inches in the past three sentences. Soon there's going to be no stopping her.

This is why I get up in the morning.

Seven months ago today, I got to be a Mommy. That is, I was knocked over the head, sliced open, and when I came to there was an infant security bracelet around my wrist.

What changes in seven months. I'm so much more responsible now than I was then. I feel like I know so much more, am more capable of dealing with sudden crises, and am somehow ten years older. When she smiles at me I want to laugh. When she laughs I want to stand up and proclaim to the world that this is MY girl. That I have the most brilliant child in the world. She can laugh, she can smile, and she knows who I am.

In twelve years or so she's going to pretend that she doesn't know me when we're walking out together at the mall. She won't want anything to do with me when her friends are watching, and she'll have the worst taste in clothes and makeup. That's alright. She'll still be the chubby little girl with the wide blue eyes that makes every sucky thing that's ever happened to me worthwhile.

I've really been neglecting my writing this holiday period, huh? Well, that's mostly because nothing much has been happening around here. I got scoped this morning, upper and lower, and the drugs that they gave me were really good. I don't remember a thing about it. That's the kind of uncomfortable medical procedure that I like :)

Now KittyCat's clamoring for Mommy's attention again. I came home and went straight to bed, and haven't left it until now. I'm hungry for real food. I'm also still just a bit woozy. More will follow tomorrow; suffice it to say that everybody has survived this morning.

some random things that I've learned in my frugal endeavors:

homemade baby wipes are not worth the effort it takes to make them, at least in this household. It's also not necessary to spend a fortune for name-brand thick wipes. For us, the pop-up type is so much more convenient, does the job just as well, and we can get three packs of the hypoallergenic stuff from Target for the same as we'd spend on the thick stuff.

Breadmakers would take up too much of my precious counter space, and I really do like playing with the bread dough twice a week. For me, at least half the enjoyment of the bread experience is in kneading, and in being able to smell the yeasty-goodness as it burbles away in the corner.

You really can get more use out of a dryer sheet by cutting it in half. One half per load. I still wouldn't reuse them between multiple loads, though.

Drooling Attack Babies get you a lot of special perks when you go down on the pier. Such perks include doors being held open, and multiple strangers offering to assist you by pushing the stroller up large steep ramps.

KittyCat is slowly returning to normal after her week of fun and sniffles. Her sleep schedule is shot all to hell, but today she's had two short naps and I'm very hopeful that we'll avoid a major meltdown tonight.

I'm still sniffly. Tonight I have great hopes of taking another hot shower and relaxing once she's asleep. And just maybe I'll get some cuddle time with the love of my life. Got to store it up while I can, don'tcha-know? Tomorrow he's got duty, which sucks most suckfully; after that I'll get him back for a nice long weekend. I've got to concentrate on feeling better soon, so I can wish him a long and memorable goodbye.

Dial 1-800-I-AM-SICK, and receive your complimentary supply of used kleenex! Now available in the jumbo assortment pack of Daddy, Mommy, and Yellow Baby Snot! Call right now and we'll include a stuffy head, aching sinuses, and a FREE cough! What are you waiting for?

...It's the dayquil shots, y'know? They're starting to affect my sense of humor. At least I can still function, and my Boy is feeling slightly better this morning. I was up every hour or so to clear my sinuses out again, though. I miss being able to take Theraflu for a good night's sleep. Although I've got the non-drowsy stuff around, and maybe I'll sip slowly on that this morning. It would definitely be better than nothing.

KittyCat is happier this morning than she was yesterday. She's not nearly as stuffy, and I credit the sudafed with that. Happy Mama Dance! I can deal with feeling horrible myself, as long as she's feeling better sooner. And obviously since I'm feeling so crappy this is the perfect time to be watching a documentary on the 1918 Spanish Influenza. I've been fascinated for most of my life with the Spanish Flu. My family didn't have a gruesome history with the pandemic, yet it still speaks to something deep inside me. Our flu story was about my great-great-grandmother; when the church bells rang to declare the armistice, her fever broke and the family knew that she would live. Over the years I've read everything I could find on the subject. I've looked up the microfiche records of local papers to read the death notices, and see how fast the progression was. The first week it was in the community there were a handful of real obituaries. The second week, it was a column of tersely worded obits. The third week, there was nearly a page of names, dates, and mere basics. There was no space for anything else, and I believe that everybody was numb by that time. With so many dead and dying, there was nothing left to feel for them.

It really sucks when the whole family is sick. So far I seem to be the healthiest. The boy is sick. The baby is sick. I've been suctioning her poor little nose all evening; she seems to be sleeping better propped up in her vibrating chair. My head hurts, and my sinuses are throbbing.

I am tired, and sick of being sick. Only the thought that this gives me an excellant excuse to reschedule half of my doctors for this week makes me feel better.

I wish I could go to bed right now with my boy and some theraflu, and sleep it off. Mama's don't get sick. Mama's have to make it better. I'll be a Mama this week.

Into every life a few drops of rain must fall. This has generally meant that I slip and fall on my ass in the mud. Until this year.

In the space of one short year my entire life has been turned head over heels. I have a baby now. The most gorgeous little girl I ever saw. She's the light of my life; she encourages me daily to strive further for the Me I Know I Can Be. All this and she can't even form consonants yet.

This morning I woke up and couldn't go back to sleep right away. Unfortunately KittyCat decided to sleep through the wakeup at that hour. I ended up making myself sit up with a book during the 'normal' middle-night wakeup anyway. My boy couldn't sleep. He played on the computer again. We're all coming down with colds this week. Not fun. She's sniffling and fussy, and the grownups are busy drinking hot tea and theraflu. I wish they made theraflu for babies. I'm also probably going to reschedule our Tuesday appts; I don't want to expose her to anything worse than a cold right now.

I keep hearing that I need to prioritize a little better, that it will ease my stress levels immensely. That if I just figure out what's most important and take steps to deal with it, I'll sleep better and be happier in the long run. Good theory. The trouble I have putting it into practice is figuring out what I can delegate. Figuring out what I can do... what I've got to give up.

Today I gave up on the ability to go grocery shopping. If all my various doctor appts keep up at the pace they've been going, I'm barely having the energy to go there, come home, and play with KittyCat. The past couple of days I almost felt cheated, because I was unable to make time to play with her during the awake and alert hours. These are the most precious days of her childhood. She needs a mommy here, not a mommy dragging her from store to store to store trying to do all the errands that have to be done after she's been in daycare and Mommy's been seeing the doctors. That only leads to no naps, overtired babies, meltdowns on both ends, and a nervous collapse.

I did it. I placed my first online grocery order. It will be delivered to my door, and I didn't have to get out of the house to do it. It took me almost an hour to do the actual shopping and listing, but the KittyCat was fussing. I didn't have to wheel a cart through the aisles, keeping one eye on the other shoppers so I don't accidentally run them down and the other eye on KittyCat's mood. Oh yeah, and there's the other little matter of being able to transport all the stuff in from the car when I get home. While juggling a baby in her carrier, and not being able to count on making multiple trips to do it.

Tomorrow morning the groceries will arrive. I've managed to reclaim this afternoon for me and KittyCat. Maybe when she wakes up from her nap we'll go out to the park and play. Okay, so I couldn't use coupons on the order, and they'll charge me a delivery fee. On the other hand, I still get all the going sale prices, and that's where I've been saving most of my money lately anyway. I'm also getting part of my life back. I'm already feeling less stressed. If this works out, I may go to once a month shopping. Only have to pay out the delivery fee once a month, and gain more time to be a mother.

One more day and night and my Boy is home again! We're all excited here. I have so many things that I want to get done today; vacuum the living room, bake some yummy bread, buy chicken. Last night my neighbor asked me to babysit her son so she and her husband could run out and play a couple games of volleyball. I was glad to do it; he's grown so much since the last time I saw him! Poor kid had a stuffy nose though. Lucky for me the KittyCat slept through the whole thing. I'm not sure how I would have dealt with two fussy kids on my hands.

I'm also working on getting the KittyCat back on a sleep schedule. Last night's battle was eventually won. Now we're struggling this morning with the aftershocks of her exhaustion, and not wanting to nap, and being so tired that she keeps falling asleep on her bottle. I have great hopes that she'll settle soon. Also, I'm introducing a slightly different bottle on her this morning, and given her stubborness, she is having trouble admitting that yes indeed she can drink from it. The doctor informs me that she's just stubborn, that there's no physical reason that she should be unable to take different nipples.

I was like, this is supposed to be news? I knew she was stubborn. Her daddy knows she's stubborn. What else do you expect from a polish/scotch-irish/pennsylvania dutch hybrid?

I'm posting from the bunker I've built in the living room. Operation Cry It Out has officially begun, and the anguished wails of a sleepy KittyCat are filling the air. Every few minutes there's a pause for breath, as she realizes that her "I'm not Tired" routine has finally worn out it's welcome.

Unfortunately, I couldn't find camoflague earplugs to complete my ensemble. The In Uniform for this war is jeans and t-shirt. With blue fuzzy ballet-style slippers. And a ponytail. I lit a scented candle to assist in my efforts at non-surrender. Time and a full stomach are on my side. There will be sleeping tonight. She will learn to self-soothe. Nobody's died from this yet.

Twenty minutes into Operation Cry It Out. There is a brief, but significant pause. Then, as if by magic she realizes that no one is running to her cries. The wailing resumes. I have to wait another 4 minutes before I can go in to quietly tell her "shoosh. It's time for sleep now. Mommy loves you. Everything's fine." I rub her belly and re-position her feet so that they're back in separate legs of her sleeper jammies. Then I tuck the blankets back in around her and leave the room.

I know that this will pass. Mommy will win the battle because she's older and more stubborn than KittyCat. After all this crying, she's going to wear herself completely out.

I'll post again later, and keep you informed of the war's progress.

Since I've been knitting preemie blankets, I've noticed a definate upswing in my mood when I sit down to knit. That can't be a bad thing, now that the days are getting noticably shorter and the daylight flees before I'm ready to sit down and relax. I need every bit of patience and good mood I can muster to make it through these days without bursting into tears. Tears would not be a good thing right now.

As I was untangling a big mess of blue yarn this morning, I felt that still small smile creep into my face. That knowing little smirk that just screams SERENITY in big neon flashing letters. The nice one. It makes me feel so much like a woman when that happens. I need to go take a hot shower now, and use all the scented lotions and soaps and light a candle or two. I'm soft, and pretty, and feminine. I am Motherhood, fulfilled. I am a Goddess, in this moment of peace. My fingers fly through the soft yarns. As I create these little blankets for incredibly small miracles, I say a prayer or two for them. May their dreams be deep, may they grow big and thrive. May their mothers hold them in the comfort of their own homes soon.

I've seen the physical therapists. I'm being sent to PT three times a week now. Lovely. Just when I had hopes of being done at the hospital for the week, I've got to go back tomorrow. And sweat.

I hate sweating. Nothing good comes from sweating, or exercising. At least, nothing good for me ever came of it.

I'm beyond exhausted again, and I need a nap. I just can't fall asleep. As soon as I go to sleep, the KittyCat wakes up and then I wake up. I hope she grows out of this stage soon.

another payday, another paycheck. For a change, the bank balance was still in the black this morning when I dared to look. It was a good feeling.

On the agenda today: a field trip to costco, and back (again) to the hospital. KittyCat has her developmental assessment this morning. If it weren't for the county public health nurse coming once a month to do the same thing I'd be much more worried. Lately she's been acting much more like I thought a baby should be acting... in any case there's little to be done about it. I'm doing the best I can. So is she. There is no "right" answer at this stage.

I miss my boy. I miss burrowing into his back at the end of the day, and feeling his arms wrapped around my back when I'm feeling jittery. Four more days and a wakeup, and he's mine again.

“And now these three remain: Faith, Hope, and Love. And the greatest of these is Love.”

Strong words that sent a chill down my spine the first time I read them. Words that held an odd power over me even when I didn't believe that any of these would ever be a factor in my life. When my class was set this passage as our Bible memory work for the marking period, I would sometimes close my eyes at that verse. Ever after, I would turn them over in my mind whenever those traits seemed too unattainable for me.

Over the years I thought I had figured them out. Then I got married, and I faced a completely different set of fears from all those I had lived with before. I was in love, and even though the initial infatuation had passed I still wanted to cling to him. To keep safe in the life we had; it may not have been perfect. We were always broke, walking a fine line of debt and paychecks, and still I was afraid of change. I didn't want to lose him. I didn't want to be left alone. So when he went off to war I married him, and I cried when I kissed him goodbye and drove away from the bus station.

Suddenly there was a whole new set of meanings in that verse. I had to have faith that he would return, that I would not be alone forever. I had hope that the future would bring us back together in a better place. I loved him. I never believed that love could conquer everything before; that winter I made myself believe. It does and it doesn't conquer. Everything hinges on supporting love with faith and hope. Also, it doesn't hurt if you're committed to somebody worthy of that love.

I found somebody worthy of me. I will spend the rest of my life working to make myself worthy of him.

...Because I am a strong, smart little woman, who can take care of myself, that's why!

This morning I woke up to the wonderful feeling of being fully rested, with the sunlight peeking in through the window and both arms stretched out above my head under the pillow. The blankets were warm, my head didn't hurt for the first time in three days, and the blissful sound of silence came from the nursery. I knew it wouldn't last. I knew that I should take advantage of this time to eat breakfast, drink my first cup of tea, and get myself in a good mood so that when KittyCat began to stir with her first FEED ME cry of the day I could go in with a natural spontaneous smile on my face.

I decided to bury my head under the pillow instead. It was a good feeling. I didn't eat breakfast, I didn't have my tea until about an hour after she woke up, and that wonderful experience of rolling around in the blankets this morning gave me that smile as a bonus. I even got to make the early church service this morning, instead of the late one. Although in the future I may stick with the later one in the winter just because it's warmer...

Another thing I am blessedly thankful for today is that KittyCat has once more embraced sleep. After her nap strike of yesterday, I was dreading a repeat. But no, she's deeply asleep in her crib. I'm hoping that she'll be in a happy mood when she wakes up. Then we can play, cuddle, and have a decent bedtime so that we both get a good night's sleep.

I never used to believe in that. I took sleep for granted. No more. Sleep is more precious to me than hot bubble baths. More precious than found money. Sleep is something that I want gift-wrapped with a bow on top for Christmas this year.

Who am I?

I'm a mother, and a wife, and a daughter, and a niece... I work with my hands. I quilt, and sew, and knit. These skills can help turn a house into a home. In the back of my mind I always wanted to be a homemaker, just as I am now. I've gone through so many changes since I first dreamed of being a grownup. Some dreams weren't healthy for me, and I learned to let them go. Others seemed too good for what I was, and through love and effort I let go of what was and embraced what I could be.

I'm happier now than I ever thought possible five years ago.

This morning I'm sitting here, wondering how I can transform my living space into something even better. After the furniture rearrangement, I'm starting to think things like "I need to get rid of some clutter." "I need to bake more." "I need to put my hair up more, and wear my makeup, and keep making an effort to look pretty."

Sometimes I feel bad that I'm not busy every hour of the day, like my foremothers were. Idle hands and the devil's work, and all that. Not today. This is the day of resting, after all, and not even my own grandmother could argue with that. So I'm going to refuse to feel guilty today. This is a beautiful day, and I should take a walk outside with KittyCat later on. I need to enjoy the time I have now, because it's not going to last.

Patience is not something that comes naturally to me. I suspect that it will be even harder to instill this in the KittyCat, when she's older. In the meantime all I can do is try to set a good example for her, and at least pretend to have patience. This is tested this morning, because I want to feed her. She's not hungry. Therefore, no point in trying to force her to eat. It just makes a mess.

She's far more interested in stuffing her fist into her mouth and sucking on her jammies. Until she actually gets hungry, there's no point in trying to distract her either.

One thing I learned yesterday- it's a bad idea to start an email to someone with "If you come home and the furniture's all different, don't be surprised."

They may think that you've lost your mind...

I've finally figured out the reason that I hate vacuuming. The entire procedure just seems so unwieldy. First I have to pick up everything off the floor -including the endtable plastic storage tubs, to do a thorough job- and then I have to wrestle the vacuum out of the depths of the utility closet. Then it's the dance with the vacuum across the floor. That part isn't so bad. It's a good thing. I wouldn't hate the task so much if the vacuum could just sit in the corner of the room, always plugged in and accessible. Yet that would be insane, and clutter an already full living area, and the Boy would rip out what's left of his hair. He didn't become bald until after I moved in with him. Coincidence? I think not.

KittyCat has expanded her escape reportoire lately. I dressed her in a long sleeved onesie and a pair of pants yesterday. I set her on the floor to play, and five minutes later I looked down to find them kicked off and down around her feet leaving her chubby pink thighs waving in the air. I would have expected this from loose pants, but these had pretty good elastic around the waist. Or so I thought. After a day spent chasing after her in an attempt to keep her pants on the mailman delivered my answer in the form of my Netflix selections. About five minutes into the first episode of Red Green, it was so obvious that I could have hit myself.

Duct Tape. The Mother's Secret Weapon.

I'm so stocking up on this at Costco next week. I figure a roll a month should keep her pants on. Maybe this will also help keep her from escaping the pajamas, the diapers, and the socks? Why didn't anyone remind me about duct tape while I was pregnant?

When I sit down and pick up my knitting, and my fingers start flying through the yarn, my mind becomes gloriously clear. I can think about so many things at that point without having to stop and deal with something else. Just the textures through my fingers and the clicking of the needles, and the smooth progression of one stitch following another. Across the row. Row after row, inch after inch, and before I know what has happened my mind is clear and my thoughts are focused and I feel perfectly centered again.

This is a good thing, I've come to realize. So, now when I have a few quiet minutes here and there, when KittyCat is asleep for an hour or so or when she's down for the night and I'm sitting in bed with my eyes telling me how sleepy I am and how much I need to be doing something else, I pick up my needles again. It's a wonderful feeling. It's a glorious peace of mind that I am learning how to grasp anywhere I can find it.

Sure, I can stop any time I want to. Just like my mom can stop playing Bejeweled, and just like everybody I know can 'put the book down and go to sleep' at 0300.... when they protest “I can stop reading. Just one more chapter, and I'll turn the light out, I promise!”

Yeah, right. This is why I wasn't allowed to take flashlights to bed. This is why my husband has learned to sleep with the covers pulled over his head to shut out the light. This is also perhaps why my eyesight is so bad that my eyeglass lenses resemble the infamous coke bottle stereotype. But it's an honest obsession. And I really love those stolen moments of clarity in my day, when everything makes sense and nothing is out of place. This is where I breathe. This is my Happy Place, and where I want to continually escape to. Where I used to dream of a quiet room with a sunbeam and a book, I now dream of a sunbeam and my needles.

Cotton Candy Pink. Baby Blue. Rainbow Sparkles. These are the yarns I'm working with this week. Yummy.

Everybody is born with certain gifts and talents. That's just the way it is. They may never discover what those talents are, but I'm sure that they are still there. I have had this feeling for a while, and right now I've been thinking about it a bit more because of something I agreed to the other week at church when I was in a good mood. I was asked to contribute to the Advent devotional. Apparantly this is a thing they do every year; a bunch of people get the scripture readings for the day and they come up with a short devotion about one of them that gets printed up and distributed for the congregation. As I'm good at writing, and it's the sort of thing that I find easy to do, I thought 'Hey, sounds neat, and it lets me give something back to these nice people'.

Then I procrastinated on it for a week and a half.

No sweat though, I just wanted to be in the right place to look up the passages and figure out which one to write about. I finally found that moment yesterday morning, at the kitchen table, when the rest of the house was asleep. And one of the passages was all about Talents, and Gifts, and what God expects you to do with them. Wow. This is cool. This is something I really have an opinion on. This is going to be hard to keep down to only three paragraphs!

So I'm taking a moment to flex my mental muscles. Stretch my arms over my head. Take a moment to pop the bones in my wrists back into their proper alignment that was unfortunately changed by too much sudden stretching in the morning. I'm off to write my three paragraphs now. Wish me luck. Or maybe I'll procrastinate on it another day or so.

M of the NICU wants to know how I find the time to make so many little things, and says that I'm very creative. Um, no. Actually, I'm very depressed. I've just learned to let my hands get it out on yarn instead of self-mutilation, drugging, or drinking. Which is just fine and dandy until I'm drowning in yarn and the results of my depression.

This summer I spent a lot of time playing musical therapist. I thought that this would finally be solved by getting a staff psychologist instead of one of the interns. Not so- my therapist told me this afternoon that she's taking several months out starting in Feb. Coinciding with my Boy's deployment. Sigh. I know that she can't really help it, and she's more than entitled to her time off (maternity leave, and who am I to say that she should stay just for me?) and I'll take a switch with a good will. I hate breaking in new therapists, though, just when I'm getting the hang of this one's methods.

While I'm at it, I should explain why I signed up for that adsense thing. Money's kinda tight, as it is for everybody I know, and this seemed like a relatively easy thing. It's not going to pay our bills or anything like that, but every click is worth a couple of cents to me and it only takes a second or two of your time (and every couple of bucks buys another skein of yarn and makes 4 blankies for cute little preemies!). So if you've got a second, please click, and help fund my yarn addiction. Should I make a cardboard sign and stand on the side of the internet highway? It's not your own money, but it's a click or two of your time.

The holidays are upon us once again. In CT, the Salvation Army has begun it's kettle campaign. In Paradise, Christmas music begins to play in Target and Walmart, and everywhere I go I'm starting to see Christmas sales, ornaments, gift "ideas" springing up. This is the first Christmas of my KittyCat's life. This is the first Thanksgiving, the first New Year's. This is likely the only time that she's not going to beg me for special presents, or treats, just Because it's Christmas.

How many times can I use Christmas in this post? I don't know, and I really don't want to find out. LALALA I'm not listening to myself!!! But as Pratchett pointed out, the use of too many exlamation points in a sentence is a sure sign of a disordered mind. I'm ready to embrace my insanity, since it seems to be (today) of an innocent nature.

KittyCat's getting better at scooting her little body across the floor. As I type, she's managed to pull herself around from one toy to another, and now she's wondering why it won't go neatly into her mouth like her keys do. Right now we're working on her sleep habits. This may take some time, but I'm determined to get her to go to sleep happily and on her own without me having to put her down and pick her back up for two hours every night.

She's getting more curious and cute by the day...

So I have to ask myself, why does the past still hold so much power over me? Why is it that I go into therapy and sit there, stunned and half-dissociated from the memories welling up in my mind that I can't form a coherant sentence. Then I leave the room and it all comes back. It all makes sense again, and is okay again, and I wonder why...

I felt safe again this morning, I guess that's why I started remembering all those things. The day I found my mother with a razor against her wrist. The night my father's hands were around my throat. All those afternoons coming home from school and swallowing pill after pill and hoping that I'd never wake up again.

It's autumn again. Leaves fall to the ground and die, even here in Paradise. The days are chilly and there's the not-quite frost on my windshield in the morning. So much has changed. I don't intend to make the now in the image of the then, but it's awfully hard sometimes to keep them separated in my thoughts. I love my family, and my husband is everything that my father was not. No fears. No doubts.

...and I just caught a glimpse of the diaper genie out of the corner of my eye, and it looks like the lovechild of an imperial stormtrooper and R2D2... obviously this is a sign that my mind has left the dangerous realm of the flashback and nightmare, and gone on to a saner path of existance where I can find humorous observations again.

So what are your humorous observations for today? Discuss.

Weekly Wrap Up:
Today I'm feeling pretty good. I've lost 7 pounds since the 24th. My energy levels are still sucky, but I think that the new meds are starting to work. I can't take the prilosec too close to the Feldene, though... KittyCat got approved for the synagis shots, so I'm not having nightmares about taking her to the ICU for ventilation this year. An unexpected side benefit of her shots this week was that I got snagged for the flu shot.

I know, I should have it anyway... but I'm so busy running around to doctors and clinics and everything else that getting it just for myself is too much effort. Pediatrics must run into that a lot, cause when we went in they were offering it to the parents across the board, on the spot. That made it a LOT easier.

This morning I have so many plans. I want to juice down the remaining lemons in the fridge, and do laundry, and finish off a batch of Pump Kit Bags for the NICU. I'm dropping off a stack of blankies next week, and I'd love to be able to give some bags with that.

This morning we went for KittyCat's 6 month shots, and her flu shot, and I got mine done at the same time... so we're good for that. About five minutes ago the hospital calls to schedule her synagis shot. I'm thinking, Hot Damn, we're approved for it! Then I'm thinking, KittyCat's never going to want to leave the house again, if I keep taking her for all these shots. On the other hand, it could prevent her from getting a very threatening disease that is often fatal for preemies, and at the least would involve ICU for several days. I'm very happy that we passed the screening and that the powers that be are giving this to her. Many outside insurance companies make parents fight for it, cause it's so expensive. I could put it this way- one dose costs more than my husband makes in a month. Still cheaper than the ICU...

I gave up on the hope of getting any rest this afternoon, and made cup after cup of hot lemon tea. mmmm- Caffeine. It'll keep me on my feet until tonight, at any rate.

KittyCat's still sleeping though; we finally got her to go to sleep when my Boy came home this afternoon. It's a happy thing. I got the kitchen tidied for the first time today, and I even washed the floor. Brownie points for me.

fear is a four letter word.

I will not let fear tell me how to live my life. I mean it.