whew! That's over. Back to normal now, at least as normal as it ever gets around here. The Boy is back at work today. KittyCat is back asleep after getting up way too early this morning. I'm awake after getting to go back to sleep for a heavenly half-hour. It would have been longer, but I had a very Strange Dream about frozen chicken...

I think this is a sign that I need to quick cook up all the chicken out of the freezer. I'm almost out of chicken stock in any case. Also, it smells really Yummy when it cooks down, and I haven't been able to play in the kitchen for a while.

Today is slated for laundry. There's a small mountain of it that threatens to topple and start an assault on the bedroom floor. If that happens, there's going to be no way to contain any of it. So, off to the laundromat! This may take a large part of my morning. At least I can get a good start on it while KittyCat's napping.

Blessings Be. Whether you and yours be christian, jewish, anything or anyone at all. Blessings be with you and your house today and in the coming year. Rejoice, the darkness of winter is beginning to end. Today the days will start to get longer again. Winter solstice, holy day, whatever you care to call it- it's still the same.

Today we come together as a family. We'll have a good time watching DVD's and eating popcorn. KittyCat will continue laughing and growing. I'm going to shelter in my husband's embrace, storing up warm memories for the long absence ahead of us in the coming year.

I've listed a preemie blanket for sale on my etsy site: www.maryelisabeth.etsy.com. Check it out, and don't forget to click one of the ads found on this page. Remember: it only takes a moment, and it would really help us out.

It's Christmas Eve. A year ago I was pregnant and waiting for my husband to come home and spend Christmas Day with us; a new family. A year ago I wasn't even supposed to be able to get pregnant. I very nearly lost my baby, both in pregnancy and after in those first stunning weeks in the NICU.

Miracles happen at Christmas. I was sitting in church this afternoon holding my wiggly little girl on my lap and I started crying. She's so happy and healthy and perfect, and her warm little head tucked up under my chin made me grateful and aware what a miracle she really is.

All the odds stacked against us- one functioning ovary, a stunted uterus that was drastically although not obviously affected by radiation treatments decades ago, malfunctioning hormones that misfired over and over again. The whatever it is that made my mother's and her sister's pregnancies so risky and nearly cost their lives and sanities. Offset that with my husband's military career that made medical treatment available to me. That ensured proper and above-average prenatal care. Which led to them finding my pre-eclampsia before I had a seizure and the fetal distress before we lost the baby. The level 3 NICU where my baby was nurtured to term.

I shouldn't be alive, and neither should she, and tonight I am counting all of my blessings that we have many years ahead of us.

It's been a long, long, week for us here in Paradise. My husband got a new computer. We're in the middle of setting up a lot of new stuff- both baby oriented and family oriented. Also trying to settle things for the upcoming deployment. As a result I haven't spent much time online, even to update this page.

KittyCat is getting more and more mobile. It takes more of my day to follow around after her. A good thing. I love watching how happy she is when she discovers something new. Exploring her world... I told the Boy last night that this is becoming less National Geographic and more Wild Kingdom.

I love her so much. She's smooshably cute.

meh.

I'm too tired to sleep, and I've got that tingly restless-stretchy feeling in my shoulder. You know that one, where you want to stretch one specific muscle/nerve bundle constantly. Do they even acknowledge restless shoulder syndrome? I don't care, as long as I get to go to bed at some point.

This is especially critical since my husband's got duty tomorrow, and I've got to do the baby-wrangling solo. But then comes Monday, and the rest of the week, and most of it he has off with me.

I woke up this morning in my husband's arms, warm and safe. I woke up with his hand over mine. I felt his heartbeat in the night. When I moved to get up, there was a sleepy protest as he tried to pull my hands back down under his chin.

Our daughter is sound asleep in her crib, curled against the side of the crib bumper and I can clearly recall the way her face lit up when her Daddy came home and lifted her up. It's a gray and foggy morning here just like it's been the past several weeks. Winter in Paradise. When the sun comes up it'll burn off the fog to shine brilliant sunlight through the house.

Except this morning we're not waiting anymore. My family is safely sleeping and under my roof. I am content. I want to bask in this peace for a long, long time.

My husband comes home today. Outside I feel all demure and proud of the way KittyCat has grown since he's been away. It hasn't even been that long, really. Two and a half weeks. One pay period. Half a month. And yet it still seems like a longer time than that.

Last night I went shopping with a friend and we bought special homecoming presents for our husbands. She has a pretty new outfit. I bought something slinky and pretty- one piece that I can wear often in regular life and one piece that I'll save just for him in intimate moments. The sun hasn't come out to burn off the fog here yet; I wish it would. In a way it's like how I've felt these past weeks. Without his presence here, my world is foggy and gray and just a little overcast. When I go to the pier to bring him home this afternoon, the sun will come out and I'm going to stretch my arms to the sky to try and hold the warmth just that little bit closer. Over the past couple of years, I've learned that this is the way a lot of navy wives feel. I'll expand that to encompass all military wives, though I can only speak for navy... we don't wither away and die without their presence in our homes, because we never really let them go. Our Husbands (and Wives) are still here; in our memories, in the ghosts that roam the house in the middle of the afternoon when the babies are napping and we remember how it felt to have our Loves holding us. Once I related it to a giant Him-shaped hole in my life. If we had broken up, it would have been a simpler matter of filling it with something or someone else. Since we hadn't broken up, and since we still loved each other LOTS, I had to hold that place ready for him to step back into when he returned.

Emotions are tricky things. When people ask me what I'm going to do during the next Long Deployment, now that I've got a baby, I tell them the truth. "I'm going to love him, and keep his house, and raise our child." That's really not that far off from what most women do.

My day off. Wow. It was incredible. It was fantastic. I didn't have to leave the house once, to get in the car and drive anywhere. I did do two loads of laundry, but I don't count that. So now we're doing the dance of the Sleepy Baby, where I spend time alternately feeding her, burping her, and tucking her into bed. Then I will get into my jammies and climb into bed, and get some much-needed sleep.

I keep thinking this week is going faster than it is. It's been Thursday for two days now. Maybe tomorrow it's actually going to be Thursday, because my Boy comes home Friday. I'm looking forward to seeing him again. I'm looking forward to a hug and a kiss and the strong shoulder that will share these burdens.

I'm still struggling with depression today. I would have thought that it would lift a bit for the holidays. There's so much going right, right now. My husband is home. My daughter's first Christmas. We're together as a family this first year, and we'll always have that to warm our hearts.

Maybe I should go back to the doctor and get my antidepressants changed. Maybe I should take up a new hobby, or do something more physical with my life. The plant that I bought nearly a year ago is almost dead for good this time; I can't seem to ever keep a houseplant alive. What does that say about my ability to parent? I can't even nurture a potted plant...

My friends think that I'm too hard on myself. I don't think I'm hard enough on myself. Here I sit, whining about things that I could control if I'd just expend an effort. It's just so hard to keep getting out of bed in the morning. Easier, now that KittyCat has begun waking me up with happy laughter and smiles. My depression moves to the long evenings when she's gone to sleep and I'm left alone in this apartment with the chores and the internet to help me pass time. It becomes a struggle to stay out of bed at 6 o'clock. I just want to crawl under the covers and hide. Please, God, let me sleep and not know any of this until the baby wakes me again to sunshine and laughter.

I'm in a Black mood tonight. Don't look at me. I don't want them to know how bad I feel right now.

So no glider was bought yesterday. I meant to, but I just ran out of steam and motivation, and the KittyCat was sleepy. And okay, I was sleepy too. The past two days I've alternated between sleepy and wired, and maybe soon that will pass and I'll either get some real sleep or learn how to maximize the sleep I do get.

Not to imply that I didn't enjoy the reason why I had lack of sleep. Definately not. She's cute and giggly and having so much fun playing with her toys and laughing that I start laughing just to see her. It makes the depression this weekend easier to handle, because when the Black set in I could remember the joy in her. I was able to keep in mind that this is temporary, this will pass, and that all I have to do is to wait it out.

Still waiting. Lather, rinse, repeat until the desired level of anti-depression has been reached.

because you love me I can move mountains
your faith in me gives me strength in the dark times
when I cannot seem to move for the pain
my heart bleeds and I do not know why
but I remember that you love me
it gives me the strength to lift my arms
to finish my chores and to rest
at the day's end
I remember that you love me
it makes me pretty
seen through your eyes I'm not ugly
not stupid for this stubborness
without you I would never know the joy
that I've known
that does not fade with time
only grows stronger

Going shopping for a glider rocker today. It seems that every time my Boy's been away recently I move furniture around. This time at least I have help.

I'm also considering picking up a bunch of individual formula bottles. Yes, they cost a lot, but I'll be able to tuck one in her diaper bag when we're out and for those unexpected emergencies she'll have something to eat. Also, when we're next traveling I'm probably going to get them for the plane. Very convenient, no mixing of bottles while schlepping through airports.

Yesterday I set up an Etsy.com shop to start selling some of my crafts. So far I only put up some scrunchies to sell, but I'm planning on listing more soon. Take a look, and help support crafters!

http://maryelisabeth.etsy.com

Motherhood really does change everything, you know. A year ago I wouldn't have been up half the night and still eager to see the sun come up or hear that little giggle from the nursery. Even two months ago, I don't think that I'd be this happy to be awake now after waking up every two and a half hours all night long.

It's that little giggle that makes all the difference. When I go in to see her in the morning, and she's so happy to see me. Always happy to see me, so full of joy. Better than anything else I could imagine. As good as seeing my husband again after several weeks or months apart, and burrowing my face in his shoulder as his arms wrap around me.

With this in my life, who has time to be depressed?

There's a tree in the courtyard
Reaching up arms to the sky
Prayers I can't say
Stand in the dark by the window
I watch the tree
Pray for serenity to fill me
Give me time enough and peace enough
Strength to be the mother they need
If I close my eyes I'll come up
Dream that one day I climbed the tree
Sat breathing apple blossoms
Tuck white petals in my hair
Reach up my own arms to pray
Serenity, I whisper
Let it be
Peace, tonight, and my family safe in bed
Only this matters

KittyCat has bronchitis. This involved a very long trip to the hospital yesterday, and x-rays to rule out pneumonia. I could have done without that little scare, but am pleased to report that all is well. She's well hydrated, which helps, and doesn't have a fever. She is right now happily playing on the floor while I'm sipping hot chocolate and wishing that I could crawl back under the blankets for another couple of hours. Such is a mother's lot in life; the child is the main reason that I get out of bed in the morning. Especially before the sun comes up. Even more especially when I'm still feeling the aftereffects of yesterday's little adventure.

I've got a list of things that I want to get done today. I somehow feel that half that list is going to be ignored. Hopefully it won't be; if I can get all that done today than I can probably take most of tomorrow off to sit around and play with the KittyCat.

Oh well. That's life. Excuse me while I go and live it!

KittyCat is curled up on my lap right now, one little hand playing with my fingers on the keyboard and the other tucked comfortingly under my breast. She's all warm and cozy, with a full belly and heavy eyelids. A short while ago we were sitting in the rocking chair after her breakfast and her head was tucked up under my chin. She was fine where she was, and definately did not want to move.

It's the new baby smell. The soft little downy head snuggled up to my chin. The warm body pressed against mine and manuevering her way into my oversized sweater. It's the chubby little hands and the bright wide eyes that tell me: "This is Right."

I never dreamed that I'd be so happy being a mother. I never dreamed that this level of peace and happiness could be so sustainable. Despite the depression that's come into my life with a new intensity over the past year, I've been blessed with an equal level of joy to overcome it. The highs balance the lows, and all is well with my universe.

I want another one. I want another little blessing in my life. I want this feeling of love and trust to last forever. How could anyone not want this joy? It's incomprehensible to me.

Today is going to be a List Day. Maybe I'm running out of ideas this weekend, maybe I'm just bored this morning. But really, what it probably is, is that I'm using most of my writing energy to edit a few ideas down for my current Project. The working title is "Through the Night", and it's a collection of poems and essays that I've written in the months since KittyCat was born. Some of these have appeared on this blog, some have never before appeared anywhere. I'm trying to make it about two-thirds (or more!) new content, so when it becomes available for purchase I'm hoping my faithful readers will pick up a copy.

Hell, pick up two copies, and give one to a friend! Help me keep the KittyCat in diapers and cute onesies.

What I'm reading:
Flag in Exile, by David Weber
Field of Dishonor, by David Weber
Alexandra: the Last Tsarina, by Carrolly Erickson

What I'm making (currently working on, not the pile of UFOs in the cupboard):
preemie blankets -for the NICU
embroidered pillowcases, in 'Butterfly and Ivy' pattern
socks
flannel bags for breastpump kits -to donate to the NICU

Five things that I need to throw out of my fridge:
half a cup of chopped onion, 1 month old
two slices of low-sodium spam, 3 weeks old
mostly empty tub of ranch dip, 1 week old
little bit of milk, spoiled, don't remember how old but it doesn't smell anymore...
barbecue sauce bottle, expired 11 months ago

...who says that being a housewife is dull? I could be creating my old mutant army in the fridge, if I just put off cleaning it for another couple months.

Motherhood: The New Frontier...

Our intrepid heroine once again tackles fussy baby, the evil archnemesis of KittyCat. Her evil twin, Skippy, as it were. Having brought my car into the service center to get fixed, I had arranged that she spend the day with the downstairs neighbor, who is preparing to move out soon. All was well when I left the house. A blissful two hours followed, in which I ate doughnuts on a cushy chair in a nicely appointed waiting room. Then came the call. The neighbor needed me to come and get the KittyCat, because Skippy had decided to take over.

So I let the service people know, and arranged that they should come back to pick me up after the repairs. The neighbor lady picked me up, and KittyCat was reunited with her Mommy. Back home she slept the rest of the morning and most of the afternoon. Skippy was vanquished. Yay!

Onto the sadder news: my 4-wheeled baby will require some major repairs and certain parts that have to be special ordered from Tennessee. Hopefully they'll be here tomorrow, otherwise I'll have to wait until Monday to get my babies back together again.

Sigh. At least my thrifty ways these past weeks have ensured that we have enough diapers, wipes, and various accoutrement to survive the weekend without the car. I just feel so naked without it sitting in the parking lot.

Advise me!

I'm once again shopping for a digital camera. What's your favorite? Which model is easy to use and durable (likely to survive a small child)? There will be prizes for good answers.

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.

this morning I went to therapy. I guess I felt too safe, or something. I left my body twice, and it was pretty bad. I had almost forgotten it was october... but it is, and I'm almost through it. The seasons are so different here than where I grew up, it's easy to forget.

I'm so embarassed by what happened this morning that I don't know how I'll go back next week. Small comfort, but at least I didn't come out of it screaming.

don't touch me
I wasn't there
it wasn't me...
just someone who looked like me, thought like me, bruised like me
why did the sun keep coming up in the morning?
why didn't the ground swallow me whole and bury my secrets?

Last night dinner was a great success. The food was good and the company was better. KittyCat didn't wake up until the end of the meal. I feel so blessed by that, by the chance to have an entire sit down meal without feeling rushed at all.

I'm practicing my breathing techniques again. Both to help with the relaxing and to (hopefully) cut down on the insomnia and panic attacks. And the lack of centeredness in my life. It's almost a year now since I found out I was pregnant. It is six months since my baby was born. Sometimes I can barely believe that it happened at all-- which is sad especially when I'm damp from baby drool and there are smudges of dried formula on my glasses.

Was it easier to accept my life before? As flawed as I am, I can know that everyone is equally flawed. I don't feel that my life is so much better in many ways, but when I'm holding that baby something deep inside my heart melts. She is the center of my world. This is what my mother felt when I was an infant. This is what other women must feel all the time, when they hold their babies and realize that, oh my F-ing God, this is a real person and she came from my body. She came from my husband and me. The universe must be insane to give us a child. She's just too perfect.

When my husband told me that he was going to take the KittyCat all day today so that I could rest, and get some of my own stuff done, I mentally shrugged and 'meh, I'll believe that he can do it when it happens'. This morning, about two hours into it, he came in and woke me up and told me that I had to take her. Then he goes out for a smoke...

He needs more sleep. Recently he changed his carpool arrangements, so that he now leaves two hours earlier than before. This, supposedly, was to make life easier. But now he's sleepdeprived again, already irritable because of cutting back on the smoking, and such things do not for patience with a fussy baby make.

He's being stubborn about this. And now, to complete the day, he is back in bed, asleep. If he had stayed in bed until a reasonable time this morning, before getting all worked up, there would not be this need. On the other hand, maybe it's not Saturday yet? Maybe my day of rest has not, officially, begun? I can cope with that. I got to lay around in bed until 7 this morning (minus the hours of 4-5:15, when I was soothing the fussy KittyCat).

Hey, on the bright side, the lemonade I made yesterday really took off after sitting and steeping all night in the fridge. It's YUMMY. I had to add more sugar, but it's still some of the best I've had in a long time. Maybe it's the lack of chemicals? There's something to be said about that...

My fingers are prunes. They've been chopped and squeezing and juicing lemons, and celery, for about an hour now. Right now I'm taking a break, cause I want to get off my feet and drink some water for the first time this morning.... No, that's not a good thing. I'd like to get as much done as possible so that I can hopefully take the night off without guilt.

The kitchen smells awfully good, though. Fresh lemons, fresh celery. It smells like produce, and not like old milk residue. Yesterday it smelled like bread. I could get used to this, with a little effort. I really hope that the meds work. I really want to get some of my strength and energy back. I am tired of being an invalid. It seems that I've been one for the past year, ever since I got pregnant and my blood pressure started going up, and all my hormones going out of their skull.

Last night I got out to the Farmer's Market down on Central Ave, and I picked up some fresh veggies. The lemons were an impulse. I need to get the vitamins, though, and isn't it better to get them fresh? I made lemonade with half of them. Not sure yet about the other half; I may just juice them down and freeze for later. My hands smell so good right now, after this morning's work, that I may put off mincing the onions until tomorrow. Why mess with such a good smell?

Coming to realize that I REALLY LIKE fresh citrus smells...

I've got to be nuts.

I woke up at 5 this morning with KittyCat, and did the normal early morning routine. We cuddled, grinned, giggled, smiled a lot, made funny faces at each other- oh, and we changed her diaper, fed her first bottle, burped... You know, the normal stuff.

Then while she was happily playing on the floor at my feet, I decided to do the baking. So now I've got two loaves of bread finishing the bake process in the oven, and smelling YUMMY and making me a little bit hungry, and I'll grant you that this is an excellant way to start a gray and overcast drizzly day. But still. I'm exhausted, and still a little bit loopy from all the news meds that are running around my body saying "Who are you? Who are you? Are you what I'm here to replace? Go on, out of here, here's the pink slip and don't let the door smack you in the ass on the way out."

Hey, I haven't gotten sick to my stomach yet today. That's an improvement.

Today we're going to story hour at the library. It's going to be the KittyCat's second time there, and I hope that today she spends less time with her face pressed into my boobs trying to hide. I'm looking forward to it. To not feeling so isolated, like I'm the only mom in the world that sits at home in her pjs until noon because I feel too crappy to get dressed and I've got to save all my strength for playing with the baby. Who is the light of my life, and who makes getting out of bed this week worth it.

don't speak
I must not show the fear in my heart
when my Sailor leaves
I must not show my distress in the light of day where others can see it
Stiff upper lip, and all that
don't speak
of the fear that wakes me in the middle of the night
dreaming of him in cold waters
dreaming of a knock on my door
tell him I love him
I wait for him
Standing on the widow's walk staring out to sea
I can no longer see his ship
even as his face fades from my mind's eye
I'm holding his voice in my heart
When I cry he tells me that I'm silly
that I know that I'm being silly
that I know he will return to me
don't speak
of the nights when the sun has set
and I crawl into bed
and bury my face in his pillow, crying
loneliness swallows me
though it shuts out fear it buries me in grief of another sort
don't speak, because there's no words at all that can say it
I prepare for the next WestPac, and I school my thoughts to patience
I school my mind and my heart to serenity and calm
I am a sailor's wife, and I know the truth in an old saying
If you love someone, you have to let them go

right, then. Fibromyalgia and (possibly) IBS. I can deal with this. Where did I put my magic wand and my SuperMom cape? So I'm now on more medication, and after Thanksgiving I get to go in and get my insides scoped.

I want to be perfectly clear on this; my insides are not a staging ground for the re-enactment of the Continental Railroad joining. Despite being given one camera down my throat and the other one up my ass. This is so not fun. It wouldn't be fun even had I not had the certain acts of sexual abuse in the past. Thank God for sedation, and for doctors willing to use it, and hoping that I'll find someone SAFE to take me back and forth from this thing. While I don't expect to freak out, I also didn't expect to have hysterical flashbacks to my childhood in the delivery/operating room either. It's a good thing that procedure wasn't a voluntary thing, because I would have called it off.

They don't let you call off a baby... not at that stage. No matter how scared or frightened you are. Note: not that I'm not absolutely thrilled to be a Mommy, or that I didn't want that baby to be born every step of the pregnancy. I just had doubts about my ability to be a Good Mommy, and the normal set of fears, and when a delivery happens that fast and that suddenly without a chance to mentally adjust it's pretty terrifying.

Doc says that I'm hurting like this because of fibromyalgia. I tell my Boy this, and he says "ah. That's what they call it when they don't have a clue why it hurts." But at least it's recognized as real this time... That's a good thing.

I got an amazing amount done around the house this morning before I had to leave for the daily rounds. Baked. Cooked. Did dishes and cleaned the kitchen and bathroom. Even though my body hurts, I was able to get up and (slowly) do normal Suzy Homemaker stuff. Tired now, though. It's worth it.

my legs have turned to lead
hands ache, shoulders hurt, my eyes throb from a dull pain
now that my body has betrayed me
too young to be this old
where are my gray hairs, where are my years?
winter used to be a fine thing
fun in the snow and the cold
now I'm huddled in the chair, unable to move without pain
I pray for warm skies to return
for the sun to bake these bones back together again
melt the pain away
let me be

It's gray and cloudy and I hurt from my neck to my heels. At least I don't have a headache on top of it all... I'm going to try to go into my doctor again next week and see what they say. I'm tired of being told that it's all in my head, because I'm too young to hurt this badly. What the fuck do they know about how badly I'm hurting? I'm the one living in this body.

Dinner tonight is slow-roasted chicken, spaghetti with broccoli and alfredo sauce, and homemade bread. Later I'm going to cook down the bones and make a large pot of soup for the freezer. I love my crockpot, and the feeling that I'm turning slowly into someone that my PennDutch foremothers would approve of. Even if I don't save my aluminum foil and reuse my bread bags.

KittyCat's not feeling well tonight, she's been all snuggly and clingy and prone to loud crankiness at odd moments since last night. Hopefully she'll start feeling better soon.

While wasting time on the Net this week I stumbled over some very odd super-conservative sites. While I may not agree with their philosophy I certainly embrace some of the points made. For instance, I take great pride in baking good bread and cooking for my family. Also in being thrifty and managing our resources well. Squirreling away pennies here and there in an effort to build a little nestegg, so that when the tight times come again I can deal better- that I won't worry how to afford things that my family needs. When our pockets and accounts are empty and I have to tell my husband this, I feel like such a failure. I can only see that getting worse when KittyCat gets older and starts asking for things.

Today's errand out of the house was to pick up her meds and drop off my current batch of preemie blankets at the NICU. It felt very good to be able to give something back at last, after they gave me so much support and help when we needed it. They're still helping. I still pop in to see the social worker there every couple of weeks, and I appreciate that ability... She deserves a raise.

Orders, orders anyone? Ham and cheese on a bagel?

The Boy brought up his orders again this morning. He might want to possibly crossrate. Maybe. To IT. Which will be A-school again (unfortunately, nothing like the A-team), in Great Lakes, or as it's better known in the winter: The Great Frozen North. Just kidding. Although I hear that it's brutal to go through boot camp up there at that time of year. IT School is 6 months. Not that long, right? Unless you're the one being left behind.

I thought about that later on this morning, after I was home again and curled up in the blankets while KittyCat slept in her crib, exhausted from being up every three hours all night. If he successfully cross-rates, he's going to be leaving home in Spring '06 for the deployment of about 6 months. Home for about a month or so, when he returns stateside. Then immediately gone again for 6 months. Then who knows, when he gets his next set of orders and we can either stay put here in Paradise or pack out and move wherever the needs of the service take us. I want to support his career, but...

It's an awfully big 'But'.

There are times, when he's away, that I go into a little mourning. I'm a widow, only I'm not, because he's not dead, he's just not there for a bit and I've got to handle the household in his absence. I've learned to do that. Now it's gotten infinately more complicated, because now KittyCat's on the scene. When he's gone I'll be able to take over running the show, and raising the KittyCat, and all will be well. When he comes back, how am I going transfer the reins back smoothly? How can I make him feel like he's never been cut out of the parenting process? It sucks, but this is our home. This is the life I agreed to when I married him and we had this child.

I pray for patience and for faith and for strength to accept whatever the next year holds with a steady hand and a clear heart.

Sharing is our friend. Today I realized that, once again, I need to learn to keep my hands off when the Boy is taking care of the KittyCat. It's not fair to either of us. It's insulting to him. Like, I don't trust him. When it's really myself that I don't trust.

She's got baby hemmorhoids right now. And it's painful for her, and for me watching her, and what can I do to help that won't hurt her more? Baby stool softeners, and apple juice in her bottle, and lots of holding.

It's a sobering thought that sometimes the only thing I can do to make it better is to hold her. There's a moment when every child learns that their parents aren't perfect- there's another moment when you learn that despite all your intentions Mommy can't fix some things- I'd give my right arm to be able to, but I can't.

Another day in paradise, and this one is tinged with the coming chill of winter.

My husband asked me yesterday where I wanted to go. It seems that next spring he can start looking for his next set of orders, which will take effect in another year. Okay. I told him that my only stipulation is that we're near to reasonably adequate medical facilities. In other words, Diego Garcia is right out...

I thought it was funny. Truth is, I'm a bit nervous about declaring any sort of preference about the move. I don't want to leave this area, necessarily, but I also want a bit of a change. I'm finally over my biggest move-based anxiety, which is: how am I going to find a job in the new place, quit my current job, etc. Well, right now I'm a SAHM, and my job is wherever the house is. My wants are so conflicted. Some of them involve not changing at all and getting to put down roots somewhere. Some of them involve going back to the East Coast where all our family is, where at least we'll all be in the same time zone even if we can't see them as frequently. Some of them also involve urging him to just go wherever he feels his career will be best served. Actually go and see the world, in as far as the navy will let him.

Winter's coming. My bones are starting to ache at night, when the damp comes in from the sea and the sun's warmth drowns in the ocean. I still can't sleep. My daughter senses this, and she seems to think that it's now a contest. That if Mommy isn't going to bed and sleeping, that she should stay up and be AWAKE. No napping for her, nosiree Bob! Napping is for pussies. Certainly not for my little KittyCat. I think that's what I'm going to start calling her now. Last night she was curled up in my arms, when I had finally rocked her to sleep, and just about everything below my neck HURT, and I just concentrated all my attention on how perfect and warm she was, and how good she smelled. It made some of the pain go away. At least, I didn't care about it as much. At least I'm not pregnant anymore, and I can actually take something for it, without worrying that I'm going to hurt my KittyCat.

I thought that I had stopped having these moments of intermittant self-blame for my preemie. Apparantly not. Tonight when I was making dinner I got all choked up thinking about her coloboma, and if she's ever going to have sight in that eye, and what I should have done differently during pregnancy to avoid it. To have given her another couple of weeks in utero to keep growing.

Another day in paradise. Another day when I couldn't sleep last night, or the night before, and yet it's easier to be happy cause my baby is all smiles and laughs this morning. She had a good poop, and a good nap between the time when we got home from taking her Daddy to work and sunrise, and now she's in a nice clean pink onesie and playing happily on the floor. So it doesn't matter that I've got a little list of stuff that I WANT TO GET DONE. I'm just going to take it one thing at a time and enjoy watching her play. And periodically I'm going to get down there on the floor and play with her.

I still feel like an episode of National Geographic now and then- we're watching the wild and elusive Bay-Bee, in her natural habit, exploring the world around her... I'm sitting up here in my blind, so that she doesn't spook at the sight of me, and she's completely oblivious to the Mommy. Except for those moments when she turns her head to look at me with a huge smile on her face and I realize that yes, she knows perfectly well that I'm here, and she thinks it's as funny as I do.

lay it down
all the screaming
knotting of worry in my stomach
lay it down
the crying
lay me down
the bleeding
lay it down
give the striving over
and let it go

It seems that as soon as I get the rest of my shit together, something falls apart. There are any number of reasons for this, including the ever-popular "I'm a crisis junky" explanation. Maybe it's true, that I can't deal with my life if it's going too well. I'm not comfortable with happiness. I don't trust it. If something doesn't go wrong by itself, I've got to create it. Then there's the theory that when my body is in a physically safe environment to deal with past abuse issues, I can finally deal with them. There's not much left that I've left buried, knock on wood, but I've got to be in a really REALLY good and stable place to do it. Maybe that's why the recent bouts of depression and anxiety.

I posted a few days ago about Mother's Little Helpers. I'm almost getting to the point again where I'm going to ask my docs about an anti-anxiety pill to add to my mix. Calm those thoughts that race around in my head. Something to help me allow myself to relax and actually enjoy the peace.

I used to think that if I was ever happy the world would end. Well, I'm pretty damn happy now, and so far I'm not seeing Judgment Day. Now, if I can just figure out why the hell it is so hard to let myself be happy and accept the love of my family and friends...

Moments when I'm glad I'm a Mommy:

When she's just woken up in the morning, had a clean diaper and her first bottle, and when I put her down in the prop'n'play. And her eyes open wide and her face lights up with joy. The same joy that I feel when I hold her sleeping in my arms, and she smells like a Sweet Girl. This is when I believe in God. This is when I believe that my entire life suddenly has a meaning. This is the same sort of serenity I found when I lay on my husband's chest one afternoon and realized that I was perfectly content to stay there for the rest of my life.

Comfort
Fulfillment
Peace

Those black times, the depression and the long sleepless painful nights; they don't mean shit compared to this. And I'd gladly suffer it all if I can only remember that these moments occur. A second or two of happiness? It's worth a week of insomnia and flashbacks. Just to see my baby smile.

I wish my camera hadn't broken, because she's doing the CUTEST thing right now. She's all sleepy, and for some reason this afternoon she'll fall asleep in a minute in my arms but as soon as I put her down she wakes up and cries to be held again. I just tried setting her down, from a sound sleep, and as soon as my fingers left her one eyelid creaked open and glared at me. Now she's crying at the top of her lungs to be picked up, but I have to pee. And just maybe she'll settle?

Not a chance. While I've got both hands free, I'm going to mix up her evening cocktail (medication in apple juice, actually) and get her dinner ready. Toodles.

in your eyes
I can see eternity
I can the future shining back at me, bright and full of promise
soft
In my dreams I hear you crying again
you don't understand yet
this is a cruel world and cold
full of good intentions
with the best intentions I helped you into this world
I will guard you and protect you
keep you safe against the insincere smiles of strangers
until you're ready to run
I only pray that the stumbles and scrapes that you encounter along the road
are minor and easily fixed
I'd do you a disservice if I kept you in a bubble...

darkness wraps around me
a blanket of comfort against cold
ghost whispers flutter at the windows
tempt me back into the past
I have no time for you
no time for the nightmares that grasp
skeletal fingers reaching back across years
to pull me back into the past
I take a breath
one, another-
clean air here reminds me of the morning
comfort can be found in the dark to hide the secrets
equal comfort can be found in morning's light
which washes away the dreams
I sit alone in the night holding my grief close
my pain tighter
to find that I have no more patience for the past
I have no more time to spend punishing myself for this
a baby stirs in the next room
she knows nothing of my struggles
her pain is not mine, not of my making
yet together we sit in the dark
breathing
waiting for sleep to come
for the pain to ease
for the morning

Today could have gone a lot worse. I didn't want to go to therapy this morning, but I went, because going and not wanting to be there is better than not going and not wanting to be there. And there was some stuff on my mind about what happened on Saturday that I felt really crappy about. No, I'm not going to talk about that. I'm worried that if anyone reads it they'll condemn me for it. Suffice it to say that I'm doing well again now, and looking forward to the rest of my busy week.

I need to make a plan for cleaning up around here and stick to it. Maybe by writing down a bunch of stuff in easy steps, and tackling three things a day? I need to get off my ass and act like the housewife that I want to be. This will not happen by itself, I know.

Also, I have a very leaky baby. Just wanted to say that. She has managed to load up twice as many diapers today as normal. This is likely due to her wanting to nibble on every bottle all day, consuming her normal amount over several hours, and fussy every time that somebody tried to put her down to play, or interact with her, or anything else besides holding her little chubby hands around her bottle. Maybe she suspects that tomorrow we're going back to the doctor?

I'm tired again. It seems like this shit just won't end. I will never feel better, I will never stop feeling this level of constant queasy/sick. My bones hurt. There are times I wish I could just take a bath to steam all the aching out, and then curl up in bed and sleep the pain away, like in the old days. But I'm a mommy now, and I can't do that much because my baby needs me to be strong for her. Used to be that I could do the bath/sleep thing every day when I needed it. Not now. I need Mother's Little Helpers. I need the non-addictive non-harmful equivalent. For now, I'll find that in my daughter's smile. That smile will give me the strength I need.

My baby girl is 5 months old now. I'm not ready for this! She's too young to be that old. I haven't been a mother that long! (So, why exactly does it feel like longer?) When I look at her sweet little chubby face, and I see her smiling up at me, I can't help but feel this overwhelming happiness inside. It's a good thing.

Last night I got to go out for an evening by myself. It was wonderful. I had a very good time at a potluck over at church, and there were games afterwards. The only down point was when I thought to myself "this is fun" and then followed that thought with "how will I manage this sort of thing when the Boy's deployed again?"

In the meantime, I've got a special afternoon planned for a family meal and movie, and whether or not we actually get a babysitter lined up for going to see Serenity this weekend doesn't matter as much. Because we've had fun, and spent time together, and it's all good :)

So, apparantly once again those little issues in the back of my subconscious brain are squirming around looking for a way out. Lovely. I'm absolutely exhausted and I can't sleep, and I'm trying to get my brain to the point where it will calm down enough to rest. So. Maybe my life has just been going too well this past month. I've noticed that before; when everything seems like it's going smoothly and without any major issues my past says "okay, she can handle it now" and dumps a whole new load of memories on me. It wouldn't be so bad, but...

It's harder and harder to blame myself for being raped. It's harder and harder to insist that I was somehow at fault for being molested as a baby when my daughter is laying on my lap, looking at me with bright and happy eyes and smiling at me. I expect her to start laughing any minute now, and I just can't see how I, as a child of that age, could have prevented any of the crap that I went through. I've had umpteen years of therapy on these things. How is it possible that I failed to really understand any of this until now?

Any day now I'm going to get another letter in the mail from my estranged father. And the nightmares will only get worse, and I'll only get more tired. The nights will only get longer over the next several weeks, and I'm going to get progressively crankier. Somehow I'm going to get through this one more time, and it'll only make me stronger for the next round.

But still. It sucks. It sucks most suckfully. Today I was talking to a woman who shares some of my diagnoses, and she said that her shrink has just told her that she's doomed to be a career mental patient and never have a good relationship, because she's so nuts. That she'll abuse her husband and her kids until they won't be able to be around her, because that's just the nature of the illness. I used to think that. Then I decided that hell no, I wasn't going to be doomed like that. So I worked my ass off in therapy and I worked my ass off in my relationship and now I have a happy and decent marriage to a good man.

But this chronic PTSD shit- it keeps me up at nights. That's something else altogether, and comes with it's own warning label. And my shrinks tell me that I can't cure it, because there is no cure for it, and the best I can do is learn to live successfully with it. Like a fatal disease in remission. Not so bad, I guess, except in those awful long nights when I'm scared to close my eyes because I know what's waiting in the darkness for me.
I'm just scared.

There are times when I curse my ability to view situations from both angles. This was never so clear as the other evening when I got mildly buzzed on a small glass of sherry, and thought to myself, "I wish I lived back in the days of Mother's Little Helpers". Of course the devil's advocate in my brain immediately piped up and said "no you wouldn't, because you'd get hooked on valium or some other nifty substance, and neglect Tiffany, and you'd never forgive yourself for that." Which is true. But after a stressful evening filled with fussing and cranky, teething baby, when she had been tucked up soundly in her crib for the night and I finally let all that tension out of my body- man, I could really relate to someone wanting that sort of feeling all the time. Wouldn't it be so much more relaxing to be able to have that floating feeling of no anxiety or an entire day of not worrying about how I'm going to get all the household chores done?

I really shouldn't be bitching about this now. I'll save the bitching for the next time my husband's deployed, when I don't have the luxury of taking an evening off and getting a little buzz like that in the happy knowledge that if Tiffany needs something he'll take care of it. I'll save the bitching and whining for when he's not around and I've got no safety net, and I dream of those Little Helpers on the hard evenings.

In the meantime, my Little Helper will be the way that Tiffany's head smells, all fresh and soft and clean when she's nuzzled up under my chin, half asleep after a bottle and sucking on her chubby little fist. That moment is worth going through all the fussy moments in the rest of the week.

I was laying in bed last night and thinking about this site. I felt bad because I hadn't written much lately, what with being away from the internet for a while and all... but then I thought what the hell. It's not likely that many people read it in any case. --Hi, if you're reading this-- waving arms wildly. My little girl is nearly mobile now. What the fuck? It seems like just a little while ago that she was a little baby buritto in the NICU, and I was freaking out over her coming home one day. Now she's sprawled out, completely in charge of the middle of the rug, and guarding her prop&play like it's a snow fort. Yeah, the VCR is really going to attack her suddenly... She's tired. She's teething. She's not willing to lay down and take a nap today. For some unbeknownst reason, every bottle I've made her today has gone bad in less than an hour. Not good. Maybe it's the heat? Maybe the fridge is losing it's chill power?

I know that I have to clean the fridge again before it turns into a science experiment to rival Dr Frankenstein's Creation. There are leftovers in there that are so old I don't remember what month I cooked them in. There is a mushy half-cut onion that is starting to smell through the plastic bag. I don't want to discuss the state of the sour cream. It's not so much that I shove stuff in there and forget about it, it's more that I shove stuff in there and then selectively forget that it's there, and I'll see it and plan on throwing it out fifteen times before I finally do that.

I did manage to start budgeting better, and hopefully I can get back to running this household on less than $80/month for groceries. It's not that I have to do it that tight right now, but it makes me feel better about myself for some odd reason. The genetic ghosts of my pennsylvania dutch and scotch-irish forebears are beginning to surface. Before I know it, I'll be adopting the plain dress and covering, just like I thought about doing at a particularly bad part of the pregnancy. Wouldn't that make my husband rip out what's left of his hair?

back from vacation and everything is still going...

I saw a quote the other month and it keeps running through my head right now. "Where am I going, and how did I get in this handbasket?" Very appropriate. Tomorrow is my 2nd wedding anniversary. It's odd; because it feels like we've been together all our lives. I really can't remember how I ever lived my life without my Sailor in it. Tonight we split up the cranky baby-wrangling, and I took the second part. Now she's sound asleep and I'm treating myself to a small glass of sherry. Because I haven't had any in months, and I guess I've earned it today. Things are coming together. The depression isn't so bad this week, and my health isn't so bad, and I'm getting more rest at night which lets me face the day easier, and thus happier all around. I've got more energy to play with the little one, and then she naps better and sleeps better, and she's happier. Which makes me happier. Let the cycle commence!

Soon now I think I can get back into writing again. If I can just find the time /wince. I'm spending too much time getting my house back in order. But I did manage to save a lot of money between costco and sales this week, and that makes my life even happier. For some reason it makes me feel all warm and fuzzy to run a house on very little money. And with what we save, we can do fun stuff every month.

God.
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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

Dear Psycho Baby:
Your mommy doesn't want to suffer any more than you do tonight. Please stay asleep, and please let your new medication schedule work so that you don't spend the evening screaming. Otherwise I will be pushed beyond my temptation point to drug you just to keep my sanity.

Love,Mommy

guilt cuts my heart
stronger the pain, the more I need it
cannot let it go
steals the words from my voice
I fear one day it will silence me
an accident
and a lost soul seeking shelter
found me there
he didn't mean to hurt me
somehow it makes it easier to bear
makes me hurt more
the pain sweeter
wrapping myself in that quiet victimhood
so that I can go on
so that life can continue in that way
comfort in the routine
in quiet days and nights
I will go to my daughter
mind shys away to see her
quiet, innocent, helpless
once I was that small
once I was that helpless
could not have earned the guilt
means that I am still innocent
that I have punished myself all this time
for nothing
in my heart crying
what a waste
all those years I could have lived
all these nights wracked with guilt
tears shed for sorrow
I am lost
I am hiding, wounded
nursing my grief
in silence

going to bed early tonight
going to lay and stare at the ceiling in the dark
want to take a pill and let the hurting wash away
but that wouldn't be very responsible of me today... or ever. I'm tired. Guess that postpartum depression is really heavy tonight.

just... black
tonight
too tired to care
too tired to feel
blown off by all my friends
and i don't want to be here anymore
and i have to keep breathing, cause my baby needs me here

In my daughters eyes I can see castles in the air
Sapphire blue watches me
hidden thoughts
secret dreams
what does she see when she casts her gaze on me?
what will she remember when I'm old and full of care
when the absolute faith she has in me
is shaken as the roots of an old-growth tree
storm-tossed
will she know that I've done the best I knew how?
will she love me, beyond the ties that blood allows?
doesn't matter now
she's awake, she's hungry
she calls for Mama
and I obey

without my pain I find that I do not exist

the long hours of this gray life are colored with the promise that when I lay my head down at night I can recall the nightmares, that I can twist the knife I've left buried in my heart, and drown in pain. bring no words of comfort today. I need to hurt, to blame myself for what was done to me.

without my pain, I am no one

i'm done being a cow. I'm turning in my bells.

freedom is sweet.

it's just a bad dream
keep telling myself that and it'll be alright
none of this is real

the crying in my heart is not real
happened to someone else
somewhere else
it wasn't me and nothing will change that
just a bad dream

the aching in my skin won't go away
tearing in my spirit won't stop
the wounding of my soul breaks all the rules
another bad dream

i know i'm going to wake up any second now
i'm going to be safe in my bed with my love beside me
holding my shoulders back and calling my name
summon me back to the world of the living
because none of this is real
that's how i can stand things tonight
none of this is real
it's a bad dream and soon i'm gonna wake up
the sun will be shining
we'll go out for breakfast and hot tea
crisp air to liven the blue sky
and it'll be alright again

somebody wake me up and let me end this dream

gods. my Echocardiogram was fairly routine for me, I guess. My doctor left me a message yesterday that I had to get more bloodwork done this morning, so I did that. She called me at home just after lunch and told me that my platelets are still hinky. And they have convinced my white cells and another "marker" [I forget which one] to join them on the hinky side of life. Now, given my pre-cancer history, bone marrow issues are the last thing we'd expect to find in me. However, I'm being sent back into the clutches of oncology soon, to give it a going over.
On a brighter(?) note, I had another of my fake heart attacks during the echo. So, hopefully, they'll figure out what's going on with that.
y'know, I remember, barely, when my life did not resemble an episode of ER...

I've got to say; post-partum depression really sucks. Today I felt it crashing down around my ears twice. Both times I just wanted to curl up in a little ball and die. Not even my girl crying in the other room made any sort of impact on it. I just felt empty. So I'm back taking my prozac religiously, and I'm trying my best to block these feelings out, and I'm trying to deal.

and god, this is as hard as it was when I was just pre-partum depressed and trying not to cut myself again.

these days I don't know what's going on. Just have to go one step at a time, one feeding, one diaper, and try not to cry. Because I'm just feeling a complete lack of joy in everything today. There's very little interest in anything, and it's awfully hard to motivate myself to do anything extra.

more poetry... I'm working on my next poetry volume. Should be done with it in about a month, then I'll put it out on lulu.com with the others. unlike the last one, the new book will have a lot of stuff (the majority) never-before-published! well, posted, at anyrate... the first one was mostly posted one at a time every few days/weeks on my various newsgroups. But the new one will be virgin territory. I'm excited about it. And maybe, just maybe, I'll sell a few copies of it. And make a few bucks.

After all, diapers ain't free!