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.