She’s Gone

October 22, 2010 at 2:47 pm | Posted in Love and all that other mushy stuff, The Others | 1 Comment
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She stands up immediately when she sees me.  HEY BABY she says.  She wraps her arms around me, tight.  She grips my arms and pulls me away from her so more of me is within her frame of sight.  I can see more of her in that moment too.  She’s smiling.  She breathes effortlessly. 

She regards me in the way I’ve always been used to… pride, concern, loving, hopeful.  She takes in my light and flicks my dark away in a look.  Everything wrong with me is an opportunity to do something brilliant.  This is how she looks at me.  I roll my eyes. 

She turns away and I follow her through the airport terminal.  I am forced to jog a moment to catch up to her.  She turns her head towards me and a meaningful smirk is lighting up her face.  I’m panting.  She’s carrying all of her luggage.  She’s graceful and agile.  Her heavy bags are not hampering her.  She offers to carry my purse.  She needs me to hurry.  She’s late. 

She hands over her luggage to an uninterested guy behind a counter.  She takes my hand and spins me away and suddenly we are at her gate.  No one else is there.  I offer to help her to her seat.  She scoffs at this as usual.  I’m strangely not distressed.  She’s not tired or sitting or bracing herself for air.  In fact she breathes as if the air around her is inconsequential.   

She tells me that I can’t go any further.  I can’t get on the plane with her.  She says she’s leaving and I’ll see her later.  I know it will be a while; our visits are few and far between.  We have a great distance between us.  She forces a twenty-dollar bill into my hand.  FOR GAS MONEY she says.  I slip it back into her purse as we hug.  She starts to walk away but continually turns around to wave as she goes.  Each time I try to burn the image into my brain.  This is what I do every time we say goodbye at the airport.  Is this the last time?  I stain to record another glimpse.  She turns and waves once more.  I stiffen and breathe in and try to capture every detail at once.  She’s gone.

– – – – – – – – – – – – –

Then I was awake suddenly like cold water was thrown in my face.  I smiled with relief.  Then I cried.

– – – – – – – – – – – – –

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A Quick Note on Marching

April 26, 2010 at 10:49 am | Posted in Baby Weight (Evan), I's for reals, The Others | Leave a comment
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You are now looking at a girl who has walked another 6 miles.

Wait…

You are now reading the words typed by a girl who has walked another 6 miles.

The March of Dimes / March for Babies walk was Sunday.  It was cold and rainy AGAIN, but we made it.  My husband, Evan, myself and the lovely Miss Di that watches Evan while I work… his other mama.  🙂

And oh did we make our goal: $480!  My goal was $400.  As a group “Evan’s Family” (be inspired by my naming abilities, people), we brought in $645!  A-freakin’-mazing!

We arrived and registered and took off. 

Evan’s a “Preemie in Name Only” type of preemie.  Early but healthy.  No NICU time.  We were so lucky.

It was so heart-breaking to hear and see people’s stories of babies that did not make it.  But it made the tales of babies that survived the odds that much more inspiring. 

The trail was treacherous and there were many a pick-up vans along the way to tempt us into giving up but we walked the whole damn way, damnit.  Evan walked for about 10 feet.  (Lucky bastard)  He was walking waaay too slow and had an aversion to walking on the sidewalk.  We need to practice that one I think.

All in all a good day.  I’m working on thank you notes right now.  I would like to get a special little photo like last year but he knows how to run now.  Here was last year’s:

Thank you.  So very, very much. 

Birthday, Doctor, Roseola and LAS VEGAS!

April 14, 2010 at 12:28 pm | Posted in Baby Weight (Evan), I shouldn't have even posted this, It's OK to be confused... I am, Love and all that other mushy stuff, Me myself I and me again, The Others | Leave a comment
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Here is your last few week’s summaries of stuff that has been going on because for once things have been going on and I haven’t been here to tell you and I’ll try not to ramble on and on and on.  (Damnit.  I fail.)

April

1st – The first of the month is a hectic time at work for me.  It’s delicious.  I have a big fat list of things to punch out and I love playing the work horse.  Also the first was Evan’s daycare Easter party and I had a dozen little eggs ready to go.  I should have known the night before that we were in trouble.  Evan was fussy and started getting feverish and Wayne called at about 8 or 9pm to tell me he got a flat tire on the way home from fishing.  So while my husband was on the side of the highway changing his tire in the dark, I was struggling with bedtime and an ill toddler.  The next morning, Evan’s fever was at about 103 so I had to call in ‘Kid Sick’ to work.  I miss the 1st of the month and Evan misses his party.  I did get a lot done around the house.  Eventually however, Evan was getting ultra-cuddley.  Like, I would be standing on a step stool and he would climb up just to wrap his arms around my leg… or I would be washing the baseboard and he would lay his head in my lap.  Finally I took him to cuddle on the couch and he fell asleep.  I went back to cleaning and when he woke he was ON FIRE!  Well, not literally kinda, but his temp was over 105!  Panic Mommy in me wanted to run him to the ER or something but Level-headed Mommy saw that he was not acting sick… just a little uncomfortable.  All night we were dosing him and making him sip water and trying to cool him off. 

2nd – He woke up fever-less.  I took him to daycare and went into work.  Mid-day, I got a call that he was getting the fever back.  Bummer.  Wayne’s sister got in town that day from West Virginia and we were really excited to see her.  I picked Evan up and we went to Wayne’s Grandmother’s house.  He still had a fever and he was cranky, but OK.  Right before we went to leave, he started looking really unwell.  I picked him up and as we were saying our good-byes, Evan became a fountain of vomit.  3 times.  Right after a bottle.  All over himself, me and Grandma’s kitchen.  Wayne changed Evan, I changed me and Grandma & Sister cleaned up the kitchen.  I felt awful for everyone. 

3rd – My birthday.  I turned [inaudible] on this day.  Evan’s fever was down and Sister was still in town, so we went shopping and out to lunch.  I spent the day fearing that Evan would become a fountain again.  He did not. 

4th – Easter Sunday.  Evan’s fever was gone and when he woke up we sent him downstairs to inspect his Easter basket. 

He had a little rash on his neck.  I figured it was from the fever or something along those uneducated lines.  By the time we got to Grandma’s house the rash was really kicking in.  It covered his belly and back.  He didn’t seem bothered by it.  He was still cranky.  A cute little sourpuss.

 

 

5th – Back to daycare, back to work.  Evan still had the rash but Ms Di was OK with him hanging out.  Mid-day she calls and thinks it may be Roseola.  I call the nurse and she says to come in for an appointment.  Sure enough: Roseola.  Too bad it’s one of those ass backwards viruses that are all contagious but completely UNcontagious once any sort of symptom appears. 

6th – The rash is still hanging out.  I’m stressed because we are leaving in 2 days for Vegas.  As in LAS VEGAS but with child.  My bestest fabulous friend Stephanie is getting married on the 9th and we are all flying out to join her.  Packing, or more-to-the-point OVERpacking.

7th – Evan is being a complete asshole  butthead  boogerhead.  A cute asshole  butthead  boogerhead that I adore and love and is my pweashus! wittle! baybee!… but a temper tantrum throwing, inconsolable baybee as well.  Ms Di says the word EAR and I place the word EAR with AIRPLANE THE NEXT DAY and call the nurse AGAIN.  Nurse says EAR and APPOINTMENT and we head to the Doc’s office AGAIN.  Evan’s mood is improving by then and by the time the doctor walks in the room Evan is ready to great him with a full on smile.  “So, what’s up?” Doc says.  (As I’m editing… HAHAHAHHAHAHAAH!!!!1!! ROTFLMAO!!  What’s Up Doc.  I SLAY me)  “I’m here because my kid is super grumpy” I deadpan.  Evan giggles.  My god.  Sure enough his ears might-just-be-looking-a-little-pink so let’s-get-him-on-antibiotics-right-away because of the airplane situation, you know, TOMORROW.  I spend the evening packing up the last of our stuff as my husband is out buying stuff he needs last-minute, which is good because if he didn’t I would wonder what the aliens did with my REAL husband.  Wayne’s last-minute like that. 

8th – I work until noon and head home to load the car and button up the house.  Then I go to daycare to pick up and pajama-clad Evan.  He gets strapped in and we drive the hour and a half to Wayne’s work.  We pick him up and quickly dash to the airport.  And it’s a damn good thing we did because I would hate not to arrive 3 hours before the flight takes off.  SIGH.  Evan runs UP the terminal and BACK to DADA over and over and over. 

The flight goes OK and I have to switch this over to the

9th – because we are landing in Vegas and it’s now the 9th.  Just to sum that up for you.  We get checked in and get up to the hotel room.  And Mandalay Bay has no milk located in the miles and miles of its sin city acreage and I would say that they shouldn’t… they should have vodka and NOT milk because it’s VEGAS and not DISNEYWORLD but you would be SHOCKED at the amount of children I saw there.  Even that late.  Half of them weren’t even drunk.  Wayne ended up walking across the strip to an AM/PM for a gallon of milk and a cooler.  It worked.  We sleep.  We wake. 

We get together with THE BRIDE.  We pool.  Evan hates the pool.  I get ready.  I taxi to THE BRIDE’s hotel.  She get’s ready.

I capture gorgeous bride.

Stranger takes picture of us.

We wait for non-english-speaking limo driver that is lost.  We hop in the limo and head to the LAS VEGAS sign.  Wayne is there with a passed out Evan who is awesomely so cute in a little white shirt and tie.  We push through the masses and I listen and watch as THE BRIDE becomes THE WIFE.  It was beautiful and I know she’s so happy.  Then we are all back in the limo and smushing and drinking champagne (well, except for me cause its icky and Evan because he was asleep.  I’m kidding, he was awake but I didn’t have his sippy cup.  I kidding, I had a sippy cup with me but I was too lazy to take it out, so no champagne for him.  I’m kidding for fuck’s sake.  I’m not lazy.)  We arrive at dinner and are greeted with MEAT on a SWORD.  I casually grab a diaper and some wipes to go change Evan and find no changing table.  Restaurant is attached to hotel/mall – walking everywhere to find restroom with changing table – back in my seat lots of minutes later.  After the noms on a stick, Wayne and I and Evan head out to catch a cab.  Did you know that you can’t catch a cab on the strip unless it’s at a hotel?  We did and yet we started walking anyway.  OMG.  Ouchy-foooty-ouchy.  Hubby crying about shins in his splints or something.  Evan chillin’ in the stroller accepting hooker cards being handed out by non-english-speaking over aggressors.  We walk from the Planet Hollywood hotel to Mandalay Bay.  OMG. 

10th – By today we make it back to our room.  We pass the hell out.  We eat.  We pool.  Evan still does not like the pool.  We meet up with THE WIFE and THE HUSBAND and THE BEST MAN.  We go eat.  (Did I mention that Wayne has a couple in him?)  Wayne is kinda drunk.  We go to a restaurant that has a GINORMOUS BURGER that they will give you for free if you can eat it in 5 minutes and 20 seconds.  Wayne is down for it.  I am mortified.  Evan’s getting cranky.  I leave early to get Evan situated and eating.  Wayne comes back all WHOA BIG BURGER and falls asleep.  I meet THE WIFE for FROYO and wish her a pleasant flight home.  I go to bed at a decent hour.

11th – Our last day in LAS VEGAS.  We eat and do touristy things. 

We head to the airport.  4 hours early this time to shake things up.  Evan falls asleep and

12th – we are mid-flight home.  Wayne is headed right into work so I am on hold EVER HEAVIER baby during flight and don’t let him kick neighbor and baby is only comfy if you are not.  I turn into ZOMBIE.  We land in Metro Detroit and I drive Wayne to work.  I drive Evan to daycare.  I drive my ass home and sleep.  Sleeeeeep.  Opps.  I mean, Bwaaaaaains.  Eh, I’m so confused.

Things are all sorts of normal now.  Getting prepared for the March for Babies walk.  Then 4 days later flying to Arizona and then 4 days after I get home from that flying to Florida.  On Mother’s Day.  Without mah baybee.  Again.  Something to whine about on another day.

Hey there, thanks for reading the whole way through, you one person you!  I have a unicorn for you.

Save Little Lives

March 31, 2010 at 4:00 pm | Posted in Baby Weight (Evan), I's for reals, Love and all that other mushy stuff, Putting on Baby Weight (Pregnancy), The Others | 3 Comments
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“We don’t have time to induce you.  We have to take the baby now.”

Those are the words that I heard 10 minutes before my son was born.  It wasn’t like a hospital drama or my favorite show, House.  They didn’t tell me that “We don’t have time” meant that I didn’t have time and that I might have a seizure and die before the medication to induce labor kicked in.  They didn’t pull Wayne aside to tell him how dire the situation was or how sick and drugged I would be for the next few days.  They didn’t explain what HELLP Syndrome was and they didn’t tell me the risks to our son.  They didn’t talk about the risk of bleeding out during the c-section due to my non-existent platelets nor did they tell us what to expect from our preemie son and how he would be wisked away immediately. 

“We don’t have time to induce you.  We have to take the baby now.”

We nodded while trying to get the million questions we had bombarding our brains in single file.  Before that could happen, Wayne was handed scrubs and told to get them on and I was prepped for surgery. 

Then a little baby was born.  4 lbs, 14 oz.  First apgars were low, the second ones were better.  He got some oxygen, he got an IV, he got a heart monitor.  But he was fine.  He was almost fully cooked.  I got to hold my baby right away even if I couldn’t room with him for four days.  He was well enough to go home before I was.

We were lucky.

Sometimes, a TINY baby is born.  1 lbs, 6 oz. First apgars non-existent, second ones are low.  ventilators and feeding tubes and monitors.  Incubators and unpronounceable drugs.  These babies are not fine.  Not cooked.  They can’t be held.  They can’t come home.  Some don’t ever make it home.

That’s not fair. 

I walk for March of Dimes every year because that thought takes my breath away.  Take a couple weeks of gestation away from Evan and that could have been him.  It could be any of our babies.

What would I do without this in my life?

The March of Dimes looks for ways to make sure all pregnancies are full-term pregnancies.  They support these preemies and their parents.  They research treatments for vision, heart and lung defects.  They support NICUs.  The March of Dimes started back in the day to find a cure for Polio.  Guess what they found?  That’s right, a cure for Polio.  And when that happened they didn’t celebrate and go about their merry ways… they found a new mission.

I found one too.

My family and I walk on April 25th, in Grand Blanc, MI.  Come walk with us!  We have a new person or two (!) walking with us this year and I am so excited!  There are walks all over the nation, go here to find one.

Donate.  Click the button below or click here and sponsor my family and our cause.  Every dollar brings tears to my eyes because I’m so thankful to be surrounded by such wonderful people.  I’ve been tearing up a lot.  I try to act hardcore about it but it’s not working.

Get learnt.  Be a voice.  Mention HELLP Syndrome to your pregnant friends and family.  Know for your wife or for yourself.  We all know of at least 3 pregnant people at a time.  It’s not as uncommon as you might think.  I know of two dear woman personally that had HELLP as well.

H (Hemolytic anemia) EL (Elevated Liver enzymes) LP (Low Platelet count).  Basically means your red blood cells are being destroyed and not regenerating, your liver is failing and the goop in your blood that clots your wounds is low.  All of this eventually shuts down your liver and kidneys.  Seizure.  Coma.  Death.  It can be related to pre-eclampsia but there is some debate on that.  Personally, I didn’t present with pre-eclampsia symptoms (high blood pressure, protein in urine) but most women do.  I was also much sicker after Evan was born.  The fact that I didn’t “look” like a “normal” HELLP patient makes me appreciate my doctors even more.

My symptoms were a pain above my pregnant belly which I associated with heartburn and a backache.  (It was my liver and kidneys).  I felt nauseous and had a headache.  Some women also have blurred vision and tingling in their hands and feet.

Walking. Donating. Being a little HELLP expert.  You’re saving lives.  THANK YOU SO MUCH.

LAS VEGAS!

December 1, 2009 at 10:56 am | Posted in I have unleashed the crazy, Love and all that other mushy stuff, Rewind, The Others | 3 Comments
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AKA: Picturey-photo Spectacular!

AKA: The Post Where Stephanie Gets Pissed Because She’s In Too Many Photos

Two years ago on this day my husband and I were wed.  We opted for an “easy” wedding in fabulous LAS VEGAS!  JAZZ HANDS

(From here on in, you must do some mental jazz hands every time you read LAS VEGAS to get the full effect. 

Let’s practice:

LAS VEGAS! 

You guys are awesome.)

Our final plan was to meet everyone at our hotel.  Take a limo about an hour north to the Valley of Fire state park and get married among the red rocks.  Then we were going to trek back to LAS VEGAS and have some dinner at Battista’s Hole in the Wall.  Then it was everyone for themselves.

Let me first introduce you to Fancy. 

Fancy was my kinda gal.  White, cheap and in the need for some lovin’.  We found her on the clearance rack at a local wedding dress boutique.  Her zipper was dodgy and she had some loose strings but she fit and $59.  $59.  Fifty nine frickin’ dollars!  EVERYTHING ELSE I purchased for the wedding was much more expensive than her.  So she was christened Fancy.  (After the Reba McIntyre song, Fancy.  “Here’s your one chance Fancy don’t let me dooooowwwnnn.”)

MOH4L* Stephanie went dress shopping with me.  I’m sure she saw more skin than she cared to.  I think she took it well… look how happy she is here:

(*Maid Of Honor For Life – because I read somewhere that once she’s in that position she has to do defend me forever.  The trip to LAS VEGAS sealed the deal.  She’s easy.  Don’t tell her I said that.  Don’t worry… she doesn’t read my blog.)

Wayne and I left for LAS VEGAS with a foot of snow on the ground and my little Civic that had a slow leak in one tire.  We were way prepared for that and brought a tire-blower-upper thingy that plugs into the cigarette lighter.  What we were NOT prepared for was the dead battery we came home to but I digress.

We made our home in the Paris because I stayed there before and liked their bathrooms.  Wayne made his first ever wedding decision and asked for a smoking room at the front desk.  Eww.  I went out and bought candles immediately.  I whined about how Fancy was going to smell like smoke.  I may or may not still bitch about it to this day.

We were real nice and planned the wedding for December 1st and let everyone know about it in October.  We’re thoughtful like that.  Even so we had most of our important people fly out to be with us.  Wayne even had HIS BOYS:

The day before our wedding it rained.  In LAS VEGAS.  It’s a desert.  No fair!  I spent the night with Stephanie in the hotel room watching the Weather Channel.  Religiously.  My internal clock woke me up every hour to get an update.  S-T-R-E-S-S.  It was in the 60’s and it might rain.  On my outdoor wedding.  With my 73 year old grandmother in attendance.  ARG! 

Morning of: No rain.  Wind.  HELLA WIND.  Whoa doggie.  I had my hairs did at the salon upstairs and he promised the curl would hold.  He wasn’t kidding.  My hair was still curly when I woke up the next day. 

Grandma and Uncle Mark arrived from Arizona in the nick of time.  Grandma of course had some time to take in some poker machines downstairs.  Priorities People!  We’re in LAS VEGAS!  They were heading right back to the airport after dinner.

The whole gang was there.  We were off to the beautiful park!

Then Oh My Fuck.  No one told me we were walking up a canyon.  That my grandmother with COPD and Stephanie’s flip flops on was going to have to walk up a canyon.  But of course, she did with no bitching and was the first one up there.

Then suddenly.  It started.  Our wedding.  After 6 years of “patiently” waiting we were getting married!  And the officiant could not be heard above my inner dialogue.

“OMG, we’re getting married!”

“Shut it Amber.  You’re in the middle of the ceremony.  Concentrate!  What if you’re asked a question?  I think there’s a question that gets asked in there!”

“You’re still inner dialogue-ing, Amber!”

“Who knew I’d be thinking these thoughts as we were getting married?”

“STFU AMBER!”

Also the pastor kept addressing Wayne as Don.  I almost stopped him to tell him he had the wrong info before I remembered that my in-the-process-of-being-married-to husband’s name is Donald Wayne.  I’m on top of things.

Wayne’s wedding ring could have easily fit around my wrist.  If there was a Big and Tall department in the jewelry store, he would have had to shop there.  The ring you see here (not his wedding ring) is his late grandfather’s Teamsters ring.

Everyone was on their feet.  People thought they were successfully hiding beer cans.  No one sat in the seats for which I picked this place out for because who wants to stand the whole time?  My peeps do, that’s who. 

At last!  It was done.  Wayne was hitched.  That wagon would be me.  You know, a skinny wagon with sparkley wheels.

It was beautiful there and Fancy done good.

Here are all of our lovely guests that ended up being prettier than me. 

Then we all piled in and headed back to LAS VEGAS!  To celebrate, we popped some bubbly.

Which I can’t stand.  Then off to dinner!  I ordered spaghetti and ate none of it.  Between being nervous and wearing white I just sipped water and then gulped down the cappuccino they serve at the end of the course.  That has crack in it.  Seriously.  Go here next time you’re in LAS VEGAS if only for the cappuccino with crack.

Then we had the cake to cut.  In the middle of a crowded restaurant.  We had lots of onlookers.  I felt GLAMOROUS.  That was until Wayne shoved cake UP MY NOSE.  I got a little twinkle in my eye and got a little cake on his chin and he gets all revengey so I got buttercreme UP MY NOSE!

After emptying a tissue box, we walked about LAS VEGAS.  And my feet hurt.  So I walked around barefoot.  It was wonderful.  In Cesar’s Palace some chicks waiting to get in the club told me I looked beautiful.  We were spoiled by the staff when we sat down to gamble.  They wanted to load me up with alcohol.  I’m a lightweight.  A featherweight!  And it’s icky.  You heard me.

Later, my husband took me back to the hotel room, helped me out of my dress and… dropped me off.  I was exhausted.  What?  We’d been living together for 6 years already and we were in LAS VEGAS!  He went out to enjoy the night with his friends and family.  I soaked my poor funky feet in the bathtub.  I think he got in at 4am. 

Later we had LAS VEGAS to ourselves.  We did all the touristy things and we gambled and we ordered room service and movies. 

It was done.  I was Mrs. McNamara.  42 days later I would be with child.  Insta-Family!

w00T!

This Is My Brain On Metaphors

November 10, 2009 at 12:29 pm | Posted in Baby Weight (Evan), I have unleashed the crazy, I shouldn't have even posted this, I's for reals, Love and all that other mushy stuff, Me myself I and me again, Rewind, The Others | 2 Comments
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Years and years and years ago my mind was a mess.  As you remember I’m Bipolar.  I was always depressed and never consistent with my medication (if I was even taking it).  Like a lot of people with similar issues, I had what some call “suicidal ideation”.  I had an out.  I had a plan.  It was like my morbid little teddy bear… if things got hairy I could snuggle up to that.  Things weren’t so bad if I always had thatThat was also my little secret.  Not many knew of my plan and those that did never knew about my back-up plans.  I could tearfully confess that my teddy bear was there, destroy said teddy bear with the confessee and proclaim absolution, smile and grab other teddy bear out of hiding.  Safe. 

You might not understand how safe it feels to have a plan.  On the outside looking in, things may not seem that safe at all.  Life is precarious on a hair trigger (That would have been HILARIOUS a few years ago).  You spend days terrified that something will set off your loved one and the plan gets carried out.  It’s terrifying to think about.  But to me… it was safe.

Why the hell am I talking about suicide?  Well, because things have changed for me.  And things have not changed for a lot of other people.  Things may not have changed for you.  But it can.

This was my mind during the time of the teddy bear:

full

Confusing and loaded.  There was nothing in there that told me, “Ya know Amber, that’s kinda fucked up.”  And anyone that would say that (and many people did)… it just wouldn’t get processed.

Then Wayne came along.  My husband is NOT a bullshitter and he certainly isn’t going to tell you what you want to hear.  ESPECIALLY when it comes to this.  He told me that if I committed suicide he would not go to my funeral but he may drop by later to piss on my grave. 

The hell?

At first I was kinda pissed.  I’m fragile, damnit!  Kid gloves, sir!  His view was that he loved me.  He wanted me around as did a couple other people (heh), he said it would be selfish to do such a thing.  And then I thought about people being pissed off at me after I was safe and felt like shit. 

At long last my teddy bears were gone.  Not forgotten, but not there.  Wanted, but not an option.  At first I felt trapped.  Then I felt safe… with him.  He became my Permanent Marker.  He covered up some of the confusion and disaster in my mind.  It was still there, but I really couldn’t get to it:

PM

A few more years crept by and my biological clock was ticking JUST! LIKE! THIS!  Then this guy came into play:

bw

I knew that of course there would be no more thoughts.  No more plans.  I “knew” it like I “knew” getting cut in half for him wasn’t going to hurt.  I convinced myself of it.  I was a big fat FAIL if not.

Evan came along and suddenly things changed again.  He was my Eraser:

eraser

Poof!  It was gone.  ALMOST not even there.  But there’s some residue left behind and I’m glad for that.  I need to remember what it was like to feel that way.  I need to try to recognize those souls that are cuddling with that teddy bear when I’m not looking.  And, I guess, I had to tell you.

(There’s HOPE and HELP.  This is a good resource: http://www.preventsuicide.us/hopeline-new/)

(Will you find a Permanent Marker or better yet, an Eraser?  I don’t know.  I hope so.  That’s what you should do too: HOPE.)

Pneumonia, Fails and Puppy Dog Tails.

October 7, 2009 at 11:34 am | Posted in Baby Weight (Evan), I's for reals, It's OK to be confused... I am, Me myself I and me again, The Others | Leave a comment

Happy Reunion Day!

It’s been so long I feel like a need to throw one.  I’m going to get some punch and balloons.  I’ll be the fat girl in the corner wearing the ill-fitting dress.

So September is over.  Life isn’t shiney… nor is it ever, but I’m not feeling particularly stabby either so that’s good.  Here’s your run down.

The flu wore off and by the weekend I was wanting to get out of the house.  Thinking that some walking would do me good, I took Evan up to the mall.  Half way through I was wheezing.  “Fuck.  I’m REALLY out of shape.” I was thinking.  Monday morning I could scarcely breathe and I left work for bed.  By the time I had to pick Evan up from daycare I was in really bad shape.  I almost called Carrie to ask her if I could drop Evan off with her so I could visit the ER.  However, I didn’t know if I could even do that so I toughed it out.  Later Evan was having a hard time getting to sleep because the mommy-machine wasn’t singing to him.  He’d lay his head down on my chest and then pop it up and give me the WTF face, “Sing Rocking Lady!”  Oh well.  Pneumonia goes away and I hope it never comes back.

This past weekend I took Evan to the Renaissance Festival.  He was too adorable.  His Grandma bought him a Jester’s costume and he got his face painted.  He also discovered that HE LOVES PICKLES.  (Must find more ginormous pickles)

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Evan’s grandma later springs for a Psychic reading.  I’m afraid I didn’t hear all that she said.  Something about writing a book.  Being more confident (Read here and here about how cold readings are done). 

Then she flipped over a card and looked at Evan.  “Is he your only?”

“Yes”

“You’re going to have one or two more”

“Ah. No.  My husband doesn’t want another and I got sick with him.”

“Oh.  OK.”

Then she flips over another card.  “Are you sure?”

“Yeah.”

Then she flips over another and another.  “BE VERY VERY CAREFUL!  If you are not planning for another, be careful of an opps baby.  The last 4 cards have been fertility cards.”

I ooze my need for fertility, people.

In related news, the Psychic’s son was named Evan and she got sick with him too.  And Evan’s going to be a doctor.  Obviously, he oozes smart.  I could have told you that.

And the McNamara household would not be the same without some sickness going on.  My 11 year old dog, Angel is sick.  She has a condition called Addison’s Disease and is currently in a Addisonian crisis.  It used to be Cushing’s Syndrome, but the vet overmedicated her for that and she got the opposite, Addison’s.  Every 23 days we have to take her into the vet for a steroid shot and every night she gets a steroid pill.  Last year when I had Evan her shot went by the way side (she was due about the time I had Evan and that info was written on my calendar at work).  She got really sick after about a month without her shot.  She had to stay at the vets overnight for fluids.  This time she was about 2 weeks late (Flu, pneumonia, and a husband working nights).  She also hasn’t been to the groomers and is WAY overdue.  Well, she got sick fast.  She should have some leeway and she got none.  She’s at the vet getting fluids now and she’s still not doing well. 

 [if ((DOG = SICK) and (ME <> FULL PAYCHECK)) then “Extremely Screwed” else “Can pay bills only”]

Our other dog Homee is extremely pissed at the situation and showing it by pissING all up in the house.  This combined with money and poor little sick dog never seeing fair hubby is very stressful.  Throw in the fact that I had to block my Visa because some dumbass stole my number and used it online?  Let’s just say I am well within the right to double the Ativan.  AND I HAVE.

September (part hopefully-the-only-one)

September 18, 2009 at 12:39 pm | Posted in Baby Weight (Evan), I shouldn't have even posted this, It's OK to be confused... I am, Me myself I and me again, The Others | 1 Comment

I would like to start today’s blog post with a big EFF YOU to September.  You’ve really lived up to expectations, September.  I’m not close to death like last year but YOU STILL HAVE A FEW WEEKS.  Try not to be a douche, September and chill out. 

Anywho.  It’s been a while, I know.  They say with depression you don’t want to do the things that you normally like to do.  So that means I love you Blog!  Except today apparently.

Yes, the depression has rolled in with September as it normally does and I do believe I’m handling it pretty well.  Although it’s hard to tell what with family drama and my son’s first birthday and the flu and Evan being sick and my Grandmother’s cancer diagnosis, it could be justifiable white flag waving – closet hiding – exhausting sadness.  Humm.  Let’s just say it’s probably a combination of both. 

I’m not standing in a gray room longingly staring out a window as my dog expectantly holds a leash in his mouth looking all disappointed with his puppy dog eyes.  Depression’s hard to make pretty for a commercial, y’all.   It’s just things inside.  It’s stress and fatigue.  It’s hopelessness in the face of hope.  It’s jumping half heartedly to reach your optimism before you say, “Fuck it” and sit.  It’s disorginization while you’re trying to think of positive steps and you forget your footing. It’s this paragraph: Depression just doesn’t make sense.

September started with planning a first birthday party for Evan.  Joyful, right?  Noooo, stressful!  Who is invited?  Who’s not speaking to whom?  Who the hell did I invite?  Who did I send an invitation to?  Who was a throwing a birthday party for?  Oh yeah, right.  This little light of mine:

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Seeing Evan is like taking a Xanax.  You’re all: WTF was I all worried about?  Everything’s OOooooo Kkaaaaaaaaaeeeeee.  (You should only take Xanax with a prescription which I have.  Or if you really trust your drug dealer.)  Just knowing I’m about to see him lights up the dark.  I’d sell bits of Evan to all the sad people out there but he’s mine and I wuv him and I hear there could be a legal issue if you dismember children and do business without a tax id. 

So then I got a call from my Grandma.  When she was in the hospital she said they thought they saw something in one of her kidneys.  She said they were going to do a scan.  They scanned, they did a biopsy.  She said it was cancer.  She forgets the name.  (This is one of the major suckages about living on the other side of the country).  Then one day I say something about kidney cancer.  She says that her sister had that.  I say, well maybe it’s hereditary.  She says, it’s not in my kidneys.  I’m all, WHA?  Nooooo, it’s in her lungs because of course it’s in her lungs and she told me it was in her lungs and she’s a smoker with COPD and no, she’s still smoking and yes, she can’t breathe and noooo, she’s not going to do this or that because that’s stupid and I need to clean my house and stress out my granddaughter.  I know people die.  I’m OK with that.  She says she’s ready.  What kills me is my need for her to pass with dignity and without any pain.  I hear it doesn’t always work that way.  But that’s my problem and my job is to be strong for her so SHUT UP ME!

Aaaaand then I got the flu.  Swine or Influenza… I don’t know.  He shoved q-tips so far up my nose he could have collected brain and said, “Feel betta, bye now!”  So I went and spent the week watching my one year old while fighting off the flu.  Then of course HE got sick.  Took him to the doctor so he could tell me it WASN’T the flu.  And staying home from work for ANOTHER day to soothe my fevered, sleepy child with Motrin and some good old fashioned naps in the rocking chair.  He had lots and lots of naps.  The good ones where you drool.  Those are the best.

There you have it.  September still has some time to kick my ass a bit more and I’m sure she will.  But October brings fall and apples and pumpkins and leaves and cider.  And hopefully some good times.

Birthday Watch 2009

August 24, 2009 at 2:41 pm | Posted in Baby Weight (Evan), I shouldn't have even posted this, Me myself I and me again, Putting on Baby Weight (Pregnancy), Rewind, The Others | 2 Comments
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TWO WEEKS.

There are just two of them left until my baby is a full grown man that goes to bars and college. 

OK.  Maybe not.  I have 2 weeks left that I didn’t have with him last year.  Two weeks until Evan starts to roll his eyes over stuff I show him because he’s BEEN THERE, DONE THAT before. 

“Looky at the pretty colors of autumn.  See how the leaves are changing color?” 

“Duh, Mom.  Saw it last year!”

And don’t say, “YAY!  Evan’s almost as year old.  w00T!”  Because if I was excited and happy about it I would be all LOLzies up in this bitch.  But I’m not.  No LOLs just some big, fat 😦 s.  😦s all around.  Because not only will Evan practically be living on his own in a couple weeks, but I won’t be a mother to a baby anymore.  The mother with the tinsy sleeping infant in Target will smuggly say her daughter is just 5 days old and she won’t even bother to ask me how old Evan is because HE’S OBVIOUSLY AN ADULT.  You loose smugginess after your baby turns one people and you all know how much I LOVE MY SMUGGIES!

So let’s turn back the clock shall we?  Let’s look back a year and she what I was arrogantly doing at the time when I thought I had a month and a half before the baby was born when I really had just 14 days.  LET US LOOK DENIAL IN THE FACE.

  • I sent an email to my coworkers with pictures of newborn Lilah who was born just days before.
  • I was on my weekly Tuesday/Friday doctor schedule and tearing up over my modest amount of vacation time remaining.
  • Wayne and I had our last birthing class.  We learned infant CPR.  The previous classes were deemed “the-other-word-for-homosexual” by my lovely husband who announced it in his “quiet voice” during pretend contractions.  THANK THE LORD GOODNESS that I didn’t have that labor stuff because Wayne was the only husband in class not to rub my back while we practiced relaxation techniques and then bitched about how much his knees hurt while in various labor positions… (are we getting the irony here?)
  • I was writing a mundane blog for MySpace telling the world that I was FREAKING THE FUCK OUT and worrying that:
    • I had less than 1,000 hours to go (in reality I only had 336 hours). 
    • the nursery was not done.  (SURPRISE FORMER SELF!  The nursery was JUST COMPLETED.  You’re welcome). 
    • the baby was going to go to daycare.  Wayne and I were seriously thinking about me staying home.  (Oh silly FOOLS!  SURPRISE FORMER SELF!  Wayne was laid off most of 2009!  Way to think about stopping your only income!)
    • I was having too many Braxton-Hicks contractions and my finger tips were getting all hurty from the blood-letting.
    • We were name-less.  Wayne was suggestion-less.  I was name-full.  Other family members were suggesting-other-names-and-not-liking-our-name-full.  Things were about to get bloody.  (SURPRISE YET AGAIN FORMER SELF!  You’re going to have to look at Wayne all confused while your insides are hanging out and the baby is taking his first breath when the doctor asks the baby’s name.  You’ll be like, OH YEAH! HE NEEDS A NAME!)

OK… enough of that.  I’ll continue to wig out on my own time and spare you yours.  Until my next freakout of course that I’ll have to share the with internets OF COURSE.  And when he turns that year number when he’s no longer a month number and you are unable to locate me, I will either be rocking in the corner of a closed, dark closet or replacing my birth control pills with sugar pills and practicing my surprise face.

And oppsies… almost forgot to give you a piece of the birthday baby. 

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Photo Phriday: Puweshus Momories, we haz it.

July 17, 2009 at 11:20 am | Posted in I shouldn't have even posted this, Me myself I and me again, Photo Phriday, Putting on Baby Weight (Pregnancy), Rewind, The Others | Leave a comment
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A year ago this week, I was an over-pregnant, sweaty, waddley pregnant woman.  I was riddled with fingerprint needle marks and had bumps where there shouldn’t have been bumps.  Aren’t preggo bellies supposed to be round and full and not have a weird flat spot up front that makes you look like you have 2 bellies?  Yeah, I thought so.  Pregnant bellies are supposed to look like this here:

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Carrie and I had a dual maternity photoshoot.  She shot me; I shot her.  Win/Win you see?  Except when in your mind you are a glorious, glow-y, ethereal life carrier and it turns out you look like this:

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I’ll leave you with the ACTUAL ethereal mommy-to-be (Carrie) so you can cleanse your WTF palate:

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And just how are we going to take a group shot… hem-haw… WE ARE GENIUS!

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OK. OK. One of me.  Combo of Carrie and Evan making me look good:

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