14w 1d

Saw Baby Mama last night with acquaintance-who-wants-to-be-more Skinny McTweeter.  She’s allright but very wrapped up in her world.  Not someone I can hang with frequently, but to indulge my Tina Fey love with, she was fine.

Worst parts of the movie: LACK OF RESEARCH OR KNOWLEDGE OF THE FEMALE REPRODUCTIVE SYSTEM.  (seriously.  no idea.  it doesn’t take that much effort to have an RE look at the script for accuracy)  Setting that aside, the last 1/3 of the plot was total crap.  It could have been snappier, quicker, better, but it got bogged down in trying to be cute.  Some really interesting story lines fell off the face of the earth. 

Best parts of the movie: Lots of good one liners, banter and one offs.  Some of the supporting players were outstanding and stole the show every moment they were on screen.    It made me chuckle out loud on a few occasions.

Overall, “Forgetting Sarah Marshall” is a better written and funnier movie, but “Baby Mama” was not without its charms.

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Things are Ok in my world.  I think I’m going to have to sleep apart from Mr. JB if the snoring doesn’t improve.  It’s not so bad that it wakes me up.  My overactive bladder wakes me up.  It’s just that the snoring doesn’t allow me to get back to sleep.

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Talked with Mary Perfect some about the whole shower thing.  I’m not comfortable with the tea-sandwiches and opening gifts in front of everyone, so we decided a couples “Welcome Baby” cook-out would be more appropriate and fun for us.  We’ll play bocce and grill and invite everyone we know.  Presents optional, lots of people I love…it will be good. 

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It’s sinking in with SoccerMan that I’m actually knocked up.  We were chatting a bit yesterday and he was astounded to hear that I ache all over, my hips are starting to loosen, my tummy is starting to show and that I only have 5 1/2 months to go.  He never really thought about that kind of thing…and why would he?  He’s 35, single, hasn’t dated anyone seriously in a few years.  It’s an eye opener for him and will make him a great husband to pregnant woman/father to be (if that happens in his life–I know it’s something he wants, so I hope so. He’s really a wonderful guy and a total catch. He’s just so damned shy…)

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I can’t keep a single thought going for my usual 500 words.  I’m either out of practice (yes) or semi brain dead (yesyes).  So for now it’s snippets.  I’ll be back to normal soon.  Or not.  Who knows?

14w

It’s like a switch has gone off in me.  No…I’m not the fifth Cylon. But I’m confident that my depression, while not hormone based, was hormone triggered.  It seems to have waned with my morning sickness–the root causes are still there, but the fog I was in has mostly disipated.

I’ll tell you stories of the last few weeks soon, but I’ll give the highlights today:

*The NT went well–the neck and nasal bone measurements were great.  We’re still waiting on the blood tests.
*They couldn’t find the heartbeat at the 12 week exam by doppler, so we got another ultrasound (which takes us up to 4!!)
*We told my parents and Mr. JBs parents.  Mine were thrilled, which was a surprise.  His were subdued.  We were there for a funeral, so that’s not a surprise.  His mother was hurt, wounded that we hadn’t kept her abreast of every thing that happened in the meantime.  She was also dwelling on the fact that we live so far away (3 hours, as opposed to next door).  We saw her the following weekend and she was a little better.  I expect we’ll have ups and downs there.
*As far as the pregnancy goes, I’ve been really zen.  Nothing phases me.  I’m battle scarred and hardened from the stories I hear, rather than whipped into a lather about what could be wrong today.  I’m not worried all the time.  I’m not freaked out by every little pain or twinge. My only panic attacks have been about how the baby will come out of me.  That has me a touch worried.
*We’ve been brave and purchased a few baby things.  A couple of outfits.  Some washcloths.  Just little things.  That are put in a box.  In a closet.  On a shelf.
*I’ve been sleeping.  A Lot.  On my side, like a good girl.  Despite the fact that I’ve been a stomach sleeper since birth.
*I told work and they want to know what I’m doing as far as leave goes.  I’ve explained again and again that I don’t know and that I don’t need to tell them, but I will try to let them know as soon as decisions are made.  They aren’t happy with that.  They can go eff themselves.
*Mr JB continues to be great, although the novelty is starting to wear off.  He’s still fine with doing chores, but things like rubbing my back are a grand annoyance.  It’s fine…I’ll just pay someone to do it.  Last night I was mad about it, though.  And that causes totally irrational thoughts, like “Well FINE, I’ll just hire a doula to be in the delivery room with me and you can just sit outside, you prick.”  Not my finest moment.
*I’m too fat for most of my clothes, but not fat enough for maternity clothes (which all look like bedouin tents, anyway.) 
*I, personally, am OK.  I’m recovering nicely from the dark place I was in.  I wanted to write, but I haven’t had the words.  I’ve been overwhelmed at being the most horrible employee ever (which I’m not–new management needed a project (me).)  I’ve been overwhelmed by feeling like crap lots of the time (which is getting better.) I’ve been overwhelmed by how much there is to do around the house (which will never all be done.) I’ve been overwhelmed by the idea of staying at home (which I may not have in me.)
*I’ve missed you guys.  I’ve turned into a peeping tom into your lives without letting you know I’ve been there. 
*I’ve started working on a screenplay.  Why? No idea.  Just thought my brain needed something to do.

Ok–that’s all for now.  I hope I’ll post again tomorrow.

Still out here…still breathing…feeling more like me…and like I’m waking up.

I’ll write a proper post tomorrow.  Thanks for all the thoughts, love and well wishes while I’ve been quiet.  I’ve felt them all and I’m certain they helped.

10w 5d

Nuchal scheduled for Thursday.  It’s been a bitch to get them to give us one and more of a bitch to get them to cover it.  We have to drive to St. Louis for it, but they’re some of the best at performing it.  It’s more accurate than a quad, less invasive than a CVS or Amnio, but I’ll be 6 months shy of 35 on my due date.  Does 6 months really matter at this point?  I already know I have crap eggs because of the PCOS.  I just want to know my actual risk and not my calculated risk.

I’m a bit better today–something closer to myself.  Feeling the blove from all of my internet friends was emensely healing.  Thank you.

I’m still down.  I’ve been befuddled by people who are self-centered or misguided or uncaring.  People I consider close who I’m feeling detatched from.  A work situation that makes me weep for an hour at night and an hour in the morning because I don’t want to go the next day.  I’ve got a plan for quitting if things don’t improve.  It isn’t good for me or for Pinchy. (who is the size of a lime, by the way.  Bizarre.)  

And I’m dealing with guilt over not being happier about this pregnancy.  Wait.  That’s not quite right.  I’m feeling guilty that the happiness I’m feeling about the pregnancy doesn’t automatically make everything else perfect and wonderful.  I still have to deal with me and all the internal stuff that isn’t fixed by magically getting what I want. 

I’m still here…baby seems to be fine.  The hormones are doing a number on my emotions and I’m in the midst of a black depression.  I could give those emo kids a run for their parent’s money.

 

I’ll try to write about it later.  For now, I’ll just let you know I’m still around, just stuck somewhere inside myself, just wondering how I get out.

8w 5d

Last night I had a dream that I was trying to close our building, but people kept sneaking back upstairs and wouldn’t leave. 

I came in this morning to find out that someone had managed to stay in the building last night and tripped the alarm at 3am.

 OK.  Freaky. 

But not as freaky as my 2nd ultrasound, which I’m trying not to flip out about. 

8w 4d

The alarm panel near my desk is sounding beeps every 10 seconds to let us know the battery is low. 

A call is in to the security company to come fix it. 

I am slowly going mad.

8w 3d

I was wondering when I’d have it in me to write about this.  I guess today is the day.

Woke this morning sobbing.  The sounds of my cries woke Mr. JB.  It took me almost two hours to settle down and get myself together.  I’ll blame the 8 oz. of diet coke I drank while watching The Ten Commandments last night combined in cocktail with my pregnancy hormones.

I had a dream that my parents stopped by.  They happened to be in town and decided to just drop in.  I was thrown off.  They never just drop in, but in dream-time it was late April and close to time to let them know about their new grandchild.  I welcomed them, made tea and sat down to talk with them. 

I told them the news and they were happy.  Wait.  No.  Happyish.  Congradulations.  Smiles.  Then they started talking about other things.  Antiques. Basketball.  Their other grandchildren. 

I feel the frustration rising within me.  Anger growing.  I finally snap a “Why do you do this?  Why did you change the subject?  Why aren’t you interested in me?”

“What?  Of course we’re interested in you.  Of course we care.  Did we tell you about J.s basketball game?”

I begin to list it all….from the beginning…how their treatment of me has been so different than the treatment of my siblings…how they are only interested in sports achievement in youth and business achievement in adulthood (neither of which I excel at)…how they disregard me and gave the example of the year they didn’t tell me they changed Christmas from one time to another (even though I was making the main dish) (oh, and how they never even invited my little brother one year)….how the last time the spent the night at my house they NEVER asked me anything about me, about work, about anything…how when they visited that time they had an hour to talk to me and my brother and his wife and didn’t say a word until my dad finally just took the remote and turned on sports…and why it is that my younger brother and I never turn to them for help or advice while my older siblings do…how they never spent time with me and would rather just sit at home than to be at any of my plays or events…how they never took us to DO things and how clearly irritated they were on the rare occasions when they did…how when I couldn’t find a date to the debutante ball I committed to participate in in high school and neither of them would go with me even when I asked…how I never felt supported…how they never enabled me to make my own decisions, from choosing a college to choosing my bedspread…how their random scoldings and punishments (never with explanation) made me feel as though I would get in trouble every time I turned around, even into adulthood (I’m still scared of answering the phone for fear that I’ll get in trouble)…how I didn’t understand how they carted the older ones to swim meets every weekend for years and I had to beg them for the most basic swim lessons…how their priority was always themselves…how much it hurt that they made such a big deal about calling my older brothers and sisters every Sunday when they were in college, visiting at least once a semester and then not calling me or my little brother ever, never visiting, not even taking him on his first day of college…how I spent years questioning if they actually love me…how hard it was to still be a child in what they already felt was their empty nest

They sat there and as I listed things, tried to explain, they began to talk.  Loudly.  Trying to cover my voice with theirs.  They refused to even hear me.  They refused to believe they’ve done anything wrong.  They refused to believe they treated us differently.  They just talked louder and louder to drown me out. 

I must have been crying in my sleep because I woke up with my face soaked and my throat raw.  The sobs grew harder as I tried to catch my breath.  That’s when Mr. JB woke up.

It was a nightmare, but not because it was outrageous.  It was too real. 

With the exception of them speaking over me (they’d just ignore me or sit there and stare at me instead), it was all plausible.  It’s a discussion I’ve tried to have with them.  I’ve tried to explain it before.  They don’t see the difference in how they treated my older brothers and sisters.  They don’t believe they’ve done anything wrong.  They didn’t abuse me.  They occasionally said thoughtless things, but just because they are thoughtless people. They fed me and clothed me and never struck me.  Instead, they ignored me. Not intentionally.  Not maliciously.  They just did. 

They think I’m blaming them for everything wrong in my life, which I’m not.  I love my life and I take responsibility for my actions.  There are things I need to work through because of my experiences, but everyone has that.  They think I have distanced myself from them because I don’t love them.  Not true.  I love them deeply.  That’s where most of my pain comes from.  They think that I have pulled away just to hurt them.  Again, not true.  I’ve pulled away to find some small amount of healing so that I can come to peace with my relationship with them.  I find myself confused and wounded.  I just don’t understand why a child of their own flesh holds so little interest to them.  I’m hurt, injured. Especially when I can see with my own eyes that they can be different and more.

I’ve moved from being angry with them.  The anger has dissipated.  I sometimes get frustrated they refuse to acknowledge my feelings.  I know I should forgive them, but how is beyond me when they believe there is nothing to forrgive and that the wrongdoing is on my part.    I’m deeply sad that they don’t seem to care about me in the way they care about the others. It hurts to know that if I step back and look at this logically, the surprise of my conception should have been followed by a choice to terminate.  They didn’t have the emotional resources to raise me.  They would have been happier without me.  I bring them no joy, just consternation and confusion.  That’s not to say I’m not happy to be here, it’s just to say that my presence in their life seems to be more of a burden than any child should be. 

What they want from me now is to just play the game, to help create the illusion of the happy, close family, but with none of the work, none of the actual intimacy that I crave.  The others either have that intimacy or they play along (including my younger brother now), so why don’t I? 

I don’t because I can’t.  I can’t pretend that they know me.  I can’t pretend that I’m not hurt.  I can’t pretend that it doesn’t exist.  But I’m not keeping them away.  I will happily and thankfully and gratefully work through this with them.  The offer has been extended.  It stands.  Hanging out there. Met with silence.  I will tell them.  I will listen.  I will try to understand.  I will forgive.  I will ask for forgivness.  I would do all of that.  But I will have trouble doing less than that. 

I’ve devoted so much of my life to creating a child.  I’ve devoted so much of my energy and strength to bringing a child into our home.  I have wept and prayed for this chance.  If this finally happens, I won’t be a perfect parent.

But I will do everything in my power to make sure my child never has reason to question if he is loved. 

8w

Whew.

Last night we had birthday dinner with Mary and Princess Perfect.  Illness has filled their house recently, so I hadn’t seen them in almost two weeks, save a quick lunch with Mary.  When I got in the car, Princess (age 3) was so beside herself with joy that the first intelligible words out of her mouth were “I love you, Katarina!”  Massive ego boost for someone who  has been having a week of feeling like a failure in several aspects of life. 

We went to the local Pie Hole where I ate too much and ended up sick and heartburny, but it was SOOOOO worth it.  Today is Mr. JellyBeana’s birthday, so we celebrated with me calling in sick for work this morning, letting him have the afternoon for baseball napping and then tonight will be an ultra fancy dinner of pizza at our favorite other kind of Pie Hole. 

I’m feeling very thankful and nostalgic today.  Reaching a 2 month anniversary feels very Junior High to me.  Like I should be getting a little white teddy bear holding a red rose during homeroom. 

I’m thankful that Mr. JB has been so radically outstanding.  Yesterday, on his vacation day, he totally gutted the fridge and scrubbed every surface so I could open it again.  He has confirmed that I can quit any time I want, provided I find a way to make sure we don’t eat out most nights like we do now.  Yep.  Got me a keeper. 

I’m thankful that Mary Perfect loved her birthday gift of a big box of Sci.ent.ology books and movie gift certificate.  She got Mr. JB a bottle of good bourbon and a movie gift certificate for the same theatre.  She also brought baby a present…a whole bag of goodies for taking care of me and one sweet little baby bib.  I cried.  Everything seemed so much more real when someone gives you a thing for the thing growing inside you.

I am thankful that Mary Perfect’s story of Preggo Brain was worse than what I’ve experienced so far.  She sat on the couch one day, sobbing, because she thought she’d never be able to read a book again because she wouldn’t be able to follow the story.

I’m thankful that SoccerMan keeps such different hours than I do, so he’s available for 4am phone calls and willing to listen to me complain about work when I can’t sleep.  We also reminisce about the old days.  He and I have such a funny friendship.  We’ve only been in one anothers presense 11 days or so in our lives, but the friendship we built with letters penned on yellow legal pads endured, even with a 10 year hiatus.  Few letters pass between us now…and I miss them quite a lot.  But the frequency with which we confirm the other actually exists is worth the trade. He’s a good friend, always with my best interests at heart.  I am the same for him. 

I’m thankful that my former student got a real live grown up job after 9 months of looking.

I’m thankful that my review was Ok.  Not great, but I knew it wouldn’t be.  Easy things to fix (or continue doing and finally get them noticed, she notes bitterly).  But it also highlights that this isn’t the right job for me any longer.  Too much routine, too little thinking.  I’ve got almsot all the problems of the position solved and fixed.  There are no challenges left. I need creative outlets, I need ideas, I need thoughts.

I’m thankful that the students I have working for me over break have been so amazing and hardworking.  The main burr under my saddle is gone now thanks to their work.  I’ve got plans to reward them.

I am thankful that the Avett Brothers have created this song.  http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=EDmvSO4fIPs The lyrics blow me away.  So sexy, so simple, so brilliant.  I am transported to my youth.

I am thankful that I have hit one of those risk-dropping milestones. 8 weeks.  2 months.  Small sigh of relief. 

Next stop: Ultrasound Tuesday.

7w 6d

Yeah.  So the grossness can stop.  Anytime now.  Especially my 2am heartburn appointments.  As can my forgetful, disengaged mind.  Sigh.

Don’t get me wrong.  I am ridiculously excited to have each and every one of my symptoms in the macro sense.  In the microsense, I don’t particularly like carrying plastic grocery bags and gum with me everywhere I go, just in case. 

Overall, I’m still feeling OK.  My brain remains in its primordeal stage.  I am still reading, but not commenting much.  No time at work to comment, as my behavior is causing additional scrutiny of how I’m spending my days (I’m spending them trying to stay awake and trying not to puke, ‘kay?  Sorry I’m not accomplishing more.  Now bugger off.)  Mr. JB has been a delight and wonder.  All is good.

But I kinda want my brain back.