the coming End of a Battle

"Love does not begin and end the way we seem to think it does.
Love is a battle, Love is a war; Love is growing up."

- James A. Baldwin

I have no idea who James A. Baldwin is... but I like his thoughts.

I feel ravaged from Battle... and yet, I know that so much more is going to come.

I haven't written; I didn't know how. I still have a hard time putting anything into coherent sentences.

My Mom is dying.

She was released from the hospital 10 days ago, to basically go home and succumb to the infection that she contracted in the hospital. There was nothing more that they could do, so they unplugged her from the IVs and platelets and medications, and that was that.

Since she felt great, we met her at Riverside Casino for an afternoon of her favorite hobby. And she and Dad won pretty well too - which helped in their visits to the casino since (2 or 3 more times, I've lost track.) But things...

I'm just going to post this as is... interrupted and all.
So much has happened since I started this post, and I will need time to process my next post. I know this doesn't answer any pending questions, but it is what it is.

"LoverLove does not begin and end the way we seem to think it does. Love is a battle, love is a war; love is a growing up.

James A. Baldwin

Read more at http://www.brainyquote.com/quotes/quotes/j/jamesabal100681.html#2gH8fkthfzqXzi1L.99

Love does not begin and end the way we seem to think it does. Love is a battle, love is a war; love is a growing up.
James A. Baldwin
Read more at http://www.brainyquote.com/quotes/keywords/battle.html#iFuvF7oj4dHP8Hi6.99

Anxiety

Right now, I wish I had some Nutella... or a pile of Rolos. Or even a Snickers mini.

I've hit that point in the afternoon where I am usually digging through my purse for loose change. I'm getting hungry (again) and a little heartburn (again) and a little nauseous (again.) This happens at least 4 times a day. And never at the same time. It's worse in the morning. And because I take such a late lunch (around 1:15pm) it hits twice. I hold off until at least 9am, and then again at 11am. Yogurt and watermelon are this week's faves. But in the afternoon... all I want is chocolate. Damned vending machine, it sits there and whispers my name. Today, I could only find $0.55. So, I broke out the saltines... suck on them until the nausea abides (which it hasn't yet.) Now do you see why I'd love some Nutella? With the salt? OMG.

So... I also get heartburn when I'm having an anxiety attack. And I've been building one all day. The ultrasound is tomorrow. What if there isn't a baby again? What do we do? What if I don't have enough emotion left, or I don't show the right emotions?

My friend, Jess asked me last weekend if this pregnancy felt better than the last time. I didn't know what to say. They symptoms are different. This one is more like the little I can remember from my pregnancy with Weston. Or maybe I am seeing similarities to protect my heart. I just know that it isn't anything like the last one. That one was so extreme in almost every aspect. But the truth is, I can't remember. And when it comes to feeling anything inside of me... I don't. And I know it's early, but I feel like I should "feel" something, anything.

I am so scared of what is going to happen tomorrow.

an open letter to JJ Abrams...

Dear Mr. Abrams,

I am a huge fan. From Felicity to Alias (OMG, Alias!!!) to LOST to Fringe and on to Star Trek, Super 8 and beyond, there is very little that you can do wrong when it comes to my personal entertainment over the last twenty years. (Yes, I enjoyed Forever Young and your early writings too.)
When I had heard that you were taking on the Star Trek franchise, I was beyond excited. When I saw the movie I was enraptured and completely blown away by your lighting and the visual effects.The story was fantastic - a reboot would have been too simple. An alternate timeline though? Brilliant! I loved the casting of hard working but not über-famous actors. We could grow with these characters.
You have made me love this storyline when I only had room in my American NerdGirl heart for Skywalkers and Solos.

That being said... This three year wait has been brutal. I understand that it takes time to make movies of this caliber, I really do. But the selfish movie-lover in me is impatient. I haven't even seen this new movie, and I am already hoping that you are hard at work on the next one.
Please be working on this next installment. Please get a head start. You know the world is on the edge of our seats for the next chapter. Please.

Benedict Cumberbatch, JJ Abrams, and Chris Pine
event for 'Star Trek: Into Darkness' 2013

Oh, and Mr. Abrams - I am expecting the same care and treatment for the Star Wars franchise as you've given Star Trek. I'm just saying....

Sincerely,
an Iowa NerdGirl

P.S. I forgot to mention my favorite of what feel are your signature traits, and it goes back to actors: I Love how you value the actors that you work with. I love how I continue to see them pop up through your various endeavors - Hello, Greg Grunberg in Felicity, Alias, and a single memorable episode of LOST. It says a lot about you and your work, and about the quality people that you work with. Thanks for this too!

understanding the unfairness of the blessings

It's been exactly one week since we received the most devastating news that we could have imagined as a couple. Or maybe in Scott's case, he never could imagine it. As he said:

• We've been struggling. We lost the house, my mom got sick, our fertility issues - trying for over a year, having surgery, following the schedule. When we got pregnant, we should have been great. I'm the healthiest I've been in years. This should have been it.

And it feels like he's right. In the Grand Scheme of Things, we deserved this baby. Our family deserved this baby. Our son deserves to be a big brother. This isn't the way our life was supposed to go. We try to be good people and do what we're supposed to do. We try and try and try. And it does feel like we just can't win sometimes. It feels mostly unfair as I am walking next to a pair of teenage sisters at Target, one about 16, the other a few years younger. And the 16 yr old is very pregnant. And she's complaining about everything. And her younger sister is talking to her about how to get child support from the father. Blah, blah, blah. It took everything in me to pull the cart over and to let them walk away. They were in their own little crisis at the moment, and while it compared nothing to mine, it was everything to them. But that didn't mean that I had to hear about it. Or tell them to shut the "F" up because my baby had died, and she was just a stupid kid. (Do you see now why I stopped? It's safer for everyone.)

But this is the way that life is. It's unpredictable and unfair. It's messy and complicated and exhilarating and excruciating. It's magical and terrifying all at once. Life is complicated. Life doesn't follow any plans.

But Life can be so beautiful. Even a tiny little life that physically didn't amount to more than a cluster of human cells and tissue. That little life gave us all something so important. That little spark gave it's parents, aunts, uncles, grandparents, and friends a glimmer at a different future. It brought hope and we grew to love this tiny life that only existed to a handful of people. But see? That's the point. This tiny little life existed. It grew from a single cellular experience into something magnificent.

I had doubts from the moment I found out I was pregnant. It was too fabulous to believe. And when the tests came back with such faint pink lines, I thought, "See. I'm not really pregnant. I don't get to have this." They kept telling me, any line is a positive line. I spent weeks, three to be exact, waiting for my period every time I went to the bathroom. I was so used to being disappointed month after month, that it never seemed real enough. I didn't feel "pregnant." I felt exhausted and nauseous. The last two weeks of this pregnancy, my symptoms were a lot worse - much more tired, potty breaks all the time, more food aversions, body changes - I thought that I needed to listen to my body more - I was pregnant. Everyone said I was, even  my dreams. I was dreaming of twins all the time. So, I pondered baby names, we went shopping, I was telling more people. But I still had doubts. I kept telling myself that once we had the ultrasound, everything would be great. The biggest surprise would be twins. Everything will be great, and I will finally feel 100% ok.

As we sat in the waiting room for the ultrasound, 1 week ago today, Scott was reading the paper, nervous but excited looking. Everyone was so excited when we checked in, the receptionists, the tech. We waited for about 20 minutes and I was so nervous. We went back with the tech, the lights were low, and she tried too find anything with the regular ultrasound. I thought this was strange since I was only 8 weeks and a few days, and oh yeah, I'm not thin. After finally progressing to the internal ultrasound, she kept focusing on not-baby things like my ovaries, and other things. And then she just said that the sac is empty. And it happens a lot. and blah blah blah. I kept thinking, is she allowed to be telling me this? Shouldn't a doctor be in here? But she just kept talking all hyper and positive, like she had a Red Bull over lunch with her ice cream cone. Scott had no idea what she was talking about, because she didn't talk to him. I had to tell my husband that there wasn't a baby. And through the doctor consult and the family weekend, I kept saying, "There isn't a baby. It didn't grow. There was never a baby."

But I was wrong.

There was a baby. And it grew. It grew from one single cell, from 2 loving parents who wanted it so badly. Our tiny Spark grew as long as it could - 5 weeks and 3 days. That was as long as our Spark could make it. It's not enough. It will never be enough. But it's still something. And something is more than nothing. Our Spark was something to everyone who knew about it. And we won't forget.

Life... lives, pure and simple. Life is to be experienced. Life in any form is a blessing. Our tiny little Spark of life was a blessing. A Blessing of hope and the love between Scott and I; a blessing of the love of a family.

I was given a handwritten note from one of our workplace chaplains. (Yes, 2 chaplains visit my office each week, offering their guidance or just some chatting.) Anyway, it said that I would one day hold my baby in my arms in Heaven. At that moment, that seemed like a ridiculous thing to say. How could I hold something that was tinier than anything in my arms? Would I know if it were a son or a daughter? Would it be neither? I was a little freaked out. But then I could see myself... and I was holding our Spark. Like a little orb of light that emitted warmth. Just this little Spark of life the could fit into the palm of my hand. I like the thought of that. Of being able to hold our Spark, and being warmed once again by the warmth of its light.

our fruit continues to blossom...

This is what I got in my weekly email this morning. I'm kind of in love with these little phrases! Highlights from this week's progress report:

• By the middle of this week, Baby has 10 toes and 10 fingers (though there's still webbing between them). A small neck has appeared and a distinct profile is already emerging on Baby's tiny face. But here's the most exciting part: Your tadpole/chickpea/raspberry is no longer considered an embryo but--a bona fide fetus with moving arms and legs!

Guess I won't be able to call him or her the Great Embryolio any longer. I need a new name... or I can just go with the berry or fruit of the week!

So... I am surrounded by new babies and expectant parents. Two just announced this week. One is already 5+ months along (no idea how she kept that secret), she announced with a picture of a snowman family made by child #2 including a pregnant snowmom, and the other announced with a bath picture of child #1 on Instagram. I dying to tell people, to make it feel more real. But I know that we have to keep it in until the Ultrasound at the very least. Oh, and one of my sorority sisters announced her engagement last night. It's so exciting. The last of "our group" to take the plunge! Except her potential wedding date is the week of this baby's estimated due date. So we can't go. :(    And that about kills me. (It's in Texas... too far to travel before baby or just after.)

So... yeah. Dying to tell and can't. Always hungry but watching my carbs, etc. :) The next 10 days until this Ultrasound can't come fast enough!

Oh! I had my regular diabetic check up and blood work this week. It's great! The best A1C level in years! So, no insulin shots for the time being!!! I know they are coming, but the longer I can put it off, the better. :)

Ok, back to waiting!!! I'm working on the 2nd Favorite Songs list... it's just taking time. ;)

Legacy...

My local BFF April is having a baby - hopefully today.

April and I met for the first time when we were inducted into Chi Omega together. She had been away at Army boot camp during my first semester, so we did not know each other well - actually, we didn't like each other at all. :)  Initiation was performed in pairs, alphabetically, and April and I were paired up together. After our 15-30 minute initiation ceremony, we were sequestered into a member's room to wait and ponder our existence in silence... for 3 hours! (Such a long time because we were the beginning of the alphabet.) Three hours with someone will definitely open up a line of communication - even when restricted - not much, but some. ;)

Drake Relays All Greek Reunion 4/28/12

We became closer in the beginning of 2000 when we were chosen to be Rho Chi(s) - aka Rush Councilors for the Fall 2000 Greek Rush. It was our job to act as representatives of the entire Greek System and aid the potential initiates through the individual sorority houses as they found the house that was a perfect fit for each of them. We would essentially be cut off from our house for about 3 weeks, acting not as Chi Omegas, but as Greeks with 2 women from each house on campus. It was incredibly exciting for us. April and I weren't the typical sorority girl - we weren't stick thin, we weren't rich, and our house wasn't a part of the mold. We were so excited to be able to show the incoming Freshmen that you could be an individual while still being Greek.

But it wasn't meant to be. Our Chi Omega house, the Rho Beta chapter, closed it's doors the summer of 2000. The National board decided that we were not financially fit to stay open. It was heart breaking for all of us. My closest friends especially - we were the officers and Rho Chi(s)... I was also the Secretary (technically #2 in the hierarchy), my close friends were the President, VP, Education chair, and April was the other Rho Chi. We had plans, and it devastated us to close. We all moved away from each other, mostly in pairs (which is kind of funny) but we stayed together. In the Fall of 2000 as the other houses were getting ready for Rush, we were all in a state of depression. But my roommate Katie and I found a wonderful surprise in our horrible Religion class - April was in it with us!! And it was during this time that April and I really became good friends.

April has been one of my best friends since that stupid Religion class, thirteen years now. She was with me when I thought I was in love with someone in my early 20s. She was with me when I fell in love with Scott long distance. And she was my only Des Moines friend to visit me in Sioux City when I moved to Scott. She was one of the first people I called when we were moving back to Des Moines. Once back here, we've had monthly (or more) dinners for 8 years! I was with April through her various relationships - but when she met Glen, it was like something magical clicked. He didn't seem like her type, but his love for her, and her love for him, knew no bounds. And they both love my child. April is one of Weston's favorite people. Their wedding was beautiful and so much fun! (And so hot in June!)

Last spring, April and Glen found out that they probably wouldn't be able to conceive naturally due to some medical issues. And having been there, it was tough. But they thought that it was ok... they had some ducks to get in a row before they'd worry too much about it, and besides, they've only been married for two years. But I guess waiting wasn't in the cards. April announced her surprise pregnancy in June, and I bawled like a big baby, for about 10 minutes straight! In a restaurant full of strangers. With people looking at me. With mom's cancer return, and our TTC and just everything else... I was so happy for them and for this baby that I couldn't hold back my emotions. This baby defied the odds in its conception, and he or she is a miracle. (And if Baby Brown is a girl, then she is a Chi Omega Legacy!)

XO bib available at Chi O Creations

So, fast forward through what seemed like the fastest pregnancy and the longest last month of waiting to yesterday. At 7:30pm, April was admitted for an induction. And since she has progressed nicely thus far, we are expecting Baby Brown to arrive today! And I am so excited!!!! I can't wait to see one of my best friends hold her miracle baby in her arms! I can't wait to hold that baby myself. Hell, I can't wait to hear the name! They've been tight-lipped about everything - gender and name, so it will be a huge surprise!

I'll update as soon as I know and have pictures!

* It's a Girl!!!

Jocelyn Addison Brown

8lbs 7oz ~ 21.25” long

January 22, 2013 ~ 2:46am

 I will be visiting this afternoon! It was a difficult 33 hours for the the parents, but everyone is working towards getting healthy!!!

Tardiness...

So... in my last post, I explained my masochistic need to take a pregnancy test a day early. Well... I'm not sure I explained it well, but I did say that it was Negative.

I had told my sister that I was done taking pregnancy tests until I was actually late. That it wasn't worth an additional day or 2 of depression. And I was serious.
But then I had gotten sick over the weekend. At least one person from every singular family had caught something while at my Mother-in-law's Christmas over the weekend. Joint pain, fever, wet cough and just plain sick - Weston had it too. Friday, I started to come down with something - I got more and more achy as the day went on, and my chest started to tighten - like I was just overcoming bronchitis, though I couldn't cough. And I was "just-this-side-of-nauseous" (I'm coining that term, by the way) and slightly dizzy. This went on from Friday-Sunday. The nausea and dizziness lasted until Monday night. So... everyone was like, "You're Pregnant!" A few others thought I had pneumonia. (thanks, WebMD!)
So, Tuesday morning I woke up and thought... hmm, maybe every one's right... Maybe our collective dream has come true... Maybe I am pregnant and I can run in and wake up Scott and we can all be happy together... And then we can have the doctor confirm it before we go north for the weekend. Yes, my brain ran on like that until I had to potty so badly that I almost skipped the test. But I took the test. And as I glanced at it every so often, only 1 line appeared. After the 5 minute timer went off, I studied the test. Yes, only 1 line was visible... but was a second line showing at all? Because if there is a hint of a 2nd line, I can test in a few days and it should be positive. Right? 
Well, there wasn't any sign of a second line. Nothing at all. A Big Fat NEGATIVE without so much as a line or a word or a hint of color. Empty space on a small stick.
I told Scott that I'd taken a test and it was Negative. He just went about his morning like it wasn't a big deal. I went about my day heart broken as you can see from my previous post.

Fast forward to Wednesday. D-Day, the arrival day of Aunt Flo (AF). I make all necessary preparations and wait. Usually, I wake up to AF. My AF is always on time... usually by 3:42pm actually. So, when 5pm rolls around, and I'm blissfully cramp-free with AF no where in sight, I start to get a little speck of Hope. A friend had said to wait, nothing was certain until AF made an appearance. By 7pm, Scott had asked about AF. I told him that she was a "no-show." Scott said, "So, you're late." And his face completely lit up. I said I wasn't officially late until Thursday. Scott knew I usually receive a visit in the morning, and he asked when the last time I was late was? I told him, "5 years ago last December." He kept saying, "Maybe the test was wrong. Maybe you took it too early. Maybe it was just wrong." He was so excited that I let his happiness suck me in. I started counting, thinking how amazing that our child would be a Christmas miracle, and be due in the early Fall, and maybe I'd be on maternity leave over the holidays. I went to bed with such a feeling of hope that I'm surprised I wasn't glowing.

I ended up with a devastating let down this morning. AF had arrived. I haven’t been late in 5 years, until today. Scott was pretty vocal in his dismay this morning. He showed more emotion and energy in the last 2 days (regarding a baby) than he has in the last year. That sort of makes it all worse. His disappointment weighing on my shoulders. It's almost like an anxiety attack when I think about it. So I am giving this to the blogosphere in the hopes that giving this away will release me a little. We'll see how that works out.

I can't find the words...

Lego Night! Weston's first time with his new tray and Legos!
January 7, 2013

Every night for the last week or so, my 4 yr old little boy has wanted to play something he calls "Family." We kind of let it go for a bit, and he focused on something else. But then he wanted to play Family in the living room. So, I asked him what Family was?

   "You're the Mommy. Daddy's the Daddy. I'm the Big Brother. And this [Mr. Moose the Christmas Moose] is our Baby Elizabeth. And this [his bear named Teddy] is our Baby Brother. His name is Alex. We're in the car now, Mommy. Do you have your seat belt on?"

And that's how he plays "Family." Every night, he brings his Babies onto the chair in the living room. He makes sure that we hug and kiss our babies. He makes sure that we are all buckled in. And then we are off on an adventure! Sometimes, we drive to Target or Walmart where Weston will get a new toy. Or like last night, we'll be on a boat and I will have to take care of the babies while he and Daddy go fishing. And then he'll try to show his Baby Brother Alex how to catch a fish. Or after we're done fishing, Weston and the babies will watch a movie or a PBS show on his phone.

Every night I am reminded how desperate my child is for a sibling. How desperate he and I have both become. It's all that either one of us can think about. And there really aren't resources out there on how to deal with this... infertility impacting children.

Weston constantly asks me "when will we get our baby?"
"Why does everyone else get a baby and we don't?"
"How come Jackson has a baby (his friend) and Manny (Ice Age 3) has a baby, but I don't have a baby?"
"It's not fair. We need a baby!"

Last week he became briefly obsessed with baby names:
Weston: "I have an Idea! We should name our baby, Baby Ethan!"
Me/Mommy: "We can't. We have a friend named Ethan. We want everyone to have their own names."
W: "You don't like my plan."
M: "Yes, I do. But you wouldn't want [our friend] to name her new baby 'Weston' would you?"
W: "No... but what happens is someone takes our baby's name? Then he won't have a name!"
M: "We don't have a baby yet."
W: (very loudly) "But we will!!! And if someone takes his name, he won't have one!!!"
*We've hit panic mode by this time. We're in the car, and he's practically in tears over his non-existent sibling not having a name, because someone is going to steal it. I have only once choice... the baby name game.
M: "What about we pick a different name. What name do you like?"
W: "I don't know..."
M: "What about Sebastian?"
W: "I like that."
M: "What about Griffin?"
W: "I love Griffin! It's cool!"
M: "What if it's a girl? Do you like Emerson?"
W: "No. It's bad." (I love that name.)
M: "What about Eden?"
W: "I like that. Eden? What about Alexis?"
M: "Well, Alexis is your friend... hey look, we're here!"
*Saved by the front door to where we needed to be.

I took a test this morning. Because I am a Masochist. I knew what the answer would be. But because I've been sick(ish) since Friday, and just this side of nauseous every night since then, the thought had crept into my mind - maybe this time you are pregnant. Maybe you'll be sick the entire time, all pregnancies are different and it's been 4+ years. It great how your own mind can manipulate you into happiness. But it was wrong. a big fat "NEGATIVE" this morning. So much for the holiday spirit working a miracle.
When we were TTC the first time (Weston) it was just me that I had to answer to. Scott to some extent. And the family to others... but everything ultimately game back to me. Now... I feel guilty that I can't give my child the one thing he wants most in the world. Something we all want, but this is so important to him. Weston is getting older. He'll be 4-1/2 at the end of the month. That means even if we are lucky enough to conceive at the next cycle, there will be at least a 5 year age difference between our children. For that reason alone, I hope we are able to have a daughter. It's what Weston wants, and I think the gender differences will make the age difference not as noticeable to them.

Ok... I've said all I can. Now I just have to hold the sadness in until its manageable. That, and I am thinking of having Scott checked out this time. I mean... he is 43 years old. Maybe something needs updated on his end. I mean, after everything I have been through, maybe it's his turn?

Thoughts on Infertility and Siblings?

Sandy Hook

Last Friday, December 14, 2012 at 9:30am EST, a lone gunman, a 20-yr old very troubled young man, walked into an elementary school. He'd already killed his mother with her own gun. We have no idea at this time what his motives were when he walked into Sandy Hook Elementary School in Newtown, CT, but I'm not sure that they are as important as his actions.

*

Adam Lanza walked into Sandy Hook Elementary. He broke a window to gain access. And once inside, he killed 26 innocent people: six teachers and 20 First-grade children, before turning the gun on himself. Six and seven yr old children riddled with bullets, some covered by the courageous women who had thrown themselves into harms way to protect the smallest victims.

*

It's been 5 days since this horrific event. It's still all over the news and the Internet. And Facebook has become a living, breathing memorial to the victims, and an outlet for demands for more gun control. It's almost unbearable. I cry every time I read something. My little boy knows that something is wrong. He knew Friday night. He asked me why the flags were "half down the poles?" I was at a loss as to what to tell him. I just said that something very bad happened and that a lot of people were hurt very badly. And thankfully, for once, his 4-yr old mind took over and he jumped onto another topic. Almost like he knew that it was too much for his little mind to handle. I wish no had to handle this. Of course no one wishes this had ever happened.

*

I know that as a Democrat, I am supposed to be in favor of strict gun control. I also realize that by living in Iowa, I am surrounded by gun enthusiasts. Here's the kicker - I've never really cared. I don't personally like guns. I don't want any in my house or around my child. But my friends are hunters. They have guns and have been trained to use them. One even taught my then 3-yr old how to properly hold a pistol.
(I about died. Shouldn't you ask his parent first?)

*

I agree that every LAW ABIDING CITIZEN has the right to bear arms. (Criminals should be stripped of this right, it's more important than their right to vote, in my opinion.) It's a citizen's right to be able to buy a gun if they want. I also believe that the gun owner is responsible for what happens with their guns. If they do not take care of it properly, lock it up, etc - and something happens, say a child finds it, etc. - then the owner is responsible. Negligent, whatever you want to call it. And they should face prosecution... it's the same as manslaughter. No, you didn't mean to hurt your friend in that car accident, but your driving is the reason that they died. Same thing. Gun - car... it can still be a weapon.

*

There is no reason on this earth why any average citizen (or gun enthusiast) needs an automatic weapon that can shoot 30+ rounds in seconds. You aren't hunting any animals for food or sport. It is my belief that if you want to own the weapon, fine. But if you want to shoot it, then you should only be able to buy the ammunition at a shooting range, and in small supervised quantities. And it should be illegal to have that kind of ammunition in your personal possession.

*

Now... this brings me to the shooter, Adam Lanza. He got his weapons from his Mother's collection. He in fact killed her with her own collection of weapons. There is evidence that Nancy Lanza knew of her son's mental and social instability. Yet, she had a home full of weapons. That he could gain access to. That she had taken him to ranges to shoot. This does not seem like a responsible idea on the part of the parent. Being that he killed her first, we can't judge her too harshly. But it sounds more and more like Adam Lanza needed serious psychiatric help. A mother wrote the most amazing blog about parenting a child who seems similar to the descriptions that the media has shown of Adam Lanza. "I am Adam Lanza's Mother" was a heart-wrenching inspiration to read. If you haven't yet, please read it. This is what our children and their families are living with. This country has so many amazing people working in the Social Services fields, as social workers, therapists, psychiatrists, school-based counselors,... but there isn't enough money in these fields to keep the great people around, or to keep them from burning out with too many needs, and too few professional positions. These professionals are supposed to care for the mental well-being of their patients, but they are paid a pittance for the amount of schooling that they have to have in order to make a middle class salary. It really is a calling when the benefits are considered.

*

I think it is more important to reconsider the Mental Health programs in this country before we start the argument of gun control. I heard yesterday that a conference of over 100 of America's Mayors called for gun control in regards to Automatic weapons. I think that's great. And I hope that people listen and that change is made. But what really needs to happen is that we need to take care of these young adults who think that violence is their only choice, the only way that someone will hear their voices. Violence is not the answer. Hurting someone else to make yourself feel better or so that you feel heard is wrong. As a parent of a stable 4 yr old, I strive to make sure that my child feels safe and loved. I want him to know that no matter what, he is loved. And while I know hearing (and feeling) the words can't fix everything, I feel like its a good place to start. My heart breaks every time I hear about what happened at Sandy Hook. But I take comfort in knowing that those children were loved by their teachers. That all of the educators that died and the ones lucky enough to survive told their students that they were loved. That even in the most difficult moments of their young lives, all the students of Sandy Hook Elementary were cared for, and that the adults in their lives tried to protect and shield them from the horror of that day - from the teachers to the SWAT teams that had the children close their eyes as they were guided out of the school. From the tears of the President to the people of this great nation - the love and outpouring is amazing - Newtown, Connecticut, will never leave our hearts.

And we have Lift off!

Each test was photographed at the 5 minute wait mark... you can get a false positive result if you wait too long. I just assembled the "graph" myself for a comparative view.

Well... this is what my ovulation looks like. And I love the fact that if I didn't conceive this cycle, that I have a visual to take into whichever doctor I see, be it fertility specialist or OB-GYN.

That being said, I'm glad that I go these Wondfo tests. Because for once, I can See what's happening. And I can compare it with my temperature. Which has always been an incredibly confusing part for me. For example: On test day 1, my temp was 96.6 (about average for me.) On test day 4, it was 97.3, a big jump for me, so I thought that my ovulation was bad. When I did Test 5, I honestly thought it was going to be a bust. But to my surprise, it was the most clear Positive (+) result I had ever seen on an ovulation test, including when I was pregnant with Weston. My temp incidentally was 97.9, so it was constantly going up. On day 6, with a faint test line, which does not count as a positive, I held the 97.9 temperature. Day 6 was the day that Ovulation was predicted by the numbers. So, if I hadn't been testing, I may have missed more chances. Today, with a negative result, my temperature was 98.1, practically a fever to my body. 

(On a fiscal note 7 ovulation tests run about $15-20 on the shelf. That's an average of about $2.45 each. These Wondfo tests run about $0.28 each. I think it's worth it.)

So... Progesterone Blood Tests one week from today. We'll see how everything went.

On a personal note - wait, this entire blog is a huge personal note - anyway, I went to a Pure Romance bachelorette party Saturday night. And I spent some money... but the point is, I got some of the "Just Like Me" water-based, ph balanced lubricant. There, I said it. I got some assistance. And it helped out a lot. Having something to fall back on when TTC on a planned schedule was a total relief. And it added a little romance to our night. Which was a welcome change. ;) 

(TMI, I know.)

I Remember... too much

National September 11 Memorial & Museum

Today is 11th Anniversary of the 9/11 Attacks on our country, the United States of America. 19 al-Qaeda terrorists hijacked 4 US airplanes with the intent of suicide-bombing said planes into 4 American landmarks - the Twin Towers of the World Trade Center in New York City, the US Pentagon, and the US Capitol building, both in Washington DC. They succeeded in targeting the first 3 locations, but the passengers of United Airlines flight 93 attempted to retake control of their plane, and the plane crashed into a field in Shanksville, Pennsylvania. Nearly 3,000 people died in the attacks, including the 246 civilians and 19 hijackers aboard the four planes. The NY attacks crippled lower Manhattan and tested the entire nation. 
But today, on this anniversary, I am seeing reminders everywhere of this attack. And it's true, we should never forget. But the common theme I am seeing is: "Where were you?" 9/11 has become a point of clarity in the timeline of our existence. Everyone of a certain age will be able to tell you exactly what they were doing, who they were with, maybe even what they were wearing. This impacted (or should have) every citizen of the USA and many others around the world. But it starts me thinking too. Growing up, I remember my grandparents knowing where they were on "D-Day" and my parents knowing exactly who they were with when the Beetles crashed into America, when President Kennedy was shot, when it was announced that Elvis died. These pop-culture moments define a generation. And sadly some tragedies span almost the entire world.
So... with my odd sense of clarity and the ability to remember everything, here are the points of my timeline when I can remember exactly where I was, and who I was with:

 Space Shuttle Challenger Disaster
I remember January 28, 1986 with so much clarity that at 32 years old I am shocked to think I was just 6 years old and in Kindergarten. I did the math on paper. I was in Kindergarten. For many years, I always pictured Mrs. Dixon's 1st grade class, but looking back, I wonder if maybe that was something we saw on tv for the 1st anniversary. But I digress. 

NASA Shuttle Challenger breaks apart, killing all 7 on board.

We lived on the Mayport Naval Air Station in Jacksonville, Florida. It was so cold that winter. It had actually snowed in Florida - confusing everyone but those of us who had spent Christmas in Iowa. I remember walking into the family room that morning, and it was still pitch black outside. Grandma had the tv on, set to the NASA channel (which I am sure was something along the lines of PBS.) She'd had it on for hours, watching the launch prep. Grandma kept saying that they (NASA) were going to scrub the launch. I asked her what that meant. She said that it meant they were going to cancel it, maybe move it to another day. I asked why and and she replied that it was too cold. I looked at the tv, and I could  see the icicles actually hanging off the shuttle and launch equipment, even with steam coming out of the engines, there was ice everywhere. We kept watching the launch prep and the ice through breakfast - until we left for school. I've later learned that it was 18 degrees outside at launch time, around 11am. For the details of what exactly happened, check it out  here .
thinking back, I don't actually remember seeing the explosion in my Kindergarten class room, I don't even remember a tv. I know that we all watched the launches on the local channel, but my Kindergarten class was in a portable class room, like a 1 room house on a platform off the ground outside of the actual school building (1 had 3 such classrooms in 3 different schools, K, 2nd, and 3rd grades) so it's possible we weren't wired for television. It was a traumatizing event to say the least. The Space program was a huge part of life in Florida, as well as being a military family living on base. This was the first national tragedy to impact my small 6 yr old world. I firmly remember watching what had to have been a replay of the explosion in Mrs. Dixon's 1st grade class room at Mayport Elementary (inside the main building that year.) Someone made a stupid, rude comment, and the entire class received punishment (all standing and holding our arms out like a crucifixion until the viewing ended.) Obviously that's why it's burned into my mind. On the 25th anniversary of the disaster, MSN gave a report on the top 7 Myths regarding the tragedy, and the number one is that many people never saw the actual crash live. (it's a great article, check it out here.) My Mom and my grandma watched it live though on the NASA channel. The entire time my grandma kept saying that it was too cold, why didn't they cancel the launch?

My Elvis or JFK - 
It was a Friday or Saturday night (I can't remember), specifically August 31, 1997. I went to Pizza Hut with my girl friends for dinner. I remember having an excruciating headache, and being thoroughly annoyed with a few of the girls. After dinner, I said I was sick and I went home. I remember crawling up the 17 stairs to my bedroom, getting into my jammies, and crawling into bed with the lights off. I had the TV on, with MTV on (it was 1997, MTV still played videos.) I drifted in a state of headache induced semi-consciousness. I was woken up by the "Breaking News" music. I opened my eyes and saw Kurt Loder of MTV News floating in the darkness. What he was saying seemed like a dream. Impossible and unreal, yet they were showing pictures - Diana, former Princess of Wales, had been in a terrible car crash in France. Was she dead? Was she just injured? I remember praying that she was just injured, all the while knowing that she was gone. The images of the accident were just too bad. For a pretty good account of the entire tragedy, check out Wikipedia here.

Princess Diana of Wale

This was the first death of one of my "heroes." I can't believe that it's been 15 years since this happened! I grew up watching Diana become a Princess. She looked so shy and innocent, and as I grew up I watched her blossom into an amazing, strong woman. She left the Prince of England! She took her own life into her own hands. She was an amazing mother, woman, and humanitarian. I was in awe of her. I thought that we could have been great friends - she would laugh at my jokes, and would share some of her grace and style with me. And like every American girl, I dreamed of  becoming a princess. (Prince William wasn't that much younger than me.) And my heart ached when it was announced that she hadn't survived the accident.
Like my mother before me, I had lost a cultural icon. She has told me exactly where she was when President Kennedy was assassinated; my aunt remembers where she was when Elvis' death was announced. I remember the death of a Princess. Let me tell you the ending of that night: I tried to find my friends. They weren't at any of their homes, and this was long before we all had cell phones. I left messages with all of their moms. I sat in my room in the dark watching every minute of the story unfolding, flipping between MTV and all the other news broadcasts. I remember someone coming into my room (mainly the light from the hall cutting into my darkness as the door opened) but I can't tell you who it was. I remember my bff Anousha calling me from her home, and we watched the news unfold together via the telephone. There were tons of memorials and shows... but nothing affected me as much as the original broadcast with Kurt Loder, not even the sight of her 2 young princes walking quietly behind her funeral procession.

September 11, 2001
 Last year I tried I tried to acknowledge the 10th Anniversary of this horrible tragedy. And I couldn't write the post. I tried to avoid all of the media attention, and it was just impossible. It overwhelmed me and flooded into every part of my day. And I cried. and cried. and cried. But I think that I am ready:
It was a Tuesday in the very beginning of my senior year at Drake University here in Des Moines. I am pretty sure that I had class that day. I tended to bank all my classes on Tuesdays and Thursdays so I could work full time Monday, Wednesday, and Friday. I was living alone in my little apartment on Vine Ave. in West Des Moines. Per my usual morning ritual, the first thing I do is turn on the TV to the TODAY show. So... on goes the tv and I start going about the business of getting ready. And then I heard some sort of ruckus and screaming coming from the tv. I ran out of the bathroom in just a t-shirt and this is what I saw:

United Airlines flight 175 preparing to crash into the South Tower of the World Trade Center, 9/11/01.

I don't even think that the TODAY show was aware what they were showing. They were just as dumbfounded as the rest of us by what was happening. It was like we were all in the room with the anchors. They didn't speak coherently or professionally at first. They were just normal people struck by the horror that they were witnessing. My knees gave out and I landed awkwardly on my couch. I just stared as the 2nd plane circled the towers. The news anchors kept saying that a plane had crashed into the North Tower. I think that they were just as shocked as we were when the 2nd plane crashed into the South Tower. I jumped off the couch and grabbed my phone and dialed my friend Brandy.

My view from my West Des Moines, IA, couch, 9/11/01

Brandy was asleep; I don't think she had class as early as I did that morning. I freaked her out and told her to turn on her tv. And we sat in shocked silence watching the events in Manhattan unfold. For the grand story, complete with details, here you go.
I have no idea when I left my couch. I didn't go to my classes that morning. I vaguely remember going to my Painting class in the afternoon - it started at 2pm. We didn't paint. We just sat on the roof in the sunshine for 2 hours and talked while someone had a radio of the news on. This was the time before iPhones, iPads and constant streaming data. We were in the island of Iowa. Our painting instructor was a chain-smoking free spirit. This shock or realization seemed to hit her pretty hard. We spent 2 hours trying to hold her together before she smoked herself right off the roof.

I literally watched this happen on live television. I was supposed to be in class.

The coverage of this disaster lasted continuously for what seemed like weeks. It's such a present thought in my mind that I can't believe 11 years have passed. 3000+ children lost a parent, some both parents, on that tragic day. I learned that a Newton, Iowa, woman was widowed in the attack when her husband was in a hotel across from the North Tower for business. The North Tower collapsed on him and the firemen surrounding him as they waited for instructions. Many more have died since that day due to illnesses related to the massive smoke/debris clouds that covered New York City as the towers fell, as well as the survivor search and rescue and the cleanup operations once it was determined that no survivors remained. This terrorist attack has remained in the hearts and minds of an entire country for 11 years. Finally in May of this year, President Obama authorized a Navy Seal mission that resulted in the capture (and death) of al Qaeda's mastermind, Osama bin Laden. Along with many of his henchmen captured and killed over the years since 9/11, I think that the demise of bin Laden and his compound has helped this country to heal. I hope that it has helped the 3000+ families of these victims to heal as well.
I'm not sure how to end this post... But I feel like saying that I have a wicked memory. I remember some moments with such clarity that it's like I am there all over again. Other things just disappear slowly with time. For instance, I remember most of the day of 9/11/01. But I can't tell you which classes I missed that morning. I know for a fact that it was my original senior year (I had to take an extra semester in the Fall of 2002 to complete some course requirements from the basic undergrad program.) That means I should have had my Senior Magazines class, though I don't remember us publishing anything about 9/11, let alone discussing it as a group. So, take this post with a grain of salt if you will. It's really just about my memories of the big timeline events of the world that affected me, decades after the fact.

Babies, Babies, and More Babies in a TTC Haze

We are being surrounded by babies! 

My sister’s friend Dee is expecting her second child, a son named Otis to join his sister Elleanor, this October. My local bestie is expecting her first at the end of January 2013. And two more of our sorority sisters, including one of my former roommates, are expecting babies the first week of February. Additionally one of my co-workers, the son of our owner, and his wife are also expecting baby #2 at the end of January. And add to that our nephew Jeremy and his wife Charlie, are expecting their first baby around March 4^th; and we just found out that Jeremy’s sister Tasha and her husband are expecting baby #4 around March 1^st. That’s the potential for two 1^st cousin-babies on the same day. 

By my count, that’s 7 babies before the second week of March. Wow. Talk about a baby boom.

That being said, none of these babies are ours. And I have at least 2 other friends that are also TTC with little luck. I’m so happy for our friends and family. And it’s easier this time to deal with everyone around me being pregnant. But the little green-eyed monster is still poking at my heart. I am still a little bit jealous of all these pregnant women around me. I loved being pregnant – that is, when I wasn’t scared to death about something going wrong. But I can happily say that I am no where near the blind-with-jealousy-crazy-weepy-witch I was for the 3 years until Weston’s conception. Thank Goodness for everyone who loves me. I’m lucky. Anytime I start feel jealous, I take one long look at Weston. Our miracle boy can cure jealousy – either by being so adorable or by being a typical mad little guy. Either way, I’m distracted by him.

So… we’re not pregnant. What happened? What does it all mean? Well, since I know some are new to this, and my blog, I’ll try to be as blunt as possible. If you have questions, let me know. I’ll do my best to answer them.

1. I like it how I say, “we’re not pregnant.” What I really mean is, “I’m not pregnant.” Yeah, it’s a shared experience, but the ups and downs of hormones and moods and emotions are inside ME. Granted they sometimes spill over and affect my husband, but trust me, he has no clue how much worse it is to be inside my head, body, and heart. I’m the one hiding the pain, guilt, and shame from everyone around me. As well as the entire process from my new employer- it feels like “wives” have babies at this company, not employees (I am one of 2 women of child-bearing age employed here.)
2.  Cycle 2 of the fertility drug Femera was a bust.
   On Femera-cycle one (TTC Cycle #7), my progesterone level was measured at 10.5 on my Day 21 blood test. (Based on cycles – you take the fertility drugs on cycle days 3-7 to help ovulation. Ovulation generally occurs around cycle days 9-11. You can “see” if ovulation occurred based on Progesterone levels on cycle Day 21.) The nurse told me that they prefer a count over 11, but 10.5 was close enough that I probably ovulated. I obviously didn’t conceive. I had my 21 day blood draw last Thursday for Femera-cycle #2. I forgot to call and get the results on Friday. I wish I had. I could have spent the weekend drinking with Scott’s family. Anyway, with the Labor Day holiday, I couldn’t call until Tuesday morning. And by Tuesday morning, I knew that Femera-cycle 2 was a bust – I had already started my period. But I was still interested in the results. And they were discouraging – only a 7.5. The nurse said that ovulation was possible. I asked how when last month I was told they wanted me over 11. No answer. She called back and told me that the doctor wanted to double the dosage of Femera. Cycle Day 3 is today… my alarm goes off at 10am to remind me to take the 2 small pills.
3.  So… there’s a lot of planning that goes into conception. I take my temperature first thing every morning (on the theory that your temp goes up at ovulation, mine isn't clear yet.) I use the iPhone app “iPeriod” to track every single detail of my cycle. I’ve purchased from Amazon.com some medical grade Ovulation Predictor Kits and Pregnancy Tests, a brand called Wondfo, 40 ovulation tests + 10 pregnancy tests for about $14. (A great deal if you’ve made some of the commercial-grade purchases.) These are the hard-core TTC tests – there are no pretty applicators and you have to pee in a cup to test. Mine should be here by Monday.
   Also – trying to have sex on a schedule sucks. It’s not romantic. It’s work. Usually it’s fun. But when you are having sex every 36 hours, and you’re going away for the weekend… sometimes a forced “quickie” before daycare pickup becomes essential – and that was the hardest one for us. Me especially. This was the most emotionless start-up in our history. I need to work on that.
4. This is our last shot for a semi-normal conception. If this doesn’t work, we will be referred to Mid Iowa Fertility. I did not have a good experience there when we were TTC Weston. I had to make all of the decisions without being informed. I had to do all the research into the possible problems with me. I did all the tests that they wanted, but never seemed to find an answer. Finally, I had a “Come-to-Jesus” meeting with the millionaire doctor who was responsible for the future of my family. He would not help me; he kept asking what I wanted to do. I told him “that he doesn’t make hundreds of thousands of dollars a year to have me make the choices for him. That’s why he went to school.” It was humiliating to be put into that situation. Since I had a feeling that I had Endometriosis, I made the decision to undergo a surgical Laparoscopy. And I was right. (Not that any doctor in the previous 4 years had listened to me.) During that surgery all of the endometrial adhesions were removed. And even though Mid Iowa Fertility told me that I had not ovulated the cycle immediately following the surgery (“You didn’t ovulate, and even if you had, we would be able to see the egg traveling, and it’s not there. There is nothing.”) I actually did ovulate, and conceived Weston. Miracle Baby part 1.
   So… if we do not conceive this cycle, and are sent back to Mid Iowa Fertility (our only Fertility Specialist Clinic) we will be asking for the other doctor. I hope it doesn’t come to this.

Ok… so that’s where I am today: Cycle Day 3 of Femera-Cycle 3 of TTC-cycle 9 – a lot to remember, I know.

But there are some fun parts of TTC – Names!!! Scott will not be more active than voicing a yes or no response to a name I say. He will not look at books or websites until we’ve conceived. But he’ll play a game in the car on long trips with my sister and I… we go through the alphabet and name one name for a boy and girl for each letter. And then we discuss. Anything worth keeping gets added to the list. My favorite name site right now is Nameberry. It’s all about names, and its super fun. There are others, like Baby Zone and Baby Center, but they contain everything about being a parent. Nameberry is strictly names until you enter the discussion forums. (I've found some great things in the forums, like the Wondfo tests.) Last night’s blog of the day came from a forum thread about favorite names from A-Z. It was a lot of fun to see what other people chose. How traditional some were versus how many picked unusual names, to how many liked the same name I thought were creative and unique to me. So… to end this, here’s my A-Z list:

 Girl/Boy

A: Anastasia/Asher
B: Bianca/Beckett
C: Cordelia/Christopher
D: Daphne/Donovan & Dashiell
E: Eden & Emerson/Emmett & Elliot
F: Fiona/Felix
G: Greyson/Gideon
H: Haven & Holland/Holden & Harper
I: Ivy/Iain
J: Jillian/Jackson
K: Katherine/Keegan
L: Lucie/Liam
M: Mollie & Myka/Mercer
N: Naomi/Nathaniel
O: Olivia/Oliver
P: Penelope/Parker
Q: Quinn/?
R: Romy/Rhys
S: Sutton/Sebastian
T: Tabitha/Tobias
U: n/a
V: Valentina/?
W: Waverly/Weston (of course) & William (nn Liam)
X: Xavia/Xavier
Y: n/a
Z: Zoey & Zara/Zane

The funny thing is... a lot of the girls and boys names sound alike int he same letter: Emerson & Emmett, Xavia & Xavier, Olivia & Oliver. Other than the "E"s, I like the male version better. And some names I like because they are children in my life, or names friends and family are set on... not names I'd choose for myself. Right now, I am loving Eden and Sebastian... but that could change with a little (+) on a test. ;)

5 Great Loves of my life

I was inspired by CJane's post on the 5 greatest Loves of her life in honor of Valentine's Day. Granted she is posting a "Love" per day. I will probably post all five in a single post. Or not. Who knows? It depends on how long this ends up being.

That being said, CJane's post caused me to do some soul searching, and this caused me to have some seriously odd dreams last night - involving a few of my "loves." So, let's begin:

#1. Erin as a Stalker...

I could easily start my great loves with my first kiss. But in the grand scheme of things, Tom Peterson was not a great love. He was my first high-school boyfriend, and a pretty good kisser, but I always knew it would end. You see, I always knew that Tom was just a little too “nerd” for me. He was an okay boyfriend: someone to go to dances with, hang out with, make out with, but I was already in love with someone else. Heck, I was already thinking of breaking up with him when I found out he was also seeing someone else. (The forever difference between us was fidelity – I had it. He didn’t.) So let’s go back to the beginning of my first “love.”

Flash back to the Spring of 1992, I was in the 6^th grade at Lyons Middle School. I wasn’t heavy yet, but I wasn’t thin by any means; I was more of a round shape. Soft and already sporting the family’s troublesome acne, I didn’t have a lot of self confidence. I masked this lack of courage by being talkative and loud – not my finest features. And that mask lasted until college. Anyway, back on track. It was probably April or May, and the school play was going on. Something about a Tumbleweed or something. I don’t remember much except an old Western town, soldiers and Indians. I went because my friends were in it. Anousha was an Indian (because she had black waist-length hair) and some other friends had parts. I remember sitting with my friend Beth and laughing at her brother Bryan dressed as a soldier. And then I saw the other soldier… He was tall, and broad shouldered with short dark hair. He seemed so much older than Bryan, though Bryan was in the 8^th grade. His name was Pete Walker, and this was our beginning. I became acutely aware of him, and he had no idea that I existed.

School ended in June and three months went by in a flash. I don’t remember thinking much of Pete Walker during the 7^th grade. I remember seeing him with other girls at dances, but I was obsessed with my own existence (and Bob Cleppe. I always kept my eggs in a few baskets.)  I forgot about everything older than me during 8^th grade.  It was like Senior Year, round 1; we were the top of the totum pole. Fast-forward to the Fall of 1994. I’m a freshman in high school. And suddenly everything is different: I’m running from class to class all over the school, I’m taking the bus, and I am once again on the bottom of the totum pole.  But things start to look up. I’m a year ahead in math, so when I entered Dr. Dennis’ geometry class I was one of a few freshmen surrounded by sophomores. I took the seat next to my friend’s older sister. As the class begins, we pass back the intro sheet and I turn around to hand it to the person behind me, and who do you think it is? Yep, Pete Walker, except now Pete is even taller and more broad shouldered. He says “Hey” and “Thank you,” while looking directly into my eyes. And I go stupid. My mouth immediately dries up and I can’t even talk. I can feel myself turning bright red and I turn around to face forward. From the corner of my eye, I can see my friend’s sister looking at me like I’ve lost it. Little did I know that Pete and I would sit next to each other in math class for the next 3 years until he graduated. (Thank goodness for not having assigned seating.)

Pete was pretty talkative. And the fact that he got Geometry far better than I did gave me the opening I needed. We became “class friends,” i.e. we’d be friends in class, and occasionally around school, but we didn’t hang out together. And by the time I got high school, Pete was already dating Kara Evans. Kara was petite: shorter than me, but also perfectly proportionate, and beautiful. It’s like she had never seen a blemish. She was the editor of the newspaper the 2 years we went to school together. She was a year older than Pete, thus 2 years older than me. And she was Nice. To everyone. I had no choice but to hate her, which was hard, but I did my best. (Anyone else weirded out by how much I remember 17 years later? OMG.)

My (and often my passengers') view of the Walker house.

Pete and I had English and math classes together. I watched him play football and basketball. I pined for something more than bantering and having fun in class. I had to drive past his house in order to get home from anywhere South of my house. He lived blocks from my bff Anousha. Once I got my license, I drove past his house anytime I was remotely close by, even with friends or my sister in the car. My friends knew how I felt, and they didn’t give me too hard of a time for the public stalking by vehicle, considering that Pete lived across the street from the Courthouse, police station, and jail. My Junior year (and his Senior year) I heard than Pete and Kara had (finally) broken up when she went off to college. I was elated. It was obviously not his decision. That didn’t damper my mood. I was convinced that everything would work out the way it was meant to. We would be high school sweethearts, and it would be like an after-school special. Alas, this was never going to happen.

In the fall of 1996, my foot was broken while messing around with some friends. I was on crutches forever. And Pete volunteered to carry my books to most of my classes. At first, I thought it was because we got out of class early, but it never was. We talked the whole time; he kept pace with my gimpy-ness. I have never been so happy to be on crutches. I thought that this was the perfect time for something, anything, to happen. But it never did. Eventually I was healed, and I no longer needed a hero. A few months later when I fell and broke my wrist, he had a good laugh at my klutziness, and offered to once again carry my books. But since I could walk, the teachers never fell for it. And so it went for the rest of the year. We talked, but nothing more ever happened. Pete had to know how I felt. Or at least have an idea. I was completely obvious. Either that, or he thought I had some special needs. (Cue the Homer Simpson “D’Oh!” moment.)

Pete Walker graduated from Clinton High in 1997. He went away to college, I thought he went to the University of Iowa, but I can’t remember. Every weekend and holiday, I drove past his house. Sometimes I saw him, more often not. In the fall of 1998, I started at Drake University. I didn’t forget Pete. I still drove past his house on holidays home. And then I heard he had moved to Colorado. And that he had become a plumber. His parents sold the house and moved somewhere else within town. The new owners changed things. And suddenly (without social media) he was gone. And I had to find a Real person to fall for. But the idea of Pete Walker lives on in my heart - My first real crush. And if you ask my sister, it lived on well into my 20s, over a decade of Crush-ness.

So this will be a post of only One Great Love... my first, unrequited Love. Who knew it would take so long to write?

Failure in Mommydom

So… I had a rough day yesterday. Ok, let’s be honest, I’ll say it’s been rough lately, most of the last couple of months and definitely since Sunday night.

I’ll admit it. I made a Mommy Mistake. When Weston was a baby, we were so grateful to have him. (Don’t worry, we still are.) And he was sick a lot that first year. Nothing serious, but he had Bronchiolitis and a variety of viruses…. When he had to sleep upright, we put him in a car seat by my side of the bed so I could listen to him breathe. Sometimes he slept with us when he was sick so we could sleep too. (The sheer exhaustion of parenting is a white lie no one talks about. I have been tired for 4 years now, ever since I got pregnant. It hasn’t gotten better.) When he was healthy, and he’d wake up in the morning, we’d bring him into our bed. And we’d cuddle and play. We wouldn’t always go back to sleep, we’d have fun. So, Weston got used to being in our bed – 1^st part of the Big Mistake.

The 2^nd part of said Mistake was not instituting a bedtime. Weston was one of those babies who was awake every 3 hours to eat. It was routine and didn’t change much as he got older. My friend’s baby who was sleeping through the night by 3 months with a bedtime of 8 pm that started at 3wks, no problems. That never happened for us. I kept asking our daycare when we should start a bedtime. She said 6-9 months depending on the baby. That was 3 years ago next week. And I tried. I decided on 8:30 pm. The first week, Weston was asleep by 8:15 every single night. In my arms. No self-soothing in the bed. The next week, he cried and cried and cried. I’d lay him down and he’d scream. After 15 minutes, we’d go in and try to help. After a days of this, I asked daycare again what to do. She said not to talk to him or pick him up – to rub his back and sit by the crib. And he would cry forever! It was horrible and heartbreaking to hear. And inevitably, we’d pick him up. And the bedtime never worked. And it was my fault. Scott works late, sometimes past 9pm. I was alone in the bedtime rituals as I am in the dinners, and pretty much most other things. So… as time goes by, we moved into a craptastic apartment on Des Moines’ NE side. Weston again had his own room. He would fall asleep in our room, and we would move him to his crib at night. About 2 or so months after moving there, we transitioned his crib into the toddler bed, because he was trying to climb out. And every night since, Weston has gotten out of his bed, and climbed into ours. And for the longest time, I would try to walk him back to his bed. And he would cry and come back. And then we’d wait for him to be asleep for about 10 minutes, and then we’d take him back to his bed. And about 6 out of 7 nights, I’d wake up in the morning to find him right next to me. At some point, we just became too tired to move him. Or he comes in, and I don’t even wake up any more. He crawls over me to the middle of the bed and I have no idea he is there until morning. I hate sleeping with a toddler. He’s more than half my height now. So there are legs everywhere! Knees planted in the middle of my back. Arms flung over me like I’m his latest favorite stuffed animal. And Scott’s a bed-hog too. So Scott has his half of the bed, and 75% of the covers, and Weston is trying to take my half of the bed. It’s no wonder that I am exhausted and not sleeping well. All I want is my own bed. And I will never have it. I am trying to figure out a way to get Weston to sleep in his own room. I am thinking of trying out his Twin bed in the room we decorated for his birthday. I wonder what he’d think if I slept in there? So, to wrap the Mistakes up… It’s my fault that Weston doesn’t have a bedtime, and it’s also probably my fault that I do not get up constantly to put him back in his own bed. So, now I need to find a way to remedy this…. Sunday I had knees in my back the whole night. Wednesday he wouldn’t go to sleep. He cried because I wouldn’t turn the tv on. And all Scott said was that he needed to be quiet because people were sleeping. Yeah, Scott was sleeping and had been for over an hour – when it was his job to get Weston to sleep that night. Weston and I made up stories to get him to stop crying, and then until he was ready to fall asleep (in my bed.) I calmed him down and got him to sleep in about 20 minutes. And I wonder why I feel all the burden and responsibility for his behavior and actions? Hmmm…

Weston is not potty trained.

I take that back, partially. He is potty trained at daycare. He’s had maybe 2 real accidents in the last 8 months, and maybe 2 other random “I peed on my clothes while peeing” accidents. It’s a boy thing, trust me. Once, about a month ago, I thought we were in for the home stretch. He woke up and went potty in my potty! Before school, no problems, we were all so very excited. He got to pick a prize (Yes, I am to bribery now) and he took a whole big package of name-brand Goldfish to daycare to share with his friends for snack time. And then he got sick over the weekend… so all training went out the window. I decided to be firm last night. I picked him up from daycare. He was in Big Boy underpants. We went to the chiropractor. He begged me for a pull-up or a diaper. I said no. I held firm. We went to the bathroom. He wouldn’t go. I tried going in front of him. He didn’t care. I held firm, we left the bathroom. 20 minutes of begging ended in crying. Horrible, gut-wrenching crying and screaming and sobbing - it was torture for me. I was sad that he was crying and embarrassed because I knew there were massage therapists trying to invoke peace and relaxation and my son was ruining it. I was angry at him for not making this an easy and simple experience. He does it so easily at school. The pure exhaustion of the week, and then dealing with the potty training… I was so mad yesterday. At the situation, at Weston for never listening, at Scott for not helping with the important stuff but having the nerve to want another baby, at the world and everyone in front of me for being there. I cried from the chiropractor’s office to the mall because of my guilt over my anger at my little boy. I almost cried trying to explain it to Shannon in the Playground at the mall. No one understands around me, and I feel like anytime I say anything, I am just being a nagging bitch. Scott won’t listen when I try to talk to him. It’s like if he doesn’t hear it, then it doesn’t exist. And I hate living in oblivion.

I have to get going… but still, I just had to explain myself. I feel guilty all the time for my frustration, anger, and the inability to change things. I feel like my world is spinning out of control, and that I am failing at everything. And I need someone to catch me. To help me. Please? I love my little family more than anything, but I feel like we need to be a better family. And I'm not sure how to do it.

I think I have become an Emotional Sponge

My Dad once said that his children are "Human."
And by that he didn't mean that we were human, 1 step above the apes. What he meant was that we were Human - we possess an enhanced version of the things that make humans... well human. For example, according to Dad, my sister can empathize with anyone. And she can take in the pain of those around her and then project what they need to cope. This is what makes her an amazing social worker/advocate and will soon make her an exceptional therapist.
My brother sees things. He sees the past, the present, and though we'll never know for certain, I think he also sees with a little 6th Sense as well. I think this in some ways is more difficult to live with, or it certainly seems so for him (and that creepy kid from the movie.)

And that brings us to me. I have the talent to read people, and places. In the first few minutes of a meeting, I know whether or not the person I am with is a... good person, an honest person, a person that I want to be around. I'm not right all of the time, but if I am meeting this person alone, I am usually pretty close. Obviously this skill has helped me out along this journey of life, specifically on job interviews and as a bartender. I get feelings about places... and sometimes, I just turn around and leave. Sometimes I wish I could do that with people.

So, why am I telling you this?
Yesterday we drove up to Cherokee for a "Celebration of Life" party. It was more memorial service than party, but it was nice. My friend Jess' mother-in-law Denise passed away suddenly Sunday night. Only 49 years old, and it has been suggested that it was an asthma attack, and considering the conditions outside this year, it's not surprising that an asthma attack was fatal. Anyway, this has been an incredibly hard week on my friend. Her husband is useless on a good day, so imagine him with his mother's shocking passing. So... I walked into the VFW for the party. I stopped to chat with my godsons. And then I found her. And she came sobbing into my arms. And I fought back tears. For the rest of the day I fought back tears. While I normally wouldn't have cried during a memorial in front of so many people who looked at me as if I were an oddity, I brushed aside tears that just wouldn't stop. I felt sadness and fear and anger. I was overwhelmed by strong emotions. I knew Denise, she was a very nice woman. But other than the interactions within my friend's family, we didn't know each other that much. So where were these feelings coming from? I think I actually became an emotional sponge. I was feeling all of Jess' emotions. Her sadness and loss of Denise. Her fear of the future with her husband and their son, her anger towards Denise's family for thinking ill of her and abusing her husband's rights - the greed pouring from them instead of grief. I felt everything she felt, as if it were my own. Once I was certain that there was little else I could do for my friend, we said our good-byes and left. And I almost cried all the way to Scott's mother's home. I told him that I was feeling Jess's... everything. And that she was so sad at my leaving her and at being responsible for her husband; and that I thought there was worse to come.

We left Cherokee about 90 minutes later. And I "knew" something had happened with Jess. And I was right. Denise's family treated her poorly, they spoke so low so her half-deaf husband couldn't hear what was being decided about his mother's estate. Etc. etc. etc. I felt raw inside. I had wicked headache brewing. You know the kind... the one that you get after you've been sobbing and crying all day. Except I hadn't been. None of these emotions had happened to me. But I soaked them all up, just like a sponge. It took 2 Excedrin and 2 Tylenol PM to tame the headache. And the drug-induced coma I had been hoping for only lasted maybe 5 hours with another hour of laziness. Not enough to reset my system, but enough to give me a head start. I'm available for calls... but I don't think I will be calling up North for a while. I need a break. And a way to block this new level of empathy. Either that or I need to become a sponge for an overly happy person. Know anyone like that?