everybody needs an editor

It seems like in every line of work, when you get so invested in something you've created, it's hard to see the parts that could be bogging you down. No matter how perfect I think something is, if I come back to it later, it can always be improved--mostly by trimming it.

I am trying very hard to keep my work emails to three sentences or fewer. It's hard.

in a nutshell

Once upon a time there was a very bored twentysomething. Every day, she worked the evening shift and was awake when her friends and family were either at work or sleeping, so she watched one Netflix movie a day (before there was streaming), read books and knit, but she was lonely. One day, she discovered a web log with good writing, started her own and bumped into some random, cool people. Because of that, she became very close to a few of the bloggers, especially Jon. Because of that, they started emailing every single day, then talked on the phone for hours and hours. Until finally they decided they needed to meet: Three years later, he moved across the country to be with her; three years after that, they got married; and three years after that, they had a wonderful baby.

happy day

I need more crafts in my life.

cylon blanket

Handmade stuff has always had a very special place in my heart. Things that my nani or mom made for me are among my prized possessions. So it makes me sad that I haven't really made anything for my daughter (save for one knit dress I had started for my goddaughter four years ago and finally finished before Ro was born. She is already too big for it).

My mom goes to more baby showers than anyone else I know, so I liked to make blankets while I watched tv so she doesn't have to knit them all herself. She had been putting aside blankets for my kids since I turned 25 because "she might be blind/dead/unable to move her hands by the time I gave her any grandchildren."

This is one I made while Jon and and I bingewatched Battlestar Galactica in 2009. 

I had no idea she was also saving a few that I made for my kids. At my baby shower, she gave me two large wicker baskets: One full of new or beloved stuffed animals from my childhood, and the other bursting with eight rolled-up baby blankets. I had made three. It means so much that she thought far enough in advance to save things for my child from me, too.

February 10. Don't worry, she doesn't sleep with a blanket (or in this Rock 'n' Play) now that she discovered how to roll over.

It didn't even occur to me that our own child might one day be holding onto what I made while we were watching Starbuck and Boomer. 

missing the forest for that one broken twig on the ground

I took a few art classes in college, which were nearly impossible to get into. I had to petition, write an essay and go through two rounds of portfolio interviews because art was not my declared major and the administration didn't want "dabblers" tinkering around among the serious students who would go on to get their MFAs in oil painting or concrete sculpture. They begrudgingly let me in, though I had to win a lottery to get an actual spot. I absolutely loved those classes. But I did not change my major to art.

I tell people I didn't pursue an art and design career because my parents* ("Have you heard the term, 'starving artist'?") convinced me that I needed something stable, a field that I could rely on to pay a mortgage.** Professional art was much too unpredictable.

But the true reason I didn't consider art as a vocation is because I can't stand being around the pretentious segment of that population for more than a few minutes (does that make me pretentious?). Plus, I feared I would turn to drugs to help me come up with enough good work to compete with them (I got my best stuff by staying up so many hours in a row I was practically delirious).*

Even though I only got to take one class, the final for Life Drawing presented me with a huge life lesson. Too bad I didn't understand it for almost 15 years. The light bulb went off recently when I was trying to figure out why I can't get a handle on time management.

It's the details. The details are dragging me down.

I have always noticed things that few others do. Like spelling. And continuity. And what the extras in movies are wearing. And which television shows share the same sets. But sometimes I miss the big picture because I get hooked on the minutiae. And I'm often distracted by anything that floats by in my peripheral vision. It makes me great at Trivial Pursuit. But not awesome at effective productivity.

The final for Life Drawing was a still life set up in the middle of a circle of easels. We each took a seat and had three hours to draw what we saw. It was a bunch of stuff arranged on a table: some vases, dried flowers, I think a plate of fruit and some sort of brass instrument. I can't remember if it was a trumpet or French horn, but my eyes went directly to it.

I immediately started with the buttons on the horn. I drew each one of them painstakingly, erasing and redrawing until they were totally perfect before doing the same for the other parts of the horn. I must say those horn buttons and tubes looked almost like a photograph. I stood up, stepped back and was pretty happy. Until I looked at the clock and realized I was nearly out of time! So I started throwing down some of the other items in the arrangement. It became obvious I was going to run out of room—I had started the horn too far in the center—the composition of my piece as a whole looked terrible.

I think I got a C or D on that final. The teacher said my horn work was exquisite, but because I didn't have much else, she couldn't give me a better grade. She said I should have done a rough sketch of everything to get an idea of the entire composition (translation: MAKE A PLAN) before getting that horn nailed down so permanently. That was humbling. I knew she was right, but I had always done things this way; they had just happened to always work out in the end. I didn't win the lottery again the next semester, so that was that for art classes at university.

The other day, there was stuff lying around the living room, including several plastic bags. Instead of picking up all the random stuff to improve the overall look of the room, I decided I needed to addres the plastic bags in a big way. I pulled out the entire stash of plastic bags from under the kitchen sink and began sorting them into piles for recycle, keep and use for small garbage cans. I didn't finish that task because the baby got hungry, and left the living room with original clutter plus huge piles of plastic bags.

Why do I do this? Who knows. I've always squeaked through life using hard work and no sleep to get everything done to my specifications. But now that there is a small human who depends on us for everything, pulling an all-nighter affects more than just me.

So I have to train myself to map out the big picture before solidifying each, tiny, perfect piece and hope they all fit together. The first step to fixing a problem is admitting you have one, right?


*A semester or two before my graduation with a degree in a "stable field," my mother calls to say, "My friend at work told me about this degree—you should do it—it involves computers! What's it called? Oh yes, graphic design." When I explained that graphic design is ART, she just repeated that bit about computers.

**Three weeks into my first job out of college, the entire company was asked to take a 2.5 percent paycut to prevent layoffs. What I didn't realize was that first paycheck was the canary in the coal mine. And by coal mine, I meant sinking ship. And by sinking ship, I meant an industry where people suddenly didn't want to pay for the product anymore, so there was no money to pay people to make it anymore. It would take me another six jobs and four layoffs to realize that this career was not ever going to be steady enough to pay the mortgage.

we're hoping not to take any new members

This post isn't fun for the writer. And probably not the audience, either. Sorry. 

During my first pregnancy, I had a pregnancy buddy, who was just a few weeks behind me. We had planned all kinds of fun prenatal crave-binging, swim classes or yoga, and had done plenty of commiserating. Then my baby came at (what I know now was) 19 weeks and didn't make it. Sadly, a few weeks later, hers didn't either.

Everyone offers kindness and advice, but few people understand what it is like to lose a pregnancy that far along. We are bonded for life. She was so supportive during my difficult pregnancy with Ro, even though she was struggling terribly to conceive again. But they finally did. I was overjoyed for her and already planning on all the cute things I was going to get for her new baby.

But I got a message today that it happened again to them. Almost exactly the same scenario. It was like a roundhouse to the face that knocked me right back to May and June of 2013. I asked my mom to make a dish that this friend particularly enjoys and I left it on her doorstep with a note that essentially just said, "hugs." When I see her, that's all I can offer as consolation. Because, when you're in this horrible, terrible club, there are no words.

because I'm trying

This blog is really important to me. It helped me out of a very low time, it kept me sane when I was isolated (I cannot stand to be alone) and—most of all—it led me to Jon. And now, Ro.

She turned five months old yesterday.* Time has never gone by as quickly as the last five months has flown. 

So it's been killing me that I have only posted here once since the end of October. Beyond parenting, trying not to get lost in our house clutter and readjusting back to working full time, the main thing I do these days is look at Facebook. It's a serious habit that started when I was on bedrest because it is easy to do on my phone while lying down. Or holding a precariously sleeping child. Or while I'm pumping. Or waiting at a stoplight. Or unable to sleep. And now something horrible will befall humanity if I miss a single FB post/link/article/video/meme. I have probably read ten books' worth of linked articles in the last five months.

This blog has always been something I do for myself. Even when no one reads the posts, I like to have the record of what was going on in my life at any time (it has settled bets). The act of writing and the small community of commenters/other bloggers makes me happy. And while I want to be a great parent, in 18 years when my kid is off saving the rare spotted iguana, deejaying in Berlin or curing mesothelioma, I don't want to be sitting here wondering where "me" went.

Part of the reason I hadn't posted in so long is because I thought my first posts back needed to be about the "birth story." Some crazy stuff happened (spoiler alert: I separated my pelvis) and I put a lot of pressure on myself to carve out time to get it all down, in order. Because OCD.

"You don't have to do it perfect," Jon said. "You just have to do."

I ignored his advice for a few months and then decided that I wanted to make posting a priority. I am quitting FB for the month of April and putting that time into a good old-fashioned NaBloPoMo.

A few days ago, I saw a slideshow by Gavin McMahon at Make a Powerful Point. It was created from a set of 22 tweets originally tweeted in 2012(?) that has gotten a bit of notoriety recently. The "Rules to Phenomenal Storytelling"  were written by a former Pixar artist and director, Emma Coats. I'm going to use those rules as inspiration for this month's return of Cadiz.

Those of you who have been reading this blog for a long time have been through a lot with me. I went from a dream job (yes, the dungeon was actually pretty prestigious) to being laid off four times in five years and having to start at the bottom in a totally new career. Jon and I found each other in such a happenstance way and had to make it work for years from 2000+ miles away, get laid off within a day of one another and had to scrape together the monthly mortgage on a condo that wouldn't sell for more than two years. And then there's all the baby stuff. I have never known joy like I get from a single one of Ro's smiles. If we had given up after the bad times, we would have missed out on the very best thing in our lives. It was terrifying. And painful. But so very worth it. 

Don't tell my dad you've seen photos of Ro online or he'll try to ground me or something—he likely saw some horrific news story about predators and is adamant that she stays offline.

this really happened

When I got pregnant, I thought, "Is this really happening?"

When I was on bedrest, I thought, "Is this really happening?"

When I made it past, 12, 20, 24, 28, 32, 35, 37 and 40 weeks of gestation, I thought, "Is this really happening?"

When the doctor said to me, "I'm stripping your membranes, if you don't go into labor on your own, come in tomorrow and we'll induce you," I thought, "Is this really happening?"

When Jon was driving me to the hospital on Halloween (his birthday), I thought, "Is this really happening?"

When the contractions really started and I found myself yelling, "MOMMY! MOMMY!" in the delivery room, I thought, "Is this really happening?"

When they (sorry, TMI) put up a mirror so I could see what was going on, and I saw so much hair that did not belong to me, I thought, "Thank God she's not bald. But seriously, is this really happening?"

When they put her on my chest, and she didn't really even have any of the goo you see on TV newborns, and I saw her little face and felt her soft, soft skin, I looked among what seemed like 40 extra people rushing around in my room for my husband and my mother. I said, out loud to no one in particular as I looked down at our baby girl, "Is this REAL?"

Yep.

Meet Ro. As I had been saying all along, she stayed cooking for 40 weeks (and one day). Her father calculated it out, and she was born something like 36 years and 20 minutes after he was. 

I had been utterly deluded when making the long list of things I hoped to accomplish while on maternity leave--which included putting together my wedding album, knitting 14 sweaters and regularly posting on this blog. I apologize for leaving the two of you who still read it hanging all this time. I missed you!

 

For three months, all I did was cuddle this person. And occasionally eat and shower. But that's it.

Unfortunately, it's already been 12 weeks and I have to go back to work. Ro starts daycare in less than eight hours, which means I should be in bed so I can get everything ready for our big day (and try not to soak up the entire box of Kleenex I got for the occasion before we head out the door). Of course, that means I am here posting for the first time in three months instead of sleeping.

While it's unbelievable that some things actually really happen, it's just as unbelievable that other things never seem to change.

last dance

So this kid has a dance party starting every evening at about 4 p.m.  Sometimes she settles down at about 8, and sometimes she doesn't stop until after midnight. And now that she's a lot bigger, her John Travolta moves are perceptible to people other than just me--when she sticks her leg straight out, my belly looks a little like one of those old-school cartoons where the character gets hit over the head and the bump protrudes like a unicorn horn. Or my entire belly contorts into odd shapes. No joke.

Today is no different. In fact, she just sort of rolled over under my skin. I will never get used to that feeling, but I would never want to. I am going to miss that so much later when she's on the outside and it'll take more than a few soothing words and a reassuring rub to get her to settle down.

Today is also her official due date. And I'm still pregnant.

Here we are, the people whom the doctors thought would be lucky to be on this side of 24, 28, 30, 32, 37 weeks; WE ARE AT FULL TERM. That's 280 days. And something I never expected.  Despite the fact that no matter what anyone said, I always replied, "We're going all the way to 40! Plus one day, so she can come out on Halloween, her father's birthday." I was banking on it, but didn't *really* think it could happen. I never did get him a present, but now I don't have to. I could never top this.

I went to the doctor today and she said there's no point in letting Baby go past her due date. I'm 4 cm dilated, 100% effaced. In the office, the doctor stripped my membranes (basically detached the bag of waters from the uterus), which can sometimes get the process going. And, in case she doesn't feel like coming out on her own, the doctor scheduled us to show up tomorrow--Halloween, her father's birthday--at 7:15 a.m. to be induced.

So it's going to happen. Like, for real. I am still sort of in shock that by this time tomorrow, I'm going to be somebody's MOTHER. Like in charge of her well being. Like having to make decisions for her. Holy crap.

Wish me luck!

Bed rest, I will not be missing you.

beyond expectations

So we are here at week 37. I can't believe it. And yet, I don't want this baby to come out yet.

There haven't been very many worry-free weeks (none, actually), and from what I gather about parenthood there never will be again. You're not *safe* after 12 weeks, 20 weeks, 24 weeks, 32 weeks or even 37 weeks of pregnancy. You're not *safe* at labor or when the kid is a toddler or a sixth-grader or a college freshman. Hell, you're not even *safe* when your kid has her own wedding, mortgage and career. So I guess worrying is going to be a part of life. Good thing I have so much practice.

This is going to sound mommy-blog cheesy, but I actually enjoy being pregnant. Even with all the puking and the stitch-pulling and bed rest and Dennis the Tricky Hip, it's pretty mindblowing to think there's a person in here whose favorite color might be yellow and favorite music might be rockabilly and favorite pastime could be lacrosse (all things I'm going to have to learn to appreciate). But she's inside me, bouncing around like nobody's business, and completely out of my control.

Other people see my belly randomly contorting into weird shapes and bulging out not of my will and tell me that they wish they could feel that feeling again. I know what they mean. I wish I could bottle this up and save it for when she goes away to college and I'm sitting in her bedroom and feeling lonely. I'd open it up, savor the exciting alien feeling and then whine to Jon about how quickly the time has gone.

But I've always been this way: During those three years when Jon and I were dating long distance, I'd start to get sad as soon as he got off the plane--pre-mourning the weekend together that would be over much too soon.

I feel like I've wasted so much of my life blinking.

Bonus post: Why I will never learn to like baseball

Jon is downstairs screaming his head off at the Dodgers. The other night when they lost, he lost his voice and did not sleep all night. I'm just waiting for the neighbors to call the cops one of these days--they probably think someone is getting beaten here, not just his favorite team on television.

week 36.5 and no baby in sight

So "strict bed rest" only lasted five days. And praise all that is lovely and good--I was going B-A-N-A-N-A-S truly not moving all day. Plus each day I was lying around watching DiY network and knitting and looking out the window was one fewer day I could use to spend with my kid after she comes out.

Went to see the doctor, and while I'm 2 cm dilated, there is no sign of baby yet. I am still holding out for a Halloween birthday (that she can share with her father). MD said I could go back to working from home.

Jon starts a new job next week, so he had planned to take this week off (I was supposed to have had the stitch removed this week). He is very busy building stuff for the nursery--today was the crib and cleaning everything. Yes, we are behind a "normal" expecting couple's schedule, but I have always done everything at the last minute. Plus much earlier than now, things were too tenuous.

I am caught up on watching Scandal and The Good Wife and will likely be starting Parenthood soon. I am also reading Jim Gaffigan's Dad is Fat, which has some very appropriate essays about being pregnant and having an infant. And funny. I feel guilty for not reading as much as I would have liked, but I can't multitask as much when reading--and I have become obsessed with multitasking.

Other than that, nothing new is going on. Hope all is well with you!

I have a tricky hip and his name is Dennis

I had a doctor's appointment Wednesday. I had been having increasingly painful contractions for the last two weeks (about 30 minutes apart and strong enough to wake me all night). I had also been extremely uncomfortable for the previous few days. That morning I woke up to some, um, different stuff coming out of me that led me to believe that there might be some straining on the cervical cerclage stitch that could be pulling on the cervix, so I figured it was going to be an eventful day.

I went in (last progesterone shot, hooray!) and the doctor checked me—WOW that time hurt. She was like yeah, I'm taking your stitch out today so it doesn't tear your cervix (that had been scheduled for next week). She sent me straight to the hospital.

Contractions were still coming, but my physician had to attend to an emergency twin c-section (those kids are ok, thank goodness), so my mom and I were hanging tight and waiting for Jon to show up.

At about 7:15 p.m., my doctor came in, scootched up to my bed and snipped the stitch. It was pretty quick, but not pleasant. The stitch was basically wrapped around the cervix and cinched tight like a Hefty trash bag. It snapped SO loudly, I jumped at the noise. But I immediately felt a loosening down there.

They kept me for observation and I continued to have contractions till 10:30 p.m. when they sent me home. My doctor said no more work; I'm on "strict" bedrest now. She said if I needed to we could just turn around and come back to the hospital.

Since the stitch has been out, my back pain has lessened, I walk more like a normal pregnant person, instead of a 90-year-old without her walker. My inept, tricky right hip (whom I call Dennis) that never seems to want to cooperate because of nerve pain has started to play a little nicer. I SLEPT for the first time in several weeks (only got up twice to pee) and didn't have painful contractions! The last two days I have lay in bed/couch all day and had the tightening of contractions, but they are nothing compared with the ones I had the last few weeks with the stitch intact.

It's really weird not to work. Especially because my work team is down a couple people already and I'm leaving them a few weeks earlier than anticipated. But I have to say, the not having to work has been oddly relaxing. I watched six hours of Rehab Addict on Thursday--I've decided this house needs to be gutted and restored to how it was originally in 1968. I am knitting a few little items for the baby, bingewatching Scandal, trying to read more and trying to ignore my compulsion to want to clean everything.

Last night I had a mini freakout because the baby wasn't moving around as much as she normally does. Usually when I tracking her movements (doctor said 10 an hour is good), I get 10 in the first three minutes. But last night it took her almost the full hour to get to 10. And they weren't the regular jabs of appendages stretching out or shifting positions but instead lighter blip-like movements. Even after I had a little lemon sorbet. I got upset. My mind went to the edge of the scary place. I think it even rattled my even-keel husband. This morning she is moving around more like normal. The sweet parathas probably helped, too.

I need to keep more busy.

week 34

Quick update: We are now at week 34. The baby is fantastic. Any problems I'm having can only be blamed on my body being angry at being taken for granted all this time and using this opportunity to make me pay for it. As a result, I now have a deep, lifelong respect for all that the disabled must endure.

I'm having fake-out (Braxton-Hicks) contractions that should be fake-painful as well, but that's apparently not how this works. My tricky hip (nerve pain that has made turning over in my sleep a ridiculous process since month two) makes everyone think I'm 11 months pregnant because of the way I waddle and cannot get in and out of vehicles without assistance.

But! This kid is doing great: She's got one foot up by her face and one foot down by her booty so she can simultaneously kick me in the groin and the ribs. And I don't mind one bit. I am so, so thankful to be here at this point. The cervix is 2.5 cm but soft like Jell-O and the physicians can feel the baby's head right there. There's a possibility I may be 1 cm dilated. I am having about four contractions an hour--which make for some interesting pauses during conference calls, let me tell you.

Anything can happen, folks. 

leather

photo by SecondPrint Productions

Happy third anniversary, Jon. That was the best day of my life...so far.

Brother. It is a little ironic that the one celebration that you could/wanted to spend with us on your actual birthday in a very, very long time didn't end up happening because I got scared and went to the hospital. I feel bad that you were hanging around near the restaurant for hours was while I was hooked up to monitors trying to figure out if those contractions were real and if I was leaking amniotic fluid (not really and no, everything turned out to be fine; it just took a really long time to confirm).

As much as you would never admit it, I know it's going to be different when this baby comes. Your wants and needs have been first priority for so much of the past three decades--how could they not? I don't resent you for it; I worry about you as much as mom and dad do. I know you have been wiggling out from under the parental blanket of concern for a long time, and you've done an exceptional job proving that you are your own man who can handle your own business. We don't need to worry, but it's not something we can turn off.

It has been tremendously hard for me the past few months to be the person that isn't allowed to help, can't even get up from a chair without extreme difficulty and is basically at the mercy of everyone else. The biggest lesson I've learned during the last few years is that apparently I can't control everything, which was clear to you since you were just a baby. It's probably just as hard for you to now be the one worrying, waiting for a call that everything is ok...or not. We've both done a lot of growing up in the last few years.

Happy Birthday.

36

So here I am, on *this* side of 35.
And here we are, on *this* side of 4 a.m.

***

I've never been melancholy on my birthday, but during the last few months I've found myself at the top of the world, taking in a deep breath of gratitude...then BAM, I get a glimpse of the straight drop ahead and my stomach is suddenly in my throat. I guess the only nice thing about emotional rollercoasters is that if you (and your understanding family) can ride it out, you're back on an even keel soon enough.

Last week, Syar turned 26. Do you guys remember when she was a precocious 16-year-old commenting here with all the wisdom and wit of a much more experienced person? Then how we blinked twice and now she's a grownup lady? It's so crazy how much she has grown but stayed the same. And how I feel like I know her, yet never have met her. Oh, blogs.

***

My mom has always taken the day off work on my birthday. I never understood why, especially when I still had to go to school. I mean, if she can't hang out with me--and this day is all about me, after all--then what's the point? Even now, 36 years later, she took the day to be home, cooking and shopping and who knows what else while I was dealing with conference calls and frantic instant-messenger requests and mounting email, attempting to solve problems.

But now that I may get to bring somebody new into the world, I kind of get it: My mother might just want a day to herself to think. Maybe remember all the stuff before I showed up and what she had to go through to get me out and all she had to do to make sure I even made it to 36. I wonder if 36 years from now I might take my child's birthday off to think about these months of bed rest and no carbs and having to walk around like an 96-year-old and only going to the store once a month (if they have a scooter/wheelchair). And how it makes my damn day every single time this baby kicks me to show me that she's doing ok so I don't freak out. Is it possible to believe you have a great kid even before you've met her?

People kept asking me what I had planned for today, and honestly, there was only one thing I can say for certain. There will be ice-cream cake. There is always ice-cream cake. It'll be one sad, sorry August 14 when my mom isn't around and there won't be ice-cream cake. It just doesn't taste as good any other day. I'm sure I don't have to tell you that she didn't disappoint.

***

In general, I have a pretty low threshold for decision-making. You know, decision fatigue, when you are supposed to be making a lot of important choices in a row, but the weight of all that deciding has piled up on you so you are standing in front of the refrigerator, paralyzed and frustrated because you JUST DON'T KNOW WHAT TO EAT. Just choose! Whatever you want! It doesn't matter, just pick something! Like, now! You haven't decided? Hurry up! Everyone is waiting on you! I feel like the world is my refrigerator with its French doors flung open to reveal thousands of delicious choices, and everyone is demanding that I make up my mind RIGHT NOW. Except I can't make my mind do anything at all, let alone make that final choice between spaghetti and soup. Because what if I take a bite of spaghetti and immediately realize I should have gone with the soup? Doesn't the world understand that scenario is a risk I'm just not willing to take?

What scares me is that I am soon going to have to make hundreds of decisions a day for a person incapable of holding up her own head. And I'm sure that by the time I actually figure out how to comfortably make those choices, she won't want me to decide anything for her anymore.

***

Being alone all the time is getting to me. All day, every day. Thank God for conference calls.

I hate to be alone. I would certainly be one of those people who were asked to sit in a room with an electrical shocking device for 15 minutes with their thoughts who ended up shocking themselves to avoid having to be alone with their thoughts for 15 minutes.

It doesn't matter if the other people are somewhere else in the house doing their own thing and not interacting with me at all; just knowing they aren't far is good enough. I used to lie awake at night in my dorm room, only able to fall asleep when I heard my roommate's key in the door. Perhaps that was because I worried she'd be jumped on the way home from the library, but still.

***

I just spent 15 minutes trying to put a cover on one of those snuggly, noodly pillow things that pregnant ladies cuddle in order to sleep for more than 10 minutes at a time. About three-quarters of the way through that ordeal, I realized the thing already had a cover on it, which is probably why it was so difficult.

Pregnancy brain is real, people. And at this age, I don't think I will ever get my wits back.

saturday night is all right

At 3:21 a.m. on a Saturday night 12 years ago, I was probably out somewhere in Greektown, eating a calzone trying to soak up the alcohol.

At 3:21 a.m. Saturday night nine years ago, I was probably sitting in the dungeon in the city, eating a grilled cheese sandwich from the cafeteria and emailing Jon in California.

At 3:21 a.m. tonight, I'm logged into work, knitting and listening to NPR on my headphones, waiting for the green light to finish testing a new system that just went live.

At 3:21 a.m. Saturday night five years from now, I hope to be sleeping.

house arrest isn't so bad...most of the time

Today is 27 weeks for me and this baby. Hooray! The doctors are saying 28 is good, 30 is great and anything more than that is gravy. Of course, I am expecting we go the entire 40 together, but a lot of other people are not so sure we'll get that far. A girl can hope. I really just want a fully cooked turkey in time for Halloween. 

It's probably apropos that I bingewatched Orange Is the New Black during my incarceration, stuck on the upper floor of our house, only to be let out for doctor appointments and the occasional work meeting. You'd think that I'd be getting all kinds of bookreading, bootieknitting and bookshelforganizing done with all this *free time,* but I'll let you in on a little secret: I'm actually kind of sedentary, so I haven't really gained time.

Basically, I am still working kind of a lot of hours (trying to convince them I'm just as good from home as in the office), and I can't concentrate on anything for more than 10 minutes, which makes me less effective at work. That makes me feel guilty and stay logged in for longer and longer.

And then there's the emotional rollercoaster (hello, hormones!), so I've tried to keep from coming here and whining, because I truly am so thankful and grateful for all that I have. In fact, there was a Facebook thing going around where people posted three positive things about their lives for five days. Because Facebook is so easy to use from my phone while lying down, there was no question that I would participate.

DAY 1: 

1) Jon. Each day I have more reasons to thank my 2006 self for taking a risk on something completely unknown and have it work out in the best possible way.

2) My mom. If any of you have the pleasure of knowing her, that's all I need to say. I strive to be half the woman that she is.

3) Cheese.

DAY 2:

1) What I've learned. My mom has always said, "people can take anything away from you but not your education." And this isn't just limited to book learning.

2) My job. My career path has certainly been a rollercoaster, but I ended up in a place working with and for some wonderful people. Some days I know that something I did may have contributed to saving a life, and that means a lot. Even if my job has never been represented by an animal in a Richard Scarry kids' book.

3) Well-written, brilliantly acted, thought-provoking, satisfying, leaves-you-hungering-for-more television programming.

DAY 3:

1) Having the good fortune to be born in a country where I have had so many opportunities and freedoms, and during an era where a woman of color like myself is not held back as we once were.

2) Clean, running water, available at varying temperatures any time of the the day in a climate-controlled home.

3) The Internet. Holy cannoli, how did we ever live without it?!?

DAY 4:

1) I grew up without any extended family on this side of the world, but I've been blessed with the most loving and supportive friends a person could hope for. They have gotten me through the very hardest of times as well as created some of my best memories.

2) Podcasts.

3) Glasses and contact lenses. Without them, I'd be stumbling around squinting since 1991.

DAY 5:

1) My family is in relatively good health.

2) My friends are in relatively good health.

3) I still have my health. Being healthy is WAY UNDERRATED.

I can't emphasize that last sentence enough.






 

clearly at some point there will be bad news, but in the meantime

I have been told on the regular that I am a Negative Neddy. There's not a lot of proof to refute that, so here we are. Sorry this is long, but enjoy the positivity while it lasts!

1. This baby is now at 24 weeks (the produce-size equivalent of either corn or a cantaloupe, depending on whom you ask). That is the furthest me and a baby have ever made it together, so each day is new terrain to discover.
2. This cervix is holding steady, stitch in place. Steady enough that the specialist no longer thinks I need it checked via ultrasound every week. Let's not repeat that bit of news too much out loud or we may jinx it.
3. This baby's heart has all the major components, and they look to be properly formed and working well together. This has always been a concern because heart defects run in my family. If this is the first you're hearing about that topic and you have 12 hours to kill, look up the label "brother" on the side rail and read the 111 posts about him. There could still be problems for the baby down the line, but for today, that ticker is in good shape.
4. If it weren't for the cloud of terrifying possibilities hanging around--that wakes me and keeps me up for hours in the night telling me I'm leaking amniotic fluid, and interrupts all sorts of enjoyable television and not enjoyable conference calls with fears of contractions at every ache and pain--I would really enjoy being pregnant.
5. This baby kicks me. A lot. And I'm grateful for each and every reassuring jab that she's OK in there.  
6. People have been SO wonderful. 
1. Strangers.
2. Coworkers who didn't give a crap about me before.
3. Everybody who doesn't judge me for my extremely, um, ethnic wardrobe of Auntie Patrol-approved muumuus. I scoffed when my aunts sent them for me and now I cannot live without them. (I may never voluntarily wear pants again.)
4. Friends who send me cards.
5. Friends who message to recommend books and see how I'm doing.
6. Friends whom I have gotten to know better because they love someone I am friends with and have reached out with concern and much-appreciated advice about such a scary time from their own experiences.
7. Friends who come over to spend some time with me, won't let me get up to be a proper hostess and don't make me feel bad about it. 
8. Friends who bring their kids over so I can watch them run around and my baby can hear their happy little voices.
9. Friends who don't bring their kids over so we can have an adult conversation. Or watch TV. Or both.
10. Friends who come over and do stuff to help Jon. Even little things like keeping me company so he doesn't have to worry about dinner. And then he can have a few minutes to look at ESPN.com without feeling guilty that the dishes are piling up. Because now Jon has to do EVERYTHING. He has never complained once about it, but still.
11. The "Police" (my mom and my husband) who don't let me lift, walk, use the stairs or pretty much do anything but keep my feet up. I could go on and on and on and on and on about how much these two have done to make my life bearable, but I'll spare you. They are truly my A-Team. The only thing I can hope to give them in return is this baby.
7. The Police let me out on parole and took me to the fabric store for an afternoon. Best afternoon I've had this year. And not only because I got to drive around in the scooter.
8. I have become a legitimate Facebook stalker. Seriously, the OCD is in overdrive and I need to read every single post. And repost. And pontificate about whatever social issue needs pontificating about--such as the overuse of the Oxford Comma. Also, I'm pretty sure I notified EB that her prom date was engaged about 30 seconds after it happened.
9. Everyone but my brother pretends they are not annoyed by my Facebook activity, and some of them even enjoy my posts. Sweethearts.
10. I have discovered Pinterest. I am desperately trying not to fall into that vortex. But I can only browse for about 30 minutes before looking outside at our weedy yard feeling unproductive and useless compared to the Pinterest prizewinners with their beautiful homes, yards and handmade goods. And apparently a lot of time.
11. I have been knitting. I wish I were a lot faster. But then I worry about giving myself carpel tunnel.
12. I have been working. A lot, but not too much. That is ok because:
1. I would be going out of my mind alone all day every day. And worrying.
2. Jon built me this awesome monitor-over-the-guest-bed-hanging-structure so I can truly lie down and work with a wireless keyboard and mouse. My brother gave me a practically new 22-inch monitor so I don't have to crane my neck. It rocks. 
3. I'm trying to get all the crap I do at work in some semblance of order for the people who have to cover for me when this baby comes out. So I am learning to use Microsoft OneNote.
13. I have probably seen more commercials in the last two months than I have in the last two years. The story behind this bored pp (though she'd never admit it) so I will summarize: We only watch dVR, Hulu or Netflix downstairs in the mancave. Jon sold the old jailbroken AppleTV upstairs before they could come out with a new one to make it undesireable. Then I got put on bedrest and can't go downstairs anymore. So unless I want to watch on a small screen in my lap, cable with commercials it is. DIYnetwork has the best ones. 
14. Next week Jon's sisters, M and A (plus nephew Declan!) will be coming for a visit. Madelyn will also come back to hang out. It's always great to have them around.
15. I am just really happy at this moment. 
16. I was worried I complained too much on here, and nobody wants to read blogposts describing the circus in my head, so I will try to post more often now that I'm a little less scared out of my mind.

Again, thank you all for your prayers, your time, your kindness and your love.