The last one

My newest niece joined our family this past weekend. I was waiting on a picture, and now that I have one, I forgot to ask if I could post it. So you will have to take my word that she is beautiful. She really is.

That makes five. Five wonderful kiddos. I'm a lucky aunt. I know that five is a lot of kids, and that it makes sense for them to be "done" now, but in a way, I'm a little sad. The oldest is 11. That is a long time to have baby excitement coming over and over. Plus, my sister-in-law is the best pregnant woman. She is one that really does glow. She's just good at it. And she's an awesome mom too. So, there is a little sadness at the end of this part of their lives.

But there is even more happiness at this little one who has completed their family. I can't wait to meet her in person.


Happy Birthday, little one. Welcome to the world!

You can take the crazy off my chart now

I really do have a pretty terrific doctor. Today was my appointment for the paranoia ultrasound. The ultrasound scheduled between 9w2d and 12 weeks. The one to make sure that Little Bird is still chirping.

The doppler has been great. Guy and I snuggle up and find that little "swish swish" before we go to sleep at night, and it is the most calming sound in the world. Especially now that I'm sure that what we are hearing is a heartbeat.

Hearing is one thing. Seeing is quite another.

When I arrived today, the nurse that I like brought me back. We weighed (still no weight gain - don't get that one at all, because, I mean - HoHo's) and took my blood pressure.

Through the roof.

My blood pressure is typically so low that Guy worries about it. He'll poke me and ask if I'm still alive after they take it. I'm just laid back I guess. But today it was sky high. The nurse wanted to know if I was anxious. Um. Yes.

Sweet nurse had me lay on my left side for 5 minutes to see if we could bring it down. I closed my eyes and thought of my Guy, schmooping my little head, and said my yoga incantation to myself. After the 5 minutes, it was back down in my normal range, and we left to do the ultrasound.

I saw a new doctor today, and I got a glimpse of a downside of being in a practice with multiple doctors. New Doc had no idea why we would be doing another ultrasound during the 10th week when I had no bleeding or cramping. If, of course, she had read my chart, she would have. It was alright though, I just let her wonder, and said hello to the stirrups.

Here is what we saw:

Little Bird looks like he's wearing a wrestling mask. I almost laughed out loud right in the office. Had Guy been there with me, I'm sure there would have been much laughing. I just couldn't explain to New Doc and Whisper Nurse (who unfortunately replaced Sweet Nurse), that I thought our Little Bird now looks like a member of Los Straitjackets.

Or, you could say that he looks like my Bro. Which would be all too fair. People say that his second child is virtually a clone of me, bless her heart, so it would only be right for at least one of my kiddos to look like my Bro. Who, in fact, looks like a wrestler. He is about 6'4", I don't know how many pounds, but dear word it's mostly muscle and girth. He's bald, sports a goatee, and could scare the paint off walls if he wanted to. Except that he's a sweetheart.

So if Little Bird ends up looking somewhat like Uncle Bro, I guess that's okay with me. As long as he has his father's eyes. And nose. And smile. And shoulders. And legs. And voice.

Keep chirping, Little Bird.

Number 39

This was supposed to be my post for Easter, but list tons of worthless excuses here, and so I didn't. That isn't going to stop me from posting it today. It is my most favorite picture of me and Bro.

Things everyone should know about my Bro

Since my Bro might joining us around here, I thought there were some things that you all needed to know.

My Bro taught me to fear the toilet monster. If you didn't make it out of the bathroom before the toilet gurgled, the toilet monster would grab you and take you back down. The noise of a toilet flushing haunted me for years. I occasionally still shudder at that gurgle.

My Bro taught me that Talladega was a bad word. As in, "Mommmmmm! He called me a talladega!"

My Bro used me for slumber party entertainment. There was the old putting my hand in warm water to make me wet the bed. There was the filling my hand with toothpaste and then tickling my nose. He taught me to always lock my door at night when he had company.

After all the torture though, if there is one person in my family that I know I can count on, it's Bro. When my parents made what seemed to us to be a absurdly random move to California 7 years ago, Bro and I made a pact to always spend Christmas and Thanksgiving together. That was of course, 2 kids ago for him and it hasn't always worked, but hey, we made a pact, and we've done the best we could at keeping it.

This year, the day after Christmas, we are loading up the car and heading to Tennessee. Guy hates to travel at the holidays. He might think I've forgotten this little piece of information, but I haven't. He didn't bat an eye when I said that I would really like to spend time with my family at Christmas.

Now that he has met my Bro in person, he totally gets it.

My mother was awake today. She was mostly coherent and able to carry on a conversation. I am so glad. When she was moved into her new room, the first thing she asked me was, "Do I get to see your ring?"

I had almost forgotten that I hadn't seen her since Guy and I ran off and got married.

Before she moved though, and in her ICU fog, she looked at me, who was there in person, and asked, "Is Bro coming?"

My brother. I was standing there with her and the second thing she asks is where my brother was. There are some people who would be offended I think. Me, I'm just glad she is still herself. She assumed I was there to take care of Daddy, and she was looking for her momma's boy. There is comfort in familiarity.

And he's coming on Thursday. Good boy.

Today my mother woke up. One of the first things she said to us when we got to the hospital was, "How do I get out of here." Rock on, Reverend Mother. Rock on.

I was so excited to hear her want to get out. Want to not be sick anymore. That was before the tears started.

I had to ask, when Daddy left the room, I had to ask, "Momma, can you tell me why you are crying?"

She opened her eyes and said, "I'm tired of fighting. I wanted so much for you and Bro, but I'm tired of fighting, and I need to go now."

I asked her what she could possibly give us that she hadn't already given, and she said,

"Memories."

What in god's name do you say to that? Has she been sneaking onto my blog, into my brain, and knows that what I mourn now, before her death, are the memories that won't be made. I sob when I think of how Lovely won't get to know her. I weep when I think about going through pregnancy without her. And I completely shut down when I consider the fact that she won't be here to baptize any of my babies like she has my nieces and nephews.

Or then, there is the explanation that she really is my momma. My nearest and dearest. Not a best friend, because she is, more importantly, a momma. You can't be both, you know. But she knows me better than anyone else. And she hit the nail on the head with,

"Memories."

I've got to get out of the future. There is plenty I won't be able to share with my momma. But if I'm 100% honest with myself, I have to remember that I should have lost her when I was 7 and she battled late-stage breast cancer. So I have 26 years of memories that she fought her ass off to give me.

Thank you, Momma. No matter what, I promise that I will stop being angry that I will lose you soon. Thank you for staying as long as you did. I do not take that for granted. I'm sorry that it only made me want to have you forever.

My brother and I made a pact. We would not go to California unless it was going to produce final results. We would take care of everything over the phone, staying in complete contact with each other and standing together on all decisions. So why am I in California all alone?

Guy and I cancelled our vacation to stay in TN with my brother so that he and I could make a plan. Implement a plan. Stand firm. Mom and Dad needed home health care months ago. Even before Mom's diagnosis and chemo. We told them this repeatedly. They declined to do anything about it.

Dad doesn't sleep well at night. I'm one to talk, but that's another story. He gets up during the night, but then he can't get back down. The bed is too tall. My mother loves the bed and the hand knotted canopy that hangs above it. Which itself is probably dust and germ laden, and I could go on, but you get the point I'm sure.

There are things about their lives that they have been unwilling to change. Can I blame them really? They aren't supposed to have to yet. They aren't supposed to be old.

This past week, Bro and I made great strides with Dad. We even got him to agree to home health care overnight for himself. Then there was the Nose.

The Nose is a "friend" of my parents. She presented herself to me during this episode of the soap opera that is my parents' life by calling to ask me for my aunt's phone number. "You know, the one who lives in Georgia?"

Yes, I know my aunt that lives in Georgia, thank you. No, you may not have her phone number. She is my aunt, I'll call her. Why are you trying to call our family members anyway?

Turns out, she's been calling my parents' friends back in Mississippi, talking to doctors, nurses, and basically deciding that she was in charge of this family.

Wrong. She made a big mistake Saturday. Bro and I had asked the one person that we both trust to be at the meeting with Daddy and the home health lady. The Nose called and said she was going to be staying with my dad anyway, so why didn't she just tell our person not to come. I said fine. I thought it was fine. We only wanted there to be an extra set of ears so that they could help Dad remember what was said.

Only the Nose took it upon herself to say to the home health person, "He has a lot of his plate right now," and "We really have this under control, you know. He is going to come and stay with us at our house."

WHAT????? I specifically told the Nose earlier in the week that Daddy needed to be at home. Staying in other houses is terrible on him. He falls. He gets confused. He doesn't rest. It is not an option. And there she was, completely sabotaging every effort Bro and I had made. Every bit of progress. Daddy sent the home health people away. All because of the Nose.

The kicker is that I told the Nose that she was only to listen, and that we needed to make sure that she was going to support this decision if she was to be present. Looking back, I realize what she said was this, "I agree that someone needs to be with your dad at night."

Manipulative bitch.

By the way, I ripped her a new one over the phone and then got in lots of trouble with my dad. I actually was quite pleased that he was lucid enough to be completely and totally pissed at me and tell me to apologize. So pleased that I actually did apologize to the Nose. I apologized for the tone of voice that I used and then stated that I didn't apologize for anything I said, which included several "how dare you's" and "what gives you the right's" and "you are to keep your opinions and control issues out of our family's."

Is there a point? Yes, a couple.

I'm now in California. Yesterday, I spent 12 hours in a car driving across I-40 to get home. Then, the Nose caused me to have to get on a plane less than 12 hours after I got home and fly across the country to try and salvage what little progress we had made with Dad in the past week. Plus, I thought I had better get my sorry ass out here and make him a pound cake before he decided to hold a marathon grudge against me for putting the Nose in her place and thereby embarrassing him in the process.

The second point is a really just a thought. Someone else from my mom's church tried to explain the Nose's inappropriate behavior by telling me how much she loved my parents and that it scared her to see them slipping away. Therefore, the control freak in her came out and took over.

Am I the only one that is appalled by this? She is scared of losing them? Aren't they my parents? Hasn't she known them for 7 years to my 33? Am I supposed to care? Am I supposed to help her feel better by letting her run the show? Ummmm, NO.

Then it hit me. When my parents die, or when just one of them dies, all the needy people they collected in their lives are going to come to me and suck me dry. It hit me that when my grandfather died, I couldn't stand to be in the room with all those sad people. Visitation was torture. I wanted to be sad, and I didn't want anyone else being sad around me, making me feel like I had to make them feel better. I don't know how I'm going to deal with my parents' funerals. I've got to get a handle on that, because it can't be a repeat of Granddaddy's funeral. That was just a disaster, but good material to write about someday.

Lucky for me, there was no grudge. He was happy to see me and I was happy to see him. I don't know what will happen this week, but I know that Bro and I have now taken back control of our family and we ain't ever letting it slip away again. They are our parents. We love them, and we will take care of them. So there.