Loving her isn't enough

Last night I dreamed that Momma and I were shopping. We were in some hip little downtown area, very much like Asheville, and we were in stores like specialty olive oil and dried herb shops. Places you wander leisurely through, wondering how they stay in business, but enjoying the window shopping.

Momma was strong, beautiful, vibrant, and we were having so much fun.

They were shops I had been in before, because the employees knew me. I introduced Momma to each one of them, and they showed her things that I had mentioned to them reminded me of her. It was very much how I often shop, "Oh, Momma would like that."

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She is on heavy duty chemo again, Momma. It isn't as easy this time around, not that it was ever easy. But it is easy to forget how much harder a weekly injection is than a daily pill. Especially easier to forget when you aren't there.

The boys made her cards. I made her a minky eye pillow with dried lavender in it. She called me when she got it and gushed about the cards. I was proud of my boys. Then we talked about the pillow and how she could heat it or cool it to use on her eyes or head.

She said, "That's so nice. Elizabeth always puts a cool rag on my head with I'm throwing up, so I'm sure I'll be able to use this."

And in that moment, I failed her. Here is your silly eye pillow, when you need someone holding your hand, wiping your mouth, helping you get to the bathroom or bucket in time. I made you a PILLOW. A scented pillow to help you want to throw up even more.

Next week, I'll be with her. I'll get to do those things, but only for a week. It's ultimately not my responsibility. Or is it, and I'm shirking it?

I'm long distance loving her with dreadfully out of touch care packages. Loving her doesn't seem like enough.

She'll be coming around the mountain

Momma comes tomorrow. Ever since last Thursday, I've been going through my days thinking, "This time next week, Momma and I can do [this] together."

To say I'm excited is an understatement.

It will, however, be the first time I've been with just Momma.

There will be the freedom to do whatever we want to whenever we want to without having to worry about Daddy as a prisoner to Parkinson's.

There will be the emptiness of not getting to sit with him. Not getting to see Christopher snuggled up next to him. Not being able to introduce him to Colin as a full on toddler and the funniest member of the family.

To say I'm heartbroken is another understatement.

I want to see my daddy too. Ever since February, I've been here, just like always. I haven't lived in the same state as my parents for twelve years. It's not like I saw them all the time. So for me, it's been easy to just imagine that Momma and Daddy are carrying on like they always were, and that I would see them again soon.

Tomorrow, I will see Momma. Just Momma. I'm so happy she is coming. I'm so happy that we will get to spend just us time. It's going to be awesome. It's just that it's going to be sad too.

I wish she had gotten here two days earlier to enjoy the leaves. She loves the colors of fall. Tonight, it will rain, and most of the leaves will be gone.

Today, a cooler arrived UPS. It contained her chemo for the next 10 days. Kind of surreal.

Tonight, I'm admitting that I always did the obsessive house cleaning for my daddy. Momma will have clean sheets and clean floors, but beyond that, I promise nothing.

Christopher has been waiting for tomorrow for what seems like forever. There seriously hasn't been a day that has gone by since I told him Nana was coming that he hasn't asked when she would get here. He is so very very excited.

We all are.

Bonus: tomorrow is her birthday.

Fighting and living. Elizabeth Edwards

Yesterday, Elizabeth Edwards announced that she would not be treating her cancer any longer. I thought that she had reached a point of quality versus quantity, and while I was sad, I was hopeful that she would have a comfortable, albeit probably last, Christmas with her children.

Then, today, she died.

I know why the news in all seriousness took my breath away when I read it.

I personalized it way more than it should have been.

It was hard not to.

It is hard not to when you know that the days are coming when people you love are going to choose quality over quantity. When talk of not being here "when" works itself easily into a conversation, it's just hard not to be hit in the gut by what felt like a sudden passing of Elizabeth Edwards.

She fought for six years.

What I hate is that it seems like just yesterday that she received her diagnosis. I hate that.

She lived for six years.

When you say she "fought," it sounds like a long time. But when you say she "lived," it sounds like just a moment.

There is never enough time. It's always too soon.

My heart goes out to her children.

More birthdays

The number of times Momma and I have bemoaned the fact that she wouldn't make it to 70 when her mother made it to 97 is now quite laughable.

I'm telling your age, Reverend Mother. Happy 70th Birthday. Thanks for sticking it out with us.



More birthdays

Let's just move on to Thursday, shall we?

Don't ask me why I said it. I don't know. It's a dumb thing to say if you don't really want to leave somewhere.

"Christopher, if you don't start listening to me and calm down, we are going home."

Well, damn if we didn't leave five minutes after me saying that. And I didn't want to leave. Colin and I were enjoying music class - except for the part where Christopher was acting like a little hellion.

It's been that kind of day. Upon leaving music class, we didn't actually go home, we went to the grocery store where I proceeded to do all of my shopping and go to check out only to find that I had no wallet.

Great.

Meanwhile, I'm getting news that my momma has either had a heart attack or a stroke, and they aren't sure which one if either, but she's driven herself home from the store so she can go to the ER. I swear this woman is still alive not because of modern medicine, but because she is just too damn stubborn for cancer.

For crying out loud. I hate this day.

P.S. Momma just finished a hamburger and is enjoying a lovely blood thinner drip now. Doesn't that just somehow seem wrong? Just ribbing you, Momma.

Another battle in the war

I hate cancer.

That's a really stupid thing to say. It implies that maybe someone out there doesn't hate it.

Momma's numbers are down and her scans show improvement. Not enough to get a break from chemo, but improvement nonetheless.

My friend Susan, however, did not have clean scans and is facing another battle.

The thing that makes me so angry is not the cancer itself. It's the freaking inconvenience. Susan has things to do. Great things because she is a freaking genius. Great things because she is an awesome mom. Great things that the world will have to wait on because of cancer.

We're brushing off our Team Whymommy badges. We're remembering when the wall of support started. We're lifting prayers and positive energy.

Keep fighting, SuSu. It's worth it. You make the world a better place.

More birthdays, please.

More birthdays. That's what we keep getting with my momma. It's pretty awesome. There have been so many times when we've been told there would be no more birthdays, and yet today, here she goes again, getting older.

And I thank God everyday that she is.

I'm not just thankful for her birthdays. I'm thankful that she is here for my birthdays, Little Bird's birthdays, everyone's birthdays.

When I was seven, Momma was diagnosed with breast cancer and not given great odds. Then, in 2004 (I think, it's hard to even keep track now), she was diagnosed with ovarian cancer. Both diagnosis came with the very real threat of no more birthdays.

Yet, here she is, turning a glorious and beautiful 69 years old today. Happy birthday, Reverend Mother.

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Ironically enough, today the U.S. Preventative Services Task Force issued a recommendation against routine mammograms for women in their 40's. They also poo-pooed the idea of regular clinical breast exams and educating women on monthly self breast exams.

From my wording, you can obviously tell that I'm extremely opposed to their recommendations. You can find a slightly less leaning and far more intelligent explanation of their study over at Toddler Planet. It's no surprise that my best friend is once again the voice of reason while I flame emotional.

I have the same emotional reaction to the lack of funding for Inflammatory Breast Cancer research. It doesn't get the funding or attention because not enough women die from it. I dare you to tell the women from Mothers With Cancer that NOT ENOUGH women die from IBC.

It's the same premise that the USPSTF is following though. Meh, only 3% more women died of breast cancer, and HEY! Look at all the money we save not doing routine mammograms on women in their 40's!

Bottom line. Frankly, I think you have to be a real asshole to only be able to see the bottom line. That was supposed to be a pun. I don't think it worked very well.

The American Cancer Society has started promoting "breast awareness" above the "monthly self breast exam." That's still dangerous, because you are really just playing with words there, but it's not the same as recommending that none of it is really that important because only 3% more women died.

Here's the thing, and I totally am stealing this thing from Susan. You have two breasts. If one of them starts to look different than the other, get thee to the doctor that very day. That's breast awareness.

Here's the other thing. I had my first mammogram on my 30th birthday. I haven't had one in about three years now due to pregnancy and breastfeeding, and I probably won't have another one until I'm 40 for the same reasons. But you - all my female friends - you need to be getting them. You need to be checking your boobies, and if you have any family history, tell your doctor you want your mammograms now. Get that baseline and then repeat every year. Your doctor can help you fight your insurance company if you need to. But start now before the world goes INSANE and starts listening to the USPSTF.

Just 3% more. Go ahead. Tell that to the 3%'s families who won't be getting any more birthdays with their loved ones.

Time enough to know

My brother and I grew up about a mile from on set of grandparents and just across town from our other grandmother. We saw them regularly. Spent every holiday with them. Had sleepovers with them. Ate Sunday dinners with them.

Now, my parents are 12 hours away. They live around the corner from my brother and his family. Momma talks about the grandchildren coming to play in their backyard. She tells me about the meals they share. Even the Fourth of July was a family gathering complete with a new croquet set for the grandparents' backyard. Bro's kids are taking full advantage of having their grandparents so close by, and that really makes me happy. They are growing up like I remember growing up. Close to family.

My children will have to do things a little differently. We will have to have phone calls and pictures. Emails and blogs replace time around the table. We have to cram a whole lot of loving into short bursts of time.

That's what we did last week. Little Bird spent the week with his Nana and Gee. They were a willing audience and always had a lap available for book time. They were initiated into the Yo Gabba Gabba fan club. Bird was quickly following his Gee around, knocking persistently on the bedroom door when Gee would manage to escape for a moment. There were hugs and kisses and "night night's" for everyone.

Today, Bird and I spent some time looking at pictures on the computer. We got to one of him sitting on Nana's lap, and he pointed while he said, "Nana."

"Yes, that's your Nana, Sweetie. Good job."

We got the the picture above, and I pointed to my daddy.

"Who is that?"

"Baby!"

"Yes, and who is that with Baby?"

"Gee!"

He called them both by name. I kissed his head and sent up a little thankful prayer that it was enough time for him to know them.

The big scary Bible

Little Bird and I like to go to the library. We read in the morning, in the afternoon, and at night before bed. We love books. I quickly learned that books are expensive, and that even though Mama gets bored of the same board books morning, noon, and night, it just isn't in the budget to keep buying books. And why should we when we can just go to the library?

Our trips to the library are short, as Little Bird mainly likes to pull books off of the shelves and place them in the bins around that are for reshelving. He also likes to stand at the little short shelves of board books and pull them out one at a time, examine the front and back of each book, and then hand it to me. I put some back and pull some to check out and take home.

The very first book Little Bird "selected" yesterday was a big sparkly book about Noah's Ark. We haven't started learning Bible stories yet - unless you count him chucking the baby Jesus from his Fisher Price nativity set with me crying out, "Noooooo! Don't throw the Son of God!" so I thought it would be good to start. I'll bet the Reverend Nana agrees.

When we got home, we sat down on the couch to read. I opened up the Noah's Ark book, and began,

"Noah was a good man.
He lived a holy life.
He had three grown-up sons,
And a kind and loving wife."

Okay. That's a nice story. Next page.

"God will send a frightening flood
To cover all the land.
And as the water rises,
There'll be no place left to stand.

I have to wipe the world clean
Because my people are so bad.
But I'll save you and your family,
So Noah, don't be sad."

Holy crap. I know the story. I went to a Presbyterian day school. I know all the stories. It hadn't occurred to me how freaking scary they are until now.

Evil snake in the garden. Cain and Abel. Job and the series of unfortunate events. Daniel getting thrown to the lions. Jonah and the whale. Then of course, the torture and crucifixion of Jesus. They are all freaking nightmare stories.

I believe in a God of grace and mercy. I want for my son to know of the goodness and kindness. He should know of the grace.

I guess that you have to tell the stories like these to get to the grace. I mean, the story of grace in my life involves death, divorces, and miscarriages. It's not a pretty story, it's just a happy ending. But without the first part of the story, there can be no grace.

Tell that to a 13 month old. No thanks. For now, I'm skipping over the story of the flood and just talking about the animals on the big boat. I think I'll leave out drunken Noah too, just for good measure.

Living within the lines

There are fine lines between optimism, realism, and pessimism. I wrestle with which lines I will live within all the time.

I am aiming for optimism with a few toes over the line in realism.

It works most of the time. Sometimes it lets me down. Like when Kevin and I were first looking at houses. I was insistent that we needed a guest bed and bath on the first floor for when my parents came to visit us. I didn't want them climbing stairs all the time during their visits.

They aren't coming to visit anymore. They cannot.

My dancing around in optimism land had made me not realize that. It didn't dawn on me that their visit in June was their last visit here.

Now that Momma has started chemo again, I find myself trying so desperately hard to remain optimistic. One thing that has helped that is that I know that the better I am at handling it, the easier it is on her. I didn't understand that until I was a mother. But I understand now that one of the hardest parts of her illness is knowing how much her children hurt for her, and for ourselves.

So I keep my foot, at least one at all times, across the line of optimism. It is all I can do some days to plant it there, but I want to be hopeful.

Hopeful for one more birthday.

One more Christmas.

One more New Year.

Little Bird's first birthday.

And as we pass each milestone, I'll dig my heels in a little more to hope for another.

Because like Andrea, the late Punk Rock Mommy said, "I am not “dying”. I am living with a terminal illness that eventually I will die from." Momma knows this statement well.

Momma is still living. I know it is hard, or rather I can only imagine how hard, to take the chemo again and again. But I'm so grateful for every extra day it gives us with you.

And I am hopeful that we are talking about many many many extra days.

I am so grateful for our trip to BlogHer this year, and for pictures like this.
Little Bird and his Nana.

Right now, today

Christopher has been baptized. Sunday, his Nana stood in front of the congregation with us and baptized her youngest grandson.

I honestly didn't think that we would get to see this day. I didn't think my mom would be here for this day.

My momma and I had good conversations last week. There is something about a daughter becoming a mother that makes the grandmother/mother and mother/daughter bond even stronger. I feel closer to my mother than I ever have before.

While we were talking last week, I realized that I've spent an awful lot of time and energy on being sad for my parents' health. Granted, they rarely get good news when they go to the doctor, but so far, neither of them have been told that they were going to die that same day.

Susan's post, A moment spent moping, really hit home. It's not just the patients who are angry at cancer or spend their time wishing for the "what could have been's" of a different diagnosis. As the daughter of an ovarian cancer patient and a Parkinson's patient, I do the exact same thing.

What this means is that I have spent the past six years mourning the loss of my parents over and over and over again. Every time there is a new diagnosis, I mourn.

That seems like a complete waste of time now.

Each day that I still have them is a gift.

In all honesty, it doesn't always feel that way. Each day that I still have my mother is a gift, but some of the days with Daddy are down right hard. I have so much anger for what has been taken from him and from us. It is harder to apply the "each day is a gift" to a disease which erodes my father's mind and body in waves of dust and huge chunks of his life.

But Momma.

Her scans are not clean. Her ca125 is rising again. She will start chemo again, maybe this fall.

And I can type that without crying. Finally.

Momma is still here. She is still fighting. She is still winning. Right now.

Every minute I spend thinking ahead at what she will miss is a minute I've spent not enjoying her while she's here.

She was here to meet my child. She was here to hold my child. She was here to baptize my child. All things that I had mourned the loss of in 2002 when she was diagnosed with stage 3B ovarian cancer.

Sure. My momma is going to die much sooner than I would like for her to, and we all know it. The knowing makes it hard. But would there be a time in my life when I wouldn't be devastated to lose her? She could be 97 years old and I would still be heartbroken when she passed.

So today I vow to stop mourning my parents before they are gone. It's not fair to them, and it's not good for me.

That also means, Momma, that you have to stop labeling all your stuff all the time too. I may love your pewter goblets, but I don't want them anytime soon.

Blue

Do you ever have one of those days when you have a dozen things to write about swirling around in your head, but you are just too blue to get any of them out well?

I miss my mom who left this morning.

Nothing else seems worth saying.

Family friends

A week from Sunday, Guy and I will have our son baptized.

My mother, who is a Presbyterian minister, will stand up in front of our church and baptize her newest grandson. I prayed a long time that she would be able to do this.

I don't have a lot of family really. The relatives that we went to visit in Georgia over Easter don't travel. I invited the cousin who is my age to come up and see us, and he proclaimed that he doesn't go north of the South Carolina border.

My daddy's brother is not too far away, but we aren't close, and I don't think he would come.

My brother and his family require two minivans and a vacation notice from God himself to get to go anywhere. Apparently, if he leaves town, the church where he works will most certainly fall completely apart. The committee structure will crumble, members will flee to the nearest Pentecostal gathering, and the church building will fall into a sinkhole that leads straight to hell.

Seriously. They won't let him ever leave. Their real pastor is a lazy pansyass, but that's a whole other story.

Guy's dad lives here. Papa, we call him. He is around just enough. Surprisingly, sometimes he isn't around as often as we would like. But, he's got his own life going on, and we are happy about that.

Guy's mom is no longer alive. He has an aunt with whom he is close, but she lives in Florida. I haven't even met her in person yet, only talked on the phone with her.

That's it. The extent of our extended family.

And that isn't enough to celebrate with us. Not in my book.

So I decided that our extended family would extend just a little farther for Bird's baptism. Not too far, just six friends who mean the world to me.

There are friends who are more like family than most of your extended family.

Those people who have answered the phone at 7:00 in the morning and listened to your hysterical cries of how your dog just got run over by a car and would you please meet me at the vet? And they did.

Those people who have told it to you straight when you needed to get your head out of your own ass and be a better friend. And hopefully I did.

Those people who stood up for you at your wedding. Or weddings.

Those people who have given you opportunities to become more than you thought possible. Who believed in your abilities and told you to go for it. And when you did? They were the first ones congratulating you on the other side.

Those people who have continued to love you through all the changes that have occurred.

These are the people who will be with us on Father's Day to baptize our son.

These are the people who will join us for a good ole traditional Southern luncheon afterwards complete with chicken salad, homemade biscuits, and Mrs. Gerber's sweet tea.

I don't make that tea for just anyone, you know.

Haiku Friday

One for Bird . . .

I am so tired
Little Bird's not even here
Need to get some sleep.


One for Momma . . .

Momma's chemo works
Her ca125
Is down even more.


One for Lovely . . .

I love track out time
Hanging with my Lovely girl
Gonna learn to sew.


More haiku goodness over at Jennifer's place. Check them out. Even better yet, join in! 5-7-5 is a piece of cake.

Semantics of cancer

Whymommy linked to this post by Punk Rock Mommy yesterday. It isn't someone I have read before, but as far as reading a first post goes, this one will be sticking with me for quite some time.

Momma and I have talked about her chemo some. It doesn't dominate our conversations. It doesn't dominate her life.

There will be a time that she has to decide though, if the quality of life the chemo leaves her with is worth fighting for. She has assured me that now is not that time. I believe her.

The truth of the matter though is that Momma has cancer. She has cancer that will eventually lead to her death. We know this. What we don't know is how soon that will be. Of course we hope and pray it will be very far off. And maybe it will. We certainly have great hope and faith in that.

And so today, I found so much comfort in these words from Andrea, Punk Rock Mommy:

I am not “dying”. I am living with a terminal illness that eventually I will die from.

Andrea, Susan, my momma, are all people living with cancer. What an important distinction to make.

The last time my momma was going through chemo, I didn't call her much. I felt like I didn't have anything important enough to say. Like her time on earth here was precious and if I couldn't think of something wildly intelligent or relevant, that I probably shouldn't waste her energy.

I am a moron.

As Susan and I chatted on the phone this weekend, we laughed about old boyfriends. We talked about babies and naptime. We giggled like friends. Because we are. Susan is living with cancer and doing a damn fine job of it too. Adapting and adjusting to be the best mother, wife, daughter, and friend she can be. I would say it is amazing, but it's not.

It's just who she is and what she does.

So I add Andrea and her family to my prayers, and I say thank you to her for her words. Words that have reminded me once again that my momma and Susan are doing a superb job of living.

Grown ups moved in

Our bedroom now has furniture. We looked for over a year for something that we both liked that didn't cost 80 million dollars, and of course we ended up back at one of the first places we looked.

It isn't fancy, but it is handmade. It wasn't expensive, but it does look nice. Very simple and plain. Very functional. We love it. I won't be sad to see my Rubbermaid dressers go.

And, it is one more thing in my house that looks like what my mother has. It's getting a little creepy really. Every time I have a hand in picking out something, it ends up looking a lot like my mother's things. Thank goodness she has good taste.

The only thing I don't like about it is that the bed is incredibly tall. As I type this, perched like some sort of princess perched up high, Pupstar is whining by the side of the bed. She cannot in any way, shape, or form, begin to jump on this bed.

I'm thinking we might have to invest in some doggie steps. As seen on TV.

Haiku Friday and I hate cancer, but who doesn't?

Not in the mood for
Writing good haiku tonight
Chemo next Friday.


Find more and better haiku here.

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We are not foolish enough to think that Momma wouldn't have to go back on chemo at some point. Her cancer is a chronic condition. We know that.

So when she called today, and I could hear the news in the tone of her voice before her words were spoken, I didn't crumble. It didn't feel like a crisis. I didn't immediately run through all of the things I needed to cancel in order to catch a plane.

Now that they have moved, thank God, they are near my brother. Bro and Sil are great with them, and the grandchildren bring joy into their lives. There will be help. There will not be Daddy taking Momma a piece of bread folded in half and calling it a sandwich. Bless his heart. This is so huge. I'm so grateful that they are near family now.

I think she will be okay. I think they will zap it back again this time. I think that she will live long enough to know Little Bird and for Little Bird to fall completely madly for her.

But she won't be here in January. Not for the birth. After all the wrestling with whether or not it was a good idea for them to be here, the coming to terms with how I wanted her here even it was more work because of Daddy, after all that?

It isn't even an option.

And of course, that makes me want her more than ever. And I just feel really sad.

But I also want you for a long time, so we will compromise. Stay there and fight now. Come here after you've kicked some more cancer in the tush. Little Bird will want you to stick around for a long time.

Alone again, for now

The house is quiet. Momma and Daddy left this morning. Lovely is at school and then goes to her mother's house for a couple of days. Guy is at work. Always at work. It's just me and the pups for now.

Daddy did very well here, I thought. The stairs are problematic, but we couldn't do anything about that. He was up and down during the night and got off of his medicine schedule one day, but these are things that happen at home too. Overall, I thought the visit went well, and I don't think it will be as much work as was anticipated if they come for Bird's arrival in January.

Daddy is used to doing things and being the boss man. It is difficult to keep your patience with him now that he needs constant help, but then tells you how to do what he needs help with. Either that, or he wants you to help him right that second, even if you are already doing something else for him. I know it must be one of the many things that frustrates Momma, and with good reason. I just hope she doesn't feel guilty for being frustrated or out of patience sometimes.

Taking them to the 3D ultrasound was my favorite part of the week. They were really excited to get to see Bird, and the tech even printed some extra pictures for them to take back. It was incredibly cool to get to share that with them.

And the trip was happy. Even with Momma's scans looming in the near future and the reality of more chemo getting closer by the day, it was a happy trip. Of course, we are comparing that to our last two visits, one of which I lost a baby, and the other of which she was in the ICU on a ventilator. Not exactly tough competition for this trip. But we were happy. Or at least, I was. I know Momma's worried that she may not get to see Little Bird other than in those pictures, but I just don't believe that. I think she will team up with chemo again and push the cancer back at least once more.

If it's even there. We don't even know if it's there yet.

Last night, the five of us played a domino game that Daddy had been wanting to teach Lovely all week. The strange thing was, he couldn't remember how to play it. Every time we got to his turn, we had to explain the rules again. He tried to quit because he was holding us up, he said, but nobody minded. So he stayed, and he played. And even with the bizarre fact that he had to be retaught how to play with every round, there was so much of his old self there. He joked around and even broke out into the same random song that Guy did at one point. We all laughed. A lot. And it was good.

But now it is quiet. And I'm facing the third trimester.

This baby is going to be here before we know it.

I hope we are ready.

Little shards of truth

I know. I'm supposed to be on break, visiting with my folks. And I am, but they need some quiet time, and so do I. Every once in awhile of course. So far it has been great having them here, and I think Daddy is doing really well. I am quite surprised actually. Pleasantly surprised.

He can't remember Lovely's name, and called her, "The little girl who lives here sometimes," which made me cry. But he can't help it, and it's not personal. I just continue to remind him, and Momma makes up for it by gushing about how wonderful she is. Which is true, so it's easy.

There is something on my mind though. Something that I need to flesh out, and I might as well try to do it here. I don't really want to go back to therapy right now if I can help it.

Guy wants to know why I think the hospital is the enemy. Why I feel like I will be fighting them tooth and nail to get the birth that I want for Little Bird to have. And while I'm not even convinced that I do feel that way, it is an interesting question.

I know that I want to be comfortable at the hospital. Comfortable as in relaxed and confident that I am being listened to and have first say in what is going on as long as things are moving along safely. I don't want to feel as though I'm being treated like someone who is sick or incapable of taking care of themselves. I want to feel strong, and I want to feel prepared.

So maybe I do feel that way. Maybe I do feel like I won't have much of a say and like everything is happening "to me" instead of "with me."

Little shards of truth still lay under my skin I guess. Things I haven't said aloud. Things I don't want to think about anymore. Laying under my skin and growing scars around them that are ugly and infected.

1. I had never been in the hospital before my D&C.

2. The last thing I said to anyone before they put me under was, "I don't care if he's dead. I don't want you to take my baby."

So there. It is really not a mystery. Just some things in my head I haven't learned to live with yet. Things that I didn't even know might be an answer when Guy asked the question the other day.

They probably have a lot to do with an answer. I know it's not the same. I know the two experiences are not related. I know all the logical answers.

Funny how none of that matters when you let your fears guide you.

House guests

Cleaning a house that has never been unpacked and is still being renovated is not an easy task. However, when your parents are coming for a visit, getting that task accomplished becomes much more important to you.

Guy and I spent the past two weeks trying to unpack boxes, put things away, build shelves, and clean, and clean some more. Even Lovely got in the act, coming to us and saying, "How can I help?" She really is an amazing 11 year old. And of course, it makes me feel good that she was excited for G-Daddy and Nana to come for a visit. In her words, "You can't have too many grandparents."

G-Daddy and Nana (who Guy and I lobbied to be called G-Daddy and Special Sauce, but Nana won out in the end) arrived last night, and seem to be settling in alright. They were up and down most of the night, but I'm not sure that is very different than when they are at home.

Daddy is ready to get out and run some errands today. Momma and I are not. The problems I've been having with my SI joint have really caught up with me, and I'm sticking to this chair and my hot pad as much as possible today. Momma of course does all the driving now, so she is tired too. We are just lumps on a log today, and it feels good.

So, dear internets, with this visit in mind, I'm about to have to hit the dreaded "mark read" on the blog reader. I'll try and catch up next week, but for now, I'm going to just have to miss you all. I will, however, say hello to the Reverend Momma for you.