Taking care of (baby) business...

If there is one thing I enjoy, it is wasting hours of time making things for my baby. I'm not even being sarcastic. I like making purposeful things, and I like my baby, so why not combine the two?

As I wrote in my last post, I've become somewhat obsessed recently with babywearing. I can happily say I am enjoying a new ring sling I made this week. It is linen, so it is comfy, breathable and strong. It is currently in a somewhat drab ecru-colored state, but I plan to change that in the near future. I ordered the rings as part of a sampler set, so I didn't have the liberty of choosing my own colors. I was hoping for something less effeminate than purple, but it could have been worse -- pink was a possible color choice. Strangely, I have been holding onto a purple zipper for years without having any plans for it. It goes perfectly with the purple rings and thread. At hubbs's recommendation, I'll probably do some sort of grey blue overall dye. Perhaps I'll even try my hand at a simple batik. Stars, maybe? Either way, it is extremely useful already, even if it is a little boring.

Purple and ecru

Hands free and happy.

In addition to the awesome ring sling, I FINALLY made the kid a nursing necklace. I am, once again, trying to grow out my hair. The timing of this is pretty terrible because my little turtle is at that important developmental phase of needing to physically manipulate everything, which frequently translates to my hair being pulled. If I didn't give him something else to play with and grab, quickly, I would have chopped off my hair, again.

After seeing a few for sale online, I decided I could easily make my own. It took a total of half an hour to make, with the kid climbing all over me in an attempt to play with it before it was done. That seems to me like a positive reaction from the #1 critic, if you ask me. :)

It started as a bracelet I haven't worn in years and a pretty fabric.

Voila! I can make it longer or shorter based on how I tie it.

Now that these two creative tasks are complete, it's time for some fall cleaning. We are officially signing the additional year lease addendum on Monday, after a house walk-through by our property manager. Prior to this house, the longest hubbs and I ever lived at one address was ten months. September 9th will officially make 18 months here, and we're about to add another year to that. Even with its flaws, and it being a rental, and it being so far from friends and family, I have to say it is amazing having a place that feels like home enough to stay.

Creation vs. Obsession

Before my son was born, I had an idea. I decided, I was going to make as much of his "stuff" as possible. I don't mean his crib or car seat or anything like that. I mean, fabric stuff. Some of it I have shown on here before. Some, I have not.

It started with a gender neutral palette of aqua and yellow. I bought hundreds of dollars work of fabric and yarn. I made receiving blankets, muslin swaddles, minky play blankets, a quilt, sheets, nursing pads, burp cloths... With a full-time job, a lack of an official crafting or sewing space, and an idea that verged on obsession, it was a daunting amount of work. There are two things that I didn't finish before the birth: a crib skirt and a bumper. I got most of the work done on the bumper, but not quite enough. After the baby was born, those two items went on the back burner. I figured, I wasn't using the crib yet, anyway, since we planned on cosleeping for at least the first six months until he could sleep through the night without waking to nurse. I'm lazy, and I wanted the extra bonding, especially after my 8 days without him when I was in the hospital.

About two weeks ago, I "finished" the bumper. What I mean is I rushed and did a mediocre job and it is somewhat useless, but it is up and tied in place. I am not redoing it. After he grows into his own room, I had dreams of repurposing the bumper as window valances. I still may do that. I may not. I still may make a crib skirt, but it is doubtful.

You see, I have moved onto new and exciting things! I've found myself sucked into the crazy world of babywearing moms. It started with putting Dylan into a cheap soft structured carrier while I tried to clean the house weeks after he was born.

The carrier was not very comfortable.

I then bought a Moby wrap. That was better, but I couldn't seem to get him into it correctly for support. He would lean back really far, like it was loose, but his feet would turn purple like it was too tight. (It turns out it was way too loose and compensated. We've since fixed that issue.)

 

An example showing it is too loose!

 

Then we went on a vacation and forgot his carriers and stroller, so I bought another SSC for $11 on clearance at Target. I used that one at Sea World. It is not the best, but it was invaluable at the time.



Terribly unsupportive of legs. Now I know better.

 

I found Dylan started struggling more with carriers, though, around 4 months. I went online, did lots of research, joined some online communities, and went to a babywearing meeting locally. I decided I needed a Mei Tai style carrier for better support. I bought one for $28, and wore it out of the store (no pictures yet, but I'm sure there will be!). I use it for grocery shopping or if I need to put Dylan to sleep but don't feel like dealing with the Moby. I use it to sweep and mop. I can do a back carry in it, which will be important as he gets bigger and heavier, and also gives me more physical mobility to clean or craft, but have yet to actually do a back carry.

Then, one day, without ever trying a woven wrap, I decided to make one. I made it, tried it once, got confused and frustrated, Dylan wouldn't cooperate, and I put it away until the next babywearing meeting. A little on the stiff side still, "put away" means it gets sat on in the rocking chair to break it in a bit. It is a five yard long, linen-like slubby cotton, unbleached and undyed -- the best kind of seat cushion, right?

Then, I decided to use other fabric I owned to make a "shortie" wrap that could be tied on one shoulder to carry Dylan like a sling. I used that thing every single day since, but yesterday it started to dig into Dylan's leg behind his knee and cut off circulation. It wasn't appropriate fabric to begin with, so it has been retired. Then, last Saturday, I broke down and bought 3 yards of midweight linen and a sampler of rings to use on a DIY ring sling, a sling that is adjustable and amazing for quick trips or for babies that want up and down. Then, I found patterns for homemade Mei Tais, and tutorials for "tablecloth" wraps and slings, and instructions for dyeing fabric, and instructions for weaving wraps...

It has officially become an obsession. Do I need even a quarter of this? No. Am I enjoying learning about everything and becoming an "expert" without even having experience? Certainly. Is it all a bit of trial and error? You bet. Am I going to spend more money on things I don't use than things I do? Of course.

All I can say is everyone needs a hobby, especially a newly stay-at-home mom, and what better hobby than one where you create things to help parents and babies bond and be happy? And if you have a baby, young toddler, or are expecting, there is a good chance you'll receive one of my DIY creations. I won't be offended if you give it away or hide it, just do me a favor and try it at least once first.

I have a feeling I'll be on this kick for at least another few months, so be prepared to learn more about it all, and for more photos of fabric and tied-up almost not visible Dylan than you'd probably prefer. :)

Miracles and my Son

I haven't written in a considerably long time. At first, I couldn't. I was in too much pain, emotionally. I wasn't giving up hope on a baby, but I was feeling pretty downtrodden.

Then, I didn't want to because I was happy, and this had previously been a place to put my pain, tied up in a hopeful bow.

Then I was busy. It is funny how quickly you become busy doing nothing much at all as a parent...


That's right. I said PARENT!!! In July 2012, a few months after moving away from family and friends and starting over in, of all places, Las Vegas, I discovered that I was pregnant. Despite the trouble conceiving, my actual pregnancy was amazingly smooth. I had very little morning sickness, a decent amount of Braxton Hicks that started early, but also went away early, and in March of this year, my sweet miracle boy was born.

Life is amazing, and I am blessed. I truly couldn't be happier in life than I am now. I would like this to be a place to celebrate this joy, no longer reserving it to give an outward appearance of hope while I am sad. Before I can do that, though, I need to do one last cathartic post. I need to come to terms with my birth story and the time immediately following it.

When I discovered I was pregnant, I was given March 22, 2013 as my due date. I was so excited about the idea of having a baby as a birthday present from whatever powers may be. I worked through my whole pregnancy, with the idea that I would stop working the day I was officially "full term" so that I could enjoy the last few weeks of pregnancy without the stresses of work. Your first pregnancy only happens once in a lifetime, and I wanted to spend a short time basking in the wonder of it.

March 1 rolled around, finally. I was exactly 37 weeks pregnant--full term. It was my last day at work. I had my files cleared out, I had my reviews written for those people working for me, and I had a successor (somewhat) trained and ready to take over for me. My husband was out of town for work, but was supposed to come home later that night, and I was finally going to give in to my full nesting desires. I was given the instructions to not "do anything stupid" by my husband, meaning he didn't want me to do any activities that might cause labor while he was still on the road home. He wanted to be with me for every moment of the labor and birth of our miracle son. One his way home, he called me to remind me of these instructions. He would be home soon, I was done working, and I had plenty of time to get everything done around the house I wanted. I reassured him with the bold-faced lie that I was taking things easy and just watching tv and hanging out with our dogs. What I was really doing was rearranging heavy furniture. I was lifting and pushing and squatting and bending more than triple the weight restrictions given to me by my ob. Stubborn as I am, I didn't stop until I was done, and then, despite being winded and having some cramping, I did a thorough vacuuming of my bedroom. I quickly felt very guilty, knowing I had pushed it too much.

My husband was finally home hours later, in the last hours before March 2 began. We took showers and went to bed, but I really didn't feel well and was so excited and nervous and a little in pain, so I laid next to my husband, sleeplessly. Around 11pm, I was extremely nauseous and my stomach hurt. Not my uterus, my stomach. I got up and took another shower, but wasn't in it five minutes before puking my guts out. My abdominal pain got worse, and I crawled in and out of bed several times that first hour, throwing up, drinking water, showering more, throwing up more. This definitely wasn't labor. I knew that. I felt it must be something serious, though. My mind immediately went toward food poisoning. Oh no! I was suffering from food poisoning and it was going to get in the way of my enjoyment of the last few weeks of labor. It was going to complicate things and I wasn't going to get the natural water birth I had planned for most of my life...
My second thought was I hurt myself with all the furniture rearranging. That added guilt to my growing anxiety.

I didn't want to wake up my husband; he had just driven home six hours straight after an eight hour day of meetings. He was tired. Instead I called my mom. I was trying hard to not panic. I didn't want to go to the hospital because I knew I would have to go to the labor and delivery triage and I wasn't ready to be in labor. This was not labor. My mom sounded very worried on the phone, like her heart was breaking a little not being here with me to take care of me. She made me promise I would wake up Joe and have him take me to the hospital. I was starting to be in a pretty sizeable amount of pain, and I took my time getting ready and waking him up.

"Honey, you need to wake up. You need to take me to the hospital. I don't think I'm in labor but something is wrong with me. Please wake up and take me to the hospital." I remember very clearly the words I used, and the wavering tone of my voice, as I tried to give the impression of being completely fine while inside being terrified and not ready at all. I honestly didn't want to have my baby yet. I wasn't ready. I just wanted another week to bond with him. I wasn't ready.

When we got to the L and D triage, I calmly explained that I was in a lot of pain abdominally, and couldn't stop throwing up, but that I wasn't in labor and wasn't having contractions. I needed to be checked for something else, not for labor. They looked at me as if I was nuts! It was around 2am and I was a scared first time mom. In their eyes, I might as well have been a six year old announcing I would one day be president. They put me in the triage observation room, undressed and strapped to monitors. I was given a blood test and preemptive IV, in case I needed to have anything administered to me. I threw up several more times, doubling over in pain. They gave me an antinausea medication and kept monitoring me. After an hour, they checked me for dilation and said I had gone from 1 cm dilated to 4 cm dilated, was clearly in active labor despite my protests, and needed to be admitted.

I never slept that night. I started having contractions. I stopped throwing up. My blood test showed my white blood cells were slightly elevated, but the nursing staff said they believed it was just a small cold or flu I was getting over, and was nothing to be concerned about. I didn't see a doctor. Determined to do whatever I could to have a natural birth, I decided 'if this is labor, then let's get the ball rolling.' Despite increased pain, I walked the halls. I bounced on an exercise ball. I squatted and stretched and walked some more. I was having some contractions still, but I wasn't continuing to dilate. Despite my best efforts and an almost overwhelming amount of pain, my labor appeared to have stalled. I was discharged that evening with instructions to come back when contractions were closer and steadier and I thought labor had started again. We went home, I was able to get a few hours of sleep, but my pain was worse.

I literally went back to triage six more times in the next six days. My contractions were deemed too erratic to properly measure and I was told that my increasing pain was due to a hostile uterus. The nurses kept telling me that my pain was something all first-time moms experience and that I just needed to breathe through it and keep laboring. All week, I stayed at 4 cm dilation. All week I didn't see a doctor. All week, I was told I couldn't induce or have my water broken because I was less than 38 weeks, and I still had plenty of time. You know, there is no reason to rush what all women go through--I just needed to find a little more strength and deal with it. Meanwhile, my pain got so severe, I literally could no longer roll over, or sit up, or walk. Even with my husband helping me, I could not make it to the shower or toilet. He brought me basins to pee in, and held my 197 pregnant pounds over the basin so I could pee. He held soup and juice and water and Gatorade in cups with straws so I could stay hydrated. He took time away from work and massaged me and bathed me and comforted me as I was in too much pain to speak, just to silently weep. My husband is truly my soul mate and the most compassionate, heroic man I could ever ask to share my life with. I stopped sleeping entirely. I thought I might die. I was in so much pain that I wanted to ask for a C-section to cut my baby out because I didn't have the strength to labor any longer. Each time I went to triage, I was tended by a nurse and never saw a doctor. Each time, I was told that since I wasn't (strangely EVER) the patient of the ob on-call for that shift, the ob didn't feel comfortable giving me any type of pain relief whatsoever. Finally, Thursday March 7, around 7:30 am, I went to triage a final time. I was too weak to walk. I hadn't slept more than 5 hours in the past 4 days. Monitors still showed inconsistencies with my contractions and I was still only 4 cm dilated, but my heart rate was extremely high (around 130-140 bpm) and my son's heart rate was dropping (around 40 bpm). They were concerned for his safety, so they finally induced. I had my water broken and internal sensors put in place to measure contractions and their strength from inside my uterus. The nurse assigned to me was shocked by how strong and regular the contractions suddenly showed up. They weren't reading pretty much at all on the external monitors. "Have you been contracting like this all week?" Yes. Yes I had.

I was given the smallest dose of Pitocin to help progress my dilation, since I was STILL only 4cm, despite everything. I was given an epidural, something I no longer felt guilt about. The pain was so strong that the nurse had to hold my head down while the epidural was administered, something I later discovered caused a painful sprain in my neck. Man, when that epidural kicked in, though, it was a miracle in itself. I could feel everything, but for the first time all week, nothing "hurt". I fell asleep for just over an hour. It was amazing. When I woke up, I could feel strong contractions again, despite the epidural. I called the nurse in and asked her to increase my epidural strength and check me. She did both and discovered I was about 8 cm dilated. Half an hour later, I called her back and told her I needed a doctor because I couldn't keep myself from pushing. She made me wait as long as I could, and when the doctor was there 10 minutes later, I was allowed to officially push. It took 3 contractions, 8 pushes, and 4 minutes to deliver my baby. My amazingly perfect 6 lb. 10 oz. 19 inch long son was suddenly in my arms, and it was the most amazing, life altering feeling in the world. Suddenly none of what I had gone through all week seemed to matter. I had my baby. In my arms. On my breast. It was priceless.

I was moved to recovery from l and d. As the epidural wore off, my pain came back. Huh, that is weird. I thought, 'everyone said that my pain was labor pain, but I'm not in labor anymore...' We were released and went home to start our new life together as a family. Man, I was still in a lot of pain, though. I bit my lip and suffered through it. I needed to be strong for my new son. Pain wasn't going to get in my way. I was really moody, though. And my neck hurt on top of everything else. I went back to the hospital and was given a ct scan of my neck, told it had been sprained, told to alternate heat and cold and take Tylenol. I did that. I tried to stay positive. My neck pain distracted from all other pain, and I was so used to pain by this time, I just kept telling myself it was all part of recovery. Family came and went. Days came and went. I say in the same chair all day with my son, and had my family wait on me hand-and-foot so I could avoid increasing the pain and not being positive during this wonderful time. It was taxing. I was getting depressed. I wanted so much to be able to enjoy my time with my new perfect son.

When I went to my son's first check up, I had to be wheeled around in a borrowed wheel chair. By the time his 2 week checkup came around, I was proud that I could hobble around on my own. I had developed a fever, and my ob's office said it was pretty common for women to get high fevers about 2 weeks after delivering. They said it was part of the recovery process. My pediatrician took one look at me, greyish and sickly looking, with a belly that hadn't shrunk as much as I wanted, and told me I needed to go the er that day. She saved my life.

I left my son with my parents and went with my husband to the er, our second trip since giving birth, and our 8th hospital visit in 3 weeks. It turns out, I had a massive infection from an undiagnosed appendicitis and my body was going "septic" meaning my toxicity level was starting to affect my organs and the infection was starting to get into my blood stream. I was admitted immediately, without seeing my son again, and I stayed in the hospital for 8 days.

All of my extra labor pain had a cause, a name. I hadn't overreacted to it. I had miraculously survived it. The appendicitis triggered labor to save my son's life, but my body had been too weak to progress it. I went through six days of hard active labor and an appendicitis without pain medication, and was still able to have a vaginal birth with minimal intervention. My miracle baby was an even bigger miracle than I had thought. I almost died. Another few days without visiting the er, and I probably wouldn't have made it. If you think about it, having my son also saved my life.

The 8 days in the hospital without being able to see my son were the darkest days. My milk started drying up despite hospital room pumping. I was released on my son's 3 week birthday, though, and despite difficulty with recovery, continued IVs at home, and supplemented formula while I prayed for my milk to come back, while I rebounded with a baby I had been so long without, I recovered. I got better, we got better, and life went on. And, while I fought off postpartum depression and reacclimated to life after so very much had gone wrong, in his own perfect innocent way, my son saved my life again.

I've learned to focus on the positive. I wasn't unlucky to have suffered through this ordeal, I was lucky to have survived it. I am lucky. I am thankful. And now, now that I have put this into words, I am moving on.

This once museless artist has her muse and her reason for life. And what an incredibly amazing life it is!!!!!

My life became complete, despite all setbacks, at 1:05 pm Thursday, March 7, 2013.

 

Fresh Starts

My last month has been utter chaos. The chaos of a remodel and new department and responsibilities at work, mixed with the chaos of a recent move, have been somewhat overwhelming. Our lease ended on September 18th, but we were without a new place to rent until the day before. My very good friend needed a couple of roommates at the same time we needed a home, so it worked out for everyone, but it was extremely stressful, nonetheless.

The new home is a big change. It is a house, not an apartment, but it is shared with far more people than I was originally hoping. I'm at a time in my life where I need a certain amount of privacy and ownership. Instead, my husband and I are living with my two closest friends, and an odd, but lovely 16 year old boy. There are perks and disadvantages, as there are with all things in life. Everyone is busy enough that it rarely seems like so many people live together, and in the past week together, I already feel a strong family dynamic building, which is really exactly what I think I needed through everything. My husband's family lives nearby, but I don't have any family here other than my sister, who lives in a whole different world than I do as far as where we are in our adulthood. I need family, and family I've grown, even if not by blood. The family I am creating is by choice, so it is pretty amazing.

I went through a great purge during the move. In addition to the need to give up stuff for sake of space, I knew I needed to give up some ideas, as well. I am a dreamer, always a few steps in the future from everyone around me, and I needed to give up on some of the dreams I had, so I could adjust to the reality around me. I'm replacing them with new dreams, don't worry. It wasn't a bad purge, but it was painful.

Important things I let go of during this purge:
   ~The idea of having my perfect dream home now, as opposed to later. It turns out, just like a baby, my dream house, rented or owned, just isn't in the immediate future. It doesn't mean I won't get it some day, I just won't get it now.
   ~The hoarded baby clothing I've been collecting for the past two years. This was hard. I kept only my absolute favorite things, but everything else was donated.
   ~My crib. My amazing clearance convertible crib that has been stored in some of the strangest places for lack of space. I couldn't look at it anymore, and face my disappointment, and my failure. This doesn't mean I won't one day need a crib, it just means I don't need that one, and its ideas and dreams and memories and judgments. I gave this to my good friend and now roommate's brother -- the father of the aforementioned 16 year old boy -- who is expecting a baby in January. He needed it, I didn't. It wasn't wasted, but I was able to let go of it.
   ~Our dog crate. Killian, my poodle mix, is over a year old, hasn't done anything destructive in months really, is fixed, and is ready to be a grown-up dog. Sometimes we have to modify our routines when our kids grow up. He is a big boy now, and he doesn't need me constantly watching him. I can trust him now.

To make the move just that more difficult, Killian got scared and ran away on that final day. I spent about 4 hours driving around the neighborhood calling his name and asking people if they saw him. When I finally gave up for the night (though obviously not for good), I went back to the old place to help my husband finish collecting the last of our things and the last bit of cleaning. He dropped and shattered a dog bowl I bought as Killian's first birthday gift in July. Between giving up all the baby stuff, and having my baby dog missing, and then having his birthday gift shatter, it was all just too much for me and I broke down. I cried for several minutes, then pulled myself together, like I always do, and went home to my new home. The next morning, animal control found Killian, scared and covered in motor oil, but otherwise unharmed, hiding in a yard nearby. I can't begin to say how relieved I was.

All in all, it was a crazy week, of stress and sadness and fear and frustration, but ultimately it is all so much better already this week. We are settled and we are happy, so far.

In an effort to move forward and let go of hangups from the past, I've decided I need to get back to being creative and productive. I'm not sure I'm ready to sew yet, but I am ready to set up a sewing area. Via my sister-in-law, I discovered an amazing website with plans to make hundreds of handy wood items. I'm working on a modified fold-up sewing table that is based on plans from this site. Then, I'll make a desk for my husband's home office, and Adirondack-inspired patio furniture.

Additionally, I am clearing out an amazing and huge raised-bed organic garden that was in-place but neglected for the past three (or more) years. I've started watering the soil and pulling weeds. Within a week, I'll turn the soil, fully, and add some organic fertilizer and compost, as well as lots of worms, and start some stuff inside. Since I live in sunny San Diego, where the weather is always temperate, I have just enough time to grow some radishes, spinach, kale, and lettuce before winter begins. I also made an amazingly helpful planting and growing calendar so I don't miss anything.

I'll write more, now that I'm in better shape, emotionally. I'm not giving up, I'm moving forward. I'm making it a point to be happier, and take more time for me. I think everything is working out for the best.

Dreams...

I woke up from a horrible dream today. It was an incredibly emotional dream.

In the dream, my husband and I were driving home from work and saw a young black toddler girl running (or rather toddling quickly) on the dashed line between the number one and number two lanes on the freeway. It was as if no one saw her, or no one cared. After a bit of effort, my husband and I were able to pull over, wait until a moment when there was a gap in traffic on the number one lane, and rush in to save her. I remember the panic and horror, watching cars come too close for comfort to her, her crying out of fear and confusion, and me feeling totally helpless. It reminded me of a time in real life when a stray puppy started following me home, and couldn't be dissuaded. I eventually had to encourage the puppy to follow me across a busy street so I could control his timing and he would have less of a chance of getting hit. Just as I was crossing the street, though, the little puppy stopped to pee. When he finished, he ran across the street to reach me, but it was too late, and a car hit him hard in the hip, breaking at least one of his legs. I felt so guilty for not protecting this poor puppy, and then had no choice but to get on my bus and leave him in the hands of some people in the neighborhood. I had no phone, no money to make any calls, was in a very unsafe neighborhood, would have had no way to contact a vet or my parents, and would have had to wait another hour in the neighborhood as it became dark and even less safe. I know I made the right decision leaving the puppy with the other people, but I still felt like it was so much my responsibility and I had just left him. I checked back with several people in the neighborhood over the next few weeks, but no one had any idea what I was talking about, and I never heard what happened to the poor guy. Watching the girl in my dream running, and not immediately being able to save her, and the fear that looking at her might cause her to run the wrong way and get hit, all gave me nearly crippling fear, and a huge feeling of anxiety and nausea.

This is not the end of the dream, nor why it was so emotional and harsh.

We saved her. I made sure she was safe. I overcame my fear and was the only person to make any attempt to save her. I was the only person who seemed to care. My husband and I did the right thing.

Then, in the dream, instead of immediately calling 911 and having police and medical involved to ensure she was safe and could be reunited with her family, I decided she must be running on the freeway because of unfit parents, and that she was some sort of divine gift to me. I found her, I saved her, I could keep her. The fact that I later discovered she had blue eyes, like me, only seemed to reinforce this idea in my mind--something like serendipity. We stopped at a store with her on the way home and roughly estimated her age and diaper size, clothing size, and dietary needs. Finally, we headed home with her. She seemed happy, and we took this to mean we were doing the right thing and she now belonged with us. We bathed her, fed her, played with her, and went to sleep with her, all without once calling the authorities. We even stopped somewhere to make dinner reservations for Thanksgiving, adding her to the attendance count.

Then I woke up. When I woke up, I remembered thinking I should call the authorities. I remember thinking that what we were doing was not entirely saving her. She should be checked by a doctor for any injuries, and in the case of her running off (and her real parents not being to blame), who was I to decide they were ultimately unfit as parents and I would be the best candidate to raise this child. I remember thinking all these things in the dream, knowing my actions and reactions and lack of acting was so so wrong, but doing them anyway, out of desperation and selfishness.

It broke my heart to think that subconsciously, in a dream, I could take actions that were clearly so fundamentally wrong, and rationalize them as being right. I had, after all, SAVED the little girl's life.

She was such a lovely child, too.

Catharsis

Today, I had a productive day at work, and then a productive day at home. I did a deep cleaning of my apartment. I am not always the tidiest of people, and my husband is usually way too busy to clean much, but I make sure I do at least half-an-hour's worth of cleaning everyday. Today was far more productive than usual, though. There is something truly peaceful about knowing that everything is clean and in its rightful place. When I used to get angry or depressed, I could always be found in the bathroom or kitchen, scrubbing the floor by hand one foot at ta time. I would scrub for hours and hours. I think it made me feel the same way that runners feel about going for a run...it was cathartic. When I am doing deep cleaning, time and the worries and the entire world melt away. I get lost deep deep in my thoughts, and don't know what is going on around me. I think this is one of the only times that I allow myself to be creative anymore. I too often feel guilty taking time to daydream -- it isn't productive. I feel more at peace today, though, because of this cleaning.

I think it also helps that my cleaning music tends to be Bright Eyes circa 2002. :)

Sad.

It makes me sad when I think about how quickly time is flying by and how quickly we are aging, yet we have not gotten half of what we wanted. I know we have time, but it is disheartening. I have been jogging lately, which really means jogging for as long as I can and then walking casually for long periods of time while I catch my breath. The neighborhoods near where I live are all very quiet, nice, family-type neighborhoods. Everyone is walking dogs or pushing strollers or tending to gardens in that part of town. It is a constant reminder. While I technically have a stroller to push, not having a baby in it would be very unusual. I have no garden. I have no house. When I think about the adoption process, I feel an unspoken pressure to have more and be more. It may not be a criteria, officially, but I know it is frowned upon to give lovely abandoned children to parents who rent apartments and drive cars with electrical problems and who have no savings to speak of. If I need more, and need to be better, to have a baby given to me, I am nauseated at where to start. I mean, really.  I couldn't see a fertility specialist until after a year of being unsuccessful, and then it was almost a full year until I went through treatment. Without any savings, we're looking at a minimum of two years to put together a down payment for a house. If we go that route, school is out of the question for me. I don't want to go back to school, but I feel like we'd have a better chance of having a baby given to us if at least one of us has a degree. So, if I go the school route, we're looking at four years before we can have a house. That means at least five years before we'd be able to have a child adopted to us, assuming the good folks working for adoption agencies are really looking out for the best interest of the children involved. That's five years if we really start working toward that goal now. Not tomorrow. So, say I fall asleep tonight, and the world spins so fast as it does and suddenly it is next year, and it is all just too late? Then what? Disheartening, isn't it?
I don't want to give up, but I also don't know if I can go a total of seven or more years with the singular goal of trying to have a baby. I don't know if I have the strength. Sad.