Tabula Rasa

this isn't what I thought 35 would look like.

2009-06-12T14:35:00.005-04:00

I have vowed to start taking things people say at face value. The internal hamster running on the wheel of "what did so and so really mean" is exhausting. I am after all now 1/2 way to 70 (happy birthday to me) and trying not to listen to the bullshit that piles up in my head.

It really only gives me a headache.

**

We have been looking to adopt a dog, but it has to be the perfect dog. I'm kind of disillusioned by the whole process. Petfinder finds plenty of pets and if I lived in Arkansas or Tennessee that would be just grand, but I don't. I live in New England where none of the pups listed reside and the pounds are filled with bully breeds and not so much with the fluffy cute little pups one would seek to expose her 18 month old to. Spouse and I are going to meet one mix this Saturday and maybe go to the pound. A place thus far I have avoided because I just think it's too much for my heart to take.

My short list of dog requirements.
Must be a mixed breed.
Must not have squashed in face to encourage snoring.
Must be under 1 year of age and not the size of a house or a shoe box, respectfully.

I didn't think that was so much to ask. The hunt goes on and on.

**

I went to my first dance recital last weekend. The 3 1/2 minutes of my BF's little darlings twirling and tapping was a dream!! I love these girls as if they were my own and I bubbled over with pride to see them perform.

The other 3 hours and 12 minutes made my eyes BLEED. At the end of the debacle every other adult had the same glazed over dazed expression on their faces that my companions did. Human rights violating torture, thy name is dance recital. I will do everything in my power to steer my girl away from them.

**

I'm the accumulation of 6 generations of Gemini woman. All of us, one after the other on my mothers side. Crazy Twins. Except for my girl. My girl is a Sagittarius. I broke the cycle. She has a chance to be normal.

**

I am going to admit something huge.

I can't stop watching the Real Housewives of NJ. Gack, I know!
Totally not my type of reality TV. Think Top Chef and Project Runway. Swoon.

But Real Housewives? Again, I say Gack!
That was until a friend of mine from Rhode Island asked me "Is that what people from NJ are really like". So I had to watch a couple of minutes to see right? Well a couple of minutes turned into the whole episode which turned into me setting my DVR and gleefully awaiting new episodes.

Because you know what...no those are not what people from NJ are like because them bitches (love the phrase btw) are from New York. They just live in NJ. Except for one of them. One of them, I will not validate my obsession by naming her, is from NJ....and her accent? OMG, I can not get enough of it. Its like this fucked up cure to any home sickness I might have. Her voice and emphatic hand waving is like a warm cozy blanket that makes me feel like I'm home nestled among the strip malls and McMansions.

Because that's what Jersey girls really do sound like.

It's like butta.

eighteen.

2009-06-04T22:10:00.004-04:00

After only a year and a half, I feel like she has always been with me.

Funny how such a short time can feel like forever.

news.

2009-06-01T09:51:00.001-04:00

Hickory-Dickory-Dock.

I-Have-Writers-Block.

But-Never-You-Mind.

Busy-Getting-A-Canine.

Hickory-Dickory-Dock.

Or something like that....

before and after.

2009-05-18T10:29:00.009-04:00

Our long awaited furniture has finally arrived! In preparation we feng shui'd the house and made the best use of the pieces we had. Because really, this house was just not working for us.

**All before pictures taken by Spouse while I was in NJ and he had the inspiration and drive to just move everything without ~~talking to me first~~ me and the baby under foot.

Before: Eat in kitchen.

After: It's a playroom!

Before: Playroom/Office (desk already removed).

After: Dining room! Spouse and I have no idea why it took us 2 years to use the dining room as a dining room.

Before: Living room.

After: Furniture that is not being held together with duct tape and no cats allowed!

So far...

Please note I have no idea, how or why, I bought red couches when I was specifically looking for blue couches. This caused 6 weeks of total consumer remorse and panic until they finally arrived.

And I love them! This is one of those cases where my sub conscious takes over and makes the exact right choice for me because the path my conscious is heading down is just so wrong.

Other things on this list include; going away to college, seriously dating Spouse, and having a baby.

Three cheers for sub conscious!

the fine print.

2009-05-12T15:27:00.001-04:00

Competent? That's a stretch.

purge.

2009-05-04T13:29:00.005-04:00

So has anyone else had a day where they are looking for a specific shirt to wear and can't find it? So they tear through their closets and drawers with no luck. So that leads them to the spare room where ALL the cloths from like, the last 10 years are stored in clear plastic bins, to look. And after about the 8th bin you realize that, hey, like none of your old clothes actually, erm, fit you. So you start making piles of "will fit in soon after new dedication to eating right and exercising", "totally out of style anyways" and "not a chance in hell ". Then you come across the shirt you were wearing the night your Spouse first hit on you and you could just cry because you couldn't even hope to get it over your head now and dang you used to look so HOT what were you complaining about all those years ago?? The toddler whose birth process single handedly (yeah I don't care if its a word or not take that Scrabble) destroyed any hope you ever had of fitting into those (you know the ones) jeans again is having a field day with all these piles so you start to tear up a bit at the muffin top that you hate even though its not so much a muffin top as a layer cake but you have to laugh at the same time because the kid is so freaking cute and was worth it after all. But my God the CLOTHES that DON'T FIT that you need to part with but want to keep as a reminder not to eat that Geneva cookie which will only increase your layers. Then the whole thing ends brutally with you just shoving it all into black trash bags and throwing them into the garage because you need to get on the phone with Weight Watchers and you are running out of time in the day? Oh and you never find the freaking shirt that started it in the first place and where the freak is it anyways because you know that would fit.

No?

Yeah..me neither.

its not me its you.

2009-04-24T09:43:00.001-04:00

I went to the movies the other night with a couple of my girlfriends.

The theater we went to was one from my younger years; top of the line circa 1992.

The last time I was there was the winter of 2005 when I watched a Gummi bear travel across Middle Earth.

When I took my seat I was shocked at how, erm, small it seemed. I wondered...had they made the seats smaller or had my ass just become that much bigger....

At the end of the show the lights came on and I absorbed my dated surroundings. Examining the seats, I rationalized and justified.

It was the seats fault. It had to be.

Cause' you know...it couldn't possibly be my ass.

phenomenal cosmic power.

2009-04-17T16:26:00.007-04:00

I don't think I've ever truly expressed how awful life was with my desktop. I don't think I ever really knew; you know? Because if you don't know how the other half lives then you don't really know what you're missing.

With my desktop, everyday I felt like this...

But now? Now I am joyous beyond words! There is a song in my heart and ~~aching in my wrists~~ music from my fingers as they go tap tap tap on my brand new baby.

I have power. Power that allows me to load never before seen web pages, open email attachments like a normal person and ~~play an unhealthy amount of World of Warcraft~~ finally upload pictures of my kid again.

All at the same time! Can I get a squeee-da-lee-do?

Because every day this little, yet deceivingly heavy, piece of technology makes me feel like this...

Zippity freakin do da!

....oh and check the pants out...with the Alice in Wonderland shirt? Too freakin much!

wordless wednesday

2009-04-15T08:23:00.004-04:00

how it begins.

2009-04-05T07:23:00.002-04:00

I originally wrote this post last July on a pity party day. I never published it because at the time, it was for me. Today, I feel the need to make it yours.

I don't remember the name of my 3rd grade teacher. Or the kids in my class. I don't really remember my classrooms or my bus stop.

But what I do remember was my best friend in the world, Heather, who lived two doors down. She was blond and beautiful and every one loved her. She had a queen size bed and a chocolate poodle named Coco. She had a piano and her mother let her eat spray cheese.

My mother scoffed at such requests. I thought I was neglected. No poodle! No over sized bed! NO CHEESE??

Heather and I used to collect gypsy moth caterpillars and make "homes" for them in her sandbox. We would crawl into the thicket in the woods and watch the sun filter through the leaves. We would put her Holly Hobbie dolls into her play baby carriage and walk them around on her drive way.

Heather was always the mommy and I was always the baby sitter. She said it had to be that way beacause she was older.

I have no memories of Heather ever being at my house.

One of my only young childhood school memories is from Kindergarten. I remember hiding underneath a table with my fingers plugging my ears. I remember belting out "The Sun Will Come Out Tomorrow" to drown out the teasing chants of my fellow classmates. I remember Heather leading the pack. I have foggy recollections of sitting alone at recess while the other kids, following Heather, played "keep away" from me.

I never told my mother and I always went to Heather's house after school to play.

I clearly remember being in her basement with her puppy. I picked him up and spun really fast in a circle. When I put the dog down it wavered while walking. I felt awful. I still do. My adult self knows why I did it, but still I can not reconcile myself with it, to me it was cruel even then. I feel it speaks of my character but at the time I felt trapped inside myself with my feelings and I had no one to talk to.

I didn't know I was supposed to talk to someone. I thought I was supposed to just feel that way. That was how things were.

Heather moved that year. I only saw her once after. I went to her new house to play. I remember her new room and her things. I remember sitting in the back of her fathers car with her singing Johnny 'B' Goode. She made fun of me because I didn't know all of the words and told me I couldn't sing with her anymore.

My mother always said "I was delightful until I entered school". She thought it was the structure, she thought it was the curriculum. She said maybe I was bored, maybe I needed something more tailor made to the way my mind worked.

I was sent to private school in the 4th grade. My problems with other kids, teachers and discipline continued until I was in high school.

Had I been raised in today's society I believe I would have been 'labeled' and most likely medicated.

I've never really talked about this to anyone. I certainly have never breathed a word to anyone about the puppy. It shames me.

I am terrified for my daughter. I am so afraid of what her future may hold for her. The cruelty of children. The harsh and cold things that mold us into who we are just as much as the beautiful things. I see her compliance, her patience and how she yields to other babies and I'm afraid for her; she is so timid.

This story is only the beginning. For all of the wonder my childhood held there were dark secrets that I never speak of. Memories deep inside. I know the ugliness that can exist for a little girl and I have a fierce need to protect mine.

I just don't know how.

stimulus.

2009-04-03T09:25:00.007-04:00

Spouse and I are doing our part to stimulate the economy.

We are buying new couches. (Totally hated the denim ones. Its amazing how things look more comfortable on the internet then in real life). As a direct result of the new couch purchase (still to be made) we are rearranging our entire house. I assure you before/after pictures will follow.

I bought new bras! Of the non-nursing variety!! I can not express how thrilling it is to lean over to pick up ~~a squirming tantrum throwing toddler~~ something and not have my bra pop open....and oh the comfort of having my boobs reside somewhere above my elbows!

And the best part of stimulating the economy?

This:

This baby replaces my 2001 desktop with 0% capacity. So bad that I can't even update the virus protection, I have to wait 20 minutes for a website to load and if I win a game of Scrabble the whole system crashes.

And I win a lot.

8 more days until delivery.....

flawless.

2009-03-27T15:37:00.010-04:00

The day after my mother passed away my father wanted to bring all of her jewelry to the safe deposit box.

I was assigned the task of sifting through the tower of jewelry boxes to separate the costume from the sentimental from the genuine articles.

When I was done I was a sobbing mess curled in the middle of my parents king sized bed.

I lay clutching a red leather box in one hand....and in the other my mother's engagement ring.

From the time I was very small I was always fascinated by it. She didn't wear it often but when she did oh how I was drawn to it! "Sparkle plenty" she would say, waving her fingers so the diamond would catch the light. She wore it when they went out, or for a special occasion with a matched diamond wedding band. It was dazzling.

A far cry from the plain gold braided band that adorned her finger on most days.

When my sobs began to subside I held it up to the winter sun streaming through the window. It's prisms danced across the bed spread as I turned it this way and that. I examined it from all sides and tried to memorize it's every facet while picturing it on her hand.

It left an imprint in my palm from how tightly I squeezed it. Blood from a stone; tears from a diamond; I felt like I was letting the last little bit of her go when I returned it to it's box. I brought the humble pile of jewelry to my father and fell so deep into depression that there was no light. There were no prisms for longer then I can even remember.

Eventually, I healed. Slowly. I forgot the rings size, it's sparkle, it's details. I reached a point where if asked I could only assure its existence but nothing else.

That was until I found myself sitting on a piece of driftwood on the northern California coast. I felt Then Future Spouse shift beside me and I looked over to see him perched on one knee.

He held a red leather box in his outstretched hand; nestled in it was the most beautiful ring I had ever seen. My mothers ring. My ring.

He said wonderful things. I said yes and cried. It was more then I ever thought that moment could have been.

Unlike my mother I wear it everyday. Even filthy from soap scum and lotion it still flashes in the sun. Clean; it could blind you. It still dazzles me.

Riley loves to finger it, she says "prewwy" and tries to pull it from my hand. I tell her how much her grandmother would have loved her, that the "pretty" is a piece of her. I tell her to have patience. Someday...a day further away from today then either of us could ever imagine it will be hers.

Because that is how I want it passed on. From mother to daughter. Sparkle plenty.

ugh.

2009-03-20T15:08:00.011-04:00

I'm waiting for my in laws to descend upon me this weekend.

Lord give me strength....

...and a laptop so I could disappear into a bathroom or something to blog about them when it all becomes too much.

In the meantime. I give you this.

How toddlers help clean.

You see the ugly couch? What you don't see is the black industrial photography studio (thank you RIT) tape holding it all together. And the ugly rug? Well that I will spare you the close up of. Just ewwwww.

So here is where you come in. Help me spend my tax return.

This....

and this (with ottoman) ala 'Cindy Crawfords Collection' at Raymour and Flanigan...

Or should I stick with a sectional? If you were coming over for a gathering** lets say...where would you want to sit? Would you find a 3 seat sofa (remember someone must park it on the crack because there are only 2 pillows) and chair/ottoman enough seating?

Would you want to put your footsies on this?

There is a little blue in there right?

Just pretend you see it, its on sale and its Pottery Barn.

**Where a gathering indicates 6-8 people for informal food and company.

***Edited to add that I don't like the throw pillows so much. Cause in now way do those things go with that rug.

the cheese wears me.

2009-03-16T19:26:00.004-04:00

I'm under the suspicion that I'm depressed.

After another failed attempt at socialization today for me and Riley at the park, I went to Target and bought 7 different types of cheese.

If thats not depression I don't know what is.

sing it loud so I can hear you.

2009-03-15T19:13:00.004-04:00

Our wedding song was Better Together by Jack Johnson.

The Wood Song by the Indigo Girls ties my Blanket Girls...my best friends and me together.

I was listening to Bob Marley's Acoustical Medley the moment when my mother slipped away.

These are the songs I hear in my head everyday of my life. They are the songs I always come back to; the ones I am always humming.

When I am not humming "Give me back that fillet of fish, give me that fish..." Seriously, someone help me!

My point.

From the moment I knew Riley was growing inside me I began to sing to her. Everyday of my pregnancy and every day of the last 15 months. They are varied fun tunes, theme songs or the aforementioned commercial.

Give me back that smelly dipe, give me that dipe....

The first night in the hospital I held her sleeping body close to me. I found the words to a song I have always known, and knew in that moment that it would always be hers. That night, and every night after I have sung her The Beatles, I Will.

I nursed her and rocked her. I would sing it and then hum it before finally settling her peacefully in her crib.

While I am no longer nursing her I am still singing to her...its our bedtime ritual.

But I wonder for how long. She grows restless for more books or for her bed. It is crystal clear to me in these moments how quickly she is growing and changing. How fast she makes up her own mind.

Sometimes I worry that this song will fall away one day to be one I only sing to myself.

But them I remember the times she has heard it on the radio and has raced towards me. "Mamamamamamama..." Shes climbed into my lap and snuggled for a minute before racing back away.

I know little moments like that will be a fleeting gift as she grows. But she will always be mine, I will always remember and I promise I will always sing for her and to her.

I will.

because babies...

2009-03-13T09:58:00.004-04:00

...babies turn into toddlers.

And toddlers are busy. And very, very strange.

How many Elmos do you see?

it could be worse.

2009-02-25T16:51:00.002-05:00

That's my general attitude about my health.

People ask me how I am...my answer; It could be worse.

It's the first thing I said when I was diagnosed 3 years ago. I don't have cancer right? It could be worse.

I couldn't feel my right leg, I couldn't turn my head and walk at the same time without falling over.

It could be worse.

Then I got better, so much better...and then pregnant, and then 100% better. And when people asked me how I was I said "I've been worse".

So now that disease begins to creep back into my body, now that it starts to win the occasional battle I remind myself. It could be worse, it has been worse and if it's up to me it's not going to get any worse then it is right now.

I have gone to bed everyday for the last few weeks saying the same thing. 3 years ago you could stick a needle in my right ankle and I wouldn't have felt it. Today, that is not the case and I think I would kick you if you tried.

So I lay my head on my pillow and repeat it again and again and I concentrate on my left eye. In the morning maybe my vision wont be as blurry. A week from now maybe I won't be getting headaches anymore from straining to see. 3 years from now I will look back at this time in my disease and remember.

It's been worse.

for the benefit of your search engine.

2009-02-20T09:49:00.006-05:00

I started back on my MS medication, Rebif about a month ago.

Originally I avoided returning to my thrice weekly injections because I thought it would mean I had to stop breast feeding (and I was like totally La Leche crazy about breast feeding). For a year I risked my own health to continue nursing.

When my doctors told me I no longer had a choice I was devastated. Nursing was so second nature, so much a part of my relationship with my child that I couldn't, wouldn't walk away. I became my own advocate. I started researching and talking and investigating.

At the end of a month I was privy to information that is not so easy to come by. And for the benefit of any other woman with MS who needs the answers to the same questions I had, I say wrap your Google keywords around this.

Multiple Sclerosis, Breast Feeding, Nursing, Rebif, Interferon.

Here is what I found out.

Nursing and taking Rebif is possible. I was given information from my local lactation consultant who used a book written by a Dr. Hale. I brought this research to my doctors and the baby's doctor. They are fully supportive of the information I found.

The drug company has a blanket statement of "don't do it" because they a) have done insufficient research and b) refuse legal responsibilities. I get that. But it's not the whole story.

Dr. Hale has done studies on breast feeding mothers and this drug. He has tested the milk.

Rebif is an Interferon. A protein naturally produced in the human body.

On a molecular level it is too large to pass into breast milk in measurable amounts.

Even if it did, the reason why it's an injectable is because the GI track of the human body destroys it.

Call me crazy but that was good enough for me and I am still nursing. Granted Riley is 15 months old and can go days without wanting it, but if she asks it's there.

I only wish I had taken hold of the situation sooner. Because while medication is no cure for MS, it can certainly slow its progression....and that's what it has been doing for the last year. Progressing.

Nursing or not nursing is a personal choice. Dealing with this disease and negotiating the options is personal. No one is going to do it for you, no one is going to make your choices.

I agonized over this decision. Even with the knowledge I have today I would still have waited 6 months before returning to the medication, but I would have been informed. Personally, I like to know all sides of a story.

then don't say anything at all.

2009-02-16T19:15:00.004-05:00

So I haven't exactly been the best blogger of late. I checked the stamp on my last post. December 4th, gawd. Talk about being a slacker. I've been reading but I can't tell you the last time I commented.

Well ok, I can. It was like 5 minutes ago on The New Girls new news.

The thing is though I try to subscribe to the "If you can't say anything nice" theory. And lately I just haven't been up to nice.

Whats dragged me from my hole? This...

Where is Clink? Where is Clink?
Hope you're ok! Hope you're ok!
We miss your witty self We miss your witty self
Come back please Come back please
Sung to the tune of "where is thumbkin"

That was a comment from Swiggy. Too much right. So I figured I owed maybe a teeny little update to my reader(s).

Well...I'm not up for it. It's just too much right now. In the thick of it you see.

So. Something I have spent a good amount of time thinking about these last few months.

Fucking Sesame Street.

Right...so, when Riley turned one I realized that crap! I had never let this kid watch TV ~~with the exception of Football like 24-7 for 16 weeks~~ ; so maybe I owed her a little puppet time. I flipped on the big Sesame for the first time since I watched it as a kid.

Seriously.

This is what I have learned and I am none too happy.

Snuffalufagus is no longer invisible. WTF?

Elmo is the MC leaving poor Big Bird to sit on a door step and shake a cup for spare change just so he and Snuffy can get by one more day.

Oh and on that Elmo thing...totally baby crack. Riley is obsessed, this is her guy. So much so that when an older episode comes on when Big Bird was still top puppet, she points and whines at the TV until I make Elmo magically appear with the power of my modern day DVR.

Oscar the Grouch has a girlfriend. ummm....

Maria and Gordon NEVER age....which makes me wonder...are they perhaps puppets? Because they look just as fresh as they did in "Follow That Bird" which is the last time I remember seeing them.

The little letter and number of the day skits are EXACTLY the same as 20 years ago.

Bert and Ernie totally don't get any play and I wonder if it's because of all the rumors.

Elmo has a chick in his life called "Abby" and she is a fairy and can fly and talk to her Mommy through her wand. They are reaching here right? Or is it just me?

Regardless, Riley loves this stuff so I suffer through. I buy the merchandise and make her Elmo dance for her at bed time because it makes her laugh and laugh.

And that's what its all about right? Making them happy? Even if it means we have to buy into imaginary friends no longer being imaginary and furry little monsters who refer to themselves in the third person all the time! So maddening.

But in all fairness to said furry red monster. When Elmo goes to "ask a baby" in his little bit it makes me smile. And for a moment I see what Riley sees. The cutest friendliest furriest cat there ever was.

Because that's what she calls him. Loudly...and a lot....CAAAATTTTTTTT!!!!!!

Now...Promise. A real update and real comments and real involvement back in my blogger life...sooner then later.

twelve. II

2008-12-04T11:50:00.003-05:00

I remember the doctor telling us that "we have a girl". I know the exact moment I heard you cry. Your first smile, your first laughter and your first word. I remember the day you first crawled away from me and when you first stood. I'm sure your many firsts to come will dim some of these memories for me. You will grow and time will move faster every year.

But for all the days and years to come the one thing I will never ever forget is the first time you looked in my eyes.

My sweet girl, happy first birthday.

twelve.

2008-12-03T10:06:00.004-05:00

I wasn't going to write about today because I didn't want to burst into tears. Especially right now. Make-up and hair just so. I'm going to a fancy mall this afternoon and I want to look like a person, not an exhausted mommy.

But from the moment I woke up this morning I just couldn't get it out of my head. 12 years. My mother has been gone for 12 years.

For some reason I just cant wrap my head around that. It feels like I lost her yesterday.

It will always feel like yesterday.

But 12 years? It's not as profound as 10, not as emotional as 3.

No where near as devastating as 30 will be. When I will officially be the oldest she ever was.

12 seems to suggest a kind of acceptance of the years passing. A finality that only time can provide. It reminds me that no matter how much I would like to do otherwise, I measure my life in terms of years without her.

I still dream of her. Its not like it used to be though, the moment of pure elation upon seeing her; "OH! You're not dead!". Still smelling her in those foggy seconds between sleep and awake. The crushing blow of realization upon waking.

Now I feel almost a sense of trepidation upon meeting her. She's not supposed to be there, in the kitchen by the sink. This is my fathers house now. I feel as if I'm meeting an old friend and I don't know where to begin. My mind always snapping back to my father; wondering where he is.

Long before her death my mother told me that if ever one of them were to die, I should pray it was her. That for security, for safety, my brother and I needed my father.

I'm not sure if she really believed that to be true or the trauma of loosing her own father at 15 was so deeply set that she could not imagine that option for her children.

When my father was diagnosed with cancer, erm 12 years ago, I could see it in her eyes. If it was up to her, she would be the one to leave us.

Even then I saw her in my minds eye. Making a deal with God. Her bargain still rings in my head. Little more then a month from his diagnosis; she was gone.

I remember being little and finding my mother crying in her room over her father. It was ingrained in me so young to fear the loss of a parent. I don't wish that for my daughter, but how am I to avoid it? When with each passing year I take her hand to help light the candle in my mothers memory...and the next day light her birthday candle in celebration.

For now I know this, I miss my mother every day of my life.

But never more then today when I lost her.

And never more then tomorrow when I became her.

my dog ate my blogosphere.

2008-11-21T10:01:00.002-05:00

Not that I even have a dog but if I did I bet you it would have....

I've been a total flake the last few months I admit, and I'm starting to feel really guilty about it. When I think about it I have all of these perfectly sound explanations for my absence...but when you pile them all together they just sound like excuses.

I am famous for excuses.

So here they are, my lame attempts to rationalize my guilt over my blog abandonment issues.

-I have been really really sick. Truly. For over a month I was on my back. A cold, MS, recovery, some weird hacking disease transmitted to me by an evil mouth breather at a play group.

-Due to said illnesses I have been napping when the baby naps and therefore loosing all of my off-duty parent web surfing time.

-I've struck a deal with Spouse that when he comes home the computer gets turned off.

-My absence from the computer is in direct proportion to the mobility of my baby.

-My absence from the computer is in direct proportion to the neediness of my baby who, whenever I plop down at the desk, immediately stops what she is doing to whine and cry at my feet until I return to my spot on the floor where she promptly leaves me to go chase cats.

-98% of my computer time is spent on Facebook playing Scrabble. I have a serious addiction issue but I'm also frighteningly good at it.

-My computer is a relic. I have 0% left on my hard drive (seriously) and loading any website, much less my blog reader, takes for-evah. This gives my baby ample time to shoot on over here and commence whining...and bouncing up and down while pulling on my pant leg...it's so freaking cute!

-Even when said blog reader does load it has a gazillion error messages and won't let me read/link to the hundreds of back logged posts I am yet to read. Therefore I eventually give up and walk away.

-Something did seriously eat my blogosphere...well blog reader really. Among all of those error messages I have the mystery of the disappearing~reappearing posts. I was so relieved to see no one else was really writing either. It made me feel like I wasn't the only one. This was until one day I checked and people had like 30 some odd posts out of no where. Just a little glitch and I swear me and my ancient computer are trying to catch up.

-I am totally depressed and don't want to talk about it.

-Ok, I'll talk about it, a little. This is the time of year my Mom died. We are quickly approaching the day, December 3rd, and each day it gets just a little harder to function. On that same note however I have the pending first birthday of my baby, December 4th, and I'm really struggling with the duality of the whole situation. What a great opportunity to write and share my feelings with others who know exactly what I'm going through you say? How healthy it would be for me to get this crap off the hamster wheel in my head? Yeah well, since when do we do what we know is healthy for us?

Since when do I do what is healthy for me?

Well I guess that last one really is the heart of it.

Thank you for those of you who stick with me even though I am totally giving nothing back right now in our relationship.

You and Spouse are in the same boat.

bubble.

2008-11-07T08:18:00.004-05:00

Dear Fellow Mommy,

You selfish twit.

Did you think it was a good idea to venture out to a play group activity sick?

What stroke of genius did it take for you to not only park you snuffly ass next to me and my baby but for you to turn your head in our direction and cough.

Twice.

I understand I can't live in a bubble (although I certainly do try my hardest) but I would expect a certain amount of common sense and courtesy when nursing whatever illness you have.

Why haven't you seen me in three weeks? That's easy, because we have been sick. Unlike you I choose to stay within the confines of my home when down with disease.

I have been living the last month or so of my life mentally curled under my blankets in the fetal position; things are not all rosy and half full for me right now. I made a considerable effort this week to attend the play group activity for the good of my cagey daughter; we both needed to get out.

And the thanks I get? A cough. A sore throat. Geee thanks.

Now even if my immune system was not seriously compromised on a level you could not understand, I would be miffed.

Because you are sick and have no business around other moms and their babys. Got that? Food store I get, we all have to live....superfluous 1/2 hour activity that your aggressive and mean baby doesn't even seem to enjoy? Not so much.

So in short. To you and to your fellow germ ridden bone heads.

Stay the hell home.

Thanks!

well crap.

2008-10-31T21:10:00.005-04:00

My heart is breaking.

My MS flared out of nowhere, I don't know what triggered it but it seems to be firing on all cylinders. I submitted to my doctor and had new MRI's run. They came back 'active'. Dangerous.

Tomorrow will be day 4 of The Juice. It could stretch to day 5. I'm a pin cushion. Today was my 8th stick with a needle/IV. If it weren't for the bruises I would have lost count.

I have to go back on my regular medication. Rebif. An injectable drug I can not breastfeed while taking.

I have to stop breastfeeding the baby. For good. Now.

And for that, not my illness, or the sticks, or the hours in an infusion room away from my family; my heart is breaking.

I have to stop. For real this time.

I have to keep saying it because I can not even begin to process this without hysterics.

I know I'm lucky, I know so many woman who don't get 2 hours; 2 weeks; 2 months nursing.

I've had almost 11 months.

And for every break of my heart I have a baby pulling at my shirt in tears; banging her head against me. She is getting desperate. I feel as if a fissure has opened up between us, I don't know what to do.

I try to look at the bright side. I can buy real bras again and be comfortable...

Maybe I'll get some new non-mommy undies to go with them?

Now I don't have to stress about being bit?

Not much of a bright side.

For the record; 2 years ago tonight, Halloween night, was my last shot of Rebif. I remembered the elation I felt when I took it. Freedom, for at least a little while. From the constant needles and medications. We were going to try and have a baby. That last shot meant the first step for a whole new life.

In the back of my mind the reality of having to go back to it was always there. I just didn't realize when it came down to it, how much it was going to sting...or how much nursing would change me.

Tonight those 2 years of freedom and our 11 nursing months just doesn't feel like enough for me.

It certainly isn't enough for her.

ten.

2008-10-09T10:35:00.004-04:00

My bumble, my bubble, my boo.

I felt you move inside me at just 14 weeks and you have never stopped. You are perpetually in motion.

Even when you sleep.