Hello, It's Me...

The Girl Who Basically Flashed Everyone While Nursing and Happily Continued To Flaunt Herself While Others Bled Out Their Eyes

or

The Nursing Mother Who Angrily Advises Hundreds of Others to Leave Negative Facebook Reviews of Tourist Trap Cider Mill in Nowhereville, NY

or

The Comfortably Happy Mom Nourishing Infant While Browsing Array of Mustards With Family



It might seem strange that it has taken me this long to address what happened back in Thanksgiving 2015. It is clear now that I needed much time and space between the occurrence to gain clarity. To be brief, I was called out at a popular cider mill for discreetly nursing my 5 month old son, who was in a baby carrier, and was asked to cover up. Looking back, I wonder if silently obliging would have been easier, but my clenching jaw and racing heart told me otherwise. I whispered to my husband who shared my discontent and we asked two younger coworkers if we could please speak to the manager. They obliged and out of curiosity asked what was wrong. I told them and they both seemed surprised, one even saying that she was personally offended as she had been a nursing mother herself. The manager sided with the employee who had said I "should really cover up" and we silently paid for our items and haven't been back.

Days passed and I couldn't shake the shaky feeling. I felt distracted while I nursed my baby, distracted while I cared for my 3 year old son. I felt like I had been reprimanded for doing something wrong, even though I hadn't. I  decided to write the owner of the store and let him know what happened and how it made me feel. I mentioned that we were frequent customers and had a good rapport with the employee prior to the possibly well-meaning comment. About that, part of me did wonder from time to time if I had misinterpreted something on my end of the exchange. But it wasn't really a comment nor was it an exchange; it seemed to be more of a command, repeated twice, and it wasn't an exchange because in typical Marissa fashion, I clammed up despite being a passionate advocate for nursing.

Back to this letter, it was sent but not forgotten about. This incident had seemingly cast a shadow over my life, with bits of darkness slipping in and out. I had come to realize that this all had taken something from me. It reached in and snatched a part of me I didn't even know was in there until it's haunting absence. Even today, I can't exactly articulate the feeling that leaves a little less confidence, a little less dignity and a little less hope. It felt that I had lost a small part of myself.

It wasn't until recently that I understood that part wasn't lost, but transformed.

I told my story on a private Facebook group of local moms and a few had asked if they could share it. I was met with 100% support and understanding from everyone, regardless of their thoughts on feeding babies. It didn't become a great debate of nursing public or breastfeeding versus formula feeding, it remained a platform of strong women sharing in each other's joys and struggles of parenthood, a forum to ask questions in a judgement-free zone.

Then I woke up the next morning. My post had been shared hundreds of times. My private messages were climbing, as were my friend requests. Dumbfounded, I scrolled through to see what on earth was happening and while my mind was trying to comprehend the sheer power of social media and it's sudden grasp on my little town story, my phone rang. And rang. And rang. It was the TV station. And the radio station. And the newspaper. I'm in my robe, haven't had my coffee, my three year old throwing tupperware everywhere. Hundreds of people, many of whom were complete strangers, had left negative reviews on the business's Facebook page. These media outlets wanted to know, did I have a comment? I think my resounding comment was "Ummmm."

I reluctantly gave the interviews and remained sheepish throughout. I have always felt uncomfortable in the panic-inducing focus of attention. I had never experienced anything of this magnitude and at times had wished I could delete the whole thing. The post, that day, that decision that led us there as it had many times before. But then would I have to delete that nursing session? Take away one of my baby's feedings because it made people uncomfortable enough to call me out on it? To make me more self-conscious and less mindful of the beauty and calm of a nursing relationship?

Of course not all of the comments were supportive or even very kind. I tried not to read those ones, already feeling incredibly sensitive and vulnerable that this one hour of my life exploded all over everyone's newsfeeds. I remember in the ensuing days posting to my own account, "Is it over yet?"

And then it was.

It would still catch up to me from time to time and nearly knock the wind out of me. Today I am still worried that my reputation will precede me when I walk into businesses or even when I am minding my own business. Do the parents on the playground recognize me? Is my new chiropractor fearful of a negative review? It's a borderline paranoia when people treat me too kindly and I worry it's insincere. Are they treading lightly to not trigger an eruption of exposed nipples and breastmilk and a slew of angry Facebookers? This is the strange new reality hidden in my daily existence.

Nearly a year and a half out, I still feel like placing my hands on my forehead, closing my eyes and shaking my head BUT now I also understand why this happened and why it happened to me. In looking at the positives I know for sure that I fed my hungry baby. I created a dialogue in many communities regarding an important issue, though it need not be an issue at all. It is just a regular, basic thing. Even (and especially) in a culture that deems the sole existence of breasts for sexual pleasure and perpetuating that flawed belief by shaming a nursing mother.

While passionate about the topic, this advocacy still fell onto my lap unexpectedly, unwarranted and unwanted in some ways. But the thing about advocacy is just that: you fight for the thing you know in your heart you shouldn't even have to fight for, no matter what it takes from you. It's giving the gift to the next nursing mom in line, and being incredibly grateful to do so.

The Story of Miles

We found out we were expecting our second child some time in November and that we were due in July. Soon-to-be-big-brother Maxwell had just turned two and I wondered how is it possible that I will love another child that much? Many mothers had told me my love will not be halved; it will multiply. I couldn't wait to gain that understanding for myself. Our pregnancy wasn't anything out of the ordinary, until the last few weeks when I just kept growing and growing. My previous boy had been teeny (5lb9oz) at birth and came a little early (38w2d) so as this pregnancy kept progressing, I was experiencing the true long haul of the full 40 weeks. Everyday I would wonder if I 'felt special' and if my senses were sharper (nope and maybe? no, I don't know. I can't tell. I should be able to tell, right?) I would make it through another day, hot and uncomfortable, as all mommies who've been full term in a humid summer can attest. There were feet in my ribcage constantly. I was outgrowing my maternity clothes. I couldn't handle the anxiety of the gender surprise this time around. I wanted to know, but couldn't imagine knowing. We had opted for a homebirth this time around. It wasn't a decision that came easy at first, as I had really liked my care providers previously. The first trimester was filled with uncertainty. The list of pros and cons constantly swirling in my head, like sugarplums dancing but classic yellow Post-Its instead. I worried if I was strong enough and trusted my body enough. I worried about Travis and how he would handle it. I worried about Maxwell and how badly I wanted him to be a part of the experience. He wouldn't be allowed to stay with me at the hospital and we had never spent the night apart before. I didn't want to just have him show up and all of the sudden there was a new baby. After weeks of mulling the decision over and having interviewed a few different midwives, my pro-Homebirth Post-It took the lead and it felt right immediately. To prepare, I read books about midwifery and homebirthing, hypnobabies and all of the books by Ina May Gaskin. I kept our plans to myself. I did not want any negative thoughts surrounding this birth plan. No "so and so had complications" or "at least you are close to a hospital." I didn't have time for doubts, for naysayers, for explaining myself. I had less than 40 weeks to learn about the birth I wanted and how to go for it, wholeheartedly. I read about my body, the process of birth and stories of women like myself, who were apprehensive about letting doctors be in charge of us, our bodies, our birth. We found a great midwife and doula team about two hours away. We would go there for our monthly visits or meet halfway and shock fellow diners at a pizza place as we listened to our growing baby with the fetalscope over slices and sodas. I had said no to all sonograms and all pelvic checks, as I deemed both unnecessary and had endured more than my share in my first pregnancy. (I feel the need to point out that during the last 6 weeks of my pregnancy with Maxwell, the OBs had suspected IUGR. With that and a bout of preterm labor at 32 weeks I was placed on bedrest and has pelvic exams and ultrasounds twice a week for the remainder of the pregnancy. As we neared 38 weeks, they began discussing induction. Following a more painful than usual pelvic exam, I was told it 'shouldn't be long now' and my water broke 12 hours later. Looking back, I am certain my membranes were stripped without my knowledge. I cannot even find the words to describe the wrongness of it all. My baby wasn't ready. My body was disrespected. A doctor used their authority over me, an unsuspecting pregnant woman, who didn't know I was allowed to speak up or that I needed to. Blind trust.) I started having contractions on a Friday night, date night. I timed them and it was apparent they had a rhythm but I was adamant about getting dressed up and going out with Travis. I was huge and wanted to feel pretty all dolled up. We both ate nervously but tried to remain calm. I texted our midwife as I sipped on another Shirley Temple, my first intense craving with this pregnancy. She felt the consistent contractions (5mins apart, lasting 1min) was reason enough to meet up with the doula and head over. Since they had a two hour trek ahead of them, I talked Travis into going to the toy store so we could pick up some gifts for Maxwell from his new baby sibling, in hopes of creating a smoother transition into big brotherhood for him. After 20 mins or so, I couldn't even walk the aisles anymore. We still had to pick up Maxwell from my parents and get home and somehow mentally and physically prepare. As Travis put Maxwell to bed, I gathered our birth box and the bag with birthing tub in it to be inflated. Somewhere along the way, my contractions fizzled out. I paced hoping they would gain momentum and that the midwives wouldn't have wasted a trip. They got here after 10 and I felt frustrated and disappointed. We all went to bed. The next morning Maxwell was excited to have company so early in the morning and ran over to the birth box exclaiming, "Baby out!" We kept telling him "soon" and that we were hoping today was the day. But still, no more contractions. After a cup of coffee and profusely apologizing about the unnecessary trip, the midwives left and as Travis went to put the birth supplies away, Maxwell began to cry "Baby. Out." He was as impatient as me! Travis and Maxwell and I tried to make plans for the day to get my mind off of the fact that there wasn't a baby coming out of my vagina right now. We ended up driving to my friend Kate's farm to pick up our CSA share and have lunch and play with the other kiddos. I felt like I was going to be pregnant forever. The humidity level was fucked up. We drove around while Maxwell napped, Travis stopped in to a record store while I ate the first Pennsylvania peach of the season in the car. We drove to my dad's work to drop Maxwell off for the evening and my dad showed Maxwell a police car and firetruck he had in the parking lot. My dad's boss showed Maxwell the lights and horn and sirens and the kid was AMAZED. And despite being so effing hot, I was amazed too! Travis and I had to pick up a truck so we could haul some crap out of our rental property. It was huge and I had trouble getting in and out of it, which was very often as I could not stop peeing. Trying to satiate my apparent never-ending hunger for a pork BBQ, we attempted to go out to eat but my contractions started up again. It was 6pm and they were happening every 5 minutes, lasting a minute. I decided I couldn't eat or stand the heat or this pregnancy any longer. I cried and begged Travis to take me home. By 7pm, I was laying on my bed trying to cool down and Travis went to get himself some tex mex and a beer. I moved to the yoga ball hoping to relieve some of the discomfort from the contractions and when I laid back down, my water broke! I texted Travis and started to time contractions again to see if things were picking up. They were. I let the midwives know and Travis picked up Maxwell from my parents and started to get him ready for bed. It was nearing 930 at this point and it was evident Travis had fallen asleep while trying to get Maxwell to bed. I hopped in the shower and planned my next move. I would inflate the birthing tub, contractions every three minutes or not. I woke Travis to fill the tub. Midwives were still about 45 minutes out. When I climbed in that tub...HEAVEN. Game-changer. Every contraction, I would grab the conveniently located handles and hoist myself up against the side of the pool and Travis would rub my back. Rinse and repeat countless times until the midwives showed up, and then they would all take turns making sure I was comfortable. We spent to next hour talking when I would have a break and then there were little to no breaks. My dearest friend Megan had sent me a beautiful banner she had made for her own homebirth just weeks before and now it hung in our living room. The vintage-y light pink and blue paisley fabric had been cut into triangles and each bore a powerful affirmation to keep me present during birth. At one point, I told my team to read me one while I tried my best not to clench my teeth during another surge. "Peaceful birth, healthy baby." "I am capable." And Travis said, "I will tell you at the end of this contraction..." "Smile." And I did. After midnight, I was gonna let it all hang out. (Hahahaha. Sorry.) But seriously, after midnight, things picked right on up. Contractions one on top of the other. My water broke some more. And then some terrible pressure and what felt like a charlie horse in my right groin. I didn't know if it was from being in the water too long or if the baby was aggravating a previously torn ligament that had happened right around the time I got pregnant. I started thrashing around in the water and begging for help. My doula suggested I hop out of the tub, as I was starting to feel like I wanted to push. I didn't think I could make it the literal foot and a half to the couch. They helped lay me down and said it was okay to try to push if I felt like it was time. I tried and barely anything moved, but it felt good. This happened a few more times and at some point I felt the head make it's way down. I was sweaty and things felt carnal. It felt like a really big head. With Maxwell, he came shooting out in 2 small pushes. This was not the same as that. I was able to experience what I had thought was freakin' nuts when reading birth stories on the farm, of women who were able to pant through crowning to avoid pushing and tearing. My midwife put some nice olive oil on my lady bits to help with stretching. The head came in and out of my cervix a few times before I was able to get it out. Our baby's head was out at 130am. At 132am, HIS body was born and he was placed on my belly. We waited for the cord to stop pulsing before it was reluctantly cut by Travis (he hates the texture) and then he was placed on my chest. I did it!!!!!!! Travis took over on holding baby Miles and I worked with Jenn and Jean to deliver the placenta, that would later be encapsulated for me. Things got a little messy and gross after this. But then things were beautiful again when Miles was handed back over and I spent the next hour holding him against me, in love, and beginning to drift off to dreamland. Around 3am it was time for a shower and to be checked to see if had any tearing. We hadn't even weighed him yet and as my midwife helped me into the shower she told me, "You have a big baby out there!" Both postpartum showers I have experienced in my life thus far have been a little traumatic. There is nothing quite like looking down at your now-deflated gut and streaks of blood on parts of your body and going down the drain. No one prepares you for that nor can anyone prepare you for that. It's scary a little bit. It's sobering. It's surreal. After the shower, which I could have stayed in forever, I went into the bedroom with Miles and my ladies to be looked over. We weighed the young man and he was a WHOPPING 8lbs 4oz! That's a huge difference from my little 5lb 9oz Maxwell and I believe it was due to the minimal routine checks and scans throughout this pregnancy and also of course that I was able to carry him longer. The ladies checked me and I needed no stitches. Travis and Miles and I cuddled up in bed together and Travis and I whispered to each other and smiled and kissed. I don't know if I could have done it without him! He was so helpful and present with me. We maybe slept an hour that night before Maxwell awoke at 6am. He was shocked to learn he had a new brother while he was sleeping! "Baby, out?" he said pointing at Miles lying next to me in bed. Since the initial confusion, Maxwell has surprised us with the ease (thus far) of his transition into big brotherhood. His gentleness and sweetness (as usual) made him perfect for this role. He loves to lay with his little brother and hold his hand and kiss him. I never felt our family was incomplete in any way but somehow with addition of this baby, things seem complete---for now. At 16 days old, Miles loves to sleep and nurse and be held by mama and Maxwell. He makes cute little sounds post-sneeze and enjoys baths and showers. We think he looks like Mr. Bean and his Grandfather. He has his great-grandmother's nose and potential dimples like his Da. Born happily and healthy at home on July 19th 2015 at 132am, Miles Richard Olivera weighs 8lbs 4oz and is 21 inches of absolute perfection.

feeling the disconnect

broken dialogue between connections via disconnect human contact is lost and our screen-savers are no longer saving face. this was the end of losing touch or, had we already. wasting time scrolling and scrolling and not searching anymore.

dulldrums

Winter is bringing me down, man. Went and saw trains with Maxwell yesterday and I am getting the travel bug bad. Wanted to hop on, no destination, my thoughts, music, paper and pen. Feeling lost and out of touch, disconnected and uninspired. Bored and scared of turning into mush on these long days spent indoors with a toddler. The inner conflicts make little sense; lonely but desperately wanting to have a moment to myself. A moment of peace, a moment to create that the desire isn't extinguished by a marathon of angst while trying to get the kiddo down for a nap. Too exhausted, too burned out to even get dressed. Feeling feelings that I'm too scared to even write down. Nothing is fun anymore. I don't even think I know how to have fun anymore. The day in and back out and back in in this little town is stifling to me today, although I have found it a source of comfort and home for so long, though off and on. How do moms do it? How did my mom do it? Am I destined to turn into the shell that she is today? Paranoid and angry and unable to love? Jaded, but by what? I'd like to think that sunshine is the answer, and it is, in a way. My sun has set. I need to rise.

We are prose.

emotions are spinning the negative winning insecurities weaving and i am believing.

Toyotally traveled and unraveled.

I don't know what is more exciting, the fact that I have a moment to myself (and am actually using it to blog) or that I remember my login info. Either way, score! Recently, I was reading my O mag and came across a Toyota ad. Actually I turned the page and thought I was still reading an article from O, since the content of the page was weighty and reflective and asserts that our attitude is what makes the journey worthwhile (wait, it's not the Camry?)The big wigs over at Toyota think I need to journal more so they gave me a list of questions and are eagerly and unknowingly awaiting my responses. I am to start writing about where my life is at this moment. About my life, work and relationships. Am I where I want to be? Absolutely I am where I want to be. Right now, in this chair, with my blankets and my cats, yes, yes, yes. Right now, with my toddler asleep (THANK GOD) in the other room, in his big room in our new house that was my grandparents house. This is where my life is, now, and where it was, then, growing up. How lucky is that? A home that was always home is now our home. It's a beautiful, comfy, cozy little life that I thank my husband often for helping me create. Create. Many hours of my stay at home mom (SAHM) life have been spent creating via crafting. Right after Maxwell was born I randomly started affixing vintage buttons onto bobby pins and doing craft shows. What a fun little journey and a very interesting avenue to be rolling down. Not only is it totally conducive to my very free-spirited, noncommittal attitude toward "work," but I have met great people, learned lots and seen some cool shit along the way. A few crafter gals and myself have also started our own craft show, starting this weekend! I'm totally enthralled with all of the planning and soliciting vendors and chatting with people about the importance of shopping local and about libraries (where we will hold our series of shows). I think this is probably one of those rare occasions where doing work doesn't feel like work. It's fun and a great outlet to get me out of mom-mode for a few minutes a day. Toyota is now asking me what my ideal life looks like. My guess is they want me to compare it to my statements above and in all honesty, it doesn't look much different. Sure, the rest of the siding on my house would be up, and the attic insulated…but the basics (husband, kiddo, cats) are all I need. If we are talking wants though…"Write about what makes you truly happy and the possibilities for your future." What TRULY makes me happy…and makes my heart sing unlike much else I have experienced is TRAVEL. Abroad is always my top choice but I will settle for pretty much anywhere. The last six years (save a trip to Canada) has been pretty much spent on American soil since the previous years had been spent elsewhere. I am grateful everyday I have seen cobblestone roads (in heels) of Switzerland, and windy roads with an Alp or two imposing a jagged skyline. I cherish that day I ventured by bus, to a chairlift that placed me atop the Alps only to take a train ride back down and catching a boat at the bottom. That day I witnessed all season in a day. Snowcapped peaks to melty waterfalls to a sunny cruise along the coast of Lucerne. I am thankful for the food in Italy and my god I know what you are thinking, it's not all about the food but I am here to tell you that the food is fucking great. But beyond that, I hold in my heart the times I spent with Travis in Italy. He bought me a beautiful pearl engagement ring in Milan. We wandered down narrow streets, aimlessly, slowly, hand in hand. There was simply nowhere else to be but there. Together. If I close my eyes, I can feel the warmth in my chest and in my cheeks of the syrupy-sweet Limoncello that we sipped outside of a cafe. The wrought iron table and chairs were wobbly but who gives a shit when you are sitting under quaint lampposts and your view is of an incredible cathedral. I close my eyes and see strings of lights decorating the outdoor tables, the beautiful foreigners drinking their vino and chatting and picking at delicious slabs of buffalo mozzarella and delicate slices of prosciutto. Church bells ring and everything in this country is purely magical. The tall, unencumbered grass of Giant's Causeway, the pattern and the folklore that lives within the rock and the Cliffs of Moher, words simply fall short. An experience that changes you and you aren't really sure how just that it has. Somehow. I'm in Ireland (in my mind) now. Dozens of bus trips to various spots along the east coast, with friends, with Travis. A goddamned Guinness. Places that aren't truly home, but feels like it for a while. That's what I love about travel. I could go into great detail of my love of Scotland and it's abandoned castles and its frigidly bitter winds. I could recount the tale of one of the longest and most memorable nights of my life in Barcelona, but I feel I've done so before. But what I keep meditating on, recently anyhow, is strolling along the canal in Amsterdam and soaking in the charming home fronts we've passed. Many are apartments, like brownstones, or very narrow and tall with a stoop. Some are ground level with a big picture window. I would wonder what it looked like inside or who lived there. Some had colorful doors, some had flower boxes, some had a cat, many had a bike or two chained up outside. What was daily life like for an Amsterdamian? Now that I've more than elaborated on what gives me the greatest joy, Toyota says I need to meditate on my hopes for the future. I hope to travel. Duh. I'm urged now to create an 'attitude of gratitude' and this not the first (or last if I continue reading O) time I've heard/read this notion. I must admit I have an extremely hard time with remaining focused on the positive when shit hits the fan. And as a regular spaz, shit hits the fan often. My focus innately (I've come to believe) shifts to the negative and quickly spirals into doom. I no longer wonder WHY ME! WHY DO I GIVE FUCKS?! because I now know this is how I am. Not WHO I am, but simply my go-to method of dealing or not dealing with whatever crud is happening. My graciousness factor is nil for the most part. I'm cynical and angry and resentful in general, which can be incredibly tiring and which is why little writing exercises and meditations such as this can help me keep my misanthropic nature at bay. For like, a day. I am urged to take stock and to look how far I've come. Thanks, Toyota. No, really.

Bibbity Bobbity Who?

There are so many excuses out there (in my house, in my head) as to why I don't update this often, or write as much as I'd like. My main argument is generally "I have nothing to write about." This statement is far from true. Possibilities of topics to ruminate over are endless. I guess I feel I am trying to cater to imaginary readers' literary appetite when, in fact, a shit I do not give! At least that's what I will keep telling myself! This blog contains 500+ entries chronicling my life's last nine years. It's seen me change and grow as much as it has seen me stay the same. Though a tad less cynical these days and much more grateful, I am finally comfortable in my own (uncomfortable) shoes. That too has changed little. My closet shelves are still lined with shoeboxes, many of them high heels that aren't worn often enough... ...but who would expect a new mother to tread down a flight of icy Upstate NY steps in stilettos while gripping an infant carrier?! This isn't Sex and the City! This is Motherhood in Boonies! So my Steve Maddens turned into old slippers. And my party dresses into pajamas. This is some ass-backwards Cinderella shit. And I wouldn't wish for it to be any other way.

Trick or Treat! or Baby!

Oh and what a Happy New Year it is! Our little guy, Max, joined us on Halloween at 11:43 in the a.m. after a mostly uneventful 11 hours of labor. The most 'excitement' was that day...had my now routine sonograms, since I was experiencing intrauterine growth restriction and baby had only gained 2 ounces in 2 weeks. I was scheduled for induction on 11/1/12 at 38w1d. Although my midwife was certain I would not make it! The nursery hadn't even been primed or painted at this point, baby showers gifts and furniture were in a GIANT heap in the living room, most still with tags and packaging. Things had to be bought. And my butt hurt. The next 6 hours were a daze of dozing on and off, while Travis and our buddy painted the nursery and daddy-to-be headed off to work. I slept some more before heading out to Target and Babies R Us for some last minute purchases. Erin and I came home at 10 that night, opened all of the gifts to get them ready for washing, and began to FINALLY set up the nursery. Travis got home at midnight as Erin and I were debating the layout. After a busy evening and aching butt, I laid down at 12:30 and Travis sat on the floor near the bed and we chatted. I knew something felt funny. Wasn't sure if it was nerves or what. Do nerves feel like a gush of water? Apparently so! Travis nervously asked me if I needed anything while I phoned the midwife. He threw me a towel and I told him to go wash the tub. He did and hurried back and told me he had cleaned it before even asking 'Why?' I said "I don't know! You needed something to do!" We hopped in the car and made the late night drive, Travis gripping the steering wheel with white knuckles, me eating the apple that he sliced for me before we left. The next seven hours, I drifted in and out of sleep again, and Travis passed out slumped over in a chair, hood on, head resting on my bed. I woke up to a cat face. She looked familiar. Oh, I had graduated with this cat. And it was Halloween. I hadn't progressed much so the dreadful dose of Pitocin was ordered. The next four hours found me in the WORST PAIN EVER. Every two minutes or so I begged for an Epi and a C-section, both things I swore I didn't want throughout my entire pregnancy. I had to wait until I was at least 4cm dilated before Epi could be administered. Around 11:30 the kitty cat Christina started to set up for it. Around 11:35 I thought my insides were falling out. Around 11:35 I screamed a scream I didn't know I even had in me. She told me it was time. The midwife didn't make it in time. She was across the street at the practice! Three small pushes was all it took. I screamed, not because it hurt, but because I WAS SO SCARED. Travis told me it was a boy, just how I dreamed it. I also dreamt early on that it was a cat...

Maxwell James, 5lbs 9oz, 19.5in long, 10/31/12.

Fall-ing.

Okay, okay. I guess an update is long overdue. No, I haven't forgotten my dear Eggie, I have just been...(insert excuses here). I could fill those ellipses with "busy" or "lazy" or "pregnant." Yes, it's true! Just a few more weeks and we will have a sweet little addition to our family. I'm unsure if Prudence and Mayfield are as excited as Travis and myself. It's been a great pregnancy thus far without many complaints. Until recently. I'm now full term and have been on bed rest for the last month. I had to give up my job at the library where I was working in the Children's Room. It was hard for me because that was the first job in a long while that I truly enjoyed. The patrons were unpredictable, the young ones were adorable and the 'tweens were unbearable but I thoroughly enjoyed attempting to reprimand them. Being in a position of working with children is something I never thought I'd be capable of. Then again, being in a position of having a child of my own is another thing I never thought I was capable of. I didn't grow up with many babies around. I was the baby. The first baby I held was my cousin when I was 12 years old. She lived miles away so I didn't see much of her as a young'n. Between my husband and I, we have never changed a diaper to this day. Growing up, especially during and after those "formative years," my reasoning for not wanting children was because I couldn't understand WHY a child should be brought into such a horrific world. A world of bullying, terrorism, unsettling political practices, mental illness and death...the list goes on. Now that I am typing this, I still see the validity of my arguments, but there are some factors that were left out due to my sheer lack of experience. Experience that came with age, wisdom that arrived with a newfound openness. I love my husband. And our house. And our life. Sure, there are still horrific things in this world...but there are great things too. Things I wasn't even open to therefore completely unaware of. And not blissfully unaware. I am blissfully aware now. I was previously miserably unaware of anything other than my pessimistic nature. Don't get me wrong, I am still very much a pessimist. And a worrier. And a whole mess of anxiety and nerves. Is the glass half empty? Not anymore. It's overflowing. But only when I allow myself to not worry about the spill.

Mastering the Art of the Remodel

It still enthralls me to step across my new bathroom/kitchen floor and hear no signs of a creak anywhere! It is solid as a rock! (And yes, I sang the last part). Just 6 LOOONG months before, the day after we signed the deed, I couldn't resist the urge to peel back the awful linoleum that was coming up behind the toilet. And that, my friends, is where it all began. You see, this laminate flooring was the last bit of flooring left all the way from the bathroom to the kitchen. All other traces were rotted away (PARTICLE BOARD WILL DO THAT!) and poor patch jobs along the way, left one big mess. Rip up the papers or continue ripping up the floors?? With my brother and dad leading the way, THANK GOD IF THERE IS A GOD, we replaced the old blue toidy and shower with pristine bisque. Painted the former Mildewy Blue to Liberty Park green, added espresso colored vanity with granite top, with matching mirror and medicine cabinet. A new window that actually opens and a tub that doesn't feel as if it's going to fall through the floor!

IN SPEAKING OF FALLING THROUGH FLOORS, AND ALSO THE GREATEST SEGUE EVER, we moved on to the kitchen after a solid 2.5 months of bathroom remodel. We all know the famous scene in The Money Pit where someone falls into a large hole. This is what ensued as we ripped up a floor and neglected to replace it immediately. Of course Travis knew we didn't have a floor, but it slipped his mind as he opened the door to the kitchen, like he's done countless times before, and stepped in without looking. He missed the balance-beam floor joist we've been tiptoeing along...and both legs would've been dangling in the neighbor's downstairs kitchen, if it wasn't for their cupboards and Tinker Bell Disney mug collection to break his fall. That is what some would call a 'memorable bruise.' I know I've had a memorable bruise, and I'm sure if you really want to know the story bad enough, you can just peruse the blog history and find it yourself.

Somehow we made it through; the months without a stove, of doing dishes in the bathtub, the week and a half without a toilet...and can you believe it we are still going at it! Up next is the living room, new wiring and new heat. Of course new paint, I am thinking of turquoise perhaps. But long before I see this turquoise I speak of. Our other half of the house is going to be renter-free so that we can fix 'er up...Tax return = new windows. There's a bedroom to completely gut, a bathroom that needs a ton of work and we can't forget those two holes in the kitchen ceiling screaming for a patch job! \

'Tis all for now. More to come.

Beverly June Rose Christian

Here's a list of a list of the things I like, this list is a list of things I like...

Really it's a list of the things my Grandma loved.

her 10 children and 15 grandchildren
a cup of coffee after dinner with my grandfather
the Kennedys
current events
letter-writing
Daniel O'Donnell
Monet
poetry
the McCall's Book of Etiquette
ham & potato salad
meeting new people
Chester's Flower Shop
any flowers at all

She's the most beautiful flower to me. Her beauty and her smile are unmatched. Though I know she'd be more than modest, always looking away from the camera...to me, her presence was simply a brilliant sunshine. Warm, radiant, calming and lovely.
I know our relationship has just changed now...I think about her everyday. I have an array of her collection. Some painted wood house cut-outs...the Library, the gazebo and Old Victorian ones I bought her. They sit on my bookshelf, next to McCall's Book of Etiquette and the Life Magazine from when Jackie Kennedy gave a tour of the White House. Next to the Viking Book of Poetry that I placed some fall leaves in, to find next season. Of course in my box of her things, there was also a few beautiful sets of boxed cards...ones with Parisian cafes and waterlilies...all in pretty boxes that decorated her room. My uncle saved every letter she's ever written him. One mentions how much I cried when I was a baby when she, my mom and I went on a drive to Cooperstown. Another reads of how distraught she was to hear of John Lennon's death. She was a mother and a friend, in the truest sense of each. And she was always so happy to see me every time I visited her, and even more elated if I was accompanied by my better half. I miss her presence beyond any of the words within my grasp.

happy mother's day.

wow. i am in awe of things at the moment. of life. of how good it can be when you learn to just let go and live it. when you undo the years of worrying and being angry and feeling as if you're unworthy of what you truly deserve.

today feels like i'm approaching the close of a year and the opening of a whole new chapter. no, i haven't gone completely mad. i do have some concept of time. it's not new years per se, but for me it's drawing nearer and nearer...my first year sober. i am just beyond grateful that i got the help i needed when i did.

in other news, travis and i have perhaps finally made the decision to not relocate. it seems so right for so many reasons, but have found judgement in the eyes of others who are unmarried....."why settle here?"..."don't get sucked in!"...."do NOT own property in Utica, NY"....but of course these words themselves seemed to be doused in "don't you want more for youself?"

the question to me is what more is there? we've found a beautiful love and are settling in to our lives together. we want to invest in us. the house, the kids, the maybe too-typical natural next step. but here we are. and we just know. and you know what? it's simply delightful.

darkives.

it's been a weird day. enjoying the somewhat clear headedness of 10 months without alcohol consuming me. enjoyed seeing my grandma boo; i've always called her that, although I'm not quite sure why. enjoyed seeing old friends today, albeit at a sad time. vicky, robin and al....vicky was my bff for along time, through the junior high-high school awkwardness phases..today, we're adults. her mom laughed as she reminded us of the time we wanted to wear black pants when we were 13, so we went to Grimaldi's. we had a standing tradition on august 31 and dec 19. we kept a journal of all of our 'firsts' together. first fart, first rollercoaster ride, first fireworks, first sleepover of many. her mom would tuck me in at night just like i was one of her own.

so needless to say, i've been feeling nostalgic. not missing the good ol' times, just remembering them with a smile. it's brought us to today. it's made us who we are. and nobody's story is exactly the same. that whole puzzle piece metaphor.

right now i am waiting for my love to get home, so we can be thisclose. and maybe eat some food.

that's all.

nothing's gonna change my world...

Would love to go 'across the universe' right now. Gettin' antsy, or, I've been antsy for a while now. The topic of change came up today between Travis and I...so now I'm inevitably asking myself if people are capable of change? Or the micro-picture here, are we capable of change? We are both unhappy with our current states. For both of is it's a matter of employment. And ambition. And circumstance. And for me, it is also a literal matter of current state. Last night I dreamt of moving to Washington State. Something different. New territories to explore. Just the two of us. Well, the four of us. Can't forget Prudence & Mayfield. Sure it sounds whimsical, but it's not the first time I've slightly considered it. There's nothing holding us back here. We're going to have to move sooner or later, why not 3,000 miles away?

I could see if there was a specific reason to move there, like a job or school, but there really isn't other than some form of escapism. I'm afraid of falling further into a rut. Need a change of scenery, need a change of pace. But none of that will change my face. It will not change who I am or my past, I'm still stuck with me...

What should we be doing? SHOULD is a shitty term. It's just absolutely soaked in false expectations that we somehow put on ourselves. Should we be following our dreams, whatever they may be? Well guess what? My dreams are limited in that aspect. My dreams consist of random moves to different states and countries. To see what life is like somewhere else, although to undoubtedly find at the end, it doesn't matter where you are. There you are.
On the topic of false expectations and this whole 'shoulding' crap, the reality is exactly that. THE REALITY. What is possible exactly at that point in time. Shit happens. Shoulds happen. Life happens. Love happens. Falling apart happens. And then there's everything else that happens while things are happening.

But what is happening right now? A big question mark is happening. On what to do next. What should I do next?

Peace!

I'm going to try out my other blog for awhile. You can find it here: http://myeggie.blogspot.com/

a short blurt.

Yo yo yo! Sup bloggie?

2 weeks from today. Wowza. Feels like just yesterday we were strolling along in the park on a Sunday afternoon in Dublin...But alas, time has flown from January 27th 2008 to just weeks away from our big day. I'm freaking out man! Luckily we decided to honeymoon to calm the fuck down. I am ready for it all to be over and to be Mrs. Elongated-Hyphenated Last Name.

In AA they say your first few months you're on a "pink cloud." And I was, undoubtedly. I was blissfully happy and enjoying sobriety. Don't get me wrong, I'm still enjoying my sobriety but MAN am I irritable! One of the old-timers told me to get a "pink parachute"...Although I must admit how grateful I was on Friday night at 11 waiting for the meeting outside, when a taxi drove by with a few drunkies in the back...they waved their hands and stuck their heads out the window and yelled "You're sober!" And I said back, "Hell yeah I am!" Word.

Other than that, I've been trying to deal with the hot mess that is my mom. Mental illness is no fun, especially untreated, and especially when she's not acknowledging the upcoming wedding. I don't have to drink over that today. Today I can soberly learn to accept the things I cannot change. Or at least try to. Last night I found myself grieving over my mother. No, she's not dead, but she sure isn't the Mom she used to be. We used to be buddies. She used to read me stories, not make them up and believe 'em to be true. It seems I'm the only one in the fam who cares enough to try to get her help. But I am slowly beginning to become enraged with them. I am the youngest and have a lot on my plate at the moment. Staying sober, a wedding, court...why should I have to drive my mother to the ER under false pretenses? My fragile state of mind can not handle that at the moment. But I'm sure if I don't step up to the plate, no one else will. The glue stands alone.

Alright. My laundry is ready. 'Tis all for now.

one day at a time.

Hey there Eggie, I've been thinking about you!

I'm very grateful to have 72 days sober today. That said, let me give some updates. The wedding is T-minus 15 days away, or something like that. And we FINALLY decided on a honeymoon destination! Seattle, here we come! We were going to wait but figured there's no way we can miss out on this one time only honeymoon opportunity.

Despite the usual trials and tribulations, I am keeping my head about water today...and with a smile. None of the world's bullshit is worth me drinking over. I've got a great man whose stuck beside me through it all and I KNOW he LOVES me, just as I LOVE him. Best friends, companions, soon to be husband and wife. His family has doubts and I can't change their minds, but I can prove them wrong.

Wish I had a little more time to chat, but alas, I have to go meet a good friend who just got back from Alaska.

Peace!

poor me, poor me, pour me a drink.

Jolly ho! That's a fun greeting that starts with the letter 'J'---Travis used it in a game of Scattegories recently and I thought it was quite nifty. Plus we went to the Renaissance Festival for his birthday last week and it seems like something you'd hear there. 'Tis, 'tis.

Things are going ok at the moment. I'm finding sober life to be a breath of fresh air. I spent 5 years underwater (or under-alcohol) and now I can breathe again. On the topic of math and how long things have been goin' on, I've spent nearly half of my life wishing I wouldn't have a life to live. But today, I'm happy to be alive. I've found my sense of belonging...months ago I'd tell you the same thing, as I sat haphazardly on my barstool, hanging out with those others who drink alone at two in the afternoon. But today, only for today, I can say that I found my sense of belonging in AA. Here are folks I can relate with. Here are folks that know what it's like. Here, here!

The wedding rapidly approaches! Invites are sent, and we are anxiously awaiting RSVPs! I am looking so much forward to the next step. I know it's not all going to be peaches n' cream, but I'm glad to know there's an amazing someone to stand beside me, and myself beside him, when shit hits the fan. Perhaps that'll be my vow :)

I must go satiate this rumbling in my tummy. 'Tis is all for now. Stick around, we'll be right back...

Ok. So here's my June post, late. Alright, let's just call it what it is. A July post.

June for me was spent in rehab in West Palm Beach, FL. It was remarkable. Not only did I come back sober, but with a killer tan. Oh, and with many many friends that I hope to keep in touch with always.

I'm not sure I feel like elaborating, or writing anymore...my motivation is still non-existent and my depression is still ever-present. Only now, no longer self-medicated.

I'll be around. More likely, at an AA meeting.

Fiddle-y Diddle-y Dee.

I'm looking for the bright side here and it's not looking so bright.

The other day I help my grammy clean out her attic, my favorite past-time ever...organizing, going through old family heirlooms....getting to take anything home i want! YAY! I worked my butt off and it felt good. We had lots of bonding time and sharing of memories, priceless.

I don't know if you know this, but I haven't had a job in 6 months now. Depression and anxiety and pernicious anemia and endometriosis and circumstances have taken their toll...luckily my rent is dirt cheap and I still have a pretty steady income that includes eBay, garage sales and my life savings. Too bad other people don't consider it to be a "real" job. But my opinion is, I'm paying my bills SO FUCK EM!

This weekend is going to be stressful. There's not enough Xanax in the world to make me get through 3 whole days of nothing but my in-laws. Sure, I'm proud of Travis graduating, but I don't need to sit through the whole 4 hour ceremonious bullshit. I skipped my own. He's only going because his mommy is making him and we are both miserable about it. Ooh and on top of that I get to choose which parent to sit with...his mom who makes my hair turn gray just thinking about her...or his dad who I told better at least sneak in a flask for us. And a bridal shower in the mix for my future sis-in-law and birthday din din for his mom...hopefully somewhere in the next 72 hours I find time to make a goddamn potato salad and cheesecake for another family get together. GARRR. It'd be different if we all got along...

I guess the bright side is that I don't have to see my family this weekend. My mom and all her lies and bullshit and my brother with his penchant for womanizing and declaring bankruptcy and having houses foreclosing....not to mention my ongoing sibling rivalry with my tempermental sis and a dad whom I adore but fear so much for his health.

I feel like there's no way out.