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I’m doing that thing where I keep myself up even though I’m physically beat and my body longs to melt into our heavenly little family bed…

I’m sitting in front of the computer, hands clasped, biting my knuckles. Listening to the dog whine in her kennel. And the Crowder channel on Pandora. And the crickets outside my window.

More talk, today, of the husband potentially being deployed. We will know if it’s for sure sometime soon. No idea where to, or when, or for how long, or how many people would go… And even if we did have an idea, it’s not like I could post it here. All we know for sure is that people from his unit are getting sent overseas. Yippee.

I guess I’m feeling a bit silly for believing that he would make it the last four years of his career without getting sent overseas. For the seventh time. I’m praying that this skips us, passes us over… I feel like Jesus before His crucifixion… So many times in the past few weeks I’ve found myself asking, “Father, if You can, please take this from us…” Ultimately, I want His will to be done. But I’m seriously hoping that His will does not include giving up my other half for any significant length of time.

What does this mean for baby making? I dunno. Still getting the IUD taken out… Still gonna start the lovenox injections as a precaution. Not sure, however, if we will actively TTC. Who knows… It doesn’t seem to matter much anymore.

I guess I’m having a difficult time with this because there’s no one I can really talk to about it. I want to talk to my mom, but she would just worry her little heart out and obsess over it. I told my dad a bit of what I’ve heard, and he says he will be praying for us. But really what I want to hear is that I don’t need to worry about it and that aliens came to earth from mars to eradicate terrorism so that the “good guys” who’ve invested years of their lives in this stupid war already can take a friggin break. I’m tired of it. I gave up my father for a year and a half while I was in high school to go play with camel spiders. Meanwhile, three of my friends gave up their fathers for the same reason around the same time. Except, forever.

I don’t want my son to be a Gold Star kid.

Yep, I’m selfish.

Am I a horrible person? Maybe I wasn’t cut out for this lifestyle. Don’t get me wrong, I’m capable of holding down the fort while he does his thing.

But Lord help me… If harm comes to this man, I will weasel my way into whatever country he was in, find the party responsible, and make someone’s day. One thing I learned in basic training – I have surprisingly good aim.

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I hesitate to put this into words, given how miserable I was during my last pregnancy, but I really want to maintain a positive outlook this time around. You know, maybe even be that ‘glowing’ pregnant woman who handles the whole ordeal with ease! I’m not gonna put too much pressure on myself to enjoy every minute of it, but I’m going to try to keep in mind that it may very well be the last time I experience pregnancy.

Thinking about the things I want to do differently the next time around brings up some unresolved issues with my birthing process. Please don’t judge me – I’m probably about to sound crazy here for a bit. But I think that part of the reason I experienced such a downward spiral of confusion and sadness after Kenneth was born had to do with how chaotic the whole process felt. I mean, we went to the hospital without a diaper bag, much less a car seat. We were not at all expecting to have him in our arms the very next day, and I just didn’t feel prepared. On top of that, he was severely jaundiced for a week after he was born, and six days later we were still in the hospital because he hadn’t had any bowel movements… Cue the pediatrician telling me I was going to brain damage my child if I didn’t give him formula.

It just wasn’t really a fun time, all-around.

But (and this is a deep dark secret) I think that what bothers me most and doesn’t sit right with me is how the actual birth itself went down. I experienced amnesia after the fact, for whatever reason – exhaustion? Stress? I really don’t know, and I’ve never asked a professional out of embarrassment. But I don’t remember the first few hours after giving birth… I remember the doctor telling me to stop pushing, watching him grab a scalpel and cut me open, and then I remember the doctor holding our baby up by the leg. He let out one little cry and then went silent, and my gut told me that that couldn’t be right. Then he was immediately taken away (somewhere behind me) for what, I don’t know. I kept asking, “Is he okay? Why isn’t he making any noise?” And no one would answer me. Finally, the nurse brought him to me and laid him on my chest. My arms were too weak to wrap around him or hold him, and my legs were so weak that I watched them shake as I kept my knees bent and my doctor stitched me back up.

And that’s where it ends…

At some point, our families came in and joined us, and we were taken to another room. But I don’t remember any of this, or recall how much time had elapsed or what I did to bond with my son. I remember the first nurse coming in once we’d been moved, and asking me how long it had been since our little guy had eaten. I told her that I wasn’t sure, and that it had probably been when we were still in the birthing suite. She was quite upset, as that had apparently been a few hours ago.

The hardest piece for me to stomach fell into place at my eight-week checkup. I told my doctor about the pain I’d experienced around the incision site when my husband and I had sex, and he asked me why he’d given me an episiotomy. I thought to myself, “What do you mean, why?” I had assumed it was related to the fact that I’d been pushing for two hours and his head had reached a point it just wasn’t going to fit through.

“I’m not really sure…” I replied.

“I only do one or two of those a year. And only if there’s an emergent situation,” he said.

My stomach sunk. Suddenly it made sense why, though he’d asked me maybe fifteen minutes earlier in my labor if I wanted baby brought straight to my chest, he was taken away after he made it out. Doc speculated that perhaps the baby’s heart rate was dropping. Whatever happened, I will probably never know…

It took me awhile to acknowledge that this combination of events truly saddened me, but in time I did… And I found peace knowing that if I faced those feelings, I would be able to close the gap between my baby and myself. All of these events supported the voice in my head telling me to be afraid. The one that didn’t believe I would ever be a mother – not after the “uncertainty” of the first trimester had passed, not after finding out his gender, not as I started to show… Not even as I went into labor. It never felt real, and the chaos surrounding his birth fed that fear that I would lose him.

In time, after much struggle and anxiety, it began to feel ‘real.’ I think at some point I realized that if I held my breath waiting for the bottom to drop out, I would miss out on so much. When I look back, that seems to be true for about the first month of his life. But after that, I began to embrace being his mother and sustaining another human life. I began to trust my body and heart and soul to do what they were created to do. And it was amazing… I’m so glad I decided not to let fear keep me from those precious moments.

Anyways.

These are the thoughts that plague my mind as I’m trying to fall asleep tonight. Things I hope are different the second time around. Hopefully this will be a non-issue, as I now have living proof that my body is indeed capable of creating a human being. 😛 Hopefully instead, I rock the entire pregnancy and childbirth with the confidence of someone who’s been there, done that. Hopefully I will have more faith in God’s plan.

But I can’t guarantee I won’t worry my heart out for the little being that will come. ❤

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Disclaimer: A page worth of self-pity follows this sentence.

Does anyone remember Xanga?

I’m about to divulge my insecurities, which briefly took me back to high school, which reminded me of that wonderful web-diary where I jabbered self-indulgently about which girl had said what to me that week at school, and how long I’d spent on the phone with my boyfriend each night. Ahh, those were the days…

I wish someone had told me that high school isn’t actually so different from the ‘real world.’

I still feel like I’m being judged by every girl I meet.  Like it’s some sort of competition or something.  Ridiculous, right? It’s not like I’m an adult, or anything…

I just find it a bit outrageous that I woke up at 6 a.m. this morning to get ready for a play date. When I say ‘get ready,’ I mean I spent an hour and a half showering, shaving, putting on makeup, styling my hair… I put on perfume, for Christ’s sake! And made sure I had on the proper number of accessories. Needless to say, I put more effort into preparing to hang out with these girls for 3 hours than I do on a daily basis for my poor husband.

This is only the third play date I’ve been to, and the first was at the mall.  But the last two times, both houses of the hostesses have been perfectly clean, with candles lit, a spread of food – today’s even featured a Valentine craft.

…Okay, the craft was cute and I’m glad that we did it, but seriously!? I’m not Martha Fucking Stewart and I’m gonna stop going to these silly things because A) my son can’t even crawl, much less play and B) I leave feeling terrible about myself! Who are these people? Last time I checked, we live in Florida, not Connecticut.

Am I the only mommy out there who doesn’t always have a face and house and hair that are perfectly put together? Is it wrong for me to feel like I’m being ‘fake’ with these people? I wanna make friends here and everything, but I don’t wanna clean my house for hours before I invite them over!

Before I got married, I waited at least three or four dates into a ‘relationship’ before letting the guy see me without makeup. I am three play dates into this mommy-group, and still wearing a mask.  Does that say something, or is this charade what ‘normal’ people do every day? I just don’t know! It certainly doesn’t come easily to me – if you’ve read any of this blog, you know I have a vested interest in keeping things real. But I’ve never moved anywhere new, and never had to work at making new friends.

Days like today, I’d give anything to be back home and see something familiar. When I left the house this morning, I realized I’d memorized where the exits were between here and the next suburb over, and that felt like a milestone to me. Like this was starting to become home.

And then I tried to fit into this group of people that just aren’t my people, and I realized how much it would mean to me to raise my baby and grow my family around people who already love us.  I guess I took some things for granted – I never knew love and friendship were such hard work.