Roll Up Your Sleeves

A year ago today, I went in for an MRI.

I'd been experiencing migraine headaches that were worse than I'd ever had.  It's scary, the throes of a migraine.  I remember coming home from work, essentially driving with memory muscle because I was in too much pain to concentrate, and explaining to my then 3-year-old what 911 was.  It was time to go to the doctor.

I hate doctors.  Not the individuals, but the experience.  The waiting and the smells and the questions I can't ever answer.  Even before I was pregnant with my kids I was relying on my OBGYN for pretty much everything.  "Hey, while you're down there, can you take a peek at my left foot?  I don't think that bump was there before..."  You get the idea.

I checked myself into a clinic, and they diagnosed me officially with migraines.  For those of you that have this diagnosis, you are familiar with how shitty the information is that they give you.

"Your migraines may be triggered by..... Caffeine, chocolate, cheese, lack of sleep, stress, light, sound, farts, your uncle, any song by Taylor Swift...."  No shit, they have no idea what triggers these things.  So I left with a sample of Imitrex and instructions to find a PCP and follow up.

My PCP is named Stephanie, and she's fantastic.  Fantastic doctors and nurses make an incredible difference, and I've been pretty lucky.  I first met her last April, and we talked about the migraines, my crazy sleep-deprived life with two toddlers, and anything else I could think of.  I talked for over an hour about the silly little things that were "off" with me.  I have a wonky eye, been wonky for years.  I drop things all the damn time.  I can't remember why I went into thebathroom, cause I don't have to pee, so why am I here?  She listened to all of this, then excused herself for a moment.  When she came back it was with a referral for an MRI.  She wanted me to have it as a precaution.

So here I was, one year ago today, taking my anti-anxiety pill so I could go into this damn tube and STAY STILL.  The pill worked well enough, and I asked for music while I was in, so Sara Bareilles helped too.  "Brave" blasted when they put me in.

Afterward, I felt great.  I was done, I had my nifty CD with images of my brain (how freaking cool is that?), and I was off to spend the rest of the day with Mike and the girls.

The phone call came 2 days later when I was home with Mackenzie and Teagan.  I sat at my dining room table while Stephanie told me they'd found some abnormalities in my MRI, and they couldn't rule out MS.  Was I familiar with Mulitple Sclerosis?

When I was a teenager, we used to rent movies (VHS, that's right!) at this place called Mr. Bill's.  I immediately thought of Mr. Bill's wife, who had been in a wheelchair, all but a vegetable before she'd passed.  She'd had MS.

"Is this a death sentence?"  I asked, trying not to completely lose my mind.
"No."
"Okay then, what's next?"

To make a VERY long story a little shorter, it took 6 weeks to get in to see a neurologist.  Six weeks of the Google Monster is a long time.  Six weeks of me trying to "read" my own MRI, which obviously YouTube had taught me well....  no actually, that's a lie.  Don't try that at home, because you'll just scare the shit out of yourself.

Fast forward to neurology.... Standard diagnostic testing for MS is as follows:  Blood tests for 87 things, another Brain MRI with the BIG machine, two different Spinal MRIs, and ..... you guessed it, a Lumbar Puncture.  How fun.  This summer was going to be a fucking blast.

Blood tests, relatively easy...except my veins suck.  They usually need to call 2 or 3 people to stick me.  I just started apologizing in advance, it's easier.

MRIs... bring on the music!  I can do this!  Don't forget that pill please!

After the MRIs were done, my neurologist called me.  It was almost casual.  "Oh, we found some lesions on your cervical spine as well, so look up these medications for treatment options for MS, and by the way, you have enlarged lymph nodes in your chest, so you need a CT scan...."  Ugh, another test?  Really?  Now I'm irritated.

Irritation was my number one feeling.  I had no room for fear, because at this point I'm obviously on an episode of House and they're going to come in at any moment with the magic treatment for my fucking crazy rare disease caused by some spider that hitched a ride from Guatemala and bit me in the ass last February.  There's no other answer.

CT scan, easy, except for the fasting.  I don't do fasting.  I do food and coffee.  Not ok.

Days later, I'm in Giant Eagle with Mackenzie.  Mike's mom had Teagan in another aisle.  We're picking out apples when my phone rings.  I will never forget that moment, and I still don't want to pick apples out at that Giant Eagle.

It was Stephanie.  "Sounds like you've got something going on!"
"Yeah, grocery shopping with my girls."
"Why don't you give me a call back when you and Mike get home tonight?"

My heart stopped, then started racing.

"Well....no, now you have to tell me because I know something is wrong."

It took some convincing, but she told me.

"There were enlarged lymph nodes like we expected, but...the scan caught the top of your liver, and there were two larger blood-fed masses....we need to get you to encology right away.  I'm so sorry."

The "sorry" seemed to echo in my head.  Cancer?  No no, that wasn't right, I'm dealing with diagnostics for MS... now cancer?  How can they treat cancer with a compromised immune system???

I went into mild shock.  I must have given Mackenzie an apple, because she was happily crunching away at it, oblivious to the fact that I was losing my mind.  "We need to go find Grandma baby, let's go find Grandma."  I know I found her, and I told her we had to go, and could she pay for my apples.  I called Mike and told him to meet me at home, it was bad.

I broke down in the car.  "What else am I supposed to handle?  I don't know what I'm going to do!  Why is this happening to me!?"  I remember my mother in law crying, and holding my hand, and asking if it was okay if she said a prayer.

I hope I thanked her for that.

I made it home the same time Mike did, and he held me on our front porch while I emptied out.  He's been a rock, a completely solid rock when I desperately needed one.  Nothing challenges you quite like being faced with the magnitude of these possibilities.  You never know how you'll handle it until you have to, and he handled it and then some.

For 12 days I made plans.  My mom arranged to come up and stay for however long she was needed, etc. The doctor's assistant I spoke with prepared me for the possibility that the cancer had spread to the liver but might have started elsewhere.  I held it together for the most part until I tucked my babies in at night.  Every night I cried thinking I didn't know how many nights I'd have left to do so.

In between I had my Spinal Tap.  They are just as fun as they sound, and the headache afterward was no picnic either.  I recommend avoiding these if at all possible.  That being said, my neurologist that performed it had a sense of humor, and I appreciated that.

12 days... I'm in for my liver biopsy.  Let's get to the good news, shall we?  HEMANGIOMAS!  The ultrasound tech was looking for where to place the biopsy needle and saw a total of 4 masses.  I'm already thinking I'm dead, and then they give me that beautiful silly word.... hemangiomas.  Random HARMLESS blood vessel clusters that I was probably born with .  WHAT?!?!?!  I DON'T HAVE CANCER!

Mike walked into the room and I laughed.  Want some good news for a change!?  Euphoria doesn't begin to describe it.  He put on the Rocky theme song on our way out of the elevator and we danced out of that hospital.  A big fabulous nurse joined us in the celebration.

MS... it began to look so much better.  I can manage this.  I can be better despite, or maybe even because of this.

Then bump in the road... "By the way, your lymph nodes?  Yeah, we thought you had liver cancer, but now you don't, so back to encology you go to check out the chest...."  BAHHHHH!!! Can't I catch a fucking break?

They had to do a bronchoscopy.  They had to knock me out, stick cameras down my throat with a teeny needle attached, and take a sample of lymph node tissue.  We don't go into the other shit they "might" have had to do that I signed off on, because it didn't happen.  The worst part was probably the damn fasting.  Nothing after midnight... I didn't go into ER until after 3pm.  I was begging them to do the procedure by then.  I kept yelling out random foods and making noises like a crazy person.

"MASHED POTATOES!  WITH GRAAAAVY!  MMMMMMMBBBBMMMMM..."

Spoiler alert, NOT CANCER, YES!  Instead, they found Sarcoidosis.  Again, I'm on a House episode.

Sarcoidosis is an auto-immune disease.  MS is an auto-immune disease.  Neurosarcoidosis is an auto-immune disease.  I apparently have 2 out of the 3.  All suck, but are managable, and all mimic each other.

I've been to see a PCP, a team of neurologists, 2 oncology specialists, a pulmonologist, a
neuro ophthalmologist, and a occupational therapist.  I have had 7 MRIs, 3 CT scans, a barrage of blood tests, and IV steroids.  I've had so many appointments that I have officially lost count.  I've been poked, prodded, and essentially told that I'm a gray area.

A year later, and I still have nothing definitive except the Sarcoidosis.  I've been diagnosed on paper with Multiple Sclerosis, but until they rule out Neurosarcoidosis I won't know for sure, and I don't have a timetable for it.

I work 3 days a week in retail.  I'm a full time mother to 2 crazy girls.  I started doing more with my photography right before this shit hit the fan, and I intend to continue to do so for as long as I can.

I forget everything. Some days I can barely see out of my left eye.  I have weakness in my right arm and hand, so I drop things and frequently have pain up and down that arm.  I get so tired that getting up from the couch seems physically impossible.  I'm angry.  I'm sad.  I'm so fucking grateful.

I feel like those cartoons where there is a devil on one shoulder and an angel on the other.  The devil whispers into my ear..."This is the best you're ever going to feel.  This is the beginning of the end.  This is your life now, pain and exhaustion and at any moment it's going to get worse...."

Then the angel (I picture a young Eddie Murphy for some reason) punches that stupid devil in the dick and gives me a slap too.  "Guess what?  You don't have cancer!  You didn't get hit by a bus yesterday!  Appreciate the AMAZING people and things you have in your life!  Be here now!  Know you're only stronger because of the challenges you face!  YOU GOT THIS BABY!"

One of my favorite quotes:  "You can't wring your hands and roll up your sleeves at the same time."

I'm tired of wringing my hands.  I'm going to have bad days.  I'm going to have to sit in waiting rooms and infusion rooms and whatever rooms.  I'm going to be tired.  I'm going to have trouble with things others may not.

But you know what?

I'm alive.  I have a beautiful family and friends and a support system that means more than I could ever express.  I have an incredible house.  I have a job that I like and coworkers that I love.  I have today.  I'll have tomorrow.  And I hope I can help inspire someone along the way.

It's been one hell of a year.

It's time to roll up my sleeves.

He Mattered, And I Never Knew His Name

The path of life is a fascinating and delicate one.  

I'm of the belief, similar to Forrest Gump, that our lives are a mix of predetermined fate and carving out your own destiny.  I think there are forks in the road that you choose, and I also think that sometimes life's paths will intersect in certain places whether you want them to or not.  

Everything happens for a reason.

I also think that some people are meant to come into our lives at specific times.  Sometimes they are only there for a matter of minutes, but they make a difference, and you never forget them.  This has happened to me quite a few times, but there are two in particular I'd like to share.

When I was in high school, I met a boy, fell in love, etc.  We were together for just over two years.  I'd never had a real boyfriend before, and I was completely and totally convinced that he we were going to be together forever.  Such is the teenage mind I suppose.

Long story short, he was emotionally abusive through most of the relationship.  Controlled what I ate, who I hung out with, what music I should listen to.  The reasons why I stayed as long as I did are a story for another day.

It got physically abusive at the very end.  I was ready to break up, he wasn't, and it turned into a day of horror for me.  The end result was him getting arrested, and me, covered in bruises and bites, wondering what the hell I was supposed to do without him.  I survived, but for a while it was barely that.

Fast forward nine years later.  Life was so different, and I had a phenomenal man in my life, a decent job, and good friends.  Most of the time I was a very happy person, but when the anniversary of that horrible day would roll around, I struggled with the memories and the circumstances of it.

On this particular day, I had a shit day at work, and I had to take the bus home because no one could give me a lift.  I remember walking to the bus stop with my earbuds in, because I never talked to anyone if I didn't have to.  It was December, and it was miserable.  I was brooding and could feel my anxiety trying to creep up on me.  A big burly black guy tapped me on the shoulder and asked me what time it was.

This is the guy who gave me the nudge I won't forget.

I reluctantly pulled out a bud and gave him the time.  Before I could get it back in, he was already talking.  I can't be rude to someone who's nice, I'm just not built for it, so we chatted waiting for that bus.  He started randomly telling me about his sister who'd been in a bad relationship lately.  How he didn't understand why she stayed when she was being treated so badly, and why she kept going back.  Then he told me about a friend of his that had been dating a guy for a long time, and he ended up eventually killing her, and how tragic and sad it was that people who were supposed to love each other could end that way.  

This should have been a terribly awkward conversation, but instead, after I said goodbye and got off at my stop, I had a bit of an epiphany.

I didn't die.  I was still alive, and more than that, I got out.

I survived, and have thrived, and appreciated the love that I had now even more because I didn't take it for granted.  I was LUCKY.  And I needed to stop taking myself back there to that day and letting it eat at me.

I am who I am because of what I've done, what I've been through, and what path I've stumbled down for the last 31 years.  Regretting is pointless, it accomplishes nothing.  Instead, I do what I can to learn from my mistakes, and the mistakes of others around me.  I am pretty proud of who I've turned out to be, and I'll never forget the man on the bus for unknowingly giving me a kick in the ass when I needed it.  I never even got his name.

The second story just happened this week.  And I think I was someone this family won't forget.

I work in a jewelry store.  A woman came in wanting to make a ring for her daughter as a graduation present.  The diamonds she had to use were from her late ex-husband, her daughter's father, who had passed away last year.  Since I lost Dad last year too, we bonded pretty quickly.

Her daughter arrived a little while later because Mom didn't want to try and pick the style for something this important.  We spend a lot of time perusing through books and mountings, and finally she found one she liked.  Then the daughter started to cry.

I was afraid something was wrong, but the mom asked her if it was because they were her dad's diamonds.  She nodded her head.  I started crying, her mom started crying, but it turned out to be a beautiful moment.  Her mom told her she had some amazing memories to hold onto, and that her father would have wanted her to have these, and she wanted to make it for her.  

I ended up spending about two hours with this family, telling stories and laughing and crying.  Just yesterday the ring got finished up.  The mother came to pick it up, and it was perfect.  She knew she'd done the right thing, and we talked some more about the death of someone close and how you cope with it.  By the time she left with ring in hand, I knew I'd remember them forever.  And I knew they'd remember me.  

The encounter has me reflecting on the time I got to spend with my Dad, and how even though he's gone, he's still here for me.  I'm so glad that this family came into my life, ever so briefly.  It was quite random that I was the one person, out of everyone that works in jewelry in this town, that got to help them out.  Or was it?

It was Bogart who said "Of all the gin joints, in all the towns, in all the world, she walks into mine."  

This fascinating and delicate path that is life is full of twist, turns, forks, and climbs.  But it's my path, and I'm excited to see who and what is around the next bend.

Who Really Won - Why This Pizzeria Owner Is Rich

I don't think I put anything in here particularly offensive, but someone else will be the judge of that.

The latest news this morning centered around a small pizzeria in Indiana.  Long story short, the owner of the restaurant, Crystal O'Connor, had said something that has permanently changed her life.  She was asked a hypothetical question about catering a gay wedding.  She answered with no.

You can read more here.

Now the pizzeria has closed down due to the number of death threats and other such things hurled toward the owner and her business.

Where do I even begin?

I guess I'll start here - I completely disagree with her stance.  I don't think it's right or it's fair to refuse a service that people pay for because you disagree with their sexual preference.  I wait on people I disagree with ALL the time for multiple reasons, and they get the same service and smile I'd give anyone.  Not just because I'd lose my job calling someone a self-important fuckwad, but because it's the right thing to do.  She chose a life serving the public, and certain standards come with it.

But even more disturbing to me is the reaction that this has brought.  Having an opposing opinion is one thing.  Even being offended by her stance is okay.  But DEATH THREATS?  And if you read the article, you'll see how many people decided to leave false negative reviews on sites like YELP.  One I read said something about finding a tooth and the clerk yelling how it was her lifestyle choice to put a tooth on the pizza.  Really?

I'm going to go out on a limb here and wager a guess that most of these protesters are not gay, and normally wouldn't give a shit one way or another about the controversy, but are simply bored, angry people.  Not to say there aren't genuinely upset or hurt folks out there, but the majority will find something else next week to be a bully about in the name of justice or freedom or whatever.

I'm going to give some advice here as to how this woman's business would have had the most damage done to it.

Shut up, and stop buying her pizza.  IT'S AS SIMPLE AS THAT.

Because, my friends, now this woman is set for life.  A GoFundMe page was set up for her by someone on the other side of this controversy.  It has raised over $800,000.  Let me spell that out:  EIGHT HUNDRED THOUSAND DOLLARS!

I love conspiracy theories, but even I can't see Crystal O'Connor sitting at home wondering how to make a quick buck, and saying to herself, "Gee, if a reporter ever comes in and asks me if I'd cater a gay wedding, I'll be sure to say NO.  That's how I'll get rich!"

She's receiving a shit ton of money because once again, we as a society grab on to this big juicy bone the media has fed us, and we run with it.  It also ran with it incorrectly, and surely the owner will be profiting off of that as well.  It doesn't effect most of us on any level, and it never should have gone beyond her losing business to folks who disagreed with her view.  Now due to this snowball effect, she can move to Tahiti and bask in the sunshine should she choose to do so, all because she answered a hypothetical question about something that was probably never going to happen.

I personally think this is especially ironic considering that no self-respecting gay couple would ever ask a pizzeria to cater their wedding.  Just saying.

Decisions - Why They Suck

A few days ago, I was faced with a decision.

I HATE making decisions.  I assume it goes back to the days when I was a basket case.  All the time.  Anxiety-ridden, filled with self doubt, panic attacks, the works.  There were many occasions when I couldn't go to a restaurant because I couldn't decide what to order, and it would send me into a panic attack.  And that part of my life is a story for another day.

The choice I had to make was a bigger one than what to eat for lunch.  I was being offered a position with the company I left six months ago, and I had to figure out whether to go back, or to stay where I was at.

I've been fairly unhappy the last couple of months at work, but I didn't know if I'd be any happier making this move.  I went through the lists of pros and cons, and it seemed there were too many "what-ifs" that played into something that straightforward.  I started calling friends I'd worked with in the past to get advice.

Mike said to do whatever made me happy.  Great support, love him dearly, but DAMMIT, it did not help me with actually making the decision.

I figured out after a while that I wanted someone to tell me what to do.  I didn't want this pressure... what if I was wrong?  What if my pregnancy hormones were talking for me?  WHAT IF!??!?!

I looked at the lists, reflected on the conversations, and realized that I was trying to get someone to tell me to take the job because that's what I thought was the right answer.  So I went into work the next day, stomach in knots, to give my two week notice.

I was fortunate enough to be giving it to the manager I have a lot of respect for.  Still, I wanted him to hurry up to talk to me.  I wanted to wait.  I just wanted it to be two weeks from now so I didn't have to deal with this MESS in my head anymore.

But the second I told him I was leaving, and why, a giant weight was lifted from my shoulders.  I felt like I could breathe again, and I was smiling when he eventually told me to get my things because today was my last day.

The process of making the decision SUCKED.  However, having it made and behind me feels like a kind of euphoria.  I hope I can keep that in mind next time a decision rolls my way, and perhaps it will be easier on me if I let it be.

I start my "new" job tomorrow.  I don't know if I'll be happy, but I think I can be.  And if I'm not, that's okay too, because I can always make another decision another day.  For now, I'm going to enjoy my last evening of unemployment (the whole two days I had of it!), I'm going to cook a kick-ass meal, and I'm going to play with my daughter.  Life is good.

Pregnancy: What They Neglected To Tell Me - Trimester One

When I got pregnant with my daughter two years ago, I had no idea what was in store.  I bought books, I spend countless hours on baby websites, I joined forums... and still, I didn't know.

Here's how I had imagined pregnancy:

• Constant thrill that I was growing a baby.  
• Immediate bonding throughout the entire process.  
• Getting giddy and excited about getting clothes, getting furniture, and making a perfect nursery. 
• Loving my body as it experienced all of it's changes.  
• Enjoying the satisfaction of my cravings.

The list goes on.

My first trimester was a bit of a shock to the system.  I experienced the occasional excitement, don't get me wrong.  I was also very lucky in that I wasn't puking my brains out like some poor souls do their first three months.  But the nausea to start my day was not motivating.  The exhaustion I felt make me think I was never going to get through the day, let alone the pregnancy.  And the mood swings...

Well, let me tell you about the mood swings.

Imagine PMS.  Sucks, right?  Crampy, tired, pissy, bloated, and generally downright bitchy.  Take PMS and give it Red Bull.  Then add in the fact that you can't take the edge off with a beer after work.  THEN factor in that you don't even realize you are crazy while you're crazy. Then when it dawns on you that you're being a whack-a-doodle, you feel guilt over stressing the baby out.  Then you cry.  It's a very dangerous combination.

I was very tempted to make life-changing decisions in my career during this time period.  I damn near got myself fired for my temper.  I HATED my job.  And it really wasn't any different than it had been before pregnancy, it just seemed so much worse to me.

I went to register for my baby shower.  How much fun!!  Little clothes, toys, bath stuff, health stuff, bed stuff, so much.... stuff..... aaaaand trigger panic attack.  I didn't know what to do!  There are twelve different bath tubs, which one do I need?  Do I even need one?  How many diapers, what brand what size what what what the fuck!?  My list after my first visit was a big fat mess.  Those stores can be unreasonably overwhelming.

Dreams.  And by dreams, I mean NIGHTMARES.  Realistic, unreasonable images that dance through your head.  This is interrupted only by having to pee every thirty seconds.  And you can't shake these dreams either.  They will taint the rest of your morning.

I got dressed one day in a cute maternity outfit (I was showing sooner than most).  I loved it.  Then I cried because I looked frumpy and stupid and AHHHHHH!!!  I ripped it off and lost my mind because I couldn't look good in ANYTHING.

I forgot everything about this (PS, you don't get your memory back), so I was surprised to feel much of the same this round.

With this pregnancy, I got viciously, violently ill several times.  I was convinced that I had a stomach bug.  NOPE, just an angry baby.  How am I supposed to fulfill the nutritional needs if I'm hacking up everything I eat?  What am I doing to the baby?  WHAT IF I'M GROWING A BRAIN TODAY?

I had some hard cravings with this one too.  I'd go from being so hungry I'd feel like I was going to pass out, to being so full I felt sick.  The worst part:  I wasn't pigging out.  I wanted to, but I'd have a few bites and be stuffed.  This proved to be quite frustrating after fantasizing over all the food I wanted to eat!

The worst part I think is the lack of "bonding" in this first stage.  You can't feel the baby kick, so it's almost like it doesn't exist.  You feel sick and sad and angry 90% of the day, so it's so hard to visualize the good and happy times that are to come.

Newsflash:  There are happy times ahead.  And you appreciate them more because you have to fight through the shit to get there.

I've been re-reading my diary from my first pregnancy.  It's actually been helping me understand that this will get better.  The second trimester traditionally brings more energy, and happier moods.  I will get to find out if I'm having a boy or a girl, and I'll start feeling the kicks.  I'll make my lists and try to just breathe, because everything will work itself out.

I'm just going to try not to kill anybody in the meantime.

The Color Of Stupid: The Dress that Broke the Internet

I'm torn between being highly amused and wanting to face palm somebody.

Yesterday's news included such sadness as the passing of Leonard Nimoy, Homeland Security potentially shutting down, and weather causing massive nasty flight delays.  But what's really important about yesterday is THE DRESS...

This one irrelevant article of clothing has sparked a controversy that simply baffles me.  OMG, what color is this dress!?

More importantly, WHO CARES?

Apparently, no one was aware until yesterday that things look different under different lighting.  OR that white balance can and will drastically effect the color as well.  Thus, the debate of the century has commenced.

Has no one every noticed what when it's dusk, everything kind of looks blue?  MIND BLOWN!

Is it white and gold?  Blue and black?  Well now, the left shot sure doesn't look blue and black, but that shot on the right... I'm just dumbfounded.  I don't know what to believe anymore.  This is the most confusing thing since Michael Jackson.

Ok, seriously though, it's gone a bit too far.  I'm all for a little distraction from real life, because most of our news is depressing anyway.  But people are losing friends over this stupid dress.  I do support the hilarious memes that have been generated, the following being my favorite so far:

IT'S TRUE!  It doesn't matter.

Another fun example of lighting:

I can hear the debate now...  "Is this food delicious, or not delicious?  I'M JUST NOT SURE!"  "What color IS that carrot?"

Ah, I've decided to save the face palm for a more serious matter.  This one is just so ridiculous that it has to be funny.  I leave you with one more picture....

Two Years Later

Two years ago today, everything changed.

I woke up to kiss Mike goodbye so he could pick up his final paycheck.  It was a Monday, and I was late for my period by three days.  I figured I should take a test, put my mind at ease.

Yeah....

I can't pee on a stick.  Well, correction, I can pee on the stick, but then I also pee on my hands, the seat, probably the cat.  I'm a terrible aim.  So I took a Dixie cup and tried to pee in that instead.  The test says hold the stick in for 20 seconds, then lay it down for two minutes.  I held it in and counted one...two...three.... it's turning blue.  It's TURNING BLUE.  Why is it turning blue already?

I pick up the box, I look at the test, I look at the box.  I'm pregnant.  I turn and scream at my cats "Holy Shit, I'm PREGNANT!"  They celebrated by running away and hiding under the bed.  That wasn't satisfying, and I need to tell someone!

I called my Dad.  I'll never forget that conversation - he made me laugh.  When I called Mike to tell him I had a surprise for him, he walked in fully expecting a Playstation 3 waiting for him.  Ha, SURPRISE!  After the initial shock, we had a beautiful moment together that still makes me tear up.  But we had no idea what it truly meant to start a family.

Now, two years later, I have a crazy toddler and I'm headed into my second trimester with baby number 2.  We've both changed jobs since that day, and moved out of our apartment and into a house.

Everything is different, and I couldn't tell you how I lived my life before that day.  There are bits and pieces I can recall:  some fun camping trips, some drinking, some great meals, some more drinking, ROCKBAND!  But I can't imagine how I must have filled my time when I had it.

I wouldn't change my daughter for the world, and I don't know if I could have prepared any better if someone had told me just what motherhood was going to entail.  Part of the problem was that I didn't really believe them when they said "Sleep when the baby sleeps."  That would be great, but then who will do the dishes and vaccuum and AHHHHH!!!  There's simply not enough time in the day to take care of the baby, the housework, and finally ME.

I was becoming someone I didn't like (and no one else did either):  proud-to-the-point-of-obnoxious, angry, exhausted, and self-righteous.  I WOULD take care of everything because I was better than everyone!  I was SUPERMOM.  I would run myself into the ground if that's what it took!

And it did.

Sometimes it still does, but I'm blessed to have the kind of love and support that I do in Mike.  I can't imagine doing this alone.  I raise my hat to all the single mothers out there, and I hope they find that love and support somewhere.  I hope that all of us who are blessed with a child can relax, let the dishes sit for a while, and just enjoy the beauty of childhood.  My daughter makes me laugh harder than I've ever laughed in my life.

I found the things I was missing by being too busy.  I found music again, and the sweet emotions that come with it.  I had forgotten how much I loved to take a bath with an old paperback and read until the water got cold.  I'm picking up my camera again.  I am finding new pleasures in writing.

I'm finding happy again.  I might need someone to remind me once in a while, but I think I'm finally headed in the right direction.

Isn't it amazing the difference two years can make?