How I met Charlie

I do apologize for the lack of posts. I feel very cliche, but most days I feel accomplished if I can shower and make my doctor appointments. But before I forget all the details, I wanted to record how I met Charlie. I apologize for the length, but there were so many important parts I wanted to (over) share.

On Monday, October 29th, I packed my bag for the hospital and Jim fit the car seat into the car. And as I was washing baby clothes so Charlie would have something to wear when he would arrive the following week, Moises sprayed on some boxes in Charlie's room while standing right next to me. There I was, 38 weeks pregnant, and dealing with cat pee. Again. I just cried. I knew I couldn't handle a newborn AND cat pee. I put Moises into the office to limit damage - it was a space he had never peed in before - and just sat down and cried. I reached out to my rescue friends and started to line up a place for him to go live for a while - the only option I felt I had. Jim and I had differing views on the matter, and it was a rough, emotional night. Neither of us wanted to let Moises go, but didn't know how to manage one cat (Roxy) living in one room, combined with a newborn and ANOTHER cat locked in a DIFFERENT room.

After much crying, I had crawled into bed around 1:30am. I got up to pee at 1:45 (what else is new), and had just crawled back into bed when my water broke. As soon as it happened, my first thought was - that's not pee! I just peed! - and then I leapt out of bed and ran to the shower, all the while telling Jim - "Clean it up! It stains!" - while Jim says - "its go time?" I then stood in the shower shivering while my water continued to "break" - every time I thought it had stopped, I would move and it would start up again. It was the weirdest damn thing to "pee" without any control over it for over 30 minutes. I showered to warm up while Jim threw his stuff together for the hospital. Even though I didn't feel any contractions, my doctor had wanted me to go the hospital as soon as my water broke because I had excess fluid, so away we went, with me wearing a towels between my legs while sitting on a plastic bag in Jim's car.

We got to the hospital around 2:30am on the 30th. The only thing eventful about the first few hours, were the number of nurses I went through. The duty nurse checked us in and first checked me while we waited for the on call nurse to come in. We had nurse #2 for about an hour, before we got nurse #3 + nursing student for a little over an hour. The nursing student was very nice and finishing up her internship in just a few weeks. My doula arrived around 6 (I think), when I was enjoying the giant bathtub in my room. I think the bath was my favorite part of the laboring process. I think I could have labored in there all day. I only got out because I was turning into a prune. I was only up and about until like 8 am, when I got the weird news that ruined my labor plan.

My pregnancy had been very healthy. I had weekly ultrasounds for the last 8 weeks because I was 35, but other than having excess fluid around the baby, everything looked great. So when the nurse - and nurse #4 was my LEAST favorite, I was VERY happy I didn't have her all day - came in and told us that I had severe preeclampsia and would have to go on immediate bed rest and meds, my first thought was that they had mixed up my blood work with someone else's. My blood pressure throughout my pregnancy had always been great. But nope. My body was freaking out and there was nothing I could do about it. My blood pressure was very high, my liver enzymes were elevated and my platelets were declining - all indicators of HELLP syndrome. I wasn't "full blown" HELLP syndrome yet, so they were able to treat me with magnesium and let me labor. But laboring in bed with only a choice of my left side or my right side, was not what I had hoped for.

Luckily, shortly after I got confined to bed, I got nurse #5 - Andrea - who I had for the rest of the day until my c-section. She was great even though we greeted her by telling her we weren't going to learn her name because she was nurse #5. But she laughed with us, and she instantly gave me a good feeling (compared to nurse #4, who gave me the impression she wasn't confident in herself). Andrea took the time to explain HELLP to me, and generally made the day better. Without my doula and Andrea, I don't know how we would have made it through the day. There were so many things we didn't know and weren't prepared for with the severe preeclampsia and HELLP, and they were amazing.

The day really ran together for me once I was confined to the bed. Because stroke is a possible complication with HELLP, the curtains had been closed and the lights turned down in my room since 8am, so I had no clue what time it was. Jim and my doula were great though. Although, at some point as Jim was trying to comfort me during a contraction, he said something to the effect of, "good girl," and I told him he couldn't say that anymore because all I could think of was that he was talking to a dog. Bless his heart, I think he only said it once more after that and caught himself that time anyway. Jim really was great that day. I really started to question myself as I was so frustrated by not being able to move out of bed. I think its a rule that everyone must tell a laboring woman that she is doing a good job, but I really didn't feel like I was. I just felt really defeated, and I cried on a couple of occasions - which really, just made the contractions worse. But when my doula followed up with me a couple of days later, she said that during those times when I was crying, and my back was to Jim, that he was crying too. And even now, 6 weeks later, picturing that brings tears to my eyes. He really was so supportive of me that day - my heart feels enormously grateful that I have such a great partner.

I was really hoping to try to labor without an epidural, but between my lack of options for movement during labor and the possibility that my platelets would get too low and I might have to have an emergency c-section, I did opt for an epidural - I think it was late afternoon or early evening. Luckily, I got a great anesthesiologist who was willing to do one even though my platelets were in the 80s (they fell into the 60s eventually I think) - if the platelet count is below 100, they don't usually do epidurals.

Actually the anesthesiologist was a riot. Even in my stupor from the meds - the magnesium made it hard to keep my eyes open - I remember telling him I liked him. He was joking and made me feel so at ease, even given the seriousness of the situation. He was teasing my nurse about having seen her naked, and Andrea was laughing and scolding him for the joke, but I loved every minute of it, and it took me away from the pain for the time being. (Andrea had to have some emergency surgery earlier in the year, and he was her anesthesiologist. She said she actually asked for him, that he was the best, which made me feel even better.) He asked me afterward how I was feeling, and I told him it was like I had carpal tunnel in my ass, which made him laugh. "I have never heard that before. I will have to remember that," he said. Having a numb ass is a very ODD sensation, let me tell you.

At some point, I started to have nausea, and Andrea got me a bucket to hold. I named it Bob the Bucket. He stayed with me most of the afternoon/evening. I am not sure I actually needed to use one until the operating room, but it made me feel better to hold it. Although I think my doctor thought I was crazy when I told her I had named it Bob the Bucket.

I never did dilate past 8 cm. (The pitocin tells the muscles to contract, but the magnesium tells them to relax. No wonder my body was all WTF.) And around 8cm, my cervix started to swell - the opposite of what you want to be happening at this time. So around 7:30 in the evening, everything started to turn downward - I wasn't dilating, my BP was still high, my platelets were lower - so it was decided to move forward with an urgent c-section rather than wait and potentially end up with an emergency c-section. (With the urgent, I could be awake and Jim could be in the room, the emergency meant I would be asleep and Jim couldn't be there.) I definitely wanted the urgent and NOT the emergency.

But I was mourning the loss of the opportunity to have my son laid on my chest right after he was born. If you know me, and read this blog, you know that I struggle with depression. While I appreciate my anti-depressants for keeping me stable, it is at the cost of muted feelings. And I was looking forward to that iconic moment of birth with hopes of my hormones overriding my muted feelings. I was hoping it would give me that intense moment of connection I felt I didn't get during pregnancy, and was worried I wouldn't get at birth.

Once they decide to do the c-section, it moves fast. Jim and my doula were gowned up before I knew it, and I was being wheeled to surgery. I was so tired at this point, and the meds making me so loopy, that it all runs together. I remember falling backward onto the table as the block took effect, and feeling like the table wasn't wide enough. (I also remember vomiting repeatedly. Not cool.) I remember someone asking if a nursing student could watch the procedure, and them telling Jim he could watch too if he wanted. (He declined.) My doula did watch the procedure, and told me later how careful my doctor was and how impressed she was by her. I remember someone telling me that I was going to feel someone pressing on me to get the baby out, and I remember looking to my left as Charlie was screaming his little head off and waving his arms and legs around as the nurse looked him over at the baby station, but I don't remember the time between those events. I remember tiredly thinking, "Oh, look. A baby," and barely being able to keep my eyes open. When they brought Charlie over to me, I remember smelling him and thinking, "He smells good. That's weird. He was just inside me. How does he smell good?" And kissing his cheek.

(I love that in the first picture I actually look coherent. The rest of the pictures of me I look completely out of it. This picture reassures me that the birth of my child did break through my muted emotions, even if all the meds I was on made me barely conscious.)

I somehow ended up in the recovery room, and sadly, we were stuck in this room for several hours. Mostly this sucked for Jim as there was only one chair with no arms and he had to hold Charlie almost the whole time. (We were there from around 9:30 to 2am - they didn't have enough staff to move me to my post-partum room. And by this point, we had been awake for over 24 hours.) My arms were shaking from the meds/hormones, and when they stopped shaking, my arm was numb from my carpal tunnel and I was afraid to hold Charlie. I was able to at one point lay him on my chest, and I was still amazed that he smelled good. It wasn't until around 2:30 that I was finally able to feed him, and then shortly thereafter, he fell asleep and we sent him to the nursery to sleep - sleep for both him and us. But first, I made Jim lay in bed with me for a few minutes and we chatted softly about the day. I don't remember what we talked about, but I appreciated the opportunity for it be "us" for a few minutes.

(The next day or so Jim ran into Nurse Andrea in the hallway, and she expressed to him that she was so worried about me and that she really wanted to stay with us past her shift to see us through and she asked about Charlie. Jim invited her to my room and I got to show off Charlie. She was very excited to meet him and to see that I was better. I was grateful to be able to express how awesome she was for us.)

My poor husband

Poor Jim. I mean, he had to have known how crazy I was when he married me (although I think my boobs distracted him until it was too late), but now I am crazy AND growing his child. I am sure he is torn between wanting to lock me in a room to contain my crazy and wanting to make sure I continue to grow said baby.

Usually, I am able to keep going (just keep swimming ...) and stay busy enough until I fall asleep to distract myself from my immense feelings of inadequacy and the mourning of my loss of self. But yesterday I was too worn down to do anything but give in. And poor Jim. Crazy pregnant lady cannot express herself well, and in trying to express how I was feeling, mostly ended up hurting Jim's feelings. While I am crazy, hurting other's is not usually my goal. (Unless it involves someone standing in front of me in line unsure of what they want to order when they get to the cashier or when they feel the need to take 5 minutes to count out exact change.) So then crazy pregnant lady realizes that she isn't expressing herself well and is hurting her very supportive partner, which only adds to her feelings of "oh god, I shouldn't have a child", and viola, more crying as crazy pregnant lady realizes the child is doomed by her craziness. Poor Jim.

In short, Jim is now accepting donations of beer (for himself) and a padded room (for me).

Apparently its OCTOBER

So apparently I still have 6 more weeks of being pregnant. I gotta say, it feels like I have been pregnant forever. In my defense, I have known since like March 5th that I am pregnant, so it has been most of the year. But as I come up to the end of the pregnancy, I get to have panic attacks about the fact that they GIVE YOU A BABY TO TAKE HOME at the end. I mean seriously, did you know that?! THERE IS AN ACTUAL BABY IN THERE & YOU HAVE TO TAKE IT WITH YOU. This was a little close to home today as one of my employee's had her baby today, and I got to go visit them in the hospital to squish the baby and say hi. There was this little human who like 12 hours prior was still INSIDE HER MOM'S BELLY.

That is just BIZARRE.

Logically, I am very intelligent and I understand how mammals have babies, but still. WEIRD. Although, none of you are probably shocked that I feel that way. Obviously, you know me.

My panic moments don't last long, more passing than anything - although I do try to deflect focusing on the panic too much. But besides my feeling uncomfortable in my own physical body because of pregnancy, I am having this other feeling of being uncomfortable in my own being lately. Hard to explain, but something I am paying attention to and noting, nonetheless.

Escapism has always been a theme in my depression, so I shouldn't be surprised that its cropping up in my worry about the Geekling and me. I warned Jim when he wanted to have a child that there was always the possibility that after the baby that I might leave him with the baby and run away. (worst mother ever) When I am really struggling with depression, I often have escapism fantasies about being able to run away and be someone else. (They don't usually last too long as my intelligent brain starts pointing out all the faults in the plan. Stupid brain.) So I am assuming this uncomfortable-in-my-own-being state is related to this.

In other news, did you know its OCTOBER?! WTF. Its Jim and my 9th wedding anniversary this month and his birthday as well. Normally, I am the planner in the relationship and have my gifts planned well in advance. This year? Yeah, not so much. Think he wants some socks? Maybe with a Star Wars theme? Mostly I just want a nap. And to not have to pee during said nap.

Non-Optional Social Convention

I apologize for not blogging for a month. I have spent most of the last month overwhelmed & undermotivated. And possibly huddled in a corner, rocking & crying. Surprisingly the crying (or really, desire to) is work-related and NOT pregnancy related. Well most of it.

First - I have survived the Geekling's celebratory luncheon. As most of you know, I HATE with a passion showers of any kind. I attend them to support friends & family, but really would rather go to the dentist. Or take my cat to the vet. Or look at pictures of spiders. (shudder) But I also understand that they tend to be a non-optional social convention that family and friends like to attend for major life events. So I had the "brilliant" idea to just have one big shower instead of having 3 - one for each side of the family & one for friends - but apparently, friends and family LIKE to go to these things and I had like 70 people show up. Seriously. What the hell is wrong with you people. Although based on the amount of talking going on while I opened presents, it was just a great place to catch up, and people paid much less attention to me, which I appreciated. Sure, I loved getting to see people that I don't normally get to see, and people that I do get to normally see. I just really struggle with the people I don't know at all, and who don't know (or understand) me. And its all about this pregnancy - which if you don't understand me, makes for VERY awkward conversations. For example: relative I haven't seen in almost 9 years: "OH! You must be so excited!" Me: smiling uncomfortably, "Sure."

Or a relative reading a poem at my shower - which was sprung on me at the last minute - that was pretty much the EPITOME of everything I don't want my parenting experience to be. I fought off an anxiety attack just sitting there smiling politely while a room of 70+ people stared at me while the poem was read, which I shit you not included the line, "The very walls will be silenced too, where once the laughter broke," BECAUSE APPARENTLY HAVING A CHILD MEANS YOU DON'T LAUGH ANYMORE.

I do hope that my guests had fun - even without any games. I mean, seriously. Who came up with the idea of melted chocolates in diapers?! I want to stab them in the face. So we didn't have any games. I just gave away some prizes cuz I like prizes. And my prizes included wine and beer. Cuz I am amazeballs.

Second - I attended our first baby related class - breastfeeding. I plan to breastfeed, barring some sort of inability to do so. The class was nice, but not much I didn't already know or couldn't have googled (how long can you freeze breastmilk?). But I think Jim learned a lot. Mainly that he got to watch videos of BOOBIES. But as I was standing, waiting for the bathroom - really? a 2 stall bathroom nearest the classroom for all the pregnant ladies? really? - I could hear the ladies from my class chatting inside. "Is it your first?" "Us too! Aren't you SOO excited?!" and I immediately felt like a fraud, immediately outside the group. Like all the times in school when I just wished I could blend into the wall, but now my stomach would stick out too far. So it would have to be a bumpy wall.

And then as I sat through the rest of the class and they focused on all the things that can go wrong, and the Geekling decided that recreating the Alien movie in my stomach was a good idea, I started to make plans for which corner I wanted to huddle in until the anxiety passed. (I decided any of them would do.) When I am not being bombarded with all the OH SHIT things that can go wrong, I can remember that apparently women have babies all the time, and have been doing so for something like eleventy billion years. Or twelve. Either or. But the information overload just did me in. And even today, 24 hours later, I find myself diverting my brain when it strays too close to the dangerous territory of remembering that in 8 weeks, I am supposed to have a baby. In fact, just typing that sentence, was too much.

I think I will go to bed now. With some Tylenol PM. And yoga breathing. And wishing for some alcohol.

Cruisin'

Yesterday was the perfect summer day. Highs in the low 70s, sunny & a little breeze. I had my windows rolled down, the sun roof open and Prince playing way too loud (to cover up my awful singing). I could have driven all day.

As I was driving and singing and dancing in my seat, I felt HAPPY. Its not all that often, sadly, that my brain sends the "you are HAPPY, dummy!" signal, but when it does, I pay attention. I thought of the many half-cross-country trips I took by myself - really the best way to travel if you want to sing along to the music. Sure, Kansas will make you consider suicide when all you can see FOREVER is corn, but singing and seat dancing really help to distract from the corn. Or the miles of plain highway through Ohio. Or was it Pennsylvania? Or Indiana? Or Illinois? They all kinda run together.

Beyonce and I (my Mini Cooper Clubman's name is Beyonce because she is bootylicous. Cuz she has a big boot. Get it? hehe. I will show myself out.) enjoyed some over the speed limit (but reasonable) cruising, with the sun streaming in the sunroof. But compared to my previous half-cross-country treks, I had cruise control, and since it wasn't 100 degrees, I didn't have to wrap my arm in a towel to prevent sunburn because I also didn't have air. Or power steering. Or power locks. Kids - you probably don't remember these, but once upon a time, in world far, far away, we used to have to use a HANDLE to get the windows to roll down. Like manually! Crazy I know, but true. Also crazy? I drove from OK to NJ and back without a cell phone! GASP! Can you imagine that insanity today?!

The 30 minutes I got to spend in the car, cruising and singing yesterday, really helped renew my sense of happy, my sense of Tracie. Might I prescribe some seat dancing for your day as well?

Normal

How in the hell is the end of July already?! I think I misplaced the month in the midst of all this heat. Ugh.

For most of my life, ok some of my life, I have owned my uniqueness and lack of ability to feel like I fit in. But being pregnant is really messing with that. I worry that my belly isn't normal. That its not big enough. My natural waist doesn't appear to want to give up the good fight yet, so its holding strong and dividing my belly into two. Which makes me mad that I didn't lose more weight before getting pregnant. But that's a whole other counseling session. So one of the things I always tell people to scrapbook is their pregnant belly. However, I feel too self-conscious about my not-normal baby belly to take any pics - and here I am at 6 months. If I were someone I was helping with scrapbooking, I would coach her to do it anyway, but I am fighting it because I don't feel normal.

Normal. Something I try to avoid for the most part. But being pregnant makes me desire to be normal, and its kinda freaking me out.

Besides the baby belly, I am also worried that I am not enjoying my pregnancy like "normal" people do. Now, I know I have gotten some great feedback from friends that they didn't enjoy being pregnant either, so I know there is a wide variety of "normal", but that doesn't stop me from worrying. Why don't I enjoy the kicking? Why don't I enjoy the growing belly? Why am I not in awe of the growing fetus?

I know the answer, I am still nervous that me reproducing was a bad idea. (Which probably explains the dream about a giant squirrel chasing me while I protected someone else's child. My counselor thinks I was the squirrel.) I am still nervous that parenting will not be something I enjoy, and I will screw up another's life. Messing up my own life, I know how to do that, but as a general rule, I try not to mess up someone else's. Well except for Jim's, but he signed up for that.

I do enjoy that being pregnant gives me all the excuse I need to sleep. So there is that.

But apparently the desire to conform to the physical norms of the world do not cease because one is pregnant. Its just a different set of rules.

For Ron

Apparently I haven't blogged in a month?! Where did June go! I had hoped to get a blog in about my awesome vacation, but instead I feel compelled to write about my devastatingly bad day yesterday.

Yesterday one of my foster kittens, I had named him Ron Weasley because he was a red & white kitten & very scrawny, died unexpectedly. I have had two sick kittens die previously, and lost a litter of tiny babies, but they were all things I could see coming. Ron's dying struck me blindsided. Anytime I get a litter of kittens, I know they haven't had a cushy life. They usually come from outdoors from undernourished moms, so I am always cautious, concerned and on the look out for red flags. Ron was scrawny and seemed fragile, but he had been given medicine for mites & worms, was eating, drinking, using the litter box, and would come out every time I came into the room to wait for me to pick him up & then start purring. Oh the purring. I would hold him upside down in my arms like a baby, and he would just purr. And he would stay there as long as I had the time to hold him. Or I would set him in my lap, and he would stretch out, never ceasing to purr.

He wasn't interested in playing, but watched his sister run around. Looking back, I could have seen these as flags of something being wrong, but I didn't think they were so abnormal as to indicate sickness. But now, all I can think is WHAT IF, or I SHOULD HAVE KNOWN, even though I know I couldn't have. My husband, who was the last one to see him the morning he died, is also beating himself up that he didn't see anything wrong. And I can logically comfort him that there was nothing to see, nothing to miss, that sometimes kittens with poor starts to life just don't make it. But illogically I just want to scream, NO! NOT HIM! HE WAS MINE! HE WAS FINE THAT MORNING! I keep picturing his little body as I had to find him, and I swear I want to rip my heart out so that it stops hurting. I know its irrational, but I feel crushed that he died alone, that I wasn't there for him. I feel like I failed. I want to go back in time and get him to the vet. I know these first few days are the worst, and that with time, the pain goes from gut-wrenching, instant tear-inducing to a background wistful remembrance.

So I am torn between wishing time would fly so that I could be past this crushing grief & just remember his content purr instead picturing his little lifeless body where I found him when he didn't come out to greet me, and wishing I could turn back time so that I could have a chance to try to save him.

I know I gave him a warm place to live, with all the food he could want and the all the love I had to give. I know he was content to lay in my arms and purr, and he sought out my lap whenever I entered, meowing if i didn't notice him fast enough. I know the hurt with remembering will be raw for a few days. And I know that his little life will leave a permanent little pawprint on my heart.

But I know that I wish it could have been different, and that wish hurts.

Sad or Just Pregant?

Sorry for the lack of blogging. Besides wanting to sleep 10-12 hours a night, I am struggling with not wanting to do the things I normally enjoy doing. (Well, not wanting to do anything at all is more like it.) Normally, pre-parasite if I found myself not wanting to do the things I normally enjoyed, I would schedule an extra appointment with my counselor and be on the look out other depressive signs. But now I am all discombobulated and don't know what to do. I have all my normal depressed signs: feeling tired all the time, not enjoying my normal activities or any activity, irritability and a general feeling of discontent. (Not having any suicidal thoughts, mind you, but generally I can sense when something is going the wrong way and right the ship before it gets too far off course.) But oddly enough, many of these "symptoms" are also "symptoms"of pregnancy. (Read into that what you will.)

So instead I feel like I am stuck feeling unmotivated to create, read a book or even just watch TV. I have a vacation planned to Vegas next week with Jim and some friends, and I am GREATLY looking forward to that since I haven't had a week off to do nothing but relax in over a year. (I don't actually have any vacation or paid time off from my job, but there was a glitch in the system with some unpaid overtime, so I traded it for some vacation time. THANK GOD.) So I am hoping that a week off to relax with help "reset" my general feeling of being wrong. (I love finding the perfect word to describe a feeling or a sight or an event, but the perfect word is eluding me here.)

In the mean time, I do the things I have to do (go to work, do my treasurer duties for the animal rescue, clean stuff around the house, feed 4-legged children, walk the foster dog, eat mostly healthy things), but I feel like I am faking my way through the day. And I am tired of feeling off my game. Tired of not having the energy to enjoy what I am doing. Tired of faking my way through the waking hours of the day, only to have nightmares while sleeping.

And while reading this, apparently I am too tired to be my normal funny self.

Said Baby

*Let me preface this blog post by saying, if you do not get my humor, you probably will not like this post.

So if you follow me on Facebook at all, you have probably figured out that I am expecting. Said Baby is due November 9th. The amount of time it took me to come to the decision to have children cannot adequately be covered in one blog post. But let me just note a few things to give you some perspective:

1 - Jim and I will be married 9 years this year.
2 - I am 35.
3 - I have 4 cats.
4 - I have seen a counselor since junior high school.
5 - I am mostly crazy.

I will note that Jim is very excited about Said Baby. (which probably speaks to his own level of crazy, but you already knew that since he IS married to me.) But I on the other hand, am still on the fence about the whole Said Baby "thing". I really thought I would have more time to prepare for being pregnant. I mean, I am OLD - I thought for sure getting pregnant would take a lot longer than two months.

If you aren't familiar with the baggage I have from growing up, you will have to wait for the book. In short, poverty, alcoholism and a dearth of positive parenting role models. If your own mother tells you she wishes she never had you (so that she can go out drinking), it takes a LOT of counseling to overcome the myriad of issues that this causes. Including the pervasive doubt that you should be a parent.

Needless to say, I am fairly positive I will hate being a parent. So, when people post on my Facebook wall or tell me things like, "Oh just wait! You will never sleep past 5am soon!", I want to stab them in the face. IN THE FACE. Really? What was the point of that statement? Was it to make you feel better? Or make me feel worse? Because either way, it doesn't seem helpful. I get that to normal people, this is just passing, idle conversation, which I have never really been good at anyway. But to me, statements like, "Oh you are going to Vegas? Enjoy it because you will not go on vacation again ever!" makes me want to stab them & run away.

Don't say I didn't warn you.

Also? Please do not take offense that I occasionally refer to my pregnancy at the Parasite. I referred to Said Baby as the Parasite to a friend, and I think she nearly died from inhaling the wine she was drinking. But seriously, do you KNOW the definition of a parasite?! It’s exactly what a pregnancy is! And it’s not even a symbiotic parasite, as besides putting on weight, I don't get any positive benefits from the relationship. Again, if you don't get my humor, right about now you have unfriended me, and are telling your husband/wife about this completely insensitive person you know who cannot grasp the joy that carrying a child is!

I agree. I probably can't yet. Because I am not yet excited about Said Baby and what he/she will be like when he/she arrives, I don't see the happiness that will come with those changes, but am instead focused on grieving the loss of my life as I know it. (Most normal people are all SQUEE!!! A BABY!!! And therefore don't focus on the loss in their life. But as we have already established, I am not normal people.) My counselor assures me that life has a way of adjusting this when necessary so that I don’t get stabbed in the face. So far, she has been right about a lot of things, so I will have to go with her on faith on this one.

But until then, if you tell me that my life as I know it will end when the baby arrives, YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED.

Jinx

Note to self:
Do NOT EVER say you are pee-free. The very next day after my last post, we had pee. And again yesterday. I totally jinxed it. Completely perplexed as to WHY. So the cats have lost access to a couple of rooms in the house. (Although Big Mo again sprayed a closet door near the entrance to the garage, and there is no way to block him from that area, but at least its a hard surface that easy to clean.)

I do love my cats (As Mama Squeaks repeatedly walks between me and the laptop, putting her butt in my face.), but I can't figure out what else to do. My guess is that it's Roxy just getting older (she is 11 this year), and since she has never liked other cats, or people for that matter, she likes to show her displeasure by peeing on my bathroom rug. And Big Mo then needs to show he is the alpha cat in the house by peeing where he can smell her pee. Its a vicious pee cycle. Roxy should probably be an only cat in a quiet household, but here we are.

Between working and cat pee, the rest of my time is split between my hobbies (reading, scrapbooking, jewelry & card making) and my volunteer work - mainly with one local animal rescue, Orphan Animal Rescue. I am their treasurer, besides being a foster home, open hours adoption counselor & general volunteer. But as the treasurer, I can't help but stress over donations. It is amazing what we do take in, but as I am the one that knows what we need to spend on medical care and facilities, I cannot help but stress. I know $80 for a kitten or $50 for a cat may seem like a lot to an adopter, but those fees do not even come close to what it costs to get them healthy, up to date on shots, fed & warm. And save for ONE paid 15-hour a week volunteer coordinator to help keep everything running, we do it ALL with volunteers. Crazy. That's 2 AM and 2 PM cleaning volunteers, 7 days a week, 365 days a year to clean the center. Foster homes to take in sick kitties, doggies, new mamas & kittens. Event volunteers. Open hours volunteers. Fundraising volunteers. Volunteers to process adoption applications. Volunteers to write thank yous. Volunteers for special projects. Oh - and volunteer board members.

If I spend too much time thinking about how all of that magically comes together, my brain hurts. In fact, I think some leaked out of my ear just now from making sure I didn't miss anyone.

So I better get back to trying how to figure out how to increase fundraising so that all the gears can keep moving smoothly. Or possibily I should eat some pie to keep my energy up. Pie always helps.

PS - if you want to donate, our website is orphananimalrescue.org and we are also on FB. So many little ways you can donate too - even just by using GoodSearch while browsing the web, or iGive when shopping online. The kitties and doggies thank you with many purrs and kisses.

Baby Got Back

I am happy to report that things on the cat-front have been PEE-FREE! We are still giving Big Mo a half a pill once a day, but we are hoping that we can stop that and things will remain dry.

Because of all the pee issues, I never got to share that I got a new car! Getting my first Mini Cooper was a dream of mine. I got Tiny just a couple of months before my 30th birthday, and boy was she a step up from my first car that I was selling to get her. With Tiny came power windows! And AC! And power steering! And cruise control! All things I greatly wished I had had when I drove from OK to NJ one summer (and then back again that same summer) ... Think sun burn on just the left side of my body, with ground in interstate dirt in my hair. Hot stuff.

I got a Mini Cooper Clubman this time around. I had been wanting to upgrade to this slightly larger model for a while, and had been keeping an eye on rates. The dealer in town was running $3000 off 2011 models and they even had one on the lot that I liked. The only thing I didn't love was that it was black. I do love me some of the original colors that Mini's have. BUT - I could get custom graphics, and black was a great background for that. So my new car, Baby Got Back, became mine. The first couple of weeks were so weird - just like I remembered from when I got Tiny and my very first car too. Like I couldn't believe I was so lucky.

Having grown up in poverty, with mostly unreliable cars and constant fears of them breaking down and not having the money to repair them, I have only purchased new cars with good warranties. Even though I make very different life choices than my parents, and Jim and I do not live in poverty or anything like it, I cannot seem to break free from this mentality. So I save up lots of money to get low car payments, so that I can buy a new car. Now, I know lots of people disagree with that. But the security I get from having a 7 year (or more) warranty on my car, makes me feel like its taken care of even after I own it outright.

Oh, and the custom graphics? We put on silver stripes over the black, on the hood, roof and down the back of the car. And put the number, 01, in lavender, in a racecar-like circle on both the passenger and driver side doors. The bad news is I don't blend in well, which makes my road rage harder to hide. But the good news is ITS AMAZEBALLS!

Cat-capades on Moen Menagerie, now on Animal Planet

Last time, on Animal Planet's Moen Menagerie, we were devastated by the loss of the newborn foster kittens, all five who passed less than a week after they were born. Since then, Mama Mia has moved to a new foster home and is continuing to get healthier every day. Roxy went back to the vet for an ultrasound after her UTI came back. She is all healthy now and has stopped peeing on Tracie's work clothes. But Hercules and Moises have put together excellent challenges to Tracie & Jim's carpet and willpower to live. Hercules has vomited no less than five times in a week and half, including on their bed while they slept. And Moises, for reasons yet undetermined, after 6 years of living with the Moen Menagerie, started spraying in several spots around the house. Moises has yet to earn the trust back from his keeper's and is on limited mobility within the household of the Menagerie. There have been no more incidents of spraying, but Moises is not allowed to wander the house alone and is closed into the Man Cave during the work day and at night. Sadly, until Moises' issues are under control there will be no new foster cat adventures on Moen Menagerie.

As you may have picked up from that Cat-capades update, the last couple of weeks have been exhausting as we clean, clean and clean again around the house and I question my sanity - well, question my insanity - as I consider what I was thinking when I thought four cats would be awesome. (mostly I thought SQUEEE!! FUZZY!!! WANT!!!) Although Moises is trying his darnest to get back into our good graces (as he crawls into my lap as I type this). But its a bit like having a puppy that isn't house trained. One of you always has to be with the puppy when he isn't in his crate. Or in our case, one of us always has a cat sitting in our lap so we know where he is. Which is very comfortable for Big Mo, but bad for my productivity.

Although Jim and I have long had a "cat" rule. When one of us has a cat on our lap, we can call, "Cat!" and the other person has to get the person with the cat whatever it is they need - ok, want. Like right now - me: Cat!
Jim: What do you need?
Me: Ice water.
Jim: Extra cold?
Me: Yes, please.

I highly recommend the Cat rule.

Rollercoster of a week

Sorry. I really meant to do one blog a week. So that is already off to a magnificent start.

In cat world: We found out my foster cat Lizbeth had some sort of mass. Maybe cancer. Maybe just full of poo. Saw another vet. During her spay, found out that THREE vets were wrong and she WAS pregnant, but as she had already been put under anesthesia & given a distemper vaccination (which caused birth defects), the kittens were gone. So it was a sad happy day. Happy she didn't have cancer. Sad that she was pregnant and it was missed by so many doctors. But happy again that her spay went well and she can be put up adoption. So Lizbeth is getting ready for her formal reveal, if you will, for adoption.

So because Lizbeth is ready for her next step, and kitten season is starting, I took in a new pregnant kitty to foster. Her name is mama Mia. I got her Wednesday - she was very scared. Didn't even come out of the boxes in the room for me. We knew she was close to going into labor, so I had a variety of boxes for her to choose from. And on Saturday, she choose a nice large dog crate, lined with many blankets and covered with another for more privacy. Which was great for me because I could see into it better than the boxes! So I got to see her give birth to 5 kittens! Well I missed the first one but only by a minute or two! It seemed that her labor went relatively easy for her so that was a relief for me. Even though just a kitten still herself, she did a great job. Taking some quick cat naps - ha! - when she could between babies. We have 4 grey and 1 black kittens now, and so far everyone is doing well. And since they were born on St Patty's Day, I am going to name them all Irish names! Still working on that though.

All of this was going on while one of my personal cats, Roxy, had her UTI come back with a vengeance. You know, the first thing you want to see at 5:02am as you get ready for work, is your cat peeing on your work pants. So fluids, meds and spending time our bathroom were in order for her. And then, if that weren't enough, one of my male cats, Big Mo, decided to act out by peeing in one bathroom and on the door to the room where she was ... >< Those are stabby eyes. So he also spent some quality time alone.

Is that enough for cat world in a week?! I hope so.

I saved this post last night and this morning, my heart broke as I found two of the kittens had passed away overnight. After I went to work, my husband said another did as well. Right now there are only two kittens left, one grey, one black, and the black one seems very weak and we are worried about fading kitten syndrome. I kept busy at work today, but if I had a moment where I had to think, my stomach just balled up and my brain raced back to holding the tiny, tiny creatures in my hands this morning. So many tears. I know I am so grateful that they and Mama Mia had a warm, safe place to be born & give birth but being helpless as you watch Mother Nature do what she needs to do is devastating. I knew the risk was great as Mama Mia had no care during her pregnancy and is very underweight - only 7 lbs when pregnant! - but no matter how much I remind myself of that, my throat closes, tears well up and I want to shake my fists in frustration at all the things I cannot do.

Losing kittens, sadly these were not my first, just the youngest, won't make me stop fostering or stop caring, but I do allow myself the time to grieve and remember that even for a short time, I gave them, and all my fosters, the best chance I could with all the love and then some that I had to give.

Irritability

Irritability has always been a sign to me that something is going on with my depression. I am not sure when I figured that out, but for the last 5 or so years, I can see it as a red flag. Sometimes, my being irritated, like I am right now by the smell of the overripe banana on my table that I forgot to eat Saturday, is normal. Stupid, smelly banana. But sometimes, I am irritated at everyone for no good reason, or nothing that I normally like to do sounds good to me anymore. I don't want to scrapbook or make cards or read. Everything Jim says or does or doesn't do, makes me see red. (Sometimes this is ACTUALLY based on reality, but most often, it's because I am crazy.)

Those times are when I worry.

The last time it got out of hand, we tried a new anti-depressant because after the irritability came the hopeless thoughts. So far, something like 3 years, that new anti-depressant has been working just fine.

I have noticed more irritability lately, so I have on my counselor hat, analyzing myself. Is this normal irritability? (and by normal, I mean normal Tracie irritability. I mean, most normal people would throw the banana away. Tracie will let it sit there and annoy her.) Am I enjoying my normal activities? Was that a hopeless thought or will the elliptical actually kill me?

Its been several years since I knew I needed outside help to get over the current hurdle my depression had thrown up (ew - that seems like my depression vomited. huh. Maybe that's a good way to think of it.) in my way. But that doesn't mean I don't have CONSTANT VIGILANCE! (nerd alert) to paying attention to how the current path is treating me. I still see a counselor every 3 weeks or so, and feel like this is something I will probably do most of my life. The same with meds.

Jim is home now. Time to see what annoys me.

Lizbeth

You guys are either really awesome or really bored because like 45 people read my first blog!

I am still struggling with the work life balance to be able to have time to do the things that make me alive, like writing this blog, crafting or reading. Funny how the things that make us the most alive have to be scheduled.

Although one of the things that make me happy is fostering animals, and I just got a new foster on Sunday - a cat that I named Lizbeth, after Lizbeth Salander from The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo series. I tried a couple of names out on her, but when I said Lizbeth to her, she turned and looked at me. So I said it again, and she again turned around & looked at me. After a third time of the same response, I knew I figured out her name. She is a love machine, purring even though she has a cold, constantly making biscuits on me. Happy to have a warm home with a variety of boxes to sleep in. I just have to get her healthy enough to be spayed and then she can officially be ready to be adopted to find her furever home.

We (the rescue I volunteer with) took Lizbeth in from another shelter to alleviate space there and were told she was pregnant. I had her into the vet today to get some meds for the kitty cold (otherwise known as an upper respiratory infection) and the vet checked to see how far along he thought she was. Yeah. She's not pregnant. I personally think she was constipated from eating too much when she got to the first shelter (she was probably starving from being outside), and the first shelter mistook a whole lot of poo for babies. I have been cleaning her litter box, I know a lot of poo when I see it.

Also? I talk about cat poo like parents talk about baby poo and vomit. I don't think its not normal. Cuz its my normal.

What Do You Want to Be When You Grow Up?

What should I be when I grow up? That is the question I have been struggling with for the last 8 years. I have a bachelors degree in Psychology and a masters degree in Higher Education Administration. I should have figured it out by now, but I haven't. I worked in the field of Higher Ed for a few years until I moved to WI, and was limited in my job search. Wandered into a great apparently in non-profit housing for a few years. Then got a great opportunity to plan events for another non-profit and jumped on it. Felt unfulfilled in that position, and found my way back to non-profit housing, emergency shelters specifically, for a couple more years. Then there were way more homeless people and way less money, and suddenly, no job for me.
That was a little over a year ago.

For the last year, I have had the opportunity to work for a local coffee shop, first as a barista, and now as a "gelato queen" and manager of one their locations. But I am making barely more than half of what I used to, with no benefits, unless you count the beginnings of carpal tunnel and Morton's Neuroma in my feet. I work for a great local couple who own the company, which has three locations, and get to be surrounded by coffee, which makes this espresso-addicted girl happy.

But I have been struggling with the whole "who am I?" question for the last year. I mean, I am 30-mumblecough years old, and working in a field nowhere near what I went to school for, treated like crap daily by doctors who feel they are better than everyone around them and customers who can't be bothered to stop talking on the phone long enough to place their order or receive their change. Its enough some days to make a girl slip some Baileys into her cold-press coffee.

The anal, organized part of my  brain greatly enjoys the managing of the store, placing orders, labeling, creating paperwork & staying on top of inventory.  The creative part of my brain loves creating signage for the store, and the people-person part of my brain loves the staff I work with and the customers that actually smile when they get their coffee.

But the previously exempt employee with her own office misses wearing pretty clothes without food or coffee stains, sitting down to eat lunch, being able to sleep until 6:30am and co-workers who want to hang out with me after work. That is if I wasn't dead tired after standing for 9 hours, didn't have to go to bed at 8:30pm and could actually convince myself to get off the sofa to go out with friends on a week night.

For so long, who I am was tied up in what I did for a living. I have less cognitive dissonance now that I am managing one of the stores versus being "just" a barista. But I feel this little being in me saying,"This isn't what you are supposed to be doing with your life. This isn't making a difference. Something is missing."

Now to figure out what that is supposed to be, what she should do when she grows up.