In an effort to distract myself from the impending doom I am now going to just type. Type like there's no tomorrow. Type like the wind. I'm going to throw the Cloak Invisible* over my head and swing from ropes like a deranged berserker wildly swinging the sword of my intellect around and only managing to hit the things that are so stupified by my exhibition that they don't bother to make that little step to the left to avoid me. Feel free to watch the madness. And comment! Comment like there's no tomorrow (see: theme, current) Comment because you realize that what you have to say is a vitally important part of my distraction. Or don't. Whatever. See if I care.
Wild Swing #1. A long time a go. An entire aeon in the half life cycle of a blog topic, there was a lot of talking about donor choices. What I am about to say is not a judgement on anyone's choice. It's not a critique of anyone's required qualifications. It's not a big fat raspberry on anyone's decision-making process. It's just an observation. One I think is interesting. And I love all of your donors. I really do. Even the ones I haven't met. Even the ones I haven't read. They're all lovely and will all make beautiful children. But here's my observation. If our donor were to try to donate to a bank... if he were to fill out that long form... no one would ever pick him. It's true. He has an anaphylactic allergy to both tree nuts AND peanuts. He has asthma. He has pet allergies. His father was bipolar, his mother suffers from extreme depression. There's schizophrenia in his recent family history. Alcoholism. Drug use. His father may or may not have committed suicide. When we chose him he had no known pregnancies. And yet... look at Julia. That's all I have to say on that.
So, something kinda cool just happened. I got an email (yesterday? day before? the days all blend together right now) from a stranger saying that she had come across my posts on breastfeeding and sexual abuse survivors. She stated that she is a sexual abuse survivor, breastfeeding her son, and that she's been having issues and stuff come up. She THANKED ME for writing what I wrote and said that she feels like she can move forward with the information and story I provided. I need to write her back and thank HER. I felt like I went out on such a limb with that overly long series. But it was worth it if it helped one person (besides myself). I'm so glad I was brave enough to write that. I'm so glad she was brave enough to email me. My mission statement has been fulfilled. I am validated. I did something good.
Wild change of direction here... I am the air...I am the wind...
Last night I dreamt that all my teeth fell out. This is not an unusual dream for me. I dream quite often that my teeth are falling out. It's a real fear of mine. When I had braces put on, instead of pulling 4 teeth to make room in my mouth, they sanded down my teeth to make them smaller. That means that a tiny cavity can be a big problem in a very short period of time. I've had 2 root canals and one of my molars pulled. I have issues about losing my teeth. Missing teeth is the epitome of white trashness for me and I have a hard time respecting or even really listening to people who have visibly missing teeth. I know. I'm a bad person. So these teeth falling out dreams really get to me. But normally they're rather bloodless. There's some pain, and then I feel the tooth with my tongue and the tongues just kind a pushes the teeth out. Or I bite down really hard and the teeth just shatter one by one. But still, bloodless. But last night... last night there was a lot of blood. The teeth were gushing blood as they were falling out. And I kept grabbing the teeth and shoving them back up into their sockets and biting down hard to try to keep them in place, and more kept falling out and I couldn't get them all back in place so I could hold them all at once, and the blood just flooded out of my mouth.
But hey, at least I was asleep last night TO dream. Julia has decided the last week that she must be held by a mommie AT ALL TIMES in the night. We start out each night with her in her crib. And then about an hour and a half later she wakes and starts screaming. So I go get her. And she calms. And I put her back in her crib and then an hour and a half later she wakes and starts screaming. Over and over and over. The first night I think she was constipated and in pain. The next nights not so much. And I'm still really run down from the pneumonia. So you can see this isn't working so well. The rocking chair we have in her nursery was never meant for long term rocking. As I was never going to be the kind of mother who rocked her children to sleep every damn night. Sunday night I took Julia out to the living room and laid with her on the floor. Now I have a gigantic bruise on my hip. Oh yeah, and she crawled away sometime in the night and got into the dog food. Monday night I took her down to the guest bed. That night she slept, but every hour or so she would rise through sleep to begin to fuss, then reach her hand out and touch my hair or face and then go back to sleep. And then she rolled off the bed. So, not restful. Not restful at all. Yesterday Kristin and I broke down and bought a rocker/recliner for Julia's room. And last night I slept in that with the babe. And that's where I had the bad dream.
You might be wondering why Kristin's not taking more of these night shifts. Well, I'll tell you. She really can't. She's not the sleepy mommie. It's funny. For the most part Julia does not distinguish between the two of her mamas. Most of the time if she shows a preference for one of us, it's the one of us that she's spent less time with recently. Except for when she's tired. When she's ready for bed, then she's ready for the sleepy mommie. And that would be me. I don't know what it is about me. Maybe I'm boring. Maybe I'm somnolent. Whatever. But it's true. I can get her settled and to sleep and Kristin can't. Last night Julia started crying at a little after 10. Kristin got up and went to her and I heard an intensification of the screams. I wanted to go in there and soothe Julia, but I also want Kristin to be able to calm Julia. I didn't want to undermine Kristin's parenting. So I waited and waited and waited. Finally Kristin asked me to get a water bottle for Julai. So I went and got the bottle and walked into the room and there was Julia kicking and screaming. And I took her from Kristin just to help Kristin get readjusted in the chair... and the moment I took Julia into my arms she sighed and stopped crying. She had been pissed that it was Kristin and not me who had come to her in the night. So. I did what any loving parent and wife would do. I handed her back to Kristin. I helped Kristin get her arms in just the right crook that Julia likes, and I walked out of the room to let them work it out between themselves. And silence finally reigned. But Kristin was unable to get Julia to go back in the crib, so I ended up in the new recliner with the baby for most of the rest of the night. The chair is comfortable, but the bed would have been better. I hope this is a short-lived stage...
Speaking of short-lived stages, today I am on cycle day 26. It's 15 days past when I think I ovulated. I've been scant spotting dark brown for the past 4 days. Pee sticks on Friday (CD 21, 10 DPO) and Sunday (CD 23, 12 DPO) were both negative. My cycles are never predictable in length, but it's very rare for me to go longer than 25 days in a cycle. And it's rare for me to spot like this for so many days before bleeding. I'm blaming the x-rays. You know I am. I think there's probably a blighted little blastocyst desperately trying to hold on... and just too mutated by the radiation to make it. It'll probably give up tomorrow and make Thanksgiving just that much more special.
Dammit, I wasn't going to think about Thanksgiving. I'm going to go look for a meme. That'll distract me.
* brownie points to whomever can identify where this comes from.