I haven’t been very good at writing anything the last couple weeks.  BB’s growing faster every day and we’re struggling to keep up with him; plans have begun for his second birthday party.  I still don’t understand how this happened. 

We FINALLY began renovations on our home and my Negotiations Committee reached a tentative agreement with our employer, all the while I dream of better things.  I just want to create and make things better.  I have so much more love to give. 

Issues in our neighborhood are beginning to boil over again but our Block Club isn’t doing much to help; we’ve arrived at a strange point where we can’t take on any more “projects” but deliberate, swift action may be necessary, and only if we initiate it.  Our hands are sticky from being thrust into as many cookie jars as they already are.

BB’s godmother was hospitalized a couple weeks ago.  We physically had to carry her weighted, unconscious body downstairs and load her into her SUV, then drive her to the hospital.  She was in a coma for over a week, and between visits to the hospital and dealing with the aftermath of her choosing not to return home, it was unpleasant.  In the mean time RB and I are trying to talk more, and I’m making a conscious effort to be a better wife, but I’m far from perfect.  I’m never happy and I’m not sure whose fault it is.  I never feel more lonely than when I’m with him. 

Above all that, my father is dying.  And I don’t know what to say to him when we are around each other.  We have years of estrangement to try to compensate for, but the little changes – sent regularly through silly Bitmojis and texts that say I love you – will hopefully help us both be more at peace in the end.  He has between 12-30 months left. 


The second test

Was taken this morning.  It was positively positive.  My doctor’s appointment is on 9/1/16….  

I don’t even know how to tell my husband.  


In the last two months I celebrated my son’s first birthday, stopped nursing and pumping, watched BB experience many fun firsts and keep getting sick (“It could be a stomach bug or it could be the start of hand foot and mouth”… Twice. Plus an ear infection), took care of BB by myself for a full week while hubs was at our union conference in Las Vegas, buried my Grandma on my second wedding anniversary, started smoking again (like a dumbass)…  

And I might be pregnant again. 

My pants have been snugger than normal and I actually signed up for an 8 week gym challenge.  Exciting, right?  With hubs and another couple.  Cool!  Personal accountability!  I’m gonna get that self esteem back up and learn how to eat better!  We’re gonna have so much more energy to keep up with the baby (who is RUNNING).  Weigh in is on Sunday. 

Then my mom sent me a text this morning saying my dad had a dream I had two boys!  Hahahahaha.

Then I did the math.  Oh shit, I am later than I thought, by like a week.  The nausea when I stayed home with a sick BB last week?  Huh.  If it’s true I’d be due within days of my Grandma’s birthday which is almost too freaky to second guess. 

Hubs was at a baseball game tonight, so I took a test (it’s old but the expiration date was 2017, score!) while BB napped.  And it wasn’t super clear because the second line wasn’t dark, but it was there.  And it could all be a big fluke, but the math is right and the line was there.  



I find myself with so many thoughts throughout the day but with little discipline or motivation to write them down.  They’re mostly mundane thoughts, nothing out of the ordinary; certainly nothing I think anyone would like to read.

Maybe it will help me feel better, to get out some of this anger slowly beginning to bubble inside of me.  Maybe it’ll help me focus.

Ideally it may help me sleep but I’m not holding my breath.

To pump or not to pump?

The last few weeks I’ve been struggling with the idea of weaning the baby.  There are many factors to consider and I feel like it’s a pretty big decision that deserves a lot of thought.  After hours serious contemplation I’ve decided I’m getting too many mixed signals from my body and baby to make a decision right now.

From what I’ve been reading the weaning process is a lot more successful if initiated by the baby… But with my little cherub being pretty laid back (and loving to eat) I’m not sure if he really cares where he gets his food from. We’re down to two feedings during the week and they can be lengthy (forty minutes on one side alone last night), but I’m not sure if that is more of a comfort thing for him or if he just enjoys the milk!  He’s eating baby food up to three times a day, so his interest will probably be waning soon.

Personally I’m not ready to give it up.  Some of my favorite times are early in the morning when it’s still dark out, the house is quiet (except for the cats), and we’re both just waking up.  I love how his little body still fits perfectly cradled in my arms, the soft noises he makes and how I have that peaceful time all to myself to admire how beautiful he is.  When I scoop him up and take him upstairs to feed him before his nap after work, every part of my day that was shitty, stressful or stupid completely melts away when I’m with him.  Unless he’s not hungry, fussy, smacking me in the face, tugging at my hair or trying to give me niplash, of course.  Even then it’s still worth it.

Mom Poem # 2

There’s no beauty in monotony
No excitement in the mundane
No time except to work and sleep
I may just go insane.

The kitchen floor needs to be swept
The living room’s a mess,
With piles of laundry multiplying
I’m in acute distress!

No creativity to be found
Long dusty, on some shelf
I feel that I’ve left far behind
Goals I had for myself.

My husband simply couldn’t know
The baby doesn’t care
If nothing changes pretty soon
I may rip out my hair!


My heart weighed twenty pounds and eleven ounces on 12/10/15.

He is my beautiful whole, my bright eyed miracle.  Although he is bursting with a frightening amount of genuine enjoyment of life, I am not.  My own baggage is nestled deep inside but sharing the same space, gently pressing itself against him like a friendly cat desperate for some form of affection.  Every day I try to ignore its darkness, and every day it tries to seduce me.

Every day I sin.  Tremendous amounts of envy make itself known, meandering slowly through my every synapse, occasionally simmering over and bursting outside my body after being left unchecked for too long.  The greatest example is incredibly trite, but actually the reason I started writing again.

I was turned on to an acquaintance’s vegan, minimalist lifestyle blog by my mother.  On screen it’s blissfully divine: a vegan, minimalist family with deeply rooted values expressing their care free joie de vivre with colorful and perfectly posed Instagram pictures and eloquent poetic prose. They wander and dream and co-parent their baby, born weeks before my BB, untethered to any traditional nuances of modern life.  They rehabbed their own tiny caravan and are blissfully dreaming of the day when they can drive it out West into the beautiful sunset.

In reality, the entire façade is ridiculous.  They both have master’s degrees and are choosing to be unemployed, hence why all the time to “lifestyle blog”.  They are sponging off of their parents, the State, because they both want to watch their child (who doesn’t?) grow.  The whimsical bohemian caravan? Their trailer is parked in her parent’s backyard.  They own a Keurig, which is neither environmentally conscious or minimal.   And I’m sorry, anyone who doesn’t allow others to eat meat in front of them (while they are the dinner guests) or forces their dog eat a vegan diet is an asshole.

Despite all their ridiculousness, part of me is jealous of them.  That I choose to pay off my debts, provide my son with a bedroom he can grow into, and work.  I regret that BB will grow up in a society where material possessions are valued above all else and eventually, if he’s ” lucky”, he’ll end up with a boring nine to five to pay off his own accumulated debt from shit he doesn’t need.

My envy is ugly, but so is living in modern life.

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