Have I mentioned at all how completely terror-filled I am at even the thought of anything happening to my kid?
You do know that I started having anxiety dreams about Emmmett six months before he was born, and up until he was two? At least once, maybe twice, a week I'd wake up in a panic thinking he was smothering under the covers. Even before he was born. Even before I knew he was a He. This is what I came to think of as the Yoke of parenthood. It weighed on me.
Surprisingly I was fine during all the nose-breaking incident. (Though stressed afterward.) But thinking about him getting the corrective surgery? Pure torture. Even as minor as it as.
A daughter of Plei and Paul's, and a boy who appreciates the femslash and the boobs? I think that could work.
Life is pretty good. The new job is going okay. Well, really, except for some tech issues. I like the people, and where I am working.
(actually, he's probably thinking "FOUR boobs?!? Bliss!")
BWAH! I bet!
Lily does this thing where she grunts and growls like a fierce pig while nose-diving toward boobie bliss. It's most amusing.
You do know that I started having anxiety dreams about Emmmett six months before he was born, and up until he was two? At least once, maybe twice, a week I'd wake up in a panic thinking he was smothering under the covers. Even before he was born. Even before I knew he was a He. This is what I came to think of as the Yoke of parenthood. It weighed on me.
I feel refreshingly normal, then. My anxiety dreams pre-birth were all things involving blood; my scare in October had me so rattled that when I saw blood in labor during a potty break (incidental TMI to follow)
right after I physically felt the mucous plug dislodge, which, I must say, was a weird thing to feel,
I actually felt a moment's panic. Of course, the nurses were all happy, as it was at that point a good sign, but still.
Damn, this girl is a noisy sleeper. She's right next to me, and it's like someone turned on sound effects for a monster movie.
DAMN, you baby-having folks are adorable.
I'm just popping in one last time to say goodnight (or good morning)! I finished my project, yay!
Thanks for the help, Plei, Eddie and Cass. It was much appreciated. My head thanks you. My desk thanks you.
Fay! Perkins!
I have to go to bed now. Dang it.
You know, being back on dial-up is good for me. I was getting cranky with the slow page loads on my website, so I just spent the morning streamlining it. (And only Fay of those here also thinks it's morning).
One of the cats who lives in our backyard is getting ready to have kittens. She appears to have chosen the embassy-provided deck furniture as her place. I'm not sure when she's actually due, but she is showing major cat skills in having picked the only thing that's got a nice white fabric cover for the messy event.
Gah. Have I mentioned at all how completely terror-filled I am at even the thought of anything happening to my kid? I managed to have a night of anxiety insomnia two days ago, where I didn't go to bed until *Paul was up to go to work* on account of a sudden terror of SIDS. Seriously. After her 5am feed, I had to have him go and get her ready to go back down in the other room so that I could fall asleep.
If my kids were sleeping too quietly, I'd poke 'em, 'til they moved. Then I could go back to sleep, provided I didn't wake them, trying to make them prove they were still alive.
Does it get better? I mean, it's just... well, frankly, I didn't know it was possible to love something or someone this much, and it's scary and shit.
This is hysterical to me right now, only because...no. And yes. But somewhat no. It's hysterical, because I woke at 4:30. I thought I heard Scott come in (he went into work at 4ish yesterday, because they're adding some new system or software, or something and have to start these things at night, after the business is closed). I kept waiting for him to come in and turn off the TV. I can't sleep in our bed if he's not there.
When he didn't come shut off the TV, I knew it couldn't be him. Then my heart started racing. I had to go upstairs to make sure Mr. Christopher hadn't escaped, and that that wasn't the noise I'd heard. I came down, put on the coffee and paged Scott. He called me back. He's still working. Someone hadn't sync-ed up the production and development environments, and it threw off the whole thing.
I poured my coffee, and started catching up on the thread, but was anxious, because I really hadn't gone in the kids' rooms to make sure they're okay. I'd just peeked to make sure they were in bed. And I've been fighting the urge to go give them a little poke and make sure they're okay.
Can PPD last 5 years?
I poke the *cats* to make sure they're alive.
I've done it for ages.
I'm so screwed. *g*
Sigh. She needs to wake up soon, so I can feed her and go to sleep.
