Spike's Bitches 23: We've mastered the power of positive giving up.
[NAFDA] Spike-centric discussion. Lusty, lewd (only occasionally crude), risque (and frisque), bawdy (Oh, lawdy!), flirty ('cuz we're purty), raunchy talk inside. Caveat lector.
(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.
I did finally go upstairs and give them all a poke. Actually, I only had to prompt Julia to prove she was alive. She was sleeping face down, and all her hair was covering her face. I couldn't hear her breathe and her body didn't seem to be moving. I finally had to start to turn her over, before she moved enough to satisfy me. I partially woke her. She looked up and I said, "Sorry. It's okay. Go back to sleep." The boys, bless, were breathing audibly.
It gets better--or you get better, or better at faking you're better, or something. I'm much the way beth described herself, too. So what do I know. I am proud to say I can't remember the last time I had to give them a prove-you're-living poke while they slept, before this morning. It's just that other worries come. My grandmother used to say, "In your arms, your arms ache. Out of your arms, your heart aches." There's another saying too, something like: Being a parent means your heart walks around outside of your body for the rest of your life.
"In your arms, your arms ache. Out of your arms, your heart aches."
This is it, exactly.
One of the reasons we waited to have kids was that I thought I'd be too panicky when I was younger. Seriously, once when Robert was supposed to be biking home from law school and was an hour late, I got in the car and went looking for him, because I was sure he'd been hit by a car. Of course he'd run into some mates and was hanging out chatting. I'm somewhat better now (although I wish he'd learn to use his damn cellphone), so it's good we waited or I'd never sleep and never leave the baby's side.
In other baby news, "There's a Light" from RHPS seems to be the lullaby that works right now.
