Gah. Many (gentle) hugs to both David and JZ. How very, very scary. And yeah, having an aftershock when it hits you what this could have meant makes a lot of sense.

I hope you both get some good sleep tonight.

having an aftershock when it hits you what this could have meant

Reading the medical staff during an emergency is like Kremlinology. You've got the reassuring nurse and the can't-tell-you-it's-all-clear-yet Attending and the here's-how-we'll-take-care-of-your-preemie Pediatrician and they're all giving slightly different subtext and body language and (more to the point) they all have very different levels of comfort about where the conservative course lies.

Mostly though the whole thing amounted to one thing: How much are you bleeding?

As the answer was: "not much anymore," JZ was ultimately allowed to eat her spanikopita.

Hi. I know bitching about my family is old hat by now, but allow me to present Exhibit #479.

We're on the way back from work, and my uncle is giving me reasons why it would be good for me to buy his old car off him, not that he's pressuring me or anything, because that wouldn't involve asking me about it every single goddamn day, but in any case, when I get married, I could do what all men do and keep the crappy car and buy a nice car for the wife. Please stop planning out my life, I think.

Oh, and speaking of marriage, what are my plans? Or do I have someone in mind?

No, I say.

"I don't think I believe you," I say.

"It's true," I say, angered. "Whether or not you believe me is your problem."

He was just asking a question, he says. He isn't trying to be my mom.

"I don't want to talk about it," I say.

"Okay, that's fine," he says. "Why don't you want to talk about it?"

"Uh, when I say, 'I don't want to talk about it,' that means the conversation's over."

"Why don't you want to talk about it?"

"I said I didn't want to talk about it. That's the end."

We play this game three or four more times. He's trying to talk to me like an adult, he says. So I don't want to talk about it, so he should talk to me like a child, then?

"No," I say. "I am saying, as an adult, that I don't want to talk about it."

There's some silence. Then he says that I never answered his question. Why, did I have the right not to answer him?

"Yes," I say. "I do. I have the right not to answer your question."

"Because I don't matter," he says.

"Oh, stop being like my mom," I snap. He says he's not trying to be like my mom, he's trying to be him, but now he's obviously angry and he's driving ninety miles an hour down the highway, so in fact he's being exactly like my mom.

"If that's the way you want to be, fine," he says.

"That is, in fact, the way I want to be," I mutter.

"You basically said, 'Stay the fuck out of my life!'"

"All I said was I didn't want to talk about marriage! I try not to think about it myself!"

Luckily, we pass a cop and he has to slow down for a spell. But we're back to ninety soon after as he heats up again.

"Thanks for kicking me out of your life," he says, pushing it to ninety-five. "From now on, then, I'll treat you like any other person. I'll treat you like an outsider."

Some time passes as I repeat the same argument again, to no avail. I try not to think about marriage myself; it's not like I'll have any control over it. People will still keep looking for my wife.

When we're off the highway, he cools down and responds that he wasn't trying to be like my mom, he was trying to be like him. And he apologizes for butting into my personal life. He hoped I could forgive him.

Oh God, I think. I don't need this passive-aggressive bullshit.

He says he was trying to treat me like his own kid.

"My mom fucked me up good," I say. "And I'm defensive and private because of it."

He apologizes for butting into my personal life.

I'm so, so, so glad I'm moving out in a month.

I'm so, so, so glad I'm moving out in a month.

Phew, not soon enough. And yet, within sight.

Take a deep breath, keep your head down and avoid conflict.

You are a duck and all the irritation rolls off your back.

Yikes! I just got on, and whoa, Nelly.

That little armadillo needs to stay in place! Silly weenie, wanting to crash the party early. Glad things are OK; tell JZ I'm thinking good thoughts for her and the 'dillo.(I don't know why I'm calling the weenie an armadillo -- it just seems right.)

Good thoughts for all of y'all. If I lived closer, I'd volunteer weekly vaccuum and dusting duty till the dillo was born. JZ needs to sloungue like a fecund Cleopatra for the next month or so.

And Calli -- I am so sorry about your mom. I can't even imagine. Peace to you and yours, darling.

Anne! It's good to see you! You are doing okay, I hope?

I don't know why I'm calling the weenie an armadillo -- it just seems right.

Maybe because that's what Flea was calling her most recent.

JZ needs to sloungue like a fecund Cleopatra for the next month or so.

Odalisque, baby. Though I really think that's your area of expertise, Erin.

Ugh. Can't sleep. The Boy is snoozing away like a snoozing thing in the next room, and I'm sitting all bug-eyed and resentfully insomniac in front of the TV.

Which makes me extra glad to see Hec here and get the full report on the too-active-but-by-God-staying-where-she-is Halloweenie.

How are *you* doing, Hec?

How are *you* doing, Hec?

I'm okay, thanks to my good friend Tequila.

Yet even before that, I was okay. I do not tend to think of the worst, and when things are crisis-y I just focus on the task in front of me. And the task today was keeping JZ from freaking out about all the needles.

Which she managed to do very well, though there was an iffy moment on the third try for the second IV.

"I can't just have my hand on my hip. It doesn't feel secure. I think I need to push it down against the rail. Can we do that?"

Honestly, for a needle phobic to have to endure five tries for two IVs, plus blood-work three times, plus a rather painful steroid shot in the hip...well, she was brave little toaster is what.

All while fasting for 13.5 hours.

Honestly, for a needle phobic to have to endure five tries for two IVs, plus blood-work three times, plus a rather painful steroid shot in the hip...well, she was brave little toaster is what.

Why the steroids in the hip? I am flashing to the shots I get for tendonitis but that doesn't seem right. If it is? My sympathies cause those freak me the hell out when I am not worried about a Halloweenie.

--
My iPod just got MiB'd (restored) and now I get to reload everything. This best fix its wee little flummoxed brain. This is gonna take a while.