Uppercase Woman

Panic Attack!

The title to this entry is an homage to my good friend Dave (hi Dave!) who had a great song by that name in his kick-ass band The 440's.

Just the other day my mother asked me if I'd ever had a panic attack. I cheerfully replied, "Nope!" But that was before I saw the news the other night.

I've always had a pathological fear of my pets being trapped in my house while it's on fire. But I hadn't thought at all about fire and the baby until I was (stupidly!) watching our local news and they had a story about a fire that killed, you guessed it, an infant. I was already upset just from hearing the story, when they actually showed the firefighters valiantly doing CPR on the baby. That poor baby barely took up any space on the stretcher and her little arms and legs bounced each time they tried to start her heart.

I lost it. I dropped my lunch, all over the floor, and began sobbing and gasping. I couldn't catch my breath. I couldn't speak. Charlie was watching too, but he was actually feeding Tori at the time and he couldn't come help me. It took me a good five minutes to get myself under control, and for a while there I thought I needed a sedative or something. I really couldn't breathe.

When you all told me that having a child is like walking around with your heart on the outside of your body, I thought I knew what you were talking about. I was wrong. This is hard. I struggle with feeling safe on a daily basis as it is; trying to believe that she is safe is impossible!

Do all parents feel this strongly? By the way, don't worry. The last owners of this house must have had the same fears; I swear there is a smoke detector every ten feet. Ain't no fire gonna sneak up on us (and yes, we checked the batteries immediately).

________________________________

I saw my doctor recently. I needed her to look at my hole. Heh. Actually, I needed her to take a look at this little tiny hole that has occurred in my c-section scar. It's healed, and it doesn't seem to go anywhere. It's about the size of a pencil eraser. Very odd.

While I was there (the hole is fine, and should heal eventually), I was asking her about post partum depression, weight loss, and other things. She listened to what I have to say, and she feels that I have a low level of depression, and probably have had it my whole life (because of the alcoholism, I guess), and suggested that I try an antidepressant. She gave me a script for Zoloft.

I haven't filled it yet. I'm not sure if I am depressed enough to require medication. I do know I'm depressed enough to require chocolate ice cream on a regular basis. I know I medicate myself with food. I don't know if the drugs would help with that. My doc did think, however, that the meds will help me sleep better and I will be able to stop making sure the baby is breathing every half-hour or so through the night. Which would be nice.

What do you think? What was your experience? Share with me, would ya? Feel free to be anonymous if you like or you can privately email me with the link above. Thanks.

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Last, but not least, we put our cat Frank down yesterday.

Frank was 20 years old. I got that damn cat when I was 18. 18! Holy shit.

For years now, Frankie has been struggling to keep food down. He'd eat, then he'd puke, then he begged for more food, and then he puked again. At first it was just one meal a day, and then we switched him to wet food. He did better for a while, but then it kept getting worse. By the end, he was puking three out of five times he ate, and he was starving all the time.

The charming elements of his personality departed years ago, which is common in geriatric cats. All that was left was the puking and the spite-peeing (if we didn't feed him fast enough, or let him outside fast enough, he'd pee on something important to us. Items include shoes, the bed, the new couch, my coat, walls, and electrical outlets... burning cat urine... yummy).

It's been hard to love him this last couple of years. He was deaf, so you couldn't even yell at him when he peed on stuff. He was just a sad sack.

Still, I feel bad about putting him down. I wish he'd been slightly sicker, but I didn't really see how it was humane to let him get sicker, you know? I would say I was going to miss him, but the truth is, the Frankie I loved died many years ago.

Well, hopefully he's up in kitty heaven gallivanting around with Spot (who we lost a few months back to a stroke) and Spike (who died six years ago) and Hamilton (a roommate's cat that died 15 years ago). He's probably right now attempting to hump some poor girl cat...

Rest in peace, Frankie.

I now have, for the first time in 20 years, only three cats and a dog. Weird.

Oh, and we're going away for a few days. Don't worry, I won't leave you in the lurch--I have another post scheduled to appear on Wednesday. I feel bad enough about going five days this week!

Snowflakes Revisted

Thanks to stem cell research being back in the news, this old post of mine about "snowflake babies" has been getting a lot of hits of late. It's lead to some lovely new comments (scroll to the end for fun!), and also prompted "someone who cares" to send me a link to this article.

Um, my dear "someone who cares": sending me articles written by Focus On The Family is not the way to win my heart. Focus On The Family is in my personal top ten "worst organizations in the universe" list.

Tori, of course, is a "snowflake baby". She is the product of a frozen embryo transfer, and she was "abandoned" in the deep freeze for over a year while I healed from the loss of my sons. So this subject is near and dear to my heart--particularly now, as Charlie and I mull over what we will be doing with our remaining eight embryos. Shall we offer them for adoption? Donate them to research?

We know for sure that the one thing we won't be doing is using them to try to get me pregnant again. I've nearly died in both of my pregnancies, and am not stupid enough to try that path again, no matter how much I might want another child (and right now we're feeling pretty fucking lucky with Tori and don't see the need to push it).

I have issues with offering them to other families to adopt (assuming that there is someone else out there crazy enough to want our fab genetic mix of alcoholism, asthma, and artistic talent). I grew up knowing that I had a half-brother and two half-sisters out there somewhere, and it was hard. I was an only child, and often lonely. I spent much of my childhood desperate for a little brother, and the fact that I actually had one out there somewhere made me crazy. If we adopted out these embryos, Tori would have a full-blood sibling somewhere, and since it's obvious that we would be honest with her (you know, if she asked--I'm not gonna saddle her with unwanted knowledge), she might have some of the same feelings. We could ask for an open adoption, but I'm not sure that's fair either--either to the people that adopt our embryos, or the child that results from them (assuming that a child would result--of course, very few frozen embryos actually become children--as Julie wrote about quite eloquently the other day).

My mother also suffered from a fear that I'd meet my half-brother someday and unwittingly fall in love with him (a rather silly worry... I knew my father's name, at least, even if I hadn't met him. My brother had the same name as a "III". It would be pretty stupid of me to be on a date with some guy and be like, "wow, my dad has that exact same name!"). I'd feel weird knowing that Tori has a full sibling out there and not at least know his/her name, for that very same reason.

And while I can donate the embryos for research, it won't be for federally funded stem cell research, thanks to Bush's veto. Instead, any discoveries made from the use of our embryos would be in the hands of some large private company. They'd be able to fleece the public with that knowledge, adding to the health care crisis that already grips this country.

So what do I do? I pay my storage fee, and wait for either the political climate or my mind to change.

What infuriates me about the latest political go-round on this issue, though, is the fucking pointlessness of it. No one ever thought, for one fucking minute, that Bush would actually allow that law to pass. The Republicans knew they were safe. They could float that bill, which makes them look a little bit less like bat-shit crazy fundamentalists, but know that their core conservative voters wouldn't leave them because it wouldn't actually become law. This latest stem cell bill gets added to the list of stupid fucking pointless crap our politicians are spending their wasting our fucking time doing, like the gay marriage bill (which never had a chance of passing either, although it came entirely too close for my comfort).

And that makes me crazy. I realize that it's an election year, and that empty posturing is the normal state for politicians during elections. But seriously, this year seems worse. It all seems so completely staged and full of fake bullshit. Can anyone tell me anything actually fucking helpful to the American people that congress is currently working on? Cause I can't find anything, and it's making me sick.

The End Is Near

The other day my boss called me and asked when I was coming back to work. According to his records, I was due back very soon. As in, like, now. My response rather shocked me.

I burst into tears.

Fortunately, it was an error on the part of the human resources gal. But because Tori came a couple weeks earlier than planned, I am due back two weeks earlier than I thought. I was able to negotiate another week (my boss is awesome) but I only have four weeks left, not five as I said on Monday. So I go back on August 14.

Man. I am so not ready.

I have always believed--known, in fact, in my gut--that I am not stay-at-home-mom material. Being alone with a kid all day every day would wear me down, I was sure. And that is true; I realize I am totally lucky to have Charlie home with me so I can hand Tori off when I've had enough. I've also been alone with her more than I expected because of the stuff going on with Charlie's mom and I can feel the strain when she won't let me put her down and wants to be held all the time.

But at the same time, when I spend any time away from her at all (like taking my mom to see her surgeon) I cannot wait to get my hands on her again. Even while sleeping I wake up missing her.

How on earth am I going to do it?

I do feel grateful that she will be with Charlie when I go back to work.  I'm not sure I could also adjust to putting her in daycare as well (I do not have any issues with daycare in fact I went to day care and loved it and I think it's fine to have kids in day care please do not feel like I am criticizing anyone that puts children in daycare by making that statement I am not judging other moms I know how lucky we are to have stay-at-home-dad as an option). That might just kill me. As it is I'll probably be jealous of Charlie when I'm working. At least at first.

I'm also lucky because I don't go into work until 11 am. So I can get up with Tori and have her all to myself in the early mornings. I don't have to catch a train downtown until 10:3o or so, so I'll get several hours with her before work.

Going back to work will also help on some fronts. I'll be able to manage my meals much better, likely resulting in losing more baby weight. I'll be able to go to the gym at lunch (my job gives us a free membership to a great gym), also helping with the get-back-in-shape thing. I'll get to blog more often, since I work at a college with computers everywhere that I can use during my lunch breaks as well. That also means I'll be able to follow blogs more easily as well.

But, oh, god, how I am going to miss her sweet face.

___________________________________________

Yesterday we actually had an afternoon to relax, so we decided to go hang out with my mom at the pool in her complex. My mom doesn't swim, so we just pushed her wheelchair (and by we I mean Charlie) into the shade so that she could hold Tori while we swam. It was a nice way to hang out, and I really needed to feel like I've done something summer-like this year.

The only cloud on the horizon (heh heh heh) was an old biddy that was also hanging out by the pool: I got my first mommy-drive-by.

My mom's pool is nice because it is surrounded by trees so there is shade, plus there is a part that is actually lawn. Tori was sleeping, but hot in her car seat, so I took out the nifty little travel mat we found at Baby Chain Store (I tried to find a link to it, but you will just have to imagine it cause I can't find it), laid it on the lawn and put Tori--face up!--on it.

Old biddy yells, "Oh, God, don't put that baby down there! There are ants!" Which was annoying, particularly when an ant immediately crawled onto the pad--and not some little picnic ant, but a giant motherfucker that looked like he was considering taking Tori back to the anthill.

So I picked her up and put her on my lounge chair. Then it was clear that we didn't have full shade, so I decided to put a little bit of baby sunscreen on her. Tori didn't like that, so she began hollering a bit.

Old biddy yells, "Is there alcohol in that cream? That might be why it's hurting her."

To which I answered, "Yes, bitch, I am smearing my child with a cream that burns and stings with rubbing alcohol. The reason that it hurts her, of course, is because it's getting into the welts she sustained during her morning beating."

OK, I didn't say that, nor did Tori receive a morning beating. Instead, I said, "No, this is baby sunscreen, it's perfectly safe. I'm not an evil mother, I promise." To which the old biddy harrumphed and said, "Well, they didn't have that in my day."

Other than a few people giving us dirty looks when we had her out at 2 weeks old, and the one nasty bitch at the supermarket who kept insisting I needed to also give Charlie a son (I know, what the fuck?), we've had almost no encounters like this. Not even from family. It almost ruined the day.

I know it's gonna get worse, but sheesh. I'm not sure I'm any more ready for that than I am to go back to work.

So. Anyhoo. How's your week going? And Sarah, welcome home!

Helloooooooo

Well hi there! Remember me?

We're all still here. Although things are still a little crazy; I've been interrupted now three times while trying to start this post and the only way I'm managing to write it now is because my daughter is dangerously! placed! in! a! face! down! position! in the pack-n-play right next to me. And, NO, I'm not able to write this because she's been knocked unconscious due to lack of oxygen. It's just sometimes the only way she'll go to sleep when she gets a little wound up.And I promise, I'm sitting right here next to her watching like a hawk.

In the last week or so, Charlie and I have begun to realize that staring at Tori with adoration isn't particularly stimulating for her, so we've started doing playtime a couple of times a day. Usually once with the gymini thingy and once just sitting with her with toys. It's great fun for us, I think, but I'm not sure how she feels about it. But we're trying to keep her awake a little more during the day because last week it looked like she'd really decided to be a night owl. But today we did play time until she got to that "too tired to sleep" place and hence the face-down thing.

Anyway.

We found a place for Charlie's mom. We looked at three places; first up was one of these. Now, they are nice places, but we found it very busy (too much stuff in too small a space) and the hallways were confusing enough for those of us without Alzheimer's (the marketing gal kept pointing to the crap in the hallways like a big wooden Indian and calling them "memory cues"). Plus they are motherfucking EXPENSIVE for a single room. The one we looked at did not have a locked ward for Alzheimer's patients, but they do offer an ankle bracelet like the one Martha Stewart had to wear during her house arrest. Nice.

The second place was much more reasonably priced and the main assisted living section was actually pretty nice. The only issue was that they won't bring medication to her room, instead she has to go to a "wellness center" to get it dispensed which doesn't make much sense to me, particularly for someone with memory issues. Now they did have a locked ward, but MAN it was depressing. Awful in fact.

But the third place; ah, the third place was just right. Priced right between the first two, this place was nestled in the woods. The lobby was filled with content and happy residents (yes, really!) and lovely furniture. The rooms were large and had high ceilings (which makes such a difference if you are going to be living in one room), and the bathrooms were roomy enough that I'm actually a bit jealous. They had all the amenities; beauty parlor, game room (including a pool table!), a 24-hour "country kitchen" with snacks and drinks, you name it. But the best part was that other than the locked doors, there was no noticeable difference between the "memory ward" and the regular assisted living. That locked unit has not one but two outdoor courtyards, one where the patients garden. Apparently, since this particularly facility is privately owned, they can accommodate special requests like gardening on site. The owner is on site every day. They even occasionally allow pets, and will certainly allow us to bring Hammer The Best Dog Ever™ to visit Charlie's mom anytime we want.

Of course, they don't have a lot of availability. She's going to have to share a room for a few weeks. But it's the right place. They also have high enough supervision that she won't have to go into the "memory ward" right away. Turns out her increase in dementia symptoms were caused by a urinary track infection (UTI). This is a common occurrence, apparently. Who knew? Other than some of you who mentioned it here, of course. Since that was the only episode she's ever had with wandering no one feels she needs the locked ward now. Sometime soon, but not right away.

We hope to move her in by this weekend or early next week. In the meantime, she has an overnight nurse (at over $100 a night) so she's safe.

By the way; if you want to be the hit of every single assited living facility you visit, bring a newborn baby. Tori has lots of new fans. If Charlie brings Tori AND Hammer to visit his mom every week, his mom will become the most popular resident there.

My mother is doing much better, thank you for all the kind words about that. I'm taking her to the surgeon again today to get her fitted for a better brace for the knee. Her pain level is much more manageable now and she's able to get around a bit easier, although she had to make the decision to not teach her summer classes which is making her take quite a hit to her paycheck. She has great faith things will work out, however.

So that's what's going on in our world. I'm a bit at the end of my rope--as is Charlie. Every time I've tried to do something for myself--like go to the chiropractor or a meeting or use that gift certificate for a massage that I got at the baby shower--I end up canceling it. It's making me a little nuts. I dream of seeing a movie mostly so I can sit in the dark without anyone needing me for a couple of hours.

We have only about five weeks left of my maternity leave. Silly me, I thought we'd get a few trips to the beach in, maybe go camping a couple of times. But as luck would have it by the time I felt ready to do that stuff (hey, recovering from abdominal surgery when you're nearly forty is tough!) all this shit happened. So I don't know if any of it's going to happen, a fact that I find quite depressing when I'm sitting in the nursery alone pumping my boobs at 3 am.

But Tori continues to be magnificent. So it's all good. In fact, yesterday the joy of her existence came to me anew when I stopped into Baby Chain Store to pick up a larger one of these and I saw that they have the Halloween costumes out. As soon as I saw them I once again engaged my old habit and averted my eyes and tried to put them out of my head. Then it dawned on me that I actually have a kid. I can look! I even touched!

Chili or pea pod?

How To Know You Need More Sleep from Being Part of the Sandwich Generation*

Scene:

Dawn feeding of baby; sky is still gray. Wife sits with baby in one hand and breast pump going on one boob. National Public Radio is playing softly in the background.

Husband stumbles out into the hallway to pee. His eyes are actually closed as he walks.

Wife: "Israel has invaded Lebanon, love."

Husband: "How nice for them."

*The Sandwich Generation, apparently, is a term used to define those of us caring for children and parents at the same time.

**Ok, there was no second star. Tori weighed 9 lbs, 6 oz exactly, making Charlie dead on. Bastard. The closest guesser here was: Blanche!

Who needs sleep? Fun at Casa Del Tori

First, I'm absolutely SURE that the above bastardization of Spanish is very, very wrong. So you don't need to mention is, m'kay?

So, things are CRAZY here. Seriously. Whacko. Nuts. INSANE.

Last Thursday night, my mother called me from her doctor's office because she needed to go to the hospital. Apparently, she was coming down the stairs from the office and tripped on the last stair and came down hard on the side of her foot. She hobbled back up to her doc's, who said, "Yep, you broke it, go to the hospital" and then gave her crutches. Unfortunately, she hasn't had any experience with crutches and tried to use them on the stairs; yes, she fell again, this time hard on her knee (same leg, thank god).

So we told her to call an ambulance, and gathered up Tori to meet her at the emergency room (we also had to collect her car, therefore requiring that we both go which of course meant Tori had to come too). Tori was the best baby EVER during our long hours at the ER; perhaps she was as entertained as I was by the fascinating array of injuries present (my favorite: the middle-aged woman who'd been hit HARD in the head with a golf ball--guess someone forgot to yell "FORE!"). They let us hang out in the "Family Room" instead of the main lobby so we had semi-comfortable couches and privacy (and a copy of a gossip magazine, yeah).

We finally got out of there around 11pm, just in time for a fun-filled drive home involving a starving screaming baby, a bad traffic jam due to highway construction (we'd thought we'd make it to my mom's to feed the baby until the traffic jam; I promise that we didn'y starve her deliberately), and large pieces of plastic wrapping themselves around the axle of our car. It was a BLAST, I tell you.

Once we got my mom home, we had to get her from the car to the elevator to her apartment. Unfortunately, my mom was exhausted, a bit loopy from the pain pills, and terrified of the crutches. We got her halfway to the entry to her building when, you guessed it, she fell AGAIN. This time she hit her head and jammed her thumb and whacked her ribs on a bench.

When she fell, I was in the car with Tori. I opened the door, ran toward my mom and... fell on my ass.

Charlie, who'd been trying to help my mom (she fell away from him) was left with both of us writhing on the ground. Poor guy.

Eventually,  with the help of my mom's desk chair and her apartment building's security guard, we got her into the apartment and into her recliner, where she spent the night. Monday she visited a specialist and discovered that her knee is broken in four or five places and she might need surgery. She's having a cat scan today for the head. She's in a terrible amount of pain, but the new leg brace is helping her be slightly more mobile (she also now has a wheelchair) because it protects her knee much better.

Good times.

Because that isn't enough fun, Charlie's mom is also having a major downturn. She has Alzheimer's, as most of you know, but has been stable for about three years due to good medications and Charlie managing her care. However, in the last couple of weeks, things have gotten much worse. She started messing with her medication schedule, and is more and more confused. Charlie has begun the process of looking into assisted living facilities for her.

Last night, his phone rang about12:30am. It was the police. They'd found his mom wandering around OUTSIDE locked out of her apartment. She was trying to get to school on time (she's 80. No school for her for quite a while). The police got her back into her apartment, and Charlie got a friend of hers to check on her (we live about 45 minutes away) but that same friend called this morning and said she is much worse--physically ill as well as mentally altered--so he's taking her to the emergency room and hoping they will do an emergency nursing home placement for her until we can find a permanent place for her. I've already called and looked into overnight nursing care, and we can set that up at the drop of a hat (although Charlie might have to spend a night or two at her place). But it's all pretty overwhelming, particularly when you toss in the newborn and add in our now near complete lack of sleep.

Again, good times.

The good news is that my mom is going to get better, and with any luck, quickly. And Charlie's mom is overall in good physical health (she looks, honest to god, about 50. I hope Tori gets that from her).

Any suggestions y'all have about nursing care facilities or other tips, we'd love to here it. I must go and shower and bathe Tori for her pediatrician appointment. Any guesses on her weight? I think she's gonna be around 10lbs 2 oz. Charlie says 9lbs 6oz (she was 7 lbs 15 oz two and half weeks ago). What do you think? Winner gets a blog plug! Heh.

Oh, and speaking of blog plugs, if you are like me and have one of those non-latching babies and are forced to pump exclusively, be sure to check out the new blog Pump Mom. The author is hoping to build it into a great support network for us pumpin' moms. Enjoy!

One Month (and I totally am stealing this from Dooce)*

Tori,

Today, you are 30 days old. This means you are a month old exactly. Your father is thinking about buying you your first car.

You showed up with quite the dramatic flare, declaring your readiness to be part of the world with more blood than was poured on Carrie at the prom. Your father ran at least four stop lights getting you and me to the hospital, and the amazing Dr. Mama appraised the situation and got you out in record time. You and I both managed to survive with all our parts intact, and that is saying something.

Because I was sleeping (sorry about that!) I didn't get to see you right away, so the first person that got to hold you was your father. If there was ever any doubt that you would be a total Daddy's girl, it was erased in that moment. Your Aunt Sarah declared you "Perfect!" and she couldn't have been more right.

When I finally got you in my arms, about eight hours after you were born, I simply couldn't believe it. You have my nose. You were swaddled within an inch of your life when we met, and I unwrapped you like a present and kissed all your fingers and toes. I had no idea that I could love anyone as much as I love you, and I love your father and your Aunt Sarah and your Grandma and Hammer the Dog and a bunch of other people a whole lot.

After five days, we got to take you home. It's been a bit of an adjustment, like everyone said it would be, but we are happy to do it. We went for a brief walk in your very fancy stroller that your Internet aunties and uncles bought for you that first afternoon we were home, and I got a taste of what our life is now like: we are a FAMILY. It's amazing. I've never been happier.

Over the last few weeks, you've already grown and changed so much. Because you decided to arrive a bit early (three and a half weeks!), your arms and legs were scrawny little things. But you are a hearty eater of both breast milk and formula, even if you prefer to take it all from a bottle. Don't worry, your Mom is deeply pro-choice and supports your right to choose how you get your nourishment. So now your legs are chubbing out beautifully, and you have dimples in your knees and elbows. I could spend the whole day licking them, which may sound gross, but someday you'll understand.

Your eyes were a deep blueish-brown at birth, but are now a bold steel blue just like mine. You keep them open more and more now, although can we talk about your awake time being at 1 am? Cause I'd really prefer something like, say, 4 pm instead. You are also usually awake after your 9 am or so feeding, and you and I like to get back in bed and just lay around staring at each other for a couple of hours. It's really fun.

Just yesterday your belly button opened. After the little stump of the umbilical cord fell off, your belly button sealed itself up into a cute little smiley-face. As much as I adored that, I really like the fact that now you have a belly button I can poke my finger in. Yes, I am a freak, but again, someday you'll understand.

As your face has filled out, your eyelashes have gotten really long. And last week your eyebrows finally came in and they look just like your father's. They match your ears, which also look exactly like your father's, right down to the hair you both have growing on them (the hair on your ears will probably fall out eventually, but I'm afraid your father is just going to get more and more as he gets older).

You still have your hair, and it's long and fluffy. It likes to stick up straight on the crown of your head making you look a little bit like a baby orangutan, which we think is adorable. The ends of your hair are trying to curl a little bit, which makes me really excited since I've always wanted curly hair and instead have waves only when it's humid. Your father has curly hair, so maybe you got that from him too.

You have made my life beautiful, my darling daughter. I think my love for you is so big that the universe might need to expand a bit to encompass it all. Happy first month birthday, my darling girl.

* Heather of Dooce has been writing a monthly post to her daughter since she was born (today's was Leta's 29th month birthday), so I bow at her feet as I steal her idea utterly and completely. She started it so that she wouldn't forget any details or milestones, and mentioned a few months back that she re-read some old posts and was so glad that she'd written them cause she'd already forgotten half of that stuff. Since this blog is effectively my baby book, I'm going to do the same thing. Forgive me, Heather, for I have ripped off your wonderful idea. Thank you for coming up with it.

Release

I find myself thinking quite often of how I was a year ago. I see by looking at my July archives that I was visiting the RE to gear up for trying again, preparing to settle on our new house and move, and then buying everything in sight to furnish it.

What I don't see clearly in those post is how fucking depressed I was.

Prior to losing the twins, Charlie and I spent the summers camping and hiking to our heart's content. We usually logged about 30 nights a summer under the stars, and probably hiked over 50 miles a month. But not last summer. Last year we barely managed a dozen nights out, and I think we hiked maybe twice.

At the time I blamed it on the move; but now I now that the entire house hunting/buying/moving thing was actually a treatment for my depression and grief. Don't get me wrong--I'm thrilled we moved, I love our new house and the park and playground a block away. This is the right place to raise Tori. But I spent all last summer in a locked-down emotional state, knowing that we were going to try to get pregnant again soon.

I think I wasn't sure I could survive another pregnancy; and I'm talking this time only emotionally.

Last year, there is no way I would have walked a mile across town to go see the local fireworks*. I would have either a) driven there; b) not bothered to go, claiming to not want to deal with crowds or c) made excuses about how I don't really give a shit about fireworks any way (which is a total lie).

The fact that I'm willing to walk anywhere is evidence of my depression lifting. The fact that I think about walking every day is astonishing. The fact that I cannot WAIT to go camping again, even with the additional stress of having an infant with us, is more proof that I feel normal.

I feel better now than I have felt in over two years.

I'm sure, given time, I could have gotten to this place without having a child. But Tori is speeding up my healing process so much. I hesitate to talk about this; I know that there are so many still in the trenches of infertility and loss, and I don't want to sound like I'm bragging or smug.

But my truth is simply that I feel better than I have for two years and it's all because of a little ten-pound (I'm guessing, we'll know next week!) girl named Victoria Anne Sarah**. Without her, I would still be struggling.

The weirdest thing about this speedy healing is that I have come to finally be able to really and truly say goodbye to the boys. It's so strange; part of me now knows more fully what I've lost; I mean, once Tori was here I could more clearly visualize what it was, exactly, that I'd lost.

But the deeper truth is that I cannot imagine a world where Tori doesn't exist. And the simple fact is that if the twins had lived, Tori would not be here.

The gifts Nicholas and Zachary have given me are tremendous. They taught me how to love, and then they taught me how to grieve, and now they are teaching me how to let go. Their brief lives taught me how to argue discuss without anger and how to be compassionate to the views of others--a trait I seriously lacked before I lost them.

And now their sacrifice, if you want to call it that, have given me the little girl I always dreamed of. I feel like the luckiest woman in the world, and know that I am really and truly blessed.

Thank you, Nick and Zach. I miss you, even more than before, but I thank you for your brief visit to my life. You have given me so, so much. You taught me how to be a mother and how to love your little sister. I do not regret any of it now. Not one minute. Thank you.

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* Yes, we took Tori to the fireworks. Don't worry-- I smushed her one ear against my massive boobs and held my hands over the other one. When they got really loud, Charlie added his hand. I am so glad we went--the fireworks locally are AWESOME, and we got all covered in ash and cinders (don't worry, a blanket covered Tori) we were so close. And they lasted over 35 minutes. Very, very cool. Oh, and we converted the Bugaboo from a pram to a stroller, and Tori LOVES it. She looked like a can of corn rolling around in the pram, and the stroller setting--laid flat, of course--really cradles her. It's awesome.

** We got Tori's birth certificate and social security card (although they left the Sarah off the SSC, sadly). So very, very, very cool.

Happy Supposed-To-Be-Your-Birthday, Tori!

And we took Tori on a train ride to celebrate. Not just any train, but a steam train. She is her father's daughter, after all.

I would tell you all about it but Charlie stole my post. Read and enjoy. It was awesome being out on a family adventure. And boy do people treat you differently when you have a baby with you! Wowza.

Somehow in the haze of early parenting we managed to catch on that it's a holiday weekend, so we're gonna have a BBQ tomorrow with a handful of friends. I have brownies to bake, so I'll keep this short today. Photos, I think will be in order.

Perhaps now that Tori has reached her due date, maybe I can squeeze out the occasional non-Tori post?

HA HA HA HA HA.