previouslies 2: all the posts fit to print

In 2011 I did this pretty comprehensive "previouslies" post. Here's where that leaves off, including some stuff I probably would have posted about, had I been doing this sort of thing regularly:

• In December 2011 I picked my brother up from O'Hare and flipped my car. That was possibly the first and definitely the last time I will ever leave the house without say goodbye to Jon after an argument.
• In February 2012 I started a new chapter in my career, fully putting the dungeon industry in the rearview (though I didn't know it at the time). My boss micromanaged and bullied, and I was her favorite punching bag. Giving so much while being made to feel incompetent is why I didn't post all that much. 
• In December 2012 Jon and I went on a gun-shooting /wine-tasting (not simultaneously) outing in Michigan with friends. Because I am me, the first weapon I ever fired was an AK-47. I pray I never hold another gun in my life. I didn't like how it felt to have that kind of power in my hands. It was a taste of the paranoid anxiety I would later experience post-partum. 
• In May 2013 I went into labor with my first child. After an immensely stressful several months at work, my water broke in my cubicle, 20 weeks early. The baby's lungs weren't developed enough for her to survive.
• In August 2013 we bought this house. Jon and our dear friend/realtor, Mala, did the legwork to find it. We were so excited to have a garage and a yard, and had big plans (like compost!). Less than a month after we closed, the pipes from the house to the street had to be dug up and replaced. I don't think we ever regained any homeowners' excitement and our yard looked like a construction site for the better part of four years (if you don't count when it was covered in snow). 
• Madelyn moved to Chicago.
• In December 2013 we lost baby #2 at about six weeks. She had a genetic defect (Trisomy 16).
• Jon started working at the same place as I did, but on a different team, in fall 2014. He is a natural, and people noticed.
• Two days before the one-year anniversary of Baby's due date, I delivered a healthy baby girl named Ro. She literally is the light of our lives. Grieving the first two are now complicated because technically we couldn't also have had Ro if they had survived. I had an emergency cerclage stitch put in to prevent labor and was on bed rest (and would have stood on my head for the entire pregnancy if I needed to). Delivering her separated my pelvis. I needed physical therapy and a walker to get around for the next four months, and the only thing I could do for her was nurse, then give her to someone else to be walked, burped, changed, bathed and the rest. Missing that bonding created a tender spot deep in my heart, kept sore by the guilt of feeling jealous and sad when all I should be is grateful. She kicks that very spot each time she pushes me out of the way to run to her father or says NOT YOU, MOMMY. I am happy that they have a great relationship, but I'd be lying if I said being left out doesn't sting.
• Jon's entire family came out for the holidays in 2014. I was thrilled to have both sides together for Ro's first Christmas. It was especially sweet to see her 2-year-old cousin Declan play with her. I wasn't exactly the best hostess, however, what with the walker, pain and trying to wrap my head around being somebody’s mother.
• I came back to work with pretty serious post-partum anxiety and my boss told me there could be a promotion. But they were "pretty sure they wanted to give it to" the woman who joined the team nine days after I gave birth (if you do the math, she was there for about three months and I had been there, slogging away, for three years). If I wanted it, I had to *prove* I deserved it. I was too stupid to see the mind game for what it was and redoubled my efforts. This was a very cruel thing to do to a lactating, sleep-deprived person who could barely walk, and I suffered as much as you can imagine. But I got the promotion. The other person was promoted a few months later.
• We took Ro on her first plane ride to see Jon's family in Southern California in September, 2015. She was 11 months old, met her great-grandmother, said hello to her sister, dipped her feet in the Pacific Ocean and caught her first major-league baseball game. We were there for our anniversary, too. It was a great time.
• My brother got an apartment in Chicago, within walking distance of Wrigley Field. He also *finally* started making some money back on his Cubs season tickets. I got to see them win the NLCS with him in 2015, which was amazing.
• Our "rainbow baby" turned one on Halloween. We celebrated, Oz-style, and everyone dressed up. Jon's mom flew out to see her granddaughter and hand-made her gorgeous Dorothy costume.
• My father's youngest sister, who lived in Mumbai, passed away from aggressive cervical cancer. I couldn't believe that I'd never see her again.
• In May 2016, our neighbors helped us break down our rotting backyard shed. There was a possum skull under it, and evidence that it was using the supports as a teething ring.
• My brother was set up on a date with a lovely Indian girl, who is friends with the wife of his BFF. Sounds good, right? Apparently she reminded him too much of me, which is a dealbreaker.
• HighCon was on tv, skulking around in the background on CNN during a Joe Biden speech. I always knew that guy would be famous. Now he and his dude have a house in the Hamptons that I very much hope we visit one day; it's beautifully appointed.
• My brother gave us a tremendous scare in August 2016 when he was retaining so much fluid in his chest and abdomen that his organs were impaired. He called me from the emergency room and had to be admitted. I believe five pounds of the stuff was drained out of him while he was in the hospital. He changed his diet and is controlling his sodium. But that was hella terrifying.
• My mom, Ro and I walked in the India Day Parade in my hometown on August 14, 2016. It's kind of a big deal because 40+ years ago when my folks settled in this place, there were only a handful brown people, and even fewer Indians. The existing community sure didn't make it easy for them. And now there's a parade!
• I went to my 20th high-school reunion in August. I had tried on about 25 dresses (including selections owned by a friend who goes to galas) but ended up with a $20 navy cotton dress from Target. And it was great. Had we been able to bottle the nervous energy in that country club banquet hall, we could have powered a city. I found out someone I never imagined had been reading this blog for quite some time (I had included the address in the wedding thank-you cards but didn't expect anyone to follow the link. If you're still reading, hi MSE!). I also got two apologies--only one of which I remember in context now (shame on me). Everyone should go to those things. You never know what can happen! Apparently the 10-year is when people hook up, and the 20-year is when people apologize...Perspective, amirite?
• My parents went to Singapore in September 2016 to visit my cousin and attend her daughter's First Communion. I was honored to be asked to make the veil. Jon and I realized that while they help us a lot with Ro, we can actually handle it ok without Nani and Papa. It's just nice to have them around.
• Ro started "preschool" at her in-home daycare. It still felt like a big step; there was a personalized backpack and all.
• Around this time, I sought a therapist's advice (a recommendation from two middle-school friends whom I haven't seen in decades--thank you, social media). She confirmed I exhibit classic signs of high-functioning ADD (and coped much better before kids, when I pulled all-nighters and only had to worry about myself). Many revelations followed. It is still a struggle. I didn't want to take medication because Jon and I were focused on trying for another baby.
• Our workplace had a huge project that had been in the works for years. In September 2016, my husband and I spent the weekend of our fifth anniversary working 10-hour shifts both Saturday and Sunday. We managed to get lucky and spent the money we'd saved for a celebratory weekend away on tickets to see Hamilton in October. It was worth every single cent to see it before the hype got nuts in Chicago. We were legitimately blown away and treasure having had the experience.
• I worked several overnights for the big project go live, including (my one day off in nine days) when I ACCIDENTALLY CAME IN TO WORK AND NO ONE STOPPED ME. This was a breaking point, because I thought I had messed up scheduling care for Ro and fought with my family for no reason. I started applying for other jobs.
• My college girls and I went to the "I Love the '90s" concert. Coolio, Color Me Badd, Tone Loc, SALT-N-PEPA and others. Salt-N-Pepa have still got it. The others made me feel kind of sad. The Allstate Arena parking lot was wall-to-wall minivans (we arrived in an Odyssey) and women were getting sloshed on tall cans of goodness-knows-what spiked fruit drinks. We almost got in a brawl with some broads in front of us who were so busy taking selfies they didn't realize they were spilling their drinks all over us. #goodtimes
• The Cubs won the World Series. I was at the game with my brother when they clinched the NLCS, and walked home through the drunken streets of the city in my David Ross jersey. It was *almost* as good as Grant Park in 2008. My brother was there for the actual win, and let me hear/see the pandemonium via phone (Shocker--I was working late that night while Jon and Ro were at home). I pray that more things in life can make my brother as happy as he was that day.
• I made Ro a pretty convincing Mary Poppins costume for her second birthday. She had a party at the jumping place and will not consider having her party anywhere else.
• I missed my first deadline. Ever. It wasn't for work, but still. A little of piece of me died that day. But you know what? The world kept turning.
• The country elected president number 45. I still feel some kind of way about that.
• My SIL a and our nephew, Declan, came to visit in November 2016. They had a blast playing together and exploring the children's museum. I wish we lived closer.
• PP and her dude bought a house on the South Side of Chicago that Quincy Jones used to live in! They didn't figure that out until more than two years later when they saw a documentary about his life and recognized their street.
• CC moved back to Chicago. I don't get to see her much because she runs content and social media for a publication that awards five-star ratings to hotels and restaurants around the world--and she gets to try those places! She got me a cool insulated water bottle from the Ritz Carlton in Lake Tahoe. It's a cool job, but damn, does that woman hustle. She recently got back from the Maldives.
• After multiple rounds of interviews, I got another job offer (commuting to downtown Chicago every day) and was about to accept. Then I peed on a stick. One thing my current job did let me do was work from home on bedrest. So I had to turn down the offer.
• Jon made Madelyn a "doggie deck" for her puppy, Frankie, who could tell I had a baby in my belly and would snuggle him. Sadly, her life was cut short because of a car accident when I was 22 weeks pregnant and she was about 22 weeks old. 
• I had a "preventative" cerclage put in at 16 weeks because by pregnancy NUMBER FOUR, they finally decided I have a bum cervix and maybe they should sew it up to keep the baby in.
• In April 2017 (Easter weekend), we revealed the baby's gender by having Ro open a series of plastic eggs in varying sizes until the smallest one burst open with blue m&ms and shared the video with the family. After all that we'd been through, we didn't want to make it into "a thing" until we had that healthy baby in our arms.
• I had an emotional Mother's Day.
• My college girls threw me a surprise baby shower, pretending it was pp's birthday party. I was overwhelmed with surprise and gratitude.
• PP took me to see Aladdin on Broadway (in Chicago). She had to escort me around the theater because of my delicate situation, but I'm so glad I went. It was so very good. SO good. I loved it. This was also the first time I used a ride-sharing service (that was weird).
• July 27, 2017 I took Ro to have ice cream with Ri and her two little girls. I dropped Ro off with my mom as she got off from work at the hospital and went for a "routine" appointment to have my cerclage stitch clipped because I was at 36 weeks. Apparently, during the 20 weeks the stitch had been holding my boy in tight, my skin had grown scar tissue all around it. This proved to be incredibly painful unimaginable ways--the MD couldn't get it out in the office, and called for backup. The backup couldn't get it out at the hospital's Labor & Delivery department, and called for backup. And the big boss (who started the practice and whom I followed from my old office because she's so good) busted out this huge, gray metal box with all sorts of Medieval-looking hatchety tools and STILL couldn't get it out. I felt all of that digging around, despite the IV meds. They took me to the OR and finally did it under an epidural. But they cut me up, so they had to cauterize the wound so it didn't get infected. At the end of all that, one of the OBs says "well, we'll know what to do for your next pregnancy." Uhhh...
• Madelyn got a new puppy and named her Olivia. She's more hyper than Frankie was, but is the same breed (Italian Greyhound).
• Again, I went beyond my due date. I was in labor for more than 24 hours and never dilated more than 2 cm, as cervical tissue that is scarred and tough doesn't really want to expand too much. TMI, but my doctor was trying to "break up" the scar tissue, manually, and I felt all of that, too. I just wanted a healthy baby; cervix be damned. But it just wasn't opening, so they rushed me in for a C-section. Apparently, he was practically knocking at the door. Kash was pulled out at 8:33 a.m. August 26, 2017. He is as limitless as the sky.
• I feel like exactly the kind of person I never wanted to be, having written only two posts here about him. I have spent just as much time marveling over his milestones as I did with Ro. But working full time with two small children? It's a wonder any of us are still alive, let alone documenting anything. Let me say that the entire time I was pregnant and rejected by Ro, I would hold my belly and say "please be mine. please be mine." And he does make me feel very appreciated.
• My MIL and Madelyn were watching Ro while I was trying to recover from the surgery and learn how to nurse this kid and make it from day to day in the hospital. Jon ended up having to stay home with Ro, who couldn't bear to be without him. My mom stayed with me in the hospital and would get up and go downstairs to work every day. I was doped up and they'd give me the baby in the middle of the night to feed--one time I caught myself nodding off. What if I had dropped him? Cue the exponential surge in anxiety. Those post-partum days were trying times, y'all.
• Guess what? Even though I didn't push to deliver Kash, the sheer widening of my pelvis to make room for him to grow messed with the ligament holding it together and it separated. Again! Hello, old friends physical therapy and the walker! 
• October 2017: We FINALLY got a handle on our Garbage yard. We got the front and back leveled and re-seeded by professionals.
• Jon turned 40 on Halloween 2017. I had presented him with a baby on his 36th birthday, and just grew him another, so I didn't think I needed to top that. He flew out to LA for a World Series Dodger game the day before his birthday (he saw them win) with one of his BFFs. Unfortunately they didn't win the whole thing, but he was back home in time to celebrate with his birthday twin.
• Ro wanted to dress as a witch for her birthday/Halloween. And she wanted another "jumping party." This time the theme was Sofia the First--the best princess of all, in the collective opinion of Ro, Kash and myself.
• There was a terrible fire in California, and the place where Baby's ashes were laid burned to the ground. I was much more sad than I expected. The cross remained standing, though.
• Ro and Kash met Santa at Kohl's. Ro wouldn't talk to Santa, let alone sit on anyone's lap, but after hemming and hawing, she got within 10 feet and practically whispered that she wanted an Elsa Barbie-like doll. Kash was his jolly self and bestowed smiles upon everyone in the store.
• We traveled to Ohio to spent Christmas with Jon's family at SIL m's house. It was really nice, and the kids did fairly well on the seven-hour drive back and forth. Ro had a blast with her cousin, Declan.
• I interviewed for a higher position at my employer. I did not get it. Jon moved to a different team in our company.
• We had a crazy amount of snow in February 2018. Jon threw Ro into a snowbank almost half as tall as he is. She sunk into the fluffy stuff and screamed with delight.
• My brother had been a bit...lax, shall we say, about checking in on his pacemaker. On Valentine's Day, 2018, he had to have heart surgery to replace it and have the new one attached to his heart. It was discovered that 36 years of stress from irregular bloodflow, 11 open-heart surgeries and living life, his liver has developed cardiac-induced cirrhosis. A week before this, a pipe in the unit above his apartment burst and destroyed his entire place. He moved in with us while his apartment was cobbled back together.
• In March I got pinkeye, then had a severe reaction to the medicine given to me by urgent care. My face swelled to Hitch  proportions, so much that I could hardly see, my eyes were smashed almost shut. I missed Angel07's '70s birthday bash, which sucked because I enjoy disco.  
• I interviewed for another position at my employer. I did not get it, either.
• Ro went to my friend's daughter's unicorn-themed birthday and rode a pony disguised as a unicorn. With all her heart, she believes she met a real unicorn. I'm hoping to let that slide for as long as possible.
• This was the year most of my friends and I turn 40. Several years ago, joking around, we talked about all going to Greece for our fortieth birthdays. The planners that they are, they actually made it happen. The gems that Jon and my mother are, they made it possible so I could go, leaving my 3.5y and 7m children for 14 days. I took off in May 2018. I am so eternally grateful for not having missed that opportunity to bond with my friends and take a severely needed mental break.
• I carried both a manual and electric breastpump through three countries and pumped/dumped everywhere from the beach to the club. I would be damned if my vacation was the end of my ability to produce food for my kid. I was worried Kash would reject me when I came home and steeled myself for the possibility, but he was very happy to see me. As was Ro. Thank goodness.
• Work stress escalated to new heights. There was a lot of drama that I thought would have been resolved while I was out on maternity leave, but in a shocking development, it had been left, festering, at my feet when I returned. I meticulously cleaned up that dumpster fire, then desperately tried to get away from my boss within the company. I finally realized that wow, I *am* competent, and even actually kind of good at this job. Imagine! My "work wife" and I managed to get onto another team, which came with new challenges.
• My brother invited us to Cubs Family Day at Wrigley Field on June 26, 2018. Kash was just learning to crawl, and he managed to army crawl on the actual field. Ro ran the bases but she was more excited about the inflatable jumping contraption. We have photos from the dugout that will last a lifetime.
• My dad *finally* relented and got rid of the hideous, overgrown evergreen trees in front of my childhood home (which had probably been there since 1978). Now the kids look forward to playing on the extra-wide stoop/sidewalk when the weather is warm. They can't play at our house because #mosquitoes.
• My cousin and her family came to visit from Singapore. We took the week to be tourists in our own area (Chicago is the best city in the world) and had so much fun at the Arboretum, Millennium Park, the Museum of Science and Industry, Shedd Aquarium, Brookfield Zoo, IKEA, the waterpark, all kinds of restaurants and playing around at home. I wish our families lived closer.
• Jon arranged for a few friends to do a cool escape room for my birthday as a surprise. Unfortunately we didn't beat it but it was fun. I would love to do another of those. He may have even ordered a bunch of random locks and stuff in the hopes of opening his own escape room...
• Little man turned one in August 2018: It was baseball-themed and I was a mess. I stayed up almost all night painting a comparable refrigerator box as Dodger Stadium with Kash's "stats" on the big screen (I had made a similar painting of the Emerald City for Ro's first birthday). We rented a park pavilion and a lot of the guests arrived before we did, with the food. But I think people still had fun. There were water balloons and so much Cubs-cake frosting all over the baby.
• Ro took gymnastics at the park district. She would not participate. I had to do the moves with her on the floor (sometimes moving her arms and legs for her), and she did not warm up until the last week of the second session, when she was all about it. But she could do all of the tumbling perfectly at home. Apparently those age ranges reference social readiness as well as physical capabilities.
• My old team banded together and ousted my old boss to another area where she would not have any direct reports, kind of like a coup. The person who had filled in for me while I was on maternity leave with Ro was promoted to her position. I can't help but wonder if the boss realized that she backed the horse that would kick her.
• My brother rented out his boss's brand-new bar for my 40th birthday. I curated a '90s hip-hop playlist that was appreciated by a surprising number of people. The paint was barely dry in the bar, but we closed that sucker down. And apparently the bartender was very generous and my friends--many of whom got babysitters for the evening--were not accustomed to drinking that much. We moved to a nearby hotel bar and closed THAT one out as well. I still hear about some of the subsequent hangovers.
• Ro wanted to be Sofia the First for her birthday. I ordered a beautiful costume as soon as it became clear I wasn't going to be able to make anything that year, not even four hours' sleep in a row. Her jumping party theme was Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles.
• Work really went off the rails. Without belaboring the details, senior leadership hired a consulting firm to basically blow up everything I had designed and implemented for the previous six years...except it wasn't actually broken but working quite efficiently, as we proved time and again. And yet, when we pointed out the flaws in their plans, one of those jerks had the audacity to say "It doesn't matter that you don't want to do this, your CEO signed off on it." Clearly he didn't care about improving the business; they were going to take their money and bounce. Their proposal was for two people (myself and work wife) to essentially move the equivalent of the leaning tower of Pisa from one end of the yard to the other, brick by brick. But it would still be leaning and not improved much at all. We took our concerns up the chain and were told "it's dumb, but we have to do it" and that contracts had been signed. The consultants estimated it could all be completed by two dedicated people within three days. It took these two people more than 500 hours to do it over a three-week period, and I was still fixing it for months afterward . The deadline? October 31. I pushed and pushed and got it extended all the way to November 1. I worked more than 100 hours those weeks. I worked overnight October 30, because I didn't want to miss my baby girl's and husband's birthday. The consultants sat in my cubicle and wouldn't leave because #deadline. I got to the bakery at 7:02pm, begging them to unlock the doors so I could pick up birthday cakes. I missed trick-or-treating. I missed seeing them dressed up. I pretty much missed her entire fourth birthday. The adults didn't even have dinner because they were all waiting for me and it was simply too late. It was too late for too many things. I don't know that Jon will ever forgive me. But by that point I was so brain-dead, I didn't have the mental capacity to realize I should have just gotten up and left. That the expectations were beyond ridiculous. I got my resume out instead.
• Ro started ballet and tap class. She participated! A little. She says she "loves ballet," but I think the real thrill is seeing her dad or my mom or me through the window, watching her.
• Kash became obsessed with any kind of sports. But mostly BASEBALL! And when someone says "Go Cubs!" he loves to yell "NO! I SAID GO DODGERS!" Jon is over the moon. Ro roots for the Cubs. Sports makes people do strange things.
• February 4, 2019. I interviewed outside the company and didn't hear back. I thought they ghosted me. I accepted that I was staying and that staying was probably for the best.
• My brother bought a house eight minutes away from us in May 2019. It is the same raised-ranch layout as our house, short one bathroom and one bedroom. It has a deck AND a patio. And a garden. It's adorable and so much space for him. We are planning on crashing there while we sell our house. I have been taking one ball from the ball pit he gifted my children and leaving it hidden somewhere in his house, every time we come over. Eventually, he will have all of them, squirreled away under his bed, in his pantry, in the liquor cabinet...
• Jon is dedicated to making our home the "smartest" around. I swear, every piece of electronic gear is synced with a smarthome device, or motion detector, or app or camera. It's very helpful with the children, but a hacker could look in on us anytime in nearly any room to see that we are just trying to get through the day like everybody else. And we don't seem to get tired of pizza.
• May 2019. The outside employer called to see if I still wanted the job. I told my current boss what the offer was and she took a day or so before saying they wouldn't counter offer. Message received. I gave my two weeks' notice and shocked everyone who assumed I'd be a lifer. CC and I promised ourselves not to do that back at our first post-grad job in 2004.
• We hired a master gardener (my brother's BFF's wife's mom) to re-landscape our front yard. What a difference! She added hydrangeas, which I carried in my wedding bouquet. Of course, now that we are looking to move, I'm starting to warm up to this house.
• Ro adamantly doesn't want to play any sport but soccer, BECAUSE SOCCER IS HER FAVORITE. Jon turned on the Women's World Cup this summer and watched the U.S. take the title. Ro asked, "what is that on tv? Can I watch Moana instead?"
• Three months before what would have made16 years (on and off) at the organization, I took the leap to the new job. I'm so scared and a bit heartbroken. But not nearly as sad as when almost two weeks at the new gig went by without my talking to another human being out loud (just on instant messenger/email) outside of saying hello to the receptionist at the front door--then found out the old job already replaced me. I pray that I haven't made a mistake.

And here I am: Perched at the edge of a giant bed in a Grandstay Hotel in Wisconsin. Working on a certification for this new job. I'm alone and very lonely. I forced myself to stop in the tiny downtown near my hotel is and had ice cream for dinner sitting on a wrought-iron chair/table and peoplewatching, imagining a simpler time. Then I FaceTimed my family and felt sadder. Kash was reciting I Love You, Through and Through and I Am a Bunny to me because we've read them together so many times. Ro told me about all the fun they had with the sprinklers and the waterballoons at Nani's house and ran off to whatever she was playing. I wished Jon Godspeed and hung up.

I cobbled together what must've happened during the last few years by scrolling through photos on my phone. Now, more than ever, I can feel years--not just hours--whooshing past while I'm standing still, trying to process it all. I had a practical stranger re-create a photo of me taken in 2012 at this same training facility. Side by side, it is plain just how much I've gained in seven years. Weight. Wrinkles. Scars. Gray hair. Sorrows. Joy. Memories. Knowledge. Experience. Wisdom?

Is this what it's like to get old?


For old time's sake, check out this ancient post about parking, back when I didn't use capital letters.

no space for George Michael

It's 2 a.m. I just cobbled together a playlist of '90s hip-hop for what will be a party thrown for me a month and a day after my 40th birthday. By my brother. Got it in just under deadline, as usual.

He's renting the third floor of a new bar in suburbia (full disclosure: his old boss is a silent partner) and there will be free drinks and appetizers for the first two hours. I’m concerned about how much it’s going to cost, but I'll admit, the empanadas excite me more than the open bar. He has even gotten them to do a signature Cadiz drink, "The Hemingway," which is something like rum and grapefruit juice. All my friends who drink are in love with the Paloma, which I think is tequila and grapefruit juice. I haven't really drank much (not even in Greece) since 2012, and honestly? I don't really miss it all that much.

I am terrified of being overserved and turning into a wailing, sobbing mess. I am legitimately planning to nurse a single drink the entire night. Even though it'd be my party and I could cry--I just don't want to. I'd ruin the evening for my brother and the friends who love me enough to go to a renovated barn in the northwest suburbs to drink and try to figure out how to get home to their children safely.

My track record is this: Whatever my underlying mood is accentuated by 1000 with enough alcohol. Back in the day, I used to drink and dance. Often in 4-inch stacked heels. I found a pair recently and was aghast that I'd ever been able to climb stairs, let alone break it down until 4 a.m. wearing them at Zentra. Later, when there was way less dancing and we were drinking in people's living rooms, that coincided with my heart being smashed to smithereens, and I spent each night out (coerced into joining my friends) sobbing like a cartoon spoiled brat. I cringe just thinking about it. The crying was ugly at best and downright humiliating at worst. I will always cherish my friends for taking care of me. And I knew my husband was forever when he saw the worst of me and he didn't block my number.

It’s 3 a.m. The boy just woke up and stood at the railing of his crib, wailing. I went in there and walked around with him, listening to Terry Gross interview Jake Tapper. I probably stayed longer than I needed to because I would have to turn the podcast off when I went to lie down. Unfortunately, Ro sleeps between us, still, a little habit she picked up when she realized she could get out of her bed, open the door and come in. That coincided with the baby moving into her room. I don’t have enough wits about me to try and fight it. I’m sweeping up Cheerios and oven-roasted beets at 11:30 pm and trying to find a blouse I don’t have to iron at 7 am.

I took the baby for his 1-year appointment. He is marvelous, as expected. I filled out the depression screening I’d missed at 9 months because Jon had handled that one. I guess I didn’t pass because the pediatrician called to say perhaps I needed to talk to someone. Jon agreed, because he really doesn’t know what to say.

I can’t decide if things are not right or if I have some unrealistic expectation about how it’s *supposed* to be. I do wonder when it was that the bucket I carry around to hold my joy sprung so many leaks. I’ll call the person. We will see.

Kash is crying again. Maybe roasted root vegetables weren’t a good idea.

40

It really doesn't seem that long ago that I turned 30. In fact, I wrote about it. There was a whole lot of tumult back then; I had a fat mortgage I couldn't cover as a freelancer, Jon worked as a temp for the State of Illinois doing a job he was ridiculously overqualified for, my savings was circling the drain because we couldn't sell the dee-luxe apartment in the sky...but we were happy.

Now we have two magnificent children who on several occasions have made me turn to my husband and say, "THIS is how people get ponies." We live in a house with an overgrown yard (sorry passive/aggressive neighbors!), and we have decent jobs: I spend too much time either doing, talking or thinking about mine and Jon pretty much solves problems all day at his. We have a circle of family and friends who give generously of their time and love. We have health. We have it all.

But in the middle of the night, or when I'm standing at the gas pump waiting for the tank to fill, or when I'm trying to help sleep catch hold of a small child by pacing and singing? That's when this idea sneaks up and throws a hood over my head: I'm failing. At everything. All the time.

I wonder what people who couldn't wait to see what I would grow up to accomplish would say about my being a midlevel "analyst" working 60 hours and being paid for 40 at a job that does help people but not nearly as many nor as much as I would have hoped. The weight of their imagined disappointment drags on me. I don’t have time for making art, my cooking skills are languishing. I had been trying to read The Immortal Life of Henrietta Lacks for exactly 46 months and finally admitted defeat: I moved it from my nightstand back onto the shelf. My kids' birthday parties are not Pinterest-worthy. My three-year-old often does not go to bed until 11 p.m., no matter how early we start the bedtime routine. I'm an old mom who works a lot, so I'm not interested in burning the precious little time I have with them in battle. The clutter in my house is breeding and we only replaced paper shades with real curtains just before our five-year houseiversary. We still do not have a wedding album, let alone baby books. I often cannot remember why i walked into a room. Or what I had for lunch two hours later. But! I know every word of the Sofia the First soundtrack. Being able to belt out “Bigger is Better” on command has got to be worth some extra credit.

Is this 40? Does this happen to everyone? Ri said, on her 40th birthday, that she "has never felt more healthy or vibrant in her entire life!" But I remember her climbing out her parents' window and smoking clandestine cigarettes on their roof while talking to me on her extra-long-corded phone in high school. Surely, she's not MORE vibrant now—while sleep-deprived from adulting and parenting small children—than at those moments? Is everyone just faking it till they make it? Or am I failing at that, too?

I spent the day trapped in meetings, save for a lovely hour on a rooftop bar with my closest coworker, who smuggled in a Nothing Bundt Cake for me, complete w a candle and the only book of matches in her whole house. We went back for the rest of the meetings, and I cut out early to get a pedicure with my mother and met up w the rest of the family for a nice dinner. Everyone took turns holding the squirrelly baby so I could eat my food when it was WARM. I call that an exceptional day.

This is forty.

she's three

Last year we did a party at the Pump It Up jumping place. It was divine, even though I was a bit overwhelmed as it was happening. My mother wasn't impressed and asked if we were going to do that again, with the underlying tone of "you're totally copping out on this party." Um, YES AND YES. On what planet are two sleep-deprived people going to have it together to execute a real party without underpaid teenagers running a very limited-time show?

Guess what? Ro LOVED it. She actually participated this year, instead of running away from any area populated by other humans, or demanding to be held by her father at all times (like last year). She had a fantastic time, and passed out in the car on the way home. She refuses to remove her paper wristband. And the whole thing was over in two hours. We are going to have one of these until she's 18 and can plan her own damn party.

improvising

The thing that solidified how much I loved the Jumping place where we had Ro's birthday party is this: The young people who work there saw that my homemade banner, which was actually recycled from her Wizard of Oz birthday party last year (and I intended to hang in her room, which has yet to be decorated), was missing one of the letters.

So they created a solution.

The "I" is made out of paper and taped onto the banner.

Good work, kids.

it was a jolly holiday

I'm not sure how I feel about putting Ro's photo out there so blatantly anymore. However, I want to show you that I slapped together a damn fine Mary Poppins costume on the evening of October 30. Again, my brain only activated at about 6 p.m. when everything brewing in my head the weeks before finally clicked:

• She inherited a nice wool coat.
• I found a lovely light, thin maroon scarf at the $5 store.
• Madelyn got her some nice, shiny "ladyshoes."
• I found some paisley fabric ("carpet" fabric is hella expensive!)--this was my only purchase--and made a "carpet bag" from scratch. She still wanted to carry the Halloween candy bag she got at daycare instead. 
• I sewed a parrot head out of felt.
• I took her lightweight Cubs baseball bat and a small styrofoam ball, then cut off a leg from my RAGGEDY old scrub pants and fashioned a feather-light umbrella.
• My crafty sister-in law, M, had made us a bunch of paper flower prototypes before our wedding (FIVE years ago), which I had saved. I sewed them to a very Mary Poppins-shaped hat, courtesy of my mom's sister in India (the hat was part of a very India's-take-on-a-western-dress ensemble. It's glittery.).
• I made a clip-on bow to put on the neckline of her white onsie top. 
• I sewed her a long circle skirt, also in navy. 
• I braided her hair on top of her head.

She's holding the "umbrella."

If only that bag had unlimited treasures like the real one did. 

You'll have to imagine what it looked like with the coat and scarf, but I thought it was pretty cute and nearly everyone figured out who she was supposed to have been (save for one lady who said My Fair Lady?)

I have to figure out what I want her to be next year...unless she decides to have her own opinion. But for now, she's all about Mary: this kid demands "A Spoonful of Sugar," "Supercalifragilick," or "Jolly Holiday" (her favorite) at least 10 times a day. But heaven help you if you substitute Ro's name in the lyrics when you sing along. "NO! MARY!"

"Practically perfect, in every way."

jump

My kid turned 2 on Halloween (the same day Jon turned 39). We dressed her up as Mary Poppins and took her around to four houses where she refused to say "Trick or Treat," and wasn't even much into the candy. But she did realize it was her birthday--AND DADDY'S--and really enjoyed the balloons and cake.

Everyone in our lives was annoying me about a birthday party. I was hoping to get away without one this year, because, well, she's TWO. But after it seemed we would be having a series of dinner parties for which the house needed to be presentable and a meal/entertaining would be necessary for each, i booked a Jump Around/Bouncehouse/Pump Up place. They decorate, serve the kids food/drink and let them play their hearts out on all this inflatable equipment and other crazy toys. What's not to love? And the entire thing is completely done in two hours.

They have the system down to a science.

Ro is coming out of her shell. She was confused about why it was her birthday again, especially because I had just reinforced that "every day is not your day" and "this present is for someone else; you don't get to open presents every day" 72 hours prior to her party. But she went with it, and had a blast.

I was almost paralyzed by sensory overload. I think in my old age, I'm losing the ability to retain focus in any situation whatsoever. Perhaps it's because I don't sleep anymore. I felt a little shellshocked when it was over.

remarkable

Today I celebrated cc's birthday with her for the first time in YEARS. She's always traveling so one week she's in Turks & Caicos and the next she's in Newfoundland, Canada. Jet-setting around isn't quite as glamorous as it sounds, but it does sound exciting.

Ro stayed at her grandparents, where she dropped a deuce in the potty for the very first time. While I was sad that I wasn't there, it's likely it would not have happened under my watch anyway. It breaks my heart that my mother and the daycare lady are potty-training my child (for the most part). It adds to the guilt pile I have tied around my neck, slowing down every step.

Life is much shorter than any of us really care to recognize, while we have it. CC took a leap of faith and I pray that it brings her all the happiness she deserves. We should all be so brave.

in front of the lens

Today was a gorgeous day. November 5 and it's 71 degrees in the Chicago area? Wow.

And what wonderful timing that my former colleague who shoots portraits as a side hustle was free to meet us in a forest preserve and capture the three of us with purpose for the first time since those photographers who sucker you into giving them all your money in the hospital when you're still delirious from baby-hormone-joy.

Because there's no time like the last minute, I spent most of the morning tearing through my closet for better clothes to wear than I had originally planned, taking badly angled photos and texting them to the world for advice. Then I raced to the store and bought four more things that didn't work out. Per pp, in her infinite fashion wisdom, I ended up going with an sweater and skirt I've had for years but had never thought to put together.

Ro was fantastic. She just wanted to run and run, kicking leaves and sliding like a base-stealer in the mud. She got to eat a sucker, too, which always makes for a red-letter day. Those gray tights had their moment in the autumn sun, but are possibly too far gone to ride again.

Later, she ran around even more at Kaiya's birthday party, where we all made tortellini under the instruction of her boyfriend, who happens to be a chef. Delicious! It wasn't that far off from making samosas, so I may have had a leg up on everyone else. He said I was ready to open my own pasta shop. Flattery, flattery.

It was really nice to see some of my oldest friends. Highcon is moving back to Chicago, and brought his main squeeze for us to meet. Ri and C's mini posse was running circles around the house with Ro. The wine was flowing. The salted-caramel-mousse cake was scrumptious. There was elderberry infused into the water and Cheerios ground into the carpet.

A lovely day, through and through.

i have seen the Wizard and he is wondrous

When I put in the order for Ro's birthday cake, and asked them to decorate it with a long view of The Emerald City, I was THIS CLOSE to having the inscription read:

"WE MADE IT, BITCHES."

Apologies to my cuss-sensitive readers, but I needed the emphasis. I went with "Happy 1st Birthday, Ro." The "we made it" sentiment will just have to roll down my face as I gaze upon her sitting in front of the cake in her grandma-made Dorothy costume with her plush Toto stuffed in a basket.

You know what we've been through, guys. This week will always be a bittersweet one. The first baby's due date was November 2, 2013. We laid her ashes to rest on October 29, 2013. And then we have our Rainbow Baby (this is an actual term for the one who lives after one who has been lost), Ro, who was born on her father's 37th birthday, a year ago tomorrow.

***

I took a week off of work to prep for this party, because this is MY PARTY, and I have come close to tears on multiple occasions, as is my RIGHT. Ro has no clue what's going on--she does refer to the dog as "Dodo," and will tolerate the ruby slipper slip-on shoecovers for a short time, but the cake, the balloons, the ridiculous mural painted on the side of an old refrigerator box; the pennant-style banner that I made with one-too-few letters and then had a mini freakout about? All that crap is for me. This is the pretend-Pinterest party that I had been thinking about all those months with her kicking inside of me, worrying that she may show up too early and not come home with us just like the first one.

No one else knows that terrifyingly disgusting feeling of water breaking too soon, the cerclage tied so tightly that what little walking I could do I did with a hobble, the horse-gauge needles stuck into my backside every seven days, and having to lie down and pray that the weekly ultrasound was going to say things were holding steady.

Medical people can conceptualize a pubic symphysis, but like my physical therapist, Kay, said (as she decided to treat me herself the first day she came to evaluate me and assign me to someone else) nobody can understand the agony of a separated pelvis like someone who's done it themselves (she did it running a marathon). Worse was the useless, helpless feeling you get when all you can do for your child is to sit in bed or a couch and desperately try to figure out nursing while your husband, mother-in-law and mom bring the baby to you and take her away to do all the diapering, bathing, walking around and other stuff you wish you could do. And it murders your hormonal heart when you go through all that to get the baby and she doesn't want much to do with you.

All that said, the scary pregnancy, the fiery hoops I had to somersault through, the horrible after-delivery recovery and post-partum rage (not officially diagnosed, but now that I'm far enough away from it, I'm pretty sure that's what I had)--ALL OF THAT was a cakewalk compared to how emotionally treacherous it was for me to go back to work and find I had to work twice as hard in two thirds of the time.

***

This is not to say that I think I had it any worse than any other parent. We all have our struggles. I have SO MUCH HELP, you guys. Seriously. My friends came to see me with food and love and support while I was on bedrest and when I was stuck at home. My mother-in-law came on the day after Ro was born and stayed to help for 12 days. My parents still come over every day. And my husband, he had to do much more than the average dad at the beginning. He does a lot more than the average guy today, too. Granted, he should be doing a lot for his own kid, but that doesn't mean it's not appreciated. I would never have dreamed to make it through nearly two years without all these people.

So we are having a party. I know I have bitten off more than I can chew. This week "off" was a lot harder than the usual working week. But I'm doing it for the 21-months-ago me, the 19-months-ago me, the 17-months-ago me, the 12-months-ago me, who didn't know if heartbreak was once again on the horizon, and especially the 3-6-months ago me, who didn't know if I could hold it together for another single minute, let alone months and years.

We made it, BITCHES.

uncle

Long before I had any babies, long before I got married, long before I even met Jon, I told you that I will teach my children to address you with the Hindi honorific for mother's brother: Mama. It doesn't sound correct in the U.S., where a lot of kids call their mothers "Momma," but I am beholden to tradition, and you're not just some chump off the street that our people would call "Uncle." You hated that idea. Feet were virtually stomped. Voices were raised. There may have even been a threat to teach my children any number of foul words if I made good on my promise.

February 12, 2015. Ro: 3.5 months, Brother 32.5 years.

And what has happened? She is tangible now. You've been looking into her eyes for the last ten months. Today, she could call you "boogerface doodyhead" and you'd still try to get the moon for her. She tries to say your proper name, brother, even if she can only manage the first syllable right now. And while the photo she likes to kiss most is her own (as well as any mirror she encounters), she finds yours the second-most kissable. The rest of us--you know, the ones who wake up with her in the middle of the night, handle her excrement-filled diapers and sing 40-animal-verses of Old McDonald at a time in hopes she will sleep--are still waiting for our photos to be so blessed.

That she does. May 17, 2015. Ro: 6.5 months.

I used to tell people I had an idea what it was like to be a parent because of the way I have always loved you. And now I can confirm that I was mostly right--the only thing missing with you was the gripping terror that I might do something to screw you up (that was for mom and dad to worry about). The first time Ro looked at me, kissed my face and said "Mommy" was the most amazing thing I have ever experienced. But every time I look over and see you holding her, with so much love between the two of you, my heart threatens to burst. Sappy. So, so sappy. And sloppy. But real. 

Being a Mama looks good on you. My wish for you is to find the fulfillment that you so very much deserve in all parts of your life. Happy birthday, brother.

37

Good God, where does the time go? Someone told me about parenthood, "the days are long but the years are short." Holy mango lassi, Batman, is that true. Time is just blowing by SO DAMN FAST.

Some days I'm so overwhelmed by all that I should be doing better that I don't have time to enjoy beautiful little things, like my nine-month-old (!) looking at me and saying "Hey, baby." It's true, "baby" was her first word. "Hey" followed soon after. Then "ball" and "go" and today she started saying "oh boy." She is also crawling like a maniac and pulling herself up on furniture and feeding herself with only 30 percent of dinner falling on the floor. Progress.

Ro cries for us at 1 a.m. on the dot every single night. And she has since she turned four months old (she slept through the night from newborn until four months). As somebody who cherishes morning sleep more than your average night owl, saying I don't mind waking up with her earlier than 7 a.m. is truly saying something. Jon and I actually compete to be there when she opens her eyes, because morning smiles are worth whatever metal is more precious than platinum.

***

It's tough to work full time and feel like a good mom. GUILT. However, no matter how you slice the money, we would be homeless if one of us didn't work. GUILT. The daycare lady who watches her is amazing, and my mom picks her up at 2 p.m. every day so she has grandparents time before Jon and I come home. That makes me feel a little better, but also makes it easier for me to get stuck at work later.

Jon and I work at the same place now. He gave me a birthday card designed for a coworker. I liked it better than a treacly one designed for a wife.

I usually don't talk about work, but I can't talk about life right now without mentioning that my truly horrible, miserable moments have all revolved around fear and self-doubt surrounding work (not to say there haven't been some rough mommy moments, too; these are just worse). It's a career that does not come easily to me--I've mentioned before that it's like being in a neverending calculus class, and I purposely majored in something for which statistics was the only math requirement. That said, I like the job. I just wish I were doing something my brain was designed for (I had been, until that industry went kaput, and I had a mortgage to pay).

When I was on maternity leave, they hired someone to the team who rocks the job as if she were born to do it. Two weeks after I got back they said we were both up for the same promotion; me having been there for three years and she having been there for three months. I'm not going to lie: That stung a little. Then they said they could only promote one of us. So the pressure is tremendous to step up my game while taking breaks to pump, getting very little sleep and refusing to work 75 hours a week anymore. On top of it all, someone else quit and we're all in over our heads with workload. I do think I would be better suited for a leadership role than what I'm currently doing, but I'm not sure what they're looking for me to do to get there. Besides, it was very clear while I was gone that I am perfectly replaceable. This whole thing has been stressful, but helped me to see that you can love a job, but it won't love you back. A family, however, will love you back in spades. But you do need money to give your family all that they deserve...

***

I spend my time worrying about all this crap, and then I come home and watch my kid splash in the bath, try to say "ducky" after I say "ducky" and come crawling up and pull my pant leg as I am doing the dishes. And when I look into her eyes I see that I am necessary and useful. There is a good chance that even though I spent a lot of it paranoid and overwhelmed, I will look back upon this year as the best I've ever had.

this really happened

When I got pregnant, I thought, "Is this really happening?"

When I was on bedrest, I thought, "Is this really happening?"

When I made it past, 12, 20, 24, 28, 32, 35, 37 and 40 weeks of gestation, I thought, "Is this really happening?"

When the doctor said to me, "I'm stripping your membranes, if you don't go into labor on your own, come in tomorrow and we'll induce you," I thought, "Is this really happening?"

When Jon was driving me to the hospital on Halloween (his birthday), I thought, "Is this really happening?"

When the contractions really started and I found myself yelling, "MOMMY! MOMMY!" in the delivery room, I thought, "Is this really happening?"

When they (sorry, TMI) put up a mirror so I could see what was going on, and I saw so much hair that did not belong to me, I thought, "Thank God she's not bald. But seriously, is this really happening?"

When they put her on my chest, and she didn't really even have any of the goo you see on TV newborns, and I saw her little face and felt her soft, soft skin, I looked among what seemed like 40 extra people rushing around in my room for my husband and my mother. I said, out loud to no one in particular as I looked down at our baby girl, "Is this REAL?"

Yep.

Meet Ro. As I had been saying all along, she stayed cooking for 40 weeks (and one day). Her father calculated it out, and she was born something like 36 years and 20 minutes after he was. 

I had been utterly deluded when making the long list of things I hoped to accomplish while on maternity leave--which included putting together my wedding album, knitting 14 sweaters and regularly posting on this blog. I apologize for leaving the two of you who still read it hanging all this time. I missed you!

 

For three months, all I did was cuddle this person. And occasionally eat and shower. But that's it.

Unfortunately, it's already been 12 weeks and I have to go back to work. Ro starts daycare in less than eight hours, which means I should be in bed so I can get everything ready for our big day (and try not to soak up the entire box of Kleenex I got for the occasion before we head out the door). Of course, that means I am here posting for the first time in three months instead of sleeping.

While it's unbelievable that some things actually really happen, it's just as unbelievable that other things never seem to change.

Brother. It is a little ironic that the one celebration that you could/wanted to spend with us on your actual birthday in a very, very long time didn't end up happening because I got scared and went to the hospital. I feel bad that you were hanging around near the restaurant for hours was while I was hooked up to monitors trying to figure out if those contractions were real and if I was leaking amniotic fluid (not really and no, everything turned out to be fine; it just took a really long time to confirm).

As much as you would never admit it, I know it's going to be different when this baby comes. Your wants and needs have been first priority for so much of the past three decades--how could they not? I don't resent you for it; I worry about you as much as mom and dad do. I know you have been wiggling out from under the parental blanket of concern for a long time, and you've done an exceptional job proving that you are your own man who can handle your own business. We don't need to worry, but it's not something we can turn off.

It has been tremendously hard for me the past few months to be the person that isn't allowed to help, can't even get up from a chair without extreme difficulty and is basically at the mercy of everyone else. The biggest lesson I've learned during the last few years is that apparently I can't control everything, which was clear to you since you were just a baby. It's probably just as hard for you to now be the one worrying, waiting for a call that everything is ok...or not. We've both done a lot of growing up in the last few years.

Happy Birthday.

36

So here I am, on *this* side of 35.
And here we are, on *this* side of 4 a.m.

***

I've never been melancholy on my birthday, but during the last few months I've found myself at the top of the world, taking in a deep breath of gratitude...then BAM, I get a glimpse of the straight drop ahead and my stomach is suddenly in my throat. I guess the only nice thing about emotional rollercoasters is that if you (and your understanding family) can ride it out, you're back on an even keel soon enough.

Last week, Syar turned 26. Do you guys remember when she was a precocious 16-year-old commenting here with all the wisdom and wit of a much more experienced person? Then how we blinked twice and now she's a grownup lady? It's so crazy how much she has grown but stayed the same. And how I feel like I know her, yet never have met her. Oh, blogs.

***

My mom has always taken the day off work on my birthday. I never understood why, especially when I still had to go to school. I mean, if she can't hang out with me--and this day is all about me, after all--then what's the point? Even now, 36 years later, she took the day to be home, cooking and shopping and who knows what else while I was dealing with conference calls and frantic instant-messenger requests and mounting email, attempting to solve problems.

But now that I may get to bring somebody new into the world, I kind of get it: My mother might just want a day to herself to think. Maybe remember all the stuff before I showed up and what she had to go through to get me out and all she had to do to make sure I even made it to 36. I wonder if 36 years from now I might take my child's birthday off to think about these months of bed rest and no carbs and having to walk around like an 96-year-old and only going to the store once a month (if they have a scooter/wheelchair). And how it makes my damn day every single time this baby kicks me to show me that she's doing ok so I don't freak out. Is it possible to believe you have a great kid even before you've met her?

People kept asking me what I had planned for today, and honestly, there was only one thing I can say for certain. There will be ice-cream cake. There is always ice-cream cake. It'll be one sad, sorry August 14 when my mom isn't around and there won't be ice-cream cake. It just doesn't taste as good any other day. I'm sure I don't have to tell you that she didn't disappoint.

***

In general, I have a pretty low threshold for decision-making. You know, decision fatigue, when you are supposed to be making a lot of important choices in a row, but the weight of all that deciding has piled up on you so you are standing in front of the refrigerator, paralyzed and frustrated because you JUST DON'T KNOW WHAT TO EAT. Just choose! Whatever you want! It doesn't matter, just pick something! Like, now! You haven't decided? Hurry up! Everyone is waiting on you! I feel like the world is my refrigerator with its French doors flung open to reveal thousands of delicious choices, and everyone is demanding that I make up my mind RIGHT NOW. Except I can't make my mind do anything at all, let alone make that final choice between spaghetti and soup. Because what if I take a bite of spaghetti and immediately realize I should have gone with the soup? Doesn't the world understand that scenario is a risk I'm just not willing to take?

What scares me is that I am soon going to have to make hundreds of decisions a day for a person incapable of holding up her own head. And I'm sure that by the time I actually figure out how to comfortably make those choices, she won't want me to decide anything for her anymore.

***

Being alone all the time is getting to me. All day, every day. Thank God for conference calls.

I hate to be alone. I would certainly be one of those people who were asked to sit in a room with an electrical shocking device for 15 minutes with their thoughts who ended up shocking themselves to avoid having to be alone with their thoughts for 15 minutes.

It doesn't matter if the other people are somewhere else in the house doing their own thing and not interacting with me at all; just knowing they aren't far is good enough. I used to lie awake at night in my dorm room, only able to fall asleep when I heard my roommate's key in the door. Perhaps that was because I worried she'd be jumped on the way home from the library, but still.

***

I just spent 15 minutes trying to put a cover on one of those snuggly, noodly pillow things that pregnant ladies cuddle in order to sleep for more than 10 minutes at a time. About three-quarters of the way through that ordeal, I realized the thing already had a cover on it, which is probably why it was so difficult.

Pregnancy brain is real, people. And at this age, I don't think I will ever get my wits back.

5-22-13

The death of your baby is certainly not something to celebrate. But it was the day of her birth, too. And it doesn't seem fitting to just go about life like she never happened. So I came home with a cinnamon cake.

***

Now that the newest bump is too big to hide, I've had many well wishers ask if this is my first baby. Is it? I don't think so, but I'm not entirely sure what to say. I mean, I went through the entire delivery process (I wasn't going to get to keep the kid, so I went for the epidural), even if I never got to hear her cry. Does the second child--who was gone from a chromosome defect pretty much right after we realized there was even someone in there--count? Those are the things that go through my mind when I'm silently nodding, Yes, it's my first child. These people are sharing their good wishes; it'd be cruel to bring them down.

***

I hadn't heard that John Legend song "All of Me," until I was pregnant. I don't know if it's the hormones or what, but I cry every time I hear it.

***

My brother has had a tougher past year than we have, if you can believe that. Everything that could go wrong, pretty much did. I try my very best to be supportive, but one time when he got really, really down, I yelled at him instead. There are so many kids out there born with a heart defect that don't make it. And he has had to fight every second of every day, but he got to be a grown man. For him to just roll over after all that would be a slap in the face to all those other kids who never got the opportunity to live.

***

Jon's sisters gave me a necklace to remember Baby with a footprint charm, an emerald pendant and a gold piece stamped "5-22-13." I haven't taken it off since the day I got it.

***

My mother remembered that I had been so sad when my dad let the siding-replacement people cut down the beautiful clematis plant that had grown nearly all the way to the roof on an airplane-cable trellis. She got me the same kind--and made sure we could take it with us if we ever move.

***

 
I shouldn't be pregnant right now. Hell, I shouldn't have been pregnant three times in one calendar year. Instead, I should be sleep deprived, changing my daughter's diapers and watching her roll over. I am terrified that something is going to happen to this baby, too. But at the same time, I'm beyond excited. I can't wait to be sleep deprived. I am dying to watch my child blink, smile or roll over. But I won't forget. I am pretty sure that when the son or daughter growing inside me today (and any future children) even think about giving up, I will remind them how lucky they are to be alive. Their sister never got the chance.

***

Thank you all, for your continued love and support.

Today was our baby's due date.

I've been looking so long at these pictures of you
That I almost believe that they're real
I've been living so long with my pictures of you
That I almost believe that the pictures are all I can feel

 

Remembering you standing quiet in the rain
As I ran to your heart to be near
And we kissed as the sky fell in, holding you close
How I always held close in your fear

 

Remembering you running soft through the night
You were bigger, brighter and whiter than snow
Screamed at the make believe, screamed at the sky
And you finally found all your courage to let it all go

 

Remembering you fallen into my arms
Crying for the death of your heart
You were stone white, so delicate lost in the cold
You were always so lost in the dark

 

Remembering you, how you used to be
Slow drowned you were angels, so much more than everything
Hold for the last time then slip away quietly
Open my eyes but I never see anything

 

If only I'd thought of the right words
I could have held on to your heart
If only I'd thought of the right words
I wouldn't be breaking apart all my pictures of you

 

Looking so long at these pictures of you
And never hold on to your heart
Looking so long for the words to be true
And always just breaking apart, my pictures of you

 

There was nothing in the world that I ever wanted more
Than to feel you deep in my heart
There was nothing in the world that I ever wanted more
Than to never feel the breaking apart, my pictures of you

The Cure

Oh, and for the eighth year, I'll be doing NaBloPoMo this month.

reversal

I have been working in a hospital on and off for more than a third of my life. I'm used to the noises and the fluorescent lighting and the terse whispering and the weary-looking eyes of nearly everyone there. And unfortunately I have spent way too many hours in hospital waiting rooms. But when I found myself sitting on a cart in Emergency Department Pod A trying to wrap my mind around the fact that my water broke 23 weeks too early, I went sort of numb--and all I could think about was my brother.

Is this what it felt like for him all those endless mornings at 4 a.m. when he was getting prepped for surgery? When everyone was bending over backwards to make him smile or be comfortable and nothing really worked but he pretended that it did work just to make them feel like they were helping? Did it hurt him this much every time a nurse went digging around for an IV? Did his muscles cramp up like this? Was it just as annoying to have to drag a beeping pole to the bathroom while holding the back of a gown closed? How did he lie like this for WEEKS at a time? I was only there for three days. Oh my God it must have been so much worse for him. HOW did he endure this? How did he not complain more? How did he get through this over and over, so many times? I just wanted to see his face.

But I couldn't call him. He was in St. Louis, probably sitting at his desk toggling between work and ESPN. He was looking forward to holding his niece or nephew someday. Making plans to indoctrinate the child to root for Chicago teams despite the kid having 50% Los Angeles DNA. I kept picturing his expression on the FaceTime when I told him I was pregnant (he was the first person I wanted to tell)--usually so stingy with his smiles, he was absolutely beaming. It had been a tough time and it was nice to give him something to be happy about. A few days later, I got a text picture of him holding a friend's newborn and he looked so happy. I could just picture what a tremendous uncle he will be. For years I have said my children will call him the Hindi name for Mother's Brother: "Mama," and he has threatened all kinds of bodily harm if I made good on that promise. But as soon as he heard there was going to be a Baby, I was certain he would love my kid more than anything in the world--even if she called him "dookieface." This news was absolutely going to break his heart. If I could delay that in any way, I was going to.

A few hours into my stay, Jon and I were trying to decide how to tell the doctors we weren't going to listen to their stern recommendations. I decided it was time to call my brother. I gathered my composure and picked up my phone.

"Shut up, I'm already on the road."

I don't allow myself to think about what was going through my husband's mind on the 40-min drive to the Emergency Room, and I don't want to know what that five-hour drive was like for my brother. Jon has since said that anytime he sees someone frantically overtaking people on the road, he imagines them worried and rushing to a loved one, so he just gets out of the way.

Jon never left my side for more than a few minutes throughout the entire ordeal. My mom and dad were on the other side of my hospital bed. And then my brother burst into the room. Things did not magically get better. We were still helpless and losing our child. But when I looked around and saw that my team was complete, I finally let out a breath.

Many times I have tried to explain how I feel about my brother. Maybe everyone thinks of their siblings this way, I don't know, but making sure he's ok has simply always been a life requirement. I remember tiptoeing into his room at 3 a.m. to see that he was still breathing when I was 10. He came to visit me in Champaign after he got his drivers license, and on the way home his car broke down on an unlit stretch of Interstate 57 at Sauk Trail; the sheriff lit some flares and just left him there. My then-boyfriend couldn't understand why I was pacing around in tears thinking about my brother, scared and alone, waiting for hours after the flares went out for my parents to get there. And I cried just as much as our mother did at his college graduation.

I feel like an overbearing just-as-bad-as-mom who lectures and worries and causes the biggest eyerolls imaginable. Most of the time, I probably am. However, my brother dropped everything, threw together a bag, jumped into his car and drove 282 miles just to be in the same room as me and all he said was, "How could I NOT be here? You are my sister."

People say that you don't know what it's truly like to care about another person's wellbeing until you have a child. Having had one--albeit very briefly--I agree. But I think I already had a pretty good idea.

Happy Birthday, brother.

9/9

Today is our beautiful nephew Declan's first birthday. Just 366 days ago we were hoping to get a glimpse of the guy. And for the last 365, people all over the country eagerly await each photo update and hope for the briefest chance to hold him. A curious little man, he's crawling at top speed, tasting everything that's cold and shiny, and climbing stairs. They're taking him to his first professional football game (San Diego Chargers) to celebrate. As far as I can tell, he's having a blast. I'm sure Uncle Jon approves.

Today is also the 92nd birthday of my Godmother's mom. Everyone knows her as Ma. She's sweet and vibrant, and she can hang with the multiple energetic great grandchildren she watches during the week. She made me her time-consuming family recipe, Methi Laddu (Fenugreek bars full of all kinds of nutritious stuff that's helpful for post-delivery moms) to help me get strong after Baby. She added extra sugar to cover up the bitter taste, and I ate every last one.

I realize I have been saying it lately--maybe I'm just getting old-- but it's amazing how quickly the time goes tripping along.

Here is Declan last February, finally big-ish enough for his raccoon costume.

Declan at 4 months.

35

All year I've been telling Jon how much I cannot wait until 2013 is over. Lots and lots of bad news this year, from Jon's grandfather passing, to the highs and extreme lows of our pregnancy and even losing out on what we'd hoped for months was our very own new home because the bank wouldn't turn on the gas and water for a full inspection.

But then I got to thinking: The year *technically* begins for a person on their birthday, right?

So maybe I don't have to wait until January 1. Maybe my fresh start for good news can begin today, when I've completed 35. Perhaps my 36th year will bring more good news than bad.

Here's a start: Last week we closed on a house.

Madelyn will get her own room. With a door (not a dining room with a be-sheeped flannel bedsheet tacked to the ceiling). And a window. We will have multiple bathrooms so people who need to urinate will not have to dance around until the room is available. And we will have a yard with big tall trees.

One thing the house had to offer that it will most CERTAINLY not be around when we move in? A room with two green walls and two gold walls that had a strip of Green Bay Packer border going all around the room.

The first thing we did after we closed on the house was rip that junk down. Coincidentally, I was dressed for the occasion. 

Go Bears.

While we loved living in downtown Chicago, Jon and I are suburban people, through and through. He's been dreaming about having a garage for tools and sheltered cars for years. And I'm dying to have more than a corner of the living room for my sewing machine. This place is a lovely single-family home built in 1968. But we have big plans for it. Stay tuned, I'm sure there will be before-and-after photographs to come.

Here's to 36!