A Short Birthday Message...

When I was younger, I could remember anything,

whether it happened or not.
- Mark Twain

Today is my beautiful best friend’s birthday!!! YAY Blue Zoo operator!!!!

I’m excited about her birthday!

I don’t have any gifts for her, it’s been a rough year. So gifting isn’t why I’m excited.

Growing old is like being increasingly penalized
for a crime you have not committed.
- Anthony Powell

And I won’t be able to see her today to throw her a party or go out and get her completely blitzed and take photos to show her weeks later. That’s not why I am excited either.

We are always the same age inside.
- Gertrude Stein

I don’t have anything special for her, no poems, no cards, no cute little videos. Nope, nothing like that.

It takes a long time to become young.
- Pablo Picasso

The reason I’m so excited that today is HER birthday, is because my dear sweet, beautiful best friend is a year older today. 

And that makes her older than me!!!! 

The secret to staying young is to live honestly, eat slowly, and lie about your age.

-      Lucille Ball

Happy Birthday Stephanie!!

I luuuuuuuuv you!

The Christmas Spirit Lives

Little girl: “Mommy, is Santa going to give us presents this year?”

Mommy: “Oh, Baby, Santa is just a nice man in a nice story.”

Little girl: “You mean he’s not real?”

The mother thought for a moment, trying to find the most delicate way to respond to her little girl.

Mommy: “He’s real in the hearts of those who keep the true Christmas Spirit alive, honey.”

Santa Claus. Chris Cringle. Father Christmas. Saint Nikolaus. Papa Noel. El Nino Jesus. This man has many names. All around the world parents tell their children the story of a man who spends all year making toys, then spends one night a year traveling throughout the entire world to deliver them to all the good boys and girls. It’s a magical story. It’s a comforting story, because who doesn’t want to believe in someone so giving and kind hearted?  But when we get old enough to understand that it IS just a story, I think maybe we all feel like fools and maybe a little deceived from having everyone around us lie to us for so long.

But it truly is a magical story. Many probably don’t realize that they have the power to keep the true Christmas Spirit alive. Santa Claus can be real. He can be in a number of people who decide to give without seeking reward.

I’ve met many people who give without taking, people who go out of their way to help complete strangers. People who always think of themselves last, and everyone around them first. That is Santa Claus.

A red fluffy costume and a pointy hat are not required to fit the profile. A kind heart and the ability to think of others is all it takes.

Every year the boy scouts come by our house around Thanksgiving time asking for donations of non-perishable items to give to the needy. They go door to door, neighborhood to neighborhood, not asking for any compensation for themselves.

It’s the sister who will drive out of state to make sure you’re safe. It’s the father who will miss work and hop on a plane to join you in the hospital just to see for himself how you’re doing. It’s the man who will drive 3000 miles just to love you. It’s the friend who goes out of her way to make sure you know you’re loved. People all over the world experience times like these and more because people all over the world know what it is to be Santa.

It’s not about presents and how much you can spend. It’s about love.

Is there a little Santa in you?

Post it Note Tuesday

Daddy Didn’t Love Me Enough So Now I’m a Crack Addict...

••Warning!! Explicit Content: DO NOT READ if you are sensitive or easily offended!!!!••

What??!??

Really???

This one is angry. This one is full of truth. And this one is uncensored. You’ve been warned. 

My original intentions with this post were to rag on the scum of the earth who use their childhood experiences as excuses for their own poor decisions in life. I believe people have the CHOICE to be scum or to not be scum. My life has been hard. One ridiculously overwhelming trial after another. So my new intention is to show you what is possible when you make the Choice to be better after all the crappy experiences life possesses.

I see druggies, alcoholics, abusers, liars, thieves, cheaters, the uneducated, the ignorant, and the just plain stupid use excuses like the title of this post all the fucking time. Really?? Well, get over it!

Here’s a brief history of my life, as brief as I could cut it down to.

Mom and Dad were alcoholics and Mom eventually morphed into a druggie. Mom left dad, taking my brother and I with her while we were very young. We lived with my mom’s side of the family, all big drinkers, pot smokers, and pill poppers, including my 2 grandmothers. Mom would get drunk, I mean really drunk, at least once a week with one of her boyfriends, they’d duke it out, he’d beat the fuck out of her, neighbors would call the cops, brother and I would spend the night or nights at the Police Station or in Foster Care. Mom finally remarried, but the fights didn’t stop. My step-dad has never hit my mom, but she sure tries her best to get him to.

No one in my family has ever had any kind of aspirations. Ever. Barely had jobs, they’ve mostly lived off the government because the government lets them. We moved around a lot, somehow. There was a time when no one in the family could even make the rent payment on our home, so we were ALL homeless: my mom and her new man, aunts, uncles, 2 grandmothers, and my brother. I was 10. We camped at the river in tents for the entire summer, and summers in Arizona are long. It was an adventure to me, but pretty messed up when I look back. It happened because none of the adults would get a job.

After the summer, mom and her new man took off, left us with my 2 grandmothers. With their social security checks, they managed to rent a single-wide trailer for the 4 of us. We got comfortable there, then mom shows up out of the blue and wants us back. We move again, bringing grandmothers, and end up with the only aunt who had a life and home. She’s the one I always looked up to. She’s a crack whore now.

Well, Mom fucked this home up too, got drunk and tried to kill her sister, destroyed her house in the process. Cops didn’t take us away this time, but we were ordered to leave with mom. Then we ended up back in Nevada. We were both approaching our teens, and Mom hates teenagers. She had money for her liquor cabinet, her drugs, her dogs, her cats, my brother, then me, in that order. My only sanctuary throughout my childhood was school. People picked on me because I never had new clothes, and apparently looked poor. That’s a good reason to taunt someone. So, in the eleven elementary schools I went to, I didn’t always have friends. Neither did my brother. But I had the schoolwork, which was what I loved. So I excelled.

After a few years in the Muc’ I got really tired of my mom’s BS. I hated her. She was a self-destructive, narcissistic addict who didn’t know a single thing about loving anyone. A friend and I got a wild hair up our asses and decided to run away. She had an incredibly fucked up childhood also. As did her husband. There are things that happened to them that are so obscene I can’t even talk about them. But keep them in mind when I get to the point of this story.

I can do a lot of whining here, but I won’t. We ended up turning ourselves in and both of us got the fuck beat out of us by our loving mothers. I wanted more than anything to go live with Dad, whom I hadn’t seen in over 10 years at this point. Mom called him while she was beating me up to tell him what a piece of shit his daughter was and he needed to come get her. Well, he didn’t have room for me at that time. I spent a few nights in Foster care, then went back to AZ to live with my grandmothers. And here we were again, 12 people living in a single-wide trailer living off my Grandmothers’ SS checks. I still loved school, because it was still my sanctuary. Once in high school, I involved myself in every activity I could that would keep me there longer. When I was home I was watching my 5 younger cousins while all their parents went out partying almost nightly. I believe I forgot to mention one of my grandmother’s was blind, and the other was due for a hip replacement. So while they were there with me, well, they were just there.

And then our house burned down. We lost everything. The LDS church and Red Cross helped us to put a home back together again. After we were settled, just my grandmothers, myself, and my younger cousins, things were great again, for a while. Then my aunt, the one I looked up to, went of the deep end. Left her husband, which devastated him. So during their awkward phase, their SEVEN kids came to live with us. And I’m not even exaggerating. I was 16 and taking care 12 children, ok 11 cause the 2^nd oldest was just 2 years younger than me. But I managed it just fine, kept my grades up, and went into the summer with them all. My aunt, 15 years later, is still sinking in the deep end.

Then we moved again across town. My uncle’s wife left him (smart move on her part) and he found himself a crackwhore. Her 5 kids came to stay with us often. The eldest, Brandi, and I were pretty close, she was 4 years my junior. One warm fall evening after everyone had gone to bed, she got a wild hair up her ass and thought it would be a blast to hop on a train with her other cousin. Tara made the leap, but Brandi didn’t. I heard screaming, ran out across the road and found Brandi lying there in the dirt, smothered in blood, missing one leg. I held her until the ambulance arrived, sang to her, made her pray out loud. And I can still remember everything. Her mom and my uncle had to be pryed away from the bar to join her in the ER.

After Brandi returned home I really took her under my wing. One time her mom was physically attacking her, I stepped in and shoved her aside and picked Brandi up off the ground. My uncle, drunk as ever, came up to the house raging mad and ready to attack Brandi. I stepped in again and he head butted me, I blacked out. I was 17.

With the utmost dedication and single thought of having a better life of my own, I graduated with flying colors, with 2 scholarships to a law school in New Mexico. But they weren’t enough to get me in. I moved, lost a love, fell in love, lost another love, repeated that mistake with a few more men, started working on my own, started supporting myself, then met a new guy. He wasn’t the one.

Dad offered to pay for my college if I moved out to Florida. Couldn’t pass that up. 20 and single and near the Florida beaches, I was stoked. But before I left, I met the one. The one I’ve spent the last 12 years with, the one I promised an eternity with, the one who still makes me melt even after all the hell we’ve been through together.

I went to college, I got to know Dad very well, he was everything I imagined he’d be. I watched my mother, who couldn’t even raise my brother and I, adopt FOUR other children!!! Todd and I struggled, him working one full-time job, and me working several part-time jobs while in school to support ourselves. We were broke, but we were doing it on our own. We bought our first house at age 24, I broke my back at 26, got married, then lost my Dad.

Nothing about my life has ever been easy. Nothing. My first pregnancy was painful and ended with no developing baby. My second pregnancy ended with a broken pelvis, my third pregnancy ended with my husband telling me he met a younger woman while I was away, and my fourth pregnancy ended 15 weeks early. I have 2 healthy, wonderful and busy toddlers, and one beautiful baby boy who started out at 1 pound 6 ounces and is growing stronger and stronger every day in the Neonatal Intensive Care Unit in Vegas. He’s almost 10 weeks old, and I’ve held him about 8 times. I only get to see him at night after my kids are sleeping because I have no child care in Vegas. I live 3 hours away where my husband stays throughout the weeks because that is where he works. I have no support from my family, save from my mom, not even a single call to say ‘Hi, how’s the baby?’

And then just last week, a couple of white trash scumbags drilled a hole into my truck and stole my purse. They tapped out and completely overdrew my business account, tapped into our personal checking account, have mine and my 3 kids’ SS cards, among many other personal things. Even though they’ve been reported, they will probably never be found.

No part of this life is easy. Some people get breaks, others never do. Some people really do get things handed to them, and the rest of us have to bust our asses just to keep our heads above water. When someone comes to me and tells me that they are the loser they are because of the way they were raised, I want to punch them square in the face. I have zero sympathy for people who blame everyone else for their own mistakes.

The people I grew up with, the people who raised me, who were around me my whole life, until I was 18 at least, were violent alcoholics, druggies, thieves, trouble-makers, liars, drop outs, criminals, and every other bad thing you can imagine in a person. My mom and aunts had male friends over who would try to “touch” me when I was a child!

Through all the Bull Shit I experienced firsthand growing up, Guess what?? I’m not a druggie. Nor am I an alcoholic, or a felon. I’m a college graduate. I own my own business. My kids are healthy and clean and have everything they need. My husband and I get along, we’ve never once hit each other. We have a home, 2 cars, and a truck. We have a life. A Healthy one. And do you know why? Because it’s what I chose. 

I chose to rise above the sleazy lifestyle I was raised in.

I chose to be clean.

I chose to be educated.

I chose to be a positive influence for my kids.

I chose to be honest and not steal from anyone.

I CHOSE.

And my friends who I mentioned earlier, also chose. Neither of them are junkies. I don’t even believe I’ve seen either of them drink for some time. They take very good care of their kids and both have amazing jobs to be proud of. They are wonderful people.

So people who live in slums, and bitch and moan because that’s the way they were raised, are just lazy bastards who are incapable of accepting the blame for their own conditions.

I’m a bitch, I'll be the first to admit it, especially when someone wants to fuck with me. I have zero tolerance for free-loaders and beggars. This life has made my skin tough and I don’t take shit from any one. I’m offensive to some, and overly honest to others. I don’t care if someone dislikes me. I’m proud to be who I am, because it’s who I choose to be.

Not making a choice is still making a choice. Life is hard. No one ever promised us it would be easy. But if you can get passed the gutters and stay afloat in the tides, life is beautiful.

LifeSuckers

Feeling pretty down lately. 

The baby has been doing very well, but it’s incredibly hard for me to not have him with me. I get to see him once a day, at night after the kids go to sleep. And that is only while I can be in Vegas and for as long as I can stay awake. 

Life is complicated and I’m a huge Santa Sack full of emotions. People who follow me or ever read up on the crap I write know what a rollercoaster I am. We just moved into a larger house, which is awesome, but the last couple weeks have been stressful on us. Things are more complicated than I can really write in a short blog post. Everything costs money. Everything seems to revolve around money. Living three hours away from the Children’s Hospital that currently houses my preemie is incredibly stressful. It costs a lot of money to come down and see him. A very generous man whom my husband works with handed us his fuel card to use for a while to get back and forth from Tonopah to Vegas. He was kind enough to write his pin number on a paper stuck to the card so I could use it freely.

While the kids and I are here it’s even more stressful on us. We stay with my dear friend who doesn’t have kids yet, so I’ve got to be on the kids’ butts all the time to stay out of her nice, breakable things. We’re away from my husband quite a bit which is hard on us all. We’re completely out of our element here, so it’s hard for me to relax, but it’s what I gotta do if I want to see my little miracle man. Sacrifices. Ones that are slowly sending me into a depression that I can’t seem to overcome.

So last night, I went to see the baby at the hospital. I waited till after the other 2 monkeys went to sleep to make babysitting as stress-less as possible for my friend. I get to the hospital, park, pull my ID out of my purse as I do every night, and go into the hospital. A few stories from Hans Christian Anderson’s Complete Book of Fairytales, a few wonderful little moments with my boy, and I leave an hour later. Get in the truck, restart my MP3 player, crank up the rock music that is going to keep me awake on the drive across town through midnight traffic, and I’m back at Jana’s again. I get out, walk around the truck as I do every night to grab my things from the passenger side and realize my purse is not amongst these things tonight.

Oh. My. God.

Some lousy, motherf@#$ing low-life broke into my truck while I was visiting my son at the hospital and stole my purse! As if people who are parked at the hospital aren’t under enough stress for whatever reasons, scumbag, trashy pieces of $hit spend their time scoping out the lot to see who they can rob each night. They take whatever they can grab, part of other people’s lives, and walk away laughing like it's just a game.

These bastards went to 2 711s and 3 redboxes within the hour, using both my debit cards. I’m sure they are planning to keep these DVDs which will rack up daily charges on both my accounts.  

Cards have been reported as stolen and so far the damage isn’t too deep. They have my social security card as well as all three of my kids’. They have photos of my children, insurance cards, business cards with all of my information, the fuel card from my husband's friend, and who knows what else I had in there!

I am livid.

Identity theft is a fixable crime for the victim, but how often do they actually CATCH the crime spree bastard? I’m sure this isn’t something that the cops really give a f@#k about to actually look into and follow-up with, what with all the druggies and murderers they have to catch. I know I will never see my purse again, nor the contents in it. That makes me a little sad. But what really makes me feel so utterly violated is the fact that these jobless, moral-less, sleezy motherf#*kers broke into MY truck and took something very personal of MINE! 

We work hard to have the things we have. What gives them the right to lurk in the shadows, sneaking around and take it from us? And how many other people have these scumbags violated?

Push It

As far down as it will go.

Push it to a place where it cannot enter my mind.

I push this thought, this devastatingly negative thought, down until it feels like it is erased. It can’t exist. There is no place for it. No room. No time. No energy saved for it.

Push it down. Muffle it. Think of ANYTHING... BUT… IT!!

I don’t want it here. I can’t bare it. I don’t have what it takes to think of it. I can’t imagine anyone would.

I relax my mind. It’s hard to do, but I relax it. I think of the many things that DO make me happy. Hearing the monkeys giggle and whisper as they play. Feeling my husband’s arms around my waist and his presence in my heart. Seeing the baby sleeping peacefully in his isolette. I imagine him coming home, and seeing the excited looks on the monkey’s faces when they finally meet him.

I relax.

There are many things to be happy for. So many things to be thankful for.

I thank God for the wonderful life we have. For the amazing friends I have, old and new. So many people helping us, praying for us. I don’t even know how many hearts pray for my newest little monkey to get stronger, bigger, and healthier. But I am so thankful for each of them.

And then it emerges.

This thought I’ve been pushing down for weeks. The one that first consumed me when I realized I was having contractions 3 minutes apart. I feared he was too young, and wouldn’t survive. I wasn’t just afraid to deliver him in Tonopah, I was simply afraid for him to come out at all as early as he did.

I try to push it. I try to hand this disheartening thought over to God.

And that finds me in a loop.

I ask Him… no, BEG Him to keep Draikaiden safe, keep him strong, and keep him here with me.

But how many times do I have to Beg Him not to take my son before I feel secure enough?

And does it matter how much we pray for him, how many people are praying, or how frequently I talk to God? Because, in the end, everything is God’s will isn’t it? When He decides that HE wants or needs someone, his or her time is simply up isn’t it?

I’m angry, but there is no one to be angry with. I want to scream and shout and swing my fists, but there is no one who deserves the blame.

So I push it.

Push it all back down and remind myself of the wonderful things in life NOW.

Three Weeks Old!!!

Just stopping by to do a quick update.

Draikaiden is doing well. He has no major issues, which is a blessing having been born 15 weeks early!!!

Today he is three weeks old. He’s very tough, and a little temperamental. He knows what he likes and that’s how he wants it!!! He’s such a little fighter. 

He’s been bumped up on his feedings, now receiving nearly 3cc’s every 3 hours. To help you understand how much milk that is, 1 teaspoon equals 5cc’s. He’s starting to gain weight, today he is exactly 2 pounds! He started off at 1 pound 10 oz at birth. His weight fluctuates quite a bit still, but now that he is eating more, he should really start to gain.

The doctor wants to ween him off of the breathing machine for a second time. The first time he was off for nearly 24 hours of breathing on his own. We are hoping this time is longer or even permanent. The longer he needs the machine to breathe for him, the higher the risk of him having chronic lung problems throughout his life. So we are praying hard for him. 

He is strong. He is tough. He is growing and improving a little every day. So many people are praying for him and for that I am tremendously thankful.

The monkeys have been in Winnemucca (7 hrs north of where we are in Vegas) since a few days after the delivery. I miss them terribly, but they will be here with me next week. I have been staying with a great friend, Jana, here in Vegas, and will stay here until Draikaiden is ready to come home. Todd is at home in Tonopah (3 hours north) and we only see each other when we can afford the trip for one of us to travel either there or here. Today he is coming down here to see the baby. Last week I was able to go up and spend a day with him. It’s difficult being away from him, he is my strength and support system.

This has been difficult to deal with, but a very dear friend, Tamara, put a bracelet on my arm which reads, One Day at a Time. And that is the only way I can take it now. It’s hard to plan ahead, because as of now, this tiny little man is the boss. Everything depends on his progress, his milestones, and all the blessings God can give him. He’s already been an incredible blessing to me and I feel I have changed as a person and mom. I pray like crazy that God gives me the strength to get through this.

15 weeks TOO SOON!!!

 

So many thoughts. Good ones. Bad ones. Ones I’d like to just erase the moment they enter my mind.

So many words spinning through my head.

So lost.

I feel so helpless.

But so incredibly hopeful.

My due date was January 25, 2011. 3 weeks ago I started having preterm contractions. 2 days ago I woke up with contractions 3 minutes apart. I called my dear mother-in-law to make sure she could drive 4 hours to take care of my monkeys. Called hubby to let him know he needed to get home, or to the hospital.  Then I called Tamara who hung up on me and ran from the restaurant, where she was eating breakfast, to my house. She patiently and expediently directed me to the truck, her hubby arrived to watch the monkeys till grandparents arrived, and we were off.

Off to the Tonopah hospital.

A place that doesn’t really have the best options for major issues such as preterm labor. I was blessed with an amazing staff though. Wonderful, wonderful people. The doc checked my cervix to find the amniotic sac was bulging through, and determined it was far too late to stop this labor. My heart sank. We were 3 hours away from Vegas, away from major hospitals who can successfully deal with such an emergency. Every worst thought you can think of went through my head. Thoughts you probably can’t even fathom were in my head. I did not want to deliver my son THERE!!

The doctor was amazing though. He called the Sunrise Perinatal Staff in Vegas for some expert advice. He listened strictly to what the specialist said. They decided to fly a crew from the Sunrise Children’s Hospital to Tonopah to be as prepared as possible for this 15-week premature child. Almost 2 hours pass and the crew finally arrives. They start my contractions up again, I start to push. But it just didn’t feel right. Not to me. Not to the doctor. He checked my cervix again, I hadn’t dilated any further than 3 cm, exactly where I was when I first arrived. He called the expert and was strongly encouraged to stop my contractions again and put me on the plane with the Perinatal team.

I didn’t hesitate. I looked at my wonderful friend who stood next to me the entire time, calling everyone I could think to tell, calming me, not letting me freak out, not letting me talk to anyone who was going to make me cry (which was everyone), not letting me panic and cause worse contractions or complications, and her eyes said it was a good choice. I looked at my husband who had the same look in his eyes. He understood I didn’t want to stay. Even though it meant I flew to Vegas alone, with only medical staff.

Comfortably, safely, and now more calm than I’d felt in a while, I was in a room at Sunrise Hospital surrounded by a busy staff checking me in and making preparations. The doctors came in to consult with me the best options. They did an ultrasound and discovered he was breech, so natural labor wasn’t the most ideal option. Thankfully! I was afraid of that option because my dear friend lost her son that way. He was just too young to go through such trauma. So I asked if they would absolutely do a c-section. They said of course, but it depends on how quickly everything goes, if it does indeed spin out of control. They also wanted to keep me on magnesium for at least 48 hours to allow the baby to get the full effect of the steroids I’d been given earlier in the morning.

Unfortunately, my little man couldn’t wait 2 more days. At 3am the following morning, the amniotic sac broke. There was NO stopping his entrance into the world now.

Around 10 am they were preparing me for surgery.

At 10:52 our little man made his big entrance. DraikAiden Blaine LaRue. 1 pound 10 ounces. 13 and a quarter inches long. Tough guy!

I heard 2 tiny cries.

He was taken out of the room and rushed to the NICU. The anesthesiologist gave me a post-operation pain killing injection, and I was out of for the next hour. My darling hubby was there with our son, taking amazing photos, watching the staff work their magic.

12 hours later I finally got to see my little guy. 

He’s so precious.

And so small.

It is difficult for mommy not to notice all the wires and tubes flowing all around him, through his skin, through his mouth. He has a machine breathing for him. He’s so tiny. So frail. We can’t even touch him. His eyes aren’t even opened yet. His hearing is at a minimal. He is inside an incubator. I can’t hug him. I can’t kiss him. I can’t hold his little hand. All I can do is stand there and stare through glass at my fragile, defenseless boy hooked up to so many things, fighting for his little life.

I try to be strong. He needs me to be. But seeing THIS breaks me.

My husband is amazing at times like these. He’s so patient with my tears and emotions. He’s so understanding. I know this hurts him too though.

But I am hopeful. He is in the best care he could possibly be in. This is a great hospital. Another friend of mine had her daughter prematurely here. She’s now going on 7. He is in good hands. And I am hopeful in a few weeks we’ll be able to touch him, and in January we will be taking him home where his sister and brother will shower him with hugs and kisses, and then teach him all their bad habits!

I’m praying for this. More than I have ever prayed for anything in my life.

Post it Note Tuesday - Pregnancy Reminders

Today is PINT. So head on over to The Only Parent Chronicles to make your own or just read some of the others. And don't forget to link up! :)

Before I Complain Again...

When I saw that car crossing the median on the freeway, it didn’t quite register. My heart started thumping but I wasn’t actually scared until we’d been knocked into the median. I remember thinking, “Oh God, I’m, never going to get married.” But I wasn’t actually Afraid. I was worried, but not in a state of panic.

When I heard from the other end of the line, “Your dad is dead,” I dropped to my knees and lost full composure. There was nothing else to think about except that he was gone. I wasn’t afraid, I was heartbroken.

When I heard these words out of the doctor’s mouth, “He has a large pneumonia in his lung.” My heart sank. He wasn’t even two yet. I was scared out of my mind, but I did my best to hold myself together. I had great support there with me, people who tried to take the burden away as much as possible. But I was scared out of my mind, honestly. That was my baby. And I couldn’t fix it with a Mommy Kiss. All I could do was sit there next to him in the hospital and wait for him to get better. I read to him, played movies on my laptop, talked to him, played as much as he was allowed, tickled his skin to help him fall asleep, and tried my best not to let him see me cry. I never left the hospital as long as he was in there.

This time, I’m lost. I’ve been having pre-term contractions for over a week now, and I am barely five and a half months along. 22 weeks. And my cervix is extremely soft. It’s way too early for this wee one to meet the world. Way too early! I’m completely at a loss for what to do.

The doctor gave me meds to help stop the contractions. I still feel them. And it scares the hell out of me.

First of all, we live in a SMALL town 3 hours north of where my doctor is in Vegas. We basically have a band-aid store here. They’re not qualified for labor, let alone premature labor!

Second, I have limited friends here and no family. All my friends work during the day also, as does my husband.

Third, I have a two- and three-year-old to take care of. Very busy monkeys they are!

So before God and everyone, I take back all complaints I’ve had about being pregnant. I take back everything I said about not enjoying it. I didn’t mean that I wanted the baby gone. I want her, very much. Alive, FULL-TERM, and healthy. I want her to stay in there as long as she needs to. I do not want this pregnancy to end early by any means just because I have been utterly miserable. I can take it. I’m strong. I’m able. She’s NOT! Give me the pain, but let her be. Let her grow like she’s supposed to and become a healthy girl who is going to keep me up every night.

So now, I am relaxing. On the couch watching movies with the kids. Listening to them making messes. Watching them jump on the furniture. I’m trying to relax. To not clean where it needs it. To not do anything. I have just over 4 months to go still, and by golly I will lay here until she is grown and healthy enough to come out. I will take these meds to lessen the contractions. And I will stop bitching about being fat. I will do whatever it takes to keep her in there.

Next week I go get my cervix measured and find out for sure if this IS indeed a girl! And I believe from here on out I will see the doc more frequently.

No more complaining!

Post it Note Tuesday - Just a Few Reminders

It is Post It Note Tuesday once again! I Love Tuesdays! Click on the link above to head on over to the Only Parent Chronicles to make your own and link up or to just read some of the other Post It Notes.