Who really watches it anyways......

Today has been filled with "happy new years", and "this year i'm gonna_______". Pffftttt...... Who cares. Really. Who cares? We all make resolutions, we all fail at them. We all claim this will be the year we stick to said resolution, we all lie. But yet, we feel the need to make it public and known to everyone. I resolve to quit smoking. Will i succeed? Probably not. Every year i make that one, the fact that i make it every year proves the failed logic behind new years resolutions. Somehow we, and i do mean all of us, think that just because a new year is starting, that we automatically get a new start, a clean slate. Nope. You will wake up tomorrow, the exact same as you did when went to sleep. Everything that happened 365 days ago, does not magically go away. It's still there. If you over drew your bank account, it won't some how be at 0.00 tomorrow, and making a resolution to be more money conscience isn't going to change the fact that your bank is now gonna charge your negative $30 bank account another $30.

Not today, dear......

A couple years ago, i was diognosed with having endometriosis. It's a very, VERY painful condition where the inside of a womans uterus, for some reason or another, decides to grow on places outside of the uterus. It makes having a period extreamly painful, i like refer to it as going through labor every month with out having a child in the end to make the pain worth it. It also makes getting pregnant very hard or impossible for some women due to the scar tissue it creates. There are was to control it and even "dry it up", one way is being pregnant, this helped me for about a year. Being on birthcontrol helps some women too, but it never did help me. The past couple months have been hell for me though, i think it's coming back 10 fold, making up for lost time when i was pregnant. Which really stinks when you think you still want to have kids and know that you're running out of time, if you haven't run out already. I kinda feel, in the back of my mind, that i have already run out of time to have another baby. Yet, the thought of having a hystorectomy scares me because, what if i DO still have time left. Although, at this very moment, i don't care. I want my lady parts gone and i do not care. After all, it feels as though they're being twisted and riped out of me anyways. It makes me unbelievabley miserable. I don't even want to so much as get out of bed, other than maybe to sit on the toilet.
http://www.bing.com/health/article/mayo-125699/Endometriosis?q=endometriosis&qpvt=endometriosis

Leap of Faith

Today i took a leap of faith, thanks to some Facebook friends, and entered a photograph in a charity auction. And by leap of faith, i really mean litterally run and jump off a cliff leap of faith. You see, i am by nature, cripiley self-consious. I know that my photography is good, only because enough people have told me so. But good enough for someone to bid money on, just so THEY can have it, i doubt it. I can almost envision my entry being the only one to not get a single bid. Which got me thinkin'. If it wasn't for this........self-consuming, self destructing, lack of self confidance and self worth, could I, just maybe, make something of myself? Perhaps carve out a little nitche for myself? After all, it is behind the lense of a camera the I truely feel beautiful, that I feel most comfortable and it is behind that lense that, i feel, i can find the beauty in anything. But......there's a giant, brick wall that's always getting the way. It's not a very tall wall, only about 5 foot, but none the less, it's strong and stubborn. It's been standing there for 29 years, i highly doubt it's quite ready to fall yet. Lord knows i've tried to knock it down on occasion, but that usually ends in failure. However, could this be the crack that brings it down??? Sure, there's that chance that litterally NO ONE will bid on my photo. But, the greater chance is that someone will. Even if it goes for less than what it cost me to enter it, it still means someone wanted a peice of something i envisioned. Maybe.....the crack it puts in the wall, will help me to finally knock it down. Even if it's just temporary, atleast i'll have done it.  After all, the only things that truely stands in the way of us and the dreams we have invisioned for ourselve's, is the walls that we chose to put up. After all, no one fears success. What we fear is falure. And the only way we can truely fail, is to just not try. I'm not gonna lie, if my peice doesn't get a single bid, or goes for so little, it will devistate me. Perhaps even make me believe what i've been telling myself all along, that i'm not the photographer people seem to think i am. But, atleast i can walk away knowing that i didn't fail, since failing would've been backing out and not entering the photo. I simply opened a door, and some doors are meant to close.

Shoulda been a Keebler Elf.......

I love Christmas time. Mainly because it's the only time of the year that gives me an excuse to make cookies until i have cookies stacked everywhere. I could do it year round, but really, who wants cookies in July? Husband says it really puts me in the Christmas spirit. I say, Christmas puts me in the cookie spirit. I've always enjoyed baking, it's almost as soothing as photography for me. But i really seem to go cookie crazy this time of year. The baking genes run deep in me though, i have a great Aunt who, in her prime, was an AMAZING baker, i grew up in a house where cookies were abundant at Christmas time, and everyone was homemade with love. I remember, growning up, always being excited for this time of year, not because of Christmas, but because i got to HELP, help make cookies. And so i continue that tradition. Bitty, thankfully, loves helping, so far. But really, what 3 year old doesn't like playing in flour and making a mess? And i love it! I always had this vision of my child sitting on a kitchen counter, helping me make cookies of all kinds. However, unlike me, Bitty inherited her daddy's love of eating cookies. I'd sooner make them versus eat them. Although, for as long as i've been making yummy cookies and what knots, i mostly stuck to the recipe at hand, sometimes meshing two seperate recipes together, but not very often. This year's been different. This year i've sorta been making the recipes i already have, my own. Adding stuff, changing quantities, taking things away. You get the idea. I must say, i shoulda done it sooner. This year's been more of an experiment, perhaps that's why there are so many boxes of cookies stacked everywhere.  I've also been trying new recipes. Which is oddly exciting for me. After years of making the same tried and true recipes, i've grow tired of tasting the same things. Granted, my perfected molasses cookie recipe has earned the right to stay the same. As has my snickerdoodle recipe. My family's chocolate chip cookie recipe got a makeover to resemble one of the softest sugar cookie/Lepp cookie i've ever really tasted.  Although, as much as i love my molasses cookies, i swear if i open my over door again, and get wafted in the face with the smell of molasses, ginger and cloves, i may just throwup a little.

Pass the buck.....(This whole rant was the spawn of a facebook post.)

I'm kinda curious why anytime something that goes around f.b that has to do with children, all of a sudden it was born from the mind of a pediphile, but yet when the whole bra color/purse thing was going around, no one was screaming rapist or pervert.

Believe me, when it comes to hating pediphiles i'm probably near the top of the list. However, it really burns me up when people want to pass the blame onto them. It really does seem like, atleast in facebook land, that anything, and i mean ANYTHING that has to do with children - whether it's using a cartoon as your profile pic. to spread awareness about child abuse, or a group about "having a son/daughter was the best choice i ever made" - is claimed to have been started by a pediphile. Anything else can go on, such as the examples i posted above, and people participate or join in with out a second thought. And nothing is ever said. Well, i'm sorry, actually NO i'm NOT, if you're that damn worried about pediphiles getting your child on facebook, they're too damn young to be on it! Not to mention, it is YOUR job as a PARENT to police what your child/children are doing and who they are or are not friends with. If you cannot do that, then your child sould not be on the internet.People are also more than willing to put up gobs of pictures of their children. Don't ya think a pediphile can gain access to those?!

So many of us wonder what is wrong with people today, myself included because we are all guilty. Guilty of passing what, by all rights is our responsability, onto someone else. We don't want to be forced to admit that WE may have been at fault. When the reality is, dispite what some may think, we are in charge. In charge of ourselves, our children and what they can and cannot do, our homes, dare i say it - our lives. Sure, if you're sitting at home watching t.v and your child begins to play with a lighter and burns themself, it easier to blame it on the manufacturer of the lighter. Maybe, it was lacking proper child safety, maybe it was faulty. When the reality is, it was YOUR fault. It's always easier to say it was someone else. No one wants to admit they did something stupid.

Plead the 5th.....

I can't not write through tears because, the reality is, 3 years later i still blame myself for Bittys early entrance. We went back to the eye doctor today for a recheck and to order her full strength lenses. Turns out, we're also going to have to start patching her left eye so that her right eye will begin to strengthen. Yeah, i know, not that big of a deal. Explain that to a 3 year old and an already self blaming mommy. I call it self blaming since no one, well almost no one, has ever told me her early arrival was my fault. Who knows, maybe it was that doctor who delivered her stating that my smoking was probably what did it, even though my placenta look like a non-smokers, maybe it was in that moment i decided it was my fault. Maybe. Probably not though. All i ever wanted was for her to never have any signs or symptoms of prematurity, and i thought she wasn't gonna. Well, atleast up until last July i thought that. I wish there was some magic potion or words that could finally make me just let go. I'm the type of person who needs answers to every question i may have and if no one can give me one, well i blame it on myself. It's just the way i am. I wish i could just go back 3 years and squeeze my knees together and keep her in there. Don't get me wrong, i count my blessings everyday. I know whole heartedly that it could be worse. But after you've gotten through the "she could die" stuff and you think that nothing else will go wrong, it kinda hits you blind sightedly when or if something does go wrong that's all. I'd compare it to cancer patients being in remorse except they know there's always that chance it could return. Preemie parents, well we're basically taught that if your baby makes it through the first 12-18 months without incidence, that they will be fine. We're taught not to expect something to just "pop up" or return two and a half years later. While she will always be a preemie, i guess i just figured she grew out of it and all that comes with it.

if i call you a friend it means you're like my family. It means i worry when you worry and even when you don't. It means i'm here for you anytime you need me and even if you don't. It means even at your darkest hour, I'll always be your light. It means even if you've lost the strength to go on, i will always fight. It means, i cry when you cry and i laugh right by yourside. It means even if i'm not right there, i hold you inside my heart.

Thanks and Giving

The words Thanks and Giving combine this time of year to create Thanksgiving. But with all the hustle and bustle that envelopes the holiday seasons, have we forgotten what it truely means to give not only our thanks, but the latter part of the word, giving. Sure, once a year we nastaligically gather `round the table with family and friends to reflect upon what we are thankful for. Continuing once more, family traditions that have been passed down through the years, all the while trying to incorperate a little bit of what we want our children to pass down to theirs. But the giving part, that seems to so often get over looked. Sure, we give the person in front of us at the grocery store a harsh look when they're taking too long to put their groceries up. We're all to quick to give the finger when the person driving in front of us isn't going fast enough. After all, we have places to go too, ya know. I remember a time when Christmas came after Thanksgiving. Anymore, we Americans seem to have capitalized upon the words Thanksgiving and Christmas and instead of fully celebrating the holliday at hand, we're forced to rush through one to get to the other. And how can we not when, before Halloween is even upon us, the Thanksgiving decorations are placed out in stores. Soon to follow is the Christmas stuff. And it's just that, stuff. More junk you feel the need to buy to decorate your house because, well let's be honest, it's cute. We're ALL guilty of it. As soon as the Thanksgiving table clears, we whipping out the Christmas crap. People seem to get so upset now a days when others refer to this time of year as "The Holidays". Christians get down right pissed when someone wishes them Happy Holidays instead of Merry Christmas. Sighting that it's because Americans, as a whole, don't want to offend any other religion. That is simply not true in my opinion. Everyone who purchases their Thanksgiving decor in October or their Christmas tree in November has helped to push a nation towards refering to this time as "The Holidays". It's also easier to say "happy holidays" from now until after Christmas, instead of "happy Thanksgiving" and a month later "merry Christmas". Us Americans aren't refered to as lazy for no reason, after all. Could it be that with the comercialization of Thanksgiving and Christmas, we seemingly have forgotten what the "giving" is supposed to mean? I think so. It seems as though instead of passing down traditions full of good tidings and giving back what has made us so thankful, we're passing down to our children the notion that "things" are what makes this time of year so special. We're not all guilty of it all the time, but this time of year we all seem so busy that it's just easier to let the giving part slide. It's easier to go to the store and pick out a pretty center piece for the kitchen table, instead of letting our kids take part in the traditions by making something on their own. It's easier to pass by the Salvation Army bell ringer because we must rush home to wrap the presents.

Right now, everone seems to focus soley on what they are thankful for. And we all know that everyone is thankful for something. But yet, we seem to have to make it known. How about, instead of voicing what we are thankful for this year as we sit down to eat some turkey, we make it clear what we plan to give back. So that, next year, what we have given back will be what someone less fortunate is thankful for. And instead of rushing through one holiday to get to the next, we take the time to savor the true meaning of the holiday at hand. Believe me, i know it's hard, hell, we have atleast 3 different places to go on Thanksgiving alone. And it's hard to just take the time to enjoy each tradition alone, when you're thinking about the place you have to go to next. But, i know this year i'm really gonna try. And who knows, maybe this will be the tradition we incorperate, the one we make our own. Taking a lesson from all children, and that is to enjoy the moment at hand. To give back something we all have, ourself.

As for me and my giving, there's a program i recently came across which uses photographers and a little stuffed puppy. They use them to take photographs of families or children who may not have the gift of a simple portrait. Their photo is taken holding the puppy and it is printed and given to them on the spot, for free. They keep the puppy and portrait as momento that, someone, somewhere, believes that everyone deserves atleast one picture of their children or family. That is also my philosophy. Some people may think i'm crazy when i say that i do not ask to be payed, but to me, having pictures of your children or family shouldn't be a luxury that only those with money can afford. I work for the simple price of a smile. It's just one of the ways i find simple and easy to give back.

Picture this....

Tomorrow i go and do baby belly shots. I am SO nervously excited that i think i may cry. People tell me i'm good, really good, at photography. Me, on the other hand, not so much. To date, i've only done photo's for family, other than being my daughter's personal poparatsie. I've never the girl before, we chat on Facebook, but that's as far as it goes. I am TERRIFIED she isn't gonna like a single picture i take. Uhhh. I hope these jitters go away. I don't like doing things that are outside my comfort zone and this, by far, is totally outside it. Usually if i have something "new" to do, my husband and/or daughter is there too, which helps with the anxiety, which is something i also struggle with. Tomorrow, i'll be by myself and that just has my anxiety levels at an all time high. Maybe, just maybe, i can convince them to go with. Maybe.........

Why yes, time does fly.

I can't believe another year has come and almost gone already. Thanksgiving is almost upon us and i swear, just yesterday we were packing for our 4th of July vacation to the beach. Another year full of laughter, tears, family, and friends, is winding down to the end and yet it seems to catch me by surprise every time. When i was pregnant, i remember asking a family member who already had children, if time goes by as fast as seems to have when i would run into a friend who a child and they were now, like, 10 all of a sudden. She explained to me that the day to day of family life can seem to drag, but the years fly by. I kinda chuckled to myself, yeah right, that makes no sense crazy lady. Little did I know how right she would end up being. Before children (B.C.), you sorta, wonder aimlessly through life. You finish high school or college - which really does feel like it takes f.o.r.e.v.e.r. You find a job, and suddenly now it's your work day that feels like it drags on and on. Between hangout with friends and having a real life, you have time to adjust when the year wines down to the end. Your making Holiday party plans, sending out invites to what you promise will be "the best New Years Eve Party EVER". Then suddenly, atleast it kinda felt that way for me, your married, buying a house and planning a family. I know we swore having a child wouldn't change us or the life we lived. HAHAHA. Then, as quickly as you're blessed with said child, that child has turned 3. HOLD ON, i wasn't done with "the good ole days"! Now, instead of having days filled with "what shall i get into this weekend", they're filled with, "I can't believe she needs new shoes again, already! Didn't we just buy that pair?!" And while you've been busy cooking family suppers, washing tiny socks, cleaning up poop, moping floors, loading dishwashers. Waking up your husband, setting out clothes, washing tiny bottoms, and singing nursery rhymes. Packing for one family vacation, planning another vacation, changing out past seasons' clothes, and preparing for birthday parties. Suddenly it's gone from Easter to almost Thanksgiving and you still haven't decided what your Christmas cards should be like. Because as we all know, after we're done recouping from Thanksgiving, Christmas is right there greating us with a smile. And with that, another year draws to an end and you make a promise to yourself not to let next year pass by you so fast. But, that's the same resolution you've made from year to year. But, next year will be the year! The year you make a consious decision to slow your life down. Yeah, right. LOL We'll see how that goes........

The journey of my 29 weeker, part 3....

We lost so many things durring the 48 days Bitty spent in the NICU, but for everything we seemed to lose, we gained more than i ever thought imaginable. When you have a child in the NICU, it forces you to turn a corner that you may have otherwise not known exsisted. There comes a point where you have to get over the "why me, why my baby" self inflicted guilt, and be the solid rock of a foundation your baby is gonna need you to be. It forces you to change your way of life, your way of thinking, and the dreams you had put in place when you were pregnant. Planning your future together takes on a whole new meaning.

There were many nights where we thought we were going to get that phone call. The phone call every preemie parent knows exsists and prays they will never get. The one that comes at 2am with a voice on the other end telling you that you need come in right now becuase your child isn't gonna make it. We were lucky and obviously never got it. But that's the extent of where your thoughts of the future take you. The future to a NICU parent is not a year from now, but an hour from now, or a minute from now. Nobody is garaunteed a tomorrow and the parents of preemies know that more than anyone should.

I cannot really remember eveything i thought or felt other than, more often than not, unconsolible guilt and anger. It was always hard seeing a new baby being brought in. When you spend enough time in the NICU, you learn to recognize the signs that another baby is being brought into the world entirely too early. There's a buzz in the air, a slight uneasiness about the nurses, a more hurried step and a shuffle of the babies that are already there. Somehow, they manage to sorta hide the new baby, but you can feel the mothers presence as she's brought in. My heart would always go out to that new mom. I would want to comfort her, i still feel that need, but my experiance is that of a mother whos child has made it through to the other side and if there's one thing i hated, positively dispised, it was being told by another mother, ANY mother, that they understood what i was going through and that things would be okay. So i, and i'm sure i'm not alone in this, would simply give them that look. The look of kind eyes. It never lasts long though, because about the time you let your mind or eyes go off your baby, they will inevetably forget to breath. However, seeing a baby go home, a baby who hadn't even been there as long as yours, well....it brought an anger out in me that nothing else ever could. "Why are they going home, my baby's been here longer she should be the one going home." I would be angery at the nurses, angery at the other moms, angery at, mostly, myself. It's not a regular sort of anger, but one that is born out of heartache. For, you long to be able to hold and comfort your child, at home, on your time, whenever you want.

I longed to be able to physically nurse my daughter. I yerned for the warmth of her tiny body against my chest and while i may have conviently forgotten some of the feelings that i felt, the feeling of the first time i was able to nurse my daughter, that will forever stay in my heart. It's true what they say, about the whole bonding experiance. In one magical, akward, frusterating, disappointing moment, i had instantly felt an attachment to my daughter that i hadn't felt before. She was mine and we were "normal", if only for a mere minute. It didn't take long for a lactation consultant to ruin my moment. I was doing just fine without her. I felt like a pro, a pro nursing a baby who didn't know how to barely suck and had a mouth too small to really even latch ahold, but none the less, i felt like a pro and i didn't really care that it was the most akward and challenging thing i had ever tried to do. But that damn lactation consultant, or the booby natzi as i called her (when she wasn't around). I was sureanly trying to nurse my daughter when she waltzed over, all.....natzi like. She peered over my should and instantly my comforting moment had turned to an uncomfortable one. "What is your plan?" Seriously?! You're asking me this question, IN THE NICU! Uh, my plan was to have a baby 11 weeks early, watch her fight for her life and not be able to barely hold or comfort her. I always wanted to hook my tender, swollen, achey boobs to a breast pump. I decided not to like her from that moment on. I also remember hearing ask another NICU mommy that very same question and i wanted so badly to tell her to go to hell and that she obviously had never had a preemie, for if she did she sure as hell wouldn't be asking that question. I know my "plan" was to have a full term baby naturally, nurse her whenever she wanted to and go home 2 days later, WITH MY BABY. She wasn't very helpful nor was she very informative and honestly i can't really remember what she taught me, if it was anything at all. As akward as trying to nurse Bitty was, it somehow felt natural. However, like all good things, it didn't last. She couldn't nurse without a nipple sheild and even then, it was too hard for her. And, after one very bad experiance with a NICU nurse following one of Bitty's feedings, i simply gave up and continued to pump and give her a bottle.

The horrible nurse experiance goes as follows. Bitty had finally started to get the hang of the suck/swollow/breath reflex and was breathing well enough that she no longer had to be on oxygen support, all she had left was a feeding tube. It was shortly after i had started to nurse her and it was a little tricky trying to figure out how much milk she had gotten from me and if she need to be supplimented through her feeding tube. The nurse she usually had would weigh her before i would nurse and then after to get an estimate of how much milk she took in. Well, one day she had happened to have a different a nurse, one she only had a handful of times. She was a good nurse, a very capable nurse, a nurse that, in that moment, i hated. Bitty was starting the process of being able to come home. She had to pass the carseat test, which is where they place them in their carseat while they are hooked up to all the bells and whistles, and they have to be able to sit there for something like a half hour without setting off any of their alarms, if they can do that then they pass, if not, they wait a couple more days and test them again. They also have to go a full 7 or 10 days, i can't remember anymore, with out having any alarms and if they go those 7/10 days, they get to go home. But, if at any point in that time frame they have an alarm, like they stop breathing or their heart beat gets funky, they have to start all over, even if it happens on the very last day. Bitty was like 2 days into it, when that nurse didn't listen to me when i said i felt as though Bitty had eaten enough that she didn't need any of what they considered her "full feeding" through her feeding tube. She pushed like half of her "full feeding", which at that point was quite alot, through her feeding tube. Within moments, Bitty began to asperate, setting off her breathing alarm. (I still get shakey talking about it. Apparently, it still upsets me, LOL) Talk about a heart stopping, heart pounding moment. I wanted to kill that nurse, right there. I was so furious that, once Bitty was stable again, i actually had to leave the NICU and made up my mind that i was DONE nursing my daughter. It was the week of Christmas, we new she wouldn't be home for it, but now it was gonna be later than we had hoped for. All because a nurse refused to listen me. It didn't take long for word to spread of what had happened in that NICU pod and when i had return later in the day with my husband, her regular nurse was back on her service. She assured me that i shouldn't let that one incidence stop me from nursing my daughter, but how couldn't i. We didn't learn until the following day, that they (the neonatoligists) weren't going to hold that alarm against Bitty since it, technically, wasn't her fault. She wouldn't have to start back at day one. YEAH! The next few days were uneventful. She passed her carseat test with flying colors. She was breathing on her own and her heart finally knew what it was supposed to do.

When we walked into that NICU pod on a sunny December day, three days after Christmas, we got to see our daughter in all her glory, for the first time in 48 days. No wires atatched to her body. No tubes comming from her nose and mouth. Just the baby she was ment to be. Well, it was like giving birth all over again. We dressed her in pretty purple, fuzzy, footed outfit. Still preemie sized and still too big. She was all of 4lbs 8oz on the day she finally felt like MY baby. This was the day we had waited for. They day we had prayed for but felt like it would never come. They day i became mom i secretely dispised for 48 days, the mom who FINALLY got to take her baby home. Though the car ride home was nerve racking, as were those first moments when we arrived at home, she was finally ours. As terrifying as it was to not have a nurse right there, holding your hand, it was wonderfully marvilous as well. She, too, seemed to know she was finally right where she belonged.

The three years since her birth have been filled with so many ups and downs, and i'm sure every first time parent experiances those. But ours were met with a different set of obsticles and had a different set of goals. Sure, our daughter was now almost two months old, but technically she wasn't even still supposed to be born. She still had just about a month to go until what was to be her due date. She may have been a month and half old, but she couldn't hold her head up, she slept most of the time and was eating every two hours. We couldn't take her anywhere but to the doctors, where she would go every month from the time she came home up until April for RSV shots. God, them damn shots were quite the pain, but well worth every trip and the $1000 i had to go and cry to my grandma for when the insurance company played the, "we don't accept your secondary insurance (since it was welfare insurance) and you need to pay the $1000 deductable before we release the shot to your pediatrician." We learned, when she was six months old, that she was pretty far behind for her chronilogical age, mostly because of me and the fact that i could stop seeing her as that little, 2lb. baby she WAS. So, as any good parent would do in that type of situation, we got her enrolled in Early Intervention (E.I.) and within another six months, she was deemed physically caught up and her physical therapy would end, however she couldn't really swollow solid food so she was given an Occupational Therapist to help teach us tricks to get her caught up with that as well.

Today, she is a picture perfect, healthy, above average in everyway three year old. A shadow of her former self. The only things that remain of her early, short of miraculous start in life, are her "coke bottle" glasses and some scares on her hands and feet. And the memories i will forever hold onto and thank God she does not.

Can you SEE me now?!

Yesterday, Bitty got glasses for her birthday. No, they weren't her only present - i think that would be grounds for the "worst parents" award, but non the less that's when her glasses were ready. I had pictured it to be event full of tears and screaming, world war 3 perhaps, but to my surprise, she LOVES them. Not to mention she looks cute as hell. There's something to be said about that. She never once complained about her vision, gave us little to no clues that she had a problem, if it wasn't for her right eye crossing, we'd still be clueless. She is so far farsighted that her doctor had to cut her prescription in half so her eyes could adjust better. I wonder, now how much does she see? Has it opened up a whole new world? I guess time will tell if she continues to love them. Other kids can be so cruel and that might be enough to make her hate them. I hope not, but ya just never know.

Tomorrow.......

November 11th. It's a Thursday. It's Veterans day. But most important, it's Bitty's birthday and i can't believe she'll be three. It seems like it was only yesterday that we were bringing her home. The thing with preemies is they seem to be stuck at infancy for so long, that it really does take you by surprise when, suddenly, they're not. I read once, that having a premature baby is like having a short pregnancy followed by a long infancy, and you best believe every word of that is true. But, they don't mention that once that infancy stage passes, they'll be a toddler in the blink of an eye. I guess the same could be said for a term baby. But when you have to fight so hard to get your child to simply hold their head up, you swear that they're never gonna grow up. That they'll never be able to do those things that "normal" babies do. And 5 years from now, you're still gonna have a baby. I've heard it said, not to wish away your baby's childhood, but as the parent of a preemie, well, sometimes it's just part of the game. While you wish they would just catch up, part of you wants to keep them little. You wish they would just "get it". Just do it, like a "normal" baby. Ask me now, and i'll tell you, my baby's the furthest thing from "normal", but instead of wishing that away, I adjusted my "normal" and embrace every moment. I like this new normal. Perhaps, being the parent of a preemie, has taught me more than what i have taught my daughter. Hell, i know it did. Granted, with the help of E.I., which for any newby preemie parent, get your baby enrolled ASAP, we had our daughter deemed "caught up" before she was one year old. It was work, HARD work. On all our parts. But as she was learning to hold her head up, so was I. As she was learning to sit up, i was learning to stop seeing her as the preemie that she was and the "normal for me" baby she was becomming. She may not have hit her milestones when she "should've", but who are we to say when that should happen anyway. After all, we all learn differently and at different pase's. She took her first steps shortly before her first birthday and hasn't looked back since. But, with those first steps brought a whole new sense of, "where did all that time go?!" I swear, i was just helping you learn to hold your head up. I didn't realise it at the time, but she was teaching me to hold my head up too.

Oh, Bitty, tomorrow you'll be three. Honestly, i can't say that i miss those baby days. I miss aspects of them, but as a whole, i'm glad to have them behind us. While toddlers bring a whole new set of worries, i'm glad my days and nights aren't spent worrying about whether or not she was gonna stop breathing. I'm thorowly happy to be done with breast pumping. I am over joyed to be done with bottles and the struggle of trying to get her to swollow solid food. If there was one thing that lingered from her preemiehood, one thing that followed us everywhere, one thing that people frowned upon, was the fact that even at age two, she was still on a bottle. It seemed to take forever for her to be able to swollow solid food. It seems that with all the knowledge we know have about preemies and premature birth, some people are still clueless. Perhaps, that's why so many of us preemie moms blame ourselves. I'll never forget the first time i took Bitty to her, now, doctor. When she was discharged from the hospital, she had to go to a pediatrition who participated in the R.S.V. program and the doctors i had originally planned on taking her to didn't. Well, when she was finished getting her shots from hell, i switched her to the doctors office she is currently at. We were patiently waiting when one of the receptionist, who was also a friend from school, had made a comment about her size and i replied that she was born 11 weeks early, the look on her face changed. Almost as if to say, "what did you do". SO many times durring Bitty's long infancy i just wanted to scream at people. "I DIDN'T MAKE MYSELF HAVE A PREEMIE"  when the reality was, i blamed myself just as much as other's looks did.

As she was growing, so was I. As i spent my days helping her to catch up, she was teaching more about life than i ever would've thought having a baby could. From the time she was born, she had a fire about her. I remember her head nurse looking into my tear stained face telling me, "she's gonna make it. This one, is a fighter." And so, she became my "littlest big girl". She would set out to push every boundry and shatter every notion as to what a preemie should be. You learn what life is truely about when you're forced to watch your flesh and blood, fight for their life everyday. You suddenly, just don't seem to bitch as much. LOL

I wonder if she knows. I wonder if she realise what she's had to do, to be where she is right now. I wonder if when she's fighting me because she doesn't want to get dressed, if she knows how hard she had to fight to breath. I wonder if she knows that in her three little years, she done more than most people EVER do. Most of all, i wonder if she knows that she's more than just my daughter, that she's more than just your average three year old. That she encompasses everything that i have grown to, not just love, but to admire. That she is my hero.

The journey of my 29 weeker, part 2.....

November 11, 2007, Veterans Day at 4:24pm, Bitty came into the world weighing in at a whopping 2lbs. 15oz. At sixteen and a quarter inches long, she looked like a doll baby. An alien looking doll baby, but nontheless, a doll baby.

Like i said before, my memory gets kinda fuzzy right after her birth and i'm really not sure when the first time i got to see her actually happened. I know my husband had seen her first. It wasn't long after i was in my room that i remember a nurse comming in with a breast pump and explaining to me how to use it. Somewhere along the line i had remembered being told how important breast milk is for preemies, and in an instant had made up my mind that my daughter would have NOTHING but breast milk, at any cost. So, feeling like a cow at a dairy farm, i attached myself to the pump. Much to my surprise, it felt good, relaxing. And so began a regimin of pumping every two to three hours.

I think i was finally able to see her the next day. The NICU seemed so far away from my room, but then again, i think right across the hall would've felt too far. I was wheeled down by a very nice nurse, i think. LOL When we arrived, she explained the regimin of hand washing followed by hand sanitizer, she then wheeled me to the "pod" my daughter was in. Nothing, and i mean nothing, can prepare you for what a premature baby looks like. But, i'm not sure i even saw that. I saw my daughter. And then, my heart broke. "What did i do?" i thought. The guilt that hit me, well, there are no words for it. I was only with her about 5 mins. before i was pretty much made to leave. "You don't look so good." Is what i was told. So, the kind nurse wheeled me back to my room.

Reality was starting to set in. My daughter could die. She could have life long problems. There's so much grey area with preemies, and even though the doctors and nurses try their best to be positive, they don't hide the facts. I was told what percentage she had of surviving and that with everyday she made, her percentage would increase. We were told the medications she was given. The one that sticks with me the most is caffine. I remember being so.....confused about that one. But, it was to help keep her heart beating. "Load her up!" i thought.

Time stands still in the world of a NICU parent. There's no night and day. There's no supper time or breakfast time. There's only the here and now. There isn't 5 mins. from now, because well, 5 mins. from now, you might be watching your child flat line. Two minutes from now, someone else is holding their baby as they are slipping away. So, there is only here and now. That's the way it has to be. Death is everywhere in a NICU. Hiding behind corners and inside cabnets. So much so, that somedays you can almost smell it. But, where death lingers, life thrives. It's the only place, i believe, that you truely see the delicate balance between life and death. While one mother is hooking her baby into a carseat, preparing to go home, another is crying because she is leaving her child behind to make funeral arrangements. There's comfort that lies in the four walls of a NICU that only someone on the inside of them can understand. Everone in there is focused soley on one thing, and it bonds us all together. It's safety in numbers. It might be a false sense of security, but it feels safe and that's all that matters. No one judges anyone. But, silently, everyone blames themselves.

For four days, i have a solid routine. I have a comforting balance. I pump every 2 hours and take it to the NICU, change my daughter's diaper - which is the only contact we can have for sometime, so injoy every diaper i can get. Her nurse and i discuss the events that have unfolded while i was gone. And just when all seems quiet, her alarm goes off. "Oh, she forgot to breath." her nurse says calmly, like it's nothing. I freaked out everytime. How can you not. When you can physically see that your child has stopped breathing or their heart has stopped beating, it makes you forget to breath, it makes your heart stop. But, calmly her nurse opens her isolet rubs Bitty firmly, and i watch, amazed. The alarm goes off. It something you NEVER get used to. You may learn to drowned out the other preemie's alarms, but you will ALWAYS hear yours. For four days, my life hangs on the balance along with my daughter's. I knew, one day, i'd have to go home and leave her behind, but it was still a shock when it came. No one prepares you for that either. How can they.

I don't think reality really sank in until the day i was discharged. Up until that point, i felt great comfort in knowing that if my daughter needed me, i was right there. If her life was gonna end, i could hold her hand. If, in the middle of the night i felt she needed me, i could be there. For some reason, i always imagined that at night, she would need me more so that's when i spent the most time there, in the NICU. And it would soon prevail that my nights at home would be the hardest.

I was relieved to be home, in a way. I had the comfort of my bed, my food, something that was constant and familiar. But, there i was, i had had a baby, but she wasn't with me.  And suddenly, i hated myself. Worse yet, i blamed myself. I was home. But why didn't it feel like it? I felt more at home in the hospital. After all, that's where my baby was, wasn't i supposed to be with HER. Even though my routine at home was all but the same as it was in the hospital, there was one vast differance. My baby wasn't there. I had to wait to go see her. Wait until someone had time to take me. Time stopped in the hospital, but life was still going on here. People had jobs, they had live's that didn't revolve around hospital trips and breast milk. My guilt would soon grow and consume just about every aspect of my life.

Long days had grown into even longer weeks of constant running back and forth to the hospital, with just about every cent we had going into either the gas tank or eating hospital food. To hell with our house bills, our daughter could die and we had to be there. That theory would and up ultimately bitting us in the ass a little over a year later when we were forced to sell our home. We seemingly forgot that we had other family members and when the holidays rolled around, we were only there long enough to eat before we would leave. B.J., Lorri, Megan,, and the rest of the NICU nurses were our family now. My days and nights litterally revolved around breast milk. With a regimin of pumping about every two hours, it doesn't leave much time for anything else. I needed to make sure that i had enough breast milk stored, just incase. And believe me, i did. LOL After a few weeks, i couldn't take it anymore. My guilt had got the best of me. In the midst of breast pumping, i just started sobbing. I shouted to my husband that "this isn't what i signed up for!" I didn't want to do it anymore. I wanted to be done. I couldn't believe what i had done to my daughter, i blamed myself in everyway possible. At one point, i even said aloud that i hoped she did pass away. With no one being able to say if she was gonna have lasting complications, her future, our future, was completely unknown. I didn't want her to have to suffer a life of pain because my body was incompitant and couldn't carry her to term. There was no longer a light at the end of the tunnel. I cried more than i didn't. I thank God for my husband on those dark nights, although my light had gone out, his didn't. And if it did, he didn't let me see. They say having kids is the most stressful thing on a marriage. I say, having a premature baby is. If you can make it through that, you will make through anything. Though we lost sight of so much durring the 48 days she spent in the hospital, we never lost sight in ourselves. We were in it, together. Come hell or high water.

Not so common, common sense....

When did people begin lossing their common sense? Is it something that comes with age? I thought that was supposed be wisdom. To me, wisdom goes hand in hand with common sense. So, shouldn't we gain MORE common sense, instead of lossing it? I just don't get it. I've always thought you could judge a person simply by the way they drive. That's right, i said drive. When you get right down to it, a vehicle is THE most dangerous weapon. More people sit behind the wheel of a car than own a gun. But yet, we pretty much hand a license to drive one to just about anyone old enough who can pass a test that, to me, is too easy. Too many people seem to forget that when behind that steering wheel, YOU are RESPONSIBLE for EVERYONE ELSE on the ROAD. Not, just yourself. Your driving doesn't just make a differance to the other people who maybe in the same car, but the car that is in front of you, behind you, and passing in the other lane. So, why do some people drive like they left their common sense at home? I don't get it. I was stopped, waiting on traffic so i could turn, i had my daughter with me. I was waiting patiently on a mac truck, who i could've had time to turn in front, but why chance that with Bitty in the car. All of a sudden, some WOMAN turns right behind me on to the road i was waiting to turn on. Esentually, "butting in line". WTF, i think to myself. The tractortrailer goes by and i turn. Eventually, i caught upto the woman, she hadn't gotten far. I continued to observe her driving "skills", and let me just say, that woman deserves to get into an accident. Apparently, she musta been in a hurry to catch her common sense.

Why?

So....i'm taking a lesson from my daughter who has officially entered the "why" stage. Why the hell can i never get to bed before 11pm? Heck, most of the time i'm lucky to get there before midnight. Why can't i just sleep like a normal person? Why, oh why, must my husband snore sooooo loud for so long? Hmmf. Guess i just answered my first question. LOL Why is Bloggers clock wrong?

The journey of my 29 weeker....part 1

Each week, from today until November 17th, i will tell a little bit of how my daughter came into the world. In this part, part one, i'll recall my whirlwind of a pregnancy.

It's been awhile since i was pregnant, but i remember almost ever detail. Right down to the moment i became pregnant, but i won't get into THAT much detail. LOL It was shortly after mothers day 2007 when our suspisions became reality. I took a pregnancy early that May morning so that my husband would know before he left for work. I didn't get much sleep the night before, the anticipation of what the morning held, well, it was just too much. I knew i was pregnant without having to take the test since my period didn't come the day before, but i felt just as crampy, almost as if i should've had my period. I woke my husband for work that morning by saying, "wake up, DADDY". I swear, he flew out of bed. I've never seen him that awake, that early. With a big smile, his excitement was to much for him to hide. As happy as i was, there was a twinge of nervousness. "I'm cramping bad" kept seeping through what should've been nothing but happy thoughts.
It felt like an eternity until my OB/GYN's office opened. Finally i called to tell them the news and set up my first, very long, appointment. Right before we were about to end the conversation, i asked if it was normal to be so crampy. All of a sudden, her calm voice changed. It was no longer full of joy and happiness. It had a sense of urgentcy to it. Hold on, she said, let me transfer you to a triage nurse. WAIT! What?! Now i was all but in panic mode. Home alone, I was scared out of my mind. "what is she gonna say" i thought. Quickly, a nurse answered the line and asked exactly how i was feeling. I said i felt like should have my period. Now, i guess i should state that my period cramps are very bad. I have endometriosis and when i get my period, my cramps feel more like contractions. Without missing a beat, she replied, "what hospital do you want to go to for blood work?" Ummmmmmmm......... Stumbling on words, i answered her. She said she would fax the blood work papers to the hospital and i was to leave now to go get blood drawn. She also made me an appointment later in the day for an ultrasound. Now, i've gone from panic to utter fear. My husband had my car, i'd have to call and tell someone what was going on and unfortunately, it couldn't be my husband since he was at work. Everyone i knew was at work. Atleast, anyone who i'd want by my side at this moment. We hadn't told anyone yet that i was pregnant and i didn't want this to be the way they found out. Finally i decided i'd call my Nan. She took FOREVER to get to my house. Well, it felt that way anyways. "Please don't ask, please don't ask, please don't ask why you're taking me to get blood drawn." I sat in the car, numb. And then, she asked. I couldn't even muster i decent lie. I tried. But, failed. I finally just blurted out, "I'm pregnant." She was quiet. She new. We drove the 5 mins. to the hospital in total silence.

Trying to stay positive and calming, the nurse who drew my blood simply said to me that it was just to check my hormone levels. We left the hospital shortly after we got there and my Nan drove me home. By that time, my huband was on his lunch break, so i called to tell him what was going on. He seemed confident nothing was wrong, but he couldn't take me to my ultasound appointment since he wouldn't be done work in time. "Great" i thought. "now i gotta find someone to do that. Someone else who i would rather not have there, holding my hand, telling me things are gonna be fine." I call my mom. Believe me when i say, she is the last person i wanted by my side. My mom has never been a very, um, comforting person. We don't really get along. We get to the OB/GYN's office where i'm whisked away to an ultrasound room. It's explained to me, that since i found out so early that i was pregnant, nothing was shown on the ultra sound. And so it would continue, a regular cycle of blood work and ultrasounds until they could see that my baby was right where she was supposed to be and not in my falopian tubes. But the cramping continued.

Every month at my prenatal appointments i would tell them how crampy i still was. "Oh, it's just your uterus stretching." I was told. And i would be continued to be told that, even on the day i went into labor. I didn't really have any other problems, other than the cramping. But a smaller, less noticable problem was slowing climbing up. Every month when i went in, my white blood cell count would be just slightly higher than the time before. But nothing was ever done. Towards the end of my short pregnancy, i was diognosed with gestational diabetes, i was schedualed to have a class on it the day after i had my daughter, so i never got the chance to go.

I was due January 27, 2008. I wanted an early baby shower because i didn't want it to be cold. It was the end of October. It was a cool, windy day. I didn't feel well and had a suspsion that we were headed to my baby shower, but i just wanted to go home. I walked into the church where it was held rubbing my belly, feeling quite ill, wanting to just go home. At that point, i was wonderfully oblivious to the events that were about to unfold two weeks later.

It was November 10th. My husband and i were settling in, getting ready for bed, when the cramping i had been feeling for 29 weeks got suddenly, worse. "I had a prenatal this morning." i thought "what is going on?" Inside my heart, i knew. I knew i was in labor. I starting doing everything i could think of. Everything the midwives and doctors had told me at every visit. I sat down with my feet propped up, drink a glass of water. I sat in a nice warm bath. But then, suddenly, in the middle of my bath, i felt as though i had to poop. "Shit!" I knew i didn't have to poop. I sat on the toilet and pushed. "This is it" i thought. I walked out to the living room where my husband had fallen asleep. I told him i was concered and was gonna call the doctor's office. I left a message for them to call me. It felt like an eternity until they did. The doctor on the other end said in a firm voice "You need to come in, i'll tell them, (the ladies at the front desk of the hospital) that you're comming in" I woke my husband and told him we needed to leave, now.

By the time we got to the hospital, the contractions had let up a bit and weren't near as bad. "This is a good thing." I thought "they'll just check me and send me home" I was whisked away to the triage area of the hospital, where i would be hooked up to all sorts of machines. "We need to get a sterile urine sample." the nurse said "so i need to catherize you." OUCH!. They hooked me up to the fetal monitor, whiched showed i was still have a large contractions. They drew blood, which came back showing my slowing climbing white blood cell count, had jumped up to 21, normal is 10-11. They flooded me with antibiotics, even though i showed now signs of illness and neither did my baby.  I was given every drug to stop contractions but, apparently, my body doesn't agree with any of them. So, i was moved to a perminante room in the "special care" section of the hospital. I always knew i was special.  I was ultrasounded, poked and prodded. Finally the morning of the 11th came. Lunch time rolled around and all seemed quiet, other than i was still having contractions. They knew i would be delivering a premature baby, so the night i came in i was given a steriod shot and told twenty four hours later, i'd have another. The atmosphere was light and full of smiles and laughter. We were all oblivious to what was about to happen in the next few moments.

We had come to grips that our daughter was gonna be born early. We were at ease with it. We were told that girls do better, so we were thankful that our baby was a girl. I was starving, so they let me eat a "liquid lunch" as they call it. No sooner did i start eating, was i abruptly wrenched with horrible pain. The nurse asked if i was alright. I simply said no. She hooked me back up to the monitors. It was a bad contraction. Another nurse rushed in. Then my doctor. Then what looked like 50 more nurses. "Husband, where are you right now!!!!?????" My mom held my hand as tears rolled down her face and mine. This was it. A nurse jumped up and straddled my belly. "I can't find the heart beat." she said. She would stay in that position until we got to the delivery room. My husband walks into the room, unaware of what was happening. He was handed a pair of scrubs and told to put them on. And in an instant, i was being rushed down a hallway. Unprepared for the events that were about to unfold.

The operating room was so cold. They told me and my husband that, if they had to put me under, her wasn't allowed in the room. "please work, spinal" Is all i kept thinking. "I need him here. Here with me. Holding my hand. Telling me everything would be fine." It seemed to take forever for the spinal to work. I began shaking uncontrollably. Then, my husband walked in. He sat down and took my hand, looked into my eyes and smiled. A wave of calmness swept over me. "I'm gonna have to push really hard on your chest" the doctor said. "Holly hell! that hurt" then i heard it. The one thing all parents wait anxiously to hear. The one thing only a parent to a preemie can really grasp the importantce of. I heard a little cry. In a busy, loud operating room, i heard my daughter's little attempt to cry. Things get fuzzy after that becuase i lost alot of blood and ended up either having pneumonia or bronchitis. But i remember lots of family members shuffling in and out of my room. Bringing presents and flowers. Bearing nervous smiles. A baby had been born and that's just what's supposed to happen. But all i could think was, "i didn't have a baby, i gave birth to a fetus, and how was she supposed to survive." ..............to be continued.

November is......

 Fall has to be, undoubtedly, my favorite time of year. The crisp, sweetness in the air, the sound of the wind rattling through leaves that have started to change. The small town fairs, getting ready for holloween. If it happens in the fall, i love it. It also happens to be my favorite time to take pictures. With all that i love about this time of year, i can't help but to feel a storm lingering off in the distance. I know it will come, it comes every year. I've learned to try to prepare myself for it, but i know there's no way to mentally do it. Yet, i still try. Hoping that this year will be different. I know that in a few, short weeks, i will be pleagued by an indiscribible depression. One that, even though i am still in love with fall, i hate it. One that, even though i want to take pictures, i can't. One that, with all the love a mother can have for their child, it's hard to look at mine with out wanting to cry. In a few, very short weeks, my mind will relive each and every heartbreaking feeling i felt. I don't know why. I can only imagine and maybe hope alittle, that each of us preemie moms goes through something similar. Every year, in the begining of fall, i suck in all the wonderful smells, take in all the beautiful sights and sounds. I hold on to these, hoping that somehow, beyond of reasoning, that they will chase away the storm. So far, it's never seemed to work. This year will be no different i'm affraid. I feel it. Comming, slowly. So, i'll wait patiently as it rolls in, knowing that storms always pass through as quickly as they come. And it is in that moment, sometime after January, that i feel at peice with everything. I know i'll be alright and that she will be too. We survived it, once again, and i can go about being oblivious to it once more, until next year.
I wrote this a little while ago on Facebook, thought i should add it here too. It pretty much sums up how i feel this time of year due to the events that unfolded on November 10th to the 11th, the day Bitty came into the world. Man, how those two days were a whirlwind. I'm honestly surprised i remember any of it. Look back, even though it took two days, it really feels like it all happened in a matter of moments. I go into the hospital one night, thinking i'm just having cramping as usual. Completely un aware of the fact that 24 short hours later, my daughter would be rushed into this world. Surrounded by a rush of nurses and unfamiliar faces, reality was about to smack in the face. As a nurse strateled my belly, trying oh so hard to find Bitty's heartbeat, tears rolling down my face, i was rushed down a long hallway into a icey cold operating room. Surrounded by people, i had never felt so alone.

Crap!

OMG! In one week, my little Bitty will be 3. Three, really? Already? Seems like yesterday i was being rushed in for an emergancy c-section. Her party's gonna be on Sunday and i am not in the least bit prepared. I haven't even finished inviting everyone yet. Let alone planning any games or even what "theme" it should be, because apparently, kids birthday parties are supposed to be big, theatrical events. Or, atleast that's what you see in magazines and at other kids parties. The likely hood of her remembering her third birthday party is slim to none, but i still somehow want to make an awesome one. After all, she deserves it. She's been through more in her tiny three years, than what most people go through in a life time. And for some reason, this birthday just seems so much more signifacant than the other two. Well, her first birthday was pretty damn signifacant too, but i can't help but feel this one is different. I know i'm not alone in feeling that way either. After talking to a friend who had her preemie son the same day, in the same hospital as i had my daughter, she feels it too. She feels this birthday is different as well. So.......how do have a memoral birthday party for a girl who has done the nearly impossible? Seriously, how do you do that?

November is......

November is so many things. Thanksgiving, changing the clocks back, leaf's falling, crisp air, maybe even some snow. But, to me, November is Bitty's birthday. November is a time for me to feel humble and reflect. November means more than one tear will be shed. November is also National Prematurity Awareness Month, with the 17th being Nation Prematurity Awareness Day. It's only fitting that the month my daughter was born, something else inside me was born aswell. A desire to make it known that WE CAN put an end to an overwhelming number, on average, 1 in 8 babies are born premature. Bitty was that one in eight. But, i'll save her story for another time. A desire to reach outside my comfort zone, so that another mother or father can know that their is life outside the four walls of a NICU. A feeling of purpose.

Fight for Preemies // Bloggers Unite

Fight for Preemies // Bloggers Unite

Not ready.......

God, i can't believe we finally did it. Bitty is in a big girl bed. And by big girl, i mean twin size. It's crazy! I swear, she's only a baby, she's not gonna be 3 in two weeks. She not! Husband says " what do you want to do with her crib? Do you want to give it to your friend with the store or give it to someone else?" Wait, WHAT?!?!? Get rid of it? NO. That means no more babies, no more life inside me, no more........BABIES! I freak out. Go hide and cry. We've talked about it often, having another. I was an only, he has two brothers and a sister. Bitty shouldn't be an only. We've talked about it. She supposed to have a sibling. I'm not done. But.......then reality kicks in. She was 11 weeks early. She could've died. She could've had major complications. But.....she didn't. Although, we go to the eye doctor tomorrow to finish her initial exam and decide how far sighted she is and what exactly to do. I don't want to do that either. I'm terrified. But anyway, it has to be done. Yes, i want her to have a little brother or sister. I really, REALLY do. But it goes against everything i believe in, to risk the life of another child, just so Bitty's not an only. I couldn't do it. It's not worth it. Not to me anyway. So, part of me will go with her crib, where ever it may go. I don't want it to go. It's her crib. But, kids grow up. Soon she'll be 3. WOW. She's gonna  be 3?! To me, that crib symbolizes life, another baby, in some way shape or form it's my uterus, LOL. **sigh**

Finally....

So, i'm new to all this blogging stuff but have been think of starting one for awhile. What better day than today, right? Lately, days like today, are becoming the "normal" around my little house. Husband's snoring peacefully, all be it loud, daughter, who i will refer to as Bitty, sleeping as peacefull as a kid with a cold can. Me, well, i'm sitting in the bathroom searching for something that i can call mine. I devote my days to my young daughter and my afternoon, evening, and night to both Bitty and the Husband. Where do I fit, you may ask. Good question. If i could answer, well, i couldn't because i wouldn't be sitting here right now. If i fit in anywhere, Husband would do something about his damn snoring, which i should add isn't quiet - EVER. I swear he has sleep apnea but apparently doesn't know how to call the doctor, that's my job and well, i down right refuse to. After 10+ years of being "the good wife", i'm tired of doing it all and i'm sorry but i think that's one thing he should atleast do for me. Where was I? Oh, right. Right now, i would be sleeping. But, i don't see much sense in it since i won't sleep anyway. I'll just lay there, irritated as hell. Most nights i read magazine articles. Ya know, the kind in Parents and Good Housekeeping. See, good wife/mommy here. I do my homework, e.v.e.r.y n.i.g.h.t.