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#MicroblogMondays: Old Friends

Yesterday, we invited two old friends of mine into our home for a few hours. And by “old,” I mean that, with the exception of my cousins, these are my very oldest friends. I’ve known them most of my life. That said, I haven’t seen them in twenty years and we’ve kept in touch mostly through the magic of Facebook, which basically means not at all. I’m a naturally shy and reserved person and felt a mix of fear, nerves, anxiety, and sheer dread as I awaited the arrival of, essentially, two people (and their spouses) who were now strangers to me. And so it was a relief to realize that somehow knowing someone in your earliest, most innocent and precious years connects you for life. There was no awkwardness or discomfort; we talked for nearly four hours straight and could have kept going, if it were not for the bedtimes of my children.

As they walked out our front door to return to their hotel, it occurred to me that, had I not moved hours away from them before the start of middle school, we probably would have remained dear friends for all of my life. It’s a little sad to think what I may have missed out on.

Do you keep in touch with your childhood friends? Are you still close to them now?

 

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Mostly Sad

Two weeks ago, my once-dear, but now non-friend Lillian and I were in the same place at the same time, for the first time in an entire year. We were both attending a birthday party for the son of our mutual friend, Leigh. In addition to being a party guest, I had also been asked to be the official party photographer, which I was thankful for. It was a small mercy Leigh gave me, asking me to do that, giving me an excuse for not socializing, giving me a shield of protective armor to hide behind.

Lillian’s dark hair was shaped into the same short, spunky cut that she’d had for a while, but she looked different to me. Maybe she’d lost a little weight? And she was wearing a scarf and stylish ballet flats that seemed so different from what I remembered as her style. She looked good, but acted more subdued and reserved than the bold, loud, laughing Lillian I knew. I could practically see the wall she’d built around herself and, if it hadn’t been for my friendly, loving Cupcake running up to greet her and talk her ear off (because somehow, over a year and half later, my big girl still remembers Lillian and her daughter), I probably wouldn’t have heard her voice at all. She was quiet. Reserved. Guarded. I felt it, and I know my husband and Leigh did too.

When Lillian entered the party room, she gave me a little wave and when she left two hours later, she did the same, but other than that, she ignored me completely. Didn’t even look my way. We both moved about the room, her focused so completely and intentionally on her two little ones and me hiding behind my camera and snapping away. By the way we barely acknowledged one another, never connecting like the identical poles of two magnets, you wouldn’t know that we have a history. You wouldn’t know that she was there for me, one of the few IRL, when I miscarried. You wouldn’t know that I was one of the first to know when she found out she was pregnant with the baby she lost or the one she gave birth to a few months after Skittle. You wouldn’t know that we went on weekend getaways together, that she threw a baby shower for me, that she attended our gender reveal party, and that Cupcake spent the night at her house while I went to the hospital to have Skittle. You’d have no idea because there, at that party, it was like we didn’t know each other at all.

Which is freaking sad, ya’ll.

I felt awkward and nervous and unsure and confused and surprised and insecure and reserved that day. But most of all, I felt sad. I wanted to feel indifferent. Or at the very least, mad. But I just felt mostly sad.

Sad because Lillian was once my go-to girl when it came to grieving my loss. She was my greatest support and my greatest cheerleader in the year or two that followed as I fought to bring Skittle safely into our lives. Having suffered RPL, she knew better than anyone else what I did and did not need from her. And she helped me. She helped me so much.

Sad because, if things had gone differently, it would have been Leigh, Lillian, and I working together to make that party a success…and then standing against the wall, laughing and eating the fattest pieces of cake we could eat while still being socially acceptable.

Sad because it was never more clear that my daughter, precious 5-year-old Cupcake, had lost someone, too. Lillian was in her life from the ages of one to four and then she, and her daughter (whom Cupcake had regular playdates with), were gone. And when Cupcake saw them both that day at the party, her face lit up, and she ran to them, and held hands with little Mini-Lillian, and it was almost as though nothing had changed at all.

Sad because while Cupcake knows and remembers Lillian very well, Skittle does not. My friendship with Lillian started unraveling sometime around Skittle’s first birthday. Skittle doesn’t know her much at all. And Poppy just doesn’t know her. Period.

Sad because, all this time later, I still don’t exactly understand how it all fell apart, or why it had to, or what it was that made Lillian start to hate me so.

Sad because, all this time later, I’m still affected by it. Still mad. Still hurt. Still sad.

And maybe that makes me terribly pathetic. Or maybe it just makes me human. And maybe I’ll write more about all of this as I continue to process. Or maybe I’ll just keep it close to my heart forevermore.

I honestly don’t even know what the point of this post is. Except to express how amazing and incredibly unbelievable it is to me that someone whom is not family and was in my life for a relatively short amount of time (3-4 years) can have this much power over me. Except, she was there during one of my greatest crises. And she does know things about me that most others do not. And I did once see her on a weekly, if not daily, basis — so much more than most anyone else, except for my most immediate family. So I guess that probably explains it.

But still, it’s sad. Sad how quickly things can change. And sad that, once they do, there’s no going back. This can’t be undone. I don’t know what the future holds or if some event or turning point, big or small, will reunite us. I just know that what’s been said and done is permanent. It’s left a lasting mark. If not on the universe, at least on my heart.

Sticky and Stuck

I’m feeling stuck. I can’t decide what to write here, or if I should write nothing or everything. Should I give pregnancy updates? Talk about my day-to-day with Cupcake and Skittle? Get philosophical on what it means to be a mother, or infertile? Get sentimental and remember the baby I lost, but haven’t forgotten? I sometimes think I should participate in Microblog Mondays, but I usually don’t even think of it until Monday night and then it just seems like too much work.

I think part of the problem is that I want to write something meaningful — something that matters — and I’m not sure this is the right place for that, or if what matters to me matters to anyone else. And honestly, I don’t even know what matters to me right now. I have two kids and another on the way, and I’m just tired and rushed and a bit overwhelmed, and writing anything coherent seems like a daunting task. And it’s really hot here in the Pacific NW, where A/C is not really the norm inside homes (including ours), so I’m not just stuck, I’m sticky. With sweat. And unmotivated to do much of anything because of it.

See, I have a lot of excuses for my lack of content, but none of them really mean anything, do they? So just please bear with me as I try to figure this out. I’m not sure if I’ll be writing more or less in the coming weeks, but I promise you I will continue writing as I feel inspired to do so. And many thanks to all of you who have stuck around. Whether you lurk in the shadows or comment on every post, I feel your love and appreciate your support.

While I’m here, let me give a brief(-ish) pregnancy update in an easy-peasy bullet point format:

  • I just began my third trimester (depending on who you ask). I’m 27 weeks as of yesterday.
  • I’m still struggling with “morning sickness.” It’s better than it was in the first trimester, but I suffer through periods of nausea several times a week still. I vomited just tonight, right after dinner, per my usual once-a-week meet and greet with the porcelain throne. It kind of blows my mind since it was never like this in my last pregnancies. I hardly had any sickness with Skittle and, though I often felt very nauseous with Cupcake, it was gone by 13 weeks. And yet here I am, at 27 weeks, with vivid memories of what the inside of our toilet looks like. Crazy.
  • Besides the nausea AND my severe seasonal allergies, I’m feeling pretty good. Tired, but not terribly so. The headaches that I was having for a good few weeks are gone now. I don’t have the same shortness of breath or leaky bladder that I did in my last pregnancy, and no blood pressure spikes or hemorrhoid flare-ups yet (though I am fully expecting both of those to come knocking at my door down the road).
  • Emotionally, I’m feeling pretty strong and serene. I have my moments certainly, and I can feel my anxiety creep from my stomach to my chest to my throat when this baby has been too quiet for too long, but I’m managing to keep it mostly under control. Hourly kick counts help. And by “hourly,” I mean every hour that I’m awake of every day, I keep a tally sheet of how many times Poppy kicks, and I have been for the last seven weeks. I know it’s a bit insane — proof that I’m by no means “normal” when it comes to pregnancy — but it really does help to keep the crazies under wraps.
  • We’ve chosen a name! Just tonight. We had it narrowed to two and I told Honey to make the final decision because I just couldn’t. I love them both too much. The name we’ve chosen is a bit unusual and, though used exclusively for boys in the U.K. (where it originates), it’s become trendy to use it for girls here in the U.S. That worries me some, as well as the fact that his initials sort of allude to a swear word, but all in all, I adore the name we’ll be giving this little boy and am excited to reveal it to our friends and family (and on this blog!) after his birth.
  • I’m whittling away at my pregnancy “to do” list. So far, I have asked my friend Leigh to be my doula again, hired a birth photographer (sooooo excited for this one!), hired a maternity and newborn photographer, started stocking our deep freeze with freezer meals, and done lots and lots of shopping for our little man. But I still have more shopping to do, plus preparing the nursery, making more freezer meals, and moving Skittle into Cupcake’s room (which I am beyond terrified for).

And an update on the rest of my life:

  • I’ve been feeling a bit isolated and lonely these days. With Cupcake out of preschool for the summer and me having so much I want to accomplish at home, I’m finding that we don’t get out of the house as much as we should. We’ve had a few playdates and I’ve gone out with Leigh several times, but most of my days are primarily spent with a 1- and 4-year-old. They make me laugh, but it’s not the same as having the company of an adult. It’s times like this when I really miss Lillian and the rest of my mom’s group (which has essentially fallen apart over the last two years). So I’m painfully aware that my social life is in the crapper right now. But I’m thankful for my one good local friend, Leigh, and the support and comedy that she adds to my life. We spent all of this past Saturday making homemade strawberry jam and we have other fun things planned for this summer, too.
  • Though Honey is gone most of the day, working hard on a project at work that is finally nearing its end (thank GOD!), he comes home and somehow finds it in himself to have a good chunk of quality time with his girls and to help me around the house. Right now, I’m typing this post up and he’s sweeping the kitchen floor (after having already done the dishes and going to fill my car up with gas), that’s how amazing he is. I hope to write a blog post on him soon, but suffice it to say, I am so, so, so lucky this man is mine.
  • Cupcake is four-and-a-half now and still has one year of preschool ahead of her before entering “big kid school.” She’s about to have her very first haircut and I’m nervous but ready for the change. This girl continues to challenge me with her strong-willed ways, but we are now past the worst of the toddler power battles and every day with her is becoming more and more fun. She’s thrilled to bits to have a baby brother on the way.
  • Skittle is 20 months and every day with her is a joy. Her two-year molars are considering their entrance and so there’s a lot of drool in our house and a few difficult nights here and there, but overall, this girl just amazes me with her fearless, determined, playful, and loving spirit. I don’t want this stage to end! But more on that later. I hope to write a post on each of my girls sometime over the summer.

So that’s where we’re at in a nutshell. Up next for us:

  • Getting the results to my one-hour glucose test. I’m really, really nervous for this since I failed last time (but then passed the the 3-hour test). I just want to be able to eat all.the.ice.cream, you know? It’s hot here!
  • A road trip to Idaho to visit family. Not sure how it will go being trapped in a car for four or five hours, but I’ve done it before in pregnancy. I can do it again!
  • Massages and attending a painting party with my friend Leigh. I’ll also be taking boudoir photos for her later this summer since the last time we made an attempt, she came down with strep throat.
  • My maternity photos at the end of this month. I’m paying an obscene amount of money for this photographer, but having her take my maternity photos has been my dream for a while. She’s a-mazing!
  • My 32nd birthday in just a few more weeks.
  • A visit to my sister in August. She’s going through a divorce and is really in need of the extra support these days.
  • A final litttle hurrah as a family of four over Labor Day weekend, when we go stay at a rented house on Puget Sound. Sounds relaxing…I really hope it is!

There’s a lot on the horizon for us and, as summer turns to fall, the crowning glory will be this baby’s birth. It’s crazy, and incredible, to imagine.

Grief is Beautiful

Grief is part of the human experience. We all know this. By the time we reach our 30s, most of us have already lost someone we loved, whether it be a beloved grandparent or a beloved pet, or if we’re really unlucky, someone much closer to us. Losing someone in death is perhaps the most difficult and permanent of all griefs, but it’s not the only type of grief we experience in life.

As infertiles, we know and understand a lot about grief because we go through the process over and over and over again. With the start of each period, we grieve the end of a dream. Some of us have to grieve the loss of a pregnancy, a much-wanted and already-loved baby. Some of us have to grieve the idea of ever being parents or of experiencing all the ups and downs that come with carrying a child in your womb. We grieve because we don’t feel “normal,” because we don’t feel like a woman, because everyone else seems to get pregnant without much thought and we are reminded of our body’s shortcomings at every turn.

And as a mother, I have come to realize that there is grief in every part of parenting. My friend Leigh and I speak often of this. We grieve because our babies have stopped being babies. We grieve because they are constantly growing up, leaving us behind little bit by little bit in each step forward they take. They start preschool, they start kindergarten, they make friends who become more important to them than Mom and Dad, they stop needing hugs and kisses, they stop needing us…and we grieve. And we grieve when they grieve, for whatever they grieve for and for however long the grief lasts. As a mother, grief is constant.

But grief doesn’t end there either. It isn’t contained to just death, and infertility, and mothering. We face grief around every corner, sometimes in small ways and sometimes in much larger ones. We grieve the loss of a job we loved or needed. We grieve not getting the job we really wanted. We grieve when a phenomenal vacation has come to an end. (Maybe not everyone does this, but I do. Oh! how I do.) We grieve the end of summer, the end of the holiday season. And we grieve relationships that end not by death, but by circumstance or choice. Sometimes someone moves away. Sometimes we just drift away from a friend who once was our whole world. Sometimes we are forced to face a divorce we never could have predicted, as my sister is right now. And sometimes a close friend, for whatever reason, decides that she is ready to end our friendship, and we grieve again.

That’s where I’m at right now.

For those of you who have been following this blog for a while, you will probably remember my good friend Lillian. The one who gave me the most face-to-face support during and after my miscarriage. The one who experienced three miscarriages of her own before giving birth to her daughter and another one shortly after I learned I was pregnant with Skittle. The one who kept Cupcake at her house for nearly two days while I was in the hospital giving birth. The one with whom I did frequent Mom’s Nights Outs, and weekend getaways, and jam-making, and cookie-baking, and playdates. Remember her? For over three years, she has been a huge part of my life and, now, she has unexpectedly decided that she does not want to be a part of it anymore.

It’s a long, complicated story that I am still trying to make sense of and much of it remains shrouded in mystery for me. I won’t bother going into all of the details here because it’s just too much. And really, the details don’t matter because, in the end, Lillian still decided our friendship was over. She explained it away by saying it was clear to her that our personalities didn’t fit together. I am too sensitive, too easily wounded, and she apparently felt like a “bull in a china shop” with my feelings. And in that, she may have a point. I am emotional and sensitive and I do get my feelings hurt easily.  And Lillian’s first priority is always Lillian. She has no filter and is quick to anger and says and does a lot of things that can and have stung my heart. But the funny thing is that I have never admitted to any of it unless Lillian has pointedly asked me if she hurt my feelings. And isn’t it odd that I’ve been able to get over and let go of it every time she has hurt me, and yet she somehow cannot let it go? And that the only two times she has confronted me with  issues in our friendship is because I hurt her feelings, not the other way around? Like I said, it’s complicated and mysterious and I don’t understand much of it myself.

I think the hardest part is knowing how much time I invested in our friendship. I gave her a lot of myself and recently worked very hard to fix things when it became obvious they weren’t going well. I devoted myself to our friendship for an entire year while my husband was telling me I deserved better and that I was wasting my time. I was willing to do what needed to be done to find some healing between us and she gave up. And she can say it’s because I’m too sensitive or blame it on clashing personalities or whatever her excuse of the day is, but the truth of the matter is that she made a choice. It was a choice to end our friendship and only she has responsibility in that. Clearly, I valued it more than she did and I’m glad to know that now, but it’s still hard to swallow. And no matter how it ended or why, it still feels like a rejection. Like something is wrong with me. Like I did something bad, even when everything I did had truly good and honest intentions behind it and I wanted nothing more than to be a good friend to her.

But the intensity of the emotions that came in the aftermath has mostly subsided. I have worked through the grieving process rather quickly and am now at a stage of acceptance and, almost, indifference. These days, I am feeling somewhat relieved that the constant drama with her is over for good and I am free to live my life as I please without the concern of what she thinks or how it may piss her off. I miss her sometimes, and all the laughs we had. And I miss the fun things we used to do with our mutual friend Leigh and the three of our families. I miss the memories and the sense of community her friendship gave me. I miss her because, in the best of times, she was a dear friend who offered a lot of support and a place where I could truly let my guard down. But in the worst of times, I felt guarded all the time and I don’t miss that.

It’s a mixed bag of “stuff” you get with a loss. With grief.

And yet, if you live a long and full life, grief is part of the package. It’s part of the price we pay for love. It’s part of being human.

I kind of hate that, but I’m learning to accept it, instead of fearing it. Instead of running from it.

I’m learning to embrace it.

To be grateful for it.

Grief is beautiful.

Even when it’s hard and ugly, it’s always beautiful.

Clarity

Thank you so much for all the love and support you showed after I published my last post. I should have known all along that I could count on you to lift me up. I don’t know how often I’ll be posting from here on out — probably much less than I did in my last pregnancy — but I do know I want to be able to come here from time to time as needed. Thank you all for following along.

The start of this week was rough. With daily headaches and barfing three times in the span of 48 hours (I can’t believe I’m STILL dealing with “morning” sickness at 15 weeks pregnant!), I was feeling really crapping. Also, my head and heart weren’t in a good place because a good friend of mine had broken up with me. Seriously. I don’t know any other way to say it. It would be almost laughable — to be dumped at the age of 31 by one of my best friends (I thought this drama only happened in high school?) — if it didn’t hurt so damn much. I’ve lost a lot of sleep and cried a lot of tears over this and may write about it in my next post since the friend in question is one I have talked a lot about on this blog, but for now I’ll just say…it’s been a sad week here. It’s messed with my head. It sucks.

People talk about moments of clarity. Like when you nearly lose your life and, afterwards, take stock of everything that you are grateful for or need to change. I find that my moments come to me on a much smaller scale, but they have the same effect. Earlier this week, I was feeling normal pregnancy worries. I hadn’t felt the baby (we’ll call him/her Poppy…as in poppyseed…as in, my baby was the size of a poppyseed when I first learned s/he existed) move in days and, though I know this is very normal since it’s still super early to be feeling any fetal movement, I let it get to me every time.

I brought out the doppler as I always do when I start to feel the anxiety creep in, almost-but-not-quite expecting to hear just silence and my own slow heartbeat and the gurgle of whatever is going on inside of me. I always feel just on the edge of believing my baby will die at any given moment…probably a form of infertility and miscarriage PTSD. But then there it was instantly…that fast and beautiful thumpity-thump-thump and, simultaneously, the sweetest, smallest baby wiggle or kick or whatever it was and I breathed out, “Thank you, God,” and then I knew.

I knew that nothing else really mattered besides that baby. That heartbeat and that kick. And the two other squealing, bouncy little ones in the next room. And the husband who has done my normal household chores — dishes and making dinner and picking up toys and on and on — without a word of complaint, even though I know he’s tired after a long day of work, because he knows my pregnancy sleepies and queasies trump that. And nothing matters more than the others in my life who choose to love me. And nurturing my relationships with them. And showing them and telling them what they mean to me.

That is what’s important.

Not a friend who has decided she finds no more value in my friendship. Not a friend who tells me all the things I need to change about myself, but can’t handle the truth when I meet her with brutal honesty and refuse to be bullied. And not the words I say to myself about what must be wrong with me. About why I don’t deserve to be loved.

Because there are people who love me. People who want to love me. People who can’t help but love me. At my best. At my worst. No makeup. Unshowered. Raw. They see me and they love me anyways.

Clarity.

We all need some of it from time to time.

A Hemmie Update and Commentary on Friendship

Well, the good news is that my hemmies are much improved since my last post. I’m still doing a whole lot for comfort and pain management — lotions and potions and sitz baths and showers after every BM — but in between all of that, I’m able to mostly forget about what’s going on down there. They itch and they’re sore, but they’re not taking over my life anymore, which is such a relief. I was afraid I was going to spend the rest of this pregnancy miserable and now I’m more hopeful that won’t be the case. Fingers remained crossed that I don’t experience another flare-up, though.

And I want to thank all of you who commented on Friday’s post. It is so nice to have somewhere to turn when I need to complain about the more embarrassing side of pregnancy. To receive support and sympathy without any shame is a gift ya’ll give to me every day. And I love you guys for it.

And with that being said, I want to add that the friendships I have made from this blog are so dear to me. Truly. When I began blogging, I had hoped to find and give support through this awful journey, to make connections with women who understood what I was going through. But never did I fathom that I would or could build relationships that I believe will last beyond the life of this blog. There are bloggie pals whom I e-mail back and forth with as though I have known them all my life. There is a bloggie friend whom I am hoping to meet for the first time when she visits my corner of the U.S. shortly after Skittle’s birth. And there is another sweet, wonderful friend who sends the most meaningful packages right to my doorstep:

IMG_9102 IMG_9105

A million billion thank you’s to one of my bloggie besties over at Quietly Southern (not sure if she wants her real name published here) for these gifts — gifts for myself, for Cupcake, and for Skittle of course. Bibs, bloomers, toys, headbands, beauty products…the list goes on. I am so lucky. In so many ways. And friends like this, friends like all of you, are on the top of my Lucky List. Hugs to each of you and, most especially, hugs to Ms. QS for her thoughtfulness and her love. xo

Sister Woes and a Tiny Update

Well, even though I don’t talk about her much on this blog anymore, my sister can still get under my skin. For the record. We have a cordial relationship that includes weekly phone calls or e-mails, but ever since everything went down between us last year, I find myself guarded. I don’t let us go too deep, and I rarely discuss any of my fears or uncertainty about this pregnancy or anything else with her, but I feel okay with that. I always wanted a sibling while growing up, but I’m finding it’s not quite the Polyanna dream I had imagined. Which is fine. It is what is and I don’t really feel like I’m lacking anything, so no harm done.

But still…she bugs me sometimes (though I’m sure everyone can say that about their sis). Like, her husband just graduated with a Master’s degree and all I hear now is how lucky her daughter is to be able to say both of her parents have a graduate degree. Yes, that’s something to be proud of. Honey and I both desperately wish we could go to grad school. But do I need to hear about it in every conversation? Like, seriously, every conversation? Noooooo. But that’s not even why I’m writing this post. It’s just a new gripe that I felt compelled to mention.

My biggest complaint about my sister is that everything is always about her. She’s selfish and she’s self-centered. She has so little consideration for others if it doesn’t serve her own purpose or desires in some way and she lacks serious self-awareness. The first time I met my sis, a year ago this past March, we agreed to meet halfway between our home cities. She was an hour late. An hour.  Her husband took full responsibility for it because he was doing schoolwork, but that’s just inexcusable to me. And rude. Especially for a first time meeting (hello, first impressions!) and especially because I had a one-year-old Cupcake with me and I had expressed that she had a strict naptime we had to stick with. Instead, Sis arrived as we were finishing lunch, less than an hour before we were due to turn around to go home (so Cupcake could nap in the car), and made no apologies. And it’s been that way ever since. Even before she had a child of her own, I have always been expected to adjust my schedule to hers. Never mind that I’m living on my toddler’s schedule and mealtimes, naptimes, and bedtimes can be crucial for everyone’s sanity. Nope, Sis only responds to my needs and requests if it suits her just fine. Le sigh.

The most recent problem I have run into with this is trying to work with my sister’s arrival in regards to when I go into labor. A couple months ago, Sis offered to come stay with Cupcake while I’m in the hospital having Skittle. It was such a kind offer, and something that wasn’t even on my radar at the time. We were planning to ask my in-laws to come instead, but they live farther away than Sis and I don’t trust them to abide by our household rules in quite the same way. So I discussed it with my husband and we decided we would take Sis up on her offer. When I told her this a few weeks ago, though, I learned that there are lots of stipulations to the whole thing. As in, if I call her when I go into labor and she’s at work, she’s going to wait until the end of the work day to come and will then have to pick up my niece before she’s able to make the three-hour drive here. And if it’s the middle of the night, she’s going to wait until the morning to make the drive because she doesn’t want to disrupt her baby’s routine. So basically, the only time she’ll come right away is if it’s daytime on a weekend and she’s not in the middle of doing anything else. Which is fine. I understand — COMPLETELY! — if she doesn’t or can’t drop everything for me. I. Get. That. But then she shouldn’t have offered in the first place, right? I have never gone into labor naturally. And this is not my first baby. So labor could go fast. We don’t know. But what we do know is that babies come when they want. Sometimes in the middle of the night. Sometimes on a weekday. And they disrupt everyone’s schedules. She just shouldn’t have offered if she wasn’t willing to put me first for the first time ever. Another sigh.

But whatever.

Thankfully, I’m not stressed over this, just annoyed. My good friend Lillian is willing to be a backup to my sis. She says her phone will be on 24/7 and she will come running any time I call. In fact, I think she’s hoping that my sis quits, is fired, or fails at her job so that Cupcake can come stay with her (Lillian) instead. And honestly, I’m hoping for that too. Maybe I’ll just accidentally “forget” to phone Sis when the contractions begin? 🙂 But either way, at least there is someone I can trust. I may not have a sister I can count on, but I do have some very good friends on which I can. Right now, that feels like the most important thing.

And speaking of “friends”….remember my old friend, Kat? Well, she was due with her twins just 2-3 weeks after me, but she delivered them by C-section on Friday (about 9 or 10 weeks early). They have to spend some time in the NICU of course, but they seem to be doing well, from what I can gleam from Facebook. I have been momentarily and mildly tempted to send a private e-mail of congrats and support to her, and to go shopping for her babies, but I haven’t and don’t really think I will. I am happy for Kat, and hoping for her quick recovery and a happy homecoming for the babies very soon, but I feel little else. No jealousy, no regret, no sadness, no despair, no disappointment, no hurt, no wishing things could be different. The only thing I really feel is a subtle indifference, and that lets me know that I really did get the closure I needed. Thank you, God.