1. Use every gadget in my kitchen at least once. (Not just the corkscrew.)
2. Go a little easier on the corkscrew.
3. Get back into a regular running habit.
4. Use the gym for more than just swimming with my kiddo.
5. Buy a real bed.
6. Get a kitchen table.
7. Get Wi-Fi that works.
8. Read a non-school related book at least once a month.
9. Do all my school readings prior to class each week.
10. Just get the subscription to Food & Wine Magazine already.
11. Set a goal each month and meet it.
12. Remember to book hair cut and eyebrow wax appointments before they are way overdue.
13. Become a member of the museum and go to the museum at least once per month.
14. Write at least three times per week.
15. Remember to take the grocery bags to the grocery store.
16. Finish the downstairs bathroom.
17. Finish the trim paint upstairs.
18. Plant a garden.
19. Learn to cross country ski.
20. Get pregnant.
In junior high I played basketball. I am not much into ball sports and basketball solidified that. Or junior high. Or the combination of the two. Either way. The team I played on was pretty good (which is not to say that I was any good at all, I was tall they needed tall). At one point we were 8-0. I think maybe it went down hill from there. I don't remember. I just remember the 8-0.
Junior high sucked. Sucked. Sucked to the tune of private christian school that I refused to return to by the end of eighth grade at which point I transfered to he huge public school which was scary as hell, worse when I discovered how far behind I was academically...bet it thrilled my parents to pieces to be paying thousands of dollars a year for a sub-par education.
I do know all the words to every pop-ish jesus love song of the 1990's. So, score!
Like basically everyone, I got my period in seventh grade. In the fall. On the way to a babysitting job. Nothing will cement into one's mind the way trying to figure out how the fuck to work a tampon in a guest bathroom while the children you are being paid to care for are down for a nap. Yeah. That shit will stick with you for freaking ever. I even remember the tee-shirt I was wearing. And the overalls. And the Birkenstocks. They were blue and I loved them.
(Aside: I should get new Birkenstocks, I haven't had a pair in maybe ten years. So much cuter than Crocs. Ok, cutermight be a stretch...more organic. Without a doubt.)
So I got my period.
Sixteen years ago.
Which means that I have had the pleasure of one hundred and eighty weeks of cramps, mess, and bleeding. Yeah. That equals 3.46 YEARS of F-U-N!
It would be more like 192, but onetime, once, going on five years ago, I managed to get pregnant. And stay pregnant. And didn't get much of a period at all for just over a year.
I got it in my head some time ago that maybe I wanted to have a baby.
I thought it would be fun to have a baby and not be married.
Mostly because it would drive my mother up the wall to have a bastard grandchild.
And I am just the kind of somewhat begrudging ungrateful shit of a child who would do something like that.
But we weren't settled at all and needed a house and to live and work in the same damn town before we really discussed having a baby in any kind of serious way.
And K needed Two and Three to just be. She had other siblings at her dad's house anyway. Its been good for her to get all the attention here. I am sure that is true.
And then last Christmas, well just after Christmas, we went to visit T's family. His brothers and sister-in-laws and a ton of teenagers and it became abundantly clear to me that we would have to get married if we were going to seriously consider having a child. Because putting aside my own personal glee in making my mother socially uncomfortable, it would be hard for his family, it would be disappointing for them and they were so kind to me and my toddler. And they had been waiting for decades for T to grow into an adult life.
So we bought the house and moved in and got a dog and built a swing set and had friends to dinner and argued over money and lived a life for a while and decided to get married. All the while assuming I suppose that we would have a baby when we were done with all of that, but not actually discussing getting rid of the IUD that I had had put into place to prevent a poorly timed pregnancy.
And we got married, in November, and each of T's five siblings and two of their spouses traveled thousands and thousands of miles to stand up at out wedding.
On the plane ride home I got a call back from my midwife and scheduled an appointment to have the IUD removed two days later. Which was unpleasant as all fucking hell. As unpleasant as having the fucking thing inserted. YEEOUCH!
I simply decided in my head that I would get pregnant immediately. Poof! Just like that. Have a baby in August. Be on to the next chapter.
I was so convinced that it would just Poof! that I went out and bought a pregnancy book. Because, apparently, I didn't read quite enough of those the last time around.
Instead I got a bladder infection, twice, and did two solid rounds of antibiotics.
C'est la vie. Try again.
That was the last try for awhile. T is leaving for work in a couple of weeks and won't be home again until May.
C'est la vie. Wait and see.
Its that same old damn yank that comes back though, I had forgotten the failure that compounds the cramps when you are not on birth control and want to maybe get pregnant. After another month of keeping track of days on a calendar and laying still for 20 minutes after having sex and giving up caffeine. Washing baby clothes and sorting them into sizes and rubbermaid tubs.
I feel older now, not just because I am so much older (five is no small number of years, even in your twenties) I feel more fear about being able to get pregnant and an acute lack of options if I can not. I look around at the Christmas we have not yet celebrated and the presents we have not yet wrapped because the child I have has not yet been here as this is her father's year for the holiday and I just feel empty. Again.
C'est la vie.
More waiting for me.
Things I Did in 2009:
Started a new job.
Watched my baby turn three.
Lived with my mother for five and a half months (of 2009 and four months of 2008 which is enough months to cause some serious mental drinking problems.)
Found a house.
Made an offer on the house.
Fought damn hard for the house.
Attempted to close on the house.
Flew to California with my mother, father, boyfriend, his sixteen year old son, and my three year old.
Went to Disneyland.
Went to a wine tasting.
Got stuck by a volcano. For a week.
Found a dog on the internet.
Moved into the house.
Try to get us out now bitches.
Drove five hundred miles to get a mutt dog from a shelter.
Fell in love with the dog.
Closed on the house.
Painted. Painted. Painted.
With a three year old and a dog to "help".
Bought a new roof.
Hauled 73 bags of someone else's (and their dog's) crap to the dump.
Biked to work.
Watched as the largest swing set ever was erected in the new backyard.
Got the worst phone call in the history of human history.
Spent 9 hours in the ER with my baby (and her father).
Got no answers.
Spent a week shut in with a sick kid.
Got not many more answers.
Learned how to run with a dog, boyfriend, and jog stroller in tow.
Ran in a race with a three year old.
Who ran for the first mile.
Then caught a ride.
On my shoulders.
Which led to busting the hell out of my ankles.
Finished five minutes under my goal time.
Decided to get married.
Before the end of the year.
Went to the pediatrician no fewer than six times.
Learned how to use an inhaler after my three year old was diagnosed with asthma.
Sent out 100 wedding invitations.
Made a wedding website. (egad).
Traveled to Seattle for work.
Traveled to Boise for work.
Traveled to Seattle again. And again. And again.
Traveled to Juneau with six boxes of stuff for the wedding.
Traveled to Sitka.
Met all of my boyfriend's family.
Got rid of my IUD
Traveled to Seattle. Alone.
Read every issue of Vanity Fair, Runner's World, and Food & Wine.
Read some books.
Read bank statements. Cried.
Applied for a new job.
Gave up ccaffeine.
Had thanksgiving with no kids around.
Got the job.
Quit the old one two minutes later.
Kissed my baby goodbye for the holidays.
Had Christmas with no kids around.
Waited to open presents until baby comes home.
**Just penned a blog post with zero spelling errors.
I have some time off coming up. Yesterday marked the end of my fall semester and school does not start back up again until January 20th.. Next Wednesday is my last day of work at the job I am leaving and I do not start the new one until January 4th. My daughter will bbe spending Christmas with her father's family and will be with them from the 23rd to the 1st.
It is going to be quiet up in our house.
It will get a lot quieter if this snow keeps up. Eight inches in the past twenty four hours and no sign of slowing up for the next couple of days.
I would rather not think about discuss how quiet things are going to be after my husband leaves on the 15th of January for his job. For NINTY DAYS. I also do not want to think about how in the hell I am going to walk the dog (currently his job) at 5:30 every morning with a toddler sound asleep in the house. (Pssst...I pretty much think the dog is going to have to suck it up adapt and wait to walk until lunch. Don't tell...)
I have been compiling a list of books that I want to read in all my free time. This is, of course, a work in progress:
Cleaving, Julie Powell -- already started on this one
Hot, Flat, & Crowded, Thomas Friedman
Committed, Elizabeth Gilbert