The aches and pains of pregnancy are wearing, though they have become something I am used to.  The constant push in my right side just below my ribs from my unborn son’s knees is now just a part of who I am.  What is harder is the constant look of concern on everyone’s face, the excited light I see in my husband’s eyes when I gasp in pain, his hopes of labor soon dashed when I explain the baby just kicked me in the bladder again.  My mother has traveled 800 miles to help with a baby who just doesn’t want to come out. She missed Christmas with my dad, brothers and nieces to be here to help me and I’m not having a baby. She hasn’t complained once, but I still can’t help but feel guilty that I pulled her away from her life to be here weeks before grandson.  For some reason I Googled inducement last night and discovered that, according to most women, it is much more painful than going into labor naturally, and natural labor kicked my ass last time around. Google is that tactless friend who will tell you exactly what you wanted to know but doesn’t consider your feelings while doing it.

I should know by now that life can’t be planned and the unexpected has a way of arriving more often than not, but I still feel unsettled. All these feelings of fear, anticipation, and disappointment along with physical exhaustion have left me with unpredictable emotions that flare up more and more often. I cry for no reason, snap when people ask how I’m feeling, and avoid contact with pretty much everyone for fear that I will say something that I don’t mean. This has been a hard ending to a very hard year but I know the joy to come will make it all worth it. If the joy would just hurry up and get here.

1. Being able to eat whatever I want whenever I want under the guise of it is what the baby wants me to do.  I will be missing the snack sized Twix and potato soup that have become my diet staples over the last few months.

2. The looks of sympathy I am able to garner whenever I make a sound of discomfort. Rubbing my belly with a pained expression on my face usually brings on an invitation to sit down and a cold drink brought to me.

3. Guilt free napping in the afternoon, even when dinner isn’t made and the laundry isn’t done.

4. David kissing my belly and telling baby brother to hurry up and come play Spiderman

5. Maternity pants. Elastic waistbands may not be sexy, but damn are they comfortable.

6. The unarguable excuse out of social functions and obligations I don’t feel like attending.  Casey especially enjoyed this perk to get him out of work functions over the last year.

7. The anticipation of something completely joyous to come in the future.

But then I wonder if I would value my education as much if I hadn’t spent years working too hard at shit jobs for too little money.  Instead of taking my parents up on their offer to let me live at home rent-free while I attended junior college, I decided to move into my own apartment and support myself. The decision seems silly and unnecessarily rebellious now, but at the time I wanted to prove to myself and everyone else that I was capable of taking care of myself.  Without the struggle of living on my own on a minimum wage salary, would I understand what a privilege a higher education is?  Would I appreciate the opportunities I will now have with a degree if I hadn’t spent a year of my life working at a gift store, sorting through disembodied hermit crab limbs in search of survivors?  Would I have chosen to follow my passion for writing if I hadn’t discovered, through years of forcing insincere smiles onto an alarmingly hostile public while making up back-stories to explain their foul dispositions, that I would be happiest working alone writing down the stories I told to myself?  Would I have learned as much if I had gone to college in my early twenties when I was convinced that I already knew everything anyway and my point of view was the only correct one?   I don’t think so.

I also wonder if I would have been able to appreciate the ease of my relationship with Casey if I hadn’t spent years of my life struggling to make someone fit.  Fully believing in the American view that true love is a something you fight for, something precarious, something you clung to when found, I spent years fighting for the wrong men. I pined over guys who didn’t call or care, always wondering what was wrong with me.  Now I know that it wasn’t me, but them, or just the combination of us together that didn’t work. But I struggled anyway because that’s what I believed you were supposed to do. Isn’t everyone always saying that relationships are work?  When I met Casey, the struggling stopped.  I met a man who did what he said he would do, always. I never had to question his feelings for me because I knew if he didn’t want to be with me, he wouldn’t.  I wonder if I hadn’t been so thoroughly sick of men falling short of my expectations if I would have been so smitten with a man who met every one.  The love I have with Casey isn’t something they would write a romance novel about. It’s subtle and comfortable. A friendship and deep respect for one another keeps us from ever drifting too far apart.  After years of  working to make wrong relationships right, I can fully appreciate a man who never makes me work for his affections.

And then of course there is the beautiful, amazing David; the person who finally gave me a period to put at the end of all my questions. He is the answer, the purpose for my life, the child I was meant to have. Being David’s mother has transformed me in ways that are beyond explanation.  He has made me a kinder, more empathetic and compassionate person.   He has redefined love for me from an emotion that nurtured my own insecurities to an emotion that eclipses my own wants and needs in the pursuit of his well-being.  There is nothing I wouldn’t do for him, nor a day that I wish things were different.  Which is why it makes me laugh when I think of the self-assured twenty-five-year-old who confidently told the man who would become my husband that I was never having children. Casey looked at me then, and said with just as much confidence “yes you will. You’re going to be a great mom.” Back then I remember thinking “who the hell does this guy think he’s talking to? He doesn’t even know me” but Casey has always been able to see things in my that I am blind to.

My position on having children wasn’t because I didn’t like them, but because I felt I would never be able to put a child’s needs before my own. I also knew that parenting was a two person job (at least) and in my world, men didn’t stay with the women they made babies with. I saw the way my single-mother friends had to struggle and I knew I wasn’t as strong as them.  Parenting wasn’t something I was capable of doing on my own and so I decided it wasn’t for me.  Had I waited to have David until I felt prepared, until I was emotionally mature enough, financial stable enough, and secure enough in my relationship with Casey, then I would probably still be waiting. Sometimes life steps in and makes decisions for you, and that’s what happened with David.  What I didn’t know, had no way to know, is that parenthood is something that you just do, there is no preparing for it really. There are daily sacrifices that I make and I make them with no sense of martyrdom because the pay-off is so much more than anything I have given up. With another life on the way, I am not apprehensive but excited to be able to experience it all over again with the confidence I have built over the last four years.

Maybe my way wasn’t the most direct or efficient, but it was the path I was meant to take. There is something to taking the hard way, you learn more about yourself and you are instilled with a gratitude which puts the smaller struggles you face into proper perspective.  I know my out of order life isn’t  for everyone, but  I don’t regret a second of the struggle.

Its been two weeks and a day since Biscuit died, and I guess it’s a little easier, though I don’t know if that is exactly true. Coming home to an empty house still hits me in the stomach and if I think about her or talk about her, I still cry. The most difficult part of this has been David. He doesn’t understand where Biscuit is, and though I have tried to explain that she isn’t coming home, he still asks me to “go to the doctor and get Biscy-loo.” I thought he would just forget about her after a few days, but yesterday in the car he told me “Biscuit needs to come home” and I had nothing to tell him. I don’t want to explain to him the awful truth of life, that everything must come to an end and that no one will be here forever. How can I expect him to understand the concept of death at three-years-old when I am still struggling with it at 31? Death is something that we all try to put out of our minds, but experiences like this bring it to the forefront and leave you trying to make sense of it all. And there isn’t any sense to be made.

Sorry, this post wasn’t supposed to be so dreary. It has been a weird experience to have such good news to share one day (new baby on the way) and such bad news to share the next. I will always remember my niece’s reaction, who hadn’t seen either of my posts and got both the good and the bad news at the same time. She messaged me saying “I’m crying because I’m sad about Biscuit and because I’m happy about the baby. This is the weirdest feeling ever!” and that’s pretty much how I have felt living through these last couple of weeks. Life is hard and beautiful and tragic and it just keeps moving forward even when you want it to slow down for just a minute so you can take a breath.  But the one thing I know for sure is that at the end of the day, all you really have is your family and friends who love you and who try to pick you up when life has beaten you down. So to all of you who care so much for me and my family, thank you.

That’s not to say that things were easy. We had a hard time finding our way together. I thought that dogs did what you told them to do and that she should fit into my life as I wanted her to, but Biscuit quickly taught me that she was her own being with her own ideas about how she should behave.  I thought she should be happy to go to the bathroom in the gravel alley outside the apartment, but she taught me that if I didn’t want her to use the living room as a bathroom, I needed to get off my ass and walk her to a patch of grass where she could go comfortably. I thought that she should be happy to sit at home until I returned, but Biscuit taught me (through eating every shoe, pillow, and cushion in my house) that it was kinder to bring her with me than to leave her alone. I thought that she should love me instantly, but she taught me that her affection was something to be earned through patience and time. In this way, Biscuit changed who I was and taught me to be a more thoughtful, giving and selfless person. And in return, I was rewarded with the love and unending loyalty of the greatest dog to ever live, which was no small prize.

Biscuit quickly became my constant companion and the standard that I judged all people against. If they didn’t like my dog, or vice versa, then I didn’t like them. And Biscuit proved to be a better judge of character than I. The few times I ignored her advice, given in the form of a chewed hat or peed on shoes, I regretted it. She became my fluffy, panting sage, always there with the correct guidance when it came to the true nature of the people I surrounded myself with. When she met the man that would become my husband, I knew she was in love. And so was I. He took us camping and let her to ride up front in the truck even though she leaned against him and panted in his face the whole time. He would take her on hikes while I was working, Biscuit proving to be a faithful follower to a guide who loved her as much as I.

Biscuit was universally loved by everyone who knew her. Even those who weren’t dog people were taken in by her ever-present smile, wagging tail, and calm presence. She was so undemanding, happy to lay quietly at your feet, the only things she ever sought was a pat on the head and the occasional walk around the block. She was so easy, and as life became more demanding, with kids, bills and other adult responsibilities, I am ashamed to admit that Biscuit became less of a priority. I often said that once David was born, Biscuit got demoted to just a dog. I now realize how silly that statement was. She was never just a dog, she was my dog, the one who was just happy to be around me, the one who knew not to ask too much of me when I had little left to give. She showed me a patience and understanding in her later years that I wish I could say I afforded to her as well. Many days I saw her empty food bowl and panting anticipation of a walk as just another demand in an already overburdened life. And today, with the realization that she will never again greet me at the door, jumping with excitement; never again breath her stink breathe in my face as she waits for a pat on the head; never again sit next to me at the beach, watching the waves in quiet contemplation; I am filled with regret for all the time I took for granted.

I am now painfully aware that life is a finite gift, one that is constantly dwindling whether we acknowledge it or not. Biscuit tried to make her exit five months ago–a ruptured tumor caused her abdomen to fill with blood and I found her gasping for breath one morning. It was incomprehensible to me that Biscuit could die. And as the vet told me the prognosis, that this was something that even if it was fixed would eventually occur again, that no dog he had seen with this same condition had made it another year, that it may be kinder to let her go now then to wait for this to reoccur, I just shook my head and told him he had to make her better. I couldn’t lose her and I couldn’t be the one to say she needed to be put down. He told me he would do what he could and hopefully, we would get to spend another week with her before we had to bring her back.

But she did get better, or so it seemed. Her recovery was miraculous and Biscuit once again had the spunk that had left her years before. And she kept living. First a week, then a month, then two. She was her old self again and it was easy to forget that the clock was still ticking, drawing closer to the inevitable. I had convinced myself that it was a fluke, that Biscuit would be the dog that lived, my own personal Harry Potter story. So when I awoke yesterday to find Biscuit’s food bowl still full and her laying on the floor as David jumped precariously close to her head, I knew that I had been fooling myself. We returned to the vet for the same treatment that saved her life before, but this time there would be no miracle. I took her home and she walked herself outside to lay in the yard in the cool shade. I sat next to her as she shifted her body, seeking a position that would allow her to breath easier, though no position existed. I called Casey and told him to hurry home, knowing I couldn’t let her go on like this any longer. As I sat with her, trying to understand how I would be able to live with myself after telling a doctor that they had to kill her, Biscuit gave me her last act of kindness and her labored breathing just stopped. She died at home, with me by her side, as we have been for the last ten years together.

This morning all I can see is the lack of her. Her empty bed, the absence of jingling from her collar, a water bowl that will remain unfilled. I am left with the silly wish that yesterday didn’t happen, that I could just go back and take her for one last walk around the block. Perhaps in time I will be able to be grateful for all the time we had together, for the lessons she taught me, for the unending love she gave me, but for now all I feel is a void that I don’t know how to fill. She wasn’t just any dog, she was my dog, the perfect dog, my canine soul mate, and I don’t want to learn what life is like without her. I know one day this will be easier, but today my heart is broken without my beautiful Biscy-Loo.

Anyway, I just wanted to check in here to tell the lovely few of you who read my jargon that I am still here, and I will be back in a more substantial way once I figure out what it is I have to say.  The family is good, the baby (who is no longer a baby but a giant, tremendous boy) is good, life in general is good. And that’s as much as there is to say. I just want to enjoy the good with my coffee and my journal and keep it all to myself for now.

If anyone is in the mood for something a little different, I am providing a link here to an amazing poet who inspires me as a woman, as a mother, and as a writer. Her name is Bernadette Mayer and she is one of the best kept secrets of the literary world.  Though I don’t fully understand why, I feel like I have found a kindred spirit in her.  Anyway, I love her dearly so I felt I should share her with the rest of you who I also love so dearly.

Good night, for now.

-I will make time to write every day. I will write something, anything, whether it be blog posts, expansions of my current work, or new stories for later use. I must become disciplined at this if I want to be successful.

-I will submit work for publication every month. It is no longer enough to just write for myself. I have had three semesters of ego stroking by professors and writers better than I. It is confirmed; I am actually good at writing. Now I have to get my words out there. I need to submit everything, anything and accept the inevitable rejections that go along with it. I am not that frail; I can handle being told no. I figure it is just a numbers game and if I am persistent, I will eventually get published. Because if you throw enough shit at a wall some of it has to stick eventually, right?

-I will exercise every day that I am not in school for at least thirty minutes. I don’t care if I walk, run, do sit ups, or yoga, I have to get back on track and stay consistent with exercise. I feel better mentally and physically when I do and I have more energy to get the rest of the things I have to do done. This is not negotiable.

-I will eat healthy food in reasonable portions. I almost always eat healthy, I have for years now and I prefer baked chicken breast and vegetables to burgers and fries anyway. My main problem is limiting myself to just enough. I have long used that feeling of fullness from eating as a substitution for satisfaction in other aspects of my life. And when I am disappointed in myself, I use the denial of food as a form of punishment for my failures. Food should not be used as a weapon or a reward.  I know I do this and I keep doing it anyway. Balance is what I have been craving for a long time and this is what I aim to achieve with the food I consume. Not too little, not too much, just enough to meet my needs. To learn to be satisfied with just enough is a lesson I have long needed to learn. Now I am dedicating myself to this goal.

-I will get David potty trained and sleeping in his own bed. I have put off both of these issues because, honestly, I haven’t wanted to deal with them. It is easier to let things go on as they have instead of fighting about it, but I see how this pattern is setting me up for bigger battles down the line. The potty training may have to wait till winter break so that I can stay home with David as long as it takes to get him to start sitting on the toilet, but this will get done. I am so tired of sleeping with a foot in my back and scrapping shit off someone else’s ass I could scream.

-I will make time for my friends. I spent the first year-and-a-half living here being very lonely. The only people I seemed to meet ended up being complete wack jobs. Fortunately, despite the wack jobs (or because of them in some cases), I have met some absolutely amazing women. Women who I have been neglecting undeservedly. I am blessed to know the people I know, here and far away. I will no longer let emails go unanswered, plans go unmade, and phone calls go unreturned. I am rededicating myself to the people who have made my life a rich and full as it is.

That’s it for now. I’m putting my priorities out into the world in the hopes that the collective knowledge of my goals will help me in attaining them. Isn’t this what Oprah says you should do? Oh please, great power of Oprah, help me stick to my list and keep the promises I made to myself. And if you find it in your generous spirit, also send me two tickets to your “Favorite Things” show. I could really use a new blender and comfy pants made of the finest cashmere available. That is all.

I’ve learned that life has a way of providing you answers when you need them. I was at Starbucks a few weeks ago when I noticed a flier on the cork board for a 5k. Intrigued, I leaned in for a closer look as I waited for my iced coffee. It’s at the lake where I do my runs now, so I know the terrain and the money goes to fight childhood cancer. How could I not do it? It seemed like an omen or sign from the universe that it was time for me to get my ass back in gear and do what it is that I set out to do when I started this running experiment– it’s time for me to run a 5k.

I Googled training programs and have come up with a plan to get myself ready. I’m running my normal 30 minutes two days, taking a day off, running 30 minutes for two more days and then doing a longer run on the third day followed by one more day of rest. I have been averaging around 2.5 miles in thirty minutes, which is nowhere near a fast pace but isn’t completely embarrassing either.

Today I set out to run three miles for the first time ever. I figured if I could do three miles, I could do a 5k (3.1 miles). I kept up a pace I was comfortable with and when I reached the 1.5 mile marker I knew I was going to be able to make it all the way back. I was elated the whole way back with what I knew I was going to accomplish. I rediscovered the joy in running today, the joy of challenging myself and then meeting that challenge, the joy in realizing I am capable of so much more than I ever knew. When I finished, I checked my time even though I had already decided I didn’t care if it took me 40 minutes to finish, it was enough that I was able to finish. I was shocked to find that I ran 3 miles in 34 minutes and 36 seconds. Not only did I run further than I ever have before, I did it quicker than my normal pace. I was amazed.

So I have a training program in mind and a goal I want to achieve. The 5k is on September 11th. I have exactly one month to get ready and I really think I will be. My biggest fear is that I’ll be the last person to cross the finish line. But even if I am, at least I’ll finish.

Laundromodus, the creature made completely of clean laundry that has taken over my couch.

I decided to approach this problem logically. I kept a log of everything I did for a day to see where all my time goes.  Here is what I discovered:

6:27 am- Am awoken by a thumping on my forehead.  Open my eyes to see David peering down at me while he whacks me in the head with his Nemo. And so the day begins.

6:30 am- Shuffle out to living room and make coffee.  Stand staring at coffee maker willing it to go faster to no avail.

6:35 am- Change David’s diaper and get him set up with Cheerios, a banana and a sippy full of milk. Sigh deeply as David throws Cheerios on the rug and eats them off the floor.

6:45 am- Finally, coffee is ready.  Sit down with a cup when I realize the living room smells rather disgusting.  Double sigh.

6:47 am- Change first poopy diaper of the day.  Take it to the outside trash so the rest of the house isn’t filled with the noxious odors held within it. Realize after I come back inside that I just wandered outside without a bra on for all the neighbors to see.  Triple sigh.

6:55 am- Return to my cup of coffee after washing my hands and realize my coffee is now cold.  Drink it anyway.

7:00 am- Make David breakfast.  I know what you are thinking, the floor Cheerios and banana were his breakfast, but D is like a Hobbit.  That was first breakfast, the meal he eats so that I can get a cup of coffee in my system before I have to make actual food.  Second breakfast consists of two eggs, a tortilla and grapes.

7:15 am- Wash dishes from last night and this morning while David eats. Once the kitchen is clean I realize I forgot to make Casey’s lunch.  Shit…

7:32 am- Clean kitchen for the second time after making lunch for Casey. Am beginning to realize the inefficiencies in my routine. May have found room for improvement.

8:00 am- After doing two loads of laundry and adding to the ever-growing pile of clean clothes on the couch, I go to the bedroom to wake Casey for work and put on a bra before I humiliate myself again. Come back into the living room to find David completely naked dancing in front of the television to the theme song for Curious George.  Decide it is easier to leave him that way and get a second cup of coffee.

8:15 am- Realize I made a mistake in not getting David back into his clothes when he pees on the carpet.

8:26 am- Rug cleaned and D dressed again.  Notice that funky smell from earlier is back.  Oh my God, what is it about a clean diaper that makes this kid need to poo?

8:37 am- Poopy diaper #2 changed and disposed of.  Pace around the living room waiting for Casey to come out so that I can get into the bathroom.  Irritation builds as I ponder the unfairness of having to wait to go to the bathroom while others just let it loose whenever the mood strikes them.

8:42 am- Casey is finally up and I head to the bathroom.

8:44 am- Am hit in the head by the bathroom door when David pushes it open yelling, “Mama.” I guess my alone time is over.

9:00 am Abandon the plan of logging my activities for the day when I realize I do way too many things to keep track of.

After looking back on my incomplete log, I realize that I do a lot in one day, even if it doesn’t look like it.  I have come to terms with the fact that my house is never going to be spotless and the laundry will continue to take up residence on my couch.  As long as we are able to open the door without a flood of unfolded socks spilling out on to the porch, I think we are in pretty good shape.

minimum number of times I change my clothes per day: 4

Times per day I say, “David, get down!”: 47

Times per day I say “I love you”: 50

Years spent in college: 6

Degrees obtained: 0

Meals prepared per day: 7

Nights per week I fall asleep on the couch while watching television: 6

Minutes I am able to jog in a row: 25

Minutes spent per week examining  angry line between my eyes, trying to decide if it seems more prominent: 20

Times per day I ask my husband if he thinks I’m fat: 5

Times per day I make my husband sigh in frustration: 5 (at least)

Number of books I have started to read in the last two months: 9

Number of books I have completed reading in the last two months: 2

Minutes spent per night getting David to fall asleep: 180

Minutes it takes from the time David falls asleep before I start to miss him: 10

Episodes of  “The Office” watched per week: 17

Dollars earned writing: 51

Number of years as a registered Democrat: 12

Number of third-party candidates voted for: 3

Cities lived in: 3

Number of engagements: 2

New Years resolutions kept: 0

Number of pets I have had as an adult: 8

Hippie festivals attended: 2

Number of world records held: 1

Number of piercings I have had in my life (excluding ear lobes): 7

Times per day I feel older than I am: 15

Times per day I have to remind myself that I am not 16 anymore: 5

World's largest drum circle- Earthdance 2004. I'm in there somewhere.