How time flies when you're having fun...and babies
Soooooo....I seem to have a horrid track record for updating this thing. Once ever 2 years certainly isn't keeping readers around, or so I thought, till an old friend at
Troll Smasher Radio left a very touching comment on my last post and I got an email notification about it. (on my iPhone no less...how ya like them apples TS? The girl who once lived without computer, home internet or home cable now has 2 laptops, wi-fi, cable, DVR, a Kindle, and an iPhone. See, I told you what a difference 2, or 4, years makes!)Anyway, that last post from January 1, 2009 was a heart-wrenching piece to write, and still makes me cry to read it. However it was very therapeutic at the time, and I feel like being able to write about the horrible feelings I was having helped me to deal with them. You know what else helped me deal with them? Finding out on Feb 12, 2009 that I was, well, read on and you'll see.
I'd been an emotional roller coaster (that term really doesn't do me justice, just ask my husband), and I had continued to contribute it to the massive hormonal upheaval that the whole pregnancy/miscarriage process had wrought. Finally, one morning as I was driving home from delivering the LuckyBug (Son,now age 3, genius, comedian, some-times whiney butt, all around prince among toddlers) to my mom's house to play, I had to pull over and puke. Now, I'm not normally a puker. I hate it. With every fiber of my being. Which is easy to understand since I puke with every fiber of my being, it starts and my toes and I'm lucky if I still have my eye-brows (which isn't totally a bad thing, plucking, its just sooo much work) at the end of the pukage. So, I puked. Which made me stop, and think, hey, what's wrong with me? A quick stop at the local Wal-Greens, a difficult pee-on-demand later and hey, I know whats wrong. I'm knocked up again! A mere 8 weeks after suffering a miscarriage, I was again with child. I was shocked. I mean, I know how these things happen (contrary to what most people seem to think when they look at me), and I knew it was theoretically possible, but, come one. The Husband was very cautious when confronted via a hysterical phone call, not really sure how *I* was feeling about it. Me? I was feeling scared out of my ever lovin' mind. I was so very afraid it was a false-positive, some horrible last laugh had on me by my hormones run amuck from the lost pregnancy, and then I was so very afraid that I really was pregnant. If I was pregnant, I had to face the possibility that it could happen again, and I was in absolutely no place to handle that again. So, on Feb 19, 2009 I found myself once again in my doctors office, assuming the "position" and was assured that I was most decidedly pregnant. Also, come to find out, I wasn't just pregnant, I was 7 weeks pregnant! Meaning I conceived my child almost exactly 2 weeks to the day after I lost my previous baby. Shocking. To me at least. My doctor, he just looked at me and said, "well, what did you think would happen"?
So, that helped a lot to deal with the pain from losing my #2 baby that was due July, 2009. I was now carrying a tiny human who was due Oct, 2009, and I spent most of the next 9 months terrified that something would go wrong and I would lose this precious child too. I also spent a lot of those 9 months on the couch watching entirely too much Blues Clues with LuckyBug and eating Kit-Kats. Seriously. The cashiers at the drug store down the street got to know my husband on a first name basis as he was in there almost every single night buying me a few
Kit-Kats to polish off before bed. Yeah, they didn't do any wonders for my already whale-ish post-LuckyBug figure, but they did keep me from killing someone, so there's that.
On Oct 8, 2009, this beautiful baby girl entered our lives:
Of course, she didn't look quite that cute when she entered the world, but she sure got cute quick.
So, 2009 was a busy year for us, LuckyBug turned 2 in September, and PrincessBug joined us in October 2009. We managed to survive having 2 small humans for those first few months of hell, um, I mean the precious and treasured 3 months when you honestly learn the limits of human endurance that come after a newborn, and you learn at exactly which point those sleep-deprived hallucinations hit you.
By Spring 2010 things were rolling right along, I was even back to the other love of my life, soccer, and while far from the player I once was, I was getting there. I hoped. The Bug Babies were doing excellent, even if PrincessBug was having a little trouble with the concept of naptime (translation: we don't need Gitmo. Just make our political prisoners spent a couple of days with her, not napping, and they'd break like stale bread). She did however get an astounding grasp on the sleeping 12 hours at night, which was shocking. And ultimately led to this:
Yeah, that says "Thing 3". As in, a 3rd ThingChild following the previous 2. (Side note: Hubby and I make beautiful baby. We know it. What we lack in talent/redeeming human traits, we more than make up for in the "Good Baby Batter" category).
So, that picture was taken in Aug I believe, and this being the end of October, I'm infinitely larger, and staring down the barrel of a fast approaching holiday season and my end of January due date. The growth (rapid and huge) of my belly has prompted most strangers (and ok, family members) who see me out in pubic with the wee ones to say "Don't you know what causes that?". Ummm, its in the water, right?
So, to re-cap the last 2-4 years:
- I had LuckyBug on 9/11/07 (how's that for a birthday?). He's awesome. And gets more awesome every day.
- I lost TinyBug on 12/15/08.
- I discovered PrincessBug's presence on 2/12/09
- PrincessBug joined us 10/08/09 at a whopping 8 lbs 10 oz (and I had no drugs. I know. I'm a badass. Or a masochist. I can't decide.)
- BoyBug was discovered on 5/28/10, the day we left for our family vacation at the beach with all our relatives. No margaritas for me sadly.
-I lost my mind slightly 6/1-9/01/10 thanks to the hormones and trials of a first trimester and the slightly complicated PrincessBug and her reign of nap terrorism.
So, here we are. A bunch of other stuff happened in that time frame, most of which I can't remember because, hello, have you been reading? I have 2 children aged 3 and 1, and I'm pregnant. I don't remember what day it is. (It's Thursday, right?) Oh, one big thing I do vaguely remember. My husband? He wrote a book. Seriously.
Go look. I dare ya. I'll have a whole post about THAT ordeal. Sheesh. But its awesome. And I don't say that lightly. I have no qualms about telling him what sucks. And I did. A lot. Sometimes I said it nicer. But not often. You can thank me for a small fraction of that awesomeness after you read it and wet your pants laughing.
Alright, shameless almost-self promotion aside, life has been busy, its been good, its been hard, its beat me down, its made me its bitch day in and day out. And I am so grateful for all I have been given. Maybe, if y'all are super lucky, I can stick around and update this thing on a regular basis. If you're really, really super lucky, maybe I can then keep the posts to less than 1 billion words. Maybe. I like to talk. Or write. Or type. Whatever this is.
Thanks so much for reading...assuming you stuck it out.
JuneBug Mama
What A Difference 2 Years Makes
A little more than 2 years ago I wrote the previous entry in my Junebug blog. That was a scary time for me and my family, awaiting to here the outcome of my father's diagnosis with a brain tumor, and it was Christmas, and about 2 weeks later I found out I was pregnant with our first Bug Baby spawn. I never did make it back to this blog, and though I often thought about it, and the Smasherians I had come to know, it just all took a back seat to the fun experience of morning sickness.
Anyway, 2 years later, my father has had successful brain surgery, the BugBaby was born in typical Junebug fashion (i.e. the hard way) and after 5 days in NICU we all went home, some of us looking like a fish who'd been gutted (that would be me). Bug Baby just enjoyed his 2 Christmas spent outside the womb, and we've rung in the new year, with desperate hopes that it will be better than the last.
While my funny bone was thrown into hibernation 2 years ago at Christmas and was mainly responsible for my absence in the blog world, did recover nicely, is has once again been ripped from me most unwillingly.
10 days before Christmas I lost my dear sweet precious baby that was to be born in July 2009. It was by far the most devestating experience of my young(ish) life, and something that I wouldn't wish on my worst enemy. While the physical ramifications seem to have resolved themselves, the mental and emotional scars I bear feel raw and open as if they will never heal. Of course I know they will begin to heal, as evidenced by the large outpouring of empathy I received from many women in my life who've gone through a miscarriage, but when you're laying awake at night drowning in your misery and tears, healing seems a long way off. I don't think that there's any way for a person to understand the feelings of losing a child in this way, unless you've personally experienced it. Prior to this experience, I've known women who've been through this, and while I certainly felt sympathy for them, I never really truly understood what they were going through. It's just not possible to comprehend the horror and helplessness you feel when you realize that your own body has destroyed something that you love more than life itself. Never mind that you have never met this person, or laid eyes on them, they have suddenly become the heart and soul of your body, everything your heart, mind and body does has come to revolve around that tiny fluttering heart buried deep inside of you. Doctors and well meaning friends and family can try to make you feel better by spouting the statistics that this occurs in over 30% of pregnancies, and that it will likely never happen to you again, and that its for the best considering that something was probably wrong. While all of those arguments make logical sense, logic ceases to exist once you realize that tiny heart is no longer beating. I don't know when that logic or understanding or acceptance will return, but in the meantime I can only be thankful for the blessing I have in the BugBaby, without his presence in my life, I would be completely lost, adrift in the pain and loss and self-condemnation. Mr. Junebug has been a wonderful helpmate, but I don't think his presence alone would be sufficient to pull me from the dark, its knowing that BugBaby needs me, loves me and wants me is all that stands between me and the crushingly overwhelming loss and pain.
So here's to my precious children, the one I lost, the one I live for, both of whom I'll always love. May 2009 be a better year than 2008.
BugBaby - Christmas Morning
Barely breathing...
I’m still alive. But just barely.
I started this blog with some many stories and jokes and down right important issues that needed, needed to be written about, by me. Then, my world fell apart, I came unglued and suddenly staring blankly at the computer screen through teary eyes became my favorite past time. This soon vied with listening to my mother cry on my shoulder, to see what could corner the bulk of my attention.
Not that I’m complaining, it’s important that I be here for my mother, but there is something so fundamentally wrong about having your mother come running to you with problems and tears and fears. It’s as if a pole has shifted, and all of the sudden I’m the adult with all the right answers who calms her down and tells her it will be alright. For nigh upon 25 years that role has been hers, and hers alone, and I’m not ready for it yet. I’ve never really been or acted like much of a “child”, but I’ve always been my mother’s daughter, and I’m not ready for that to change. At 24 years old, I was not prepared to have to begin facing my parent’s mortality. It’s not like they’re old, my dad is just 7 months shy of turning 50, and my mom a few months shy of 48. If they were older, like my husband’s parents, in their 60’s, I might be more prepared for it, I don’t know. I just don’t know if children ever become prepared to assume the roll of provider and caretaker for their parents, whether it’s emotionally or physically providing for them. I don’t know if it ever gets easier, but that’s what I keep telling myself, amidst the tears, that it has to get easier.
Our Vegas trip was wonderful, though Wayne Newton cancelled his Thanksgiving day show and we didn’t get to see him. We also did not get nearly as much sleep as I am accustomed to getting on vacation, but we had a really swell time. We won money at the blackjack tables, and lost minimal amounts to the slot machines. The video poker machines were my favorite, and it took very little to turn me into a zombie! The “Love” show was absolutely phenomenal, something that I would see over and over and over again, all in a row! Blue Man Group was also fantastic, it was the most interactive show I have ever seen, and it was spectacular. If I ever get back to Vegas, I would definitely see those two shows again. We enjoyed the Luxor, and made our way to the Tropicana, the Vinetian, the Bellagio, New York New York and the Stratosphere. We only gambled in the Tropicana, as that’s where the $5 blackjack tables were! No high rollers here!
The one major disappointment I would have to voice about Vegas was the food. Granted we didn’t eat at any 5 Star joints, but we ate at some pretty expensive places, in very nice hotels, and I thought it was just “ehh”. Coming from Dallas where there are more restaurants per capita than anywhere in North America, maybe I’m just a little spoiled. Thanks to my location, my family’s love for fine food, and my husband’s influence, I have eaten at some of the best restaurants all over the Southern United States, and Vegas just did not stack up like I thought it would. I guess next time we’ll have to spring for the $300+ meals, which is sad, since we could get much better here in Dallas for much cheaper.
The day before Thaksgiving, Mr. Junebug and I went to my parent’s house to take the 15ht Annual Family Christmas Picture, which normally turns out to be a pain in the butt, what with all the kids/teenagers whining and complaining. This year started out no differently than any of the last few, except that we were taking the pictures at the park at the end of my parent’s street. All of the whining was progressing as anticipated while we “kiddos” posed for pictures, until, out of the blue, came a “thud”. Looking around we spotted several misdirected (i.e. juvenile) youths who were availing themselves of the horse apples lying about. This persisted for a few minutes, without any getting close enough to our little photo shoot to elicit anything other than muttered threats from my siblings. Finally, one came “this” close to hitting us. It was on. My dad, the young, spry 49 year old who has spent his entire adult life running things like marathons, for fun no less, marched himself over to the crowd of kids, only it turned out to be just one teenager, as the rest turned tail and ran for dear life. My entire family was cheering him on, my siblings being so overjoyed to finally see someone else on the receiving side of his very unique and definitely scary brand of chastisement. My sister turned on the video feature on the camera, hoping to capture the ass whooping for posterity’s sake; though we warned her about the possible implications if the police were involved…We didn’t find out what dad had said to the punk until later when we were all seated around the dinner table. His exact words were “Don’t throw anything else. Or I will chase you down, and I will catch you and you won’t like it”. Sent all of us into hysterics at the thought of our spry old man chasing down a bunch of punks with their jeans around their thighs, because lord knows he could have done it. And if not him, my “little” brother, a runner for the NCAA Div 1-A track & field program with more wins than anyone else, ever, could have toyed with them for hours. An all out sprint for those boys would have been a nice leisurely distance run for my brother! It certainly made our day, and my sisters proclaimed it like, the best thing, like ever. And coming from teenage girls, you know that carries like, a lot of weight.
It’s Christmas time at the Junebug household, which means the Neurotic Christmas Elf has shown her face and shows no signs of slowing down till sometime after new years. We’re getting the Christmas tree tonight, and putting it up tomorrow night after the painters come paint our nasty PEACH living room a more respectable color, like Mocha and Real Beige. Once the tree goes up, I won’t sit still until every stationary surface, and some not so stationary (I’m looking at the dog) are covered head to toe in garland, lights, ribbon, jingle bells and or mistletoe. I’m done Christmas shopping, other than getting a few snacks to include in the gift baskets, so I really have nothing left, save for the family dinner for 36 people. If I don’t lose a marble or five over that ordeal, I’ll be greatly surprised.
I’m going to try and keep up more with writing, it really does make me feel better and happier and manages to elicit a few smiles in the process, but there are some days where it’s all I can do to keep it all together until I get home. The thought of having to open my mind, string together mostly coherent thoughts, and hope someone else understands my addled statements is just overwhelming at this point. We’re still waiting on numerous test results to determine the full on horror that is Brain Tumor 2006, and until we know more, everyone is on edge, and as I operate in “worse case scenario mode” ALL the time, it’s been feeling pretty bleak.
I hope everyone had a fantastic Turkey day, full of love, joy, family & memories. Mine was full of booze, gambling, sequins, nakedness and airports, which left something to be desired in the way of holiday spirit.
My first ever blog posting from an airport, and I have nothing to say other than Vegas rocks, I'm tired and me can't even form coherent sentances at this point. Notice the use of "me" instead of "I", this serves to illustrate my point about being tired.
We won some money, lost some money (mostly me, at the video poker and slot machines, those pesky things ARE addictive) saw some amazing shows, and missed out on a lot of sleep. Some of that lost sleep was curtesy of the construction crews at the Luxor, replaxing windows at 8 am. I really appreciated them, as well as the maids who couldn't perform cleaning services without slamming every door up and down our hallway, repeatedly.
Anyway, we're boarding, so never mind the numerous spelling errors, I'm out.
I'll give you the rundown when I catch up on my sleep, sometime around the turn of the decade.
Hugs & kisses,
Junebug (And a very tired Mr. Junebug)
She's a Wayneiac, a Wayneiac!
Today at work was the annual Thanksgiving Potluck luncheon. You know the drill, the company provides turkey and ham, and the employees bring an assortment of tasteless green bean casseroles and jello products. Seriously, the Marshmallow and Jell-O companies must make an absolute KILLING around the Holidays. There was hardly a dish to be found that didn’t prominently feature either of the offending ingredients.
Anyway, I digress. The whole luncheon idea is fairly normal, and the food was mostly passable. I’m not big on pea/bean/jello concoctions, but there was enough turkey, ham and mac & cheese to keep me content, if not happy.
However, once we were seated, they dropped a bombshell on us. And not the Marilyn Monroe kind, more like the Baghdad/Gigli/K-Fed type. We were to have “special surprise entertainment” throughout the lunching process, and lo and behold, it was an Elvis impersonator. A bad Elvis impersonator.
It was an excruciatingly long lunch. It did however fit into the Junebug 2006 Thanksgiving Theme. You see, as our first holiday as a married couple, Mr. Junebug and I decided to avoid all family/time sharing and get the heck out of dodge. So Thanksgiving morning at 6 am, we’ll be winging our way towards, you guessed it, Las Vegas.
Nothing says “Give Thanks” like slot machines, legalized prostitution, Wayne Newton and the buffet at the Rio. Well, actually, I’ve been promising myself that I would attempt to play “real” games in Vegas and stay away from the slot machines, and I’m pretty sure that a “legal” hooker doesn’t figure into our plans, at least not at this point. Anyway, we are definitely hitting the Rio buffet (per my husband’s begging and pleading), and we are indeed meeting Wayne Newton. Yup, we’re those people who go to Vegas and see acts like Wayne Newton. However, in our defense, it’s not your ever day, run of the mill Newton, its Newton’s Holiday Extravaganza no less. We are so pimp.
We’re also seeing “Love” and “The Blue Man Group” while we are there, and eating dinner at the Stratosphere Tower. I was a little worried that a classy joint like the Strat wouldn’t let people like us in, but I think I’ve got them fooled into reserving a table for two, at least until they lay eyes on us. Then all bets are off. Ha, see, that’s funny, cause I said “bets”. And we’re going to be in Vegas. Ha, get it? Yeah, I know, I’ll shut up now.
I’m hoping and praying that our decision to spend Thanksgiving in Las Vegas won’t come back to haunt me, which pretty much ensures it will. Nothing like the knowledge that you spent what could potentially be your father’s last Thanksgiving getting trashed and flashing Wayne Newton to give you a guilt trip worthy of frequent flyer miles.
Nothing like brain tumors to make you lose your funny. I haven’t felt funny since I found out, and I don’t see it returning any time soon. It’s amazing how easy it is to take the small things like your dad or sense of humor for granted. Take my advice, give your dad a hug, no matter what, and tell a joke or laugh or something for crying out loud.
3 Reasons in 2 words or less
why I never want to relive the past 5 days.
1 - Stomach Flu
2 - Brain Tumor
3 - See above
The trip North to see the in-laws was fun, except for a run-in with some sort of nasty stomach bug, which refuses to relinquish me from it's clutches. Nothing like running to the shared bathroom at work every 10 minutes.
Yesterday I found out that my father has a brain tumor. At 49 years old, he's suddenly facing a whole new life.
Needless to say I've been pre-occupied and haven't really felt like writing. Plus work has been crazy, for the time I've actually been here. I was out sick Monday, here part of the day yesterday till I got the news about my father, and today it feels like the whole world is crushing down on me as I sit here at my desk.
I've had to smile my way through a work lunch, am preparing to sit through 2 meetings, and run around doing last minute organizing for a training session for 15 people tomorrow. Tomorrow I have to meet with software reps, sit through a training, and tackle all of the projects accumulating on my desk. All while keeping a smile plastered on my face and the tears out of my eyes.
I hate that I'm an "emotional" woman, there are few things more humiliating than sitting at your desk bawling and having the entire office stare at you and whisper. There are moments when I'm staring glassy eyed at my computer screen, and tears just begin running down my face, there's nothing I can do about it. If you ever want to see an engineer look very scared, just start crying, it works every time.
That's all I can say, I haven't got anything else inside that resembles human speech.
Junebug
Booorrrr-ing
So, here it is almost 5:00 and I still haven’t written anything down for today’s blog entry. It’s very frustrating, since I’ve composed no less than 4 extremely witty, intelligent and poignant entries since yesterday. Unfortunately, they’ve all been in my head and have never actually made it onto paper, or the computer screen.
When I’m at home washing dishes, showering or trying to fall asleep I have any number of wonderful thoughts and jokes and stories to tell. I spend many minutes composing them in my head, just as I would write them on the computer, even mentally “backspacing” to delete and replace words that don’t sound quite right.
Unfortunately, as I’m always busy, I can never get somewhere and write my ideas all down, so I just make a mental note to remember what the subject was. That way, I can pontificate to my hearts desire once I’m seated in front of the computer. However, it never works out that way. My husband will be shocked to hear this, as I’ve claimed that I can remember anything and everything in the whole wide world (yes, the whole wide world), but I just can’t remember all my good ideas. It must be because I have so many of them, huh? Right… Anyway, these great ideas, they seem to flit right out of my addled head the minute I’ve mentally edited them to perfection. If only I could find a way to blog while in the shower, I’m sure I’d have the best blog on the internet; my shower ideas are that good. Really, they are. I promise.
Ok, so they’re not that good, but they seem pretty damn amazing compared to writing a blog entry about your inability to write a good blog entry. Yes, I know, almost anything would appear amazing compared to such a blog entry, but unfortunately, I don’t care right now!
I’ve been feeling pretty run down the past few days, and while I initially blamed it on the bottle of wine I had for my anniversary, I have since ruled that out. I have a sneaky suspicion that my throat may currently resemble a Petri dish, and I know for a fact that my tonsils look more like tomatoes than can be healthy. I’ve got the oh-so-very sexy smokers voice going, only I don’t smoke and it certainly isn’t making me feel very sexy.
I’ve got a soccer game tonight, so with the avian flu I’m brewing here, I should feel real nice come tomorrow morning. Tomorrow afternoon we’re heading a few hours north to spend the weekend with my in-laws, who surprise, surprise I happen to love dearly. It should be fun, if I get to feeling better and the laundry elf comes to my house between now and tomorrow morning to wash all my clothes for me, otherwise my in-laws will be seeing a little more of me than they might have ever bargained for, what with me having NO clean clothes to wear.
This weekend we’ll also be attending his alma mater’s game against their arch rivals, and getting to watch his niece perform in the color guard. It’ll be my first high school football game in more than 6 years, and it’ll be my husband’s first ever. Yeah, he was that guy, the one that never went to pep rallies or football games. If we had known each other in high school, we would have despised each other I’m sure, as I was at every high school function and event and was damn happy to be there. Of course, if he had known me in high school, I’d have only been 7, and how can you hate a 7 year old?
That’s right, you can’t.
Hugs & kisses,
Junebug
