29 September 2014

Life, in strides

Sometimes PPD comes bounding up like a St. Bernard: big and loud and slobbery; he hits you all at once, and before you know it, he's sitting on top of you, all 100+lbs of him, right on your chest, making it hard to draw a breath. But last week the PPD was more like a sauntering cat. He sat down across the room from me in that "I see you but I won't acknowledge you" kind of way, like a warning. Eventually he got up, strolled over, and sat on my lap. A light, warm pressure, one that you can kind of forget about sometimes, but is always there. It made fun weekend plans feel overwhelming. The empty skies and tall cornfields made me claustrophobic. The apartment felt cluttered, the walls closing in on me until I wanted to throw everything away. The world wasn't crashing down around me, just slipping out of control. I'll be stuck 8 lbs away from my pre-pregnancy weight forever, Abigail will never learn impulse control, Eleanor will never sleep through the night. I'm doing rituals.

Deep breath, deep breath, deep breath. Go for a run, take a shower, go to bed early, do all three.


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Wanna see my kidney stone? Don't worry, it's not graphic. I went in for a CT scan and they gave me the images on a cd. Now, I'm kind of just assuming where the kidney stone is; no one pointed it out to me, but it appears to be rather obvious:


I highlighted it in pink below. It's the size of a gum ball. One inch big.


I find this sorta stuff so interesting.

Surgery in a little over two weeks. I'm sorta looking forward to spending a few guilt-free days in bed, eating a meal I didn't have to cook and don't have to clean up afterward.

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I was just reading an article the other day about Indian villages in which girls are considered a curse. It's heartbreaking to know that so much joy and so many blessings are destroyed, both in India and America, every day. 

 


Let it be known, my friends, that this is what will befall you when you ignore your big sister's commands to "stop [touching]!"


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Maybe kids are a curse, though. Because one day they'll strap on a pink backpack and walk away to preschool with your heart in their hands. They grow up and learn new things and decide they don't want to take naps or give you hugs. And while you're bursting with pride at the person she is, your heart is also breaking that the baby she was is now gone.

Everyday that she goes away to school, she leaves one lonely Baybee sitting at home.


The cat, however, takes an excessive amount of pleasure in sleeping all over Abigail's toys in her absence.


Whenever I make the mistake of calling her "Baby," she always makes a point of showing me where Baybee actually is. Baby Abigail is not.


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