Picture...

The little ball thing floating over its head is the yolk sac, which nourishes the embryo while the placenta and the digestive system are forming. I like to joke it's Bunky's party hat.

Blood sugar crankiness last night?

[cross-posting to my binge-eating blog, for those of you that read both]

This morning, I actually made my 25 lb. lost goal. It's normal to not gain weight during the first trimester, and I'm actually heartened to know that I'm doing some things right, because I tend to think that by ending my binge-eating tendencies I will lose weight regardless of what state I'm in. Yesterday sucked, foodwise, though. I was ravenous on the way home and had nothing to nosh on, so I fell down the rabbit hole and hit a drive-through. Big mistake. By the time I got home, I felt heavy and stupor-ish as if I'd been run over; I felt overfull and lethargic and exhausted. It kind of blows my mind that I used to eat that kind of crap all the time--sometimes more than once a day, and sometimes more than one meal at a time.

But I stood on the scale after my shower and it very cheerfully told me that I weigh 190 lbs. When Dean and I got married, I weighed about 220, and on the day I made a decision to stop the insanity, as Susan Powter used to say, I weighed 215; that was around my birthday.

Now I don't need to diet, and I'm maintaining beautifully in spite of slip-ups like last night. It's nice to have freedom to eat, but I absolutely cannot regress to binge girl.

Vayhasjlfasahj

I am now completely convinced that "congratulations" is the wrong thing to say to any woman who says she's pregnant. As I out my condition more, every time someone congratulates me, I bristle. I'm not sure when I'll feel congratulatable, but I suspect at-term on the delivery of a healthy baby is a good bet.

I'm sensitive also to being easily offended, but you know, it's just painfully awkward in so many ways. I know that's why Dean isn't telling people, either; in a way, I wish I had his ability to keep things inside.

losing my mind!

I keep misplacing stupid things. Like just now I could have sworn I came upstairs with a glass of water but I have no idea where I put it.

Finally remembered to bring home the mask and glove stuff only to have Dean hide it from me, but I found it and finally got the catbox changed.

I've eaten too much junk today. I need to remember to carry more healthy food with me, because it does not spontaneously arise in snack food machines or on long commutes home.

I still haven't scanned Bunky's first picture, mostly because I have not brought the computer back downstairs from the other night. I'll scan it tomorrow.

We'll get another look on Tuesday, May 5, at 12-13 weeks. Should look less like a peanut by then.

We told Darcy last night. She doesn't talk much around me but does a lot of nonverbal communication that I'm starting to understand. Dean told her she was more than likely going to be a big sister. She started bouncing and suppressing a wicked smile, and I offered to show her the picture and she bounced even more. I wonder if this is something that's going to make her and me better friends. Heaven knows her mom seems tickled about the whole thing.

But there's still so much time for things to go wrong yet. Pray, pray, pray...

ultrasound stuff

Bunky is just Bunky--no twins or anything. I've heard the heartbeat now, and seen the wee bit o'life, and it filled me with a joy that blotted out the negatives I've been saturated with. I also have a picture of Bunky, who looks like a peanut.

There are two ways to have an ultrasound, and because I'm so early along, I got to have the more invasive kind. But I found myself completely amused by the shape of the wand. My inner 14-year-old was giggling insanely.

Anyhow. I have a picture. I'll scan it later. :D

The hard thing

I told the friend I was dreading telling. I knew I was putting off the inevitable, and found that I couldn't respond to another thing she was writing about without telling her. I really do feel horrible, because I thought I understood her pain, only to find that God grants people their wishes many years too late because God's a sick bastard. In a way, I can't help but wonder if the same will hold true for her, whether in her lifetime they'll discover a treatment for her kind of infertility--too late for her, or something similar.

But I wouldn't wish this on anyone. Fatigue that's crippling. Nausea that's round the clock. And half my vacation has been sucked away by medical tests that seem ridiculous to be taking this early. Tomorrow I have glucose testing and an ultrasound, and I've already gotten into one argument with a nurse declaring that I will not take Erythromycin even if she prescribes it so why the hell do I need to be tested for the allergy when I don't even need antibiotics at the moment?

To say nothing of the fact that I just feel absolutely horrible about the whole thing. I'm just waiting for the "You should be happy you're pregnant" shoe to drop from anyone. I might well kick them in the teeth.

Other things I've been ranting about the anonyblog lately include how much I hate pregnancy-oriented advertising, being inundated with bare-pregnant bellies, and wishing I could settle down and find the happy part of this. But mostly, I look around at all the things I wanted to get done this week and didn't, and I want to kick myself in the teeth.

I think I'll just cry. Tomorrow I have to go to DC after the med tests, and put on my extrovert face. But you know what? Right now, I'm about as introverted as I ever get.

What's making me happy is cooking. Being at home all week has been great for just playing with food, and there's something about washing dishes in batches--that usually I hate doing, but right now I enjoy the warm water and the feeling of clean. Baking isn't going so well. I have one more test to run tomorrow to see if it's the yeast or just the fact that I keep the house not much warmer than outside. Right now, I just can't wait to curl up with Dean and just know that we're working on making things better.

So on the list for tomorrow: rubber gloves and a filter mask for changing the litter box, a new mop that has its own wringer, a new mophead for the one that requires wringing, and great big sponges for bathroom cleaning. One thing you can do from the comfort of a couch that won't let you go is plan the attack more coherently then if you just tackle it randomly, and even though I didn't get as much cleaning done as I wanted to, I did come up with some structure for making it happen.

I also fixed the sleeve on my sweater/shell jacket, which had been torn since I got it. (I messed it up opening the box it came in.) Fabric glue, which Dean suggested, seemed to do the trick.

I guess that's enough for now. I'm emotionally drained, feeling my "evening" round of nausea, and completely unprepared for tomorrow.

Belly bleahs

I am so tired of pregnancy websites cluttered up with pictures of women with exposed pregnant bellies. Part of it is that if I need to look up a symptom while I'm at work, I'm inundated with half-naked women. Am I supposed to identify with these bodies? Are they supposed to make me feel better about the changes my body is going to go through? I don't like being half-naked even when I'm decidedly not pregnant, but I'm also a bit nonplussed at the way these model bodies look. Just like regular fashion, it seems like they are picture perfect, airbrushed to hell, and... mostly just make me want to close the page.

I have no pity

If my husband would stop feeling sorry for himself, things around here would be a lot better and I could start focusing more on the positives. I finally laid it out for him tonight, because it would be one thing if he had an ounce of sympathy for the fact that I didn't expect this either, but NOOOOOO. It's all about his misery.

At least my son is taking things pretty well.

haha i get it

Only now do I really understand the humor of Vlasic using a stork as a mascot.

Fatiguery

Waking up this morning for my doctor's appt--my first prenatal with the obgyn practice I've picked--really sucked. I was disoriented and exhausted like I haven't felt in years. But I dragged myself up and headed north to Winchester, about 20 miles away, found the place ok, and signed in. Sat down among a ring of women at various stages of pregnancy. I felt so strange there. Realized that with Kieran, when I was on public assistance, I was at the health clinic until I was five months pregnant, at which time I was assigned an obstetric practice; so this was a first for me. For that matter, I got confirmation of my pregnancy at the health department. It was such a crazy time; George lost his job the same week I got pregnant, so it was all very strange. I also remember that the first time I heard Kieran's heartbeat, I was so excited that I walked all the way across Winchester to visit George at work and tell him about it.

A lot of these memories are coming back to me right now, actually.

But anyway, they call my name, and I go up, and they tell me they tried to reach me this morning to tell me that they needed to reschedule my appointment. Sigh. So I'd woken up feeling like hell only to be turned around. So I stopped by my old community college to visit with my old anatomy professor for a while.. and that turned into two hours. I'd only nibbled for breakfast so when lunchtime loomed, I realized I needed to eat; this was further confirmed when I realized that my stomach was lurching. There's a relationship between empty stomach and morning sickness--that's why it's most common in the morning. I still haven't actually heaved yet, but I came kinda close as I was walking back to my car.

So I got home, ate something, and immediately dozed off. by now it was about 1. I slept until 5:30. Woke up feeling sluggish. This sucks. I took these days off from work to be productive around the house, and I did manage to get a few things done, but not nearly what I had envisioned.

On top of all this I want salad like there's no tomorrow and I haven't made it to the store to buy greens.

Anyhow, I've rescheduled my dr appt to tomorrow afternoon, and I'm sleeping in tomorrow. Need a reset. It is, after all, a vacation.

In other news, it's really funny that my periodic emails from whattoexpect.com, WebMD and fitpregnancy.com always use food metaphors to talk about the size of Bunky. Last week, it was the size of a coffee bean. This week, it's a blueberry or a small raspberry. Next week, it will be the size of a grape and my uterus will be the size of a grapefruit. In two weeks, I'll have a strawberry, and then when I get to week 10, we'll promote it to seafood and say it's the size of a shrimp.. but then it goes back to fruit and turns into a lime.

At least it makes me laugh.

anonyblogging

while processing today's annoying junk du jour, I finally figured out why "Congratulations" is rankling me so much when I know it's said with the best of intentions.

It's because we are, in essence, being congratulated for breaking the condom. That wasn't our method of birth control, but it's the best analogy for what did happen.

And yes, that will be a punch line at some point.

Conflatulations

I am so tired of hearing, "Congratulations." It's sort of like winning a contest that you not only didn't enter, but actually had some fundamental problems with the moment you heard it was out there. I'm pregnant; I haven't won anything. And to complicate things further, there are so many things that can go wrong between now and Bunky's actual arrival, that I'd really rather have the good luck wishes and prayers and compassion from a world that seems to think that just because I've accomplished some biological imperative, that I'm somehow more worthy than I was prior to this.

It's not that I think congratulations aren't in order for some couples. Those that have worked hard at conception, those that have despaired at every negative pregnancy result, those who have wished and yearned for children when they have none. I think this is why my husband asked me not to announce my pregnancy early, even though I've couched it as 'want to wait until the risk of miscarrage is past.'

Perhaps what makes it so bitter is that we're being congratulated for failure. Contraception failure, to be sure, but failure nonetheless. "Hey! Your condom broke! Let's throw a party!" Ours was more subtle than that, to be sure, but if that can help the average person understand that some women announce their pregnancy out of need (such as painfully obvious symptoms, desire to gather resources, etc), then so be it.

Because all your congratulations will feel empty if I miscarry, or if tests go badly. Congratulate me when I have a healthy baby, not before.  Congratulate me when I get my debt paid down so I can afford this child. Congratulate me when I don't feel like I'm going to collapse in tears after trying, unsuccessfully, again, to assure my husband that we will be ok with this.

Because the abject horror that appeared on his face when I told him still hasn't gone away.

How the hell do you congratulate that?

Confessional

I cannot keep a secret from my adoring public, apparently. After a flurry of DMs and @'s at me on twitter from people making sure I was ok because i hadn't been tweeting as much, and a number of people asking me why I was not able to continue losing weight, and still more people asking me if I was going to a conference next weekend that I'm on the fence about attending because of certain medical things going on with me, I finally told my Twitter readers I'm expecting in November. It took all of ten days for me to come clean with my secret--that's how long I've known. This is a complete surprise to us and throws all our plans into chaos. I wasn't going to say anything until I was past the major risk of miscarriage, but I'm wayyyyyy too much of an extravert to not blurt out something stupid, and when people were trying to reassure me that I would get past my weight loss plateau (ha!), I finally gave up. It's a good thing I'm not in charge of national security. I had my first son in 1992, and he's taking the news like a champ; much better than my husband or I did, honestly. We'll get there. I had a nice cry with my priest on Wednesday--lots of emotional clutter around having a kid at this point in my life when I'd let the idea of doing so go, and congratulations (now pouring in on twitter) actually wear me down. So hold on to them for now, just keep us in your prayers and congratulate us once we're a little more in tune with what's going on. We're planning to tell our parents (who don't get on the internet much, thank goodness) over Mother's Day weekend, and hopefully we'll be better prepared to look a little less horror-struck by then. I'm so frustrated with the absolute lack of resources for a 35+ woman with an unplanned pregnancy. I'm not a teenager, and I'm not real keen on the envy I know I'm going to get from women my age who are struggling to get pregnant and having difficulty. And I absolutely loathe the "gee aren't you ecstatic" tone that comes from every single person who thinks this is awesome news. The thing is, I know it's a blessing, but I don't want my face rubbed in it. I have to give up graduate school, I have no idea how I'm going to afford day care, and in many respects I'm more lost and confused right now than I was when I had my first son, when I was 22.

I mean, let's face it, I am _happy,_ but it changes so much about how I envisioned the next 20 years. I had come to a place where I had cried and screamed and mourned for the children I would not have. So what do you do when you've reached that place of closure, only to have all those feelings pouring out again but... in reverse? Once we had decided not to have more children, we had set a series of decisions in motion. And we had made most of those decisions already, but there was one messy bit of business we hadn't taken care of: the gonadal one.  My husband had met with his doctor to have a conversation about a vasectomy the very morning I had to break the news to him that we had put it off too long.

So I'm completely not prepared for this. But I'm taking this week off from work to regroup, meditate, clean up, and try to connect with the inner joy that I know is in there somewhere. Let's face it: I'm scared to death, and this smile is made of glass.

Momma's got a secret

I'm pretty good at keeping confidences, in general. Except for my own. I'm a compulsive writer, so when there are things on my mind, I have to jot them down. Public or private, online or off, it happens. Twitter has kind of taken the edge off the one-liners, to be sure, but they still happen.

But I don't see how I can get through this weekend without telling my son I'm gestating his second half sibling. It's funny. He's 8 1/2 years older than his brother; and this one is coming along 8 1/2 years after that. Numbers crack me up that way. Just like my favorite aunt, is 17 years older than I am. (Actually, 17 1/2, but you get my point.) Around the house, there are things like prenatal vitamins, and pregnancy books and magazines, and I can hide those well and good enough, but..

I can't hide this from him, not only because I love him so much; but also because he's going to need as much time to get used to the idea as Dean and I do. At Christmas, he told me he wanted to move back in with me, and it would break my heart if he changed his mind because of this. But I'd understand, too.

I went down to my church today, to talk to my priest about all this. And before I could even get started I was already crying, something I think I needed to do since I found out, but I couldn't. It's so overwhelming. And I just sobbed and sobbed and sobbed. All the emotions that have been swirling around, unable to find purchase because I was--and am--so determined to be strong about this.

I got the paperwork today for the ob/gyn I want to go with, and as I was going through it, I noticed a line that said, "This practice does not support the Bradley method of Childbirth. If you plan to use this method, please seek prenatal care elsewhere." Not that I'm a fan of the Bradley method, but I'm wondering about their obstreperous denunciation of it. I chose this practice because I want a holistic, woman-centered practice. I came pretty close to natural, honestly, with my son, though I did have a bit of demerol at about 5 cm. Lamaze worked beautifully for me, honestly, though my nurses did more to keep me focused than my ex did. (In fact, part of me wonders if the objection to Bradley has to do with partner-as-coach thing, because I think some partners make great coaches, others not so much.)

The only thing I've been able to find is that the Bradley method itself is (a) proprietary and (b) steeped in principles that can be seen as inherently anti-feminist, so if you want a holistic, woman-centered birth the Bradley principles are a bit antithetical (and, quite possibly, ironic). And there are some that cling so much to the method that they are downright radical about it, and apparently this turns medical professionals off. When the movement started, it was a reaction against "twilight births," as many women experienced it between the 30s and the early 70s. (I was born while my mom was under that kind of sedation. She doesn't really remember it.) It's weird: the Bradley method is anti-medical, which Dean would probably dig; but before they changed the name to something more politically correct, it was known as "husband-coached childbirth." And Dean, my love, my partner, I do love you, but I can't imagine you taking charge of my labor. :D

The way I see it, if this practice doesn't work out, both of the doctors I had with my son's birth are still practicing up in Winchester. My doctor--I remember this so clearly--got irritated with the nurses when they IV'd me before he told them to, because he felt I could go natural if I wanted to. But anyway, whatever all that works out to being, I have to get there first.

And first things first.

Argghehahaghjkg

I think I would rather actually be sick than be dragged down by nausea that never actually heaves all frakkin' day.

The Valentine's Surprise

For some women, the surprise comes early. They are young and afraid, inexperienced and naive.

For other women, the surprise comes late. They thought they were crones and finished, and though wise, they are no less astonished, and perhaps even more ambivalent.

I fall closer to the latter case, honestly. I'm processing some news I got last week: that I was 5-6 weeks pregnant. I'm a late-30-something woman with a teenage son, recently remarried, and... well, we just didn't mean to have this happen. In searching for resources on handling a surprise pregnancy over 35, I've found things that range from patronizing to didactic. Things like, "you should be grateful you got pregnant, not everyone has it so easy." Uh, yeah. Things oriented toward telling one's parents about a pregnancy. Right. I have to tell my kid. Trying to figure out an appropriate way to tell my husband that I was pregnant, I kept finding things like, "Bake some cinnamon buns, and while they're baking, announce you have a bun in the oven!"

Telling my husband was nothing like that. I tried to find a nice, nonthreatening place to tell him quietly over his favorite meal, and of course, I found myself stumbling over the words, and he sat there, in stunned silence, picking at his food. As I watched him, I couldn't stop worrying about _him,_ and apologizing to him for having to give him unwelcome news.

Now, I'm a humorist at heart, and a professional writer. It's probably more appropriate to say that I'm a compulsive writer, because I always want to share the random things that pop into my head. But this topic, much like my other blog on binge eating, is more about writing about the things we don't talk about—things that we as women don't talk about.

So as I continue to suck it up and smile every time someone congratulates me, I figured it would be nice to write something that would let other people know that they aren't alone in feeling the conflicted feelings that come with an unexpected pregnancy.  The ups and the downs are part of the journey, an inevitable, inexorable tide of life. But who wants to ride the coaster alone?

Shiny Happy Springtime

I know the moment it crossed 50 degrees outside because I finally stopped shivering. I'm having a hell of a time staying warm. My body temperature, generally, is two full degrees lower than most people's. In fact, I tracked my body temperature for a full year while I was learning NFP, so I know it's always 96.5 before ovulation, and 97.5 after, on average. Part of the reason I didn't realize I was pregnant is that I never had the temperature spike, and in fact it wasn't apparent until after I had figured out I was pregnant. Honestly, I have never had such a subtle, sneaky ovulation, and I'm convinced that Bunky is always going to be sneaky this way.

At any rate, after three days of feeling queasy, today I feel much better. Which has probably led to me eating a bit much, but I won't make a habit of that. I just wanted to celebrate being able to eat after three days of yuck.

Not holding my breath that I will be as lucky as I was with my first, where I only got sick twice and the nausea was minimal.

Also, if the words prego or preggers ever escape my fingertips in this pregnancy (other than in the context of pasta), please just put all of us down.

it occurs to me...

... that if 50 percent of pregnancies are unplanned to the point of being a total shock to the parents, and that a significant chunk of those pregnancies are to women who don't need to be talked down to (which I'm thinking are most of them), and that there really aren't helpful resources for those women that aren't targeted at single teenagers...

That I should write a book.

Yeah, I've been saying that for years too. But have you noticed, 2009 seems to be the year for making things happen I always talk about wanting to do but never do? I've successfully lost weight. I've gotten pregnant. I have a vacation scheduled next week specifically set around decluttering the house. Why not finally write a damned book? Or two?

Now I really feel sick

I just found out that adding both kids to my health insurance is going to cost almost $500 per month. Granted, that's pretax, but still, it's not helping the nausea at all.

Hopefully Dean will have better options.

Blank you, you blankin' blank.

I'm trying to do some research on unintended pregnancy, but it's hard to find stuff that's appropriate. For instance, you run across a lot of this sanctimonious bullshit:

The first thing to remember when you find out that you are pregnant is that you are lucky; many women struggle with fertility issues and have trouble conceiving a baby. A child is a precious gift and you should be grateful for that gift.

Look, I'm trying to be graceful when people congratulate me and you want me to suck up and thank God for his sick sense of humor? Let's look at thing number one I would not have bought if I thought I was going to have more children: THIS HOUSE. And so much more.

Groan.

Thinking about logistics like diapers and day care and completely ending what little bit is left of my social life and all that is overwhelming to the point of headache.

But when you strip the practical part out of it, I'm like, squee-ish. But not lucky. Hell no, not lucky.

I'll be lucky if no stranger ever approaches me and says, 'How wonderful! When are you due?" I think I'm going to answer that I'm trying to win a bet that will pay my child's college tuition by not answering that question, or something equally snarky, because when you're not all filled with shiny about it, it's easier to just find the whole thing bizarre and hilarious.

It's also possible I've been hanging out with Jenn too long.

Reading...

Unexpectedly Expecting: Coping with a surprise pregnancy

I found this article very, very helpful in processing this.

About half of all pregnancies in the United States are unplanned, and at some point in their lives 48 percent of women in the U.S. find themselves unexpectedly expecting. Not all these pregnancies are necessarily unwanted—they're just unintended. As a result, they are accompanied by a wide range of emotions, including disbelief, anger, fear, panic, excitement, embarrassment and resentment.

These emotions can come in any sequence and at any time, and all are valid, according to Brad Imler, Ph.D., president of the American Pregnancy Association. "I'm pretty sure I hit all the stages of grief," Schneider recalls.

Mixed Emotions
The confusing range of emotions is normal.... "Mothers should remember to not compare their level of attachment with the gold standard," Honos-Webb says. She adds, however, that if you find you're unable to come to terms with the pregnancy, or if you start blaming the baby, you should ask your doctor for a referral to a mental-health professional, as this could signal a serious depression.

Your partner's reaction is likely to encompass as many emotions as yours, but he may have more trouble putting his into words. Imler predicts a man may get that "deer in the headlights look" and counsels women not to assume the reaction signals a lack of support. "The mother will likely have to act as an 'emotion coach,' helping him express what he is feeling," says Honos-Webb. Men worry most about providing for the family and losing their partner to the commitments of motherhood.

<a href="Read it all.

That was easy

There is diet pepsi all over the house. I mean, I love this stuff. It's the juice that runs through my veins, right? I quit, cold turkey, on Wednesday; I've been drinking water ever since. I always hated drinking water, and right now I can't get enough of it. I wonder if 18 months off the pepsi (9 for gestation, 9 for lactation) will finally cure me of it. I look at it here in the house and think bleagck! Fortunately, my boss knows, and I can pass it on to her, as she's a fan. I just figure if things like ibuprofen and whatnot are bad for me right now, what the hell is all that aspartame doing to us? So WHAM. It really was easy to walk away from something I couldn't live without just a few days ago. I wonder what other bad habits bunky will cure me of.

I'm sticking with a highly modified version of Weight Watchers right now because I need the program for dietary structure. I'm obsessing over nutrition, partly because I was already on my way to that before I found out I was pregnant.

Some interesting information I found today indicates that because I'm overweight (but not obese anymore!!), I should plan on gaining 15-25 pounds. I'm going to continue exercising through this, although some of my routines will doubtless need to be modified. I wrote to Jennifer Kries tonight to ask her if I could continue, but I also may start using the treadmill at work.

A Rocky Beginning

About half of all pregnancies are unplanned. That doesn't mean they are all crisis pregnancies. That doesn't mean it only happens to teenagers, or unwed women, or to people who for goodness knows what reason don't understand what's involved in making babies and "dammit, you made the choice, now live with the consequences!"

It does mean that some women are going to feel conflicted about their pregnancies, whether because their partners aren't supportive, or because it wasn't on the financial road map, or because the house isn't big enough and there's no hope of selling in this market, or because there is a significant age gap between existing children and the new addition, or a host of other reasons--all of which kind of apply to me at the moment.

This is not a crisis pregnancy. It is, however, an honest pregnancy.

And, no matter how conflicted or agitated I sometimes sound, a loving one.

Sweating the morning of

Last night, I stopped by the local Target to purchase a pregnancy test. It's the third time I've done this since the beginning of my relationship with D., who has been my husband for six months. Because the other two scares hadn't panned out, I was positive that this test, also, would come back negative. I just needed to be sure, because I was getting mixed signals from my body.

So I wake up today, groggy, as always, looking at the clock radio in my usual disoriented state, all the more so for the past weekend's time change to daylight savings. I'm too clever for myself: I've set the test where I can't miss it, right on top of the clock radio. Resignedly, I grab it and make for the bathroom to -- ahem. Pee on a stick.

I can already see the cross forming before I pick it up, so what do I do? Pee on it some more. Just in case only the first part of my pee is pregnant and I can cancel it out with the rest of my pee. I am such a dork.

Colors start swirling into my field of vision: a jewel-toned palette of roses and indigos that wash over my vision like thinned-out watercolors. My mouth is agape, I know. The instructions say to wait two minutes, but I'm pretty sure that's to make sure I don't actually stand up. My heart leaps into my chest. Not now, I'm thinking. I wanted this so badly even just a couple of years ago, but not now.

I'm torn between wanting to cry with joy and wanting to hide in shame. The colors are still swirling and I understand them to be my emotions, the rose being from the happy and the indigo being from the sad. I feel the colors, more than I do the emotions. I can't see for how much they stain everything, and I realize I'm in for a very confusing roller coaster torn between ups of dreams coming true and downs of plans crashing out of existence. I have to re-evaluate everything, and I'm terrified.

But today is the first day.

Today is the first day.