I went back to work this week. In some ways, it went fantastic: I wasn't late to work any day, pumping went great, I'm really happy with the day care arrangement we all worked out. In other ways, it didn't: It looks like I may have to use bottles even on days I telework because Jesse still likes cluster feeding at the breast, and that just doesn't work when I'm working; I found myself distracted by habits I'd gotten into while on leave that can't continue while I'm working (oh hai @moshermama twitter stream); and getting back into the groove of a job I used to do seamlessly is proving to be paved with all manner of speed bumps that didn't used to apply to me.
Jesse shocked me by sleeping through the night for the first time Sunday night, going down about 10:30 and waking up about 5:30. I was so expecting the 2-3 feeding that I was shocked when I found that I had slept nearly til the alarm, which was going off at 6. He's doing this regularly, too, although Thursday and Friday he enacted some weird timeshift and woke us up at 4:30 both mornings. Ugh.
He doesn't have his checkup until next week, but I think he weighs about 13 pounds already. Size 3 months is a wash; I'm glad they lasted 2, honestly.
Ok, that's the Jesse update. Next up is another of my birth rant posts!
Showing posts with label Life. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Life. Show all posts
Sunday, January 17, 2010
Thursday, December 10, 2009
Four weeks and counting, and #Cora
I was going to do my first wordless Wednesday post yesterday but couldn't get my camera, a charged battery, and a download cord or card reader in the same place for some reason. I've been distracted all week, actually, trying to secure a caregiver for Jesse as Dean got himself ready to go back to work, and we picked up Dean's new car, a 2000 Subaru Outback.
Dean's going back to work has been a stress point for me, because he works two hours away, and as such, tends to stay in Northern Virginia at his dad's old house during the week. We used to jokingly call this our commuter marriage, which worked fine prior to my late pregnancy and Jesse's arrival. I don't see it working so well anymore; I can't even run to the corner to pick up a newspaper without it turning into a production. I don't know how single moms do it, and I say this having been a single mom--just of a tween, not of an infant.
In the meantime, said former tween turned 17 last week. Where does the time go? And Jesse hit four weeks yesterday. The days are a blur, honestly, partly because I haven't slept more than 3.5 hours at a time since he was born. But that's ok, too, because a half-hour feeding in between two such sleeping jags translates into 7 hours of mostly uninterrupted sleep.
Today, the breast pump arrived. Dean will likely be able to feed Jesse by this weekend. That will be nice, although I'm a bit stressed about how the damned thing works! I didn't use a pump with Elder Son, per se--just the occasional portable one-side kind, battery operated. Didn't need it too much because I worked nights and Kieran slept through the night by that point.
Jesse's also really starting to make eye contact with me in a way that he hasn't before--I can tell he recognizes me, and he smiles a lot more often.
But all of this is hollow, this week, because one of my bump buddies from Twitter, Kristine, lost her daughter, born Nov. 30, to an undetected heart defect earlier this week. Cora was breastfeeding in her mother's arms one minute, and the next.. Kristine was racing to the hospital, where Cora died. My heart goes out to Kristine and her family, and in Cora's honor, many of us in the Twittersphere are wearing pink. I'm wearing the pink maternity tee that I loved so much while pregnant, and wrapped in the pink prayer shawl that my friend Audra sent me: it was knit for her during her pregnancy, and she passed it along to me, and now I wear it in honor of Cora.
Every day, I'm grateful that I have a healthy little boy. He was a surprise for us, but a blessing we never could have anticipated.
Kristine, my prayers are with you this week. Much love to you and Ben.
Dean's going back to work has been a stress point for me, because he works two hours away, and as such, tends to stay in Northern Virginia at his dad's old house during the week. We used to jokingly call this our commuter marriage, which worked fine prior to my late pregnancy and Jesse's arrival. I don't see it working so well anymore; I can't even run to the corner to pick up a newspaper without it turning into a production. I don't know how single moms do it, and I say this having been a single mom--just of a tween, not of an infant.
In the meantime, said former tween turned 17 last week. Where does the time go? And Jesse hit four weeks yesterday. The days are a blur, honestly, partly because I haven't slept more than 3.5 hours at a time since he was born. But that's ok, too, because a half-hour feeding in between two such sleeping jags translates into 7 hours of mostly uninterrupted sleep.
Today, the breast pump arrived. Dean will likely be able to feed Jesse by this weekend. That will be nice, although I'm a bit stressed about how the damned thing works! I didn't use a pump with Elder Son, per se--just the occasional portable one-side kind, battery operated. Didn't need it too much because I worked nights and Kieran slept through the night by that point.
Jesse's also really starting to make eye contact with me in a way that he hasn't before--I can tell he recognizes me, and he smiles a lot more often.
But all of this is hollow, this week, because one of my bump buddies from Twitter, Kristine, lost her daughter, born Nov. 30, to an undetected heart defect earlier this week. Cora was breastfeeding in her mother's arms one minute, and the next.. Kristine was racing to the hospital, where Cora died. My heart goes out to Kristine and her family, and in Cora's honor, many of us in the Twittersphere are wearing pink. I'm wearing the pink maternity tee that I loved so much while pregnant, and wrapped in the pink prayer shawl that my friend Audra sent me: it was knit for her during her pregnancy, and she passed it along to me, and now I wear it in honor of Cora.
Every day, I'm grateful that I have a healthy little boy. He was a surprise for us, but a blessing we never could have anticipated.
Kristine, my prayers are with you this week. Much love to you and Ben.
Saturday, November 28, 2009
Calling all hands--it's a staph meeting
After our long nap that Friday the 13th, I was relieved that no calamity had befallen us, but the day wasn't over yet. As I was nursing Jesse contentedly in my newly put-together, extremely comfortable rocker-glider, Dean bounded up the stairs and announced, with his usual humorous aplomb, that our baby had been recalled. We had been summoned back to the hospital for some antibiotics because one of the lab cultures had come back positive for a strain of unidentified bacteria, and because they weren't certain whether the bacteria had come from his skin (where it's--believe it or not--normally present) or from an internal infection. But his previous low-grade fever and high-ish white blood cell count meant that something was tasking his newborn system, and so he was re-admitted as a pediatric patient.
Before long, it became apparent that the bacteria was a staphylococcus, or staph, strain. What blew my mind was the number of times I was asked if I had tested positive for Group B Strep, which I hadn't. Last I checked, Strep and Staph were totally different strains of bacteria. I was also asked repeatedly if there had been anything unusual about my pregnancy. Well, aside from my tongue possibly being a map to buried treasure, no. I had to fight the urge to be smart-alecky ("At his second ultrasound, Jesse flipped us off..."), actually. I thought we'd be there for a while for them to draw new blood samples and be sent home with antibiotics, but then I found out we'd be there overnight for several courses of IV antibiotics.
I was devastated and nonplussed. We hadn't been told to pack for an overnight stay, for one--and this meant that I hadn't brought any of my postpartum supplies other than a change of pads, much less any food or drink. What was worse was that we were now in the pediatric unit, so I didn't have access to the mother-baby unit refreshment stand. I'd discover the following day that I was to be fed, being the breastfeeding mother of the patient, but in the meantime we were in for the most harrowing night I can ever remember. Dean went with the nurses while Jesse got his IV, and I meanwhile sat wringing my hands in Jesse's room, freaking out and thinking, "If I'd had him at home this never would have happened." When Dean brought Jesse back--his hand immobilized by the complicated heplock they had created--Dean said to me, "He is so brave, Helen." This struck me as a strange thing to hear Dean say, but then I realized that he was bonding with the baby too.
This being the same man who didn't speak to me for a half hour when I told him I was pregnant.
But the doctor--a very nice woman--came in and explained that we should have results of the additional tests by 3 p.m. the next day, and that they should reveal the course of treatment from that point forward. By this point, it was nearly 10 p.m. I thought I could tough it out, and Dean said he'd stay with us. Jesse cried through most of the night, and I found myself in meltdown mode shortly after 3 a.m., sobbing hysterically with my newborn, wanting nothing other than to go home. My milk was starting to come in; Dean was holding me and the night nurse was comforting me. I remember blubbering out all of my fears as I tried to nurse Jesse and he'd find no solace there because latching on was so difficult. Finally, Jesse and I fell asleep--with him in my lap in the hospital bed.
The following morning, a shift change brought us a new nurse that we didn't really see all that much of. Another doctor--different from the one we'd seen the previous night-- came in, did an exam, and explained brusquely that Jesse might be sick and might not be but we needed to err on the safe side, and left. We sat and waited, and sat and waited, and sat and waited. Jesse had two normal temperatures in a row. I got breakfast, and lunch, and was asked to place an order for dinner. That's when I started to get suspicious, and summoned the nurse to find out what was going on. It was now nearly 3. She explained that usually these infections meant a 48-hour stay in the hospital. I nearly lost it all over again. "I was told we'd have test results by this time!" I said, insistently. The nurse cocked her head. "Well, the doctor won't be back in until this evening."
ARGH! I nearly burst into tears again, but put my adamant hat on and told her what last night's doctor had said. The nurse said she'd try and find out the results of the additional testing and call today's doctor for more instructions.
An hour later she came back in and said we could go home; the tests showed he'd cleared whatever it was. Dean made the observation that I had been giving Jesse my antibodies since shortly after he was born, amniotic fluid in his tummy notwithstanding. (And I have the immune system of a tank, really. I don't get sick often, although I'm apt to get run-down often enough because I'm Type A that way.)
The nurse ran down our discharge instructions and then went on to add a bit of unsolicited advice. "And don't put your baby in the bed with you!" she said, firmly. Did we look suspiciously like co-sleepers to her? Or was she concerned about the fact that when she'd come in this morning, Jesse had been asleep in my lap? "They can suffocate," she continued, "and when you go into a deep sleep, you can roll over on top of the baby."
Yeah, like I roll over on top of my husband on a regular basis, right? I co-slept with my first son without ever having heard of attachment parenting (or co-sleeping, for that matter. It just made sense, and made him a better sleeper; he slept through the night at 6 weeks and slept in his bassinet or crib from that point onward, with the occasional exception for rough nights.
So we just smiled and nodded and took our little boy home--for good, this time.
Before long, it became apparent that the bacteria was a staphylococcus, or staph, strain. What blew my mind was the number of times I was asked if I had tested positive for Group B Strep, which I hadn't. Last I checked, Strep and Staph were totally different strains of bacteria. I was also asked repeatedly if there had been anything unusual about my pregnancy. Well, aside from my tongue possibly being a map to buried treasure, no. I had to fight the urge to be smart-alecky ("At his second ultrasound, Jesse flipped us off..."), actually. I thought we'd be there for a while for them to draw new blood samples and be sent home with antibiotics, but then I found out we'd be there overnight for several courses of IV antibiotics.
I was devastated and nonplussed. We hadn't been told to pack for an overnight stay, for one--and this meant that I hadn't brought any of my postpartum supplies other than a change of pads, much less any food or drink. What was worse was that we were now in the pediatric unit, so I didn't have access to the mother-baby unit refreshment stand. I'd discover the following day that I was to be fed, being the breastfeeding mother of the patient, but in the meantime we were in for the most harrowing night I can ever remember. Dean went with the nurses while Jesse got his IV, and I meanwhile sat wringing my hands in Jesse's room, freaking out and thinking, "If I'd had him at home this never would have happened." When Dean brought Jesse back--his hand immobilized by the complicated heplock they had created--Dean said to me, "He is so brave, Helen." This struck me as a strange thing to hear Dean say, but then I realized that he was bonding with the baby too.
This being the same man who didn't speak to me for a half hour when I told him I was pregnant.
But the doctor--a very nice woman--came in and explained that we should have results of the additional tests by 3 p.m. the next day, and that they should reveal the course of treatment from that point forward. By this point, it was nearly 10 p.m. I thought I could tough it out, and Dean said he'd stay with us. Jesse cried through most of the night, and I found myself in meltdown mode shortly after 3 a.m., sobbing hysterically with my newborn, wanting nothing other than to go home. My milk was starting to come in; Dean was holding me and the night nurse was comforting me. I remember blubbering out all of my fears as I tried to nurse Jesse and he'd find no solace there because latching on was so difficult. Finally, Jesse and I fell asleep--with him in my lap in the hospital bed.
The following morning, a shift change brought us a new nurse that we didn't really see all that much of. Another doctor--different from the one we'd seen the previous night-- came in, did an exam, and explained brusquely that Jesse might be sick and might not be but we needed to err on the safe side, and left. We sat and waited, and sat and waited, and sat and waited. Jesse had two normal temperatures in a row. I got breakfast, and lunch, and was asked to place an order for dinner. That's when I started to get suspicious, and summoned the nurse to find out what was going on. It was now nearly 3. She explained that usually these infections meant a 48-hour stay in the hospital. I nearly lost it all over again. "I was told we'd have test results by this time!" I said, insistently. The nurse cocked her head. "Well, the doctor won't be back in until this evening." ARGH! I nearly burst into tears again, but put my adamant hat on and told her what last night's doctor had said. The nurse said she'd try and find out the results of the additional testing and call today's doctor for more instructions.
An hour later she came back in and said we could go home; the tests showed he'd cleared whatever it was. Dean made the observation that I had been giving Jesse my antibodies since shortly after he was born, amniotic fluid in his tummy notwithstanding. (And I have the immune system of a tank, really. I don't get sick often, although I'm apt to get run-down often enough because I'm Type A that way.)
The nurse ran down our discharge instructions and then went on to add a bit of unsolicited advice. "And don't put your baby in the bed with you!" she said, firmly. Did we look suspiciously like co-sleepers to her? Or was she concerned about the fact that when she'd come in this morning, Jesse had been asleep in my lap? "They can suffocate," she continued, "and when you go into a deep sleep, you can roll over on top of the baby."
Yeah, like I roll over on top of my husband on a regular basis, right? I co-slept with my first son without ever having heard of attachment parenting (or co-sleeping, for that matter. It just made sense, and made him a better sleeper; he slept through the night at 6 weeks and slept in his bassinet or crib from that point onward, with the occasional exception for rough nights.
So we just smiled and nodded and took our little boy home--for good, this time.
Sunday, October 25, 2009
37 weeks: I'm Full Term!
....which basically translates into incredibly slow moving and in a lot of pain in general, because my belly is so heavy and constantly going in and out of contraction-mode. I've had two episodes of false labor, with painful contractions that had some semblance of regularity but never broke the 7 minute threshold, and since I haven't passed my plug to my knowledge and have no bloody show I wasn't worried. Latent labor tends to last a couple of weeks for me and my girl-kin anyway, but in spite of all that I know he could show up any day now. I'm still hoping for an October baby, and sometimes I think he's going to punch his way out of the amniotic sac himself (right now is one of those times, actually).
My cervix at checkup had progressed slightly from last week, to almost two cm. But I'm looking for that magic 3 number where I'll feel comfortable that it's really happening.
Annoyed at the hospital I'm delivering at for saying no visitors under 18 because of H1N1. This means that my stepdaughter and son won't be able to meet their new sibling until I come home, which probably isn't a big deal for my stepdaughter, but I really don't want to go two days without my son coming to see me, since I'm his primary caregiver and all. And what *really* bothers me is that he's getting vaccinated against H1N1, but it doesn't seem like there is any clause exempting him as vaccinated.
Although with any luck, I'll have this baby tomorrow or Monday before the policy takes effect.
As of Thursday I seem to have finally started retaining water and have the pregnancy edema that so many people complain about. I'm glad it came late, and that my urine is clear and my blood pressure is fine. During my first pregnancy, I was on the verge of pre-eclampsia for much of the last two months.
Today was a rainy day in Northern Virginia, and right now Dean and I both seem to have misplaced our umbrellas. As we ran errands, test drove cars (Dean totalled his back in August and now we're looking to replace it), and whatnot we managed to time most of it so that we weren't caught in the rain too bad, but then we went to the library and WHOOCH! there was no way to avoid the downpour aside from sitting in the car for... too long. So he says, "Shall we make a dash for it?"
I just looked at him. I'm about as capable of running at the moment as the Comcast turtles.
But I did find several first-year baby care books at the library book sale for dirt cheap. So it was worth getting pelted over.
My cervix at checkup had progressed slightly from last week, to almost two cm. But I'm looking for that magic 3 number where I'll feel comfortable that it's really happening.
Annoyed at the hospital I'm delivering at for saying no visitors under 18 because of H1N1. This means that my stepdaughter and son won't be able to meet their new sibling until I come home, which probably isn't a big deal for my stepdaughter, but I really don't want to go two days without my son coming to see me, since I'm his primary caregiver and all. And what *really* bothers me is that he's getting vaccinated against H1N1, but it doesn't seem like there is any clause exempting him as vaccinated.
Although with any luck, I'll have this baby tomorrow or Monday before the policy takes effect.
As of Thursday I seem to have finally started retaining water and have the pregnancy edema that so many people complain about. I'm glad it came late, and that my urine is clear and my blood pressure is fine. During my first pregnancy, I was on the verge of pre-eclampsia for much of the last two months.
Today was a rainy day in Northern Virginia, and right now Dean and I both seem to have misplaced our umbrellas. As we ran errands, test drove cars (Dean totalled his back in August and now we're looking to replace it), and whatnot we managed to time most of it so that we weren't caught in the rain too bad, but then we went to the library and WHOOCH! there was no way to avoid the downpour aside from sitting in the car for... too long. So he says, "Shall we make a dash for it?"
I just looked at him. I'm about as capable of running at the moment as the Comcast turtles.
But I did find several first-year baby care books at the library book sale for dirt cheap. So it was worth getting pelted over.
Saturday, August 15, 2009
Ho hum, here's a post. . .
Immediately, all the potted plants on the back deck, our "garden" this year, are dying of thirst as if they haven't been watered in days. I placed reservoirs under as many as I could fit and hope that the wilting isn't as permanent as it looks. It's the dog days of summer and my bees are displaying an inordinately high level of activity this morning around the entrance to their hive. I don't have enough experience yet to judge as to whether or not this is normal or what might be the cause of it, I just know I haven't seen them this active since the day I hived the colony. I fired up the smoker and went in briefly looking for something obvious but there was nothing but busy bees to be seen, and a single small hive beetle in the feeder portending trouble I do not yet have. I've decided to dump the vermiculture bin that I've kept in the basement for composting kitchen scraps by way of worms because I believe it might be the source of fruit flies that plague Mrs. in the kitchen. The bin is supposed to be full of worms but springtails and the curious scattering of what appears to be fruit fly pupae attached all along the underside of the lid are more the rule than the exception lately. I shall try again later with a place in the basement where Mrs. can put kitchen scraps this winter but in the mean time I will construct something quick and simple for outdoor use.
While in the basement this morning, I noticed a strange pattern of dried liquid that had recently streamed across the floor like the ancient "ocean beds" of the martian surface and had pooled under the furnace. Oil? No, there's mold growing on it. Water, of course, but it's not from streaming in through the gap under the door from the outside stairwell that sometimes happens after a heavy rain . I followed it back to . . . the water heater that BiL had only just installed a few months earlier (panic!!!) but luckily that wasn't the source, either. Last week I put a small wine rack over in that corner of the basement that we'd rescued from a dumpster some years earlier, and there I discovered that fully half of the dozen bottles of homebrewed cherry lambic I had stored on their side there the previous week had ruptured their corks and spewed all over the concrete floor. Joy! I had expected to have and keep those for a while, to break out on the rare occasions when we actually have company. I'll set one of the remaining bottles aside for Mr Lange, the comptroller of the hospice organization I work for who brews beer with his church, and take the rest to the honey extraction/BBQ I've been invited to attend tomorrow. Better enjoyed now, for certain, than saved for a possible calamity, later. Four and a half liters wasted. . . . It seems that everything I try to save for a rainy day only ends up getting washed away in the deluge, and I'm reminded that there is only this moment. Relax, it's later than we think.
Next, my job: I stopped by (local sports bar) after work yesterday evening for barley pops and oat sodas with Todd, the consultant who is assisting with our capital campaign and James, one of our IT managers. Being a rank-n-file, non-exempt employee with little business sense for the organization beyond what I do there in the Philanthropy dept. (and do well, I might add) the conversation with these two was a way for me to "check the vitals", in a sense, to get an overview of the organization that recently went through a location transition, and a couple years prior to that replaced their (our) CEO with a woman from West Virginia who is decidedly from a more clinical background than what the organization is accustomed to. Since then she has adopted a business model put forth by a company called Multi-View, Inc (sketchy much?) that is in keeping with her clinical experience. Within this multiview model there's precious little in the budget for technology and nothing in the way of fundraising, or development as it's sometimes referred to. So, I'm getting a sense of an early, distant warning of my impending lay-off despite that the director of my department is actively trying to retain me with flexible schedules and promises of a decent increase in compensation. We've been counting on my job as a source of health insurance, at least, because my income there is fairly marginal (and outright crap for the market we live in). I do okay for a guy lacking certain educational credentials, I earn just enough in wages and benefits to make my job very difficult to replace. But worse, it keeps me from moving to the valley, an hour and a half west of D.C. on a full time basis. Oh, something has to give eventually! In what we know as the future there exist perceptual corners around which logic and speculation cannot sense and I shall remain cautious with what I wish for!
But all those are possible future scenarios, and isn't this supposed to be a blagh about babies and diapers and daddyhood, and such. I have to admit that I really don't have the time/mental capacity right now for the "examined life" as it were. Far from wanting to be the main source of angst here at GA, I'll try to chime in here occasionally over the next few months, preferably when I actually have something relevant to share. Daddies like me, the reluctant type, come into these things from the outside-in especially being that all the real action currently is still happening in utero. I still have 87 days until Bunky's here, 87 days to live what I call "my life": working my job establishing and maintaining adequate distance between shit and fan and sorting paperclips for hospice, tending to my bees and garden, hopefully putting some libations aside for when I don't have the luxury of time nor the peace of mind. 87 days of cleaning and mending, deep breathing and learning and re-learning to rise to meet the needs and expectations of the beautiful mommy-to-be-again at my side. 87 days to get my house in order, whatever that means. And after that I die again, or at least the world I enjoy goes into remission to make way for a new life. His, mine, and ours.
While in the basement this morning, I noticed a strange pattern of dried liquid that had recently streamed across the floor like the ancient "ocean beds" of the martian surface and had pooled under the furnace. Oil? No, there's mold growing on it. Water, of course, but it's not from streaming in through the gap under the door from the outside stairwell that sometimes happens after a heavy rain . I followed it back to . . . the water heater that BiL had only just installed a few months earlier (panic!!!) but luckily that wasn't the source, either. Last week I put a small wine rack over in that corner of the basement that we'd rescued from a dumpster some years earlier, and there I discovered that fully half of the dozen bottles of homebrewed cherry lambic I had stored on their side there the previous week had ruptured their corks and spewed all over the concrete floor. Joy! I had expected to have and keep those for a while, to break out on the rare occasions when we actually have company. I'll set one of the remaining bottles aside for Mr Lange, the comptroller of the hospice organization I work for who brews beer with his church, and take the rest to the honey extraction/BBQ I've been invited to attend tomorrow. Better enjoyed now, for certain, than saved for a possible calamity, later. Four and a half liters wasted. . . . It seems that everything I try to save for a rainy day only ends up getting washed away in the deluge, and I'm reminded that there is only this moment. Relax, it's later than we think.
Next, my job: I stopped by (local sports bar) after work yesterday evening for barley pops and oat sodas with Todd, the consultant who is assisting with our capital campaign and James, one of our IT managers. Being a rank-n-file, non-exempt employee with little business sense for the organization beyond what I do there in the Philanthropy dept. (and do well, I might add) the conversation with these two was a way for me to "check the vitals", in a sense, to get an overview of the organization that recently went through a location transition, and a couple years prior to that replaced their (our) CEO with a woman from West Virginia who is decidedly from a more clinical background than what the organization is accustomed to. Since then she has adopted a business model put forth by a company called Multi-View, Inc (sketchy much?) that is in keeping with her clinical experience. Within this multiview model there's precious little in the budget for technology and nothing in the way of fundraising, or development as it's sometimes referred to. So, I'm getting a sense of an early, distant warning of my impending lay-off despite that the director of my department is actively trying to retain me with flexible schedules and promises of a decent increase in compensation. We've been counting on my job as a source of health insurance, at least, because my income there is fairly marginal (and outright crap for the market we live in). I do okay for a guy lacking certain educational credentials, I earn just enough in wages and benefits to make my job very difficult to replace. But worse, it keeps me from moving to the valley, an hour and a half west of D.C. on a full time basis. Oh, something has to give eventually! In what we know as the future there exist perceptual corners around which logic and speculation cannot sense and I shall remain cautious with what I wish for!
But all those are possible future scenarios, and isn't this supposed to be a blagh about babies and diapers and daddyhood, and such. I have to admit that I really don't have the time/mental capacity right now for the "examined life" as it were. Far from wanting to be the main source of angst here at GA, I'll try to chime in here occasionally over the next few months, preferably when I actually have something relevant to share. Daddies like me, the reluctant type, come into these things from the outside-in especially being that all the real action currently is still happening in utero. I still have 87 days until Bunky's here, 87 days to live what I call "my life": working my job establishing and maintaining adequate distance between shit and fan and sorting paperclips for hospice, tending to my bees and garden, hopefully putting some libations aside for when I don't have the luxury of time nor the peace of mind. 87 days of cleaning and mending, deep breathing and learning and re-learning to rise to meet the needs and expectations of the beautiful mommy-to-be-again at my side. 87 days to get my house in order, whatever that means. And after that I die again, or at least the world I enjoy goes into remission to make way for a new life. His, mine, and ours.
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