Surrogacy and Adoption

I know it's been a LONG, LIKE SUPER DE DUPER LONG time since I've authored a post here.  I hope Frenchie can forgive me.  But tonight I have something on my mind and lately with how cutthroat Facebook has become, it doesn't seem the place for it.  I know we have a small but friendly and powerful audience here, but I also welcome, in fact REQUEST that if this blog post hits your heart, that you share it in any way possible: your blog, another mommy blog, tell a friend, etc.  Tim and I are at a junction where we are trying to decide if, when, and how to grow our family.  And I have been told that in situtations like this, even though one's first instinct might be to clam up and stay low until everything blows over, the exact opposite is what you should, or in fact NEED to do.  When looking for help growing your family in a non-traditional way, miracles are possible and at times more likely when more people hear your story.

Because of the heart trouble that happened when I gave birth to Tybalt, I have been HIGHLY discouraged from getting pregnant ever again.  Some womens' doctors (ob/gyns as well as cardiologists) differ in their opinion, but because of the severity of my post partum cardiomyopathy compared to some other cases, both of my doctors say no.  Or, in more clearer terms, "HELL NO."

This makes me sad.  It makes me depressed.  It makes me want to raise my arms to the heavens and say, "THANK YOU GOD FOR MY WONDERFUL AND HANDSOME MIRACLE BABY.  I LOVE HIM MORE THAN WORDS CAN EXPRESS,  AND I LOVE YOU FOR GIVING HIM TO ME.  DON'T GET ME WRONG THROUGHOUT ALL THIS--I HAVE FAITH, BELIEVE, AND AM VERY THANKFUL.  ALL THAT SAID...WTH?  YOU KNOW I DIDN'T WANT AN ONLY CHILD!  YOU KNOW MY HEART AND 'WOMB' ARE ACHING AND THAT I CRY DAILY!  I MAY ONLY BE ONE OF YOUR DAUGHTERS IN THIS WORLD OF BILLIONS, BUT PLEASE, REALLY, COULD YOU DO ME A 'SOLID' AND PUT ME UPWARDS ON THE LIST A BIT?  I SWEAR ONCE YOU GET ME A KID YOU CAN TAKE ME AND PUT ME RIGHT BACK DOWN WITH THE REST AT THE BOTTOM OF THE PRAYER LIST.  HELP ME HAVE ANOTHER CHILD!  PLEASE, I BEG!  SOMEHOW, SOMEWAY (THOUGH SAFELY FOR ME, SO NATURAL PREGNANCY IS PRETTY MUCH OUT, UNLESS YOU KNOW SOMETHING I DON'T.  I NEED THIS GOD, I REALLY, REALLY NEED THIS.  (And here's where I humbly admit that I'm a tiny bit pissed you haven't already just left one on my doorstep at this point, seeing I've been praying so long, and even when I'm not you're supposed to know the desires of my heart.  Right?)"

So, Tim and I are planning on either adopting or trying to use a surrogate.  I don't know much about the surrogacy process.  I'm wondering if any of you out there know anything.  Perhaps you've done it yourself or have a family member of friend who has?  And when I say "done it" that could mean being involved on either end--using a surrogate to have a baby, or even being a surrogate for a couple.  If this applies to you or someone you intimately know, could you possibly work on connecting us for an online conversation?  I have SO many questions about it.  My brain is just swimming.

As for adoption, it is obviously more widely practiced.  And I visit many blogs of adoptive mothers to read their stories and get a peek into their lives.  However, again, if one of you have been through adoption or know someone who has--either adopted or given a child "up" for adoption, I would really apprecaite the opportunity to connect with you/them online.  Most of the bloggers seem too busy to really talk.  Either that or they haven't really opened up for the chance to talk because they don't have contact information like an email address on their blogs, oddly enough.

Anyway, this post isn't meant to be a sob story.  If someone is waiting for that kind of post in order to help Romeo and I, I guarantee if they wait long enough it will come.  At this point, I'm really just kind of hoping that by putting this ponderance out into the universe and asking any of you readers who are willing to spread it further--as far as possible, that someone somewhere will see I am a loving and hopeful mother and woman, who is just fervently praying for the chance to have another child or two (twins!  why not?) and that they find it in their heart to help me in my next step.  Whatever that is!

I Should Be Bald

I swear that with all the stress lately, I should be completely, 100% bald.  So much, there's just so much.  Sorry for my much extended absence.  This is obviously Frenchie's blog now and I'm a guest writer occasionally.  But, lucky you, lucky lucky you, my goal for lent is to write twice a week here at least.  May be long, may be short.  But it should be good, at least for me, because I have things to get off my shoulders.  NOT that I want every entry to be heavy, you wonderful women don't deserve that.  (Though on the absolute worst days some might be more serious than joking.)  But part of this is writing as an escape.  Writing about random happenings and off-the-top of my head thoughts so that I can dull the volume of the rest of the world around me if only for 30-60 minutes.

Just a [not so] brief listing to give you an idea of that loud world around me:

• Tybalt is 2.5 and not talking yet.  We have started seeing a speech therapist and developmental specialists.  All say he is very smart, quick, and either on par or advanced in ever other aspect.  But speech is a problem that needs to be dealt with.  1) I worry about my little boy.  2) I feel like the worst mom in the world.  Only Frenchie and B, and our fellow best friends J&D (see "host" and "host's wife" in entries such as when Terror almost sets the house on fire) who are Tybalt's Godparents are aware of this.  A friend posted something on Facebook the other day that made me think:  She basically said, "Why is it when you child can't/won't do the one thing they should and every other kid around them their age and developmental level can, the biggest dose of mother guilt sets in and you feel like the worst mother ever?"  I know I love my son and give him practically every opportunity we can.  I know he's very smart in general.  So why the frick is he not speaking?  And why can't I shake the feeling that it is somehow my fault?

• My lawsuit against the medical facility we are claiming was allegedly negligent in my care, resulting in a Stage IV bedsore and permanent damage, is coming along.  (I don't actually know how much I can say.)  I don't know how much progress, that's like OZ behind the curtain, but I did my deposition last July and am waiting to probably be called in again, and Romeo and his mom were deposed this week.  I know that this blog is a member of a MILP line-up.  You are all probably thinking that depositions and trials (if no settlement is reached first, my tentative first day of court is in November) should be the least of my worries.  Well, what can I say?  I don't deal with any of this regularly on a daily basis.  And while I knew in deciding to pursue this case it would get difficult, as the plaintiff I had NO real, actual, serious idea of the nerves, the jump my heart makes from chest to stomach every time my lawyer's phone number appears on my caller ID with a new update or question.

• We are buying a house.  Fantastic!  Great!  It's about time!  And we got pre-approved for like $50 grand more than we want to spend because we know how we prefer to budget our money.  So that put us in a particular bracket of housing, that in Las Vegas, is low on inventory because cash investors are buying them all up.  Doesn't matter if a good, hard working family like ours will ever get to live in one.  The investors just want them for business.  So shopping and finding something we wanted was more rough than we thought it would be.  But we couldn't wait any longer.  Home prices in Las Vegas have gone up something like 20% since January 2012, and continue to rise.  That, plus the reduced inventory means you have to view houses in the morning and make bids by the afternoon.  We finally got a bid accepted.  We are OVERJOYED!  I should correct that--Romeo is.  I am oh, let's just say "cautiously optimistic "  For once, I sincerely want to be overjoyed!  I want to be throwing items in boxes willy nilly and doing my own silly version of some victory end-zone touchdown dance.  Finally, I will be living in a place that doesn't have an apartment, suite, or dorm number!  For me, a 28 year-old coming straight off of that, it is huge and a dream come true.  Even if it sounds odd or petty to anyone else.  Guess I should throw out an apology just in case.  We are currently in escrow.  I know very few close friends who have bought a house, so I don't know if it's urban legend or what, but I've heard of multiple cases where people enter escrow and then never close escrow and get the house.  If any of you readers know why, can you help?  My only gut feelings would be that these stories are before the big economical crash, so people were being pre-approved quickly for mortgages and entering escrow just to find out that the lender didn't approve them properly or at all and thus the money is not there.  Or, that the families never bothered going through the pre-approval process, started to shop for houses, found one they fell in love with, tried to secure approval on a mortgage then, and didn't qualify.  Am I right on any of these situations?  What are some other reasons escrows fail and never close?  Anybody know?  At least in our situation, none of that should be the case.  We have hit at least one major road block (keep reading) but we are completely pre-approved for our mortgage loan by a woman who has such a positive reputation in town that both realtors we have worked with have individually told us that in this day and age they don't take on "just any old clients. But if Mrs. _____ _______ has pre-approved you, you're good to go.  In my 20+ years (or 30+ years for realtor #1) she has never given me a couple/family pre-approved who wasn't good for it.  If she pre-approves you, you're gold to work with.  You are basically approved already."  This should all comfort me, right?  Yeah, hello Ms. Pessimistic  My Name is Juliet.  Welcome back, I hear you'll be checking in and staying for a while.

• On the house front--close of escrow was predicted by February 28th.  We are purchasing a foreclosed home which means Fannie Mae (Government) is the owner.  And they contract with a local Title Company to do their "bidding" here in town.  Well, after over a week with no updates from our realtor or our lender, we found out the title company was dragging their feet because they were hoping no one would find out a clerical mistake had occurred and the title was TECHNICALLY not in Fannie Mae's name yet.  Please cover the eyes and ears of any children nearby--WHAT THE FFFFFFFFFFFFF? You're selling us a home (you've been sending your own hired maintenance crew for raking and mowing, etc that I already met out there one day, so you think you own it as much as we do) but anyway  you're selling us a home, that TECHNICALLY you don't own yet?  Knock me unconscious people, just do it, I can't take the stress.  But at least that was supposed to be done by Monday the 11th.  Putting us only about 2 weeks behind and making a February 28 closing date (or at least real close to it) still completely possible.  Tuesday the 12th comes and our realtor (lovely man, seriously, but by now his Irish blood is boiling and I think he's resisting the urge to tip some cows, lol) still hasn't heard back and now must call and ream someone out to get an answer.  The answer?  They never could have had it resolved by the 11th, they were blowing smoke up his angry butt to get him off their backs.  Apparently there is a trash lien on the house.  Yes, either the former owner, or Fannie Mae as they have been tending it, hasn't paid so many trash fees that the City WILL NOT release the title to Fannie Mae until it is paid in full.  More government interference, which means more time.  Which means forget getting out of here and moving by Feb/March.

• Two Huge Fears on top of all these others: First) if this trash lien has been out there for so long and the Title Company dropped the ball in paying it to clear the title and get it fair and square in Fannie Mae's name in order to sell this house (which has been on market since mid 2012--quite long for this Las Vegas Market)  and has just been sitting back playing computer games all day and hoping no one got the wiser, what else have they screwed up on, overlooked, etc., and are just waiting to see that they can't cover their own asses over anymore?  How many more things will arise? Secondly) What was their ultimate plan?  They couldn't keep quiet regarding a trash lien (or anything else that might come up, AND PLEASE I BEG YOU ALL TO PRAY NOTHING ELSE DOES) forever.  Like I said, the house is a foreclosure   It is the Title Company's job to be Fannie Mae's local eyes and ears.  And if it wasn't us showing interest, putting down earnest money, getting our offer accepted, and signing a contract, it would have been some other family a week or two later.  Did they really think things such as this would never get discovered?  Come on now, it just doesn't even make sense.

• Oh, and on top of that, seeing we have to be in our apartment longer, the management is charging us $400 extra for March and then prorated based on that exorbitant rate for April 1-14.  But we signed a 60 day notice, so as far as getting through escrow without anymore bumps, bruises, and scrapes, and for hopefully convincing the apartment management to stop trying to milk an already dry cow (the extra money is just not there) prayers, chants, meditations and crossed fingers--WOULD ALL BE GREATLY HELPFUL LADIES!  Thanks.

• And my relocating parents, Lady C and Lord C?  They spent 4 days here in sunny, chilly, but definitely not frigid (70 here compared to 10 degrees when boarding in Chi-town) to look at apartments two weeks ago.  After Las Vegas they were on to Salt Lake City, which is 45 minutes from my sister and brother-in-law.  My gut had been saying they were going to choose UT.  I was actually fine with it.  A little sting feeling like it meant choosing her over me, but I forced past that juvenile thinking.  And focused on how UT means more family time, more bonding time for them and Tybalt, yet no doorbell rings and *poof!* there they are on my front stoop, no "The car broke down, can you come jump me 45 minutes away?" no "What do you MEAN you're spending this Sunday with Romeo's mom.  We want you here!"  Well, guess what, they are now apparently 99.9% sure they have chosen Las Vegas.  That unreliable gut of mine.

Sigh, its 3:41, and you know me, re-reading and editing my own work will take me until 4am. *Note, yep, it's 5:19am now, oh how off I was on that one, lol.*

Oh, one thing I forgot is an answer to my anniversary conundrum back in October.  Our solution is in the final comment I left.  Not bad, but still room for improvement, which I feel should be the soundtrack to my life right now.  Hmm, I wonder who I'd get to sing it--I do like Kelly Clarkson. ;)

• Oh, and Harold, F-I-L, returns for three months either February 27 or March 6.  "Insert haunting "Law and Order Theme Hear."  And I'm done.

I Miss My Mommy

I really miss my Mommy. You'd think in your late 20's you'd be able to handle living across the country from your parents. That if you could muster the courage to move away at 22, that by 28 it'd be even easier- that you'd be completely "over" it, used to it, okay with it. That you'd feel like a grown a$$ adult and be okay on your own. But some days and times I just really want my Mom and/or Dad. Some moments I miss them so much I can't function- I just need a good cry. And I get jealous of those, like my husband and some of my friends, who have never lived more than a few hours from their folks and family. I think sometimes they take it for granted. There, I admitted it, I miss my Mommy. And I know, I wrote a month ago about how my Mom lost her job and my parents feel it's possibly the time to relocate out West, and that it makes me nervous because I don't know what I really want...*breath break*...and I still don't. Luckily, perhaps, it's not my decision to make. God/fate will step in and they will go wherever jobs can be found. But it's simply evidence that I really am torn. For every phone conversation that ends with me wanting to poke myself in the eye with a fork, there are moments like today when I am so sad it feels like someone is stabbing my heart with that damn fork.

Anniversaries?

I've got a topic/question/situation/issue that I'm looking for feedback on: What do you ladies and your husbands or significant others do for your anniversary each year?
I'm wondering if for most people anniversaries are not really huge deals. If in fact I'm the crazy one making more of a deal out of it, or WANTING to make more of a deal out of it, than I should, or rather if most people do truly quite a bit for their wedding anniversary and my husband needs a slap upside the head for being so casual.
I was going to spell out what I wanted to do this year, vs. my husband's desires, vs. what we plan to do as a compromise now. Instead, I'd like to hear from you ladies first as to what you typically do, and if those plans, gifts, etc., are your first choice or usually a compromise because you and your man's opinions differ (heck, maybe for some of you, HE'S the one who thinks bigger than you do). Then after some responses I'll fill you in on Romeo and my current situation.
FYI: It's the middle of the night, but technically Monday, and our anniversary is Wednesday, so the more dialogue the faster, the better, in case he does deserve the dog house and I deserve a change of plans in time. (Or perhaps vice versa, like I said, it is possible I'm the extreme one.) But no matter when you gals have time to respond, even after the "big" [?] day, I'd still appreciate it all for future reference.
Thanks!

What Do I Actually Want?

***Yeah, this is really, really, long, and I apologize.  I don't know what happened.  Read it in more than one sitting if you must, but I do think it hits on some primal, yet unspoken thoughts we all have when it comes to our parents, no matter what our age and situation.  Or, of course, maybe it's just me.  :)  Oh, and it's almost 6am and I haven't slept yet, so sentence structure and grammar?  Yeah, not really happening.  Bonus points for every word you find that isn't really an actual word, but just something I made up that sounds passable.  See?  That right there.***

Here's what's up:  I found out today that my mother lost her job.  I've glanced through all my posts and realize I haven't written a lot about my parents.  A ton about my MIL and FIL, but not my own folks.  This also means I haven't nicknamed them yet, and first initials won't do, because my dad shares his first initial with someone we already write about.  Um, gosh, why did I save trying to be creative and coming up with blog nicknames for my own parents at 5am?  Think, Juliet, think.  Oh, okay, let's go "Lord C" and Lady C," for you know, Lord and Lady Capulet from the play.

So, Lady C lost her job.  Details are fuzzy, as in non-existent.  I missed her teary voice mail on my cell by literally 10 minutes, and by the time I called back, she wasn't picking up.  We have been playing phone tag the entire evening.  What I do know is that I'm shocked but not surprised, and yes, before you pause too long wondering, it is entirely possible to be shocked yet not surprised.  I am not surprised because she has been worried and talking about fear over losing her job for probably 2 years now due to the fact that the company replaced her direct boss (she's an administrative assistant) and he didn't like her as much as the previous person did.  Not being there first hand I have never known whether this was just my mother being a worrywart like me (hey, you wondered where I got it?)  or whether there was due cause for her concern.  Thus, my lack of surprise, however I was shocked by the actual news, because while I've heard her worry for years, nothing ever happened nor were there any warning signs that something might.

What makes matters worse than "simply" being laid off in an economy where jobs are still scarce, the fact that Lady C doesn't have a college degree (she worked for the company 16+ years and climbed the ladder from receptionist to her final position as admin assistant to the office manager), and that companies seem to want young doe-eyed 20 somethings they can pay minimum wage and no benefits, is the fact that my mother was the bread winner (and source of health insurance benefits) in my parents' household.  My dad, Lord C, lost his full-time job at least 3 years ago.  He's been working from home selling health insurance, but it doesn't have benefits, and while he's tight-lipped, I know he's struggling finding clients and making a living because a year ago he picked up a part-time job at Bath and Body Works, and a few weeks ago a second part-time job as a gas station attendant.  (For those of you playing along at home, that's 3 jobs total.)  Not exactly how I pictured my 63 year-old father, who used to make $60,000+ a year as a top department store salesman, living out what should be his last working decade.

Oh boy, this post is way too long, and I haven't even gotten to the real actual reason for writing tonight.  Let me cut to the chase-- if that's even possible at this point.  I miss my parents like crazy.  I moved to Las Vegas 6 years ago, straight out of college, not really knowing what would happen, how long I'd be here, etc, etc, etc.  But I do acknowledge it was completely my choice to move 1,735 miles-- the exact distance from my front door to theirs.  What I didn't plan on was falling in love, getting married, and having a child 1,735 miles away from them.  And it's hard.  Hard as hell.  My son only knows Grandma MIL and Grandpa FIL.  I want him to know Grandma C and Grandpa C.  Romeo has tried to comfort me by saying that as a kid he had one set of local grandparents and one set of long-distance ones.  And while yes, he was closer emotionally to the local set, he doesn't have super, amazing, one-of-a-kind memories of them.  Those memories are reserved for his long-distance grandparents.  The fact that those visits were fewer and far between makes the memories sweeter.  I appreciate the sentiment, but frankly, I think it's a load of crap.  I want my parents here.  I've wanted them here since I was pregnant.  And not just for Tybalt's sake.  I want them to know him as well.  I also am sick and tired of everything from holidays and special occasions to everyday excursions to the park or the mall being only with Romeo's mom.  I want my own Mom (and Dad).  I miss them.  I want Christmases with them that don't require trying to budget $2,000 for airline tickets, hotels, rental car, etc.  I want my parents to just drive to our place for a dinner every once in a while, and us to them.  I want them to get the chance to babysit Tybalt instead of that right and privilege only belonging to Romeo's mom.

And the thought of my parents moving "out west" from Chicago has never been absurd.  My sister and her husband live in Provo, UT.  Which, while it's a lengthy drive, is, in all honesty a very do-able trip for a long weekend.  However, while my mom was the breadwinner, and in this position, as I've [too lengthily] tried to describe and show is not just a normal title and job she could transfer to, let's say, the Las Vegas branch of the national company she works for, a move while not absurd, was not practical.  Or, more straightforward, pretty much impossible.  While my dad could do his "things" anywhere, my mother definitely could not.  I've begged, I've told her to start applying online for administrative assistant positions in any company, any field, anywhere in the west closer to my sister and me.  I've always pushed for Las Vegas, because I selfishly want them with me and their grandson, not my sister in Utah, but still, anywhere out west where they are a drive away would be fine.  But my parents' response has always been that they wish it could happen, but like I said, while my Dad is flexible, my mom couldn't leave her steady job without another job lined up, and even doing that, she wouldn't be making nearly as much by starting over at some new company that doesn't know her.  And while it's painful, I've accepted that.  But when I got the voice mail this afternoon, I couldn't help but actually feel HAPPY.  I should feel horrible and upset for the injustice my mother is feeling.  And yeah, I do.  I should be worried about my parents--my father has heart problems and my mother has arthritis, knee, and lower back problems-- and now they just lost their health insurance.  And again, yeah, I do.  Yet I also feel like this is IT.  This is the time for them to pick up everything and just move out here...NOW.  Don't scramble to find a job, Mom, and then use that one as an excuse to stay in Chicago still.  In one of her voice mails today as we played our incessant phone tag, my mother said they are in fact talking about taking the opportunity, yet at the same time, "this probably isn't the time to make rash decisions."  And I want to say, "Why not?  Now is actually the perfect time to make a rash decision."  Romeo has already told me not to get my hopes up.  Moving is expensive enough.  Imagine trying to move now that you have only the balance in your checking account to live off of.  And I get that.  I get that it seems impossible financially.  But I'm so scared that if they don't scrape the money together and do it now, they'll get tied into Illinois again, and they never will.

Here's the last thing though for tonight.  I cry myself to sleep sometimes over how much I miss my parents.  I hug Tybalt tight sometimes and cry into his shoulder that my parents aren't around to see his milestones and witness his amazing personality.  But does that truly, honestly, mean, that if and when my parents got here, I wouldn't regret them being here?  I want them here on my terms, and that's just not possible.  They'd be here on their terms.  I said somewhere up above here that I wish they lived so close they could drive to our place, or us to theirs, for dinners every once in a while.  But that's the key right there--"every once in a while."  If they are here, they are HERE.  Do I want the pressure of being expected to see them whenever they want to see me?  Do I want my parents, who arise even on their days off no later than 6am, to find out that I sleep until 1pm on the weekend when Romeo can wake up with Tybalt instead of me?  And how would I deal with the jealousy (I can see all three of their skin turning green now) when MIL, who has never had to share Tybalt in her life, now has to share with my parents?  And my parents who will want to see him every possible chance, seeing they didn't get to before, realizing they must still in fact share with MIL?

So, do I push as hard as I can and tell them exactly why they should move this instant and come out here?  Or should I resist the urge and just stand back, with my hands clean, and see what happens by fate, and by their own decisions, without a word (or much of a word) from me?  (I mean at the very, very least I would think that I need to state once again that I would welcome them here.  No?)

There is an infamous "joke" that really truly happened when I was hospitalized and only semi-conscious two years ago.  I've only been told what happened because I was so drugged that I have no memory, so I'm paraphrasing the following dialogue, and for the sake of the story you should also know that Henderson, NV is a bustling town with jobs and shopping and basically all Las Vegas has, as it's suburb, and is only about 20 minutes away from our current apartment, whereas Bullhead City, AZ, is just across the state border, with no real economy or job opportunities (let alone a mall, so who'd want to live there anyway!  lol) but about 90 minutes to 2 hours away:  My mother was at my bedside, along with Romeo.  (It was her first visit, when I was touch and go still in the ICU.  And I couldn't talk because I had already been given a tracheotomy.)  She was crying I guess and holding my hand and saying, "Daddy and I need to move out here.  We can't keep living this far away from you, 'Juliet.'"  And apparently even in my stupor I nodded and smiled and even teared up.  So she said "How would you like that, if Daddy and I moved here, huh?  Wouldn't that be good?"  And again there was more emphatic nodding and smiling on my part.  Then she said, "What about Henderson?  That would be a good choice."  At which point, I stopped smiling and shook my head 'no' violently!  Luckily my mother laughed and replied, "Too close, huh?"  And Romeo chimed in saying, "What about Bullhead City?"  To which I apparently went back to nodding fiercely and smiling widely, and the whole room busted a gut laughing so hard.

So perhaps, while I fantasize about a Norman Rockwell situation with my loving parents right here, I should take a clue from my no-holds barred, tell it like it is because the drugs are like truth-serum, semi-conscious mental state...20 minutes away?  Hell no, but feel free to move about 2 hours away so you have to call first before just dropping by for dinner...

The Following Is Selfish (aka MUST I Be Happy For You and Your Baby?)

I don't even know if I can pretend it's not selfish.  When he comes home from work my husband, Romeo, will hold me and cuddle me and rock me over it and know that I had a bad day.  But that doesn't mean he'll understand *exactly* why I'm so upset.  And he won't be even a smidgen upset himself.  I called my mother in tears, thinking maybe of all people, I could get a free pass with her.  Nope.  It was her firm reaction that made me go from thinking, "It's illogical, but it's still a big deal to me personally," to now thinking, "Wake the f^@% up, Juliet.  You are the only one in the world that would even care about this, much less give it a second thought."  She told me I was being ridiculous, overly dramatic, absurd, and ungrateful, and those were just the put-downs (or reality checks depending on which way you are looking at this) that I can actually remember from our brief phone call.

What's going on?  Many readers of this blog know that my delivery of Tybalt was not an easy one.  I had heart complications and have been told I am no longer able to have any more children.  For some people one child is their goal.  I say more power to them.  As long as they are happy and feel accomplished, life is good.  However, for me personally, I am not happy nor do I feel accomplished.  I love children (every job I've had has revolved around children) and I have daydreamed about my perfect 3-4 children since I was 3 feet tall; so being told at age 26 that child bearing was over for me was a hard blow.  No, make that a suffocating grasp by one who holds the Star Wars Force.  I don't know the movies past some iconic clips and references, but I know Darth Vader has the power to strangle someone out just by practically pantomiming it from afar.  That's what it felt like when the strange doctor hovered over my bed and gave me the news. (Against express wishes from Romeo who knew I'd be devastated and wanted to break the news to me himself, in private, once I was released from all the hospitals, but was at work that morning, so I was alone with a doctor who wasn't my normal one; and, gee, thanks "Dr. I Have No Bedside Manners and Didn't Read the Notes On the Report Before Coming In To A Room I Was Simply Doing Rounds For And It Really Wasn't Any of My Business Anyway"...)

Romeo and I have considered adoption, but for now at least, it isn't in the cards.  Adoption is expensive, and we don't have a savings to even put towards it.  And with all my medical bills, it will be awhile before we could even start to save. I love my son.  DO NOT MISTAKE ANYTHING I EVER TYPE WHEN FRUSTRATED OR ANGRY OR SAD OR HURT.  He is "practically perfect in every way" (thank you Mary Poppins).  But I want another child.  I won't rest until I get another.  I personally feel, that as for me, as for our family, we are not complete.  There is a spirit waiting in heaven that is supposed to join our family.  I don't know how, and I don't know when, but I feel it.  Maybe adoption, maybe surrogacy (new idea we've been bouncing around, but only during those "If we ever won the lottery..." kinds of conversations because of the price tag), or maybe I oops get pregnant even though we are on 3 types of birth control, God protects the baby and me through it, and I have my tubes tied after.  Who knows?  I don't.  But until then, I'm mad that without either science, a miracle, or the aforementioned lottery winnings, Tybalt is an only child.  And as friends and family get pregnant and then use social media to post ultrasound copies, update the world regarding how many weeks along they are, and then of course come the pictures of smiling Mommy and baby in hospital bed, captioned with date, time, weight, and length stats by a sleep deprived father, well...I go from mad for my own situation to Queen of Jealousy and an Angry Bitch.

There are some people I would be overjoyed to see have a baby.  Frenchie is one. My dear friend "D" and her husband "J" (Tybalt's Godparents) have been trying for years and can't conceive--they are another example.  Perhaps it's because these women are my best friends so their happiness is mine.  Perhaps it's because, while entirely and definitely not necessary, they love me and would think about my feelings when announcing their pregnancy.  But it's women my age that are on their sometimes second, but even more so third or fourth baby that drive me a little nutty.

**INSERT NOTE HERE: I KNOW MANY OF OUR READERS HAVE MULTIPLE CHILDREN AND/OR ARE PREGNANT CURRENTLY.  I BEG YOU NOT TO TAKE OFFENSE.  ALL OF YOU ARE DIFFERENT TO ME THAN THE WOMEN AND SITUATIONS I AM TRYING RELAX ABOUT AND GET A GRIP.  THROUGH THIS BLOGOSPHERE WE HAVE COME TO SHARE OUR JOYS AND OUR HEARTACHES.  I AM SIMPLY SHARING SOMETHING THAT IS IN THE HEARTACHE CATEGORY.  AND I'M THANKFUL FOR YOUR LISTENING EARS.  IT IS THE FORMER CO-WORKERS, FORMER FRIENDS, CURRENT FRIENDS, FORMER CLASSMATES, ETC., THAT I KNOW I WILL BE FORCED TO SMILE FOR, LEAVE EXCLAMATION MARKS AFTER A WRITTEN CONGRATS ON FACEBOOK WHEN I WISH I DIDN'T HAVE TO CONGRATULATE THEM AT ALL, ETC, THAT GETS MY BLOOD BOILING.  PERHAPS BECAUSE THEY DON'T KNOW WHAT'S IT'S LIKE TO HURT, THEY DON'T HAVE THE SUPPORT SYSTEM WE DO WHERE WE HELP EACH OTHER AND REALLY SEEM TO CARE.  MAYBE IT'S MY FAULT, MAYBE IF I TOLD THEM IT'S HARD FOR ME, THEY'D THINK TWICE.  BUT I KNOW I WON'T.  BECAUSE I SHOULDN'T.  IT'S NOT MY PLACE TO PUT A DAMPER ON THEIR GOOD TIMES.  ANYWAY, I'M JUST TRYING TO SAY NONE OF YOU DEPRESS ME, BECAUSE WE ARE ALL CANDID HERE AND KNOW NONE OF US ARE PERFECT.  IT IS THOSE I HAVE TO PRETEND IN FRONT OF THAT MAKES ME WANT TO GORGE MY EYES OUT WITH A FORK WHEN YET ANOTHER NEWBORN PHOTO IS UPLOADED TO THEIR FACEBOOK WALL.**  (If you are still offended, I apologize that I can't clarify further or enough apparently, but invite you to private message me so we can have a heart to heart.)

Anyway, where was I?  Oh yeah, the part where I explain what prompted this Tuesday morning rant.  Today  is August 21st and it is Tybalt's 2nd birthday!  We are celebrating with a small party on Saturday, but today is the big day.  Every birthday is hard on me, as I found last year's was as well.  It should be noted that amongst other things, I have the usual birthday anxieties--I am simply bummed that my little baby is growing up so fast and already turning 2 years old!  And I do think most moms experience those sorts of feeling at some point.  So in that regard I'm not crazy or highly unusual.  But where the rare (and perhaps crazy) kicks in, is that at his birthday I am reminded of while pregnant my high hopes for an easy scheduled c-section, cuddling him in the hospital for a couple of days, then taking him home and making him mine all mine (oh, and Romeo's too, lol) as we became a tiny but perfect family.  Instead I have flashbacks of glaring lights in hospital "bulletin board material" ceilings, hallucinations from IV drugs, not being able to talk due to a tracheotomy, only seeing my son to feed him a bottle when my MIL brought him by, and even then being forced to wear a mask and scaring myself that I was scaring him because all he could see was my eyes.  Then being released when he was 3 months old but in rehab in the basement for bedsore complications and not being able to help my MIL with his care, even for the few hours I could stay awake due to meds, until he was 4-5 months old.  Not exactly the birth story you want to celebrate yearly.  *SO* many people (aka practically everyone I know) tell me I just have the wrong attitude about it.  That I truly should be celebrating--being alive.  And not just "alive."  But "alive!!!!!!!!!!!" as in with as much jubilation and as many imaginary exclamation points as possible.  I'm not knocking being alive.  But what the world doesn't seem to understand is, in celebrating being alive, even just knowing and recognizing that I am, I still have to see the memories.  It doesn't make the pain go away.  Flashbacks are flashbacks.  I don't choose to dwell.  They pop up whether I like it or not.  A smell, or a word will do it while I'm awake.  Other times they resurface as nightmares during the little sleep I do get.  And for a few weeks around Tybalt's birthday both years now (and Thanksgiving which is the week I was finally released from the last hospital, but that's a separate side note)  it just seems to happen more often.  So even recognizing I'm alive and thanking God for it doesn't make it any easier to grin at Tybalt's birthday party.  And it definitely doesn't make those eternal optimists that keep popping out babies, like I wanted to, like I dreamed I'd be doing, any easier to stomach.

So, I DO want to enjoy today, I want to make it all about my wonderful little Tybalt, yet I can't push the storm clouds away.  So, I've simply been doing my best to ignore them.  Realize they are there, but not focus on them.  It hasn't been easy, but I'm trying.  Honest to God, I'm trying....I WAS trying...

.....Then IT happened.  The 365 to 1 chance I prayed wouldn't.  (I even said out loud to Romeo and Tybalt last night, "Everybody pray that 'it' won't happen for the next like 24 hours.  Just 26 hours to be exact!  Then I'll be fine.")  See, last March I found out Romeo's cousin, "CD" was pregnant with her second child.  CD and I have been passively aggressively competing since I met Romeo.  CD and her husband "ND" started dating right around the time Romeo and I did.  The big Hispanic family's attention steered off of us and on to them.  CD and ND got married 3 months before we did.  Family members low on cash went to the first wedding (theirs) and not the second (ours).  I announced I was pregnant the following February.  Guess who announced she was pregnant in April?  There went any pomp and circumstance I had coming.  Beyond that, "LD," CD and ND's precious baby boy, has been achieving developmental milestones weeks if not months ahead of Tybalt.  I am not concerned about my son, as all children develop differently, but try explaining that when ND's accomplishments are practically blown-up billboard size on social media sites like Facebook for all the extended family to see!  If I have one more "Aunt" ask me whether Tybalt can do what LD is doing in his latest video, and then give me a concerned look when I admit he can't yet-----I'm going to lose my already bat s#!% crazy mind!  So, since the big announcement that CD was expecting, and due sometime in August, I've been praying, hoping, and just sending as much positive energy into the universe as I could muster...but...as I'm sure you already guessed it--guess who gave birth to her beautiful bouncing 2nd baby boy today, August 21st, and what dad already has pictures plastered all over both of their Facebook walls?

So not only am I jealous of all healthy women who have healthy babies, not only is today hard because a) I don't want my baby to grow up, and b) it also throws me into a panicky tailspin of awful hospital and rehab memories, not only am I already in a personal funk because her 1st kid is so much more advanced than mine, but now...oh, now...she had her baby on my baby's birthday.

Okay, I'm done now.  Done ranting.  Done possibly annoying some of you with my pessimistic views.  Probably not done with, but trying to forgive, my mother and the rest of the world for not understanding what I'm going through and calling me selfish, illogical, and a weirdo. But on the other hand, how *can* anyone understand?  Show me someone who's gone through the *EXACT* same things I have the last two years with my health and my disappointments.  I mean exact to a "T" and I'll show you someone who might possibly relate.  Moral of the story?  Maybe I am being selfish, but walk a mile...

Thanks For Your Patience

I exist. Just have had a crazy schedule with some doctor and legal stuff. And I know for all you MILP's "legal stuff" is everyday. But not for this stay at home mommy. So prepping for it (aka working myself up over it) sent me into a reclusive tailspin. I hope to be able to post more when I'm past a bit of it. I'm also having an outpatient procedure done for my lower back as well as bed sore pain, tomorrow, Thursday morning. This means there will be a 50/50 shot I think that while Frenchie is enjoying a nice vacay I can pick up my slack and write a bit. In scenario "A," If I'm feeling good but lying around while Tybalt is at MIL's because of my restrictions, I should have time to write. But if there are any hiccups in the procedure (I've never done this one before) and I feel miserable or horribly doped/high on pain meds, trust me it's best for us all if I don't wrote in that which we call scenario "B."

Show me some appreciation. PLEASE!

I started to post the following on Facebook and it got way too long and personal. I must say it's late though and my eyes won't stop closing, so we'll see how long I can hold out. Anyway, it's pretty self explanatory, but if you find yourself with any questions, don't hesitate to leave a comment. Thanks! :)

"Have you ever had such a roller coaster day that ended in a plummet, not a fun uphill climb or wacky twist? And you went for support from a particular loved one but they just zoned out in their own little world? Usually its innocent enough, but I just can't take it tonight! So here's what I hope can happen to get me out of my funk:

Who in Vegas and Henderson loves sushi like I do? Join me! I am gonna waste away if I don't get a fix of 808 Sushi and it's owner Dean soon! Hopefully this weekend. Hoping for happy hour when it's cheaper. Any takers? Frenchie? B? DG? JG? (Or girls night out and boys play with the kids?) But sadly happy hour menu is just rolls and apps, and I know how you four love your Nigiri. (And I like some of it there too actually.) You could also to buy that at regular price or choose AYCE. And I mean I'm not opposed to going for regular AYCE time too. Someone just has to volunteer to call Romeo and convince him to take me out. Extol upon him my superb qualities. That I'm a wonderful wife and the best mother ever and I deserve a night out on the town, at least a night with friends and sushi. Still no luck? Let's all hang this weekend but call it a cheepo lazy ass weekend and not do much of anything but let the kids play and order cheap pizza and drink cocktails, wine, and beer, yes? No? If you can twist my hubby's arm, I can even volunteer the house for the gathering. Do you think you could try to convince my man of that? Whatever you do--penalty of death if you reveal to him that I put you up to this! But what are friends for? In my case I need them to convince my husband how f-ing great I am, all I do, and that I deserve a night of raw fish and friends. (Or at the very least board games, movies, and friends. Are we too old for a retro sleep-over? The kids could sleep in Tybalt's room!) Help me get this off the ground with him! Oh, and now that my ramble's over, really, any local LV or Henderson friends who like sushi are welcome to come and make new friends with us and enjoy good food!"

"I probably need to clarify. I love my husband more than life itself. And most times he is a saint. But sometimes he is a saint to everyone else around us and can get too busy and caught up to remember me. Today was a big scary doctor appointment for me. It ended up going better than anyone could have expected, and I thought when I told him he'd jump for joy. (This is a serious issue with my health that we have been battling together for a couple years.) Instead I got a half-ear listen as he had some action movie on the tv, volume raised to a ridiculous level for early evening.

I now expect some flack regarding venting my frustrations. (Possibly here, but a reminder this was originally a fb post and we have hundreds of mutual friends on there. I have edited the entry there but part is still up. So we shall see.. what kid of crap I have to defend on fb after this. :( ) And I could honestly see why one might berate me--He is the best guy ever--no argument there. So while I concede to take your and their comments warmly and will mull them over and not dismiss, please try to give me an equal chance and respect, keeping in mind that being his wife and son's mother is a different skill set and a whole new ride. When you live with someone 24/7 sometimes you just see things others don't. Some of those are awesome and you feel blessed that only you bear witness to the moments, and some are the nitty gritties that you just need to vent and release so that you can start fresh and anew, which of course is healthy. Romeo is a blessing from God to all in his life. I won't discount your fond stories. 99.9% of the time mine are fond as well, I just ask a favor that you don't attack me for feeling tired and vulnerable and having to admit that I wish there are some things he could work on. He is my everything, but sometimes I wish he'd realize that in these last 2 years we are not just a family of 2--Him and Ty, but rather a family of 3 that includes me. (And in that way, sometimes I have needs and desires that mean he better find a sitter so we can spend time fostering the relationship that is just us.)"

He's Cute and I Love Him...

Please tell me I'm not alone on this one, I love my son.  I would take a bullet for him.  I'd lay down my life for him.  I adore him with all my heart and soul...but some days...I just don't particularly *like* him.

Today is one of those days.  I know he means no harm.  Chances are it's more my PMS and upset stomach than his attitude.  But *everything* is getting on my nerves!  Many days I'd like to just cuddle.  In fact, I wish this usually curious and independent toddler would.  Today, of all days, he refuses to leave my side, won't let me leave the room (which made throwing up earlier today from some eggs gone wrong difficult), won't listen to anything I say or ask, stares at me with big empty eyes like he isn't comprehending when I know he is, and seems to purposely be doing the opposite of what I ask.  Oh, and my darling sleeper usually goes to bed around 11pm, sleeps through the night, wakes groggily for milk around 7 or 8am, and happily falls quickly back asleep for another couple of hours until 9 or 10am. (I should probably quickly explain-- he is put to bed between 9 and 10pm but he chooses to "play" in his crib until later--which is fine with me who has insomnia, his whole sleeping routine and sleepy-head nature is great for me actually--I fall asleep around 4am, drag myself up after a cat nap to give him milk at "first call" and fall back asleep like he does until 10am).  Anyway, today he was up for milk and diaper at 2am, which was no biggie because I hadn't fallen asleep yet, but then up and ready to go go go at 6:30am!  Which means I got slightly over 2 hours of sleep on which to deal with him today.

I'm staring at the clock counting down the minutes until Romeo will walk in the door from work.  Unfortunately, with his job each night is different.  Last night he shocked me by arriving home at 5:55 of his own accord!  Gasp!  Did he really get home before 6pm?  And without my prompting because there was something he or we had to do that night?  With my luck tonight will be a 7 or 7:30pm evening.  Well, when he does get home, Mommy's eating in the bedroom (if eating at all on this still woozy stomach), and Daddy is on full-time duty.  I only feel slightly sorry that Daddy doesn't know this yet.

Anyway, a long, long time ago, in a galaxy far far away, I promised you more pictures of Tybalt, this time with his hair short right after his first cut.  Well, the cut was months ago, I still haven't blogged about it (Oops!  Bad, Juliet, bad!), he actually now needs a new cut, but I do have his cute short hair pictures.  So, in order to keep me sane and remind us all how cute he is, and remind me how much I love him, lol, I thought now would be a decent time to put up some cute pics.  Even though they are 5 months old (from January when he was 17 months old and he's now coming up 22 months): Enjoy!

"Hi, Mommy!  Sure, I'll model for Grandma, but I think you forgot to put my glasses on me this morning!"

"Oh, you were serious about the modeling and smiling thing?  What's the big deal, all I did was get a haircut?  (And scream bloody murder throughout.)"

"What?  Modeling means staying still and smiling nicely?  I thought it meant running and giggling!"

So not interested in getting any good shots for his Grandma and Grandpa in Chicago.

"I'm cute."

"In fact, I'm A-D-O-R-A-B-L-E!"

AAAAAAAAAaaaaaannnnnnddddd, now he's found a cereal bowl and metal spoon to bang.  (Why can't think kid at least choose some quiet tupperware?)  Gotta go put an end to "band rehearsal" as he's now moving on to banging the furniture, the cabinet, and the cable box with said spoon...and now scraping the walls in the hallway.  Sigh....Romeo?  Romeo? Wherefore art thou, Romeo?

The Crafting Bug

I have found a new craft I want to start making! This is big news because I love using my hands, but I'm not an artist nor great at all things naturally like our Frenchie, so while I like the look of many crafts, I rarely come across one I feel confident I could make and make well. And I found this and just fell in love.

What's even better is that I have not seen anyone sell them at the craft fairs in Vegas. So seeing it's not already out in the local fair and bazaar scene, I'd have a corner on the market of these. For once, I'd be doing something original! Woohoo! Usually I just follow the trends. (Okay, I got the idea from Pinterest, so not completely original, but something new to Vegas and the small community of dedicated crafters here.)

Anyway, my adrenaline is pumping. Hence the blog post at 3:30am!

Only issue-- can any crafters out there-- Frenchie I'm looking right at you, lol, but also any of our readers-- look at the pictures I've included and tell me: How would you attach the ribbon used for hanging? The "trays" are noted in the very basic description as being "fake silver" from the dollar store, so I am assuming that could mean either plastic or tin. I'm also seriously considering thrift store and garage sale shopping for better metal trays (though probably not real silver; depends on what bargains I can find). How would you attach ribbon to either material? If it was tin, I'd be prone to say a metal punch and put a grommet in and thread ribbon through, but there are no "holes" in the photos, so that's obviously not what the original crafter did. What do you think?

(Note: Picture is courtesy of more than one Pinterest.com board, and they credit "signaturestyleblog.com," but she credits back to Pinterest and no one person's specific account, so I don't have the copyright nor know the exact citation.)

Crime Spree

I just checked, and it was March 26th that I last posted about police action right outside my apartment. That's only what, like a little more than 2 months ago?! And it had been a Sunday night too. Well, last night it happened again! Not a shooting this time, luckily, and at 9pm, not the middle of the night, and no cops banging on my door this time, so okay, not at all the same thing I guess when I add all that up...but still, come on! What the heck is going on around here? This time I heard a helicopter before anything else, and I could hear it circling around two or three times and saw the spotlight (through my bathroom window, no less). I looked out the bedroom window and there were two cop cars, one of which had lights going, and was blocking my SUV in the carport outside!

Last night I got more bold than before, because at this point it was kind of like, "What the ____?" Plus I could see other residents outside like peeping toms, so I assumed were weren't talking a high danger level here. So yes, I walked outside, in my shorts and pajama top, sports bra underneath, and my Crocs. (I was a sight to behold, I'm sure!) There was police tape at the end of the 10 space carport aligning with the end of the building I live in, so great, it happened next to my farthest neighbor this time, just not my next door one. Insert sarcasm, groan, and slight dread here.

Anyway, I couldn't see much in the dark except police with flashlights and I could tell it was around the corner of the building. I figured it was bad enough for my neighbors to see me dressed like that-- I wasn't going to venture any closer to cops and official business, plus, I wasn't quite *that* bold. But two elderly gentlemen were walking back to their apartments, having finished nosing around (a little further than me) and I was able to ask and get their version of the story.

So, as of now, it goes that apparently the cops came for a resident (or they followed someone driving a truck into the development, that's unclear) and the "person of interest" decided to try to speed away from the cops in their truck. While doing so, they lost control, veered off the roadway, and crashed up onto a grassy area between my apartment building and the one to the east of us. I guess they also fled on foot at that point, hence the police helicopter searching above.

Unlike the last time, I have not taken Tybalt out to "go get the mail" and spy on the leftover evidence myself yet. (Not for lack of curiosity, but rather because it's 100 degrees outside.) So I don't have any follow-up details or anything yet. But, just thought I'd give you the latest episode of the soap opera that apparently resides where I do!

Prude?

I didn't post about this immediately, because I've been taking a while to really think about it. I finally decided I'll leave it up to you readers to help me decide. It's not like some big momentous life decision or something, I just need to know if I'm sane or crazy.

It was somewhere between 90 and 100 degrees here in Las Vegas yesterday, so Romeo and I decided to take Tybalt out to the apartment pool for the first time of the season. During last year's pool season, as a 9-month to a 1-year old, we used a large flotation device that had leg holes and a fabric canopy on top and Tybalt would just float and kick and splash in the pool in that. This year, in an attempt to transition to the next "step" we bought him a suit that has flotation pads built into it-- kind of like a life jacket with trunks attached. Anyway, we wanted to see how it works and if it's going to provide enough support or if he still needs his large floating "cabana" this year. (By the way, the answer is no, the suit isn't enough and it looks like yes, we will have to rely on the big float for another year.)

Anyway, sorry, I got distracted. None of the above is the point at all. It was the long way of saying that we took Tybalt to the pool yesterday.

When we got to the pool at about 12noon, there were a handful of other people. It wasn't packed, but it's one of two pools at our apartment complex, and is the larger and more popular one. There were two young-ish ladies chatting and sunning, two older middle-aged women sunning privately, and one other young boy and "his adults." I say "his adults" because I couldn't tell what relation they were to him. I'm guessing one was his father. The other could have been an uncle, the father's friend, or for all I know the boy has two dads. Anyway, this boy and one of the men, let's say "dad" for the sake of this already long and complicated post, were the only other people in the pool besides Romeo, Tybalt, and I. We were at opposite corners of the pool. ("Man #2" was near them but sunning and not in the water.) And all the aforementioned female sunbathers were scattered around. *Just trying to set up the scene for you, folks.*

Now, when we got there, it appeared the other little boy and the gentlemen had just arrived a few minutes earlier, as "dad" was just jumping in and the boy was testing the water. He must have been 3 or 4 years old. Hard to tell because he was small, but he was using complete sentences. And as we arrived I noticed he was wearing inflatable arm floaties and swim trunks. In the 5 to 10 minutes however that it took us to get ourselves situated: claiming a table for our towels, sunscreen, Romeo getting in the pool, and me passing Tybalt over to his care, etc, I looked over and saw that the little boy was no longer wearing his swim trunks! "Dad" and the other gentleman were allowing him to wander around, as well as swim, buck naked, with nothing but his arm floaties on! Romeo doesn't wear his glasses while swimming, so he didn't see it, and I couldn't successfully whisper to him in front of everyone. But to me, sitting on the side of the pool, glasses on, fully aware, it was completely obvious that this kid was naked and his little boy body parts were on full display for the entire apartment complex to see! Okay, in all honesty the entire complex of people were not there, obviously, but you get what I mean. Why would they let their chid do this? Our family of three stayed for about 20 minutes and he was still "streaking" when we left. I mean he was walking back and forth between Man #2's lounge chair and to "dad" in the pool, he would get in the pool with "dad" for a minute, and back out, and climb up onto and lie on a lounge chair next to Man #2. All repeatedly. All nude. It's not like I was trying to stare. It grosses me out to think anyone would, plus my Tybalt was adorable playing in the water with Romeo and my attention was focused there. But at the same time it was like a wreck you can't look away from. And yes, I glanced over a few times, mainly to see if this was real. "Were the men in charge of his care seriously comfortable with this? Or had the kid stripped down out of rebellion, and once they noticed surely they would be embarrassed and re-dress him," I thought to myself. But nope, like I said, at least 20 minutes, and we left first.

So, blogosphere-- am I a prude or am I correct that this behavior is really odd and wrong? I know some toddlers hit a stage where they strip out of rebellion and/or curiosity with their bodies. But I think most parents would re-cover their child. Add to the fact that this child seemed older than a young toddler who might do that. Not paying much attention to them when we arrived, I also don't know why the trunks came off to begin with. Choice? Or did the child have an "accident?" If that was the case wouldn't you take your child back to your apartment as quickly as possible to clean up? So I'm doubting that scenario. I do imagine that some parents let their kids go nude in their own backyard private pool, or maybe it's different in other countries and other cultures. (The boy and both men were very dark olive skinned and dark haired, and Las Vegas is known for being multi-cultural.) But still, this is not your own private pool, and this is not, let's just say, a European beachfront. Beyond that, as I alluded to earlier, I didn't want to look because it makes me feel creepy to even have seen it to begin with. I don't want to get graphic here, but what if all the other pool goers hadn't been 2 young women in their twenties and 2 grandmotherly old ladies? What if they let their son do this in front of a pedophile? I'm not saying we have one living here, but you can never be too sure who your neighbor's are in this society. Why would you even risk who might be at the pool (or the beach, or anywhere else) and let your child go naked?

So, what do you suppose the situation was? And what is your take on it? Am I prude or not? Verdict?

Warning: Probable TMI

**Advance warning: moments of weakness and probable TMI lie ahead. But if you are a mother or "to-be" it may be worth it to read.**

I wish I had been able to breastfeed. Even if only for a little while. Hell, even if only once. Maybe they would have handed me my little Tybalt in the postpartum room, I would have nursed once, and decided it wasn't "for" me. Or I might have tried nursing and found I literally physically couldn't. Or assuming it went swimmingly, maybe I nursed for a few months before weaning so Romeo could help in the middle of the night. Or imagine, what if I breastfed, loved it, Tybalt loved it, and instead of blogging at 1am right now, I was up nursing a 20-month-old still?

Point is, well, what is my point? I guess it's that I simply wish I could have tried it. Add it to the looooooong ass (excuse my French) list of newborn/mother experiences I feel I was cheated out of when my heart failed and I didn't even live with my son until he was 3 months old.

When "we" were pregnant Romeo and I discussed the breast vs. the bottle over and over again. It was perhaps the singular biggest decision I just could not make up to the very end. We knew that we wanted to know the gender in advance, we had a name chosen, for medical reasons (my back implant) we had decided on a c-section. It took a while to pick his exact bedding, but I knew I wanted a teddy bear motif, and I graphed out far in advance where all the furniture would fit best. I had picked his first stuffed animal and the outfit I wanted him to come home in. But how he would be fed? I just couldn't decide. And it wasn't really ever going to be a joint decision, which perhaps should have even eased some confusion and made it slightly easier. I mean how many things do you and your spouse agree on instantaneously? When it's not a joint decision it usually goes faster. Of course I looked to Romeo for his opinion, "Would he feel left out if we didn't bottle feed?" "How would he feel about me nursing in public?" "Would he be disappointed if I didn't choose to breastfeed, because all the books say it's best." And summarily he said he would support whatever I chose. But it truly was me who couldn't decide.

I knew the health benefits, yet for every article you read promoting it, there is another "consoling" you and saying your baby is potentially just as healthy on the bottle, and don't worry-- it's not the end of the world. Some even saying nursing is overrated. I also read that nursing helps prevent postpartum depression because of the chemicals released. This was to me perhaps the biggest item swaying me to nurse. With my history of clinical depression I knew that statistically I was more likely to suffer from postpartum. I was encouraged nursing might help. On the other hand, if it didn't I would still be nursing, yet unable to take my anti-depressants because of doing so, which would lead to a bitter conundrum. Perhaps I would be better off simply taking my meds and not nursing. Honestly not just for my sake, but Tybalt's as well. I knew that a depressed me wouldn't help anyone. Then there was the issue of father and child bonding. There is much literature about its importance, of course, but specifically of the fact that great bonding can occur by being involved in the feedings. If nursing, daddies should be awake at midnight as well, changing diapers and getting baby back to sleep. But some mothers choose not to nurse apparently on purpose so that Daddy can do the actual feedings and bond that way.

The closest I/we ever got to a decision is that I would plan to nurse. Assuming it went well (and I felt sane) I would go "breast only" for a few weeks to months. (My stamina without sleep, if or when I felt the need to start my meds again, and whether Romeo felt he was bonding enough yet or not, would determine whether it really was weeks vs. months.) But eventually I would start to pump and it would be bottled so Romeo and I could share the feedings, bonding, and lack of sleep.

But even though that was my "final plan" I still hemmed and hawed. Part of me didn't even want to nurse, as guilty as I felt about that, I sometimes had no interest. It wasn't just the reasons that perhaps I shouldn't (meds/ Romeo's bonding) it was, "Do I really want to?" "Do I want to have to whip a boob out in public?" "Do I want to not be able to get a babysitter for the first however many months?" "Do I want my breasts to be human refrigerators?" Ever since Romeo and I had dated he had been enamored with my breasts, as I am well endowed. In all PAINFUL honesty, I wasn't thrilled at the idea of my breasts being under "new management" and turning into my child's rather than my husband's. Romeo had been my first. (Okay, not the first to enjoy my boobs, I had fooled around as a teenager with a couple boys. But he was my first "real" sexual partner.) As a young adult I suffered from horribly low self-esteem due to my obesity. However with weight usually comes large boobs, and it was definitely true in my case. You could even say "BEYOND definitely true." Especially compared to my small framed female teenage counterparts. So the boys I fooled around with weren't really into me, except for the bonus of my top half. And I couldn't describe it while pregnant and trying to decide, and I still don't know if I truly can, but where I let those teenage boys just fool with my mind because they really only wanted to fool around with my boobs, Romeo... I don't know... treated them as a prized possession. I genuinely adored him adoring my breasts because I knew he adored the rest of me as well. He had loved the person first. I guess I was terrified that once he saw "his" boobs turned into breasts in the scientific sense--feeding and sustaining life, he would feel differently. (Not to mention the shape I have heard breasts take on after having nursed a child.) And while I was brave enough to bring these concerns into our conversations about the ultimate decision, and Romeo assured me he would not be deterred and his opinions about my body would not change, I just still had my doubts.

So, I still had not made a firm decision. The only clear picture in my head was that I wanted to nurse Tybalt the very first time. After I gave birth, when the nurse asked, I would say "Sure!" and my little boy would be placed on my chest and I would nuzzle him and I would try. [Insert pause for me crying right now as I think about what I didn't get to do.] Anyway, I figured after that I would either follow "the plan" or else if really still unsure, I would take it day by day, feeding by feeding.

But as [bad] luck would have it, I had an emergency delivery 3 weeks early, went into cardiac arrest on the c-section table, nearly died, was in hospitals and rehab facilities for 3 months, and only saw my baby about one evening a week (from what I consciously remember with all the drugs). He lived with my in-laws and was very lovingly hand-fed via bottle by them and Romeo. I didn't get to live in the same house as him until he was 3 months old. And because of complications and extended home nursing, I didn't come out from the basement and really know him until he was about 4 1/2 months. I wasn't strong enough to be full-time mom and sole caretaker (of course with Romeo, I just mean without MIL) until we moved into a new apartment and Tybalt was 6 months.

His feeding choice was not mine. It never became mine. Actually, I can't even begin to describe to you the joy I had when he was 6 months old, we had moved into our new apartment (we terminated our old apartment lease when it was obvious we had to be at my in-laws for my home nursing care and we were paying rent on an apartment no one was living in), and anyway, the joy I had in going to Target and actually choosing which canned formula to buy for my son! It sounds insane, I know. But my MIL or Romeo did the shopping when I was recovering, and they just bought the brand that the hospital had sent home samples of. Finally, I was the one in the baby aisle and I could choose.

But that's all the choice I got. And there are nights, like tonight, when my husband has fallen asleep and I can't yet, that I daydream. I lie in bed in the dark, my hand will graze my breast or my nipple as I roll over or some odd motion, and my mind drifts to 2 years ago, and how VERY, VERY, EXTREMELY SILLY I was for ever doubting I wanted to breastfeed. And I sob as Romeo snores and saws logs.

If only I could have done it, just once. Just once, God. Why couldn't you have given me just once?

Please, if any of you reading are a mother-to-be, or know one: Nurse. Or tell them to. I am not a "granola, crunchy mom." I'm not extolling the health benefits and everything else. I'm not telling you to nurse your child until he is old enough to unbutton your shirt himself. I'm just saying try it. For me.

Look, I know we are a small blog and not read by many, but if you can share my story with anyone, please do. We as humans are not omniscient and often don't even know who needs what help, so maybe you should just share it for the sake of sharing, and it will find and touch the person in the universe that it was meant for. Share the link on Facebook (the Internet is a powerful thing), copy and paste it in an email, heck-- print the screen and snail mail it. If it will be of any help-- perhaps to a woman who is still on the fence, or maybe you nurse now or have decided you are going to and need help defending your position, etc, whatever the case! And if you do choose to share it, and/or it does help you or someone you know (in any way at all) I'd be thrilled to know. So PLEASE email me at julietcap702 at gmail dot com, or even leave a comment here. I'd like to think my regret is not in vain. That as cliche as it is, when God closed that door of choice on me, sharing my story is the window he opened. Perhaps it's the point.


**Again, my apologies for the moments of TMI, vocab, etc, in this post.**

One Track Mind

Adoption, adoption, adoption. It's all I can think about. I want a little baby girl in my arms...now, right now. And yes, I am aware that's SO not how adoption works, and that I'm not being practical or rational. 1) It's not fast; there is no "right now" in adoption. 2) You can't necessarily choose the gender. Some people say you shouldn't even in cases where you can. Sometimes I feel guilty that I would want to. 3) It's not always a newborn; and older children are in more need. 4) It costs money that Romeo and I just don't have right now, and can't count on in our near future. (And I'm not foster-to-adopt material. If I knew a child was placed with me because a parent was inadequate my Christian values of love, forgiveness, believing people can change, and giving second chances would all fly out the window, mother bear would come out and I'd never want to give that precious child back.)

But if I'm being candid and honest, that is my fantasy that keeps replaying like a broken record. So can I just live in a little bubble and have my fantasy for a minute? 1) I want another baby, I never wanted an only child. For those of you that do, to each their own, but that's not me. 2) or 1b) I want a sibling for Tybalt. 3) I want to have those newborn experiences I was cheated out of with Tybalt. 4) I always wanted a girl to put in frilly dresses and those sticky hair bows that I have always seen on peach fuzz endowed infants and wonder how they stick. 5) or 4b) If I really can never get pregnant again and if we *ever* find ourselves financially able to adopt I'm sure it will only happen once, so yes, I wish for a girl so I'd have one child of each gender. I'm not saying a girl is more important to me than having another child. I want whatever God puts in our path. But I'm numbering the bullet points of my fantasy-- not reality.

That's all. That's my post for this midnight. Just some ramblings on what I want, why I do, and what's not realistic about it. :/

Whatnot Wednesday #4

Yes, I know it's been a while, but Juliet is back.  I haven't blogged in quite a long time and that's for two reasons: 1) We just returned from our first ever official family vacation!  We traveled "home" (my home that is, not Romeo's since he's a Las Vegas/Southern Cali native) to the Chicago suburbs.  We also rented a car and went down to Decatur, IL where I went to college.  2) I've been really totally hella' depressed.  FIL is really getting to me, yes, but on top of that I just feel...all around bad.  And I haven't been up to sitting and writing.  But I figured a Whatnot Wednesday would be the perfect opportunity to at least say "Hello" again and write a couple short things, if only to get me back in the saddle.

Side note: I am promising you and myself to not put anything negative in my following "flushing" of thoughts.  You all don't deserve to hear rough stuff *every* time I blog, lol, I'm not negative every time, am I?  Hope not.  Plus, I just don't want to focus on FIL and stuff like that this time around.  I'd like to look at the bright side for at least the next 20 minutes.

• I got a new phone.  Actually, I've gotten two new phones in the last 3 weeks.  My cell went "kaputz" around New Year's, but Romeo and I refuse to re-sign with Sprint.  So we waited as long as we could, until I couldn't stand it anymore, and bought me a no-contract phone with Virgin Mobile.  We still have to pay Sprint until the end of May, but enough is enough.  Luckily our tax refund gave us enough to cover paying two bills for a couple of months.  Then when we cancel my Sprint May 29th (not like I'm counting down days or anything, lol), we can just pay my Virgin Mobile, and change Romeo's sprint bill to a plan with minimal minutes and minimal texts seeing he doesn't really do much.  He's got 1 more year then hopefully we can be rid of Sprint for good.  It's not that we have a problem with their service.  Their call reception is great and everything, but their prices are way too high for what we need/want.  But, anyway, the first model I bought was crappy, so we had to go back to the store last night and stay on Virgin but get a different model phone.  Fingers crossed that this one will do all I want it to do.  Hey, I'm just excited to be an official member of the 21st century with a smart phone!
• Tybalt starting doing the cutest thing ever on vacation!  It's probably not unheard of, but he's never done it before.  We were out to eat and because the wait took FOREVER he lost patience and was utterly "done" by the time we sat down.  All he wanted to do was sit in Romeo or my lap.  So Romeo took the first turn while I ate, and then I took him while Romeo ate.  Well, while I was holding him, I tried to feed him a piece of chicken tender.  He refused.  But a few seconds later, he picked it up, and raised it up to my mouth to feed me!  He wanted to feed me over and over again.  It was so cute!  I mean, A-D-O-R-A-B-L-E!  Taking care of Mommy like that.  And he did it another time with Daddy a day or two later.
• No new news on the "Incident" aka shooting through my neighbors wall a couple weeks ago.  I have noticed that the apartment complex has patched and painted their wall.  And they re-coded the gates at the entrance and promptly shut them at 5:30pm everyday.
• My birthday was March 24.  It was fabulous!  Romeo's cousin was in town who is a good friend of mine now.  We went out to lunch with her as a family (Romeo, Me, Tybalt, and Cousin L.).  Then Tybalt went to MIL and FIL for an overnight while Romeo and I checked into a local hotel (they upgraded us to a huge suite!), went to a seafood buffet for dinner, and saw Penn and Teller's magic show at the Rio.  We actually went to their show on my first birthday together, so it was neat to do it again together 5 years later.
• Romeo's birthday is this Sunday, the 22nd.  I am taking him to a surprise dinner on Saturday night while Tybalt once again has a sleepover with MIL and FIL.  (I may not care for FIL, but I am grateful for how much they love Tybalt and are always willing and DESIRE to babysit him.)  One thing--is my husband the only one who never asks for anything fun or exciting for his birthday?  He wants an itunes card.  That's it.  And the years I've tried to be creative and get him something more fun, he doesn't use it or appreciate it.  Oh, he'll be nice and put on a happy face, but I've learned over the years.  So I've basically given up and just get him exactly what he wants, fun or not.  But man, it sure takes the excitement out of shopping.

Ah, what a refreshing feeling!  My brain has been cleaned out a bit!  Interested in participating in Whatnot Wednesdays yourself?  Follow the hyperlink button at the top of this entry to link to Elizabeth at "Every Day the Wonderful Happens" and find out more!

Last Night

Have you ever experienced a moment where your reality was, maybe not shattered, but definitely shaken?  Last night was one of those for me.  Romeo, Tybalt and I are fine and safe.  And as far as I can tell by nosing around our apartment complex today in the daylight (I put Tybalt in his stroller to "go get the mail"), everyone else is too.  I can't guarantee that last fact, but I didn't see like any body outline in chalk or anything, so I'm at least 75% sure.  If anyone was hurt they left the premises alive, let's say that.  Don't know who they are or where they are now, but it doesn't appear that anyone was seriously injured.

I guess the reason I'm so shaken is that 1) All of this is new to me--I grew up in the Chicago suburbs, not like an inner-city "bad" area by any means, not the richest part, but middle class suburbs.  And since I've lived in Las Vegas, I've been able to live in almost all good areas.  There was only one "shady" area I lived in a few years ago with a roommate before marriage and family.  But if I didn't feel safe there, I wouldn't have chosen to get an apartment there.  And 2) It's completely unexpected--Because right now, Romeo and I are in the safest of all the places we've been.  We live in what anyone would consider a "good" or "nice" part of town.  Which is just south of what most people consider the "swanky" and "best" part of town.

You're probably going, "Whoa, Juliet, back that up...WHAT?"

I'll leave my middle of the night note typing to speak for itself.  (The following does not have perfect punctuation, which you know I hate doing to you, but it's REAL.)  Here is what I started typing around 1am as I was reflecting on the last few hours, and was *about* to post on facebook as a status, but realized I probably shouldn't.  I did copy and paste it though so I could save it and use it here for your entertainment and enjoyment.  *She nervously laughs.*

So now, "Mommy And The Sin City" Theatre Presents...LAST NIGHT:

"Can't sleep. 10:30'ish pm: I happen to hear two men yelling. Figure it's drunk tenants in the parking lot. A little later hear what sounded like a manual garage door and thought it was weird someone was going into their storage so late at night. 11:41pm: Polite but extremely late knock on our front door. Freak out cuz [Romeo] says he sees cops through peephole. He answers and they are asking if he heard anything because there was a shooting by the apartment pool. (Which is next to our building.) [Romeo] didn't because he was out grocery shopping but I piece what I heard together with what the officer is saying. Officers tape off our entire building/breezeway area from our porch to our rear neighbor's porch which is the other end of the building and next to said pool. 12:15am: Different cop now BANGS on door to wake us up in case we were sleeping. (Yeah, right!) I answer this time and he asks if I heard anything. Then asks who lives with me and if we are all okay, because a shooting happened and bullet went through our rear neighbor's wall! Rear neighbors, as in--we share a wall with these people! 1:09am: Cop car circling complex slowly, using searchlights.

Update: 1:40am: Every little noise, creek, light through window, etc. is creeping me out and scaring me to death. Police tape still up. Have seen so many cops around the property in the last 2 hours I can't count. One is walking breezeway outside front door with flashlight. SUV (unmarked cop car?) is parked at red zone curb right outside my ground level bedroom window. Plain clothes cop (detective?) was heard knocking on upstairs neighbor's door. Saw him walk with neighbor downstairs and neighbor is now gesturing to where he saw/heard things right outside my porch/bedroom window."

And the only things I should add:

A little before 3am I did hear the SUV's doors close--three of them I think, so multiple detectives/cops/officers, and the engine started and it drove off.  By the time Romeo left for work this morning at 7:15am the police tape was gone.  And like I said, at about 3:00pm today I got up the nerve to take Tybalt out and walk around.  No sign of like a murder or victim, so who knows what really happened and if anybody was hurt or if it was gunfire without a victim (I'd like to think so, I guess that would be the best outcome at least), but there were 7-8 police evidence "marks" (they look like post-its with arrows) on my rear neighbor's wall. It would be their living room wall and living room windowsill.  They mark 2-4 bullet holes and the rest are paint chips (where maybe bullets grazed?) !!!  I didn't have time to "snoop" and do exact counts, but you get the gist.

Man, I wonder what happened and if we'll ever really know...

"Yeah Boooooyyy!"

I love Las Vegas. But what has come of my wonderful town when jumbo-sized-clock-necklaces-wearing-rapper Flavor Flav has opened up his own take out fried chicken restaurant?!?! And it's called, you guessed it-- Flavor Flav's House of Flavor. On top of that, what has my home life come to that my hubs, Romeo says he would definitely like to check it out!?!?

http://www.yelp.com/biz_photos/VlnOGlkwsWaWqyzDxvMMMA?select=ynb0QoBJK17zuA56GtMEMA

On top of the ludicrous idea, I have heard the following: it is getting high praise on Yelp.com and supposedly because the chicken is great--not just the hype and celebrity worship, Flav really does work at the store and cook, two large intimidating men stand guard and only let about two customers in at a time and then the door is locked behind you, there are no set hours of operations (at least for this grand opening period), and they open when Flav reports to the restaurant, and close when they are either out, have a problem with cooking supplies or ingredients (like substandard fry oil one night), or just when they "are done."

His catch phrase is "Yeah Booooyyyyy!" Right?

I give this an "Oh Booooooyyyyy..."

Thank You

I'm here. I exist. I haven't fallen off the face of the earth. I'm just struggling with my situation still and honestly haven't felt up to writing. But I wanted to say thank you for the comments and support. They are all very much appreciated. I am trying to take advice and remember my worth in the face of adversity.

I am also thankful for a place I can be [sometimes brutally] honest and for other moms, women, readers, followers, and friends who allow me to be so and accept me even when I'm feeling so low--just as I am and for who I am.

Tick Tick Tick

Tick Tick Tick Tick.

I feel like a prisoner on death row. It's happening. There's no avoiding it.

It's 2:31 in the morning. I can't sleep. And it makes me wonder how death row inmates have any appetite for that last meal, because I feel like I'm going to puke.

And I'm not dying! I *only* have to deal with my FIL. (P.S. Which adds to my stress and guilt, because really in all sanity I have no right comparing my situation to losing your life, yet here I am doing it. Sigh...)

He's BAAAAAAAAAACK!

Please excuse me for not doing a Whatnot Wednesday today.  I just don't have it in me.  Mainly because my mind is circling 'round the drain and only about one thing:

FATHER-IN-LAW RETURNS IN TWO DAYS.
THIS IS NOT A DRILL.  I REPEAT, THIS IS NOT A DRILL.  FIL RETURNS IN TWO DAYS.

Yes, my FIL that hates me, belittles me, has even told me that he *knows* I'm going to die at any moment and he *may* choose to grace everyone with his presence at my funeral simply because I'm his grandson's mother.  Of course all of that is only when he's not choosing to just give me the silent treatment like a high school girl.

And why?  Because I'm fat.  He's given other excuses for it, some family members have guesses for ADDITIONAL reasons as well (!), and so we don't really know exactly how many reasons he harbors such disdain for me, but the main reason is because I'm morbidly obese.  (Ugh, I hate that term, but if we want to get realistic about it, that's the medical term.)  And the more I struggle with my weight, the worse he treats me.  And the comment made to me about dying because I'm so fat was unfortunately when I was at least 50 pounds lighter than I am today.  Yes, I don't love myself for having gained that much weight back since I lost 100 in the hospital, but his hatred has also correspondingly skyrocketed!

He splits his time between Las Vegas and his other son's hometown in the Pacific Northwest, and he's returning on Friday for one his three month stints here.  For those of you that are either new to our blog, or could use a refresher on our "relationship" and his horrendous nature, please click the following link to see last September's post, "The Silent Treatment."

Anyway, I'm nauseated, depressed, frustrated, angry, and having a hard time concentrating and focusing.  If it wasn't for being a Mommy I don't know if I'd be getting out of bed.  As it is, I have hard time doing so.  And I get this way every three months for about two weeks right before he returns.  And that intensity (aka crisis mode) will last anywhere from a week to a month once he's here, depending on how bad and nasty he is upon his return.  Then at least a less complex but general anxiety will stick around for the remainder of his three month visit, until he finally leaves again.  But I'll only get to breathe normally again then.  By my calendar that means sometime in May.