Conflicted

My daughter will be giving birth to my second grandchild in about 4 weeks.  I'm excited with her.  Because she has to be prepared, we know this one is a girl.  As we knew her first was a boy.

And not only is she prepared for the gender, with appropriate decor and clothing, she is prepared to have this baby naturally.

Her first pregnancy had a few issues.  She was plagued with high blood pressure.  Her doctor had her on bed rest for most of the final trimester.  

This time there isn't any problem with the blood pressure.  The measurements say she right on track.

One day before her due date, he insisted on inducing labor.  Her blood pressure was too high for his liking, and the baby seemed large.

The ob-gyn she has chosen for this second child told her there was no reason she couldn't have a vaginal delivery this time.

She wasn't really comfortable with the idea of inducing labor, but doctor knows what he's doing.  He's done this before.  Right?

She is adamant that she go into labor without drugs this time.  No inducing.  No epidural.

Once they induced labor, I watched as she became more and more uncomfortable.  As she refused the epidural.  As she failed to progress.
She finally accepted the epidural.  She relaxed.  Still no progression.

She is determined this time to not have a C-section.  She wants desperately to have a natural birth.

The doctor and nurses finally convinced her this baby wasn't coming.  They needed to do surgery.  In tears she finally gave in to the inevitable.  The surgery went well.  We were told we could go to recovery to see them.  Daddy, Grampa (Hubby dear) and Daddy's mother all cooed over the new baby.  I took a quick look to see that he was healthy.
Then, I went to my daughter.  She was cold with the after effects of surgery and surgical drugs.  She was tired.  I counted all her fingers and toes to make sure they were all there.  I stroked her hair.
I told her I loved her.

I understand she wants to do this differently.  It's important to her.  I'm trying to be as supportive as possible.

But....I'm afraid.  I don't want her to wait too long to go to surgery if it needs to be.  I don't want her to jeopardize herself for the need she feels for natural delivery. 

She is my baby.  She is my best friend.  She is my life.

Progress! Yay!

As I've posted before, I'm rearranging.  Moving furniture.  Paring down the "things"

Well.  I got an area done. 
A very important area.  My computer desk.  I'm giddy.

It was a chore. 
I made sure when I first moved here I'd have a small place for my desktop, and a corner for the laptop.  I had the internet hooked up before we were moved in.  I had given up my big desk and one printer so as not to take too much space.
But I missed my "office" space.  So, now due to the change in circumstances, I have rearranged for my desk.

It's on the opposite side of the room as the little desk I was using.  The cable line for the cable internet was available, but no phone jack. 
It only took Hubby dear 4 days to get around to running that for me.  Lots of cursing, laying on the floor (which was a task all its own considering the 1 dog and 3 cats and their questionable use of the facilities) and rewiring.
It took another hour to untangle and remember which cord went where. 
It took 10 more minutes to figure out, gee, you don't need a phone jack with digital voice service. Der.
And less than a minute for Hubby dear to realize that lying on the questionable floor was a totally unnecessary exercise.

He'll get over it. Eventually.

In the meantime, I'm all happified!  I have my desk, complete with the resident gargoyle and pretty beaded spiders (yes, I'm a wierdo).

Things

I've been living in my parents home again for a year now.  Mom passed in July, Daddy 6 years ago.  Finally this week, we've started to rearrange the house.  Right now I feel as though I've been living in a museum full of the personal things of people that have died.  And they are family.

There are things here that belonged to my Father's parents.  It was they that bought the house 60 years ago.  There are a few things that belonged to my Mother's parents.  Little things she got when they died.  There are things that belonged to my Father.  There are things that belonged to my Mother.  So many things.

I want my siblings to come over and help go through the things.  There are a few I would like to keep for sentimental reasons.  But most of these things?  Have become clutter.  I want to put my own personality in the rooms of this house I love. Some days I feel angry that I have all these things in my way. Some days I feel guilty for wanting to make space for my things. 

I want to live here.  I want to love here.  I don't want to be a caretaker of things. 

It is time to clean things out.

My Daughter What?

I was having a conversation with Hubby dear's youngest daughter.  She's 10 years older than my daughter.  When her father and I met she was 13.  She watched my daughter grow up.

Suddenly she says, "What was S's imaginary friend's name?  I remember she had one, but I can't remember the name."

I was blank.  That was so long ago.  She's 27 now.  Did she have an imaginary friend?  Damn, I should know!  She's MY daughter.
I thought for a little.  Then, yes!  I remember.  Her friend was Hakey.  And once...when she couldn't sleep for night terrors, she conjured a magic sword named Sunshine.  To let light into the darkness.  And her word for broken was "pootoo".  For a while, if anything was broken the whole family knew it was pootoo.

How could I forget?  What else have I forgotton?  How many precious bits are lost to me?

I didn't keep a diary.  Didn't have one of those cute baby books.  If blogging was around back then, I didn't have a clue. 

Maybe as I remember these little things, I'll just post them here.  And as the grandbabies grow, I'll make sure I don't forget.  Again. 

This blogging was a scary thing for me.  But maybe, it's not so scary after all.  Maybe...it's a little gift I can give myself.  When I forget something that may not have seemed important in the moment,  I can look back later and see the precious bit it really is.

Bathtub: a true adult temper tantrum

I want a bathtub.

When we moved here with my mother a year ago, we left behind a bathtub. We lived in an old mobile home, so the bathtub was small. Trailer sized. Couldn't stretch out. To get my head in the water, my butt was mashed against the far end. If I sucked my belly in, I might get a half inch of water cover. I hated that tub. It leaned a bit also. In the winter the bottom of it was freezing. In a trailer every wall is an outside wall. In an old trailer the walls are about two inches thin.

So, the tub stayed behind. Wasn't the kind of thing you generally move anyway.

There is no tub here. There are two shower stalls. One upstairs. One downstairs. Showers are good for quick cleaning. For when I get home from work smelling like a brine soaked, bacon wrapped French fry. To wash my hair.

But it's not a tub. Every time I drag myself to the shower,it mocks me. No stretching out. Have to stand there. Water just running away. No soaking. No bubbles.

I want a damn tub.

I want a tub I can take a nap in. I want a tub with water jets. Three settings. Relax, passout, and better than sex. I want bubbles and bath salts and loofas. I want a place around it for candles and a stereo. Space for the cats to perch if they're brave enough. I want to soak the day out of my body. I want to fill it with water hot enough to boil a lobster. Well, maybe just hot enough to loosen the tension knots. I want to float in a tub. With water lilies.

Sigh, Just a tub

Owed to Autumn

I took the dog outside this morning.  Weirdo dog cannot go out alone.  In the fenced in yard.  So I have to accompany him for his toilette.  In my pajamas and slippers.

Anyway, I'm waiting for fraidydog to do his thing, and hear the most wonderful noise.

Birds.  Birds singing and chirping. There were hundreds of chirpy conversations going on.  An ode to autumn.  A song of relief that the insanely hot weather of summer is gone.  A song of gathering and saving for a winter day.  Some calling each other for a last snack before heading south.

And the squirrels, gnawing on the harvest of black walnuts.  They sound like washboard players.  The one's in old bluegrass bands?  They cache most, eat some on the fly.  Their footprints and excavations for walnuts will be the only disturbance in the coming snows until spring. 

The chipmunks busy raiding the bird feeders for their own little storehouses.  Darting back and forth across the yard.  Making little squeaky noises as they gather. 

And the trees sighing to each other in the breeze.  Getting ready to shed their old drab green leaves for winter rest, having done the job of shading the house and the occasional person that braved the heat.  The reds and oranges and yellows are their bedtime kiss to us.  They are relieved to rest and throw roots to the job of gathering strength for spring.  When the bright green leaves will return, full of optimism for a new year.

I tend to hibernate more in summer than winter.  The heat and humidity wear me out.  But, fall is here!  I love the sounds and smells.  The crackling of brown leaves as I walk through them.  The smell of leaves burning in fall is a memory that has never faded.  Even though few do that anymore.  I miss that smell, it marries so well with the crisp air that is fall.  

So, I think I won't mind as much taking the dog outside.  If fact, I may go without as much prompting. 

Just to hear the trees wish me goodnight.

Creature Comfort

So. I'm loafing (again) in my chair. In front of the TV. My iPod in hand.
Been tweeting. Reading blogs. Replying to blogs. Trying to think of something remarkable to write.

Blank.

I could whine about the trials and tribulations of restaurant operation. But most of the tribulations are operator error.
I could complain about never-ending housework. But that is old news.

I think I'll write about the cat on my lap. Feel free to roll your eyes and move on. I understand.

So.
The cat on my lap is the newest of my three. When we moved into Mom's a year ago I had two.
This one was hanging around the back door, living under the steps and in the old cistern. Yes there is one of those here.
Anyway. After a short time I was able to coax her inside for short visits. When winter rolled in she was more than happy to become a house cat. And she was named. Sister Wee-un. I just call her Wee, six pounds of black fur and attitude.
She has made it clear to cat #1 that she intends to be TopCat. ASAP. Cat #1 is not yet ready to retire. Makes for interesting interactions. Cat #2 is enamored of her. He is wrapped, totally around her...paw.

Every time I sit today, she has found my lap. Quietly creeping in. Then practicing acupuncture on the tops of my legs. Until she has made them comfortable for herself.

And, I'm comforted my her warmth. Her trust. Cat people know, there is nothing quite like the company of a cat when you're tired, lonely, sad. They don't gaze at you the way a dog does, they just...be.
Once in a while, she'll reach out a snaky paw and tap my face, blink and mew. Then curl up tightly and purr her contentment with her little world.

And that little world? Includes me.