Watch this.  Then read.  http://www.wset.com/story/17279194/family-reacts-to-toddlers-death

It has been a hard week for me.  A mix of grief and concern, followed by confused introspection.  I have been attending Amherst Dance Academy since October 2010.  Joy Buendorf fully accepted me even though I was a 20-some-year rusty tap dancer, over 200lbs, and the oldest dancer.  She set the tone for the other dancers as well, and I was very quickly accepted into the fold.  This meant a great deal to me, especially with all my insecurities at the time.

ADA has always been a different kind of studio.  It's not like any other I've ever attended.  It's more of a family than a studio.  I only attened once a week last year, but this year I enrolled all my old-enough children and myself taking two classes, one of which I assisted and now am the lead teacher.  I spent about seven hours a week among the folks at ADA.  I enjoy being there and getting to know Joy and the teachers and the office folk and the dancers and the parents.  This is my outlet, and I become an inlet for all the positive "juice" that flows in that place.

It was just a beautiful Tuesday afternoon when Katie called me and left a message.  She NEVER calls.  She has only texted before.  She called to say classes were cancelled, and within two hours it was announced that Josie had died.

Usually, when something like this happens I maintain control and go into manager mode.  Usually, I'm the last to emotionally react.  Usually, I DO NOT immediately fall to the ground and burst out into tears.  Usually, I DO NOT hustle to my bedroom, pull the covers over my face, and after catching my breath, begin to cry and writhe in my bed.  Usually, I worry about myself that I may not have enough compassion for others because USUALLY I DON'T HURT LIKE THIS OVER TERRIBLE THINGS!

I hear about terrible stuff all the time.  It's the nature of this day in age.  But when it strikes close to home, to people you just know are wonderful people, and you know it easily could have been you and your baby... and that little girl who came visiting with her family last month... you know the one you see every Tuesday night when her Daddy comes to pick up her big sister from ballet class... you know, when all this stuff comes together.... well, it's just different.  You know?

I've been like a zombie for two days.  Life is just flat and bland right now.  I can see the butterflies, and feel the sunshine, and run my fingers through my own toddler's hair, but there's still some kind of disconnect in my soul.  I know that, just two miles down the road, my friend Joy Buendorf and her family are suffering deeply.  And let me tell you, the news video isn't showing everything.  Some people grieve outwardly, and others like to do it behind closed doors.  Not in front of the camera for all the world to see.

So I'm a bit confused.  A little surprised with myself.  I'm not Josie's mom, or her family, or even any way related to these people.  We don't have some grand friendship, and I've never really gotten to know Joy's children yet.  I didn't really have any sort of personal relationship with Josie at all.  I've seen her lots and cooed over her as a baby when she visited the studio, etc.  So why am I hurting so bad?  And who am I to mourn to this degree?

I was just sitting blandly at my dining room table this afternoon, wondering when Sonny was going to get home, aching in my own loneliness, when one of the girls close to the Buendorf family texted me and asked, "And how are you?"  And out of no where I just burst into tears.  I ran my hands down my wet, hot face as tears shot out like raindrops, and, after I composed myself, I texted back: "I feel very alone in my grief. Maybe because I'm not directly in relationship with Josie I keep telling myself I shouldn't suffer as much as others... but I am.  All that to say, I think I'm taking it harder than anyone may think... more than even I would expect.  Maybe because I'm a mom, I'm really hurting for Joy."

*sigh*  I haven't really seen much of my husband since Sunday afternoon.  He doesn't come home on Mondays until 9pm, I got the news about Josie right after he came home on Tuesday so I took benadryl and went to bed, and he stayed three hours late at school on Wednesday and Thursday.  He has absolutely no clue how I feel about any of this.  He's the one I'd like to talk with the most, to share how I feel.  But he's a guy.  He doesn't "get it" when it comes to feelings.  The only thing he "got" today was that the house was a mess when he came home.  And the only thing I got was a distant husband who "didn't like being handed a messy house."

If only he knew how many times my mind whispered "Josie" and "Joy" today.  Then maybe he would have understood why the house wasn't clean when he got home three hours late from school.

I don't know what to say. Everything that wants to come out of my mouth is a complaint. A dead-end complaint. So I guess I won't say anything.

It has been a month. I figured I should update y blog. Since I last wrote:
Sonny crammed for finals for 10 days. We didn't see him hardly at all that whole time. Meanwhile, all but Daniel and Sonny were in the dance recital (that went well), and started Upward Basketball practice. Right after Sonny finished his finals we had a week of playing catch-up and adjusting to Dad being home, which meant accomplishing some stuff, and completely shutting down with exhaustion (aka resting). Then, my Dad and Mary came to isit from NY for a week. Between the visit and all the extra music obligations for the Christmas season at church it was a busy Christmas week! By January 1 we were in a van bound for Boston to visit Sonny's family for a while. That visit was nice though we could have done without a puking virus that nabbed most everyone in the family. As I update we're in the car on the way home from MA only to be slammed with a drill weekend, forllowed by gearing up for the next semester and getting homeschool stuff situationed. We're kind of in a crisis when it comes to school... the fact that I've given up and haven't done much of anything formal since October. Who knows, maybe if I make some changes, and Sonny is willing to help (he is), then we can tweaks something by and get these kids back into some RR'R. That's all for now.

I have A LOT of ideas.  Ideas for this and that.  I repress a lot of them, because I have had so many experiences of feeling like a fool when presenting them to others. 

Our tap teacher rarely asks us for our input regarding our performance wear, but due to lack of selection, sizes, etc., she asked us for input.  We really didn't come up with anything solid so I decided "This is not my problem, so I'm not going to worry about it."  Ohhhh, but it's SO FUN to design costumes! 

When I was seven or eight years old I would hand-sew dance costumes, and then would create some kind of show so that I could use them.  Inviting the neighborhood and dragging my friends into it, we would perform right out on the front porch.

I was always full of ideas: lip-sync and talent shows, building and craft projects, and secret clubhouses.  The adults who were in my life as a child now report how "busy" I always was.  "Never a dull moment when you were around.  We never saw our kids because you'd be dragging them here and there, trying to carry out some fancy idea."

I guess people just marveled and smiled at my many ideas as a child.  But as I got older I began to get the message that I was not acting my age, being childish, and foolish.  Maybe peers gave me those sneers because they were jealous that they didn't come up with the idea.  But then again, my peers generally didn't like me anyway. I don't know.  My teachers seemed to like my creativity.

My creative ideas were used in my schoolwork, and in my college experiences.  I flourished as a student teacher, and even had loads of fun in my job as an orchestra teacher- never doing anything entirely "by the book."  But as a married woman, and then a mom, my creativity really slowed down due to the cares and responsibilities of the season.  In my insecurity I so badly just wanted to be "normal" like all the other moms out there.  I didn't want to draw attention to myself, so I hid. 

But hiding and squelching seems to have backfired.  I'm a miserable creator.  A "stuffed-in-a-box" artist.  It totally sucks.

A "costume problem" was just too enticing NOT to care about.  I pulled out some scrap material, pieced this and that together, and made something really not-quite-what-I-wanted.  But that didn't stop me.  So I tacked this up, and stitched that, and pulled and tweaked until I created something I really believed would work for the type of routine, body types, practicality, manufacturing time (recital in three weeks), and price.

But then that feeling came again.  Just hide it in the closet. They probably won't like it.  It's too "old lady-ish."  It's too boring.  Besides, the teacher is probably tired of all your ideas: your ideas for choreography, approach, music, classes offered, logistics, interior decorating, ...bartering.  You try too hard and now you're being annoying.

But then I remembered that I don't need other people's approval to feel good about myself.  *I* think it's a nice costume.  And if they don't like it that's ok.  They don't have to use this design.  But I'll never know if I don't at least propose the idea.

It took me 18 hours to muster up the nerve to be able to make the suggestion via a text message.  And it has been more hours of maintenance to keep my mind from slipping into anticipation of rejection- even though I haven't heard back from the teacher.  More than anything I hope that no one asks me to model it.

I have so many ideas that I'm too afraid to really go with.  Several book titles and outlines.  Music CD's.  Music videos for others' music.  Clothing design.  Wall colors and remodeling projects.  Ministry ideas from benevolence to pro-life support.  Work-at-home ideas that I'm too afraid to even start.  Even some gizmo-gagets that I wish I could officially patent and market.

Why am I so afraid?  Afraid of failure?

Had my annual today.  (how's that to start a public blog post?... when have I EVER been discreet about stuff like this anyway?)  It's been kind of a sad day.  The Dr. confirmed everything I already knew: rectocele, cystocele, and it's only going to get worse (as it already has).  If you don't know what those two things are, google it.

I'm not in pain, but can have difficulty going numero dos, while numero uno happens even when I don't want it to.  The Dr. said I had three options:

#1  Do nothing, and just put up with it.  When/IF it ever comes to the point of doing something about it, it will be when I say, "That's it!  I've had enough and I can't deal with this anymore."

#2  Pessary.  This is a contraption that works kind of like a scaffolding to hold everything up and in place.  It's meant more for older woman, and it doesn't really work well anyway.  I've read it's way more hassle than it's worth.

#3 Surgery.  In a nutshell, have a full hysterectomy, tack "this" and "that" back in place and add mesh if necessary, and "sling the urethra up." (sounds painful)  Then, when gravity and age has had it's liberty I would probably have to have surgery again, since I'm so young as it is.  Of course they can do it without a hysterectomy, but then I'd have to have a surgical redo sooner rather than later.  And even with a hysterectomy, other things are going to start falling down into the cavity where the uterus used to be.  (Dang it!  Men don't have to suffer like this at all!  Ppphhhhhhhhffft!)

So I decided on Option 1.

The sad part is that I have this problem, and it's not going to improve much with kegals.  Furthermore, it will get worse with time anyway.  If for some reason I get pregnant again the damage to my pelvic floor will get worse QUICKER! 

Sad indeed.  Makes me want to cry really.  I have to choose between the hope of another baby (not like I was really all that interested in being pregnant again anyway, but it's still a hope... hard to explain) and keeping my uterus for as long as possible.

This.totally.sucks.

So I talk to my hubby about it, and all he can think about is faith and religion.  That's all fine and dandy, but I'm the one who's genetalia is falling out!  And I don't care how much faith I try to conjure up, God is probably not going to miraculously fix my prolapse this side of Heaven.

So it's hard.    Sad.

If I only live 'til 70 then this is my midlife crisis. 

I am fighting the reality that I may never be able to go back and feel that feeling again.  The feeling of what it's like to slide into a split, or ease into a backwalkover, or heck, to ever be able to look in a mirror and like "how I look in that dress."

This lamenting is not be confused with me- my identity in Christ- who I am as Angela.  But physically, I regret having allowed myself to deteriorate possibly to the point of no return. 

Been kind of a tough day.  Not depressed or angry.  Just bored.  VERY BORED.  Bored of life- the mundane repetitive nature of housewifedom.  And I sometimes think that all those talents that I have, in music and dance and speaking and writing and WHATEVER, are just wasted.

I have an amazing singing talent, but it's wasted because I have no support.  What I really mean to say is, we're completely broke and on the brink of a real financial crisis, and a little income can be made if I'd just record a Christmas CD and sell it to friends and family.  Hoping to pay for that trip/vacation to MA to see family this Janurary.  But I'm not any good at recording.  If someone would set me up with the mic and some background music, I could do it.  But I don't have that kind of support.

I have other talents, too.  But they just get ignored because I don't have time for them.  My life is poured out in general labor.  And it's labor that is never done, and rarely appreciated.  Certainly taken for granted. 

Today, I feel very taken for granted.  Today, I feel like expectations have been made, and satisfaction is nonexistent.

Today, I feel like a waste. 

There are so many things I could have done and could still do.  But instead, I'm cooking good crockpot meals that no one wants to eat, washing red plastic bowls that are dirtied again with the next meal, and sweeping white linoleum that never looks clean. 

Today, I feel like crap.

I miss updating my xanga.  But you know what?  Now that I have no internet at home I just don't think of updating when I'm at the library or picking up wifi from somewhere. 

So, what's going on with me? 

I'm doing real well.  I don't know what I mentioned the last time I spoke of my recovery journey- depression, anger, and feeling like a piece of crap all the time- but that has been going real well.  I got off the anti-depressant again quite a while back.  There were some withdrawl symptoms such as drastic mood swings and "brain zaps" that are kind of like a zippy feeling of dizziness.  The mood swings are gone, and the brain zaps happen once in a blue moon.  However, I still have ringing in my ears and mild hearing loss.

As for the tinnitus and hearing loss, I went to an ENT and had a hearing test done.  That was the loudest sound-proof room I've ever been in.  All I could hear was the ringing!  I thought for sure I'd have a bad result because I couldn't hardly hear the upper tones, but it came out that I only had mild hearing loss.  Still, at 35yrs old with no occupational decibal hazards (unless kids screaming is a hazard) it's a mystery as to why I'm having these problems.  It came on quickly (the tinnitus and hearing loss) and I thought it was due to the anti-depressant.  Tinnitus may be, but unfortunately it's probably a permanent thing.  But the hearing loss?  The ENT looked in my ears and said "nothing is wrong with your ears" and figured I'd see him in 20 years for hearing aids.  Then I had my SIL (who's a doctor) look in my ears and she said I was full of scar tissue.  (lots of ear infections)  So I made an appointment with a whole different ENT that is set for mid-November.  I just don't want to go deaf.  I'm a musician!!!

Now that I don't have internet at my disposal I've become a little more productive at home.  I play piano a lot, and have been sewing some.  But none of that competes with the loneliness I experience in the latter half of the day when I'm tired from housecleaning, cooking, and chasing children and Sonny isn't home yet.  *sigh*  I get very lonely.  But I'm working on all that.

I have all of my children (except Daniel) enrolled at the dance studio where I go for Tap class.  Cassie, Grace, and Frank take ballet.  Glory takes a ballet-tap class.  And Seth takes tumbling.  I assist the tumbling teacher so it's been fun to do cartwheels and handstands and whatever that I used to be able to do and can only barely do now.  Mostly because I'm overweight.  And partly because I lost a lot of flexibility.  Anyway, the lead teacher had a baby a couple days ago so I've been subbing.  It's fun, but I just don't know what to do with 3yo's who get tired and start to lay around and cry for their moms.  Thankfully there are only two 3yo's, and they're really sweet, but still... they spent the last 5 minutes crying (faking it) because they were tired and didn't want to participate anymore.  Otherwise, teaching that class was a success.

Not much else to say.  I bought some stuff at a vintage shop we have in town- a baker's hutch (which I totally LOVE), a large framed print of two women sitting around a piano (which I totally love) and today I'll be picking up a "shabby chic" style girl's wardrobe with a mirror on the front door.  That's for my girls.  I TOTALLY LOVE IT!

So that's all for now.  Just checking in.

I think this has been the longest time I've gone without updating. Wow. A lot of the reason is because I have had severe internet restrictions, and what time I did have was used primarily for keeping my email inbox clean and up to date, and if I had time I'd go on over and deal with some Facebook stuff. Friends have had birthdays, and babies, weddings, and all sorts of big news, and I've missed most of it.

In a nutshell:
Internet. Sonny and I did a trial of internet self-restrictions to three hours a day, between 8pm and 11pm. Though that is prime errand-running time for me, so most often I only got the last 20 minutes of that, if the computer was working normally. Then I went to California, and without an iPhone, had no access to the internet except the two occasions I was at someone else's house who had a computer and who offered it to my use. Because Grandma certainly didn't have one! When I got to my SIL's house there were already 2hr per day restrictions on my MIL. But because it was so hard to enforce it on her, my SIL announced "No internet until my baby is born." And that was for everyone in the house. We thought it would only mean a few days, but as her due date got adjusted to a week later, and labor just didn't come, it ended up being more than two weeks of restriction. I had the rare opportunity to use an iPhone, or log on when MIL wasn't home, but that was it. The library was under renovations and was restricted, too.

In a nutshell:
California. Flew to San Diego (with a pit stop in Arizona... wow! 115 degrees and flat!), hung with my Aunt Patrish drinking wine over a nighttime skyline view of the bay and city. Spent the night and next day hanging with Grandma and going to the beach, tourist shopping, and paddle boarding with my Aunt Patrish again. Spent the second day with my good friend Shannon, who shared my pregnancy with Cassie, and was a huge help at Frank's birth. She treated us both to a 1hr massage, full-service facial, manicure, and pedicure at a fancy little day spa where we walked around in a bathrobe and sipped jasmine tea along a koi pond. We topped the night with swing dancing! The next day I got to see BreeAnna, who hasn't changed a bit, and shopped at Seaport Village. Had dinner at my cousin's house and then was on a train by 6am the next morning, bound for the Sacramento area.

The train was a wonderful experience! I got to meet all kinds of neat people and see wonderful sights. Fourteen hours was enough for me, and my SIL picked me up at 11pm in Martinez. My time spent in Martinez has mostly been with the effort to keep busy and try not to get too bored. SIL had a lot of doctor appointments as she was at her due date and her baby had a prominent heart arrhythmia. We were always on edge about her labor starting because she had her membranes stripped so many times, and labor just kept hinting it was going to start every night, only to fizzle out at bedtime. I stayed close to the house, mostly because I had no transportation. Rode the bus a lot, went to the mall a lot, and walked a lot. Went swimming in the pool in their apartment complex, played Cribbage with the family, and ate amazing food the whole time! I haven't visited a fast food restaurant since I got to California. I found a dance studio that does drop-in dance classes and took tap and ballet only a couple times because I discovered it the last week I was there.

It's a wonderful life in California. Every morning greets me the exact same way- crystal clear blue skies and 70 degree weather. Every. Single. Day. I could get used to this. Really, I can. No wonder why people live here and tolerate the politics and earthquakes!

In a nutshell:
The Birth. So, SIL finally did go into labor. Right after we took the advice of one of my birth junky friends and stopped trying. We (SIL, BIL, and MIL) went to her favorite place, the coast in Halfmoon Bay, and walked along the ocean edge, sipping lattes. We had a picnic on the beach and fed our crumbs to seagulls. She had three strong contractions in a row, out of nowhere, so we headed back to Martinez an hour and a half away. A trip during which her water sprung a leak. We got home and her water kept leaking. She also had a few contractions so, with the arrhythmia, we went to the hospital and checked in at about 11pm.

SIL's labor was impressive. I mean, really impressive! It wasn't an easy one. She had a very consistent active labor, with contractions that came back to back the entire time. Not so much as a full minute between each contraction. She gave the occasional curse word and whined sometimes, but for the most part she acted like she was relaxed and in control, changing positions often. She tolerated it through most of the night and took some Fentinyl to be able to get some rest. Never had an epidural. My MIL and BIL were also there, but they slept half the night. So it was me and SIL for the most part during the evening.

The last three cm seemed like forever to dilate. At first it was because her amniotic bag, though it had sprung a high leak, was now quite a large balloon through the cervix and the baby's head wasn't engaged at all. After AROM the dilation continued. Baby just took the longest time to come through the pelvis! But there was never any problem with her heart rate or with my SIL, so I believe it was a gift from God and the Baby's and Mother's teamwork to allow things to go slow enough to not stress anyone out.

It took about three hours to dilate to completion, but SIL was so tired, having had three doses of Fentinyl and being up most the night, that she just didn't have it in her to start bearing down to get the baby into the birth canal. She took a fourth dose of Fentinyl (which I found out later the hospital would NEVER do for anyone else. They'd tell them "too bad, you can't have any more." But because SIL is a Resident doctor at this hospital they do all sorts of special treatment. That was an eye-opening experience about this birth. Residents have back-door appointments and other special treatment a civilian would NEVER get... because we're just meat. Okay, I'll shut up.) and she slept another hour. It's a good thing, because it took another 2.5hrs of strenuous pushing to get the baby to the point of crowning. And by then SIL was so exhausted she just didn't seem to have it in her anymore. She could have pushed another hour and get the baby out, but vacuum assistance significantly shortened that time and a beautiful baby girl was born. Believe it or not SIL only had a few skid marks and a couple of 1st degree tears!

In a nutshell:
The birth, and my personal experience. Through the night I was constantly caring for my SIL. Especially during the hours that her husband was sleeping, and even after he was awake and being attentive I was wiping poop and changing chux pads, getting refreshments and being the gopher to the nurse station. I figured I was the stupid one who had not napped all night. Even my SIL napped some in between contractions while on the Fentinyl. I just didn't have a chance until after MIL and BIL woke up and the nurse was attending all the poop wiping and chux pad changing.

It was around this time when I started to get angry. Of course I NEVER EVER mentioned it or showed it, but inside there were tears building behind my eyes and my heart was sinking more and more. I'm not surprised. When you have your own babies you can't help but relive the experience through someone else. For this reason, I'm ready to give up on participating in the birth support communities.

Beholding my new babies after birth is an amazing memory I love and cherish, but I do not like my birth experiences. There are too many memories of abandonment surrounding my pre-birth, labor, and post-partum. I don't know if my SIL ever experienced that feeling of abandonment. I know I wasn't going to just sit back and watch during times she could use some support- someone to stand by her. Even with people always in the room during my labors, there are many memories of me feeling completely alone. Not so much in my homebirths, because once my midwife showed up I felt better. But definitely during all the other times. I really lacked feeling nurtured. Maybe Frank's birth was my most comfortable emotionally, because Shannon's attention to ME made such a huge difference. I don't know.

Because this is a public blog I'm not going to go into the details of why I felt the way I did and with whom. Though I will mention I hate that God gave men the easy life compared to women... those men have no discomfort whatsoever between conception and the first birthday... lucky jerks. For the most part it wasn't anything anyone did or didn't do during SIL's birth, though. It was more "Abstraction." (you have to listen to the song "Abstraction" by Sara Groves and read her commentary and story behind writing that song to really understand what I'm talking about).

So, at about my 23rd hour of being awake I finally decided to try to take a nap. It lasted 20 minutes before MIL woke me up to tell me SIL had pooped. ARGH!!!!!! So that was my nap. And that's when things started getting blurry for me. I was irritated with MIL, and BIL was being territorial of his wife (as we would all hope men would be with their wives). There was a nurse who was substituting for our normal nurse while she was on her lunch break, and the sub nurse seemed irritated that we needed help coaching SIL during the early part of her pushing.

This is about the point where I kind of dropped out of service. I don't know how to coach and encourage a woman to push for more than an hour. After that, I'm clueless. I never experienced that! Once I dilated I got serious and pushed my babies out. I wanted to be done with this labor and delivery crap and get on with my life. I didn't want to be battered and beat by labor pains and discomfort. Because when I'm in labor I see the dilation part as something evil that is being DONE TO ME, but the pushing part is when I can fight back and put an end to the agony. When my SIL petered out from exhaustion and cried for more meds and rest, at full dilation, instead of pushing, I just didn't know what to do. Then the sub nurse got snippy with me when the internal scalp monitor fell off the baby AGAIN. When it fell off again, I lightheartedly commented about how the baby didn't want that thing screwed into her scalp. The nurse snarled at me, "If I had a heart arrhythmia I'd want a monitor screwed into MY scalp." I responded, "I have no problem with the monitor..." she interrupted, "Don't even go there with me."

FINE! I don't need to go there at all. I don't even need to BE here at all! Eff-you lady! I have six small, beautiful children on the other side of the country whom I haven't seen in three weeks. I haven't had a good night's sleep in the same amount of time because I've been in living rooms, on couches, crammed into small apartments with other people who have to constantly get up and pee and eat and turn the lights on and do all sorts of noisy things at night while I'm trying to sleep. I've been denied fellowship with my online friendships, had to shift and slow down my entire life because I had extremely limited transportation, walking and riding buses everywhere, fumbling through phone books, limited paper maps and bus schedules. I also had to deal with family members and their issues in my face all the time, and I nearly missed this birth because I would have rather have been home. I've been up for 24 hours caring for my SIL while the others around me have all had a significant amount of sleep, including YOU Miss I'm-Obsessed-With-The-Scalp-Monitor modern-medicine idiot. Don't even talk to me! You don't know half as much as I do in experience alone. You've only had two children, in the hospital, 30 years ago. So shut up!

That was my breaking point. I quietly exited the room and called my husband, with whom I cried and cried about how badly I just wanted to go home. I was so tired... tired of the labor, tired of the week, tired of California. At this point I didn't even care if I saw my niece born or not. I would have been happy with a pretty picture with a birth announcement. Sonny's advice for me was to go sit in the waiting room and have BIL come get me when things started to happen. And I figured SIL was so zoned out with exhaustion and the work she had yet to do, she wouldn't even notice I was gone. But as soon as I walked into the room to collect my stuff, SIL was asking in between a contraction, "Where's Angela?" "I'm right here," I confirmed to her. So I stayed. But I also disengaged. The substitute nurse was gone and the doctor (who brought a sense of peace to the room.... she is a good one) was now there.

For the remainder of the delivery I was fighting back the tears. I couldn't wait for it all to be over so I could go home, find a plane ticket, take a nap, and leave. MIL finally got out of her chair and was encouraging her daughter, and BIL had taken over with the coaching. All was well and I determined I was no longer needed. I sat back and crocheted. The doctor kept glancing over at me... she knew something wasn't quite right with me "checking out" of the moment (told you, she is a good one) but I ignored her. Then I took on the photographer role.

Snap snap snap went the camera, a vacuum assisted delivery, a beautiful family was born, and all was well. Before my SIL was even stitched up I said my goodbyes and walked home.

The walk is a memory from another life. I was so tired... I just slowly got myself up that steep hill, .7 miles away, and let myself into the apartment. I got something to eat and searched the internet for next-day airfare. I even searched for a hotel room knowing that, because I sleep in the living room, when people came home I'd be woken up again, but I was too tired to walk a mile to get to the hotel. BIL came home, and I didn't want to make conversation or join in the adrenaline rush, so immediately rolled over and fell asleep.

I heard BIL and MIL come home that night and make noise in the kitchen, but thankfully I was too tired to notice much and slept right through it all. Sonny even texted me, but it was enough just to read them and fall back asleep without replying. People kept asking me questions, but I just ignored the texts. I didn't know anything... not how big she was, or how much she weighed, or even much about whom she might look like. I just wanted to sleep and go home.

It's morning now. I'm thinking about what to do... talk to Sonny, take a shower, visit SIL... and who knows what else. Maybe go home.