Life Overwhelming

I haven't forgotten about my blog. I think about it once in a while: "You know, I really should post something." And then I think of a dozen other things that need doing and put it off yet again.

You moms that have multiple kids: I don't know how you keep up with your blogs.

I logged on and realized I hadn't posted anything since February. Which is good, because I was thinking it had been a year. Go me!

William is now two and a half. And I'm 15 weeks pregnant with his sibling. My husband and I weren't going to have any more kids. But things just happen sometimes.

My husband (Calvin) now works about 90 hours a week. He's rarely home, and that's hard for me. Especially since William needs a strong male figure around. Calvin tries to spend good quality time with Will, but he often comes home to a lawn that needs mowing, cars that need washing, walls that need painting, and a half-dozen other chores that I can't do on my own.

I mowed the backyard last week after my morning sickness had subsided just a couple of days before, and I shouldn't have. My nerve pain got all flared up, and it took me two days to recover.

My feelings about the new baby are mixed. On the one hand, I really am excited. William is such a sweet boy; I think he will enjoy having a sibling. On the other hand, raising two little ones on Calvin's insane work schedule won't be easy. I can deal well enough with taking William with me on errands, but I don't think I'll be able to do it with two. I know other moms do, so I guess I'll just have to figure it out.

I really, really want my husband around more. This schedule is killing us. Calvin often comes home so exhausted that he spends half of his first day off sleeping. Thankfully, we just have to put up with it until February 2014--because that's when his contract with the Navy expires. Go Navy. Go away!

Conflicted

Tonight I heard some terrible news: a guy from my church who was serving with the Marines in Afghanistan was injured by a roadside IED. He lost both legs and a hand. He may not survive. I know this guy personally. We attended church together for years. When I heard the news, I felt like someone had knocked the wind out of me.

Right now, many of my friends on Facebook are circulating the story, asking for prayers for his recovery. They're saying nice things about him, like how he was a nice guy and a hero. I should probably be doing the same. But I can't. I certainly hope he can recover, or maybe find peace in death if that would be better for him. But I can't, in good conscience, say things I don't mean.

Certainly, with my husband serving in the military, I consider this man to be a brother in arms, and I respect his service and sacrifice greatly. But I never thought he was a nice guy. He's not someone I would normally look up to as a personal hero.

On a personal level, we couldn't be more different. I remember when we attended the same college cell group at church. At one of these meetings, we had an outdoor party where we played volleyball and other games. This guy (we'll call him Chris) was all over the place. He took the games far too seriously, getting angry and berating people when he thought others weren't playing their hardest. When we didn't keep score, he got frustrated and stormed off. He was also vain, always showing off his muscles, his car, and his gorgeous girlfriend of the week. Having to put up with him was highly irritating to me.

He also had a bit of a run-in with my brother a few years ago and more recently poked fun at my sister-in-law for marrying him. To be perfectly honest, Chris could be a real jerk to the people he didn't care about. He did try hard at times to be a good Christian, which I respect. But I never had a positive impression of him. I wish I could admit this openly to my friends, but I don't think it would be appreciated right now.

In truth, this is my grieving process. What happened to Chris is unimaginably horrible. No matter my personal feelings about him, he did not deserve to be injured or lose nearly half his body. I wouldn't wish that on anyone. Not on anyone. It kills me to think that this young man who was once so athletic and passionate about sports will probably never walk again--if he even survives the next 48 hours. The news report said he also sustained injuries to his pelvis. That means he may never father children or even be able to have sex again. Just thinking about it makes me want to cry. Having a husband and family is the greatest joy of my life.  I can't imagine the pain of someone missing out on that opportunity.

I hate this war. I hate it with every fiber of my being. I hate what it's doing to my generation and my country. I hate that it turns healthy young men into paraplegics. I hate that it takes parents away from their children. I seethe every time I read another story of a young woman losing her husband or lover to this conflict. It needs to end now. Don't preach to me about military objectives or democracy in the Middle East. Don't talk about terrorism and the need for national security. No security is worth this price. There are other ways. We need to find them.

This is my message: Not everyone serving in the military is a wonderful, likable person. Some service members are jerks. Some are racists. Some are alcoholics, gamblers, misogynists and cold-hearted cynics. Not everyone in the military joined out of patriotism. Some of them would get out of the service tomorrow if they could. But what they sacrifice on the battlefield is still just as real and as painful as the noble ones who are in it for all the right reasons. In that way, Chris IS a hero and worthy of all the appreciation his country can bestow upon him. I just wish our country didn't make heroes in this manner.

Navy Wife

The Thursday before last, I had had it. William had whined and screamed all day--as well as the five days previous--and I couldn't endure another second. So when my husband finally came home from work on my assigned evening of freedom (we have an arrangement), I decided to take myself out to dinner at my favorite Italian restaurant. All my friends were either working or wrangling their own toddlers, so I went by myself.

I just about had the whole restaurant to myself, too. I had arrived before the evening dinner rush, so the place was empty except for a couple having drinks in the corner. It was so nice just to sit in the quiet and stare at the ceiling, sipping sweet tea and thinking about the huge plate of Gorgonzola pasta I was about to enjoy--artichoke hearts included. Mmm, my favorite!

A manager soon noticed me sitting alone and decided to check on me. He almost immediately asked if I was military. I suppose my eating alone must have clued him in. I said yes, and then explained that my husband is the one who serves--I just support him at home. He then thanked me for my service. "The wives have the tougher job," he explained. "The men only have to focus on the mission; the wives are responsible for dozens of other tasks to keep the household running."

I felt both humbled and grateful. It's not every day that someone recognizes the contribution you make to the happiness and security of others--even if those others are your own family. I have been on both sides of the fence (military and civilian), and I can say from experience...he's right.

Life within the military (as a soldier, sailor, etc.) is a different world. In the military, you are removed from civilian life and then kept almost too busy to think about it. While serving, you're concerned about how your uniform looks, how to master your training, whether your superiors are going to yell at you again, how to keep your buddies out of trouble, how to avoid falling asleep on duty...and that's only if your mind is actually rested enough to function properly. It's an all-consuming environment, and it's designed to be that way. Yes, you often feel lonely and miss loved ones. You wonder how they might be doing without you. But every day is just one mundane task and expectation after another, and responsibility for failure or laziness is shared among the group--specifically among those in the higher ranks.

Compare that to a spouse's role. There's no one standing by to direct the spouse, to help her in her tasks, or to take responsibility if she fails to do something right. She is both boss and laborer, father and mother. There is no one to relieve her from her duty of caring for her family except for what she can arrange. When raising children, each day presents her with new and complex challenges for which she often feels ill-equipped to handle. She desperately misses her husband, worries about his physical and mental health, and counts the seemingly endless days, hours, and minutes until she will see him again. She carries the entire weight of the household on her shoulders. She knows if her husband is disabled or killed in action, she will have to work in addition to all of her current responsibilities--and as of now, she can hardly find time to do all of the laundry. If there is an accident, she will be the one to explain to her children what happened to daddy. Her mind is often a whirl of what-ifs, trying to think of strategies to deal with potential setbacks and emergencies. She may have to move in one year, two, three or four, and then it's back to finding new doctors, schools, and a home for her family all over again. In the meantime, she watches her friends who are married to the same life come and go. The minutes or hours she spends collapsed in front of the TV or computer offer only a slight reprieve from the stress and utter loneliness of her world. Her every task and chore is at the mercy of her child(ren)'s needs and whims. If she succeeds in reaching a goal, no one is standing by to hand her a medal; if she fails, her family's happiness as well as her self-esteem is compromised.

It's hard to put a military spouse's life into words for those who aren't inclined to understand it. All some people see is that most of us don't have to work at a regular job; we get to stay home with our kids, watching TV and playing with blocks or Play-Dough, not having to answer to anyone with a title. That's true, but there's a mental and emotional side to it that most people don't see. When a man with a civilian job goes out to work, he remains part of the civilian world. It's easy for him to come home afterward and find common ground with his family. But when a service member goes out to work, he becomes part of another world with a different culture and different rules. For those hours, days or months, he is cut off from the civilian world--sometimes, even from sunlight. His homecoming often means everyone in the family must adjust and readjust. Roles are renegotiated, relationships restructured, a year's worth of memories crammed into a bedtime story. So, yeah, I can appreciate a thank-you from a stranger. I don't expect it; after all, this is what I chose to do. But at least the rare acknowledgement lifts my spirits and lets me know that, yes, even without a title and a paycheck, I am doing something that matters to someone.

It's a Complicated Life

Sorry I've left all my dear readers hanging for so long. I'd have written sooner except my laptop died, and now my only computer access is limited to the room off of the kitchen--a place that is currently unfit for my child to play while I write.

Depression? Well, it's sometimes still bad. I've cried in bed a couple of nights thinking about the relationship between past hurts and current problems. Life has also been very stressful. My husband is not at all enjoying his job. He hates it and complains about it greatly. Yesterday, he was kept at work after 7 p.m. He's supposed to leave at 3 p.m. And he has duty today, which means he won't be coming home until tomorrow evening.

Even though my husband could potentially receive a bonus of $75,000 for reenlisting with the Navy, he's decided not to do it. That was tough to accept at first because he had been trying to reenlist for months and we had planned to pay off some bills with the money. A friend of ours in the same division reenlisted and received half of the money last week. Now I listen as his wife talks about her various shopping sprees, thinking, "We could have paid off my car! Put $10,000 in savings! Replaced all the ancient, broken windows in our house!" And then I want to shake her because she's talking about having bought a third set of dishes and now doesn't know what to do with the first two sets. But reenlisting even for that kind of security just isn't worth having a husband who is stressed, unhappy, and often absent from our son's life.

Now that I know money will be somewhat tight for a while, I've decided that I probably can't afford to go back to school for my Master's degree and teaching license. It's not that affording tuition is a problem--because I can get good financial aid--it's the childcare. My last sitter charged $9 an hour. That was fine when the hubby and I needed only a couple of hours to go on a date, but that adds up quickly when you're talking about attending classes full-time. So I've decided to put off school and look for work until we've paid off some of our bills. But even then, my husband and I aren't fully comfortable with leaving William in someone else's care all the time, and the situation is further complicated by my husband's wacky work schedule. Should I just be content that we're getting by for the moment and wait until William is in school to pursue my career? These are the questions that plague me. And it's tough because I'm used to working and finding fulfillment in achieving concrete goals.

Meanwhile, I picked up my Bible a couple of weeks ago and read Romans 8:5-6: "Those who live according to the flesh have their minds set on what the flesh desires; but those who live in accordance with the Spirit have their minds set on what the Spirit desires. The mind governed by the flesh is death, but the mind governed by the Spirit is life and peace." Peace. That's what I need. Peace for this mind that is so troubled by pain, fear, and uncertainty. I have been meditating on this scripture at times, studying what it means to desire what the Spirit of God desires...and in doing so, I have found myself less focused on past wounds. Even though churches, pastors, and many Christian friends have failed me, nothing they have done has negated the power and truth I find in scripture. This is how my faith has survived even when others have given up theirs. Perhaps, if you are interested, I shall share my insights with you sometime, dear readers. Until then, enjoy this glorious spring.

Navy Blues

This week, I'm hating the Navy. Normally, I'm fine with military life. It's been pretty good to us. When my husband and I married over three years ago, we pretty much had nothing to our names. Now we have a house, two new cars (one paid in full), a high-def television and furniture. But the Navy has been ticking me off lately and adding to my stress.

First of all, they can't handle a simple task like filing paperwork unless a generous amount of kissing up is involved. Back in early November, my husband applied for reenlistment, which comes with a pretty hefty bonus that will pay off our other car and rebuild our savings account. Well, the reenlistment office lost his paperwork. Twice. And then when my husband went to request his medical records to submit with his reenlistment package, he was told the records were lost. It took a week to find them. In the middle of all that, the guy in charge of reenlistment went on vacation for two weeks. Then when the paperwork finally went through, the office lost the approval notice and had to file a request for another one to be rushed in. When my husband asked about his reenlistment status last week, he was told that it should go through IN APRIL! Other sailors on the same ship have reenlisted and received their bonuses, start to finish, within a month.

So now that the holidays are over and we won't be seeing the bonus money for a while, we're managing our finances pretty tightly so we can pay off some bills and save some money. Except my husband's coworkers have some very sticky fingers and keep taking my husband's stuff, which has to be replaced. At first it was little things, like pens and thermoses. But last month it was my husband's virtually brand-new Navy parka that he had bought to keep from freezing to death on his mile-long walk from the parking lot to the ship. (As far as military clothing goes, it's about the most expensive item on the rack.) This week, it was the nice pair of boots he bought six months ago that should have lasted for another year. He actually had to get off of duty yesterday to go buy another pair. My husband receives a $300 clothing allowance about twice a year--which hardly begins to cover everything he's required to have--and the two items recently stolen from him are already in excess of that. You'd think that with morale being a concern on his ship right now that the people in charge would do more to discourage and punish theft, but it seems they couldn't care less. In fact, they recently had all the sailors in my husband's division give up half their assigned lockers so the lockers could be available for another use. So now these sailors don't have a secure place to store even half their stuff.

And then it gets worse: some first class petty officer thinks he should get special treatment because of his rank, so he demands the best duty shifts, which gets my husband (a second class) assigned to the worst shifts. The chiefs in charge often don't assign work until after lunch, making everyone stay late to get the work done, then scream at the sailors for being lazy and incompetent. The insanity just goes on and on, and I'm getting pretty sick of it. My poor husband comes home discouraged, exhausted, and depressed. Some days I feel like I can hardly take care of myself, and then I spend all day taking care of our son and all night soothing my husband. Sometimes, it's just too much. FTN

Old World Suburbia

At last, after three weeks of moving and settling in, my life has reached a state near enough normalcy to write. For a moment there, I didn't think I would survive. Here's how the move went down:

Since we were moving only six miles, my husband decided to save a few hundred bucks and borrow a friend's pickup truck for the move instead of renting a moving truck. This translated into three days of many small trips between the house and the apartment. Not bad, except I'm slow at packing and the apartment had collected lots of piddling items that didn't seem to go together in any box. Not that it mattered to my husband, who threw them together into boxes anyway...and didn't label them. Then, he spent the next two weeks asking me where everything was. We still haven't found my $100 sunglasses that I bought a month ago. Yep, he packed them. Somewhere.

Three days before we had to relinquish the apartment, my husband informs me that he has duty the day before we have to be out, which means he won't be able to help with the last two days of moving and cleaning. It's all up to me. And I'm in therapy for my back. The nerve pain in my leg has flared up so bad at this point I can hardly stand. I have William to take care of, too, and his response to the move is to cry and whine constantly. During the whole ordeal, I had thoughts of "I'm not going to make it." And then I did. I pulled it out somehow, and turned over a spotlessly clean apartment with hours to spare. Some nights I fell into bed so stiff that I could hardly move, but I managed to get the last of our stuff over to the new house. And now, we're never moving again.

Last night, we handed out candy for Halloween in our new neighborhood, and some of the neighbors came over and introduced themselves. They're all a few years older than me and my husband, but nice. At the same time, I got a vibe that this neighborhood might be secretly hosting its own version of Desperate Housewives. Two of the women were drinking wine while escorting their children around the neighborhood, and one of them looked like she was on her third glass. Not to judge, but most of the people I know don't get hammered while outside with their kids.

The elderly gentleman to our right has a lawn that hasn't been seen since the Garden of Eden. It's greener than most golf courses. I wonder if he shoots people who walk on it.

The family to our left appears to own five cars, at least one with huge chrome rims on the tires.

Things could get interesting around here.

Under the Bus

I feel like I haven't slept in a week. Probably because I haven't...much.

The past two times my husband has been on duty, I've stayed up until one and two in the morning. Something about turning out the light in a big empty bedroom just isn't appealing. On top of that, William has woken up a few times in the night on more than one occasion, which has robbed me of sleep. Then on the one night I seemed set for uninterrupted rest, the fire alarm in our apartment malfunctioned, sending us outside at 3:30 a.m. to escape the deafening noise. Now we've just made an offer to buy a house, and I keep tossing with restless dreams about everything that could go wrong.

My husband and I appear to be reconnecting--probably because house hunting has put us back on the same page--but not all is entirely well with me. William is becoming increasingly more active and mobile. I recently spent an entire day removing every electrical cord in the living area from William's mouth four times over. (The drill has been as follows: remove child from problem area, place child in a central location near toys, sit down for five minutes, get up, remove child from another problem area, repeat ad nauseum.) Naps are getting shorter and feedings are becoming messier. Thank God he's happy and manageable most of the time, or I'd lose it. I love my son dearly and don't regret becoming a mother, but I realize now that I'm not meant to have a house full of children.

There are other things weighing on my mind that I'm not ready to share. But I will say that one of the reasons William's care has become a little troublesome is because of a physical strain I am experiencing. It has me very concerned. Hopefully, I'll be able to see a doctor soon...and maybe get some sleep, too.

Thanks for reading.

Alone Again

Saturday. That's usually my day to escape for a couple of hours. It's the day I take beading classes at my local bead supplier while hubby watches the little one. Even if I've learned a particular technique before, the class is still fun. I get uninterrupted time to work on a project and great conversation with other women. Granted, they're always 20+ years my senior, but I almost prefer it that way. Older women generally have great life stories to tell.

Today, however, my husband is on duty, so no beading class for me. And William is driving me nuts.

I think the little man is teething. He's so young, though, that I can't give him anything for the pain. So I've spent the past three days listening to him fuss. And fuss. And fuss.

I'm going out of my mind.

It's not that the fussing is so disruptive. I can handle being interrupted during a beading or writing project. It's just that consoling Will is becoming increasingly difficult. I pick him up, he fidgets. I give him my finger or a toy to teethe on, he fusses. I put him down, he cries. And I have trouble telling the difference between his signals for teething and hunger. Sometimes he's screaming before I realize, "Hey, I should get the little bugger a bottle."

Why couldn't I have had just a couple more months of peace?

When I do get a quiet moment beyond the time I spend beading and pacifying Will, I continue looking into grad school. I've decided that I will apply next year in order to qualify for scholarships and additional grant money. Depending on how much aid I can pull down, I may be able to go to school for free. It's looking likely, anyway. I'll also be around the house a little longer to experience some of William's developmental milestones--like when he finally cuts that first tooth.

I'm a little nervous, though, about how much grad school might demand of me. I won't be overloaded with classes, but essays might be a different story. I'm also planning to do the thesis option in case I want a Ph.D. later on. That means TONS of writing and research...and less time for beading and blogging. *Sigh*

As we laid in bed the other night, my husband and I joked (somewhat seriously) about how the demands of grad school might affect our already-limited time together. I suggested that we may have to pencil in some intimacy in my weekly planner between my essays and Will's diaper changes.

No doubt, it's gonna be a wild ride.

Fleeting

Only two months ago was William a tiny bundle in his bassinet. Only three weeks ago did he require only formula for a meal. Only a week ago was he happily sucking at my breast.

I know why parents say children grow up so fast. They develop so quickly in the first year, going from tiny, helpless beings to walking, talking people.

I realize these moments with my son as an infant are fleeting. Already has his skin lost that incredible velvety softness it had when he was first born. He's outgrown half of the adorable outfits I received at my baby shower, going from newborn diapers to size twos in the blink of an eye. Today I kiss his soft, little head; who knows when it will be obscured by thick hair? His toothless grins melt my heart, but for how long? He's already teething.

Will I be able to recall these joys years from now? Will I remember the way he gazed into my face as I held him to my breast? Will I remember his first smile? Will I always have the memory of his softness and his sweet baby smell? I can hope.

Perhaps, however, some situations should be fleeting. My husband and I finally managed to work through the tension in our relationship. We once talked late into the night recently, and it was like having my best friend back. Now we're trying to spend more time together, even if it's just cuddling right before sleep. It's tough, though, with William in the picture and all the hobbies I have going. Plus, my husband's superiors ended up assigning his crew duty every other day after all. Not cool. Hopefully, the new schedule won't last long.

Crash

I should be sleeping. I'm exhausted, and William is actually content at the moment. Talk about a tough week. Last weekend, William went from eating every three hours to crying for food every two hours and less. I'd finish feeding him, put him down to play, and he'd be crying again within a half hour. So, my husband and I decided to start him on rice cereal. Now instead of crying every two hours, William sometimes takes two hours to feed! Up until last night, I hadn't touched my beads in nearly a week.

I sometimes hate being a Navy wife. I often feel alone, and I'm responsible for so much. This crew my husband is on isn't helping matters any. He came home a couple of weeks ago and said his section might be assigned duty every six days instead of four, which meant he would only be away one night a week instead of two. Then he came home this week and said his section will probably be assigned duty every other day, which meant he'd be home only three nights a week. Now the word is he'll stay on the four-day duty rotation, but he has to work an extra two hours a day. Needless to say, I'm feeling a bit jerked around at this point.

I still haven't heard from half of the literary agents I have queried so far. All the other responses have been "no". I'm not feeling very hopeful about my chances. After bugging me to finish the manuscript, my mom isn't going to read it. Neither is my husband. In fact, I'm not sure anyone is reading it right now. If my family doesn't want to read it, why would anyone else? Maybe I should go the way of Rowling and Paolini and write the next blockbuster YA fantasy series.

I could use a better week.

Still Waiting

So baby William still hasn't arrived yet, though he's so close it's worrisome. If he were any lower into the birth canal, he'd be waving at me. So for now, I'm just sitting around waiting for labor to start. It's so frustrating. However, if he doesn't make an appearance by the 15th, my nurse will schedule me to be induced. As much as I wish for a natural birth, I can't really risk William getting any larger. I'm beyond huge and walk like an old woman. See?



I celebrated my 27th birthday a few days ago, but had to do a before-and-after day celebration because my husband was on duty...again. Fortunately, his duty rotation was recently changed to every four days instead of three, so maybe he'll actually be around for the next special occasion. Aside from my birthday, he missed Christmas and New Years. But such is Navy life, and I managed to have a decent birthday anyway despite being huge with child and sick with a horrid cold. Besides, I'm proud to have a husband who is serving his country.

In the meantime, I've been going jewelry crazy. I received several jewelry-making books for Christmas and lots of cash for supplies, so I've been making new pieces about every other day. Check it out:

"Party Time" earrings


"Raspberry Delight"
(Yes, I did make that silver pendant!)


"Rose Web"


"Summer Love"


I think making jewelry is better than taking Prozac. Shhh! Don't tell!

Old Ends and New Beginnings

Well, friends, my long pregnancy is finally drawing to a close. The official word is that I can go into labor at any time now. I feel it, too.

I'd love to say that it seems like only yesterday I was posting the results of my pregnancy test on this blog, but that wouldn't be accurate at all. It feels like eons. So much has happened in the past year...like two years crammed into one. And life doesn't appear to be slowing down anytime soon. Such is life in the military.

But today marks the beginning of a new year, and I'm looking forward to finally holding my son in my arms. Life may still be hectic, but at least it will be different, and I'll have discovered a new love: a mother's love. Only in the past few weeks have I tasted the power of this new feeling...lying awake at night imagining my baby suckling at my breast, the smell of his new skin, his soft head against my shoulder. And then all the fears and worries: SIDS, falling, running out into the street, choking, getting beat up at school, falling in love too young...the scenarios play in my head like a bad Lifetime movie. Sometimes I just have to shut it out...and believe that everything will work out just fine.

Wishing all of you a beautiful new beginning!

Merry, Merry Christmas

Yes, dear readers, I'm still here. I haven't gone into labor yet, although the time is drawing near. I had my first real contraction yesterday, and my back and abdomen still feel tight and achy. We'll see what happens today. I'm sooo ready to meet little William!

Unfortunately, I'm spending today alone in the apartment. My husband was assigned 24 hour duty on Christmas day, so I won't see him until 9 or so tomorrow morning. We celebrated Christmas yesterday by opening all of our gifts. I managed to surprise my husband with an expensive, high-powered flashlight that he had been eying online. The thing can light up a building. My gift? A Plano 777 tackle box from Bass Pro Shop. Now, I know what you're thinking: a tackle box? Well, I've been waiting for weeks to get my hands on it. I'm using it as a bead caddy and tool organizer for my jewelry-making hobby. I spent two hours or so yesterday setting up all the compartments and arranging everything (it's a HUGE tackle box). I was more excited than a kid in a candy store...still am. I'll be making some more jewelry today.

In the time I haven't been blogging or playing with my tackle box, I've been trying to get everything ready for William's (and my mother-in-law's) arrival. So far I've stocked our freezer with 2 quarts of New England Clam Chowder, 24 burritos, 3 nine-inch deep dish chicken pot pies, and 16 chicken burger patties...all homemade by yours truly. I've also been cleaning and organizing the apartment bit by bit. One thing that has helped tremendously: a new computer desk. Up until a few days ago, the computer and all related electronic devices took up residence on the dining table. It looked terrible. When we moved everything to the new desk, I exclaimed, "Wow! It almost looks like people live here!"

As far as my mood...well, right now I feel relatively stable most of the time. The problem is that with the birth approaching, my hormones tend to fluctuate randomly. I'll be riding in the car or cooking and suddenly feel like crying for no reason. It's a bit unsettling.

As far as my dark secret goes, I haven't told my brother yet. I'm waiting for the holidays to pass first. No need to insert drama in what should be a happy time. Ignorance really can be bliss.

Hope you all are having the most wonderful Christmas ever.

Bending Over is Hard to Do, etc.

Have I told you lately how much I love you, dear readers? After so many long absences, you're still here! Thank you!

Yes, nearly six weeks have passed since my last post, but I have a very good excuse. A few days ago, my husband and I moved out of state. After months of waiting for his military orders, we finally received them about three weeks ago. My new home? Newport News, VA, about a seven hour drive from the military base in Charleston, SC. So in less than two weeks, I went to my last doctors' appointments, resigned from my beloved tutoring job, and helped my husband pack all of our possessions, clean the house, and shop for an apartment in VA--all while entering the third trimester of my pregnancy.

Did I really sign up for this? Really?

Needless to say, it's been a tough go. On the second day of apartment shopping, I ended up on my hands and knees barking up my stomach onto the beautifully manicured lawn of the Newport News Hilton Garden Inn where we were staying. Not a good day for me.

Fortunately, the rest of the move went smoothly enough, but I'm beginning to slow down even more than usual. Carrying around an extra 20 lbs. on my small frame isn't easy. I can barely bend down far enough to put on my socks, let alone see my feet when standing. My belly grows by the day now. I waddle everywhere I go. And my energy (as well as my ability to think clearly) comes and goes in alarming ways.

However, my biggest problem lately has been abdominal cramps. Too much walking or bending causes sudden dull pains to shoot through my abdomen, so I've been trying to rest whenever possible. I don't want to end up with a newborn in my arms before Thanksgiving. All I have in the nursery right now is a changing table and a bouncy seat!

Despite everything, though, I'm happier than I've been in a long while. Right now, my husband and I have a beautiful apartment in a quiet community where the leaves are just turning brilliant in the cool fall weather. I feel a bit more settled into my pregnancy despite occasional discomforts. And I'm sure the double dose of Prozac isn't hurting either. :-)

Next on the list: visit family in TN, inform my health insurance provider of my new address, procure a new OB, sign up for birthing classes, and write a birth plan. Hopefully, I'll find some time for blogging as well.

Gray Days

Last week marked the one-year anniversary of my father-in-law's tragic death. I had planned to write a post in honor of his memory, but alas! I failed.

Today marks week 19 in my pregnancy. I was planning on writing about that, too, but I don't think I will.

I'm trapped within a series of gray days. I'm not sad or wandering around in the dark, but I feel...what's the modern term?..."meh." I haven't touched my Japanese language program in days. Kitchen floors in mud huts are cleaner than mine is right now. Laundry is piling up in the closet. And I still have yet to work on finishing my novel.

My OB asked me two weeks ago to get a blood test to check my thyroid; I finally had it done yesterday.

This morning, I lay in bed and thought about why I might be feeling this way. I concluded that I feel like I have no control over anything. Right now, I'm waiting to hear whether or not I'll be tutoring again this fall. (The college where I work is having budgeting problems.) My schedule upon return--if I return--will determine whether I will be able to go to TN in September to visit my parents. I'm also waiting to hear whether we'll be moving in October or staying in SC until January, as well as waiting to hear where we will be moving when the time comes.

In the meantime, I'm still battling through this pregnancy. Last week, I came down with a 36-hour stomach virus. I puked so much that I nearly ended up going to the ER. Thankfully, the baby is ok. I feel the little one moving and kicking away every day now. (The six-inch bugger is strong!) However, I'm still struggling to gain weight. At almost halfway through my pregnancy, I have gained less than 10 pounds. I stepped on the scale this morning and discovered that I've actually lost two pounds in the past couple of weeks.

At the same time, I've been experiencing fairly strong heart palpitations. I stopped by my OB's office yesterday to ask if I should be concerned about them, and she wrote me a referral to see a cardiologist. I'm currently waiting by the phone to find out when my appointment is. (I'm also thanking God right now that I have amazing health insurance through the Navy.)

In short, I'm waiting to receive information on how...or when, or if...my life is going to change. Until then, I'm just stuck in the endless gray fog of uncertainty, unable to move. Today I am a ship without a rudder, blown to and fro by the fickle winds of life, without a say in where I'm going. If it weren't for my doctors' appointments, I might not even know what day it is.

Stress sucks.

Carpe Noctem

Midnight shift. That's what my husband is doing this week in the Navy. He goes to work around 7 p.m., comes home around 8 a.m., then spends most of his time at home sleeping. Wouldn't you? I would. I did a brief stint in the Army after I graduated from high school, and I got a taste of the midnight training shift myself. It blows monkey chunks. (Obviously, things didn't work out for me in the Army.) But yesterday, a slight reprieve. He woke up early and I felt human, so we went out to eat before his shift.

I don't mind the long hours alone too terribly. I can usually find something to keep me amused. I can stream Netflix movies to my Xbox, read a book, or study Japanese. Oh, yeah. I recently purchased the Rosetta Stone Japanese language program, and it rocks! It's a great thing to do when I'm stuck on the couch. And, of course, if all else fails, there's always housework. (Today, for instance, I need to buy groceries--before we run out of food and starve.)

It's going to bed at night that's the hard part. Not that the bed is empty, but the house is. Empty and quiet. When I go to bed, I have to check the locks and turn out the lights. Walking through the empty house when it's dark outside can be a little creepy. (Welcome to the Navy.) Of course, the real bogeymen are all in my head.

Last night, when I laid down to go to sleep, a strange and wonderful thing: I found a sweet scent on my pillow, as if an angel had touched it. The smell was delicious. I don't think I have anything like it in the house. I buried my nose in it and drifted off to sleep. This morning, when I woke up, I couldn't find it again. I had smothered it in the night with my stink. (With my heightened sense of smell, sniffing around anything these days can be dangerous--for my stomach, anyway.)

Oh, sweet scent, where did you go? Will you return again someday?