- Being super mom. My daughter likely won’t be the one enjoying vegetables lovingly cut and carefully shaped into adorable cartoon characters. She’ll probably know a host of swear words before she’s 5. Her hair will likely be tangled, and her meals will most certainly originate from cans and boxes far too often. You know what? She’ll be fine. And what’s more? I will, too.
- Attending functions purely because I feel guilty and/or obligated to do so. Fine: I’ll go to the occasional funeral or wedding when social norms absolutely require it, but your fifth cousin’s half-birthday celebration? Your 14th Christmas celebration of the season? Nope. And I’m not even gonna offer an excuse for my absence.
- Wearing makeup. I don’t like it. It feels gross. I’m never gonna do it again.
- Making the bed. A seriously colossal waste of time and energy. You know what’s awesome? Cuddling into a ridiculously unkempt pile of blankets at the end of every night.
- Caring about what anyone else thinks. I just don’t. If you think I’m a terrible person doing terrible things and thinking terrible thoughts, then you clearly don’t know anything about me.
- Being around people who speak negatively about other people. I don’t wanna hear your insecure, angry, mean, and incoherent ramblings about so-and-so’s clothes, or so-and-so’s drinking problem, or so-and-so’s choice to take a new job. I’m sorry that your life is so boring and unsatisfying that you feel the need to gossip about other people, but don’t drag me into your pointless, inane drama.
I’ve learned a lot about being pregnant in the last 16 weeks. I’ll start with some of the basics, and will add more in the coming days and weeks.
- Words like “miracle” and “precious” and “exciting” and “blessing” and “joyful” mean nothing. Zero. You hear them often, from friends and relatives and well-wishers who are not the ones holding back your hair as you sweat and cry and spit over the toilet.
- It is not okay to admit that you sometimes refer to the little thing growing inside you as “this little asshole.” Or sometimes worse.
- Although you want this baby, although you were trying to conceive this baby, although you are committed to being a fantastic mother — you cannot explain that carrying this baby does not feel fun or rewarding or invigorating or “joyful” or “exciting”. There is no glow. You lose your balance, your lunch, your dignity, your sense of an autonomous self.
- You cannot smack people who refuse to acknowledge that you are still very much alive and breathing, that you do, in fact, still matter as a human being. When people ask how you’re doing, it’s best not to answer honestly — unless you’re honestly feeling like a glowing, beautiful, invigorated miracle-maker! If you tell people you’re scared shitless and feeling miserable, their responses will go something like this: “But the baby’s okay, right?” or “Don’t feel bad; it’s hard on the baby!” or “As long as that baby is okay, you’re just fine!” I’m grasping for an F-word right now, but…
- F-words are really not becoming for those beautiful, precious, glowing miracle-makers we call “mothers.” Really, Rachel…clean up the language.
Hello friends! It’s been a while. What’s happened since I last wrote?
Lucky died. I had to put her down on May 16; her whole body was shutting down and the vet didn’t give me any options or choice. She wouldn’t even move when we got home from work. It was sad. Real sad. But Lucks was the best girl in the world, and she loved me more than anything, and I gave her a good, good life. I wish she could’ve lived for 800 years.
Also, Nate and I got married on May 10. That wasn’t a big surprise, but we didn’t schedule it until May 9 We’d been planning to get married since last year, so it’s nice to have it be “official” now. For whatever that’s worth.
Also, I’m pregnant. I feel pretty miserable. Due in late December. We were trying to conceive, so we’re both really excited. I’ll be more excited when I feel better.
And that’s all for now.
I’ve been getting a little sad about Lucky lately. She’ll turn 11 years old on February 11 (her golden birthday!), and I’ve had her for almost 10-1/2 of those 11 years. She is my pal; we have a profound mystical understanding. My little Lucky girl. I love her so, so much.
She’s been really stiff. I’m hoping it’s the cold weather, but I do recognize that she’s not a young pup anymore. She doesn’t wanna get up on furniture anymore — and when she does, she gets frantic and has to strategize about how to get back down for at least 5 minutes before she’ll jump. She cries if you touch her anywhere behind her mid-back. She will no longer allow me to pick her up.
If you know Lucks in real life, then you know she’s a really shy and fearful dog. She’s scared of pretty much everything in this crazy, mixed-up world — except me. So my one wish in this world is that, when it is “her time,” she can die in her sleep, in this house. I do not want to ever have to make a decision to put her down, because I cannot stand the thought of her last hours/minutes being filled with terror and dread. Even if I paid to have someone come to our house to put her down (which I would do, if it came to that), she’ll still be terrified. (Finny was different, as you know: he was happy as a lark walking into the vet’s office for his “final appointment.” It was a good, good day for him–until it wasn’t, at which point he had no idea what was going on, anyway.)
Anyway, I just get sad thinking about my lucky-lady. She’s been my snuggle-head for so long, and she’s so patient about everything. She’s perfectly well-behaved, she causes no problems whatsoever, and we’re just BFFs. Maybe it sounds pathetic to you, but it’s true. We’re super-pals.
Then I look at this picture, and I think this world will just absolutely suck when I don’t have either of these two.
I saw this and immediately remembered all the hours Dad and I spent reading The Little Engine That Could. I think I gave my copy of that book to my little brother when he had his first daughter. Blort.
(I believe the words in the book are “I thought I could-I thought I could-I thought I could” — and not what’s below. Ryan — wanna check the book and let me know?)