God IS a man

And I have my doubts about Mother Nature's true gender also.

At around 9:30 last night, it all started. Every 10-12 minutes I doubled over, and I was happy about it! I got a bag ready for Zoe and made a list of things I thought I would need at the hospital -- which amounted to my medication and a camera -- and waited. By midnight I decided that I better have my last meal, and I made a quesadilla and crawled back into bed. Joe was showered and ready to go. By 2 a.m. I was in a fair amount of pain, but sleepiness took over.

When I woke up today... nothing.

Nothing at all.

For three hours now I've found a ton of excuses to go up and down the stairs, and still nothing.

Grrrrrr.

Revenge of the Body Snatcher

I went to Giant Eagle tonight, and I realized as I was loading the trunk that I bought groceries as though I'd be cooking all week. Didn't even give it a second thought.

I must have reached and passed some magical marker where people start asking when. Sunday. SUNDAY, OK? IT'S SUPPOSED TO BE SUNDAY BUT I AIN'T FEELING IT!!

I think the baby has dropped, finally. I feel different, I think I look a little different. I have a different set of uncomfortable complaints. But some women drop months in advance. I tell myself the only thing I can count on is that the doctors won't let me keep this in beyond December. Will they?

I was reading up on some ways to "get ready." Where were we before Google? I found tons of real medical information as well as some sites by midwives who swear by certain tinctures and remedies. One suggestion was black cohash, I think, but it isn't supposed to be used by hypertensive women. Another was castor oil -- but beware! If it doesn't work, one will spend a couple of days in the bathroom. In agony.

And then there was evening primrose oil, applied directly to the cervix. Hmmm. In 33 years I managed to avoid learning how to exactly pinpoint the location of the cervix. Then I found one suggestion I might be able to live with: stimulating the breasts. How hard could that be? Reading on I found that one should take a break from that every four or five hours or so.

I decided I had better things to do with my time.

I stopped working Tuesday. I was celebrating my first couple of hours of freedom -- walking aimlessly from room to room before settling down on the couch for a nap -- when the school nurse called. Zoe had pneumonia.

There's nothing better to take your mind off an impending birth than a 5-year-old with pneumonia. Day and night, I nursed her coughs and sponged her down to control the fever. Even on antibiotics, she developed an ear infection too. All this, just a couple weeks after a bout with croup.

I asked the doctor if there was any earthly way I could keep her healthy. "Oh, she'll be fine in first grade," she said.

I'm pretty sure I heard the same thing when she was in preschool. "Oh, she'll be fine when she gets to kindergarten......."

She's better now, and I think I've warded off the worst of it. So.... back to agonizing over my lack of progression.



I should invite a bunch of people over for pot roast on Sunday. Maybe that will get this ball moving.

Almost there!

This past week has been agonizing.

I'm officially a week away from my due date, and it's all I can think about. I've had a couple of good days, ones where I've actually finished all the laundry in one shot or gotten all my Christmas shopping done, but most days I'm so tired that it seems like all I do is sleep. And when I am awake, I agonize about all the sleeping I'm doing.

When I mention to someone that I can't understand why I'm so unbelievably tired, they just laugh and point out my midsection. Ha ha. But this is frightening tired, like all of a sudden I have to just sleep. And then I'm out not for 20 minutes or an hour, but three, four hours.

And I'm still tired.

The reason this worries the most: Will I have the stamina for childbirth?

I guess I can't possibly sleep through it, but it sure would be more pleasant if I were better equipped, mentally and physically.

I've been having contractions since before Thanksgiving, but every time I go to the doctor, it's the same thing: half a centimeter dilated. Half a centimeter. Half a centimeter...

Knowing how hard it was to evict Zoe, I dread another episode of that. She was 11 days late and put me in labor for 33 hours. My friends point out that most second babies come earlier and easier. Yeah, if this one is nine days late and only 24 hours worth of labor, that's still earlier and easier!!

I had to take the end of last week off work. I went in on Wednesday and was immediately sobbing at my desk. Why, I don't know. I just kept telling myself that it was time to stop crying. "Self, time to stop crying," I kept saying. But I didn't listen. I didn't think I'd go back this coming week, but I'm going to give it a shot. I think I've given my boss a pretty good indication of my precarious mental state, so if the time comes to throw in the towel on a paycheck, I'll have done my best.



I had this brilliant idea to cook Christmas dinner for 10 people so I wouldn't have to take the baby out of the house. Just Joe's parents and brother, and my father and siblings. First I got my sister to agree to help me, then Joe's mom got on board with turkey and lasagna. Then my sister tells me tonight that my dad doesn't want to come (and I don't understand why I have to always hear shit like this through my sister) so she's not coming either. And she didn't feel like cooking for all those people anyway.

Gee, thanks guys. I really wasn't putting myself out by preparing a feast a week after popping a kid out, so no big deal. I was actually thinking that I'd rather drag a brand new baby out into the cold and into Dad's cigar-smoke-filled house, so this works out so much better. I'll bring my sitz bath on the off chance I'm a wee bit uncomfortable.

OK, sarcasm aside... I'm just going to cook. And whoever shows up, shows up, and I ain't gonna worry about it. "Self, don't worry about it," I'll keep saying.

Maybe I'll listen.

God, sometimes I miss Florida so much!!!

Getting closer

"I lean against the wind,
Pretend I am weightless,
And in this moment
I am happy happy."

I Wish You Were Here - Incubus



Bob chastised me today for not writing in the blog when I was happy. So, I guess I have to update it: I am happy!

He's not exactly right... I have so much to write about but I am so very tired all the time. There was one day last week when I slept in until about 10, came home from work and threw Zoe in the tub and went back to bed. I actually almost felt like myself the next day. Only a little tired.

I am at 35 weeks... for those like me who can't do math, that's five weeks away from popping out this kid. (I actually had to have the doctor's receptionist count this for me.) Because of the high blood pressure, I have to go once a week for a non-stress test to monitor the baby. They strap me to a machine that registers the heartbeat and movement. I'm supposed to help by hitting a buzzer every time the baby moves, but I tend to lie on the table and promptly fall asleep.

Zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz.

Work has been.... not so good. I came dangerously close to quitting several times. Coupled with the fact that I hadn't lifted a finger to prepare for the baby, I was really feeling close to just falling apart. So last weekend I made Joe go to Baby Depot and we bought nearly everything we needed. It made me feel like I had at least that little bit under control. Of course, when we got home, I realized I hadn't bought a single blanket and very few clothes.

Which was OK. The very next day, my family threw me a surprise shower, and most of what they gave me included clothes and blankets. Woo-hoo! But the shower also helped me feel a little bit more like I had it together. I really wasn't expecting it: They all created their own elaborate ruses to throw me off, and I really believed I was headed to a home interiors party. (And I was feeling so detached from everything that I was actually HAPPY to be going to a home interiors party!) Even a cousin from Maryland and my aunt from Gettysburg came in for the shower.

It's hard to get over on me; I can't believe they pulled it off. One of my aunts made blankets for the baby and Zoe and towels even -- and little tiny washcloths. I was just stunned by all of it. When I came home and spread out all the stuff on the floor, Joe commented on how happy I was. I was. I am.

For the first time, I felt like I was ready for all this!

Joe and I ditched the counseling, and things have been great ever since. I think the reason why there's been so much improvement is because we stopped hoarding stuff when we got upset. Before we wouldn't talk and instead save up the problems, and then we'd just go unload all this shit on the counselor. Now, it's quickly out with it and over with. We haven't fought once since the last appointment. A few days after that appointment, he told me he had rented a truck to move some of our furniture around... and I was confused. Why? Zoe and I would be leaving. That led to a conversation about the bigger picture we were facing and how we wanted to handle things....

And how much we really loved each other and wanted to get this bullshit back to good.

I don't know what to say or think about all of this. I don't know if things will stay happy or get worse again before they get better. But I do know that he makes me laugh from my gut and takes care of little errands that I forget to even mention and I love it when I can feel him watching me when he thinks I'm sleeping. Of course, he may be plotting to get an ax from the basement and finish me off, but I'd like to believe that he just gets the same kick out of us enjoying the hell out of each other.

I'll update more soon. I have photos I haven't figured out how to get onto my new laptop to post: Zoe in the pumpkin patch, on Halloween, the wacky weather here....

Zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz.

Powerless

It's taken me all day to come to grips with myself.

Anger, bitterness, sadness, longing to live happily ever after, disgust... I've gone through them all about a dozen times each. I think I was trying to get myself to stick with one and get on with it, but now I'm convinced I'm going to have to just let them come and go until they have less and less meaning to me.

Patience is the biggest thing I'm lacking. I have no patience with all this emotion, and I have no patience with not knowing what is coming tomorrow.

Joe did offer to let me remain living in the house. I got a text message late morning saying he didn't want me to go through the pregnancy alone and that he wouldn't ask me to leave. Lots of responses game to mind, like "Oh, that's fucking big of you," "I wasn't planning on leaving anyway, asshole," "What on earth makes you think I'd want to stay here," and others. But ultimately I just typed back, "Thank you."

The truth is, if I want to take time off with the baby, I'll need to be here. I can't afford to otherwise. And as painful as it will be, I think it will become less painful and even bearable. Like it did throughout the evening.

Joe is lying on the couch sleeping with the baseball game on. I've been up and down doing a few things and finally stopped to do what I've wanted to for a few days: I just looked at him. I took a few minutes and just looked at him. He's just a man, lying there sleeping, and he'll wake up and go to bed and have to check the baseball score in the morning, like he always does, because he couldn't make it past the first couple of innings. Just a guy.

It was good to be near him and not get all anxious or mad or sappy or anything. There was nothing. He's just a guy. Balding on top, getting grayer, getting a little wider in the middle. Just a guy.

Just who the fuck gave him all that power over my emotions?

No more!

I hope.

How did I get here?

"I'm just wondering why I feel so all alone,
Why I'm a stranger in my own life."

-- Every Day is a Winding Road, Sheryl Crow



About 20 minutes into our counseling session today, I took of my engagement ring and declared that I had had enough.

Part of me wanted to slide it across the table at him, but luckily I had the peace of mind to place it on the table in front of me. After all, since he was the first one to declare HE had had enough, that might constitute breaking off the engagement. I have all the intention in the world of keeping that ring. If he insists on having it back, I'll offer to sell it and split the cost with him.

I'm going to be a little angry for a while, even sad. I'm going to have a baby by myself and I think I'm entitled to be a little bitchy about the fact that he led me up to the open gate only to close it behind me. But my goal is to let it all go and focus on the positive. I don't have to spend any more sleepless nights wondering when he'll start talking to me again. I won't have to worry about how much worse things will get between us with the added stress of a newborn in the house. I won't have to feel cautious about enjoying the good times, just waiting for him to clam up and retreat again as I wonder what it's all about this time.

I came to the conclusion that I just don't understand what makes this man tick. He seems to have it all figured out though, and I have to pay for what anyone in all of his 52 years has done to him. God, I hope I'm not like that when I'm his age.

I'm going to take a few days and just mope. Then I'll decide what to do next. I'm already feeling stronger. I actually smiled just a little while ago when I thought about being allowed to live under the same roof as my dogs again. Ah, freedom.

I keep looking around me wondering how I let it get this far. I wonder where the hope went. I wonder why I don't feel more relieved.

THE FIRST World Series

I stood on the very spot of it.

We are doing a story about Exposition Park, which was the ballfied the Pirates used before Forbes Field, which is the ballfield they used before Three Rivers Stadium, which is the ballfield they used before PNC Park.

I didn't know anything existed before Three Rivers, mostly because I didn't exist before Three Rivers.

I am enlightened now. The first World Series was played in 1903, after Pittsburgh challenged Boston to a postseason championship. I think the Pirates were called the Pirates then, but Boston had some funny ass name that I can't remember now. Anyway, several of the games in this series were played in Pittsburgh at Exposition Park, which used to be somewhere between where Heinz Field and PNC Park are today. Three Rivers may have been built right on top of where this old park was; I probably should have read the story more carefully, but I was so excited to learn that some survey crew had actually located the bases of Exposition Park and painted them in some parking lot on the North Side that I was beside myself. I mean, I grew up here, but I never heard of such nonsense!

I walked over... it's practically outside the back door of the building I work in. And it wasn't hard to find. There were the bases, painted in the parking lot. The site of the first World Series. And I stood there at home plate. How cool is that? Any idiot can go over and stand in the same spot. Tailgaters park on top of the site all the time and probably never realize what it is they are pissing onto.


The worn paint marking where home plate was in Exposition Park.

I had taken Joe over to the parking lot with me to check it out, and he was skeptical. "I bet it's some wiffle ball thing." Back at the office I dug up some actual proof. You can read more about it here. If I remember, I'll come back and link to our story when it's published.

Joe is a baseball buff and he's never heard of these marked bases. In fact, I haven't been able to find anyone who knows about this. Nor do I understand why I'm so fascinated by it, since I couldn't care less about baseball. Though I did go to a couple of games this season, including the last Pirates game, when Freddy Sanchez secured the batting title. And that's way more than I need to be knowing about baseball.

While I was sad to see Three Rivers go, my first trip to PNC Park left me super-impressed:



It is a marvel in its time, much like Exposition Park was for its time.

The Pirates, by the way, lost that first World Series.

The honeymoon is over

"I decided long ago never to walk in anyone's shadows.
If I fail, if I succeed, at least I live as I believe."

-- Greatest Love of All, Whitney Houston



I came home from work last night and fell asleep. I was exhausted! Going to work takes it all out of me.

When I woke up, Joe was feeding Zoe dinner. He seemed irritated, but when I asked him what was wrong, he told me nothing. In his passive-aggressive way, he did little things all night that were designed to irritate me, but he still denied anything was wrong. We ended up watching the Steelers game in separate parts of the house.

After the Steelers tanked, I went upstairs. Joe was already asleep, with the TV and the lights off. I got ready for bed and climbed in. And, he woke. And left for a while. When he came back upstairs, he was fuming about a missing flashlight. "It was in the basket in the bathroom. Where did it go???"

"What do you need a flashlight for?" I asked him.

"What does that matter? If I put something somewhere, it should stay there. No one needs to be touching my stuff."

I knew where he was going with this, but he didn't quite go there. He was pissed because Zoe made off with his flashlight. But he had been pissed about something all night. It couldn't be the flashlight.

"Well, put your stuff where she can't get to it if you don't want her touching it," I said. He had already rolled over and pretended to sleep.

The longer I laid there awake, thinking about it, the more pissed I became. Since we moved back in with Joe about a month ago, things were relatively good, but for the past week he's been badgering me about Zoe left and right, about her behavior and her appearance and the number of toys she has... everything. And he'll say disparaging stuff about her right in front of her. The more I laid there and pieced all this together, the more angry I felt myself becoming. So, knowing we had a counseling appointment the next day, I got up and slept in Zoe's room with the intention of letting it all go until I got to the appointment.

And I did. I fell right to sleep, and I spent my morning avoiding thinking about the whole stupid flashlight thing. This.... may have been a mistake. Had I thought about it more, I might have been able to frame a rational discussion in my mind for the counseling session, but instead I found myself going in with guns blazing.

I just didn't realize how fucking MAD I was about it. And I left there even madder.

Joe sat there and said that Zoe never listens to him. I countered: He doesn't speak to her directly, but instead asks me to correct her. Or he speaks to her so quietly that she doesn't even hear him. Literally. Or he'll say shit like, "There she goes again," instead of actually talking to her and telling her what he expects from her.

He complained that I don't back him up when he does correct her. Which is a flat-out lie, because at our last session I was charged with providing support when he corrected her, and I have, without hesitation, even when I didn't agree with him. Then the "discussion" (i.e. me yapping hysterically while Joe sat smugly claiming he was right on every point) turned to why I don't agree with all his rules. OH. MY. GOD. Because if we followed all his rules, Zoe would have to behave like a robot.

Hey, I'm the first to admit I'm too lax on my kid. But the other day, he wouldn't even let her sit on the couch because "she might jump on it." And you know what? I backed him up when he told her not to get on the couch. And I waited until she was out of the room before I asked him what the hell he was doing. In the counseling session, he claimed all his rules were in the best interests of Zoe's safety. What the fuck ever. How about the best interests of her self-esteem??

Here's an example of my rules:
1. Nothing except water goes in the mouth after brushing teeth before bed.
2. No kids near the stove unless closely supervised by an adult.
3. All dirty clothes must go in the dirty laundry basket.

Here's an example of Joe's:
1. No children are allowed in the bedroom or the study.
2. Zoe is not allowed to touch anything in the house -- including the walls -- except her toys.
3. At no time are bare feet allowed outside and then back inside without thorough disinfecting.

As you can see, we have slightly different parenting styles.

In the counseling session, Joe also told me that my sister had quizzed him about whether Zoe listens to him. He used that as evidence of my mediocre parenting: "See, even your family thinks she's out of control." When I called my sister tonight to complain, I asked her about it. She laughed and said he did in fact ask him that, but more because Zoe seemed to have no interest in Joe, nor Joe in Zoe in her observations. She said she was trying to get a feel for the relationship between them. Or the lack of one.

I felt like I got nothing out of the session today, except that I realized how much this stuff had been bothering me. I stated more than once that I felt like Joe was backing me into a corner with his ultimatums on how I handle Zoe in regard to the rules he wants set and enforced, especially when 1. I don't agree with most of them and 2. he isn't willing to "look like a bad guy," as he says, and try handling his wants himself. But considering I spent most of the session barking and swearing and yelling, I'm not sure if my communication was at all effective.

We have another appointment in a week. So far, 12 hours after this one, we haven't spoken a word to each other.

It should be a fun week.

Happy Labor Day

The past few weeks have been busy as hell. We moved back to Joe's, Zoe started kindergarten, work got nuts before Pittsburgh's mayor finally died, and Zoe turned five!


Zoe celebrates her graduation from preschool.


The first day of school: Zoe gets right on the bus and waves bye to Mom.


A birthday picnic at Pap Pap's house!


Zoe snaps photos around the house.

With all the recent stress, I'm so glad there was an extra day off this weekend. I don't know how I would have been able to keep going without it.

Work vs. play vs. work

"As sure as night is dark and day is light,
I keep you on my mind both day and night,
And happiness I've known proves that it's right.
Because you're mine, I walk the line."

-- I Walk the Line, Johnny Cash



I was all over my calendar today... marking up everything from car appointments to next year's camping trip with my cousins. Coincidentally, my boss had me double-checking my vacation days spent, which turned out to be a good idea; he had marked down Saturdays and Sundays -- my days off -- that were counting against me.

Emails were flying around work with various invitations to this and that, going-away parties, gallery receptions, company picnics, NFL exhibition games. This must be the busy social season in Pittsburgh: hurry up and do stuff before it starts snowing.

Joe came over and asked about me attending a city editor's going-away party, hosted by another editor and his wife. I had gotten that invitation in a mass email but promptly dismissed it: It was an editor I had barely exchanged words with. I know that Joe is close to few in the newsroom and these guys... are pretty much them. But I never expected he'd want to drag me along to this event.

In fact, it hit me like a ton of bricks when he asked me.

Joe is an extremely private person. In fact, last weekend, he told his parents for the first time about us having a child together. And as far as work goes, I figure a lot of people probably have put two and two together about us: High-ranking editor involved with young new hire -- and whoa, she's pregnant. But only a few close to Joe have confirmed with him our relationship, and no one I work with directly has even had the balls to hint about the rumors being true.

I noticed even The Editor has had me in his office only once since I became obviously swelled.

Joe and I have been getting along fabulously, so this isn't about any skepticism or trepidation I might have about our future. In fact, I have seen enormous changes in our relationship since our separation, which I think served as more of a wake-up call for us to get out of our short-lived dreamy new-relationship fuzz and get on with reality than it signaled any underlying deal-breaking obstacles. If I had any doubts at all about being in love with him before the separation, they are gone now.

But.... publicly outing ourselves... with coworkers...

....who are reporters and editors... and unnaturally curious....

I KNOW this is a case of me paying more attention to the circumstances than any of my coworkers would dare spend more than a few moments thinking about, but I just imagine me making a total fool of myself, or Joe, when these people are really his social circle and not mine. Or slightly worse, that I'll bear witness to them making fools of themselves. Or that my working relationship will change with them, for better or for worse.

Too much thought, I know. I should just go, and hang on the arm of my loved one and let people get over the fact that we're so damn scandalous yet so damn normal.

AC, or no AC

"Don't you know it's a pity
That the days can't be like the nights
In the summer, in the city"

-- Summer in the City, Lovin' Spoonful




We had a few days of heat, heat, heat. But then, as suddenly as it came, and lingered, and lulled, it was gone. It still heats up during the day, but it drops to the high 50s at night.



On Friday before school, Zoe declared she was cold. She went to school in hat and gloves... kept them on for outings for much of the weekend.

It's still August here. It's still August everywhere else, right?

Driver's ed

My assimilation back to Pennsylvania has been a difficult journey. That journey has gotten only more difficult the more my car clunks and clatters and beeps at me.

A few weeks ago, I finally went for my PA driver's license. That turned into an ordeal because Florida suspended my license there, oh, back in February. Seems my old insurance company has the power to get my license suspended, and then the burden is on me to somehow KNOW that and report my new insurance.

I got that mess straightened out, and even got to keep my Florida license because some idiot didn't confiscate it from me as many times as I offered to hand it over. And then I went for my plate; it took AAA only a few days to transfer my title. It was a sad day, switching the Florida plate for the PA one. I no longer have the assumed excuse that I'm an out-of-towner, so therefore I can screw up more than the average driver.


Dad and Zoe do the dirty work.

In PA, a bunch of people have to look all over your car and smear glue on the inside of your windshield and smack a piece of paper to that in order for you to be allowed to drive. I have not been able to get my car to pass the emissions inspection because of some "oxygen" problem, even though just before I left Florida I had a mechanic who claimed he had fixed all the oxygen sensors throughout my car, even the ones in the visor. The mechanic my dad recommended here wasn't able to do the work (only the dealer can, he claimed), but he was able to conquer a pesky turn signal that was out.

The mechanic did say something about a leak behind my bell housing (hey, that's personal!) and that the computer revealed a secret code that translated into engine work he did not know how to perform. Which all translates into a bill I don't want to afford.

In the meantime, my dad, being the handy guy he is, decided he was going to "fix" the panel around the inside door handle that has been busted since the last time I took it to the dealer in Florida. It seems every time I take the car somewhere to get fixed, it comes back with more things wrong with it. I avoid service like some people avoid dentists.

Anyway, my dad mentioned after driving my car yesterday that the door was sticking. Sticking is an understatement. When I tried to open the door last night, it was like the world's largest wad of bubble gum was wedged in the door. The entire door panel had come loose and was jammed, and at that point I was still unaware my dad had attempted his little "fix."

For my entire drive to return movies, the car chirped at me. Not in a consistent, rhythmic manner, but in the most haphhazard, annoying, screwball manner you can imagine.

Be-beeeeeeep. Beep. Beeeeeeeeeeeeeeee-be-be-beep. Beep-beep. Beeeeep. Beeeeeeee-be-be-be-be-be-be-be-beeeep.

Beeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeep.

By the time I got to Joe's house, I was WEEPING. I figured the stupid mechanic did something to the car, and if I had his home number, he would have gotten an earful right at that moment.

It got better. At precisely 3:35 in the morning, the car alarm started blaring.



As soon as I hit my desk at work this morning, I was on the phone with the credit union. It's time for a new car. In the meantime, I have to remember to not set the alarm and to enter the car from the passenger side. In my condition, that's just damn entertaining.

Glad to be back in PA. There are plenty of gullies and hills and walls and valleys and rivers into which I can drive head-first if I get desperate.

Done deal

"I was alone, I took a ride,
I didn't know what I would find there;
Another road where maybe I could see
Another kind of mind there.

Ooh, then I suddenly see you.
Ooh, did I tell you I need you
Every single day of my life."

-- Got to Get You Into My Life, The Beatles



I'm going to be a grandmommy!


Yes, it's sort of true. Let me explain...

Joe has two grown daughters. They are nearly my age. And each has a son. And Joe and I made our engagement official.

I'm no math wizard, but I figure when we get married, that makes me a step-grandmother.

I just turned 33.

I have not met his girls, but since they live in Florida -- in BROWARD COUNTY, my recently abandoned second or third hometown -- I assume it won't be hard to cross paths with them at some point. I wish I could have met them before I have the baby, but it appears that possibility is disappearing. At this point I hope Joe tells them about our baby before it magically appears.



I got the ring last night, after my birthday dinner. Joe insisted on taking me to the Georgetown Inn in Mount Washington, (I think he is growing tired of my penchant for Eat N Park and my grieving for the defunct Chi-Chi's), and during the stroll back to the car, he kept asking me to hold things -- his wallet, his keys, some gum -- as he fished things out of his pockets. And then the ring appeared among the things he was handing me to hold. It wasn't the most romantic delivery, but I suspected it was coming and I think he knew that. The funny part is that he thought he had left the ring at the restaurant and was giving me his belongings to hold while earnestly fishing in his pockets for the prize.

It was no Chi-Chi's, but the food at the Georgetown was fucking awesome. And it's a beautiful ring. I thought about posting a photo of it, but I'm too embarrassed. Anyone who knows me and saw the size of the stone would laugh out loud -- it's worth enough to buy me my Payless shoe supply -- and my kids' -- for the rest of our lives. In fact, I've imagined the things I could trade it in for: A new kitchen, a roof, a new car....

But what's a girl going to do?

I'll probably just start sending my soon-to-be step-grandkids toys that are too young for them and clothes that are too small for them and stock up on hard candy, start misplacing my car keys and go get fitted for dentures and a cane........

Happy birthdays to come

"God damn the wounds
That show how deep a word can cut."

-- Before You Were Born, Toad the Wet Sprocket



Yesterday was my birthday. Few people remembered. Joe greeted me as we woke up in the cabin (see the camping blog below), gave me a mushy card and promised to deliver my present on Friday. Dad called. Rebecca and Bob both called AND sang. And my sister-in-law and another friend in Florida left messages. And my brother handed me a card when I got back from lovely DuBois.

OK, everyone important remembered. Everyone who had any knowledge of my birthday anyway. And I know my sister remembered, because my dad told me she called and mentioned it, but she and I apparently are going through a no-talking spell. Last time we spoke on the phone she hung up on me and she won't return my emails, even though I owe her money. That's impressive. Even I am sweet as pie until someone pays up.

But no one celebrated happily that I'm 29 again! I hope to see some sort of dessert topped with candles this weekend.

The baby's birthday is on target too, according to the ultrasound today. Mid-December. The sonagram technician was all syrupy, telling me I better have my holiday shopping done by Thanksgiving. And she asked if we were interested in knowing the gender. But of course.

Joe and I were leaving the appointment when I began text-messaging the news to my sister-in-law. He stopped me, and suggested that we keep that news private. I thought about it for a second. I decided the sentiment was silly, but felt I should at least give the appearance I was giving it some consideration. My quiet pondering drove him crazy.

"Why do you always get like this when I try to talk to you about something?" he barked at me.

We were driving by then, and the argument ensued. It wasn't even about the baby's gender anymore. He was mad that I didn't give his feelings any weight and I was mad that he was telling me what I was allowed to tell people about this nine-pound gut hanging off the front of me.

I told people anyway. My family, my close friends. I know that should be a decision Joe and I both make, but I had no idea it mattered at all to him, and he didn't bring it up until moments after we found out. It didn't seem fair.

It will be a fun counseling session on Monday.

After I got home and calmed down, I saw no reason to keep it quiet. I'm the one struggling with my lopsided body, living with my father with no permanent home in sight, and I need all the support I can possibly get. Joe hasn't even told his family yet that he has another child on the way.

Let alone that it's a son.




Zoe and I both have to warm up to having a boy, since we both professed our desire for a girl. "Let's call him Millie," Zoe says.

Parker Dam State Park

We had a long weekend of camping. I've been back one full day, and I'm still tired!

Zoe had a wonderful time, sleeping on the top bunk and taking a shower like the big kids. She got to ride her bike with the cousins and didn't mind that she had the only three-wheeler. We swam at the beach and went hiking and roasted marshmallows and hot dogs on the campfire. There were four cabins split among my family members, so Zoe made her rounds every half an hour or so, knocking on doors for food.

I got in a little fishing and a sunburn. Ahhhh. This is what moving here was all about.

Some photos:

Veggie madness

My brother has grown the biggest kohlrabi I have ever seen. It measures 21 inches around and weighs about five and a half pounds.



For the uninitiated, kohlrabi (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Kohlrabi) normally ranges between the size of a tennis ball and a softball. We have yet to dig into this monster to determine if it tastes any different; for now, it is making its rounds through the neighborhood.

My brother also gave us a zucchini the size of my lower leg. I didn't get a photo of that, but there's sure to be more to come: Many gardeners often grow this yummy veggie too big to have any taste. But baked in the oven with a can of tomato sauce and smothered with American cheese, any vegetable tastes good. Even Zoe ate zucchini for the first time.

Who's on first?

"Floating in this cosmic Jacuzzi,
We are like frogs oblivious."

-- Warning, Incubus



All-Star fever hit Pittsburgh!


Fever is a strong word, unless one is referring to an illness. It ain't like we're hosting the World Series.

They (whoever that is) did clean up the city a bit though. I noticed on my way home from work yesterday, most of the potholes that I normally speed around were filled in over the weekend. And not just the big ones, the little ones too.

Along Route 51 (pronounced "Raht Fittywan"), garbage bags lined the guardrails. Whoever adopted that section of the road had gone all out to "redd up," as this big campaign to fool tourists into thinking our city is clean has been called.

Today I left work a little early thinking the traffic would be a nightmare. Our office is between PNC Park and Heinz Field, but there were fewer people on the roads and in parking lots than there were on Pirate game days. (And I don't have to say here how bad the Pirates sucked this season.) I actually made it to Zoe's preschool faster than I normally do.

And today on the way home it was fun to observe all the locals still swerving around phantom potholes. But the garbage bags along Route 51 had mostly been blown about and ripped open, the contents strewn along the shoulder and the bags waving from tree branches.

Luckily it seems mostly West Virginians and Ohioans were in town, judging by the evening news. The reporters couldn't even find someone from as far away as Indiana or Philadelphia to interview.



Dad is off this week. Again. How on earth do government employees get so much time off? What do their unions even bitch about nowadays? That three months of vacation a year isn't enough?

Anyway, he's been painting. I don't know what he does while I'm at work all day, but for two days, as I get home from work, he's gearing up to paint.

Today it was threatening rain, so he moved his painting operation to the basement -- that place beneath the house with no ventilation except the unusually large laundry chute that leads to the rest of the house. I was outside for much of the evening, and when I came in, I thought he MUST be painting the staircase or something, it was so strong. I mentioned sheepishly (sheepishly because the last time I complained about his cigar smoke setting off the carbon monoxide detector he told me to move out) that it was a wee bit overpowering.

He said he couldn't paint in the garage because his Explorer was in there. And he couldn't paint on the porch because... well, it might rain... on the porch. "I can't drag this out for a month," he told me.

Those cabinet doors have needed painted for 20 years. But he had to wait until I was back in Pittsburgh, pregnant, and coming in the door from work to paint them.

Then my potential landlord called and told me my credit was just fabulous, but he decided he didn't want to rent to someone with dogs.

I tried to bait Joe into inviting me over, but he didn't bite. So, I stuck me and Zoe in our bedrooms with towels under the doors and fans running at high speed. So far, so good.

Time to restart the rental search.

Looking, looking

"I have run,
I have crawled,
I have scaled these city walls
Only to be with you."

-- I Still Haven't Found What I'm Looking For, U2



I went out in search of nail clippers at 10:30 tonight. I went a couple miles in every direction and still came back empty-handed. Everything was closed.

When people ask me if I miss Florida, I don't hesistate: NO. But at certain times, such as when the need arises for nail clippers and I can't find mine, I'd like to be able to go to the store and just get them. In Fort Lauderdale, with a 24-hour Walgreens every block and a half or so, this wouldn't have been a problem.

Sory if my typping is not so goood. My nails aree realy lonng.

Pittsburgh must go to bed shortly after supper. After leaving a movie Saturday night, we found a sub shop right outside the theater was closed. And it was still somewhat light out.



I have been feeling a pain in my side lately and I was skeptical that it was, in fact, the baby. I went online to find one of those fetal development charts that walk you through week by week, and I realized I had no idea what week I was in. Fourteen? Fifteen? Then I realized, holy shit, we're well into July...

So, I counted backward from my due date and discovered that I am actually 18 weeks! I'm almost half way there!

Joe and I have been wavering about what to do with ourselves, and even (briefly, very briefly) considered me moving back in with him. But I think the plan we will stick to is me renting a place until we are sure we won't kill each other under the same roof.

We've looked at a few places, and the one I really like -- a three-bedroom, single-family home with a huge yard -- wouldn't allow pets. But the landlord was really nice and we spent way more time talking to him than we needed to after I found out he wouldn't allow my dogs.

But he called me Friday anyway. I told him again that I wanted a place that would allow my dogs, and he asked a lot of questions about them and said he'd get back to me when he ran my credit. He didn't come right out and say he'd rent to me with the dogs, but I was pretty clear that I wouldn't take the place otherwise.

And it's so cheap. I'd pay twice the rent for the same house in Lauderdale.

I feel like a loser renting, I don't know why. Maybe because I feel like I'm compromising too much for my relationship with Joe. But the fact of the matter is, if I found a house tomorrow, by the time I closed on it I would be too fat and tired to want to move boxes, let alone unpack them. I need to do something now.

Letting go

On Monday, Joe turned up an engagement ring.

No, not like that. Well, not exactly.

Last Thursday we had another counseling session. He almost didn't go, and I bet during that hour, he really wish he hadn't. I just let go. I was, uh, pretty passionate about letting him know exactly how I felt about him kicking me out of the house, and spent much of the hour expressing my, uh, passion on the issue.

I wouldn't say I was insulting (OK, maybe a little), but I was rather direct and, at times, loud.

At one point I used the word "fiancee," and the therapist jumped on this. "You two talked about marriage?"

You wouldn't know it by the way I was ranting. But then Joe told her something I didn't know: That he had had a ring ready to give to me. Since mid-May. It was a blip in the session and I didn't say anything about it at the time. I really thought he was just blowing smoke to cover his ass about all the stuff I was finally venting about.

I didn't really feel great after purging all that anger, even though I thought I would. So I just decided to turn things off, stay away from Joe for a while, go rent an apartment and think about all the big stuff later.

Friday morning, I went into the office and there was a plant on my desk. A peace lily, Joe pointed out later. I stood there at my desk crying. Good thing I was the only one in that early.

He sent me an email saying he was up most of the night thinking about everything I said, and when he did sleep he dreamed of me. Awwwwwww.

Fast-forward to Monday, after a weekend of communication, and we're driving around looking at rentals for me. And we're holding hands and he's telling the landlord that he's trying to sell his place and then he'd move into the rental with me so we could look to buy a home in earnest, with no time constraints. I know it's half bullshit, but it is a plan we had talked about in the past. And even though these were rentals, he's picking over them like he would be living there. All of this is bullshit, I'm telling myself. Stop feeling good.

We go back to his place for coffee. I don't know why, but I ask to see this ring. And he actually produced it. He said he was nervous about the size and had been trying to figure out my size before he gave it to me. He put it on my finger.... and it fit.

And it was big. I actually complained that it was too big. I'm the only woman in the world, I think, who would do that.

He said he'd get it polished and then I could wear it. I turned down the offer and told him to give it to me when he was more sure -- like, 100% sure -- he wanted to marry me. He didn't resist, and I don't think he was insulted.



For the Fourth, it was raining for most of the day. Municipalities threatened to call off fireworks. We had planned to go to the Regatta, but it didn't seem worth the effort. All the museums were closed, so Joe, Zoe and I went to play golf instead.

It was the first time Joe and Zoe were together since before the Florida trip. Zoe hadn't asked many questions about why we weren't staying at Joe's house, but when she did (usually she asked about a toy that was still there), I just told her that Joe and Mommy were mad but we were trying to be friends.

I was so reluctant to go, but when I told Zoe we were going to play golf with Joe, she was pleased. And Joe surprised me too. We played a round of miniature golf before hitting the driving range, and he didn't just display patience for her dragging her ball down each green, he really got into watching her, and he playfully scolded me for not helping her more. He even brought his ancient digital camera, something I had never seen him lug anywhere.

At one point Zoe hugged Joe at the knees and he rubbed the top of her head, and it felt like everything did five weeks ago. But surreal as all hell.

I couldn't help feeling guarded, but I had a great time, one that I didn't expect. And while I was still full of skepticism and doubt, I realized that for the first time in more than a month, I wasn't angry anymore.

Having a blast

Zoe and I spent most of the weekend up in Butler County.


Zoe snapped a few shots of fireworks.


After the fireworks, we all went fishing, and my brother Rob (with his friend John on the left) caught one of the biggest catfish I've ever seen.

The next day, Aimee and Lewis joined us for the Big Butler Fair. I couldn't ride the rides, so Aimee took the kids on those she could tolerate, including:


The Tilt-a-Whirl...


...the bumper cars...


...and The Caterpillar.

More photos from the fair:











And the grand finale:



Zoe got her pony ride.

Lay off the caffeine

I was lying in bed last night reading... I'm totally engrossed in a book called "Motherless Mothers" that explains how women who have lost their mothers engage with their children. As if I don't feel sorry enough for myself, right?

It's actually a very interesting look at a situation I wasn't aware existed for myself. I'm reading this shit, thinking, "Don't all moms feel this way?" Apparently not.

It's nothing psychotic or anything. Or at least I don't think so. I'm not that far into the book yet. There were a few things that just smacked me right over the head. One is that I'm insanely jealous of women who have their mothers to call up when they need parenting advice. I remember when Zoe was first born being extremely disturbed by the fact I didn't have that resource, and made it a point to read every piece of literature about parenting that I could get my hands on.

My dad wasn't much help. Despite giving my poor mother three children, he remembers little about our upbringing. Did she have drugs during the delivery? "I think so. I don't know." Did she breastfeed us? "I think some of you. At least one. I don't remember." How many kids do you have, Dad? "I think two or three; one looks a lot like the milkman."

The other thing the book points out is that once these motherless daughters become mothers themselves, they not only stop defining themselves by having lost a mother, but they see their mothers in a totally different light. I sobbed when I read that part. I hadn't realize I had gone through that, but I had. At some point in the past five years I stopped being mad at my mom for leaving us and started feeling sorry for her that she missed all these things her kids were doing that she probably had looked forward to sharing with us.

And while I'm reading this stuff, as if on cue, I felt the baby move for the first time.

I was lying still and felt a definitive whoosh. I don't know how I even noticed it, it was so subtle, not like a fist jabbing me in the rib or anything. I thought I was crazy, but I looked up fetal development and sure enough, I should be feeling that around now. Perhaps with Zoe I wasn't so intuitive, because I don't remember feeling that so early.

Maybe, after too many cups of coffee yesterday, the kid was trying to tell me to go to sleep already.

Big on small talk

DATE: Pronunciation: 'dAt; Function: noun
a : an appointment to meet at a specified time; especially : a social engagement between two persons that often has a romantic character b : a person with whom one has a usually romantic date

-- Merriam-Webster



Joe didn't have much of a plan for our date. In fact, when I got there, he was sleeping on the couch, and despite my ringing the doorbell and yelling up the steps, he stayed asleep, forcing me to let myself in.

I didn't feel that great being there. The last time I was in his house, I was alone, trudging grudingly up and down his steps in the heat with my most important and heavy stuff, swearing at him through tears, loading my shit into plastic shopping bags and then into the trunk of my car, imagining the neighbors were watching from their windows in their centrally air-conditioned kitchens and saying to each other, "Well, that didn't last long."

I didn't last long in there today either. After some small talk on the couch, I waited outside while he packed up a cooler full of food.

There were flash flood watches throughout the county, but we headed to play miniature golf. It felt absolutely ridiculous to me. After I lost, we toured the grounds and ended up at the driving range. Joe seemed surprised when I agreed to smack a few balls. I had never done it before.

This, was fun. I hit balls off the walls, tipped them off the tee and watched them roll down the hill, missed some completely and shot them nearly straight up in the air. But every once in a while I sent one soaring straight and long and imagined it wasn't too late for a career change.

Not long after, we were back in the car and it began pouring rain. Joe found an empty pavillion in a nearby park and made us roast beef sandwiches. It was rather inventive of him, despite being a huge cliche. And again the small talk. We sat in silence for a bit and I asked him what he was thinking. "Nothing," he said. "I'm just watching the cars."

I looked up at the road. There were no cars.

He jumped up and announced it was getting late and it was time to go. We went back to his house and I managed to sit in the kitchen long enough to down a couple cups of coffee and more of his small talk. Then I jumped up and announced it was getting late and it was time to go.



I don't know what it all means. If I'm supposed to be happy about it, I'm failing miserably.

Patience

"It's just a moment;
This time will pass."

-- Stuck in a Moment You Can't Get Out Of, U2



Zoe and I made a mousse pie today and I taught her the fine art of licking the beaters clean. It occurred to me that in the entire 10 years I spent in Florida, I didn't bake a damn thing. Not a single cupcake.


Chocolate nostrils.

My mother baked with us a lot when we were kids. And I'm realizing what enormous patience that woman must have had and wondering why I inherited only a tenth of it. I love to see Zoe inquisitive about cooking and I let her do a lot of things that make my dad crazy (such as stirring spaghetti sauce on the gas stove), but when I tell her to hold the mixer for a second while I scrape the bowl then she turns it on and the beaters get within a millimeter of my knuckles before spraying me with chocolate mess... then the show's over.

My dad went up to Butler County and was supposed to be back for dinner. We made the pie for him and waited patiently for him to come home to grill the steaks we bought, but he never showed up. We ate a grand dinner without him, but I told Zoe we had to wait for him to eat the pie. We waited... and waited.....

And waited....

At 10 p.m., we said to hell with it, and ate the pie. "I'm going to put this in the trash, Mommy," Zoe said after a few bites. The pie sucked: Neither of us liked it. And then I remembered why I don't bake.




Zoe is really taking to the whole idea of being a big sister. At school on Friday, she made a drawing of me and her: I had a big purple circle in the general area of my torso, and the teacher helped her write, "I will be a good big sister." At the grocery store today, she kept pulling diapers off the shelf for the new baby. "Not yet," I kept telling her. And when I woke up from a nap later, there was a pouch of Caprisun lemonade, unopened thankfully, on top of my belly. "That's for the baby," Zoe told me, "but not until she's a big girl."



Joe and I have our "date" tomorrow. He told me to come over at 2. What on earth he could have planned at 2 is eluding me, but I didn't ask. I've already made up my mind that I can't possibly have fun being forced upon this man for an afternoon by our therapist. But I am open to being surprised and even pleasant.

When I asked what time I should tell the sitter I'll be picking up Zoe, he suggested 7. I guess he intends to stick with it through dinner.

It's supposed to be rainy tomorrow. Perfect.

Hope sucks

"You kick up the leaves and the magic is lost."

-- Bad Day, Daniel Powter



Joe and I rode to the counseling session together in near silence. I kept thinking that he might pat my knee or take my hand, but he didn't. I tried to joke with him a little, but he didn't take the bait. He's all seriousness these days.

The place we went to was tucked behind a shopping center and doubled as a rehab. There were a few people drinking pop and smoking on the steps to the entrance, and I had a strong hunch they were there for their own brand of counseling. Joe knew one of them and paused to say hello.

Sabrina came to greet us; she seemed really kind. She led us down a dirty hallway to a room with dirty chairs and threadbare carpeting and faded pictures hanging crooked on the walls. She had me sign a bunch of papers and then she quizzed us a little. She asked about the pregnancy and I told her I was at the beginning of the second trimester.

"Oh, me too," she said.

I was surprised, but it didn't occur to me until later that Joe might have been shitting himself.

Only 35 minutes into the session, I looked at my watch. It felt like hours had passed. There were no real surprises, except when she asked me what I liked about Joe. I couldn't think of anything. Every time I started to say something I thought I liked, I'd finish the sentence with a "...but..." I finally told her that I was too mad to think about that right now, and that everything I liked was now called into question.

I could have told her a bunch of stuff I didn't like, but, not surprisingly, she didn't ask.

Joe said a lot of nice stuff about me. I think the worst he said was that I treated him like a dumping ground for my problems. I didn't look at him much while we were in the office, but I could see him glancing at me a lot.

Sabrina prescribed a date and suggested we go on it before our next appointment.

We scheduled another session for next week and left. I thought Joe might put his arm on my back as we walked across the parking lot, or hug me before he opened the car door for me, but nothing. We were almost back at the office before he asked me if I found the session "satisfactory." I couldn't say that I had. I actually felt rather drained and down.

At work, the skies clouded over and the lights flickered throughout the afternoon. It was threatening some serious rain. I got an email from Joe asking me to find a sitter for Sunday. As I was packing up to go home, he came to my desk and told me to be careful driving. It was the first time he made his way over to my desk in weeks.

I watched him walk all the way back to his office. For some reason I wanted to follow him, but I went home.

Feelin' like myself again

"It's nothing, it's so normal.
You just stand there; I could say so much,
But I don't go there 'cause I don't want to."

-- Back to Good, Matchbox 20



On Friday I was curled up on the table in the doctor's office, feeling sick as all hell. Stomach cramps. Backache. Headache. The doctor said I must have the flu, and ran through a list of a dozen other symptoms, all of which I said I didn't have.

"Yep, touch of the flu," he said.

Miraculously, on Saturday I was fine. Sunday, back on the couch all day. I convinced myself it couldn't be morning sickness. Or afternoon or evening or even middle-of-the-night sickness. But I couldn't go to work like this, and I couldn't call off the next six months. I called the doctor on Monday and complained some more. "Go to the emergency room," the practitioner told me.

Hmph.

On a hunch, I stopped taking the prenatal vitamin. By today, I could run a marathon. I almost washed my car, but decided to celebrate my newfound health by being lazy.

But no more lethargy, no more stomach pains. I'm going to try a regular vitamin and try to get my iron the old-fashioned way. Someone said red meat has lots of iron. Mmmmmmm. Hamburgers. I actually weigh less than I did before I got pregnant, so I will have to start packing on the pounds.

Does ice cream have any iron?



Joe and I have our first counseling session tomorrow. Though he said he would, he made no effort to make it happen, so I drove to the park today and called the employee assistance program and had an appointment in less than five minutes. I need to get this little soap opera over with.

I think he's a little bit nervous. He emailed me questions. Is it a man or a woman? How long will it take? What will you be talking about?

I'm not nervous. I'm not relieved. I'm not feeling anything. Well, that makes me nervous. That and maybe the car ride back to the office together.

Maybe, maybe

"His heart beat faster and faster as Daisy's white face came up to his own. He knew that when ke kissed this girl, and forever wed his unutterable visions to her perishable breath, his mind would never romp again like the mind of God. So he waited, listening for a moment longer to the tuning fork that had been struck upon a star. Then he kissed her. At his lips' touch she blossomed for him like a flower and the incarnation was complete."

-- The Great Gatsby, F. Scott Fitzgerald


I kissed Joe tonight.



This turn may seem sudden, but to me, it was a fucking endurance challenge.

On Wednesday, the emails began in earnest. The "conversation" between us went so slow in real time but in four days I went through so many emotions and edited myself so much that I didn't have much time to think about the big picture or speculate about where this was all going.

I was stealing time with a computer every chance I got to see what he had to say next. I was sometimes replying off the cuff but mostly I found myself trying not to alienate him. At one point he asked for my trust.

"Where do you suppose I get some of that?" I wrote back.

"It's earned," he wrote.

What I wanted to write and what I actually wrote varied. "And I'm supposed to just give it to you?" is what finally found its way to his mailbox after much cursing and backspacing on my part.

Yesterday and today we typed about concrete ideas, changes, thoughts, wishes even. As Day Four of Emails wore on, I was frustrated that we hadn't talked on the phone or in person, but we were starting to write about mundane things like our errands and eating habits. We were professing a desire to work things out, but neither of us was really willing to put ourselves out there.

At 10 tonight I put a cake in the oven and text-messaged him: "Are you still awake?"

He texted about watching hockey and cleaning the coffee pot, so I headed over there faster than the law allows. As I was pulling into his driveway, I texted him to come outside and fulfill one of his earlier promises to kiss me.

The look on his face when I bounded up the steps to him could have melted me if I wasn't still so mad at him. He was so genuinely happy to see me and he LOOKED at me and we hugged a lot and he checked out how big my belly had gotten. We talked and joked a bit but I didn't go in and told him I had to go because I had a cake baking, but then I got what I came for.


I kissed Joe tonight.

Twirly girl

Summer is finally here.

It has been a cool June, in the 50s at night, but it hit the 90s today and it hasn't fallen much from that since. The fans are out, and I'm missing the hum of window ACs.

It is still not nearly as hot as I have known it in Florida or even as hot as it was when I was there a couple weeks ago. My dad and I were watching the 11 o'clock news and he offered to put in the window AC in my bedroom.

"Dad, this is nothing. I'm comfortable."

"I'm sweating my ass off sitting here!" he bellows.

I can take the heat, I just can't take the cold. But still, as any good mom will do for her kid on a Saturday afternoon in mid-June with nothing else to do, I forced my dad to take his truck to Toys R Us to get her a proper plastic pool.


Look at that elephant pool!


We then visited my cousin, and Zoe and Regina hung out in the HOT TUB. Yes, all 98 degrees of it.


Look at that porpoise toy!

Then we came home and made a cake for my dad. His birthday was Thursday, but we often -- if not always -- exercise the option to celebrate his aging years along with Father's Day.


That's some cake batter!


OK, if you've gotten this far and looked at that many pictures of my kid, you are hoping this blog will get better, wondering why my photo captions have a diversional quality to them, or both. Or maybe you just notice the child looks... odd.

I hacked off her hair.

Before examining the photos more closely, sideways, and upside-down, realize it didn't look that good when I took a stab at it. After a horrible attempt at a layered bob last night, I had to run around today looking for anyone who would take a walk-in to get the mess fixed. I thought about putting a before-the-stylist-got-to-it photo here, but I don't want to embarrass the poor child if the picture ends up archived somewhere forever. Zoe is aware that she got a haircut and cackled giddily as inches and inches of her locks fell to the bathroom floor, but she has no idea about the wrath her mother unleashed on her head.

That is, until we were in the car tonight, and, as Zoe often does when she's tired, she tried to twirl her hair. I heard her audibly suck in her breath in the back seat. "Mommy! I can't twirl my hair! I'm like a BOY! Am I a boy or a girl now?"

She fell asleep shortly after that. I wonder what the hell she is dreaming about tonight.


Audrey, who had finished her appointments for the day and was probably about to leave work early, fixes Mom's idea of a haircut.

Measuring madness

I was driving home from work tonight, just getting off the West End Bridge, when a minivan in the next lane started drifting into mine. I was right beside it, not even back in the blind spot, so I was sure it was a mistake and instead of honking the horn, I hit the gas and sped to the red light.

The minivan pulled in behind me, honking away. I looked in my rearview mirror, and there was a middle-aged woman in the driver's seat on the phone, flipping me the bird and hollering something out the window. I couldn't hear what, but man, I was game!

I rolled down my window and told the bitch (I think that was the worst I called her) to get off the phone and pay attention to the road, something about where to find her turn signals too. Ah, hormones. The next six months are going to be fun.

A great thing about my new blood pressure medicine is it does its job even when I'm in distress. I know this because I've whipped out my blood-pressure-taking machine at times when I've been really mad (there's been a few of those episodes in the past week) and the reading was still low.



I looked at the three houses tonight and all of them had great stuff going for them, but none suited my needs exactly. Except the one I wrote yesterday that was my favorite. I called my dad over to look at it and he found what I was blind to: Dead rodents, black mold, peeling paint from water damage. But otherwise it was charming. Especially the two ducks mating in the pool. Neighbors say they come free with the house.

Back to the drawing board.

Please no Charlie Batch

My dad on Ben Roethlisberger's helmetless motorcycle accident today: "The asshole should try playing the game without a helmet."






"Was it only last week
We made crazy promises,
Mad as the snow?"

-- Mas as Snow, Kitchens of Distinction


I emailed Joe yesterday to see about getting my stuff back. It spurred a little typed dialog between us for part of today. It wasn't hostile or inflammatory, in fact it was quite the opposite. Kind of a conversation about the very remote possibility of making amends.

We didn't talk about why he kicked me out. He suggested counseling, and I agreed. I think that is a good idea, if only to get an objective third party to verify if I'm crazy or not. But I don't know if I can do this.

The very least that I can hope to get out of it is that we come to terms over the new baby. Maybe the best I can hope for is to find out why this happened and get in one last, big fat "Fuck you."

OK, OK. I'll try to keep an open mind.

I've stepped up the house hunt, and I've found a lot of interesting stuff. I'm going to look at three on Wednesday. Here is my favorite:



It has hardwood floors, a fireplace, stained glass windows, a game room, central air... and it's empty! I have a good feeling about this one. The outside looks kinda odd and I almost skipped looking at it, but when I did a driveby, I realized it was just a poor choice of paint colors. Puke brown and shit brown, I mean, really??

It's a great price, low taxes, good school district... oh, and I did mention EMPTY, right?

This smells

I don't know what to say about this very, um, unique product, but the reviews are hilarious. (If you're afraid to click on the link, note it IS Amazon; it can't be that bad, right?)

I (heart) hormones

"And so it is
Just like you said it would be.
Life goes easy on me.
Most of the time.
And so it is,
The shorter story.
No love, no glory.
No hero in her sky.

I can't take my eyes off you..."

-- The Blower's Daughter, Damien Rice



I'm a mess!

I inadvertently told off a girl at work today. Yeah, the words kept accidentally spewing out of my mouth. She's a tough girl, she can handle it, but I'm at my wit's end with myself.

Friends tell me it's hormones. Yeah, it's probably some of that. But it doesn't help that my "fiance" kicked my pregnant ass to the curb a few days ago. And that I don't know why.

Wednesday was Day One back to work: I am singing songs along with the radio on the way to work. EVERY song is about kicking ass. I am totally empowered, happy and ready to kick ass. It is a good day. I see Joe only in passing, across the room, and I think, "This ain't so bad." Then I grab a Kleenex and blow.

Day Two: I am at work only briefly when I have to run to the doctor for an emergency ultrasound for bleeding. I am lying on the table when the ultrasound woman tells me everything is all right and shows me the baby on the screen, all legs and arms and spine and stuff. Then I start weeping uncontrollably. And do so on and off (mostly on) for the rest of the day. Good thing I skipped mascara in the morning. I can't concentrate on work at all. I go house-hunting and feel better. I lie in bed and write Joe a few letters, but my feelings oscillate so wildly that none of them makes sense to me. And why the fuck am I writing that bastard letters?

Day Three: Thank god it's Friday. I'm a puddle of mess. I go back and forth between hating Joe and loving the shit out of him. We're still not even speaking, but most of my stuff is at his place and somehow I have to get it back. But not now. I have a lot of deadline stuff at work, so I keep busy enough, spout off to (at?) my coworker and boss, and when I get home, I look at more houses online so I can go look at them tomorrow. Busy, busy, busy. I'm on a mission. I'm pissed that I'm not allowed to paint while pregnant. Zoe wants a purple room, and I want to be the one to give it to her.



I can't stand not talking to Joe, and I can't stand the idea of talking to him.

I have a pretty good feeling that I haven't hit bottom quite yet. But if the bottom comes in the form of anger, I'll be thrilled. My eyes are so fucking dry from crying, and that annoys me.

Mixed results

Among things Floridians take for granted: Ducks in the back yard.


I got back from Florida yesterday and headed back to work today.

It's funny, after a day or two in Florida, I felt like I never left. Then, after a day in Pittsburgh, I felt like I never left.

It's an identity crisis! I don't know if I'm shopping at Giant Eagle or Winn-Dixie.


Zoe makes brownies with Dad.


Zoe hangs with the girls.



Joe and I were playing house with mixed results for some time before I left, but when I got home he wouldn't let me back in. I'm not sure exactly why. We had argued about Zoe and how I handle custody, which frankly I think is none of his business, and in the end he told me that if Zoe was the most important person in my life (which I claimed in an argument) then I didn't belong in his.

I'm a little stunned by it. We were looking for a house together, he asked me to marry him, we were looking at college funds. Now I'm shopping for a lawyer and planning to deliver a baby without him. Great.

My primary emotion is relief. And I can't explain why. Maybe because I found out what kind of a man he is (or isn't) before I started hating him. Of course I'm kicking myself for believing the string of bullshit he was feeding me, but I can't dwell on it or I'll go crazy.

A ... pause

"Live right now, just be yourself.
It doesn't matter if it's good enough
For someone else."

-- The Middle, Jimmy Eat World



WHERE IS THE SUN-SENTINEL'S PULITZER???

I just thought I'd chime in: I'm very disappointed. With all the weird shit going on in Florida, and all the worthy stuff the SS covered so well, I find it hard to believe. There really is no other place like South Florida, as I'm more acutely aware of now that I'm no longer there.

Maybe next year. I repeat one of my favorite editor's sentiments: Hopefully it's not for hurricane coverage.



House-hunting often reminds me of Florida. Not only because everything I love is out of my price range, but because some of the suburbs look remarkably like certain parts of Florida. Joe and I walked through some of Sewickley today, and it was so much like Stuart, with charming homes in the alleyways and a main street full of shops. Everything is in bloom and the weather is perfect now, so it's the best of everything -- if you can overlook that the nearest beach is Lake Erie and it's a three-hour drive away.

We've also looked at some of the new development, which also reminds me of Florida, in a bad way: It's all NEW.

I guess there's something to be said for being the first to live in a house, but I don't think that guarantees that nothing is wrong with it, that there are no hidden problems. But I am keeping an open mind. There are a couple more considerations now....

I was buckling Zoe into her car seat after dinner tonight, and I guess Joe was watching me. He was shaking his head. "What???" I asked.

"You don't have long at work."

UGH. I knew that a week ago, and I can't even say I've been in denial of how big I've gotten.

I am thinking about telling my boss this week: I'm pregnant.

Then I'll think about telling my dad. In the meantime I'll continue avoiding him. Good thing we work opposite shifts.

Every day's a new day

"I'm 33 for a moment..."

-- 100 Years, Five for Fighting


I tried my hand at homemade spaghetti this weekend, and ....

I ate it too. It was actually edible, if not good.

I haven't cooked in a couple of months maybe. All this home-shopping got me down, so I took a weekend off. Joe and I put 150 miles on my car in less than two days, barely getting out of town, mostly shopping and a little sightseeing and roaming about.

I was still attracted to for-sale signs... I couldn't entirely let go.

I have so much to do tomorrow: finishing up taxes, following up on appointments. Oh, and work. Filling in for a coworker. The perfect distraction. I have a lot more on my plate than homemade pasta.

April showers

"Memories of winter are dragged in the hallway,
A trail of salt and the slag melting snow,
And she said, 'All my life I have loved you the same;
Watch where you're walking, you're dragging that shit in again.'"

-- Eighty Eight, The Affordable Floors



On the way to school yesterday, Zoe insisted she wanted snow. Ain't happening, I told her. It's over, and we get good weather now until next winter, and she can ride her bike after school since it will be light out now with daylight saving time. I even went so far as to tell her about fun with water balloons.

Twenty-four hours later, when she looked out the window this morning, she told me, "It's not enough snow." Yep. There was snow out there, all right. Not enough for Zoe, apparently.

I got here in November. I spent Thanksgiving in Pittsburgh. I'm almost certain I saw snow before the month was out, if I didn't experience a crash course in how to get the stuff off my car without getting it into my shoes and down the inside of my coat.

It's April now. IT SNOWED LAST NIGHT. I'm not a math whiz, but even I can figure out that for six of the 12 months of whatever it is Pittsburgh calls seasons, IT SNOWED.

This just ain't right.


But an even bigger shocker today: Katie Couric changed jobs! Who the hell saw that coming.

And, shit, it took the networks long enough to get around to interviewing Art Buchwald. I'm sure some producer said, "That guy's still fucking alive??" This has "Tuesdays with Morrie" written all over it. Wonder who's doing the novel.

It's a sign

Seen on a billboard on the Parkway:
Play the lottery!
Cash prize: $0,000,000

Seen on a BBQ joint's letter sign:
Eat our fish Friday
or go to hell.

Happy Lent. And happy Daylight Saving Time. Don't forget to pick up that priceless lottery ticket.

Warm thoughts

"I know that it's true
All the things that I do
Will come back to me
In my sweet time."

-- Keep on Rocking Me Baby, Steve Miller Band



When I was in the hospital a few Sundays ago, there was a nurse there... a guy whose name I can't remember for the life of me... and he stuck my left arm to take blood and it was bliss. I mean, I didn't feel a thing.

In fact, when they suggested I might need a spinal tap I said I gladly would if the same nurse was administering it.

Today I went for run-of-the-mill blood work at a run-of-the-mill lab and I thought briefly as I was leaving that I might be incapacitated for the better part of spring. The woman rooted around in my left arm for so long that if felt like she left the needle in there after giving up on finding that I did in fact have some blood in my body.

The heart test earlier today was more bearable, but I was left with a bruise where she tried to jam the sonagram instrument under my rib cage. It's possible that she succeeded: I just kept concentrating on being able to breathe without sweating and setting off the electrodes taped to my chest.

But all the ordered tests are done. I'm mostly accustomed to the new meds. Things are looking good.

Work will be an ordeal tomorrow; a good one. It occurred to me that my best work so far is coming out of my sports assignments. Well, now I've been invited into redesign discussions. It's not where I want to be exactly, and I see a lot of work that needs to be done in a lot of other places... but I kind of did a double-take on this one after some research. We're doing a tab sports section, something uncommon for a broadsheet, and we have a chance to knock it out of the park.

This could be good.

But you know what's better? I DIDN'T WEAR A COAT TO WORK TODAY. It's not incredibly warm, but it's warm enough. Everyone's talking about the weather. It's supposed to be 70 on Friday. If I plan it right, I will be in the office just enough here and there to convince people I actually showed up to do work.

Finders, keepers

"Instant karma’s gonna get you,
Gonna knock you off your feet."

-- We All Shine On, John Lennon



I woke up from a nap today around 2 p.m.

I had been dreaming about fishing, but I dreamed that I had snagged something rather than catching it, and my first impression was that it was a dog, a dog with a fin, but it appeared to be a fish once I reeled it in. People on the pier were cheering, but I didn't understand why...

It's almost cheating if you snag it. There's no skill and lots of luck involved, but it's no dignified way to land a fish the size of a dog.


I had fallen asleep curled up on the couch with Zoe. When I awoke, I found Joe had managed to curl up on the couch with us and had fallen asleep. So I did what any woman would do when wedged between two sleeping loved ones in the middle of the day: I thought about dogfish dreams.

And I concluded: Hey, sometimes you snag 'em.

So what, if it's a keeper.

I'm not dead yet! Part II

"The rich stay healthy,
The sick stay poor."

-- God Part II, U2



I went back to work today after three days of nearly constant sleeping.

The stomach flu attacks. I haven't had the stomach flu since... well, since I lived in Pittsburgh 14-plus years ago. Welcome home.

I can't complain. The worst lasted only a day; my brother had it for most of last week.

PLEASE UPGRADE ME TO A WHEELCHAIR NOW.

In all seriousness, I felt great today. I vow to not complain about the BP medicine's side effects again, because being in bed for almost three days puts a lot into perspective. I couldn't stay awake long enough to make sense of any soaps. Sheesh.



Pittsburgh was in a semi-lockdown today. There were reports of a sniper on a rooftop downtown, and suddenly the newsroom was in motion. Outside, bridges and tunnels were shut down, blocks were blocked off, cops and helicopters swarmed the triangle. People fled from buildings, and those who could stayed put. Us peripheral newsroom people kept on the periphery, but it was impossible to ignore the excitement generating.

For two hours this buzz sustained us, only to find out it was some employee who had brought a pellet gun to work to chase pigeons off the roof at his steam plant. As one of my favorite editors in South Florida put it, "That went from 1A to a brief pretty fast."

Indeed.



At the news meeting this afternoon, we all got a chuckle. The bat phone rang, and some of the dozen in the room managed to not only identify the noise (no one ever calls on it), but to answer it.

"Hi, this is Lorraine from the [other paper] calling. We'd like to offer you a free subscription from Monday through Saturday..."

They let her go on and gave her some shit, but ultimately they let her off easy. After hanging up, we all agreed that probably no one in the building knew what the hell the bat phone's number was. What luck, Lorraine. (Call me at home.)



I think I have a few updates to attend to:
- The MRI results are in: no sign of an aneurysm, just screwed up sinuses. More tests to come.
- The dog tests came back: Sarah has been diagnosed as fat.
- The Chia pet is alive and well again. Yay!
- Our Florida trip is postponed until May. It appears it would cost me a grand to come down during Easter/Spring Break. Ain't happening.
- Barring any new medical catastrophes, house-hunting will resume this weekend. (Joe keeps joking that he's made reservations for us -- at a new hospital.)
- It's still cold as hell. There were flurries today. Happy spring.

Zzzzzzzzzzzzzz

Must..... sleep....................


Driving has become a chore. Most times when I'm going somewhere, I find that either my mind drifts off, or I actually, almost, drift off.

I started blood pressure medicine Wednesday or Thursday. The doctor said it might slow me down; he didn't suggest I'd develop narcolepsy! I tried twice today (in between my three naps) to go grocery shopping, but I was afraid I'd end up curling up on the floor in the produce aisle.

They say I'll get used to it. I hope that means I'll adjust positively to the meds rather than tolerate being so tired. What disturbs me is that my BP has not gone down, and I don't like taking medicine. On the upside, no more signs of migraines.

The MRI was a challenge I didn't see coming. The test-runner person put a cage around my head and slipped me into a box, saying, "If you want out at any time, just say so." I immediately said, "OUT." If there's a next time, I'll check YES next to the Valium and put a bunch of exclamation points after it.

I am getting very, very sleepy.... so I..............................

Oh yeah. I'll wrap this up with a Pittsburgh dialect lesson.
"Sco." It means "let's go," as in, "You ready? Sco." Or, "Sco dahn ta dat new place inna Sahsside."

I'm not dead yet!

"This doesn't have to be anything at all."

-- Stop Draggin' My Heart Around, Stevie Nicks




I am officially old.

Zoe's doctor appointment cleared her of any lingering illnesses, but my appointment raised more questions than answers.

I have hypertension. That is the only fact I left with. I am 32 years old with no family history of high blood pressure, but there it is.

I had a CT scan Sunday that revealed nothing, but I'm going for an MRI on Saturday that I guess is supposed to rule out an aneurysm. That's better than the spinal tap that was suggested I suppose. This is all to rule out a very extremely remote possibility that my headaches are something other than migraines causing or caused by my blood pressure.

After talking to my doctor, I realize this is something I've probably had for a while. In hindsight, I remember wondering about certain symptoms, mostly red hands and being so very tired so very suddenly, like I could just close my eyes and sleep at my desk. And then I consume the hell out of coffee, which probably doesn't help.

I have a heart test lined up too to make sure there's no damage in case this has, in fact, existed for longer than this past weekend.

My goal is to get off the BP medicine I started today. It's kicking my ass as well as my stomach. Reportedly I will get used to it in a couple months. Then they might up the dosage.

PLEASE JUST ISSUE ME THE CANE AND WALKER ALREADY.

I think I'm ready now for bingo games and Judge Judy. I practiced with an old lady in the waiting room today: While she adjusted her oxygen tank we bantered about Oprah.

During Zoe's physical this morning, she got a few boosters, and it just broke my heart. She handled it well enough, but I know she didn't see what was coming, and by the third one she was terrified. "I don't like that kind of doctor," she keeps telling me. "I don't like ones that hurt me."

I don't think the nurse liked it any better: She gave Zoe a long hug after it was done. That's got to be a tough job, sticking kids.

Happy now?

"No one on Earth could feel like this;
I’m thrown and overblown with bliss."

-- There Must Be an Angel, Eurythmics


It was 70 degrees yesterday. There's a thin layer of snow on the ground now.

I'm used to weather changing on a dime in Florida, but this is unreal.

I can't say that I care. I know at this point there will be no blizzards to impede me getting to work, and there will be no more cold snaps that will suck the breath out of me while I'm putting groceries in the trunk. The worst is over.

My personally sponsored work meeting went great. I thought five or six people would show up for my first ranting (it was scheduled before most people's shifts) but about a dozen turned up; with no pizza offered, I thought that was impressive for a newsroom operation. I guess the real reward will be seeing if it was worth their time to come back for the next one. I'll offer pizza then.

I'm not beneath a bribe.



I could spill about how insanely happy I am with Joe, but if that dam breaks, I might as well pour syrup all over this blog and be done with it.

I resisted it -- my female, Leo, superstitious, skeptical, German, stubborn, idealistic, quesadilla-loving self -- but I have fallen in love.

Shit shit SHIT.

I guess worse things have happened.