Away.

I took the train so fast it seems like I barely hung up the phone after my mom called me. The 36 hours between her call and my boarding the train were filled with a bunch of things that I now only vaguely remember. All I know is that I am now at mom's place until next Sunday.

Grieving does that. A time warp migrates into your life, replaces time as you usually know it and suddenly, it's two weeks later. You've planned and held a funeral, a burial, and you're back into you everyday routine. Except you've got one less person in your life.

This person, in my mom's case, is her dad. It is weird for me to help my mom through what I have already been through. I can only be here for her and give her what she needs in the moment. The day no longer grinds minutes away, it grinds moments. A moment this morning when we were both up at four a.m. and met in the kitchen at five. A moment when the catering business was finalized for Friday's funeral. A moment when we determined she had called everyone she needed to call.

I cannot make this go away, I cannot bring him back. I cannot completely dry her tears, she needs to cry them for the healing process to begin. I need to cry them too - I was very close to my grandfather. I shed tears when the call came. But not since. I think it's because I am relieved. I am relieved he does not have to suffer in silence anymore, watching the world go by from the bottom of his Alzheimer-riddled well. Last time I saw him, he didn't talk anymore. I'm pretty sure a lot of it was his medication. But even though he was close to catatonic, there were his smart blue eyes.

For just a moment, I saw him look at me and a vague wave of rememberance flashed by, ever so slowly. He smiled and tears welled up in his eyes. I know he knew it was me. Because he held me tight in his arms and looked at me again.

What I Meant Was...

Yesterday’s post was meant as an affirmation, not an admission of fear gripping me… ;o)
Let me explain.

Someone very close to me gave birth last Friday. And I got into a conversation with someone, or rather – someone started talking AT me about how I should deal with my pregnancy and giving birth. This person told me all about my fears and they knew how I felt and take it one contraction at a time and blah blah take advantage of every moment you have and blah you should be grateful for everything you have and…totally unsolicited, all this advice from a newly graduated pro of parenthood was poured into my ear.

I just felt like screaming right back at this person: “Let’s get one thing straight. You are not a tenant of my brain or my heart. I’d be making more cash if you were. You do not know how I feel. In fact, you are projecting all of your fears onto me right now. I am not afraid of giving birth. I am looking forward to it. I am having an exceptional, healthy, happy pregnancy and the little mini-aches I feel make me smile because they are leading to the birth of my daughter and I already love her. Giving birth is natural, it has been going on for oh – what – millions of years, and fuck you for assuming I am scared. And also, fuck you for being a pro all of a sudden.”

Ahhhh…Sigh. I feel much better. Sorry about that. This person I wanted to scream to I actually like a lot. It was just a condescending way to deal with me, and I do not appreciate being talked to like that. It insults me. But I am too nice to say Fuck You. Voilà.

The comments I got from my Urban Nomad and my favorite Brigitte were most welcome and appreciated, and I completely understand how one could have interpreted yesterday’s post as fear. Fear not, my beautifuls, I am not afraid. I have never felt this strong.

The Absence of the Heebie Jeebies.

I am not afraid.
I will know when it’s go time, and until then I will enjoy every moment of being in this state.
I will not falter. I will not doubt.
I will be supported and loved and encouraged. I will not be told what to do.

I am strong.
I will not listen to lectures from experts.I will not be fazed by other people’s fears.
I will block the naysayers out.
I will give life and receive something too magnificent to describe in return.

I will be a mother. I am not afraid.

The Operative Term Being "Things".

I have to start packing. We’re moving into our new home in…possibly 5 weeks. Seven weeks tops.
I’m just thinking I don’t want to be stuck with last-minute crises.

I’ve been throwing away unnecessary things for the past couple of weeks in preparation for Packing Without Hassle, but it seems everywhere I turn there is more shit lying around. It really isn’t that bad, though. It’s not like there are piles of things everywhere. Things are generally in their place, and the apartment is pretty tidy. But there are things hidden in places where I’ve put them thinking you never know this might be useful some day. And in four years living in this appartment, these hidden things are slowly being discovered, one by one.

The hideous wine-bottle-holder thing I got as a present. It’s hideous. (“Oooohhh thanks! Oh look at that! They look like three little Hobbits dressed up like maître-d’s holding up the bottle!”) I’ve never used it, and would not even re-gift it or put it up for sale in a garage sale. The one use I’ve thought of so far for it is that it would be funny to use as a dildo holder. Three little hobbits sitting on my dresser going: “Look! Your dildos!” But that’s just not my thing for now. The scraps of paper I’ve been piling in a box to reuse. Not happening - I don’t use that much paper after all. The piles of magazines I was stashing in my bookcase, taking up room dedicated to books, books piling up elsewhere. Never going to re-read these magazines. Although I did stare at the ones published days after 9/11, wondering whether to hang on to them or recycle. My mom kept newspaper articles after John Lennon’s death and now I have them…Bah. I think the world will do a fine job of perpetually reminding me of 9/11 from now on, so recycle it is. My recycling bin is now obsolete. I need a container. There are pile of things going to charity, things that have lost their twins/partners/sets, and things I don’t know anything about. So many things. That’s just it, though. They are just things. I can get rid of them. Yes, I can.

I think I’ve come to the point where I need to stand up, introduce myself and admit I’m a pack rat. The first step towards healing is acknowledgement, right? Right.
Unless you make or buy pretty boxes to stuff all the things you like to accumulate.
Then, you become an organized pack rat.

Awake.

It is waaay to fucking early to be awake. I am taking this with a grain of salt, as in a couple of months I will most likely be kept awake by my daughter. So I am seeing this as training. I’ve been up since two a.m. and there are a variety of reasons for this.

Reason One: I think I didn’t do enough pacing yesterday;

Reason Two: I woke up at two in the morning because my Princess Frog was boxing my bladder and something else I have not yet identified and I never got back to sleep after having gotten up to pee and been harassed by the cat who was very happy to have someone to talk to that early in the day, and therefore attempting to trip me;

Reason Three:After I went back to bed, I started thinking and had to get up again because I was fully awake.

Thinking is bad when I wake up in the middle of the night, because it quickens my brain’s pace. It wakes it up. And the resulting neural activity is pretty much comparable to running in a really long corridor aggressively lit by hundreds of neon lights, flinging all the hundreds of doors open and asking “what are the answers to my questions” repeatedly in a loud voice.

What are my questions?
That’s an interesting question. Brace yourselves for an intrusion in my psyche. (Don’t be scared. It’s not like this all the time. It has not happened in a really long time, in fact.)

1. What is the catch with the perfect, newly rebuilt condo we just signed for?(Yyyesss!)

2. What will I be like as a mom? I hope I am patient. Will we be happy in general with the way we are bringing up our little one? What will she look like? Oh god – I hope she has her Daddy’s eyes. He swears it’s impossible for her to have blue eyes, because mine are brown. Ohhhh sweet - I get to cuddle her and love her and watch her grow up…oh wow. We made a person! We made a living being! How fucking awesome is that? We’re good people. We’ll do just fine. I’ll have to stop swearing. Fuck.

3. Where do I start when I get to work this morning? I’ve been away for three months. I’ve lost touch. How do I keep a good working relation with my coworkers and reintegrate the workplace without pushing my pregnancy on them? How do I keep calm when all I want to do is tell some of them to fuck off?

4. Why is my technique for breathing out my anxiousness and breathing in calm and serenity not working?

5. Oh – it’s because in my head, I’m singing ‘What I Am’ by Edie Brickell and the New Bohemians. Okay. That’s why.

6. Now I’ve switched to ‘Long December’ by the Counting Crows. Maybe if I replace the singer’s voice with a guitar gently strumming, I will actually lull myself to sleep. Huh. Sounds good – I wonder why they didn’t just do an instrumental version. Ah – radio play. Shit, can’t do it.

7. Breathe in calm. Breathe out tension. See the red ball rolling away from you. The red ball represents all the questions and thoughts in your head. Push the ball away. See it roll away until it is a pinprick in the distance. Sleep. … Why can I hear Mussorgsky’s ‘Night on the Bald Mountain now?

8. Fuck. Red is such an aggressive colour for a relaxation technique. Make the ball blue. Aaaahhhh….much better. Wait – it’s not rolling away!

9. I wonder if H is sleeping. Should I ask him? No. I'll wake him up if he's sleeping. What time is it?

10. What kind of drapes do we get for the new house? I need something sheer and something opaque over it. I am sick of this apartment with the plastic horizontal blinds in mismatched colours. I want a classic, sober look with flair. Beige? Tan? Hmm. Maybe moss green. Oooo, ooo! I know! Moss green with a soft pattern for the sheer drapes, and a nice raw-canvas beige for the opaque drapes over top. Yyyes. But for the bay window in the dining room…wood blinds with a sheer drape? Huh. We’ll need to take measurements. How soon can we do this? Wood blinds are expensive, I hear. I should check Home Depot online.

See? These are the times I think I am going crazy.

I don’t know how to stop it. If I did, I would not be typing this. It’s now five thirty. I got up at two thirty after twenty some minutes of fidgeting and sat on the sofa, reading. The cat was lying on top of the book. I moved the book. The cat was flailing its tail at me and purring very loudly. Like I said, he was so fucking pleased with the company in the middle of the night. So I pet the cat and whispered sweet cat things in his face. He loved it. So he sprawled himself smack dab in the middle of the pillow I use to prop up my book on my lap. I let him, as I was trying not to get pissed off. I figured, kill him with kindness. So I pet the living shit out of him and he stayed for ten minutes, then went away. ‘Victory’, I thought to myself. I was convinced reading for twenty minutes would do what it usually does before bed, i.e. put me to sleep. But I read until four. Then I thought maybe I could give sleep another chance and go to bed. Didn’t work out. Sigh.

I am going to get ready for work in an hour and a half. But it’s okay. I am not even mad. I am just a little worried, and I hope to get a better night’s sleep tomorrow.

Waiting.

So I am sitting here, waiting. I never thought I’d say this: I wish I were at work, where I could have some form of distraction. I can’t read, the same paragraph is printed on all the pages, it seems. I can’t nap - I don’t want to. I can’t go for a walk, I’m waiting for a phone call. I should frame my flower prints. I’m too fidgety. Boo has given up following me around the apartment, he’s done the hallway/living room/dining room/kitchen trajectory too many times today.

I wish the phone would ring. Just so I get some meat to gnaw on. Just so I get confirmation that no, time has not stopped. I’m holding my breath. I read somewhere it’s not cool to hold your breath too long. Well, not when you’re stressed out, anyway. You’re supposed to pay particular attention to your breath in these specific occasions and use it to calm down. Especially when one is pregnant. Such as myself. Princess Frog is kicking, she can most likely feel the rush of adrenaline flowing through my blood – and hers…

Breathe in through the nose. Hold for one or two seconds. Breathe out slowly through slightly parted lips. Repeat as needed. Sit down. Stop pacing.

I’m happy though, because at least this is good stress. I am not expecting bad news. I just want this to work! We made an offer on a really awesome condo this morning. We wants it, precious.