Historical

There has been a whole lot of nasty going on in United States politics (and in the country as a whole), but something historical happened last night, and I want to take a minute to acknowledge it.

Last night at the Democratic National Convention, the Democratic Party nominated Hillary Clinton as their candidate for president.  She was the first woman ever nominated on a major party ticket.  Women gained the right to vote in this country in 1920, and it took a freaking constitutional amendment to get that right.  Perhaps one of the most powerful moments of the roll call (the part where each individual delegate states who they wish to nominate) was when an elderly woman who was born into a world where women couldn't vote proudly cast her her vote for Mrs. Clinton.

Like Hillary Clinton or not, one cannot help but recognize the significance of this nomination.  This is a big step forward for women in the United States.  Whether she wins the election or not (and frankly let's hope she does, because the alternative is, at best, frightening), it's a huge nomination.

When I was a kid, being president was a man's job.  Specifically a white man's job.  The 2008 election removed white from the unofficial job criteria.  Now in 2016 we have removed man from the unofficial job criteria for president.  Kids today can look at our country's leaders and visualize themselves in that role someday.  How cool is that?  I couldn't visualize myself as president when I  was a kid. 

Last night made me proud to be an American. 

In November I will report to my polling place and proudly cast my ballot for Hillary Clinton.  I'm not voting for her because she's a woman (I don't particularly care what gender our leaders identify with, as long as they are good leaders), or because she's a Democrat (I'm proud to be a registered democrat and mostly vote that way, but I vote with my conscience on the issues, so sometimes it means I vote for another party's candidate), or because I agree with all of her platform (I don't!).  I think that she is a competent leader with a proven track record and feel that she's the best candidate to lead the United States for the next four (or more) years.

*****
Related, if you are an American citizen who is over the age of 18 and you aren't registered to vote, you still have plenty of time to get registered in time to vote in the November election.  If you don't know how/where to register, I'm happy to help you figure it out.  This will easily be the most important election of our lifetime.  You owe it to yourself to do your research and have a say in it!

WTF?

There are times in life when you just have to smile, shake your head, and ask "what the fuck?".  Tuesday was one of those days for me.

Tuesday was the day of my dad's heart surgery.  It started out well enough.  I left my house at 6am drove the three hours from my house to my parent's house and made really great time, even getting there early enough to spend a little time with my nieces (Sister, BIL, and their three daughters live in my parent's basement).  We (my mom, dad, and me) left for the hospital around 11 and got there with time to spare for his 11:45am check in time.

His surgery went well, they found a 95+% blockage which was cleared and a stent was put in.  Unrelated, his cardiologist was freaking gorgeous.  He's already home and is doing great, despite being pissed that he has to take some time off of work.  But that's not what I want to write about.

We got my dad all checked in and were directed to a waiting area for the cath lab.  This is where we waited for him to go back to pre-op and while the procedure was going on.  As it turns out, in this particular hospital, the cardiac cath lab shares a waiting room with Labor and Delivery.  I'm not sure if I've wrote about it yet or not, but I seem to be swinging back into an anger phase of the grieving process, so an L&D waiting room was near the top of the list of places where I did not want to spend time.  I tried to have a sense of humor and sent a friend a curse word laden text.  She suggested that it would be nice if the waiting room space was also shared by a liquor store.

At this point I gave myself a pep talk along the lines of "you've got this" and "you only have to be here for a short time." 

Then my grandparents (mom's parents) arrived at the hospital despite being explicitly told that their presence wasn't required and that we would call with an update when there was something to report. At minimum, they shouldn't be driving on the busy road where the hospital is located (or at all for that matter).  I've never had a close relationship with my grandparents and because of some things that exceed the scope of this blog, but suffice to say that I don't care to have anything more than a cordial relationship with them.  Not to mention that they are very conservative, very religious, and plan to vote for Donald Trump.  Anyway, my grandma wanted to pray.  Ok, fine.  Prayer isn't my thing, but whatever, she thinks it'll do some good.  So I bite my tongue and bow my head thinking it would be a short, silent (or at least quiet) prayer.  She started praying.  Out loud, and not in a quiet voice.  For like five minutes.  In a busy waiting room.  I opened my eyes and we were getting funny looks.  Eventually it was over, my blood pressure was through the roof, and I was wishing to be anyplace else.  Then they tried to engage me in a discussion about politics.  I not so politely declined and reminded them that anything they read on Facebook should be fact checked.  This suggestion obviously wasn't taken to heart since my grandma shared this article last night with the comment "not surprising!"  Thankfully they got tired and left before I had a heart attack, but not before praying a couple more times.

My dad got out of surgery and was taken to his room.  I thought the most stressful part of the day was over.  Then my sisters started to stop by.  The first one brought her (very active, very loud) toddler to the cardiac ward.  Now, I'm no cardiologist, but I can't imagine that a shrieking child (even shrieks of happiness) is a good thing on a cardiac ward.  Then another sister stopped by.  With her baby.  This wasn't so bad (since he can more easily be contained), but then she started breastfeeding.  At this point I walked out of the room without explanation and found a waiting room with free drinks (unfortunately none were of the alcoholic variety) and hid there for the better part of an hour.

Around 7:30, we decided to go and get dinner.  My sister (with the baby) and brother-in-law decided to join my mom and I.  At dinner I was treated to a discussion about why there should be baby changing stations in men's restrooms.  When asked my opinion on the matter, I offered that public places aren't required by law to provide baby changing stations, and that most do so out of courtesy.  I then suggested that since this particular hardship had absolutely nothing to do with my life that I didn't care one way or the other.

My mom and I didn't get back to my parent's house until a little bit after nine.  At this point, I found out that during the getting ready for bed routine, my youngest niece (turned 1 last month) and my dog discovered the toilet.  My sister walked in on my dog drinking out of it and my niece with her hands in it splashing away.  This was actually a pretty good way to end the day, because I thought it was hilarious.  Also, thankfully, this particular sister is very laid back and didn't freak out. 

It was just one of those days where the things kept coming, and each seemed more ridiculous.  But the important thing is that my dad is fine and hopefully won't have any issues in the future, so any stress I endured was worth it.  A couple of days removed from it, I can laugh.  I mean seriously, who has to deal with that many triggering situations in one 12 hour period?

Blondes have more fun?

I felt the urge to do something different and impulsive today.  So I dyed my hair.

Blonde.

Not Platinum blonde or bleach blonde or anything crazy like that.  But definitely quite a bit lighter than my hair has been in probably 15 years.

It's fun.  I like it.  I feel good about myself.

Maybe a new hair color is just what I need to lift any remaining fog from my funk.  I hope so.

In a funk

I'm in a funk.

I think I jinxed myself when I wrote about feeling really good and making a lot of progress.

I hesitated to even write about it.  I've been doing so well that it feels like failure to go through a hard phase.  I know it isn't failure at all and that it's completely normal.  I hate it.

I don't know why I'm in a funk.  We've had so much good happen recently.

Little things are bothering me.  Nothing big.

Watching the little neighbor boy learn how to ride his bike.

A friend from high school who is in no financial position for another child is unexpectedly pregnant again (though really how much of a "surprise" can pregnancy be when you aren't taking any preventative measures?).

A (formerly) close friend is solidly in her third trimester.  We're not on speaking terms anymore, but we both always thought we'd be pregnant together.  Yet there she is and here I am. I'm not really jealous, but I am angry at the universe that it didn't work out for me too.

My sister posted a picture on Facebook of our dad sitting on the couch with all of the grandkids.  He is smitten with the grandkids, especially with youngest nephew who shares his name, as he should be.  It's times like this that the differences between me and my sisters are painfully evident.  I feel like an outsider to my own family.

Then there is life stuff.

There is a lot of transition at work.  Two close colleagues left for different positions and another retired.  The colleague that retired was responsible for hiring me and has served as a professional mentor for the last four years.  Not having her steady guidance a few doors down the hallway is going to be quite the adjustment.  I'm going to miss her a lot, but she says she's just a phone call away if I need anything.

My dad is having heart surgery next week.  The way I understand it there is another blockage that requires another stent.  It's not nearly as urgent as last summer when he had a heart attack, but it's still a major surgery, he's a terrible patient, and my mom is worried sick (as I'm sure any of us would be if our partner was having heart surgery).  Also, just like last summer, I'm the only one of their children who managed to rearrange my schedule so that I can be at the hospital with our mom, despite the fact that I live in a different state.  Don't get me wrong, I'm glad I have the sort of job where I can rearrange my schedule on short notice to be there with my mom, it just bothers me that my sisters all have their heads so far up their asses that they can't manage to figure it out too.

Hubs and I also went through a bit of a rough patch.  Nothing major, just a little misunderstanding that caused some argument.  We worked our way through it and we're coming out on the other side stronger than we were before,  but the fact remains that relationships are hard sometimes and they require work to stay healthy.  While I won't say that I particularly enjoy soul searching or having long, serious conversations of this nature, I'm thankful that hubs and I work through these rough patches together rather than letting a bunch of little things pile up.  Our relationship isn't all rainbows and unicorns (is anybody's?), but the fact remains that we love each other and we are committed to doing the work required to keep our relationship healthy.

When I started this blog, one of my goals was to keep things real and to share both the good and the bad.  Now that I've written most of what's on my mind out, I feel a little bit better.  Hopefully soon I'll have kicked this funk to the curb and am back to a happier BnB. 

My life is different

One day last week my across the street neighbor's son learned how to ride his bike without training wheels.  I played witness to this momentous occasion, albeit from the safety of my own living room.

The little guy was so excited.  I was impressed by his fearlessness and commitment to figuring it out.  Even when he fell, he'd pop right back up, dust himself off, and get right back on the bike.  It started with his dad running along side him, pushing, and helping him balance, and eventually the little guy doing it on his own.  At first he was slow and wobbly, threatening to fall over at any second, and then faster and more confidently peddling up and down the sidewalk.

His dad beamed with pride.  That was HIS son who was rocking riding the bike without training wheels.  He was enjoying every single minute of teaching his son how to ride his bike and being there to run alongside him and cheer him on.

His mom was wrought with anxiety.  You could tell it was taking everything in her power to not run and scoop him up off of the ground to kiss his boo boos every time he wrecked.  Instead she stood there with a smile on her face, shouting encouraging words and giving high fives when he finally did it. 

It was a happy/sad thing to witness.  It was so cool to watch the little guy figure out how to ride his bike.  But I can't help but think that this little guy is the right age to be one of our children, and that makes me a little sad.  The scene that played out in front of me is a snippet of how I imagined that my life would play out.  The reality is that my life is much different.

I sat down on my living room floor with tears silently rolling down my cheeks.  The silent tears morphed into the kind of sobs that make your whole body shake.  By the time it was over I was exhausted and my emotions were raw in a way they haven't been for quite some time. 

I don't know what name to give whatever this was.  I wasn't jealous.  It wasn't longing.  I didn't want to trade places with them.  I wasn't hurt by what I watched.  I wasn't angry.  But it definitely triggered something deep within me.  I'll add it to what Sarah so eloquently referred to as "the bottomless bucket of 'what the fuck was THAT?'" and move on.

I'm convinced that time does heal and that it does get easier.  But sometimes things still hit out of nowhere and make me realize that I still have a long way to go.

Our neighbors

One of the things that helped us fall in love with our house was the neighborhood.  It's full of modest, but well maintained homes, and many of the owners have lived in the neighborhood for 30+ years.  Over the past month we've had the pleasure of meeting our neighbors on both sides and the neighbor that lives directly in front of us.

On one side is a man who I would guess to be in his late 70s and his wife.  We haven't met the wife yet because apparently she has some health issues and doesn't spend much time outside, but the man is just the nicest guy you could ask for.  He's fun to talk to, he's helped us identify some of the flowers around the house, and he's given me many tips for keeping my little garden alive.  Keeping plants alive isn't a strong suit of mine, but so far so good.  He's never mentioned having kids, but his college age grandson comes to cut his lawn every week, so I know he and his wife have at least one child.  Yet he's never once said anything about us having kids or asked us when we were going to have kids.

On the other side is a lovely couple in their 90s (the man just turned 94 this week) who have lived in their house for 57 years.  They invited us over for lemonade last weekend and we sat on their porch and talked to them for over an hour.  The conversation spanned many topics (work, the neighborhood, mortgage rates, local sports teams), including the fact that they have nine children, 41 grandchildren, and 14 (and counting) great grandchildren, statistics that were stated as fact, not as bragging.  Once they started talking about their large family I fully expected the conversation to turn to our procreation plans, but it never did.

The neighbors in front are a nice couple, roughly our age.  They have a daughter who is maybe nine and a son who is maybe four.  They are very talkative and have been very welcoming to the neighborhood.  Yet within the first five minutes of meeting them the first time the wife asked if we had kids and then quickly followed up by stating that she is sure I'll be pregnant by the end of summer now that the stress of buying and fixing up the house is over.  I really wanted to go batshit crazy on her, but I also don't want to piss off the neighbors, so I held my tongue and opted for a simple "actually we can't have kids," at which point the conversation pretty much died.  Thankfully it hasn't come up again, but if it does, I'll probably add a bit more snark to my response.

The elderly neighbors said nothing about children or reproductive plans, but the neighbors our age did.  So I'm left to wonder if this is a generational thing.  Were things such as family planning seen as a private matter not to be discussed back when they were of childbearing age (in the 1950s and 60s)?  Or since they came of age in a time when there was no assisted reproduction if they just more naturally and easily accepted that sometimes people can't have kids?  Maybe some combination of both?  I don't know, but it was really refreshing to have conversations with people who were able to see us for us.

Birthday shenanigans

My birthday has come and gone.  My dreaded 35th birthday and accompanying midlife crisis.  My birthday actually turned out pretty fun.  My entire family (parents, sisters, their families) came to my house for a "surprise" party.  This alone was enough to make it a memorable day.  Coordinating the schedules of eight adults to be in the same place at the same time (150 miles give or take a few from their home) and going on a road trip with six kids is akin to herding cats, so the fact that everybody (even asshole brother in law) came was pretty remarkable.  It wasn't a total surprise, because let's face it, infertility kind of ruined surprises for me (particularly those involving kids, even family kids).  Hubs told me about a week ahead of time and made me promise to act surprised.  I'm glad he told me because it really helped me mentally prepare myself for the visit.  (Though I think that we can all agree that a man who goes to the grocery store and comes home with food for a large cookout then cleans the house from top to bottom, un-nagged, is enough to raise suspicion.)

This was also their first time that my family got to see our new house in person.  They loved it, and even though our house is quite small, it didn't feel as crowded as I expected it would. 

My actual birthday was handled the way I've found to be most effective when facing hard things.  Sarcasm, mildly inappropriate humor, and alcohol.  I don't know if you have seen those stupid monthly birthday baby things on social media.  Essentially the parent snaps a picture of the baby with a sicker on their shirt that says "x months" and then lists things like likes, how many teeth they have, height, weight, etc.  I think they are stupid, so naturally I wanted to make fun of them.  My sister created a birthday board for my 420 month birthday and we did a little photo shoot with it (complete with me in a sparkly tutu).  I think that most everybody thought the photos were funny, but I think only few got what I was making fun of.  This was actually the highlight of the day. 

Regarding my midlife crisis, I finally figured out the root cause for it.  Back when we first started trying to have a baby we mutually agreed that we would be done building our family on my 35th birthday, no matter how many kids we had at that point.  We figured that was a comfortable timetable to have two or maybe three kids.  We were naive back then, actually believing that I could get pregnant when we wanted.  As it became evident that we were having trouble and the years started to accumulate, we still stuck to the arbitrary deadline that we set in the beginning.  Even though I've known for a couple of years that kids weren't going to happen for us, somehow approaching (and now passing) this self-imposed deadline adds an extra layer of finality to this.  I feel better now that I've realized this and have calmed down quite a bit.  It's also a valuable lesson in attaching deadlines to things over which we have no control.

You've all done an awesome job supporting me through this midlife crisis and big birthday, so I wanted to tell you about it.  I also want to pass along my thanks because I don't think I would have made it through with my sanity if not for you guys!