Maybe I Need Some Applesauce

26 weeks, 2 days.

I can't believe that in about three months I will have a baby. I woke up this morning with that thought in my head. It doesn't seem real. After all of the failed pregnancies, I have just gotten used to the idea of being able to successfully keep one alive inside me. Now in three months I have to figure out how to get it out? And what to do with it once it is out?

Griffin and I have lots of plans, theories and intentions, but the actual day-to-day stuff mystifies me. It is not that I will be responsible for another life, that concept I am used to, after all, I have pets. Maybe it is the idea that I, we, will be focusing our lives on this new 'pet'. I am assuming everything that I am now doing with either change, minimize or disappear altogether, but to actually have it happen is another thing.

The last two days were a bit freaky. On Friday, our second snow day in a row, I got ready to take a shower. I got Eleu, our green wing macaw (pronounced Eee-loo), out of his cage and let him stand on one of the fixtures in the shower. Yes, I shower with my parrot. (It's like showering with a friend, but never having to worry about dropping the soap.) The water was running and I got in.

Eleu was chatting and fluffing as he usually does in the shower. He likes to ruffle his feathers in the steam. I washed my face as he continued babbling away. He makes noises in the shower that he doesn't make anywhere else. We have had Eleu almost seven years now; raised him since he was 8 weeks old, I hand fed him for the first five months, and I am very attached to him. I put Eleu on the floor of the shower so he could run around.

When Eleu is on the shower floor, I don't do anything else. I focus all of my attention on him, I wouldn't want to be washing my hair and accidentally step on him. Eleu crouched on the floor as he usually does and I bounced the water off my hands to give him a soft spray. The light in the bathroom can be a little weird and can play tricks on your eyes, so as I was looking down at the water flowing into the drain, thought it was curious that it looked sort of pink. At first I thought it was just the light, but as I looked more closely I could see that it was blood mixed in the water.

My first thought was that I was bleeding. My heart began to pound. I have not had any bleeding with this pregnancy, but bled many times with the last ones and sometimes in the shower. I watched the water for a moment and realized the blood was flowing from where Eleu was standing. This wasn't a much better situation.

"Oh, you are bleeding, baby," I said to the bird as a I picked him up and put him back on the fixture on the wall. He babbled happily. I couldn't see any particular location that the blood was coming from. I noticed a dried clot on top of his tail; it looked as if the tip of his wing had been dripping blood onto it a while earlier. I picked off the little clot.

I then noticed that the water dripping off him from the soft spray was tinged red. It was dripping off the end of one flight feather. Blood mixed with water. I picked him up and opened his wing. I looked underneath, nothing. I checked his back, nothing. Where was the blood coming from?

When a bird has a new feather come in, the feather has a blood supply until it is fully grown. The blood is in the shaft of the feather and it dries up when it is no longer needed. If the feather is bent or broken while the blood is still in the shaft, it will bleed. A bird can actually bleed to death from a broken blood feather. In a parrot Eleu's size, the shafts of his bigger feathers are the size of a drinking straw. Imagine your blood pouring out of you through that? It wouldn't take long before the bird would die. Most of the time, the bird will clot before he bleeds to death. My fear was that he had broken a blood feather earlier in the day and I just washed the clot out.

I finished showering in about three minutes, shaking the whole time. I put Eleu on the bathroom floor while I got dressed. He played with the rug and babbled gleefully. This did not sound like a bird dying. I looked him over again and still could not find the source of the blood. No feathers were broken and I couldn't find any sort of a wound. I brought him back to his cage and changed his papers. I wanted to be able to see if there was more blood dripping off of him.

Griffin had be having a rough day at work. He works from home and I had learned early on in our relationship to leave him alone when he is in the middle of something. During my whole 'blood crisis' Griffin was in his office having his own crisis. Apparently, computers can be just as much of a help as a hindrance to him as they are to me, so I did not tell him what was going on, just yet. I continued to run around by myself panicking.

I checked on Eleu as he was drip-drying in his cage. I did not see any blood on the fresh papers at the bottom. Maybe it was something old that just needed to be washed off? Eleu was playing with one of his toys, having a good time. He did not seem to be in distress. I started to calm down.

Griffin finally emerged from his office and announced that it was time for pizza. I love pizza night, but I wasn't especially hungry. I told him briefly what was going on with Eleu as we headed out. When we got back, less than an hour later, I headed straight into Eleu's room (our big sun room). Eleu was playing and there was no blood on the paper. Good. He was fine. This was over.

The next morning when I got Eleu up, he was bright and happy. I changed his water and gave him fresh fruit and cheese. When I was putting the bowls back in his cage I noticed that his back was really nappy looking. His feathers were clumped and chewed on. Eleu is not a feather picker - he is a happy, well adjusted bird. It is rare that I ever find a single feather chewed on, and never a whole clump of them.

I took him out of the cage and looked him over while he ran around on the outside of his cage. I lifted his wing and parted the feathers on his back. I didn't see any blood or wounds. I let him run back into his cage and eat his breakfast.

Not long after, I was sitting on the couch in our library when I heard a very weird noise. I thought it was Griffin in the basement moving something around. It sounded like furniture being dragged across the floor. I paused with what I was doing to listen. Suddenly, I realized that it was Eleu squawking in a way I had never heard before. I dashed into his room - heart pounding.

Eleu was standing on his top perch just looking at me. I went over to him and asked him what was wrong. He said, "Apple . . . grape!" I took him out of his cage to inspect him again. He is fairly patient with me and let me dig around through his feathers on his back and under his wing. I found that his chewing had gone all the way into his downy feathers on his back. The feathers were kind of crusty and gross looking. Eleu is not a fat bird, he weighs just over two pounds - the lighter end of the scale for greenwings (they range from two to almost four pounds) and I could see right to the bones under his skin on his back there were so many feathers missing. I still couldn't find a wound.

I found Griffin and told him we need to take Eleu to the vet. I called Eleu's vet and they squeezed us in for an appointment an hour later. We are very lucky to have an avian vet nearby, he is in Chester, just 35 minutes away. I dug around in the basement and found Eleu's carrier. It is just a plastic dog crate that I installed a perch into, but the carrier is huge: Almost three feet long, and 18" high and wide. It needs to be big to accommodate Eleu's long tail - head to tail he is almost three feet long.

When we were ready to go I got Eleu packed into the crate. He is a good bird and got it without much fuss. Griffin carried the crate into the garage and proceeded to awkwardly stuff the carrier into my Mini Cooper. This is a tight fit, very tight, but it fits as long as you have the front seats moved forward to an uncomfortable position. Griffin's car is a Ford Ranger, no back seat, only room for two people, so the Mini was the only choice. We set off for the vet.

Eleu climbed around in his crate and didn't make much noise. He said 'hello' one time and spent most of the trip looking out of the window through his crate. All of the things that could be wrong with him were running through my head. I love my bird and the thought of a wound that won't heal or something even worse made me feel sick. Griffin was driving; I tried to calm down.

The vet took us in right away. He was very nice. I had taken Eleu to him a year and a half ago for a check-up and was happy with how gentle they were with him. I held Eleu on my hand while the doctor checked his back and wing. Eleu was not thrilled, but I was able to keep his beak pointed away from the vet and his tech and he focused on me instead. They then put him into a towel to check his heart and inspect his underside. The only times he has been wrapped in a towel has been at the vet. He doesn't like it and spends every second chewing large holes into the terrycloth. He didn't scream or try to flap and I rubbed his head and talked to him while they worked on him.

The vet couldn't find anything wrong with him. Yes, he has been chewing on his feathers in one spot, but there is no wound there, no tumor, nothing wrong. The doctor started talking about giving Eleu Benadryl to stop him from chewing his feathers. I was still trying to wrap my brain around the idea that there was nothing wrong. The vet explained that sometimes a bird gets hurt or twists a muscle and they start to chew in that area because they can't figure out what is bothering them. The chewed area becomes itchy and that is where the Benadryl comes in.

The vet explained that it may take a while for Eleu to stop chewing altogether and to administer the Benadry twice a day. It comes in a liquid form, so I would have to suck it into a plastic syringe and squirt it into his lower mandible. I used to hand feed Eleu in almost the same way and he loved it, how hard could it be?

Before we left the vet chatted with us about Eleu. He weighed him and checked his eyes and took a dropping sample. The doctor gave us the best compliment, too. He said that Eleu was the nicest macaw he had ever seen. He was well behaved and gentle and that I must be raising him right. The tech agreed. He said that the way I handled him was great and most people who bring in their macaws just hand them over to the tech and say "good luck!". He told me to keep doing whatever I am doing, because I am raising a nice, healthy parrot. It was good to hear.

I started to feel better and we packed up and went home. Back in the sun room, I got the syringe and the Benadry and prepared to give Eleu his first dose. I put him on my knee, held his upper mandible and attempted to squirt the Benadry into his mouth. I got a little bit in his mouth and he managed to turn his head, so the rest went on my pants. Okay, so I needed a firmer grip. I refilled and got it all into his beak. The lower mandible is like a cup, it is easy to pour something into the cup, unfortunately, it is just as easy to pour something out of it. That is exactly what he did. He tiled his he down and most of it dribbled out.

It is some pretty sticky stuff so I wiped up a bit with a tissue and made one more attempt. I think I got a bit more into him. It took about 8 ml to get about 4ml into him. I handed Eleu the tissue and he grabbed it and wiped his beak, chewed on it for a moment and dropped it. That trick is a leftover from the old hand feeding days - parrots don't like to have messy beaks and will clean up if you give them a napkin.

Eleu seemed fine the rest of the day. I tried to watch and see if he was chewing and didn't see him doing it. Maybe the Benadry was working? When it came time for his evening dose, things got a little trickier. During the winter I don't cut Eleu's flight feathers and he gets the chance to fly around a bit. Usually it is just from the love seat to his cage or from my knee to his cage.

When I put him down on my knee to give him the Benadry, he flapped and as I leaned back away from his huge wings he flew off my knee. He flew around the room and landed on my plant rack. He managed to knock one of my plant terrariums onto the floor and it smashed. Eleu - 1, Benadry - 0.

Griffin jumped off the love seat and started cleaning up the mess. I grabbed the bird and made another attempt. I put him back on my knee and tried to hold him and get the medicine in his mouth. He held still for me. As I squirted, he put his tongue on the syringe and it sprayed everywhere but in his mouth. He then flew away. This time he headed for his cage, in the process he managed to knock a glass bowl that Griffin had used for ice cream onto the floor. It smashed. I went over and started picking up the mess. Griffin was still working on the smashed terrarium. Eleu - 2, Benadryl - 0.

When we had both messes cleaned up. I asked Griffin for help. Somehow, the two of us managed to get most of the dose into his mouth. It wasn't easy. The vet said we may have to do this for weeks or months. There had to be a better way. I put Eleu back on his cage and he climbed inside and eyed us for a while. He wasn't trilled at being man-handled that way. I wasn't thrilled about having to do it.

We went to bed shortly after and I laid awake for a long time thinking about how to get the Benadry into Eleu without all the drama. I decided that we would need to experiment with adding it to food. His favorite food, cheese, was not really an option. I couldn't imagine having to wrestle with him at six in the morning before work everyday. Perhaps applesauce would work? We would need to buy some applesauce.

I learned a few things over the last couple of days: the thought of my baby being in pain, injured or sick makes me ill almost instantly and I need to toughen up, some jobs will require an extra pair of hands to avoid having many things smashed in the process, and that my Mini Cooper is not the 'family' car I once thought it could be - I think we will need a bigger vehicle.

PS

I found this article this morning, a little too late, about how to give a bird liquid medicine. It is very, very accurate:

How To Give Your Bird Oral Antibiotics

As Time Goes By

26 Weeks.

Time is dragging by now - at least in terms of the pregnancy. I find myself looking up what is happening during week ____ less and less. Most of the monumental changes and checkpoints are past. Piper just keeps getting bigger, stronger and fatter. Even her kicking is less of a thrill and now more of a means of communication between the two of us. She is not tapping out Morse code, but she does react to things in our environment in interesting ways. She gets very still at my in-laws' house; perhaps she is learning the voices of her grandparents, in the car going home from work she jumps and kicks and does back flips off my bladder and in the evenings she pokes and squirms as we watch a DVD. I think I may miss having her inside me after she is born.

I had advanced into reading about the birthing process and I feel as prepared as I am going to get. I am sure there are no written words that will be able to fully portray the experience. I understand the mechanics of what will happen, the possible risks and dangers and the many variables in birthing. As far as the emotional experience, I don't think anything will prepare me for that.

My reading has now shifted into child-rearing. I started reading the baby led weening book. The thoughts, theories and conclusions for the first six months are simply 'no food other than breast milk', so, really the practices in this book won't be put into action until next December. I have a hard time wrapping my brain around that. Next December.

I also have been watching videos on PBS and Netflix. The one that disturbed me the most was Frontline's "The Medicated Child". It was a full length video on using and over-using medication on children to 'fix' their mental problems. A lot of what I was seeing just looked like kids acting like kids - bored kids, but normal kids nonetheless. Some of the children in the show were a little off but the medication the doctors put them on made them downright bizarre. One of the things that really bothered me was that the only thing that was being addressed was the medication: Was it too much? Was it the wrong kind? Should this one be only for adults? Do these two react poorly together?

The entire time I watched the show I kept noticing the food these kids were eating, the fact that they were so young and spent all their time in front of a computer or TV. Their toys were video games or plastic hoo-hoos, surely made in China, that the littlest ones were gnawing on. Several of the parents had two or three kids running around and they couldn't focus their attention or gather their brood together. No one addressed diet, nutrition, exercise, metal stimulation or parental interaction. One woman went back to her doctor with the intention of getting her child off one or two of the many meds he was on and by the time she was leaving his office, he had upped the dosage instead. She just sat there and nodded. I was shocked.

I also watched a video, A Life Without Pain, on three children who were born with the rare disorder that prevented them from being able to feel pain. I had heard of this before, but never gave it too much thought. It was amazing to consider all of the potential problems that would ensue when your child is born without feeling pain. The three children were in different parts of the world, but had the same problem; the difference was the approach to dealing with the issues. Of course, the American family reacted in a way that was extreme and, I think, in the end detrimental to their daughter. Of course, who am I to talk, never having been in this situation?

The more I watch, the more afraid I become for little Piper. I have no idea what her future health may hold, I guess you can only do what's right at the moment and wait and see. In the mean time, I will continue to read, watch videos and try to do my best to prepare for the future. I guess the only thing I can do right now to help ensure Piper is healthy is to eat right - so I am off to have a nutritious breakfast.

Be Conservative and Carry a Big Stick (chopped down from some pristine forest)

I am not a hippie. Never have been. In fact I despise being called one or even compared to one. I have never smoked pot or anything else for that matter. I have only learned to like the Grateful Dead over the last decade or so. I have never been to a lovefest, wanted dreadlocks or hairy armpits. I like wearing make-up, a bra, being clean and listening to music with clever lyrics without 20 minutes of groovy noodling. That being said...

All my life people have called me a hippie. I am an artist, a vegetarian, a nature lover and enjoy a simple lifestyle. I value things that are real and made from earthly sources. I am concerned about my impact on the planet and strive daily to do a better job lessening that impact. I spend a lot of time thinking: about how life is changing, what all the modern conveniences mean to us and the earth, how things are made, why there is such a rise in childhood illness, and how we have gotten so far away from respecting and listening to our bodies.

Growing up I always felt more connected to nature than to man. My family lived in a suburban neighborhood and our backyard backed up to a huge lot of land. The ownership of the land changed hands many times while we lived there, but it was never developed. It was mostly swampland. Wetlands with streams and spongy pathways. It must have been hundreds of acres all together. There were paths made by deer and paths made by kids on bikes. I walked them all and knew the woods by heart.

I had few friends growing up, usually one close friendship at a time. I didn't keep most of them for more than a year. I drifted from relationship to relationship. It was difficult to make a long-standing connection. From the age of about seven to twelve I found it difficult to make friends and spent a lot of time alone. When I grew into a teenager, I became a little more willing to accept the company of others. During that period in my life when I spend a lot of time alone, I actually wasn't alone. I had my pets to keep me company. I really felt a strong connection with the animals in my life; I still do.

There is something wondrous about an animal that just 'gets' you and one that you 'get' as well. Non-verbal communication is subtle and natural. It's easy to do when you are aware of your body and are willing to spend time observing instead of imposing your will on others. One of my cats growing up, Snuffy, was one of the first animals that I had a great connection with. We would spend hours walking around the woods together. Sometimes I would start walking from our backyard onto one of the main paths and he would just appear beside me. He was very mysterious. I could occupy myself for hours in the woods and Snuffy would hang around the whole time observing me. I spent a lot of time watching him as well.

Cats have a way of enjoying life that is nothing short of admirable. They enjoy the warmth of the sun, at virtually any age still have the desire to play, they have and use their imaginations regularly, are filled with patience and a keen sense of observation and they exude confidence. When I was a child, I wanted to be like a cat: clever, playful, brave. I still do. I want life to be simple, real, full of thought and pleasure. I am always looking for ways to strip things down to something more simple and natural. Simplicity gives me a great sense of peace.

I always tell my students to work conservatively. Less is more, sometimes. You can always add more later, it is very hard to take it away once it is down on paper or fixed in your life. A slow building up is easier to control than a wild, fast whip-up. I find this is true for most things in life. Things can spin wildly out of control if you don't choose to keep things simple to begin with. Even if your initial intention is to have things simple, it is still easy to let that ideal slip from your grasp if you are not careful.

I was angry for a while this morning. Generally, I am a very accepting of other people's ideas and beliefs, but I consider myself an outsider when it comes to the common public. I do not feel like I strongly connect to any group of people: politically, creatively, in my employment, and certainly not religiously. I am more of an observer than a joiner. I used to hold others in contempt for their narrow minds and idiotic ways, but teaching for 12 years has helped me accept that people will think and act foolishly, without forethought or hindsight. I have learned this from observing not only the teenagers in my classroom, but also many of the colleagues I work with both past and present. It is one thing to neglect to think before acting, but it is far worse to make mistakes and never learn from them.

I like to tell people that I act very conservatively and it is the truth by definition. Before I do anything that may have a significant impact on my life or anyone else's, I like to do some reading, some research and gather a few opinions on the matter. I like to ensure that I will be doing the very best thing I can, in the most basic manner possible, with the least amount of negative impact. It is not selflessness that I strive for, but balance and harmony and fairness. Moderate and cautious.

People who call themselves politically conservative fall into a fairly wide range of individual thought and I accept that. However, it is those who cling to conservatism and blindly follow their leaders who infuriate me. I know a young fellow, who seemed nice enough when we met, is just such a person. He seems to blindly follow the rhetoric of his party without consideration of life or the world around him. His reactions are rash and without moderation and he seems to be a miserable person. He focuses on everything that is negative and views 'liberalism' as a disease. I know others who call themselves conservative, but retain a bit of humanistic flexibility. Without that flexibility, I feel you loose a bit of your gentle humanness.

Why is it that the conservative political party is called 'conservative' at all? They do not believe in acting in a matter of lower impact, it seems to be just the opposite: let selfishness rule and disregard the rest of humanity and nature. Instead of looking for the most 'conservative' route to energy, health and life, they seem to be liberal in their willingness to destroy all the things we depend upon. How can there be a single person left who is not concerned about the environment? How can there be anyone who thinks there should be people who do not deserve enough heath care to avoid sickness? How can anyone still think that we should still be drilling for oil and natural gas in pristine, wild lands and let the planet be damned? How can anyone think it is okay to throw their trash out their car window or put recyclables in the regular trash? (Yes, I am talking to you!)

Maybe it is because I am having a baby and I am thinking more and more about what the world will be like when she is older. Maybe I have always been this way and I am just bolder about stating how I feel. I have never been a sheep, I have never followed the flock, and now, more than ever, I feel it is important to think about our impact on everything and everyone around us. I want a natural home birth, a breastfed baby, wrapped in cloth diapers, playing with environmentally sustainable toys. I want to be more gentle to the planet and to my body. I want to make the smallest negative impact and the largest positive impact that I can. I want to live minimally, and simply. I am conservative! But not like that . . .

Busy, Busy Busy

24 weeks, 2 days

Today is Valentine's Day. I am not much of a holiday person - except for Halloween - but I enjoy getting and giving a little something on Valentine's Day. Coming up with a gift that shows I love my Honey is important to me. I came up with a cute idea a few days ago:

On Wednesday, it snowed. A lot. We got 12 inches or more and school was canceled. While surfing the internet I saw an article on Etsy on how to make little bears out of wool using a process called felting (I won't even mention what Griffin now calls it). It was very cute and just in time for Valentine's Day.

I save all sorts of things thinking that I might use them in some future art project. Many times the things I save end up never getting used or I sell them to make room for other stuff. One of the things I started to save about 2 1/2 years ago was dog hair. Every time I would wash the dogs I would brush them out when they were mostly dry. Their fur was beautiful and came out in globs. This was when Ling, our Bernese Mountian Dog was still alive. (We had Ling put to sleep October of 2008. It was a very had thing to do, she had cancer at the age of 6.)

I had collected over one pound of hair in about a year. One pound of hair may not sound like much, but it stuffed a grocery bag full, and I mean stuffed full! Eventually, we started getting the dogs professionally groomed and so my hair collecting slowed to a stop. I tied the bag closed and put it away with my other 'potential' art materials.

I had saved the hair of another dog back in college, my Keeshond, Cindre. They are smaller dogs and the hair I had gathered didn't amount to the mass I got with Ling and Bella. I did use Cindre's hair for a project, I actually spun it into yarn and used it in a sculpture. It was so soft and fluffy. Perhaps this was what was in the back of my head. Dog yarn.

The bag moved farther and farther back into the supplies. After we had Ling put to sleep, I would occasionally find and open the bag and 'pet' her fur. It still smelled like she did right after a bath and brought back many fond memories. I still miss her so much. She was a great dog and a wonderful companion for Bella, our Great Pyrenees. Bella is now the lone dog in the house. We tried adopting another dog, a five year old German Shepard, he was a disaster and we gave him away after six months.

So I came across the bag of fur again not too long ago and wondered what I could do with it. When I saw the article on felting, I thought that looked like a good project to do with dog hair. Ling was Griffin's dog, and the lure that brought me into his life (I can't resist a puppy). He adored her and putting her down hurt so much, but he did it out of love, because she was suffering at that point. Again, Griffin's strength in love amazes me.

On Thursday, we had another snow day. So I did a little more reading on felting and figured I could easily make a little bear out of Ling's hair and give it to Griffin for Valentine's Day. Felting is not done with an ordinary needle, it requires a special, thick, extra sharp needle with barbs on it. The needle is plunged into the fiber over and over and the barbs on the needle drag the fiber with it essentially creating a mat in the hair. When you do this process on a round ball of hair you can create a three-dimensional felted object.

I did not have a felting needle, so I tried to use any sharp metal object. I used a pottery needle tool, an awl, a lacing needle for leather. None of which really worked. I Googled how to make a felting needle and found that you could use any of the above things and cut barbs into it using a chisel. This was a dangerous option for me. I am not the most graceful person and this seemed like a good opportunity to lose a finger. I put on some work gloves and gave it my best shot. It didn't work out so well. I didn't lose a finger, but I didn't really make any barbs either. I needed to buy a felting needle.

The internet is a great place to get anything, as long as you can wait for it. I needed this needle now and had to venture out into the real world to find one. I did some research ahead of time and found that AC Moore carried them, Michael's did not. I got directions to the nearest AC Moore and headed out. When I got there, I looked all over but could not find what I was looking for. When a sales person helped me, she showed me the one slot where the felting needles should be, and there were none.

I was also on my way to Morristown to pick up the copy of my chart from my soon-to-be former OB. I left AC Moore and went to Morristown. When I spoke to the receptionist she told me that my chart hadn't been copied yet. I had gotten a message days earlier from the office manager telling me how much it would cost and that they would send it out when they got my check. To me, this meant they had copied it and figured out how much that cost. I was wrong. $38 seemed like a random number, but it was the number they came up with by leafing through my chart. The receptionist told me that she could make the copy now if I wanted to wait. Yes, I wanted to wait.

Griffin and I had an appointment with the midwife at 3:30 that day. It was almost 1pm and I figured I had enough time to get the copy head towards home and go to the other AC Moore in the area to look for the felting needle. The copy took about a half hour. I paid and returned to my original mission. I tried and failed to find the other store, and somehow ended up on the road to our home, so I went home instead. I knew we had to leave at three to get to the midwife's office at 3:30 or before. I called to confirm our appointment and found out that she had a mother in labor and needed to reschedule. I was free again!

I headed out to the other AC Moore after consulting with Mapquest. Now, I knew where they kept the felting needles, if there was one to be found, so I went right to that section. I looked at piles of felt and felt cutters, just as I was going to turn and leave I saw them behind me. Lots of felting needles and colored wool too! Normal people felt with sheep's wool, not dog fur. I picked up a package of two needles and a pack of pink and wine colored wool.

When I got settled at home on the couch with my dog fur and needles I was really excited. We were going to have dinner at my in-laws' house at five, so I had an hour to work on my new project. I decided to make a "Bella" and a "Ling" and would start with the Bella, since I had a lot more of her fur to work with. Felting is rather difficult to get used to, I suppose it is more difficult with dog hair instead of wool. The dog fur flew around and didn't want to bunch up. I was determined and tried many different approaches before I found one that worked.

The process involves poking the needle in and out of the fiber many, many times. I found that my fingers got in the way and I poked them about 15 or 20 times. Not just poked to hurt, but poked to bleed. Every few minutes I would do it again. I would squeeze my finger, produce a little drop of blood, wipe it off and continue working. I was mostly hitting my index and middle fingers on my right hand. They became very sore. I managed to make a body and head before it was time to go.

When we got back three and a half hours later, I found my work, shredded on the floor. Bella had taken the little "Bella" and ripped it up. Perhaps she didn't like the idea of me making a voodoo doll of her, perhaps she was just bored and this was fun for her. My fingers were tired and sore, so I gave up for the night and watched a DVD with Griffin.

On Friday, had to go back to work, but it was a half day. I packed up my felting materials and headed out the door without them. I was very disappointed to realize that I had left everything at home. The morning went along alright, the classes were just 30 minutes long. I tried to get as much teaching in as I could, but it was tough. By third period my chest was on fire with heartburn. I haven't gotten it in school before and it was awful. I was trapped in my room, because I have 4 periods of classes in a row, but I ran out between bells to go to the nurse. She gave me a bunch of Tums and I dashed back to class. The Tums helped somewhat, but I was getting really cranky. I am only used to heartburn at night and this was nine in the morning.

The school day ended, I got lunch with a friend, I went back to school with my chest in flames and abandoned my school task. I was supposed to work on rewriting a final, but there was no way I could even think at this point. I drove home moaning. When I got in the door I raced to the bathroom, chugged some Pepto and ate more Tums. I made myself a giant glass of ice water and went into our library. I sat on the couch and put up my feet. My chest started to feel better so I pulled out my felting.

I managed to make a Bella and a Ling body when Griffin announced that it was time for pizza. We had missed our pizza night the day before, and he was hungry. I packed up my felting and put it high out of Bella's reach. When we got home, I finished making my little project and managed to poke my fingers many more times. I was really excited about my progress, so I ignored the pain.

When we went in to watch our DVD that evening (we are on Private Practice now) I brought my felting with me. I decided to try to make a polar bear. Bella looks like a polar bear and the color was right, so I sat and poked - the felting and my fingers. I managed to make two very cute polar bears and learned a lot in the process. Griffin was very patient and let me work next to him.

On Saturday morning, I made two more polar bears. I looked at photos online to get ideas for poses. It is so much fun to do and I am getting better at not poking my fingers so much. As I work, I am discovering new techniques, so I keep going back to the old creations and adjusting. When I looked back at my first project, the Ling and Bella, I realized they needed a little help. I spent an hour adjusting and improving them. I added little hearts to their chests and made them look more like tiny dogs. Cartoon dogs, but dogs, nonetheless.

We went out shopping for a bed that afternoon. Our bed is nine years old and queen sized. Griffin's back has been hurting more and more and his snoring is getting worse. I flip over and over at night and my hands fall asleep before I do. After 30 minutes in a Sleepy's we had selected a bed, pillows, headboard got it all paid for, scheduled delivery and headed home. The bed would be delivered on Sunday. This would be our last night on that sagging old thing.

Saturday night I made another polar bear, this was the smallest one yet. It is much harder to work small. Trying to keep the details tiny takes a lot of precision and finger poking. It came out great and I just love its expression. My fingers were so sore, I couldn't make another one, so I ate ice cream instead.

This morning, Valentine's Day, I put the little Bella and Ling out on Griffin's computer. He thought they were very cute and seemed to like them. He has gotten used to seeing me felting, but I told him these were the first ones I made, so they were special. I had washed them in our doggie shampoo a few days ago, so they smelled like our freshly washed dog used to. When I had sniffed them I got choked up. Maybe it's just the pregnancy, but that scent really moved me.

Ling has always held a special place in my heart. When I had met Griffin for the 4th or 5th time, it was at a Halloween party. We spent the party talking, dancing and drinking together. In the end it was the promise of meeting his puppy, Ling, that got me to go home with him. I fell in love with her and I fell in love with Griffin. I miss her so much. I hope Griffin knows that the little Ling I made for him is filled with the love that developed around that cute puppy and then grew into the wonderful life we have now.

Happy Valentine's Day.


"Ling" and "Bella"



"Five little bears"

Can You See Me Now?

23 Weeks, 4 days

What does it take to be a professional? It seems to involve a different skill set from simply acting professionally. I returned a call from my OB's office yesterday. I had faxed them a request to have a copy made of my records, but didn't mention why I wanted it. Yesterday, the office manager left me a brief message to call her back regarding my request.

Generally, everyone at the office is very nice and polite on the phone, just as I would expect from a doctor's office. I called her back an hour or so after I got the message and when the office manager got on the line, she asked me why I wanted a copy of my records. Was it for me personally or was I leaving the practice? I told her that we were considering using a midwife to deliver the baby and the midwife wanted to review my pregnancy history.

The office manager suddenly got very huffy with me. "So you are leaving the practice, then?" she accused me in a reprimanding tone. I told her I didn't think so, just that we wanted to have a midwife do the delivery. I had every intention on continuing to go there for my yearly exam and what not.

The office manager wasn't hearing me anymore, she wanted to know why I was leaving the practice. Was it the doctors? The staff? Something else? I told her, again, that we just wanted to have a midwife deliver the baby and that it had nothing to do with the practice. I wasn't about to tell her that we wanted to have a home birth and that I didn't think the OB would approve of that idea. I felt I didn't need to explain myself to her.

She agreed to make the copy and told me that my file was 'very thick' - don't I know it! I told her that was fine and I would pay whatever the charge was to get the copy done. She said she would call me when it was ready and that it would take some time. I got a message from her today while I was waiting at my eye doctor's office. She didn't sound any more pleasant - she simply said that the charge was $38 and that they would send out my file when they received my check for $38. And that was that.

I thought about whether or not I did, indeed, want to continue going to that practice for my womanly check-ups. The three doctors there do not act as if they know me at all and yet I have spent a lot of time there. This past summer alone we must have been there 5 times or more in a couple of months. We have been going every 4 weeks since this September, again. They still screw up my history and ask me the same questions at every visit - things that surely should be in my chart by now.

Whenever I ask a question of one of the male doctors, they respond in a way that makes me feel like I am in kindergarten. They speak simply and slowly. Most of the information they give me about my pregnancy I could get from a "How Was I Born" children's book. I like plain speak, don't give it to me gently, let's just get it over with. The female doctor only met with us once, but that wasn't much better.

On the other hand, my eye doctor only gets to see me twice a year. Once for the yearly exam and then usually two weeks later to check the fit of my new contact lenses and place the order for my year's supply. I have been going there for about seven years. So she has seen me about 14 times, maybe 16; I suppose I have had to go back for something over the years. I just don't see her a lot. It's a small practice, just the one doctor and a receptionist. She has all of the machines of the big eye doctor offices and runs me through them each year.

My ophthalmologist always recognizes me when I walk in the door at Andover Eye Care. This may not sound like a big deal, but the OB docs still aren't sure who Griffin is when he comes in with me. Griffin has been to every single visit with me. And, yet they look at him and think, "Who's the dude with the ponytail, again? Boyfriend?" We have been married for nearly 6 years. How many husbands come in with their wives? They still don't know who he is? His name is in my chart! I know this because I have seen them write it there many times, and yet they still stumble over this simple piece of information.

Today's visit to my eye doctor, her name is Amy Covucci, I will use her name since she actually knows my name, was quick and easy. It took 45 minutes, which I consider very quick for a doctor visit. She checked my eyes with my current contact lenses, we chatted a bit about how they were feeling for me. I told her that they annoy me sometimes and at random times they make my eyes hurt and I have to take them out. She made a note in my chart.

I took out my contacts and she ran me through one of the machines that checks my vision. She asked me if I wanted to try the 'puffer' machine that checks for glaucoma, I laughed and said 'no thanks'. I have not been able to keep my eyes open for that test, well, ever.

I was traumatized by a technician at "Eye Lab" when I was about 15. The woman would not give up and tortured me for a half hour or more trying to get me to keep my eye open long enough for the test to read. I would anticipate the puff of air and my eye would water and slam shut. She actually yelled at me and insulted me at one point. It was awful. I now have severe trust issues with anything that close to my eyes.

Amy already knew that I didn't want to have this test done, it was in my chart and she read my chart, and instead of insisting that we do this test, she just checked my eyes by feeling their pressure. She applied light pressure to my eyes and said they felt fine. She did not apply pressure to me and try to force me to do something I know I can't and won't do.

We talked about changing brands of contact lenses to something that would be more comfortable for me. She asked me if I would wear ones that I had to take out every week and clean. I prefer to sleep with my contacts for a month and chuck them. I told her I didn't really want the hassle of cleaning lenses again. She said "Okay," and looked for another brand.

I should say right now that I have really bad vision, uncorrected that is. The worst vision out of anyone I know. My prescription is around -9. My contacts are always special order and there are companies that don't even make them that strong. She told me about a brand that I could wear for 2 weeks, toss and then put in a new pair. She also said that it would be better for my eyes to have a new pair twice as often as I do now. That sounded fine to me. She said that the most important thing was that I was happy with how they felt, that they fit my eyes and that I could see. How logical!

After checking my vision, she had me try on the new pair. They felt great; I could see great. I was very happy. At some point during the visit I told her I was nearly 6 months pregnant. We chatted about that, she has two young girls and we chatted about that, too. We talked about the excitement of having your first child and various other things. She treated me like a real person. She also told me about how my eyes were doing: no major changes, still have a few floaters, retina looks good, etc. She used somewhat technical terms when mentioning the parts of my eye and did not speak to me like I was a moron.

Amy told me to come back in two weeks so we can see if I still like these contacts and that she would check my vision with them. If all's good, she would order my yearly supply at that time. I made my next appointment, chatted about the upcoming snow storm with Amy and her receptionist. We acted all like normal people, and yet, somehow, this was far more professional than the treatment that I get at my OB's office. I left feeling great. My concerns were addressed, I felt cared for as a patient and a person and I got what I came for - new contact lenses. Did I mention I waited all of 30 seconds when I first arrived? Amy doesn't overbook and keep me waiting. I can't say that for other doctors.

It's interesting that I know nothing personal about my OBs and they know nothing about me that doesn't involve my vagina, uterus and now the wiggler growing inside me. They are professional in a way that is cold and disconnected. They know so little about me that they can't remember who that man with the long hair is . . . Perhaps their office manager was right after all, maybe I am leaving their practice.

Books, books, books

23 Weeks, 2 days

For me, the Kindle will never catch on. I love books, real books, that you can feel curl with your hand, smell the fresh pages as you turn them and hear the paper sliding between your fingers with each adjustment. Usually, I am in the middle of reading several books and I enjoy seeing them piled up with their colorful spines stacked up facing me. Currently, I am in the middle of many, many books:

Harry Potter and The Prisoner of Azkaban. I started reading this several months ago. I read the two before it as well. A friend of mine really loves them and I thought I could throw it into my rotation. For some reason, I have stalled out. I have about 30 pages to go and I just can't get myself to pick it up again. I like the idea of a series, but this just hasn't captured my interest.

I have a stack of nerd books. These are books that I don't read cover to cover, rather, I skim and read bits and pieces. The focus is split between Photoshop CS4 and Flash CS4. I have to admit that I did very little skimming in the Photoshop books. I have finished teaching Photoshop for the year and am now focusing on Flash, specifically animation, game design and script writing.

When I was teaching Flash CS3 last year, I had the kids writing scripts in the old language Action Script 2, but I know I need to get with the times and move up to Action Script 3. It is a whole other language, literally. There are a few phrases that I understand and a whole lot that I don't. When my insomnia would get bad I would lay in bed and write scripts in my head, now, I have to relearn it all. I consider this to be part of my brain calisthenics.

I also started the next book in Stephen King's "Dark Tower" series. I am on book V, The Wolves of Calla. It's a fast read. I enjoy the fact that it is the same characters continuing the same quest book after book. There is a certain flow to the books that makes them quick to get through and yet easy to remember as well. Stephen King writes in a way that is both clever and simple. I am often amused to the point of chuckling aloud. I read very little fiction and this is pure brain candy for me, but I love it.

Sitting on our bookshelves for over a year is the book What to Expect the First Year this is the second book in a series on pregnancy and childcare. I had been picking up and putting down the previous book What to Expect When You are Expecting, but some little part of me fears it is jinxed. We purchased that book during the first pregnancy and every time I got pregnant again I would start to read it and then miscarry. I don't believe in jinxes, but I don't handle the book too much now, just in case. When we bought the second book in the series, I never got a chance to crack it open, so I figure that one is 'safe'. Perhaps it is actually the third in the series. I believe there is a primer book on how to get pregnant, but I have never needed that one.

What to Expect the First Year could be really helpful for me, as I know nothing about babies. It's almost comical how clueless I am, but I feel like this may work to my advantage. I have not been trained the the ways of baby rearing so I don't know what the 'right' thing to do is in any situation. In new situations, I tend to trust my instincts and I think they will serve me well when it comes to raising our kid.

I also like to do a lot of beforehand research on anything I am not familiar with. I try to investigate both sides of any coin that may be flipped my way and choose the more logical approach. Numbers speak to me and statistics have a lot of sway. Right now may be the only time left for me to do this kind of leisurely research before Piper is here screaming or turning purple or gazing mindlessly at the wall (or some other scenario that I haven't come across). I will use this time wisely and read, read, read.

I am also reading 3 Beatrix Potter books. One is a biography of her life, one is the companion book to a show of her work from the Tate and the third is her collected stories. She was a fascinating woman and her stories are so different from today's children's books. We all know the gist of Peter Rabbit, but her original story takes on a slightly darker tone than the one we all repeat. Actually, all of her stories do.

There is no neat, wrapped up 'happy ending', rather, they are tales of learning from your errors which are mostly character flaws. The protagonist doesn't get off scott-free in the end, there is usually some price to be paid for his mistake, whether it be going to bed hungry or losing your tail to a cantankerous owl. The moral of these tales are much more true to life. One cannot just say 'I'm sorry' and all will be well again, there is often a pound of flesh to be paid somewhere to someone.

In addition to the dose of reality, her illustrations are beautiful: watercolor and ink. It is a pairing that I have fallen in love with and am seeing over and over. Ralph Steadman did a lot of his work with this combination as did Tim Burton, two artists I greatly admire. The play of soft, flowing watercolors to the sharp, biting black ink is brilliant. Crisp, vivid and purposeful.

Yesterday, five more books came in the mail: Ina May's Guide to Childbirth, Special Delivery: A guide to creating the birth you want for you and your baby, Home Birth: A practical guide, The Diaper Free Baby and Baby-led Weaning: Helping your baby love good food. I have started on Home Birth: A practical Guide and will try to get through a book every few days. I am arming myself to the teeth to ensure that I am making the best decision I can through the knowledge of others.

I may choose to dismiss some information, because my logic may get in the way of some of the ideas. I know that there are many ways to do the same thing, often with different outcomes. After absorbing some information, I allow myself time to consider it and discuss it with Griffin. If it makes sense to us, I will add that bit to my collection of things we will try, if it seems illogical, it gets pushed aside (and possibly ridiculed by us in the future). Perhaps, in the heat of the moment, the things that once seems so logical to us will blow up in my face, that is a chance I will have to take. Nothing ventured, nothing gained.

My books are surrounding me now. There is a fire roaring in the fireplace and my cat is curled up next to me purring. The hardest part of this lazy Sunday morning will be deciding which book to start reading first. Of course, I must put down this laptop before I can do anything else. And so I will.

Just Call Me Alice

23 weeks

This day makes you smaller, this day makes you bigger.

This was a weird week. Along with the fish issues, I had been feeling a bit 'off'. It's hard to describe, nothing was particularly wrong, but I didn't feel like I was in my full on preggo groove. In between doing fishy things I have been spending a lot of time looking at the size of my belly.

For a couple of days I started to become concerned that my belly was too small. If you read about how big someone should be at five months, you will find that there is no correct answer. There isn't a standard size one's belly might be at this time, so I couldn't tell if I was going along alright. Perhaps I have gotten too used to looking at my rounded shape and now it looks too 'normal' to me.

So, now I am complaining about being normal? I just can't be happy, confident and relaxed, at least not for long. Do I even look pregnant anymore? I started to wonder if Piper has stopped growing, if I was eating enough, could I be losing fluid and not be aware of it? I have felt rather 'damp' lately. Flashbacks keep popping into my head.

Today I wore sweatpants to work. I have never, ever done this before. Actually, this is the first pair of sweatpants I can remember owning. They are brown with a soft, fleecy lining. They feel so good! I was low on clean clothes this morning and it is dang cold around here, so I was able to justify my choice. Fridays are 'dress-down' days anyhow, right?

I paired my sweatpants with a girlie maternity top and no one was the wiser. Funny how wearing a maternity blouse can make you feel more maternal. The whole day today I felt extra pregnant and very happy. What was I wearing all week that made me feel less than fully pregnant? I don't know if it was what I was wearing or what I was carrying around inside my head.

My deep concern over my fish was very distracting and I often have the disconcerting feeling of 'when it rains, it pours'. Maybe it was pouring somewhere, but not here. Since Monday's disaster, everything has been fine. Since we have decided to drop the OB, I have been a little extra nervous anyhow. It's a lot to adjust to. I liked my pregnancy training wheels even if they were annoying most of the time. I felt a little 'safer', but knew it is entirely unnecessary to travel 30 miles to have my blood pressure and weight taken. I think way too much.

Lately, I have been entirely too distracted at work. My classes are going along fine, but all of the little stuff I keep meaning to do never seems to get done. I forget to tell people stuff and I forget to hand things in. Everyone tells me it will only get worse. It's the least of my worries, but I am sure I am forgetting something important . . .

Now that I am feeling nice and big today, I am comfortable again. Is this some kind of paradox? The larger I am, the more comfortable I am? I guess I know that with every inch I grow, Piper is getting bigger and stronger. Her little kicks are getting more forceful which tells me she is doing well in her little fishbowl in my belly. Sometimes when I see a photo of a woman eight or nine months pregnant I find it shocking and can't imagine getting that big. And yet when I think about June and not being pregnant anymore, I can't imagine that either.

It's so easy carrying Piper around this way, inside me. Warm, safe and easy enough to move. What would if look like to be pregnant with a toddler? Perhaps I won't feel this way when I am eight or nine months pregnant. I might be looking forward to getting her out and getting skinny again. For now, I will enjoy my time with her rolling around inside me, in one, easy-to-carry package that keeps on getting bigger.

Sometimes You Just Need a Friend

22 weeks, 6 days.

Back to the fish saga . . . I checked my email all day today to see if my fish had been delivered. The fish place had sent me an email last night telling me that they had been shipped via Fedex overnight. I knew the fish would arrive by 3pm today.

Griffin had a couple of meetings today, so he would not be home to take the box of fish inside. I planned ahead and left a note on the door for the Fedex guy to leave the box in the little foyer area. When I checked my mail at 2pm, I saw that the fish had been delivered. I was relieved that they made it in one day (sometimes it doesn't work out even if it is supposed to be overnight).

I left work as soon as I could and raced home. I hoped my little fish would not be freezing on our stoop. When I pulled into the driveway, I did not see the box, so I figured it must have be put inside. I gathered all of my stuff: my school bag, water bottle, coffee cup, keys and got out of the car. I took two steps, planted my foot on some muddy grass and after a dramatic wobble landed squarely on my hip. My hand caught a large part of the fall too. I just stayed there for a couple of moments.

There was mud on my bag, mud on my coat, mud on my shoes. I did a quick mental check and I seemed to be okay, if not a little shaken. I gathered up all of my stuff again and headed into the house. I was pretty shaky, but I had my new fish to distract me.

I opened the box - everyone looked fine. I prepared to acclimate the fish and went into the sunroom with all of my supplies. I wanted to get it done before the nurse came to give me my progesterone shot. I took off my sweater and set stuff up. After noticing that there were a few plants that needed tucking in, I took off my long-sleeve t-shirt and reached into the tank.

Standing there in my bra, digging around in the tank, I heard the doorbell ring. Figures. The nurse was early. I tried to get my t-shirt back on, but my wet arms made it very difficult. Finally after struggling with that for a moment, I dashed down the hall to the door. It was the mailman. I had to sign for some certified mail.

I went back to the sunroom and finished working with the fish. They are all happily swimming around in their new home. I got done just in time for the nurse to come and give me my shot in my other hip. Now I hurt on both sides. Nice.

The Problem with Being a Benevolent God.

22 weeks, 4 days.

Yesterday was a tragic day. I know that there are things in life you can't control and in the end you have no choice but to accept them and move on. Sometimes, life malfunctions. Yesterday was such a day.

Griffin sent me an urgent email: "something is catastrophically wrong with the fish tank....it seems like the filter is not working...what should I do with it? I have no idea how it operates."

Something is wrong? Well, it was much worse than that. I called him and he told me that there were 5 dead fish floating at the top of the tank and that the tank water was hot, like tropical hot. I couldn't think. My fish were dead!?! I love my fish - I created their world, I am their benevolent god, what have I done?

The day before I had done a water change and finally disconnected the extra filter that I had been meaning to get rid of. I had simply put it in the tub to be cleaned and put away later. My tank is a well planted tank and the plants provide a lot of oxygen for the fish. I didn't know what could be happening - how hot was hot? what was with the filter? was there disease in the tank? It was going to be 3 more hours until I could get home to find out.

On the phone I told Griffin to just shut everything down. When in doubt - turn it off. I asked him to stir the water every half hour to help with the oxygen exchange. He sounded almost as upset as I was. It also occurred to me to have him scoop out the dead ones and put them in a bowl of water. I didn't want their dead bodies contaminating the tank and yet, I needed to see them to know if it was a disease attacking them. The rest of the work day went very slowly and then I raced home.

I got home to find another floater. The expletives started pouring out of my mouth, but I quickly got under control. I needed to do something productive now. My head thumped and throbbed. I changed my shirt and got to work. I reattached the old filter to get some more water moving. This filter is simple and noisy. I had gotten it in a pinch when my big filter, a canister that sits under the tank, started leaking right before vacation.

I then pulled out one heater. Seemed fine. I adjusted the temperature to 75 degrees and put it back in. I pulled out the other heater. Something was wrong here. It sizzled as I took it out of the water. It was so hot I couldn't touch it. Well, that explains what happened, at least partially. The water had gotten so warm because something in the heater fried and it just kept getting hotter and hotter.

Griffin also told me that the canister filter seemed to have stopped. I plugged it and sure enough. Nada. I asked him to carry it to the bathtub for me - it was way too heavy for me to carry in my current state - and I disassembled it. I cleaned all the parts, replaced a few elements and put it back together. Before I reconnected it, Griffin spotted a couple of more dead angels. It was so depressing. I scooped them out and added them to the bowl of dead ones beside the tank. I could see their little bellies starting to puff up with gas. They did not die from disease, it was the heat and lack of oxygen that did them in.

After I got the other filter running I sat down to look at the remaining fish. They seemed okay physically, but they were in shock. They hung around near the bottom of the tank in a cluster. I turned off the light and let them relax. Later on in the evening, I tried to feed them. They didn't even look at the food. They seemed to be traumatized. I turned off the light again.

Today, I checked on them in the morning. Not much change. No floaters, but they weren't their usual, greedy selves. I clicked off the light and left for work. When I got home this afternoon, I checked again. The striped angels still have no stripes. They are pale and huddled together. The three black ones are black, but somehow pale too.

Anyone who believes that fish have no feelings, no memory and are just emotionless ornaments has never raised or observed them. My remaining angels are sad. They are frightened. They have post-traumatic-stress-syndrome! I gave them a bit of food and they just picked at it and then went back to their huddle. Normally, these fish live to eat and will beg for food every time I walk by the tank. Now, they don't care about food. They are barely eating just to stay alive.

One of the other survivors was my smallest Clown Loach. I had five of them and all the big ones died. The littlest one had hid for many hours and showed up late last evening. I was happy and surprised to see him. These fish love to hang out and play with a group of their own kind only. Unfortunately, I guess the other fish don't speak their language. The little survivor swam back and fourth in the front of the tank - either he was looking for his tankmates or perhaps he understood what took place and was devastated by their deaths. He was not swimming up and down and round and round in the goofy way loaches usually do.

I also spotted a lone Flag Fish, peeking at me through the grasses. These, too, prefer to live in groups and he looked very lost and frightened. I knew I could not let these fish live alone for long, they have been known to go off their food and die of loneliness. I felt they had suffered enough and must do something for them.

So, today, I ordered some new fish online. I am hoping that a few new lives will help perk up the rest of the tank. They all look so sad. My new fish will come on Thursday, and yes, you can order fish online and have them overnighted to you. It's easier to get better quality fish than going to Petsmart, trust me.

I also ordered a new, top quality heater and a digital thermometer with an alarm for temperature changes above or below a certain degree. There is not much more I can do to prevent another disaster. Some things cannot be predicted or prepared for.

So what have I learned from all of this? Well, that life is unpredictable. I guess I already knew that, but life has a funny way of reinforcing these lessons. No matter how happily and uneventful things may seem to be going along, that can all change in a moment, or in a few hours, days or weeks.

The last four miscarriages all happened in slow motion and in the blink of an eye, but there was nothing I could have done to prevent them and there was no reaction that could have taken them back. Yesterday, I could have screamed and cried and thrown a fit, but it wouldn't have revived my dead fish. All I could do was try to make the survivors comfortable and thank Griffin for all of his help. He felt so bad that so many fish died. I felt lucky that so many fish survived. I feel lucky that I have survived. I know they will recover in time. After a traumatic event we all recover in time.