It’s two o’clock in the morning and I’m wide awake. Most likely due to the two servings of caffeine I had today, one of which was at dinner time. So now I lay in bed, my mind wandering.

In case you were wondering, Miss K was born on December 18th, healthy and well. She’s now home with her parents who adore her. And although labor was long, it was uneventful. I didn’t bleed to death after all.

As the copy-cat that I am, I volunteered to pump breast milk for Miss K because that’s what a friend of mine did. It is good for both of us. It helps her for the many beneficial qualities of breast milk and it helps my body return to normal faster. Unfortunately, it also leads to pumping every three hours (aka sleepless nights) and tender breasts. This, my friend, gets old very quickly.

Two days ago, I decided I had had enough. I quit. This resulted in painfully swollen breasts and another, far longer, sleepless night. Which led to a very cranky me. Emotional and weepy, I tried to stay busy and distracted.

Tonight, as I lay in bed not sleeping, I have a bit of an epiphany. I feel loss. Not for Miss K, because she’s not mine, never was. But loss that I will never again do what I felt I was born to do. I think I’ve mentioned it before, but I have easy pregnancies and deliveries. Quite text book. And although I say I’m 29, I’ve said that for 8 years. At this point, I’ve reached “advanced maternal age”. Additional pregnancies run higher risks.

Before this pregnancy, my husband and I had talked about making our family officially complete, so he had a vasectomy. At the time, we were both very happy with that decision. Right now, with my maternal hormones running through me, I feel sadness and loss. I will never have another child. I will never feed my milk to another child. My usefulness is gone.

I understand this is a result of my hormones but it doesn’t make it any less powerful. As I lay in my bed, I begin to wonder who I can sleep with to get pregnant. Okay, so it would make things a little awkward. “Yes, I’m pregnant again. No, my husband isn’t excited.” Followed by visions of me in the delivery room. “Yes, this is my husband but this other guy is the baby’s father, so he needs to stay, too.” I imagine the looks I would get from the hospital staff. “Don’t judge me!” Perhaps a dog would be a better way to go.

My maternity leave will last for another couple of weeks. It is my hope that when I return to work, I will become myself again and this need for a child will pass. If not, I will babysit my three year old niece. That will take care of it. Cute as she is, I don’t want to go back to that stage of parenting. I like my 10 and 13 year olds. They’re quite self sufficient.

Stay tuned…


Another bipolar swing… Sigh…

What you think about, you bring about. I’ve heard it from different people in different ways. It always leads to the same thing, focus on good things so you get more of those good things. I don’t know if I believe it but at least there’s no harm in trying it.

Took a trip to mother’s today. I saw her laying there in her bed and felt shame over what I’ve typed here. She isn’t evil, just not what I think a warm and loving mother should be. Don’t get me wrong, I didn’t post lies. She is manipulative and verbally abusive but she did the best she could with what she had.

The woman who gave me life didn’t give me hugs but did help me get through four years of college. She didn’t give me the best toys a kid could have but she kept me fed and clothed. A friend of mine (who has heard stories of my experiences) tells me that, had she experienced what I did, she would never speak to Mother again. And there are moments when I don’t want to see her but…

She did the best she could with what she had and, at the end of the day, my childhood was a lot better than some. So I’ll quit bitching and appreciate what I had. It lead me to be the person I am today.

And, for the most part, I’m very happy.


It has been about 17 years since my father passed away. When I got the phone call, it was a bit of a shock. It was a sudden heart attack. The first and only.

When it happened, he and my mother had been on an extended vacation. They had been there for close to a year. It might be difficult to understand, but I had been familiar with the distance so it wasn’t very difficult for me after he was gone. The physical distance was just permanent.

Even so, the idea of the man I called Father being trapped in a box was daunting for me. My father was full of life. He would yell at soccer games, laugh at movies, enjoy his wine at dinner. I couldn’t imagine him in a little box. I didn’t want to.

It was such a relief when I finally saw him in a coffin. That man may look like my father, but my father wasn’t there. The passionate man I knew was gone. This “thing” could go into the ground. I was happy knowing that my father, his essence, his life, wouldn’t be trapped in a box.

Today, I am faced with another loss. People who aren’t animal lovers will not understand what this is about, but for those who are, you will share my pain.

My purebred Himalayan of 18 years has decided he’s had enough and wants to rest. Really, who can blame him? As a purebred, he was expected to rest after 14, maybe 15 years. He is a tenacious fellow and quite stubborn.

About a month ago, I found blood right under his mouth, so I took him to the vet who said that he was experiencing kidney failure. So I have cried more for my cat in this past month than I did when my father passed.

Shadow Cat has lived with me since he was a kitten. He has scratched me, stolen my pillow, woken me up for a pet, puked on my floor so I could step in it, has insisted on walking all over me as I try to sleep, jumped on my lap as I watched tv, has rubbed his little head into my hands insisting on attention, has given me companionship when I was lonely, but most of all, has loved me unconditionally. I love him far more than I ever expected to.

And as I see him wither away (he has stopped eating and drinking) a sense of loss and sadness washes over me. I want his pain to stop but can’t bring myself to kill him. For two weeks, I have watched his deterioration continue. Now, he can’t even lift his head. He doesn’t have enough strength for anything. Barely to breathe.

Today, I have decided to end his suffering. I haven’t made the call yet but I have decided that I need to. I will play God and end his life. In my head, I tell myself that I’m doing it to end his pain but I wonder if I’m not doing it to end my own instead.

I hate seeing him like this. I told myself I could just keep him company until he passed but he’s not passing quickly enough for me.

Have you ever seen a cat who can’t purr? Can’t meow? It’s really one of the saddest thing on the planet. He opens his mouth, even while his eyes are closed, and nothing comes out.

His body is stiff. If I didn’t see his fur going up and down with each breath, I would have said he had already passed. And his breath, ugh, it smells like death.

So, today, I will be a cruel bitch and have my cat assassinated. I will watch as they give him something which will make his heart stop. Make him take his last breath.

And the one creature who would have given me comfort will cease to exist.