There’s nothing like the anticipation of a new calendar year to bring about change; welcome or not, it somehow makes a difference. It’s not just a new datebook and remembering to write the correct dates on a check. I feel like I don’t always see it coming, though in reality I’m given 31 days of December to notice that it all starts over.
approx December 26 1983 – HA! My mom was impregnated. LOLS FOR DAYZ.
December 31 1999 – Wow champagne tastes awesome n rad n stuff n oh my god I’m drunk and my head hurts help mom i’m sick and underage!
December 21st 2003 – At the young ages of 21 and 19 (respectively), Tim and I become officially engaged.
January 4 2006 – The decision is made to move from my hometown of San Jose to the Napa Valley (where we’d spent a mere 5 days on our honeymoon), and our hunt for a suitable apartment begins, just days after the valley experienced a nasty flood.
December 31st 2009 – After months of anxious guessing: we’re having a boy!
December 6th 2010 – I start a new job, working full time after spending six months with my beautiful baby, which also means my baby begins daycare.
December 30th 2011 – Emergency surgery to remove my left ovary.
This year is quiet. Almost too quiet… it gives me time to think. It also gives me time to plan, which is never good, because I make giant grandiose plans of how my next year will be spent (also how the next year’s money will be spent, sorry Tim).
Yesterday I hadn’t had time to properly organize my hopes and resolutions for the months to come, but now I think I have them:
1. Kick even more ass at my job. I’ve done pretty well so far, but c’mon, there’s always room for Jell-O…erp…improvement.
2. Get back to the gym. I took the entire month of December off, and I feel how tired I am – it helps my sleep when I work out.
3. MAIM! DESTROY! REMODEL! The kitchen, of course. 1973 is so000 40 years ago.
4. Take more pictures. Though this may sound strange coming from someone who took an over 4,000 photos this year (not including the photos taken for the wedding I photographed), but I really want to keep moving forward in my photography skills, and my Nikon D7000 will definitely help (thanks to Tim for my amazing Christmas gift)!
5. Spend more time playing, reading and running with Marco – and less time throwing my hands up with impatience when he does something naughty (“We do NOT climb onto the changing table in order to leap onto the bed!”) or incomprehensible (“Just tell me WHY you moved all the train tracks into the bathtub…”).
6.. Figure out how I REALLY feel about babies, and if I am a 1 or 2 kid Mom.
7. Continue the fun with flour and sugar! I don’t mean to ding my own egg timer (ehh!?), but I’ve whipped up some fantastic baked goods these last few months, much to the dismay of waistlines every where. Let’s keep it going!
Last resolution: go to bed earlier. Now that it is 12:22am, I’m signing off.
However you feel, whatever you stand for, just make sure to get out there and vote today.
Last week we noticed our baby kitty Sgt Pepper was a starting to become swollen around her midsection; Tim thought it might be constipation, and I had no clue what it could be. After two days, we decided it was serious enough to take her to the vet. Turns out the swelling was from fluids in her abdomen. The vet took blood samples and sent them out to be tested, but was fairly sure that the diagnosis would come back as FIP (Feline infectious peritonitis). You can read a little about it HERE and HERE, but the gist of it is that it is a disease for which there is no treatment, moves quickly and is fatal. Needless to say, Tim and I were shaken.
Monday evening we finally got the results back from the vet, and our poor beautiful kitten does, in fact, have FIP. Cats with this disease can sometimes live a few months, most live a few weeks after diagnosis.
The only death I can say I’ve experienced is the death of my goldfish, Ophelia (I was 7 and I thought it was a beautiful name); this is extremely hard for me to even process. If we let this go too long, she’ll be weaker and in lots of pain. I don’t want her to live like that, but I don’t know how to make a decision to put her down.
Sgt Pepper is only five months old, and it is so unfair that we’ve only had her for two months.
Please send us good thoughts.
This is kind of a weird music rant. Stick around if you’ve got some thoughts to share. I have a tendency to ramble; try to overlook
A few weeks ago, I was shown the clip of Lana Del Rey’s truly terrible performance on SNL. What the heck was that!? I know that she supposedly has stage fright, but…wow. Pretty bad.
I’d heard from a few people whose musical opinions I respect, that I shouldn’t decide based on this poor performance. I gave Lana a fair shake, and tried the recorded version instead. I thought Hmmm…not so bad. Actually, I kind of like it. Okay – so I do like the song.
In the interest of musical experiments and fairness, I gave the entire album a listen. Mehhhh. ’Born to Die’ and ‘Diet Mountain Dew’ are ok tracks, along with the aforementioned ‘Video Games’. She doesn’t sing well in the low, throaty, speak-sing voice she’s trying to use to appear sexy. When she’s actually singing in her natural voice, it’s not bad, but it isn’t exciting. Tim and I have agreed that if someone else were to sing these songs, they’d be really good; with Lizzie/Lana behind them, nothing really hits you hard enough to evoke a pure response. So…I guess I would say that there’s great song-writing and producing talent evident, but she might want to pass these off to someone else. I don’t need a perfect voice (I like a bit of grit sometimes), but here it’s like all the moaning is supposed to mean something…but it doesn’t. It’s just not thrilling. I don’t hate it.
Live performances are a big part of the music experience, at least for me, so I know that I would never spend money a ticket to see her perform; it still says something when you can’t sing in front of your fans. The good news is, with time and practice, she’ll probably get the hang of it.
A friend and I got into a discussion about Ms Lana aka Lizzie Grant before I’d heard the music – and at the end of it, I felt like I’d mostly been a girl. By that I mean that maybe I was treating her like a bitchy girl would treat a ‘rival’; in a different way than I’d discuss a male musician. Look, it’s not to say that I would’ve been a huge David Bowie fan back in the 70s, and he did basically the same thing, performing as his alter ego Ziggy Stardust, in order to create a different sound. Don’t misunderstand me: I’m not compairing the two musically. I like David Bowie now, but back then, it might not have really worked for me. I guess I just feel like I might not have said the same thing if we were talking about him.
Does my inital dislike really all come down to how I feel about women in general? How much of a feminist can I be if I dismissed a female artist for doing what is, in actuality, the same thing I admire in a male musician? But then…I get to thinking even MORE about it. Why does all of it bother me? If I REALLY step back and take a look, isn’t EVERY very successful musician’s persona a part of their mystique? Bob Dylan has created himself as so many different characters in his career that they made a movie about it. It’s a fool’s game to try and decipher which musicians are ‘real’ and which aren’t. Every artist has started as one sound and ended as another – it’s part of the evolution of music, a critical step in the careers of every intelligent artist.
I might be over-thinking it (I usually do), but this seemingly simple subject turned my thoughts to something more serious. Weird how that happens.
What’s funny is, I am fully aware that by writing this post, and subsequently publishing it on my blog, I am adding to the hype I’m trying to avoid. I’ve somehow become a part of a mass-media objective to propel her into the stars, even with my very small readership; I’ve contributed to the words written about her. In the end, her album has done what it was seemingly meant to do, which is to get people talking. Mission accomplished.
The saga continues.
The pain from the surgery kept getting worse and worse, and I’d already lost 5 pounds between the day of the surgery and the following Thursday. I called my doctor, and they had me come in and get a shot of antibiotics and some vitamin, to see if it helped. Friday morning I woke up and found the my incision had been weeping all night, and I felt horrible. I had my scheduled follow up that morning, and when I arrived they told me that I would need to go to the hospital for IV antibiotics, an ultrasound, bloodwork, and to be monitored for 24 hours. Have I mentioned before how much I hate hospitals?
I’ve never stayed overnight in a hospital by myself, and I was scared. It was pretty crummy – luckily, Tim was able to stay with me during the day, since Marco was at daycare. Our friend Justin was extremely kind and came up to watch Marco for a few hours, so Tim could come back to the hospital and tuck me in; I felt so much better to have Tim there before I went to sleep. He left at 9 to head home, and I tried to sleep.
HA! Total hours of sleep – 4 1/2 hours. A patient in another room on the same floor must’ve had something terrible wrong with him, because he moaned, groaned, screamed all night. I fell fully asleep sometime after midnight, when they’d given me a second round of antibiotics. I was asleep until 3:30, when a new nurse came in to check my blood pressure. At 4:30, she came back to see if I needed any more pain medication. At 5:30, a tech came in to take blood samples. At 6:30, a nurse came in to check my vitals again, and to tell me to order my breakfast. At 7:30, breakfast was delivered. Every other person that came in would leave the door to my room open, thereby letting in all the noise from the nurses and the moaning guy.
My doctor came to check on me at around 9. He wanted me to stay another night, but I begged to be allowed to go home. He ended up letting me go home later in the afternoon, but with two antibiotics and orders to see him on Tuesday.
After he left, I slept for a little over an hour. Tim and Marco picked me up around 2:30, and I was so happy to see my boy! I hadn’t seen him since Friday morning, and I’d missed him so much! I hated not being able to kiss him goodnight! Marco gave me hugs, kisses, and huge grins. He’s been so sweet – patting my arms and asking “Mama, otay?”, trying to help me up off of the couch, and holding my hands when I walk around the house.
The pain is starting to lessen, but I’m exhausted all the time. It’s hard to eat much, and I can’t stop losing weight – trust me, this is NOT good. I look like a corpse, and I feel disgusting. All I can really stomach is cereal (Frosted Flakes and Lucky Charms), candy (so healthy, right?), and occasionally, crackers or pita chips. I want to feel like myself again. It’ll come soon, I just have to be patient, right?
I didn’t start the New Year in the way that I had wanted (wearing sequins, drinking Schramsberg and dancing my booty off), or even the way that I had expected (sitting at home in pjs with Tim, drinking Schramsberg).
Last Friday, I had my follow up appointment with my regular OB-GYN, from the previous week’s ER visit. After he looked at the ultrasound report, and examined me himself with the ultrasound, he had some interesting news for me. It turned out that the complex cyst on my left ovary was full of blood – instead of either going away on its own, or rupturing, a vein had torn inside of it, so it was just getting bigger and heavier. Then, there was an even bigger cyst in my right ovary. The ovary was getting so heavy that it was starting to drop from the weight (explaining the pull on my sciatic nerves). I had to go from my doctor’s office straight to the hospital to have surgery to remove the cysts. He explained that if things were too hard on my ovary, there was a possibility that it would need to be removed, but he seemed to think that was unlikely given the circumstances; it would be a fairly simple laporascopic procedure, with minimal recovery time and two small incisions.
Tim had stayed at home with Marco during my appointment, but luckily my friend was able to sit at our house so Tim could meet me at the hospital. He arrived just in time to hold my hand before they put me under the anesthesia. When I woke up, my doctor had already left for the day. I woke up from pain, and discovered it was hours later, and Tim was next to me. I just kept shouting “What happened?”, until the nurse came over. The nurse explained that they had taken my left ovary out entirely. In addition to the cyst, there was a large tumor, which they think is benign, but they sent it out for testing. I didn’t get any more information, and won’t know anything else until my follow up in a few days.
I’m scared. I’m in so much pain and I feel so awful. The pain medication helps with some of it, but the incisions hurt. I have two small incisions from the initial procedure, but once it was determined that my ovary had to come out, they had to cut a larger section. It’s still smaller than a C-section, and lower, so I probably shouldn’t complain, but I’m going to anyway. Laughing hurts – it’s all I want to do, to feel better and laugh, but it feels like my abdomen is ripping in half when I do.
I don’t know how this affects my ability to have children. I know nothing, and I think this scares me more than anything. I’m not as scared about the tumor – I can’t process that information yet.I don’t even know that I would have had any other children – but having the decision making process taken out of my hands is infuriating, frightening…. I can’t even remember all of the words there are to describe how I feel.
A few weeks ago I had some really severe pain in my low abdomen, which turned out to have been a ruptured ovarian cyst. I’d experienced these a few times before, but it still doesn’t make the pain any easier to handle. Then, last Friday, I had really bad low back pain (really low – like in my hips and tail bone) that didn’t go away. It lasted through Saturday, where I ended up in bed on the heating pad, popping Advil. Sunday, I felt ok in the morning, but after too much walking around, I was back in bed. Monday and Tuesday, at work, I brought the heating pad and tried not to get up from my desk too much. Walking was difficult, I had to kind of hunch, and though my coworkers were sympathetic, I know they were smothering giggles. Can’t blame ‘em, I looked like an old lady.
I didn’t sleep much Tuesday night, but when I got up Wednesday morning I figured I’d just grab coffee and fake awakeness. I was driving to work and suddenly found myself unable to drive anymore. I was in lots of pain, and felt like I couldn’t concentrate. I got a little dizzy. I couldn’t keep my eyes open without extreme effort. I barely made it to Marco’s daycare, but I dropped him off, and then called my doctor. They told me to go to the hospital. Operating a motor vehicle being out of the question, Tim picked me up and drove me to the ER.
FUN TIMES. I HATE THE HOSPITAL. Anyway, many hours later, some pain medication and muscle relaxers in hand, I was back home. The ER doctor had an ultrasound done, and it turns out I have 3 more cysts, one of them complex. All of them small, which is encouraging. Cysts in themselves are not too worrisome, as they are fairly common and normal. There was also some extra fluid leftover from another rupture, possibly increasing my pain. I have to follow up on those next week, to check that they aren’t growing too large
The back pain could be sciatica, so I have to keep an eye on it and possibly see a back specialist if it goes on too much longer, or comes back.
Today I am not feeling better (the pain meds just make me drowsy, they don’t help with the actual pain), and am stuck at home feeling sorry for myself, and watching many Law & Order reruns. I have a lot of stuff to take care of at work, and I was hoping to get it all done today so I could have my four days off with no worries (my office is closed Friday and Monday, woot woot!). But now, that’s not the case. I am kind of freaking out about the pile of work that will be waiting for me when I return on Tuesday.
I just need to get through today. I HAVE TO FEEL BETTER TOMORROW. Tim and I both have the day off! He and I are going to have a full day together – sans Marco. I cannot wait. We’re might do lunch, then a movie, and then we’ll see where the day takes us! We have only had 2 actual dates this entire year ( Valentine’s Day and for Tim’s birthday).
Just have to make it through today.
First, I have to tell you: you are the most beautiful boy in the entire world; not to mention the smartest and sweetest. I love absolutely every detail about you, from your perfect toes to the funny wisps of hair on top of your head.
You have your own odd sense of humor, and I love to watch you come up with your own private jokes.
You’ve recently discovered the Count on Sesame Street, and you give yourself giggle fits trying to imitate his halting, Transylvanian laugh: “AHA HA HA”.
I love that when you see me coming through the door of your classroom to pick you up, your face bursts into a joyous smile. You bounce up and down, or race across the room to get to me.
I love that you think I’m hilarious when I dance my routine to ‘Bohemian Rhapsody’ (the one choreographed especially for you during your colicky days; a modern mix of ballet, air guitar, kabuki theatre, and some full on hair swishing/head banging), and that you smile big when I sing to you.
You’re super-ticklish under your armpits, and your Daddy and I take full advantage of your tickle spots!
I hope that I don’t come across too harshly when I have to tell you ‘No’. I’m sorry that sometimes I get frustrated with your inability to fully express what you need, and I hope you forgive me; I’ve never claimed patience as a virtue, but just know that your mother loves you and tries her best. I know you are learning words in your own pace. Already, you say ‘Mama’, ‘Dada’, ‘agin!’ (again) and ‘Moarrr’ (more)
You blew a kiss to me today; I caught it and put it away for a cold night. I might have wept a little.
You’re officially considered a toddler now, because you’re 1 year old, and have taken your first steps. Today, on your birthday, you stood, and took 4 steps towards your daddy, and 2 steps towards me. ALL BY YOURSELF.
I love you. I kind of worship at your feet, you little angel, so take care not to throw graham crumbs into my hair.
Happy birthday, my Marco Amadeus.
…cause that’s my name (in binary code). Don’t wear it out!
Remember all those funny sayings we used as children? Maybe we should bring them back.
Friend: “I love Captain Crunch cereal!”
You: “So why don’t you marry it?!” MY GOD. Comic genius!
Enemy: “You smell bad!”
You: “I’m rubber, you’re glue! Whatever you say bounces off me and sticks back to you!” Repeat as necessary.
Parent: “Go clean your room!”
You: “I’ll do it because I WANT to, NOT because you tell me to!” This one’s a kid classic. Immortalized forever in Mrs. Piggle-Wiggle by Betty McDonald, which if you didn’t read, you have no soul.
Umm…so about this completely random post…whoops.
Meant to show you a few pics from Saturday:
Outfit from our anniversary dinner at Farmstead (yep, taken in the bathroom)
Dress: Mossimo for Target
Belt: Forever21 (purchased 2007)
Shoes: Steve Madden (purchased 2008 – also styled HERE)
Bracelet: gift from Mom
The restaurant was housed in a converted barn, on a property that used to be a nursery. The gardens are still lovely, and the whole place looked awesome! The decorators really took its roots (pun intended!!) into account, and used everything available (farming tools turned into lighting fixtures, refinished original woods, etc).
The cuisine was great, utilizing the local flavors and modern menu items, while adding a sprinkling of home. The Executive Chef, Sheamus Feeley, did a great job keeping both a dyed-in-the-wool carnivore and his vegetarian wife satisfied and happy!
We started off with wood-roasted asparagus (topped with ricotta, Meyer lemon and EVOO). All three of us (Marco was partaking in the adventure, too) looooved this dish!
I had an arugula, strawberry, feta and apple-cider vinaigrette salad, with a an order of the Cheddar biscuits. The biscuits came with a dollop of honey butter…and I pretty much died and went to cheese heaven. SO FLIPPING GOOD! I was excited that there were a few left over to snack on the next day.
Tim ordered the cheeseburger on a potato bun – and said that it was both interesting and delicious.
Marco enjoyed the grilled cheese sandwich, which I would have happily eaten myself – and, luckily for me, Marco loves to share food, so he handed me several bites. SCORE!
The awesomely good Lemon Meringue pie – the graham cracker crust was dreamy.
Blissed out after delicious meal and a slow-dance to our wedding song
Might be a little sporadic with posting the next few days – trying to get things together for Marco’s 1st birthday (and his party!); will update when I can!
I’m wading around in a sea of questions – and I am pretty sure I lost my arm floaties….
…and that wave looks huge. I feel very tired.
I’ve made a super big decision, and though I am feeling confident
sort of about it, it’s scary.
FYI: nothing takes your mind off of stress like this face:
Am I right, or am I right?!
I know. He’s gorgeous. :-)