Grounded in Reality

Weird dreams and premonitions. I guess that what you'd call them. Vivid dreams.
Firstly, I've been so freeeeeeking tired lately; I've had two days off in a row, and slept though them both. Sleeping tends to lead to dreaming, and boy howdy have I had some humdingers.
Can I remember their content now? Nope. I used to keep a dream journal... I'm not sure why. It had something to do with meditation and trying to achieve an OBE. Ahhhh.... those innocent days of secret metaphysical experimentation. So long ago. That was before reality moved in and shut down my sixth sense.
Found myself watching Medium on tv. Television, folks. I hardly ever watch TV. I work the late shift, hence missing any primetime shows; daytime tv simply sucks. Anyway, it got me to thinking (scary thought, I know). I used to be very aware of my world, very sensitive to every little nuance around me, within me, without me. I swear to this day I could pick up vibes like you wouldn't believe. I wouldn't go so far as saying I could predict the future, but more often than not, if my radar honed in on one person or event strong enough, something was bound to occur. And, much like fortune cookies the newspaper horoscopes, you can read anything you want into the generalizations. So, I entertained myself with thinking I had a gift. I was quite young, you see, and my world hadn't yet fallen apart. Now, I'm quite numb to anything otherworldly. Or, in-this-worldly for that matter!
I remember in my early 20's, a gal I had just started working with had befriended me. One day, I asked her if her mother's name was Elizabeth. It took her a moment to reply, because she always knew her mom as Betty. She probably thought I was nuts, but I told her that I was "seeing" a girl in a yellow dress, next to a cow. A week later, she brought in a picture of her mother, on a farm, in a yellow dress with white daisies on it, but the cows were behind the fence in the background. I never really picked up on any features of "the girl in the dress", it wasn't a three-dimensional vision, just more of a thought I guess. She told me how her mother had died from liver failure a year prior, and she felt so guilty with herself (and angry at the doctors) for not catching on that her mother's self-medicating with too many acetaminophen-containing products were building a toxicity that would eventually kill her. I mentioned that perhaps her mother had something else wrong with her (that led to the medicating behavior), and that was the true culprit. There is no conclusion to this story; we went on about our business, would chat about it on occasion, and she moved on to healing day by day. I never pried any deeper, and she never made me feel like a phenomenon or a creep.
So anyway, fiction like Medium and Final Destination still tantalize me. I'm not a weirdo, I assure you, but my delusions do keep me entertained. Not all of these creepy dreams involve death. Sometimes, I have no idea what is going on or why I'm thinking about a certain person with such intensity. And I have to impress on you very vigorously that I do not suffer from any sort of "magical thinking" or mental disorder that would include a risk of commitment to the local looney bin. I'm just stating what is, or what "was", back when I was immature and quite possibly bored. My current state of "huh?" is probably brought on by sheer exhaustion and... well I guess just sheer exhaustion. Did I mention I'm tired? So, in my new reality, the weirdness is just that, sleep-deprived weirdness, and I easily forget the who's and what's in my dreamworld. Which is a good thing. Because if I see a certain person's mother again tonight, I'm going to have to call her! WooooEeeeeeeOooooooh (cue Twilight Zone music here)

Double nickels

What to do, what to do.
I got to thinking yesterday, as I boldly pulled on undies without adding insurance... I kind of like not having periods. My periods suck. They are horrendous, and heavy and long and miserable and messy and I certainly could do without them. I could do without the questions, the maybes, the wishing and hoping and certainly the disappointment.
So I went about my day.
Sometime in the middle of the night/wee morning hours, however, I became sad. What if this is it for me? Obviously, something isn't working too well somewhere. And the weird thing is, I *could* be okay with that. I was okay with that prior to the Mystery Conception of 2003. That little fiasco sent me swirling back into the whole "not giving up" and TTC bullshit all over again. I had moved past that. Like, a decade ago. Now I'm sort of stuck somewhere out in limbo-land, and I don't like it. There is no control. I base my hopes on some shiny feathered magical fairy that lives in my imagination.
I dislike not being in control.
I feel as if I could live with the DECISION to end my chances and wishful thinking, but not having that decision being made for me in some unfair lottery style fate.
When I had my D&C, I told the doc to go ahead an give me the works while he was in there. "If you won't take it out, at least do an ablation". At my checkup, I asked him if he had done the ablation (my post-procedure bloody output was nil). He had not. For one, I was in no position mentally or emotionally to give informed consent. Also, blah blah something about the size and condition of my uterus at the time blah blah not able to do it right then blah.
Today I am on CD55. I feel fine. I feel happy. I'm wondering if I should request the provera just to clear out the muck, or if I should just let it go until my stupid body decides it will right itself and do the job on its own. Not real interested in the clomid or anything else right now. My cholesterol is high, my blood pressure is high, my weight is high, my tensions are high; my warm fuzzy feelings are not.
Don't get me wrong, CD55 is hardly anything. I've gone well into the 80s before without incident. As a matter of fact, back in 1997 or 1998, I went close to six months without a period. I believe one should probably get checked after about 3 months, and the 6 month mark is a bit of a red flag. I've done birth control in the past to keep things on a more even keel, but I didn't care for the weight gain and zits and nausea, much less trying to remember to take them and swallowing an ounce of prevention when I really needed a kilo of cure.
So anyway, I guess it comes down to this. I'm tired of thinking about it. I'm fed up with wondering. I'm not at the point where I am ready to make any decisions right now, about anything. I'm tired of wearing pantiliners "just in case". I'm tired of watching the calendar.
I also realized last night, that we have gotten into a routine here at home. The Hubster is back to work out of town, so its just me and The Boy. He's a big boy, who more often than not likes to fend for himself. I'm on a long stretch of second shifts currently. I sleep in, do a little housework, go to my job, come back home, do the dishes and laundry, go to bed, lather rinse, repeat. He gets up for football practice, eats there, comes home for a nap, goes to lifting, comes back home and fixes himself dinner, watches some tv, and goes to bed. Some nights we watch a movie together. We see each other enough that he still bums money off of me, and I hand him a short list of chores that need to be done. It works. Do I want/need a tiny creature that is completely dependent on me to give me hassle?
The yearning to snuggle a little baby who looks at me with wonder and curiosity is still there. The need to mother, take care of, and dote on something is still there. I could get a kitten. Kittens let you snuggle on occasion. They look at everything with wonder and curiosity. And as a bonus, they bathe and toilet themselves. Of course its not the same thing, but its all I've got.

Indemnity

Thanks to everyone for the birthday wishes, I appreciate your thoughts (and attention!).
Recently, I reacted in a bit of a surprised horror when one of my friends told me "The next time Joe pisses me off, I'm buying new appliances!". She wasn't talking coffee pots, either. Her stainless steel fridge, stove, dishwasher, trash compactor and microwave are almost ten years old now! I thought, now that's a bit harsh. But then I thought, she is insane. My husband would KILL me. Plus, we don't even HAVE that kind of credit. Wonder what she'd buy me if Joe pissed ME off? I'll have to get on that.
But then my big day came and went and at first I wasn't too miffed because we were just too preoccupied to even bother to care. It wasn't until The Hubster and I were at one of those dented can & surplus crap stores that it hit me. He's looking at sweatshirts and jean jackets, and all I wanted was this poodle-fluff throw, and HE TOLD ME NO. Uh... WTF? No? Oh no you di'unt. So I bought it, and came home and started looking at jewelry online. Oh yes. I have purchased two gold bracelets. One is an Omega. Scorn!

...and it was good

Woweeee! I've never enjoyed a shower more than that. I didn't want to get out. I must've washed my hair a half dozen times. Today, I even shaved.
Don't get me wrong, we *did* practice basic hygiene, but birdbaths only get you so far. Every other day we'd sludge our way over to the in-laws for a good scrubbin'.
But this, THIS, is just too wonderful.
Yay, Mr. Fixit! You deserve a special treat for your heroic effort. ::wink,wink::
Ah, but still. We have the walls and floor to finish. We'll get around to the kitchen ceiling eventually. Really, plumbing is a wonderful thing. I'm all set. Good to go. Worn out.
~~~
Saw the doc. Diastolic pressure is high(120/90), ankles not too swollen (yet) today. Heart sounds good, pulse on the high side of normal(84), went for bloodwork and peed in a cup. If nothing is wrong medically, then I *am* just nuts. She gave me my paxil. And I've gained a lucky 13 pounds. She urged me to contact Dr. Wonderful about my periods (or lack thereof). Unless my thyroid suddenly went on the blink (which she is checking, again. Along with the blood sugar and cholesterol and electrolytes and tread wear and wiper blades, all for the low low cost of $19.95 (plus tax)), there doesn't seem to be any reason other than my bum ovaries to blame.
~~~
I go back to work tomorrow. While I'm sad to have to kiss my vacation goodbye, I'll be absolutely thrilled to get.out.of.this.house. And wear real clothes. Today I managed to do my hair and makeup and put on some spiffy digs just to remember what I could look like in the real world. My word, the laundry I have to do! Everything is covered in drywall dust. I mean EVERYTHING. Trace amounts of gypsum will show on my UA.
~~~
I'm off to do a few errands, and buy a bucket of chicken before I start the "new me" routine. Girl's gotta have a little fun, right?

Caulk Watch 2006

This just in...
Authorities have announced that bathing shall commence at 0900 today, but are quick to warn that any suspicious extraneous moisture activity should be immediately reported to officials. In the unlikely event that the cabin loses water pressure, an emergency towel will be issued and instructions in its use will be provided. Please familiarize yourself with the strategically placed buckets located directly below the daedal enclosure.

Immerge te in aquam!

This Week in Scourge

So much for a "vacation" - I'd have been more relaxed at work.
Day 7 of home improvement hell. I'm telling you, any marriage that can stay strong through this kind of torture can handle anything.
Don't ask me for my opinion if you don't want to hear what I have to say.
If I do not understand something, I will be asking well thought out questions.
I am not your toolbuddy, your apprentice, or an underpaid helper.
Bite me.
~~~
Yesterday I turned 37. No cards, no gifts, no cake. Being insanely sick of sandwiches, we did go out for lunch on the way to Woe's to pick up the shower door. No, of course not the one I wanted. We got the one that fits instead. Seems the manufacturer of the "kit" we ended up with has it so that only one door works with the ensemble. I really don't care anymore. I'd just like to bathe, and soon.
~~~
The Boy has been injured at football camp. More than a sprain, he has torn fibers in a tendon or something. Swollen, black and blue, and no weight bearing. He feels like a sissy on the crutches, says he. What a pisser. I can't even baby him like I want, because of this bloody hell of a bathroom situation. And of course he's too much of man lately to tolerate my doting anyway.
~~~
The last time we undertook such massive renovations was when we were expecting Nicholas. What a waste of time and energy that was. The room that has remained closed-off for 18 months is needed, temporarily, to house the cabinets and various other items while we put in the new floor. And as such, I had to enter Nick's room, and pile the baby furniture and bags of clothes and crib sheets and other (no longer) essentials against a wall to make space.
I had a bit of a meltdown. This so fucking sucks on so many levels. What in the hell did I ever do to deserve this? All these assholes out there having babies they don't even want. Why them? Why not me? I'm not worth it?
~~~
When we sort-of fixed the bathroom last time, I opted to remove the tub door and use a curtain. My reasoning was, being barely pregnant with Nick's predecessor (which I swiftly miscarried), I knew I would rather not lean over the tracks to be bathing a baby in the tub. This time, we went all out and got a fancy-dancy shower - no tub - 60", with seats. Little less worried about the whole having to bathe a baby issue these days. We'll have vinyl flooring instead of carpet, and if it were up to me, he'd install a urinal on the wall because my guys have a bit of an aiming issue.
~~~
I actually know a woman who did just that. She has five sons. Six guys, three bathrooms, one with a urinal. She even has her very own private space with a whirlpool. And I'm betting a pretty good stash of excedrin.
~~~
I have a doctor's appointment of Monday. Just my regular doctor, not the gyne. I'll mention that I'm on CD48, but I doubt she'll do much about it. I'll have to see Dr. Wonderful and go back in the stirrups for a tune-up. This particular appointment has been scheduled for months. I have been weaning myself off the prozac (in hindsight, probably not such a grand idea, but at the time, things were just peachy). I really don't want to start back up on that again. The best results I've ever had on anti-d meds was paxil (several years ago). For some reason, neither my family doc nor my gyne seem to want me on it again. Beside working wonders for the big d, it helps with anxiety. And that is the main reason for this checkup. Ever since my hemorrhage and subsequent blood transfusion in December, I've been having these little niggling palpitations. While I was still in the hospital, imbibing the fourth unit of O+, shaken not stirred, I complained of sternal pain and dyspnea. The EKG was normal, and the cardiac enzymes looked fine. Well, guess what, it still continues on occasion. Not when I'm upset, nor when exercising. No. It will wake me up in the middle of the night, or overtake me when driving along in solitude. I can't trace it to any particular stressor. It feels like the onset of a panic attack, but never comes to fruition. While not completely debilitating, it is pretty fucking annoying.
~~~
I guess that's really all I have to say for now. I needed a break and had to get some things off my chest. I feel oh so refreshed.
Have a great weekend!

Can't say no to caulk

Big G sure is handy with caulk. He'll fill the crack up with all the caulk it can hold. But really, it is quality not quantity that makes the difference in caulk. Or so he says.
I have been remanded to explain a little further the nature of our current project, so as to not shed an unflattering light on Mr. Fixitagain. Excuse me, Mr. Tool.
The reasons our kitchen ceiling has not already been repaired are three-fold.
1) "Most people don't look "up"".
2) "I was getting around to that".
3) "I wanted to make sure the previous repairs worked".
The disposition of our plumbing/carpentry fiasco(s) are based on previously botched work courtesy of the former owners of this humble abode. Nothing is level, nothing is "to code", everything is patched and bent and sealed in the most unusual manner. We had not known this until a mystery leak led us to discover a quaint labyrinth of pipes and tubing within the walls on the north side of the house running from the basement up three stories to the uppermost bathroom (the one with the tub). I'll explain the odd manner of wiring contained within some other time. That particular wetness problem was actually caused by cracked tiles that had gone unnoticed for years, until one day, the wood and plaster could hold no more.
Anyway, to make a long story longer, Mr. Tool sawed and soldered his way to "sufficient" once before, and one thing led to another and in the absence of any further problems, we never quite finished the aesthetic faculties. Well. This problem had absolutely nothing to do with Mr. Tool's abilities to perform any and all household handiwork with the skill and efficiency of the most talented contractor. Really. As a matter of fact, it had everything to do with the poor quality of the caulking and the un-level-ness of the tub,that allowed the splash from the shower to run the wrong direction and seep somehow behind the wall and down into the flooring, etc. etc. etc. It is the product, not the user, to be blamed. I am not saying this with any sort of sarcasm that said weekend contractor could take to heart; I am merely stating the facts as explained to me.
Anyway, I get two whole rooms redone thanks to this! Rather than bemoan the current state of $*^$&%#$ in this house, I'm off to do a little shopping! Today's list includes paint and rugs and those drapes that have absolutely nothing to do with the bathroom or kitchen, but dammit, they're on sale.

Jerry-rigging it

I'm preparing my morning tub o'coffee, when I feel a small drop of water on my bare feet. I figured I splashed from the sink. It happened again. There was no water on the counter, none under the cabinet, what the.... I looked up. There, seeping from the previously damaged, cracked and peeling bulge in the ceiling, was a nice-sized new water stain and a string of pearls ready to drip, drip, drip the day away.
Dammit.
Just two short days ago, in a moment of supreme levity, the hubster and I snuggled on the couch and marveled at how "ordinary" our lives have been recently. We joked that we were "bored" without some crisis or stressor hanging around. He began planning out the next big "project", the next several years, big purchases, our retirement. I, on the other hand, have a hard time planning out next WEEK, so I started to put on the brakes. Slow down, I cautioned, something else will come along - it always does. Such is our life.
Dammit.
There I go, jinxing things again. Of course, in the grand scheme of things, this is so amazingly minor I'm almost amused by it. Our bathroom needed fixed anyway. I have the floor tiles already. The bandaid style repairs we have attempted in the past finally caught up with us. Now, we have to go all-out and fix it the right way.
We chose the tub, the surround, the sliding shower doors, the faucets and shower heads. I *tried* to wager for a new vanity countertop, but failed. We enlisted the help of a large, slow man the hubster knows to give us a little extra muscle. Beer and steak are wonderfully enticing forms of payment. So is gas money. Ergo, The Boy shall also assist.
Tomorrow, the men are going to get the drywall, plywood, 2x4s, glue, nails, screws, paint, etc. I have to find somewhere else to be during this project. Much swearing will be enjoyed by all. I'm getting up at 7am to remove "all my shit off the counters" and rescue the fluffy bath towels before we commence the destruction. In the end, I will have new floors and walls and a neat-o new tub to clean. I'd bitch about having to clean shower doors again, (our more recent version of the bathroom from hell included a crappy shower curtain - all but duct taped to the walls to seal it) but I did luck out and get the pretty doors I wanted for just slightly more than the plain frugal choice du jour.
Now I am looking forward to fighting the drywall dust that will invade every crevice of my home. I might need new carpet after this. And I know I need new drapes....
see what you started, oh dear husband of mine?

People Of The Corn

That was.... interesting.
I drove about an extra 50 miles trying to find the conference center, find the motel, find a liquor store, find the motel again, a place to eat, another route to the conference center, and finally realized - there's only a few hours of sunlight left! I must get to the pool! With a mountain dew bottle full of firewater! And a pillow! Stat!
Alas, I did not get a tan. Damn SPF 30. What I *did* do was bleach out irregular areas of my orange faux-tan-in-a-bottle skin. Yeah. I look hot. I took care to protect my color-treated hair (slathered on a deep conditioner and put it up in a bun). It would take two separate washings to release the slime. Ick.
The room was absolutely adequate. It had a bed, and A/C. And a TV with CABLE! Allowing me 7 whole channels to choose from, including one shopping and two spanish-speaking networks. And the plumbing flowed forth with clean water. Can't complain.
Met up with some nice folks at the pool. One family was from Israel; they had flown into SF a few weeks ago, and spent some time out West before heading to DC. Na'im me'od. Why had they chosen here, of all places, to stop? She said they wanted to visit Hamesh. I said Hmm? She said, you know, the Hamesh, with the horses. Ohhh, I say, the Amish, the Mennonites, the "locals". Yes. And how long will it take them to get to DC, did I think? I have no idea, I'm from the other edge of the state... 3, 4, 5 hours? She didn't believe me. And I honestly did not know.
So anyway, that's that for my business trip; I'm back, and well rested, and looking forward to visiting to northern part of the state next week. I'm such a rolling stone.

Mind you, moose bites can be pretty nasty

So I'm posting a quickie before I head out of town for a few days.
I got up much earlier than I really needed to today, to putter around the house and tie up some loose ends (you know, like pay bills, feed the dogs, lecture The Boy, etc.). Had to renew my driver's license, and drop off an auto insurance payment that somehow got missed (not late yet!). Got side-tracked at B&Ndotcom and used an online coupon to save some money on items I might-or-might not really need. Found my swimsuit and hope it still fits. Plans include commencement of drinking at an insanely early hour and a crispy sunburn as penance.
Recently in the obits was a memorial to two young boys, brothers, who died roughly two years apart. I didn't do the math, but the pictures show teenagers about the age of my own son. I thought, oh that poor mother. How would it be to loose your son? One is bad enough, but two? So close together? What would I do without my little guy? And it made me think of Catherine and her two angels. How on earth can one soul bear such a burden? And how do you qualify something such as that? Is it better or just as bad to have lost children you didn't get to nurture and enjoy compared to having had at least some time with your kids? Most likely, there is no comparison, as both scenarios have their own special sorrows. And it just makes me sad. That's all there is. Nothing I can do, because wondering "why" hasn't done shit to bring any of our babies back to us, where they belong. Maybe more mad than sad, really, but then I just get pissed off and bitter and so far that hasn't gotten me very far. I'm trying to shed some hatred for the upcoming fall season. That is so last year.
So our actual vacation vacation has been sidelined on account of The Boy's football camp inconveniently scheduled on the exact dates we had planned to be in Virginia Beach. His coach is an inconsiderate ass. And to think we had full use of my parents' place while they are enjoying a family reunion in South Dakota, followed by the other side's impromptu get together in Oklahoma. Awww, and I have to miss it all. Sniffle. You wouldn't believe the wrangling I had to do to procure that particular week off (new job and all). So, we won't tell them I'm no longer "going" anywhere, and I'll still have 9 days to work on my alcohol content. Oh and possibly clean the house or something. Yeah that's the plan. Snicker. Actually, if she doesn't bail, Miss Catherine and I do have plans in the works for some retail therapy and time away from it all, if only a day or two. See how nicely things work out sometimes? We deserve this. The only suffering had shall be the vacant echoes moaning from our depleted pocketbooks, and our guys at home who surely will be missing us greatly.
CD38, still no period, and if there are any tell-tale signs of supposed symptoms, I'm at a loss to notice them anymore. My little dare to the universe did not pay off, as I did not ride the tide as expected immediately after proclaiming a wry "maybe" in my mind. And no, I will not be peeing on any sticks. This is just another one of those fuck-yous from beyond. I'll probably start the provera/clomid combo (or just go straight to the clomid chaser if Dr. Wonderful says so) in September or October or never or whatever. Too ambivalent to plan now.
The Hubster is on a brief hiatus from work currently, and is doing a bang-up job of keeping the daily chores in check. Would you believe me if I told you that every-single-item-of-laundry in this house is clean, right now? All at once? Folded and put away, even. I am awestruck by this man's efficiency. Not to turn you on or anything, but he even vacuums. Daily. Well he did miss that one day because he mowed and weed-whacked and raked and bagged all the clippings, and tended to our teeny little vegetable garden. The man certainly needs more oral.
I simply must get going, however, as I am late for an oil change and rotation of the tires and such. TT4N.

The Game

G had a weird dream. I'd try to call it a nightmare, but that's just too sissy.
Picture a Q. Tarent!no-style movie set as a reality-show game.
One of the underlying questions G had during the dream was "What are we playing for?".
In it were people of all walks of life: rich, poor, educated, not so educated, women, men, middle-class, executives, service workers, people from a variety of backgrounds and ethnicities.
People began to turn on each other. This was a "society" with "rules", and if you did something wrong, you were punished. If you were told to or made to kill someone, you in turn were also punished. There was guilt. If you weren't punished for whatever reason, the grief you felt over breaking "the rules" pushed you to suicide. The master of this game was some guy that G described as a "long-haired, well-to-do, European dude"; sort of like Gary 0ldman as (the young-looking) Dracula wooing Mina/Elisabeta. The underlying assumption was that this was the devil. So anyway, they had been handed cards at the beginning. By this point in the dream, many people had suffered physically or emotionally, and the master decided to eliminate some of the players himself. "Anyone with an Ace has to go". G looked at his card, and saw it was a King, so he felt relieved; yet somehow he still had to go. What is the point of this game? Where do we go? To quote Hotel California - "You can check out anytime you like, but you can never leave"....
ANYWAY - the darling hubster wakes me up at 4 a.m. to discuss this dream, and what follows is two hours of mind-numbing conversation about religion and politics. We're still having it now, except I'm not really listening. Oh, he thinks I am, by my convincing "Mmmhmm"s and "Wow, I never thought of it that way, tell me more"s. If I can fake an O, I can feign interest in this, too. Just let me sleep, man. Oy.

Double-dog dare ya

Boobs sore...
Possibly from being smashed in a bra all day.
Exhaustion...
Um, its like 428 degrees out there.
I can keep inventing possible symptoms as long as my body wants to play this game.
Headache, dizziness... with a hint of nausea - possibly because I'm so hungry I can't stand it.
While I was typing this the first time, my little dawg crawled under the desk and managed to sit on the power strip, turning the computer off.
That has to be a sign, right?
Did I mention its hot?
My only craving so far is airconditioning. *chuckle*
I'm not going to bother to test until September.
I'm not new at this. Just waiting. Patiently. Ahem.
I'm going to watch a movie.
Toodles.

Watch while I perform magic

My white capris are in the wash, so I can't wear them to the double-wide discount store.
I only have one remaining emergency back-up FRED stashed away in a dark and secluded area of my sock drawer.
I had two days of complete bliss, without work, and enjoyed *shopping* with my husband.
And I'm CD31.
Ok, so I caved and counted.
It's freaking AUGUST already, and I realized I had lost track of the days.
Any sign of auntie? Nope.
Boobs a little tender? Perhaps.
Feeling the urge to empty my bladder at least 5.5 times in a three hour span? Yup.
Knowing that merely mentioning this will bring on the tide in a hurry? Bang-on YES.
So you see, this isn't a typical "I wonder if I might be?" kind of post. Naw, I'm outright demanding that I start tonight. Or possibly tomorrow at work. You know, whenever least convenient. Just bring it on already.

Yay!

Hearty congrats to Team Milo! I am very happy for all, and I can't wait to see the little guy.