Stop me if you've heard this before

So. I think I might have mentioned before that people tend to piss me off. Not YOU people, of course. It's the jagoffs that I have to interact with day-in, day-out, relentlessly.
I just don't have the time and energy right now to relate all the moronic conversations I've had over this past week.
Someday. Someday.
For now, please accept this token of gratitude for enduring Life in this dumbass town.

And pardon the commercials/slow to load/whatever technical problem(s) might arise.

That is all.

In Memorium

Our Angel

Still

You were born

In our hearts

Forever

Nicholas Gerard

February 24, 2005

Congratulations! It's a bastard!

Ok, I know. I know. I know, okay? Sheesh, I get already. I'm an asshole.
I'm going to jump around a bit in this story, so hang in there.
The day begins with not one, but TWO phone calls waking me out of a drug-induced slumber because I am sick as a dog and I absolutely HAD to drag my ass into work tonight. "Hey Julie! Just wanted you to know your loser of a family member just had her 2nd illegitimate child today! Yay! And it's another boy! He's perfect. Thought you'd want to know!"
I blocked it out until I came home from work and there were not one, but TWO emails telling me the same fucking thing, including weight and length, exact time of delivery, details about his attempts at latching on, and, oh yes, pictures. HAD to throw me the pics, too, didn't you, you sons of bitches.
My niece is a bit of a wild child, always has been. It was kinda cute when she was younger, but now that she's nearing 30, it's getting harder to stomach. Take for instance, the visit we made back in '05 when she snagged her clit piercing on a noodle in her parent's pool. She felt no shame in yelping about and showing us how weird it was that this could happen! On a cousin's day out, she took The Boy to an amusement park, and spoke freely of drinking, getting high, and her fondness of biracial and bisexual encounters. To this day, The Boy has a healthy un-appreciation for her and the education he unwillingly received. He has a special name for her, which I won't share. Makes me giggle, and I'm not in the mood.
Her first shotgun wedding lasted 7 weeks, and she took back her name (allowing the first twatspawn to keep his father's name, because he was, after all, the III). The wedding itself was rather redneck and cheesy (mullets and pickup trucks, Guns n' Roses, et al.), but her dress was lovely. She chose the ultra-low back to show off her tramp stamp (lower back tattoo), but opted for a tasteful, forgiving front, since she was 7 or 8 months along. No need to flaunt it.
When her most recent relationship with a married man began to "get serious", she took it upon herself to get the ball rolling. She was, after all, at the tail end of her 20's, and her only child was already five or six. Of course, you can guess what happened. He broke it off, sort of. He wasn't in a position to up and leave his wife yet, but maybe he could still hang around and help her out some. Sounds like a perfect solution, doesn't it? And, oh yes, one of the pictures shows proud papa holding his son. The caption reads (______ was present for the birth. Not sure yet what role he will be playing, but it was nice he was there.) Yes. Very nice. Fucked up, but nice.
As a tribute to her parents, she reportedly will be naming the child a combo of her mother's maiden name and her own (father's surname). I know they are proud grandparents. My brother and his wife are just GIDDY with excitement, because they had two girls, and their eldest girl had two girls, so this one giving them two boys is just AWESOME. Regardless of the circumstances, it is a gift.
And it is.
And here's where I get a little pissy and out of control.
In a recent family newsletter, my SIL wrote that "______ will be birthing us another boy sometime in the next two weeks, in case you didn't already know. We're so excited!", but to personalize it just a bit, she added a few lines specifically for my version:
"I wasn't sure if anyone had told you. I hope you are OK with such news since your loss. Your mom says you've had a couple more pregnancies since Nicky, are you OK? Are you still trying or are you just waiting for God to bless you if He sees fit? I hope it's OK to ask you such questions and I'm sorry if you don't want to talk about it. I guess there's no easy way to ask but to be blunt. "
No, I don't suppose there is an easy way to ask, but to be blunt. There really isn't an easy way to answer, but to be blunt, either. However, since I do have the teensiest modicum of tact left in me, I didn't reply with what I really wanted to. As a matter of fact, I didn't reply at all. I thought about it, but put it off. Then today's news swept over me, and I meekly replied "Congratulations, please give _____ our best. He's a really lovely baby."
Yes, he's a really lovely baby. So glad he's breathing. Two years ago today I found out my baby was dead. I spent the next 37 hours trying to squeeze the lifeless body of my very-much wanted and begged-for child out of my birth canal. We actually refer to it as the death canal now, isn't that cute? I hope that the discomfort of her pregnancy with this "mistake" is overshadowed by the joy of a toothless grin and late-night feeding of a screaming, colicky gift. Both of her babies were "oooops" babies, and she has struggled with accepting them, both during her pregnancy, and I know after the birth of her first for certain. As a matter of fact, you've pretty much raised that one yourself, haven't you, because she's still out sowing her wild oats and doesn't really want the responsibility. Both babies were products of a misguided attempt at "keeping her man", which obviously didn't work. So, um, that whole "waiting for God to bless me if he sees fit"? Not sure where you're going with that. Do you really need for me to unleash the fury, right now? Oh, ok, if you insist.
For me to believe that any of this mess is God's blessing, is just wrong. He's blessing HER, over me? One would have to believe that "god" has anything at all to do with any of this, and if he does, he is fucked up in his head. In the conversation where you tell me I should be okay with what happened, because there might have been something seriously wrong with Nick, and did I really think I could handle raising a retarded child, you spew out some bullshit about God doesn't make mistakes. Huh? Maybe you're not meant to have any more children. Huh? Well, you seem so busy, maybe it was for the best. Right. A dual-income solid family is no place to raise a child. Rather, God gives babies to unemployed, uneducated whores to be neglected or raised by someone else. That is so logical. By the way, explain this one to me, since you have so much sage wisdom to spare... why would "god" allow a pregnancy to go to term, and then wait to kill the baby right at the finish line? He decided at the last minute that I wasn't fit? He changed his mind? He realized he made a mistake, and had to hide the evidence?
So, yeah, I guess we are just waiting for God to bless us if he sees fit. Congratulations, the best woman won, hands down. No contest. Clearly, she is fit, whereas we are not. God plays favorites. Oh and by the way: Fuck you.

There just aren't words. Seriously.

It has taken me two days to obtain all the various forms of information available, and to process this situation both professionally and personally. Personally, I am an angry, vindictive bitch. Professionally, I have removed myself from the situation and my supervisor is acutely aware of the need to do so.
There are limitations to what I can discuss with anyone outside of my department, but here's the gist of it...
A dangerously psychotic patient, seven months pregnant, self-aborted her baby into a toilet. Unspeakably cruel actions were performed. There are many issues as to how and why this managed to occur, but the fact is it did, and everyone involved in the process was debriefed and counseled over a period of two days. Because of laws protecting everyone but that poor innocent baby there is no media involvement (thank my lucky stars), and the authorities are prevented from taking action at this time (involuntary committal and all that bullshit).
Ya think she'll get off for "insanity"?
Will I?

So, you want to face a challenge...

I knew this day would come. Eventually. One day, I would be face-to-face with my worst fears.
I often 'role-played' my reaction.
In my head.
I knew this day would come, and I hoped it wouldn't.
Now that it is actually here, what do I do?
A coworker alerted me to a situation at work that I don't want to have to deal with. But I do have to. It's my job. My responsibility. I get paid for this. I can't call off crazy.
"I'm sorry but I'm not feeling like I can handle this right now. Or tomorrow. Maybe in a couple of weeks. I'll let you know."
I only know a little bit about what happened, and the poor ignorant soul that told me has no idea what I'm going through, trying to muster up the courage to face it.
You thought I've been a little angry or possibly loopy before? Huh. If this turns out how I'm feeling it might, you just wait. You ain't seen nothin' yet.
More later, when I have all the facts. If you don't hear from me in a few days, check the local papers.

Snow Daze

Hey! It's winter. There is snow. And it is cold.
Monday morning I woke up to my weather bug telling me it was (-8) degrees, with a windchill factor making it (-35). MINUS THIRTY-FIVE, people.
School was closed. As it is again for Tuesday. If I have to drag MY ass out of bed and drive to work, I find little excuse why the kids can't go get some learnin'. Something about frostbite at the bus stop or something. Whatever.
Actually, I *do* happen to be scheduled off these two snow days, so The Boy and I are taking every last advantage of them. Together. He's kinda fun to hang with.
Today, we ate chips and ice cream and watched movies all day. Tomorrow, I might need to do some laundry and perhaps cook something nourishing for my poor neglected child. We plan to brave the cold and go OUT to a movie, and/or bowling, and maybe go to the mall.

And this is one of those times I sit back and take in all that I have, and am at peace. I can sleep in. As a matter of fact, I can get several hours of uninterrupted sleep in a row. If absolutely necessary, the kid can fend for himself (I taught him how YEARS ago). He can be left unattended. If mom has to work late, it is not a major crisis. I don't have to worry about day care, babysitters, rides to places, pick-up times, play dates, other mommies... it's pretty cool.
I have a conference on Wednesday that will take me many miles away from home. I will be gone from 6am until 6pm - at least - and Big G is in Va. My main concerns are 1) will The Boy get up in time for school 2) does he have enough gas in his vehicle 3) will he be safe driving on all this ice, and 4) will I be back in time for his hockey game? Seventeen years ago, I would have declined to attend this conference. I would be fretting about who could watch him, for how long, were they reliable, would I have to switch up caregivers mid-day, and of course there would be all the packing of diapers and bottles and food and clothes and toys and worrying that he missed me and how bad of a mommy I was for putting my career first; then there would be the mad dash for dinner and bath and bed on my return, I would be exhausted, and cranky, and ARGH!
Don't need the drama.
Life is good.

I am feeling a little bit of the empty-nest syndrome creeping up on me, though. He will be 18 in March. He graduates in June. The plan is for him to hook up with dad and join the apprenticeship, taking him back to Va as well. Which leaves me all alone. Once my contract is up, we could/will consider moving out of Mayberry and back to civilization (or the boondocks, but in which state is the burning question). I'm not sure I will know what to do with myself and all the free time an empty house will give me. Sure, they'll be back to visit on most weekends. And I have the dogs. I'll probably get a few cats. Take up a hobby. Try new hairdos and grow my nails. Or - good lord - clean. The possibilities are astounding.
I do like cats an awful lot.

Perversely Unyielding, or Possibly Deranged

Ah, the paradox of parenting; when are you truly satisfied? And on what benchmark is that satisfaction based? If you prove your reproductive mastery and pop out many children on timely schedule? Or if you do the best of your ability to produce one noble creature and bask in the glory?
I ponder often about whether or not I really, absolutely, genuinely want another child.
A wise woman recently asked, Why do you want what you want?.
For me, I think it is more stubbornness than an aching need.
I ache with grief over losing Nicholas. But I don't feel like I ache any longer over infertility and my characteristic inability to carry a fetus to term. Or you know, squeeze out a live one.
There was a time I coveted other's babies. Why not ME?, I'd wail inside my gut. Jealousy, envy, gluttony. Why couldn't I be happy with the one I have?
I am! I was! I still am! Thing is, I believe I hate to be a failure. If I want something bad enough, I work hard until I achieve it. If I give up, it had better damn well be my own decision, and not some other person or force making the rules. I don't do rules very well.
So, it is with considerable uncertainty that I have decided to try to make a decision. Shit, or get off the pot, as they say.
When faced with uncertainty and a subject I'd just as soon not ponder most of the time, I have this weird little habit of overanalyzing things. Rather than just AVOID what bothers me, I dive in head-first and wallow around in it until I can't take it any more. Glutton for punishment, my mother calls me. Don't tell her, but she may be right.
Let's dissect a "decision".
By making a decision, one has to adjudicate, arbitrate, and come to a determination.
A conclusion.
Definition of conclusion: To come to an end.
Armed with my handy list of pros and cons regarding continued attempts at losing my mind much further, I have wrestled internally with just how much more I can take. And is it worth it? Really? Can't I just move on, for fuck's sake??
If a wrinkled, soiled, screaming infant was placed on my doorstep tomorrow morning, I would be beside myself with glee.
If I have to wipe thick, gooey globs of coagulated blood and cellular debris from my inflamed and achey hoo-ha for one more goddamn week I will be beside myself with the patients on the 7th floor adult psych unit, waiting for my meds, rocking and humming, and spelling complex medical terms backwards.
Either way, the sun will arise tomorrow, the bills will be stuffed in my mailbox, and we'll still be running low on toiletpaper.
Work is going well. Pretty damn good, if I do say so myself, and I am faced with opportunities to grow and flourish, if I chose to do so. Or, I could just stay comfortably where I'm at and do nothing, for now. Wouldn't the whole "I'll just keep trying and failing because I'm too fucking stubborn to give up" sort of set me back, just a little bit? But. To give up? To QUIT? I am not a quitter. And the "what ifs" keep pelting me like spit-wads in junior high.
What if I took advantage of the employer-paid tuition and went back for another degree? What if I got pregnant again? What if I worked my way up the ladder? What if the pregnancy/loss takes its toll and ruins me emotionally (if not professionally)? What if the imaginary fetus was delivered alive and I found myself faced with daycare and sick days and exhaustion and all the other fun stuff I went through already? What if I just suck it up, be proactive in my reproductive jocularity, and fix it so that there can be no more questioning, wondering, pondering, hoping, grieving?
Besides, as my loving hubster has pointed out, "We'll be having grandkids before too long."
We could build our dream home in the boondocks. Travel. Be relaxed, and happy, and grow old together.
When is enough, enough?
Why do I want what I want?
At an impending 38 years old, with an ornery high-school graduate soon to be leaving home, and a career that is sure to keep me warm at night, do I HONESTLY "need" to even consider the possibility of playing this losing game further? Been there, done that, have the gray hairs to prove it. Oh, and these nice little "worry lines" that suddenly appeared on my forehead. WTF is that all about? I'm the only woman I know who has pimples, wrinkles, gray hair, and a soul patch. I just reek of sexuality.
I have no verifiable reason to explain why this subject even needs to be tossed around in my head. The sane, analytical, feet-grounded-in-reality side of me already knows what the best answer would be. That other chick, well, she's just nutz.