I want this

I've been looking for a rocking chair for Baby Ziggy's room and this is the one I want...

Too bad it belongs to someone else. You think they'd be willing to share?

Horton Hears a... Who??

Remember the book Horton Hears a Who by Dr. Seuss? The story of a friendly elephant who hears a tiny voice from a speck of dust and discovers an entire microscopic world. None of Horton's friends believe that he could have found a whole world within a speck of dust. They believe it impossible for such a tiny place to exist.

***

Science used to say the world was flat. Now it's round. Maybe next, we'll discover it is, in fact, square. We used to think the atom was the smallest thing until we cracked it open and a whole mess of crap came out. (Did anyone get that Friends reference?) A good scientist should leave open the possibility that their theory can be wrong. So what about a good religious leader? There are so many different systems of belief in this world, it seems closed minded to think that there can only be one correct religion.

My mama raised us to come to our own religious conclusions. And out of the five of her children she raised one child with devout Catholic beliefs, one atheist, one agnostic, one who cannot be defined, and one me.

Over the last 15 years or so I've run the gambit in regards to religion. In high school I went through a very religious phase. I went to church every Sunday, attended religious conferences, helped with vacation bible school and Sunday school. I must admit though, I never took communion. It felt fake to me. Now before I offend anyone, I want to clarify that it felt like I was faking religion not that the ritual itself felt fake. I always felt a little like an outsider in church because I wasn't raised in a church. Accepting communion would have felt like I was taking from someone else who had spent their whole life building their faith.

Through college I probably would have told you that I was a nonpracticing Christian. I believed in God when it was convenient for me. I prayed when I needed something but mostly I didn't pray. And then I came to the conclusion that I didn't want to have religion out of convenience. If I found myself talking to God, like something as simple as thanking God or something as personal as praying to God, it was more of a reflex than a belief. It felt phony. I didn't pray because I was a religious person, I prayed because that's simply what good Christian's are told to do.

If you asked me two years ago what my religious beliefs were I would have told you with no doubt, that I was an atheist. I can't remember coming to this conclusion. I didn't become an atheist overnight. For me, it took years. But the day I realized that I didn't believe in God was a sad one. It was as if someone had died. I mourned the loss of this higher power in whom I had believed for so long. I mourned the idea that I no longer had a security net. I could no longer say "God works in mysterious ways" when something bad happens. I could no longer fall back on the idea that there is a plan for all of us when things don't work out. I had no idea what would happen me when I die. It seemed cruel to say that death is the end and there is no afterlife. It was hard to accept that if I didn't believe in God I didn't believe in Heaven. It is, after all, a package deal. At this point I had to decide what I was going to believe in. The religious explanations for life's misery seemed like nothing but a band aid. Religion doesn't explain why good people die miserable deaths and why rapists live to be 100. I need more than "mysterious ways."

I don't want to be a cliche, but I will be the first to admit that a major factor in my complete conversion to atheism was the death of my mom. I was already moving towards atheism but her passing cemented the change for me. I couldn't understand why a merciful God would decide it was time for her to die. Almost immediately after I recognized myself as an atheist I began yet another transformation. I didn't believe in God but I couldn't fathom the idea that there is nothing after life. That this life is all we get and then we're gone. So maybe I needed that band aid to help me grieve the death of my mom. What's so wrong with that? Maybe there is a higher power that oversees our tiny little planet. But what shape does it take? Buddha, Allah, some kind of Deity, one God, multiple Gods, or no God at all. Who's to say?

So this is where my brain has landed on this spiritual plane. Total religious confusion. But I must say that I'm comfortable in this place. My scientific side needs evidence of a higher power but spiritual side is comforted with the idea that maybe one (or multiple) such being does exist. There are too many possibilities and too little evidence to dismiss any idea completely. Maybe we are a tiny speck of dust floating around the living room of some higher being.

She's Here!

At this point Baby Ziggy is almost a month old. Since she has no circadian rhythm, mine gets put on the back burner and the days and nights all blend together. So the last month has been one long, interesting, wonderful day. More to come...

The thing is...

So the plan was to write about my pregnancy; the good stuff and the bad. But the thing is, little Ziggy decided to show up two weeks early and I've since succumb to a one-track, baby filled mind. I've forgotten what life was like a mere five days ago.

Until I've got my brain back in order, here's a little something for you to "ohhh" and "ahhh" over.

What do you say after this long?

The purpose of this writing is for me. It's supposed to be therapeutic. Whether or not I need therapy I don't know but it is nice to have some outlet. So why do I feel like I've betrayed my two regular readers? Do I really think they've been checking this site for updates? Really, after this long? Was what I wrote really that fulfilling, inspirational, funny, whatever, to have had such an impact that people would even come back and trust that I might, once again regularly to update? It would be mighty arrogant of me to think in this way. So why feel guilty when I can simply start fresh. I am a whole new Xteener. (Or the same old one, you'll never know.)

Seriously though, what do you say after this long? I thought about a survey. A generic, easy-out for my first blog post in over a year. It would cover what I did for the last year and update those of you who've come back or bring any newcomers up to speed. It seems more like a cop-out. I still feel a twinge of guilt so I probably owe more than a simple survey. At least that will make me feel better.

First of all, I'm pregnant. To be exact, 36 weeks and five days pregnant.

In October of 2009, Bridge Man and I decided we wanted to have a baby. It was that easy. By November we bought a house. Early December we got a dog. It was like a storybook. Somewhere in there we found out we were pregnant. And we all lived happily ever after. Except that on December 24th, around 11:30 at night something happened: The tele-nurse told me with little pity in her voice that there was no need to go to the hospital, my symptoms were textbook, we were having a miscarriage. The end.

I had a stack of little cards to give to family on Christmas morning to announce that a little Baby Bridge Man or Baby Xteener was due to be born the following August. Good thing we hadn't decided to give them out on Christmas Eve. So we celebrated the holiday with family while keeping our mouths shut. All the while my brain was screaming at them. They had no idea what I was going through. They couldn't have known. Still I couldn't help but be mad at every ounce of holiday cheer that came from that day. How could we be festive while this was happening to me. While it was happening to Bridge Man.

A miscarriage isn't short. It's not a one day thing. It goes on and on for weeks. All the while reminding you of what's happening.

No one was there to be sad with me. Not even Bridge Man could understand the loss I felt. After all, I was closest to the little zygote for it's fleeting, eight week life. How could people be so inconsiderate of my feelings? How could the people who had no idea what was happening be so inconsiderate? Then comes the guilt. I killed my baby. What could I have done differently? If only I hadn't had that glass of wine, if only I hadn't moved all those heavy boxes, if only I had known that I was pregnant earlier, I could have taken better care of that precious being who depended solely on me for life.

Side bar: The correct response to someone who opens up to you regarding their miscarriage is NOT that the baby had some chromosomal abnormality. That doesn't make it better. It's as if you're telling them their son or daughter was imperfect in some way and therefore, better off dead.

As with most things, I move on. This last Christmas Eve was a little bittersweet. It marked the anniversary of the day I lost my first baby. Days like these I can't help but think about how old he would have been, what she may have looked like, or what milestones he would be approaching. However, the day was celebrated with gifts for the new baby yet to come. Baby Ziggy will be here sometime this February. What a fantastic moment that will be. However, I will never forget the agony of a miscarriage and the loss of a child. Nor will I forget the excitement and anticipation that comes the first time I found out I was pregnant. Nothing beats a moment like that.

It's a bit unsettling to publish something so vulnerable for all to read. Maybe, since I've been gone so long no one will read this. In the end, it was therapeutic.

That Grinds My Gears

I'm big on family. No, huge on family. I have two brothers and two sisters, a nephew, and a wonderful extended family of aunts and uncles and in-laws and grandparents and cousins. And don't forget the spirit on my shoulder who I call mom. I love to attend family functions. It feels as if I really try to make time to talk/see/visit my family. In college, I went home at least once a month to visit. Post college, I lived closer to home and went to visit as often as possible. Sometimes multiple weekends in a row. Maybe this is abnormal. Although, not once have I heard complaints that I'm coming around all too often. We always use the time to catch up, go shopping, or make a fancy meal.

So maybe I am being close-minded when I say that I can't understand those people who make a special effort to stay away from their perfectly nice family. I can understand not wanting to be around a not-so-nice family member... I have a few members of my brood in that same category. Who doesn't? When you're parents invite you to dinner and you make some lame excuse to get out of spending time with them, when a family member offers up a word of advice and you disregard it completely, when you talk badly about family to other people, when you can't pick up a phone once a month to give someone a call... these things I don't understand. What kind of person can give such blatant disregard for the people with whom you share a familial connection?

In the wise words of Peter Griffin, that really grinds my gears.

As I pretend I haven't been MIA

Happy summer to you all. Oh wait, it's over. I know this because of the 65 degree weather we've been presented with the last week or so. Foolishly I wished for fall weather and now that it's here, I hope and hope each day that Mother Nature will take pity on me and throw a few 90's my way. Pretty please? Not that Bridge Man and I haven't taken full advantage of the summers glorious, gloriousness. We travel somewhere nearly every weekend. A few trips to Six Flags to enjoy some roller coaster mayhem. Yes, I'm almost thirty and still enjoy a good coaster thrashing. Although I can't take it as long as I could have ten years ago. By the end of the day I will require two Advil and my fluffy pillow, please and thank you.

In June we drove to the southern most point of Missouri to enjoy some time on the farm. Also known as Bridge Man's favorite past time. We spent four glorious days getting poison ivy and bug bites, lighting fireworks, and shooting guns. Good times. I really did enjoy the trip although I can't help but be bitter. My skin has taken a beating this summer. Sunburns, poison everything, bug bites, a few more sunburns, and a few more buggy bites. Before this summer I maybe got one or two bug bites a year and never had poison anything in my life. Did you know you can develop an allergy to poison ivy? Well you can. Over the last few months calamine lotion, Off!, and SPF 85 have been my best friends.

In July we flew to California to see some of the family. Also known as Xteener's favorite past time. That's always a fabulous trip. We are planning to take the in-laws out there next summer. It should be so fun! Big Ma, that's what we call my MIL, wants to do all the tourist-type things which I love. When we go out there I try to act like I'm a regular California girl. Been there, done that. I'm fooling no one, I haven't lived there in over a decade. Seeing the Hollywood sign still makes me squeal a little. If your cross your eyes and squint a little, you can see it. This was before I found the digital zoom on my camera.

And of course August means that I'm no longer a newlywed. Bridge Man and I celebrated our one year wedding anniversary with a weekend trip to our Alma mater. We visited all the sites that were so fabulous back then. They are still just as fabulous. For a dinky, little college town there is a lot to do. Wining, dining, and lounging. That's how we spent our college years. (Maybe the first weekend before classes started.)

As always with the end of summer, there is a bit of a let down. A "what's next" kind of attitude. If I slow down too much I become like a hibernating bear. You may not see me again until next spring. No worries, my pretty, Bridge Man and I have some things in the works. A possible relocation, new jobs, new house, new everything. We shall see.