So, growing up I always felt crabby around my birthday. People were busy or away for the holidays. Parties seemed rushed or put together at the last minute. My best party was my 30th surprise party which SURPRISED me. I remember asking Mark if I should put on make-up or change out of my loungey pants to go visit my parents and he said no. Thanks my love, I look awesome in those photos. I love you for keeping the secret though. My mom made everyone write down something they loved about me and put it in a little book which I treasure and cherish somewhere in a lovely box in a box still from when we moved. See? Awesome parents.

Perhaps even as I kid I felt those week and days before the mall pickup to be an existence of limbo. Where was I? Who was I with? I know I had a name, "Terra Anne". At least I wasn't called 'that baby'. I hope. I also can't shake that whole "given up" thing. It was the BEST THING. I love my BioMom but the universe placed me in the best possible parenting situation. Not perfect, I mean my dad is a new age homeopathic organic lovin' nut bar with a Masters in Urban Affairs and my mom in a teeny, crafty, smart, well read, perfect homemaker who doesn't know who Ben Affleck is. Also, my brother and I had a very imperfect relationship, which has become affable since he got married very young.

I know these statements not to be true in fact, but they are feelings. If I was perfect, PERFECT would I have been kept by my mom regardless of the unfortunate timing and imperfect circumstances of my conception? Was I conceived out of sin, and must I then suffer that? (I am Catholic, lapsed, but none the less) If I was better, prettier, SOMETHING, would nothing have kept my BioMom from taking me with her? I KNOW it was the ideal and best choice for ME, she was putting ME first, but those feelings, they linger, even after meeting her and knowing all that I now know. Irrational rejection. Silly, really.

The other part of my adoption, a more recent part that bothers me sometimes more than others is my paternal contribution. I know his name, I know where he lives, BioMom told him about me, but never heard anything. We both send him a letter in December 2004. I will copy it here making this a long-ass entry, but I will also spare you the linky back and forth.

Dear biodad,

BioMom and I both agreed that we would make contact with you. You will know from BioMom's letter that we found each other in 1995 and it has been a great experience.

I am writing to let you know that I am open to contact with you, but I will understand if you are not interested.

I will tell you a little bit about myself and there will be pictures in this packet.

I am 34, born on December 31st, 1969. I have been married to Mark for more than 7 years and we now have a 10 month old baby girl named Charlotte. Mark has a PhD in Computing Science and works for a computer company here in Edmonton. I received a Bachelor of Arts in Communication Studies in 1992 from the University of Windsor. I did half of my degree at the University of Alberta. I worked in the same clothing store for five years during high school and university and worked some form of retail job until I got on full time at the university in 1995. I love clothes, and fashion and almost completed my education in clothing and textiles. I understand you have also worked in the retail sector and though you might find this interesting.

I moved back to Edmonton after graduating and had some odd jobs, but I have worked for the University of Alberta since 1995. Right now I am on Maternity leave. My current position is as a Web and Marketing Coordinator.

The two people who adopted me are the best parents anyone could ever ask for. My mom stayed home with my brother and I until I was 16. My dad worked in city planning for many years. He has a Masters Degree in Urban Planning. Our family also spent time on a hobby farm north of Edmonton. The 160 acre property was bought in 1975 and we enjoyed horses, making hay, and other things that city kids never do. My parents still live in the house I was raised in, nine blocks from Mark and me. I could not have been luckier to be placed with such a family.

I love to read, I watch too much tv, and right now I spend most of my time caring for Charlotte. Life is good. I am looking forward to Christmas. Mark and I are going to visit his parents in Stoney Creek, near Hamilton the week before Christmas. It will be a full holiday season.

I hope you and your family are doing well. You can contact me at anytime.

signed Me, blah blah

jenB on December 07, 2004

No response although I was told he most certainly received it. It certainly doesn't make him look any better to me. I know he has two children who I believe are girls. Like Catherine of HerBadMother, I am wondering about finding these siblings. Trying harder to find them, or HIM, when he clearly does not want to find me. Private Investigator? I am registered here in the Post Adoption Registry, but that does not help anyone who does not even know they may have adopted siblings. I have not tried hard enough and partially because I do not know it I want to. Although I would want them to find me if they wanted to. Fuck.

So part of me wants to skip my Birthday, this day I was born, December 31st, 1969. Part of me likes that it is a celebration for the people who love me. And yeah, I accept gifts and cake.

But tomorrow I turn 39 and I have a bee in my bonnet. I don't know what to do about this, if anything anymore. Get over it and move on? Suck it up and stop trying to find things to be neurotic about? Mountain=molehill?

My father in his new agey wisdom believes that whatever pain my BioMom suffered while gestating may be some thing I carry and deal with. He doesn't necessarily mean this as a penance but as an explanation for my anxiety and depression over the years. I blame chemicals, genes, environment and high school, and not just those freaking High School Musical movies. Which enrage me.

Blargh, so there it is. The day I was born, which I sometimes just want to sleep through, be alone for or buy a lot of shrimp, cocktail sauce, and porn and just celebrate New Year's Eve as god intended.

February 1970. Mall pickup.

HIM: Americans get AMC?

ME: AMC IS an American channel, we all get it! It unifies us as one!

HIM: What were you watching?

ME: I dunno, one of the Batmans, or something, they show everything from soup to nuts on there, all sorts of movie classics.

HIM: (DUMBFOUNDED) Soup to nuts! Did you make that saying up? Where did you hear that?

ME: It is a saying, a cliche! I did not make it up, EVERYONE KNOWS IT! (getting phone)

HIM: Who are you calling?

ME: Michelle, she will confirm it is a real saying and you will believe her (calling Michelle telling her about Mark' s doubt). I say to Michelle, "this is what happens to a kid who only gets to watch Masterpiece Theatre on Sunday nights instead of Disney. What are you guys doing?"

MICHELLE: Watching Masterpiece Theatre.

-fin -

Nine minutes, but well worth it.

My left eye is all twitchy, I thought I was really tired, but I am not. At least according to my math. A five hour sleep might make my eye twitch, but I think I had about 7, plus about one more while waiting for Sears to come and deliver the stands/pedestals for our "new" washers (bought in January). It could be twitchy because of the production that was "installing" the pedestals, but I cannot describe it without popping a vein.

OK, my eye could be twitchy because I have to go see my Endocrinologist tomorrow. The dude who takes care of my Diabetes. I had blood work done on the weekend and tomorrow will be my tsk tsk about the results. I know they won't be what they are supposed to be. My mood and depression is WAY better since on my new drug, Lexapro, for those keeping track at home. It is a good combo with my mood stabilizer. At least I feel more stable than I have in a long while. So while I am climbing out of my hole, I am not doing all the things I should be doing. Not just taking care of my diabetic-ness, but since that is on the table tomorrow, lets go there. Fill disclosure. I am supposed to check my blood sugar before every meal to gauge how much insulin to take and ideally AFTER every meal. I should also be checking it every morning, or at least often if it is similar for a while. ALSO, at night before I go to bed to see where I am at when I take my nightly insulin.

So I started off Type 2, diet and oral medication controlled, insulin resistant. The insulin resistance is why Type 2 people are generally over weight. You pancreas produces insulin but your body is all, "whats this shit?" and then stores your energy (your food which turns to glucose) into fat. When you have Type 2, all that insulin floats around, your pancreas produces more because your body needs more and you get fat(ter). GENERALLY. Is this getting boring? Sorry, but I feel I must preface my specific diabetes. I had diabetes before I had Charlotte in 2004. I was predisposed to it because of another endocrine disorder called Polycystic Ovarian Syndrome. Infertility stories are in my currently unavailable archives. I was diagnosed with Diabetes in 1999. After having Charlotte, I went on injectible insulin, massive doses, doses my doctor said he has rarely seen. At my peak I was taking 50 iu of insulin a meal, my co-worker who was Type 1 took about 8 iu. I am not sure if that will mean anything to you, but I was taking a pissload of insulin. I had a healthy, very healthy, very controlled pregnancy, but ended up dependent on injectible insulin after my pregnancy. With the needles and poking and the whatnot.

So, if you skimmed that, here is the important part. I have not tested my blood or even taken insulin everyday for more than a year. Likely more than that. I was vigilant after my weight loss surgery and then being so fearful of the insulin making me fat, I pretty much stopped. Especially after I hurt my knee last year and my weight loss stalled. I know I have even gained some weight, which after the weight loss surgery, a life time of eating disorders and food issues, was freaking my shit out. I out and out admitted to my psychiatrist last week that I am not checking my blood sugars, have stopped taking insulin and what is a few months or so of high sugars going to do? To get nerve damage or other diabetic complications I would have to sustain high, higher blood sugars than my usual for a longer time. YES I KNOW, this is where it sounds a little insane. Until I can get my knee into a more stable place - after dislocating my patella *(knee cap) and this most recent development of bursitis, I am unable to do some serious cardiovascular exercise to keep the weight down or at least stabilize it, the weight loss surgery, the stomach the size of an egg, or whatever, is a tool. I can't eat whatever I want and not exercise and continue to lose or even maintain my weight. Weight loss surgery is not the easy way out.

So tomorrow, I am going to get the "why aren't you testing your sugars, taking your insulin, eating properly, exercising?). I AM doing strength training still, pilates, with a trainer and have not stopped that, so there is one little thing, yay me. I don't even know what to say. He know my psychiatric history and admits he doesn't really understand eating disorders or depression. I have seen a dietitian several times. I could make a proper meal plan for YOU, or you or you or you. It is like I have a running ticker in my head "insulin will make you fat insulin will make you fat insulin will make you fat". The knee injury really stopped me in my tracks, but I know that it is only part of the picture. I do not know how to integrate the fear of taking insulin with the fear of complications of diabetes. I know I do NOT want to see my doctor, but I have cancelled once and it takes almost 2 months to get back there and I need to get my prescription for the oral insulin resistance medication I take in addition to "taking" the insulin. I need to live in a carbohydrate free house with a Hanibal Lector mask on while doing aquasize. Forgive me (I say to myself), I do not know where to go from here.

So, I have printed out the comments from my the path that stops being taken post. Yeah, I know, paperless office, y'all love your kindles, I need to hold these in my hands and read them all again, on paper. The response I write is probably not as important to me as it is to you, but I NEED to write about it.

I also need to write some reviews and give some stuff away. Giving myself a kick in the butt. Mark is in Vegas for a week (ok, officially, FOUR more sleeps) playing in poker tournaments. I have Charlotte all to myself and she is not with me all day, she is in care for a lot of the time. Single parents. Jebus H. Spaghetti Monster, I don't know if I can look you in the eye. I am managing ok, but I cannot even think of how I would handle this full time AND with more than one kid. Every time I am alone with the child, I am in serious awe of you, yes you, single parents. I am not blowing sunshine up your ass, I am serious.

OK, and now she wants to snuggle, WAY past her bed time, and so I go. Snuggling is nice. She smells nice, even after five years.

We did have a nice play date this weekend!

'

-----

MAMA COME!! MOMMY HURRY!

xo

Some of the topics for upcoming shows are:
Twins By Surprise Sunday, June 14, 8P e/p
Little Parents, Big Pregnancy Monday, June 15, 8P e/p
Births Beyond Belief Tuesday, June 16, 8P e/p
Obese & Pregnant Wednesday, June 17, 8P e/p

A clip of previews can be found on Youtube here.

Early photos and re-runs on flickr here

I am going to make a stab at telling Charlotte's birth story. I am lucky that our doula wrote up a little summary of our birth story for us, because I don't remember much after about 14 hours of labour. I had this in point form, initially, but I am going to try and go the classy route and use paragraphs instead of bullets.

The most unusual thing about my pregnancy is that I was more worried about getting anxious or having a panic attack than the actual labour. I have suffered from depression and anxiety for years, and this experience brought out both of those feelings with extreme intensity. The labour part seemed like it would really hurt, but I was terrified I would freak out during the process and have to work through that as well as trying to get the baby out. I am also diabetic (type-2, not gestational) so that was an extra challenge during pregnancy. I was considered high risk because of the diabetes and because I had assisted fertility treatments.

Jan 27, 2004
I went to the hospital around 9:30 AM to get induced. I had pregnancy-induced hypertension and I am diabetic, so "they" wanted the baby out. In retrospect it was no coincidence that I was induced the same day that my OB/GYN was on in labour and delivery. Also, our regular doula was assisting another birth, so we had her back up, which was okay. However, I missed our doula since we had developed a relationship and she knew of my history of depression and anxiety.

Despite the hypertension, I was managing fine on bed/couch rest and had a nurse coming every day to check my blood, my ketones and my blood pressure. Everything was okay as long as I was horizontal almost all of the time. I really think I could have gone a few more days and been closer to my due date.

First thing they did apply a gel to my cervix to soften/ripen/dilate it. I know! Sounds almost yummy. Not yummy. I had to lay totally still and horizontal for an hour and have a pretty much constant cramp the whole time that I now know felt like a contraction. The nurse told me not to cry because a stuffy nose would make it harder to breathe through contractions. Awesome advice.

I started having irregular contractions that were painful, but pretty easy to breathe through. My parents visited, Mark hung out and he took pictures. I was able to still have some diluted juice but no food and I was famished. Soon I would be getting my lunch in liquid form via IV. I was thirsty and dying for my beloved watered down cranberry juice with lots of ice.

About 3:30 PM, my doctor came in to check on me and broke my waters with a long stick reminiscent of a crochet hook. This was done while my doula had momentarily stepped out of the room. I was not warned that this was going to happen and had no idea. I would have consulted my doula. I no longer felt in charge of my own birthing process. They also hooked me up to a pitocin drip to bring on regular contractions. I soon had ringers, glucose, insulin, and pitocin dripping in intravenously.

At 4:30PM, our regular doula arrived. Contractions were less than 4 minutes apart. I was in an "induction" room all this time with 3 other mums in early labour. Mark got some dinner, we chatted, breathed through a few hours of contractions and Carey (the back-up Doula) put my hair in pigtails to keep it the heck out of my face. In this induction room there were five other women waiting for induction or labour and I cannot imagine listening to all my moaning and yelling while waiting for your turn to come.

By 8:50PM, I was in more pain and we headed for the shower room. I was still on the pre-labour ward. There were no private rooms on the labour and delivery ward available for me. The nurse even asked our regular doula, who dropped by again for a few hours, to answer the phone!

I spent about 40 minutes in the shower with Mark spraying my back with warm water, It helped, but was awkward. The IV was running on batteries and kept beeping. I also felt like I had the world's biggest groin pull, so walking around wasn't an option for pain relief. Finally, we had to go plug my drip back in. Contractions were about 60 seconds apart by around 10 pm. I am not sure I even have to tell you at this point having a panic or anxiety attack was the least of my concern and totally off of the table at this point.

By this time I was ready for pain relief. I wanted drugs, man. It had been about 12 hours. I was scared and in pain and only dilated 3 cm. I got some morphine at around 11pm, which did nothing as far as I could tell. We were also finally able to move to a private room upstairs. The "private" room was actually an old case room in labour and delivery that had sixties-era equipment in it. There was a gigantic mirror at the end of the bed. Dude, there was NO WAY I was going to watch myself give birth from that angle. I was hoping like heck for a regular birthing room.

My doc came and checked on me around midnight. They were having difficulty finding the baby's heart rate and inserted an internal monitor. Very very painful and it fell out soon after. I was only dilated 4 cm. At this point, I asked for an epidural. I was in so much pain and not even half way dilated. Who knew how much longer it could take? My doula said it could sometimes take less than an hour to get to 10 cm. I told her that yes, and I could also win the lottery, get me an epidural. Our regular doula had to leave at this point, which was too bad.

Mark kept checking my blood sugars every hour, I would sip some water. Mark and the doula had some snacks. The smell of yogurt made me homicidal. I found the most relief from the pain by sitting on an old orange, metal-framed hospital chair and leaning into pillows on the bed. I had brought a pillow from home with a pillowcase with Peter Rabbit on it on it from my childhood that was comforting. The nurses, our doula and Mark found my chair method weird, but it worked for me for a while.

The anesthesiologist didn't arrive in the room for my epidural until almost 3 am. THREE AM! Three hours after I asked for it. He couldn't get the needle in my spine. I guess he had been on for 24 hours, and wasn't at his best. I became agitated and more scared. Mark was pale and tired and seemed to wane a bit. He told me later it was because of the size of the epidural needle.

Shortly afterwards, we were moved to a proper birthing room with our own bathroom and best of all: Nitrous Oxide. At 4 AM, I was still only dilated 4cm and decided to try some gas. Mostly I think it helped me breathe, I still found the pain level the same. I actually wondered if the gas was on. But I wasn't going to let anyone take it away. I tried the shower again at 5am for a short while. Nothing helped. They checked me again at 6am and I was 5cm. Still only halfway after about 19 hours of labour. I was beat. Contractions were coming every 60-90 seconds and I was so exhausted I would actually fall asleep for the minutes between contractions. Some resident put in another internal fetal monitor, which again, hurt like heck. The monitor actually gave Charlotte quite the scratches on her little head, she will forever have a teeny scar.

My doc came back shortly before 7 am to check me again, still 5cm. She said that another anesthesiologist was coming on at 8am and we could try an epidural again. I was suspicious. The first attempt was horribly painful and I was just really scared and tired. At 8am, my doc observed me through some contractions and thought it was unlikely I would dilate much further. There is a maximum level of pitocin they can give you to bring on contractions. I was up for the C-section, as she suggested. I would have allowed them to pull the baby through my nostril if it would make labour stop.

I was "prepped" and taken into the OR for 8:40. I told the anesthesiologist that I had an anxiety disorder and was a little freaked out about the surgery despite wanting the baby out and the pain relieved. They gave me a sedative that one of the assistants assured me it would make me feel awesome.

It was a huge relief to get a spinal and have the contractions go away, yet a little weird to no longer feel my legs, etc. I was pretty out of it during the surgery. Initially, I expressed my continued anxiety and I swear they gave me some kind of horse tranquilizer and I felt all floopy. I remember them telling me that my blood pressure was too low and they were giving me something or another and then saying; "its a girl", and then Mark showing me the baby, who was so beautiful. She was all swaddled and cute and quiet as a mouse. She didn't cry for two days.

In the recovery room I heard someone yell; "Who's placenta is this??" and then someone yell back my last name. I asked if they illicitly sold placentas to cosmetic manufacturers for face cream and the nurse laughed. I was all doped up on whatever and babbling to whomever was in the recovery room.

I was so relieved and happy that is was over and wanted to see my little peanut. I saw her and it was amazing. But she slowly turned from yellow to orange. She had ABO incompatibility. I have O+ blood and Charlotte is B+, I guess this is this most difficult incompatibility to fix. She has what they call a Hemolytic Disease of the Newborn. Thankfully, they caught it right away and since I was in the hospital for 5 days myself, I was able to be close to her. After I was discharged, we spent two nights at home. The doctor then wanted me to be closer to Charlotte to breastfeed her, so they found us a "family suite" in the hospital so both Mark and I could stay. Ultimately, she was in the NICU for about 11 days. Having a child in the NICU has to be one of the worst things ever, and we were lucky having only 11 days to spend there. I saw other parents whose babies were there for 6 months and more. Ultimately, we went home and it is now five years later.

This is the scary mirror in the case room

I am ready for my C section Mr. Demille

Yeah, it’s all worth it

Photo set of the early days here

I am overwhelmed and my brain is full of things to say, but I promise I will post something more brief.

For now,

1) my 5 year old whistling like an old man wandering around in a bathrobe and a pipe (or so I imagine)
2) wearing out a pair of shoes for the first time since I was a teenager
3) bean seedlings
4) my husband emptying the dishwasher (happening RIGHT NOW shhh)
5) kitties in tutus

Also, I have not branded myself as other more successful, more trafficked, more read bloggers have. Part of me wants to, wanted to, but didn’t know how, or felt intimidated or part of me saw the mommyblogging THING turn into a beast that has multiple faces of good and evil and you not always tell who is who in this world. I have participated in the giveaways, reviews, I have ads, I am not a blogging for money virgin. I have never made enough money in a month to pay even half of our food bill. Of course as traffic as dropped, I get enough revenue to pay for half of an okay pair of shoes. I have rarely been called out for having adverts or taking things for free, heck I went to China on someone else’s time because I blog and I got no haters. At least no one scowled at me to my face.

I think the blistering heat and annoyance about all of it was the wonderful post my Liz of mom-101 . She talks about editorial posts, where people talk about a product or review something or talk about a trip to wherever and disguise it as blog content, as a post. Erin of Queen of Spain talks about the bloggers who use their blog to make money or start a business. One of the reasons I first starting takes ads was to pay for my domain hosting and registration. It doesn’t cost a lot of money, but as my traffic grew, so did the bill. It wasn’t compromising family finances, but I likes to think that my ramblings about nothing, certain not what I call writing, because I consider myself a blogger. There are bloggers who are writers and I am not one of them. I can tell good prose from point form slack ass posts with the occasion heart felt purge of things I need to say. Erin talks about the community of blogging, which has been an incredible part of my life. Meeting amazing people in person, or unfortunately online. I live in the middle of freaking no where, so I can’t hang with a lot of my American peeps who often live close to other bloggers.

What the hell is this post about? Somehow, I feel angry. I am angry that people get pissed off after BlogHercalling it cliquey and exclusionary. As Melissa said to me "you have to find your people" (paraphrasing I believe). Eight hundred people need to go off into groups. Even a, awesome cheeseburger party cannot accommodate all of us in one hotel room, even a big ass hotel room. We pair off, we hang with people we probably already know, we take photos, and we talk about the fun, the panels, yes, even what people are wearing. I am also sympathetic to the people who feel left out. Either because they are not able to go, are too shy too go, or are envious, envy is okay. Envy, alas, still hurts. I cannot deny that when I see a group of awesome ladies that I know at other product sponsored events, or conferences that I was not invited to or could not attend, I TOO feel the envy, I am jealous. That is normal, don’t you think? Yes, I have been around a long time. 2009 will be my 7th year writing here at jenandtonic and mostly, it has been great. I was thinking tonight that I have only taken down three posts. One that really hurt someone through comments, one that was confusing and I could not clarify and one passive aggressive post where I was a pussy and just couldn’t leave it up for whoever is reading to see.

People have gotten book deals, have made money enough to support or help support a family; others are published on actual paper in actual books along with other bloggers. Yes, I am envious. Does that make me a bitch? I am not. I am happy for my fellow ladies and can I say colleagues?

Sundry commented that good writing rises to the top. I mostly agree , but there are people who have had blogs for years that can garner 100 comments on a few photos and words, I love flickr, I love photos. I hate to even write that because I know it will piss people off. I like the photos and few word posts and I like the long thoughtfully written ones as well. I guess I am saying timing and indeed branding yourself, putting yourself out there on other blogs, writing other places, getting a good following can sometimes make for some great exposure and a huge following. Yes, a lot of you won’t like that I just said that. Also, I NEED to clarify that Sundry is one of the writers I really like, one of my favourites and I am not kissing ass because I disagree with the cream rising to the top.

It is easier to have camaraderie amongst fellow bloggers if you see those people more – events, trips, conferences. It is easier to "you go girl" someone when you get to hang with the god help me “cool kids” who get the awesome giveaways, the trips, the love from sponsors. It is like “don’t hate me because I am beautiful”.

I also believe it is possible to balance a review blog, a product or stuff blog with a blog about your, your kids, your politics, your struggles, your pets, your cooking, your gardening, YOUR life.

I was a plain old regular posting blogger with no advertising and a small amount of readers when I worked full-time in an office job. I had no child yet. I was struggling with infertility and didn’t blog about it because at the time it felt too private. I don’t post about my marriage, also too private. There is also the current burning issue for me that my niece found my blog in March and I so far, no one else in my family has, but I feel like I am writing, or rather NOT writing on borrowed time at jenandtonic. In order for ME to write about what I want to write about, I will only do so anonymously. I have managed for more than 6 years to do so. Right now my archives are not accessible and I feel a little naked without them. I have been pondering, like many of you have of quitting. Tossing the old blog into the fire and trying another way to keep my community. My online community is still important to me, but the popular girl or mean girl aspect of things is really getting to me. I will not link to the few cruel things people have written about me. There are few, because I usually don’t incur ire, although this post may piss off.

The bread and butter, so to speak, of jenandtonic has been talking about my struggles, I tend to write when I need support. Body image issues, eating disorder recovery, ongoing fucking mental health issues. I get feedback from those posts. I have tried to write the wassup with me posts and they don’t seem to be read and certainly not commented on and yes, I write for validation and support and feedback. Isn’t that part of what our community is and is for? I am just not sure I can deal with the push-me pull-you aspect of the state of the blogging community right now. Not that it has gone to shit or there isn’t still awesome writing out there, but it largely making me feel badly and not great, as it used to. I will be the first to admit that I am oversensitive and yes really fucking needy at times. Maybe this combination has become another flaw, another fly in the soup. My psychiatrist can only hear me talk about my web friends so much before he wonders why I don’t build a community of friends in my own city. I haven’t done this. I became more dependent on my lovely bloggy ladies after Charlotte was born in 2004. I didn’t join mommy and me groups. I am horribly, painfully lonely and isolated and that is the state of this wee union. I stay at home, I am alone a lot. I have time on my hands, but I seem to do very little with it. I thought I would be a blog a day gal when I stopped working full-time. Alas, I am a SAHM, a Slack At Home Mom.

Instead, I feel sad and lonely. Island in the stream to sort of quote Parton and Rogers. I have posted about this. I get good advice, take courses, volunteer, get a part-time job, I know there are practical ways of creating a local group of friends. Certainly chronic depression and anxiety has hindered that not taken advice, yes I am depressed, often. I struggle. I am on new meds that are helping me climb out of a brutal whole of despair which has been difficult to me as well ass my friends (online and off), my family, perhaps even the cats feel it too. Kitties still cuddle you when you are a crying mess. They listen, but don’t talk back. I need that, not in the way my psychiatrist listens, but in a way that does not repel the people I love and care about, not to mention new people I may meet. I do have friends here, I have been avoiding them as well. Things are better lately, but the mountain to feeling better is steep and it is often easier to avoid social interaction even though I miss and need it. I could seriously twitter all day in my pajamas and not shower and eat a sandwich over my keyboard, but I know I shouldn't.

Wow, I wish I could write a coherent post like Liz’s, Erin’s and many others who have been talking about and writing about similar things recently. Although I am not sure I even have a point here. I guess the crux of my blog dilemma right now it do or do not. Do I get a new domain, a redesign, be more careful to keep my anonymity? Or do I AVOID the potential of hurt feelings and envy and feeling left out. Canadian bloggers do get the shaft in terms of what is available to us, geographically and product-wise. I get PR pitches all the time, I respond to hear, things are for US residents only. Sorry, digression. Oh lord this post is way too long and I do fear pissing people off. I just had to get this off my chest. It has been keeping me awake at night, causing me to avoid my blog roll, and I have left these feelings to make myself feel inadequate and out of the loop.

I am asking you; whoever is still reading, I need feedback on this like never before. I am lost and indecisive and don’t know where to go from here. I did make ONE decision. I will not make a decision about my continued journey with the blog until after BlogHer. I know I cannot ask this, but please be assured I am not mad at any of my lady loves, you impress me with you discipline to write, to do more, say more. I admire you and I am the one who controls how I react to what goes on here, in our community.

xo

* * * * * *

Commenter Laurie who said

I "lost" my glasses by forgetting that I had just used the stove and tossing them on the hot burner. I only noticed they were melted when I put them on the next time and they were all wonky. What a dork!

I will email you Laurie, unless you get me first.

was randomly picked to win a La Loop, so she will never melt her glasses again.

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We got new low flush toilets installed on Friday, a half of flush for "number one" and a full flush for "number 2" or "lots of toilet paper", or several tennis balls or potatoes (i swear, those were the exact words of our plumber). We are keeping the cats away from them for fear they will get SUCKED IN! These toilets are not for the weak.

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I have been doing some gardening, despite the weather being shitty and cold most of the time. Check out my flickr pictures, if people still do that. I wonder if a picture is worth 140 characters?

I am trying for more soon. I am trying to shake off feeling like a blogging Luddite.

What I should have been worried about is Charlotte practicing "true love's first kiss" on me while she had a horrible head cold. As she was kissing me like I was prince charming earlier in the week with her snotty nose and cough I was not worried about getting sick, I mean what was my choice when that sweet face leans in for a huge smooch? Now I am dying of the consumption. Or at least a horrible head cold, I am hopped up on old medicine and using my inhaler because I am an old old woman and one head cold makes me a huge sicko who is relegated to bed with a box of kleenex and plenty of fluids. Mark is out tonight and I could have gone, but I didn't want to infect anyone with my Princess Plague. I no longer worry about Charlotte wanting a 36 - 24 - 36 figure. I think she will get over the Princess phase relatively unscathed, only to be taunted by body image insecurity in school. At least I can counsel her about that then and it won't make me hack up a lung. Viva la Cinderella.