Why I'll Blog in 2009

In January 2007, I was nine weeks pregnant with a little bit of a surprise(!) baby. (If we can really call it a surprise because yes, we do know how that happens, but he was a surprise in that he happened so very quickly after I weaned our first son. As in, like the day after I weaned him.)

I had three other children. Two of them had been home with us for only three months. My son was fifteen months old, my daughter was seventeen months old. My five-year-old was on twenty-four seven eyes-on parenting. That is just as taxing as it sounds. It means that I was always, every single minute of the day, supposed to be able to see him, preferably touch him, both as a healing/bonding technique and to keep my younger children safe.

I woke up really early that frigid morning and ran for the bathroom where I dry heaved for fifteen minutes and then passed out. I didn't realize I'd lost consciousness at the time, I thought I'd just fallen asleep by the toilet in exhausted desperation. I had been having severe stomach pain for three days and I had not slept well all week.

This particular stomach pain wasn't new to me, I'd had bouts of it for years. I even went to the ER once, in the early days, but they said it was gas and sent me home with an enema and I'd be DAMNED if another doctor would tell me I couldn't take a little gas.

I huddled on the couch in our basement playroom trying not to completely ignore my children, trying to stay engaged in games, trying to keep my son on my faltering radar, trying to survive until 5:30 p.m. when my husband got home.

I didn't call anyone. I didn't feel like I had anyone to call. We were fairly new to our town. Our lives had changed so much in the last year, including a new baby and the homecoming of our other two children. We were overwhelmed, just managing to parent and find a little love and enjoyment in our days. I had no time or energy for brand new friendships, for learning to navigate the difficult waters of stay at home mother culture. I didn't have the strength or patience for explanations of 'attachment disorder' or 'bonding' or 'high structure high nurture parenting.'

Today, I have a list of four or five wonderful, supportive, incredible women to call and I know they would come, I know they would help me, split up tasks, take in my children, without any need for explanations. Just like I would for them. But then, I felt alone.

By 4:30, as I tried to get dinner together, I had given in to my misery. I'd left my son alone with the babies watching a movie, something I would not have even considered doing five hours ago. I remember sinking down in front of the heat vent to try and feel warm and then running for the bathroom for the ninth or tenth time. I regained consciousness, and this time I knew that was exactly what happened, with my bruised check pressed into the tile floor.

I caved completely. I called my husband and sobbed into his cell phone. I crawled to my neighbor's house, a brash, prickly, but humane single mom with a teenage daughter, and told them I thought I was miscarrying my baby and maybe dying. Or, it could be gas, at which point I would find a way to die of embarrassment.

A strange thing happened. Other people took over and the world didn't crumble into little pieces. My neighbor took over dinner. Her daughter took over my kids. I curled into the fetal position on the couch until Matt got home and took me to the ER. Where we sat for four hours, but in the end, they took over as well and gave me this miracle drug called Zofran, which stops nausea.

The nurse practitioner in the ER kept apologizing that they couldn't give me anything for pain until they diagnosed the problem. Meanwhile, I kept trying to kiss his hands for, (oh-my-god, I-would-marry-you-and-have-your-babies-if-I-weren't-already-knocked-up), making the nausea Go Away.

After a really long time, during which Matt was positive that they were putting off sending me home because it was gas, and I was fine with that as long as my plot to steal large quantities of Zofran worked (or at least my sobbing pleas for a prescription), my new best friend forever the nurse practitioner came back and told me that my appendix was foul and disgusting and leaky and hadn't I had this stomach pain in the past? Um, yes, yes I had, thank you very much, otherwise known as Stacey can't handle a little gas.

Actually, I just burst into tears because really? Really? My appendix? That was wonderful, the best news I had heard in weeks. That meant they could make the pain go away, right?

The nurse put an IV in my arm and gave me morphine, which I had never experienced before, but I really, really liked. It gets better. He gave me this little button so that I could give myself morphine whenever I wanted to.

I reminded everyone, over and over, all night that I was pregnant. I asked a million times if the Zofran was safe for the baby. When they assured me that morphine was safe for the baby, I said, "what baby?" No. I was concerned, as long as I could keep the morphine button.

So, my mom flew in for two weeks and Matt got a week off and I had my appendix out and we all survived the experience. Even Cue, who was subject to a little in utero poking and at high risk for miscarriage for a while, stuck with us, thank you universe. People helped me. You know, because I'm all worthy of help like that, when I'm losing internal organs.

Most of us are. All of us. Worthy of help. But we don't ask, because we think our worlds will collapse around us. Mine didn't. My life was still there when I reluctantly left the hospital and my morphine button behind. My kids that loved me before I was gone for a week still loved me and my kid that didn't love me because he didn't know what love was still didn't love me.

It's hard. It's universal to the human race for some reason not to reach out. We all need to do it a little more. Because if we reach out to someone else, then they will know that they can reach out to us too. That's what blogging does for me. I get to practice reaching out every day. The world needs a little bit more of that. Even if it is with imaginary friends (wink).

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Me: Hey!! I'm number thirty!! Look at that. How cool is that? Ess, Gee, Momma is number thirty!!
Gee: I'm number eight.
Me: No, you're not. C Jane Run is number eight. And Maggie Dammit is number ten and Jennifer is number twenty-four. Renee at Cutie Bootie Cakes and Beth at Folding Laundry and, wow, you'll just have to check it out for yourselves because I have a bunch of awesome new blogs to read.
Gee: I am number eight.
Ess: I'm three.

They keep me humble. I'm tickled pink though.

I'm about to be in the first chunk of people on earth to cross into 2009. Second only to New Zealand, a very cold piece of Russia and the Federated States of Micronesia. The future looks bright, you better wear shades! Happy New Year.