Ugh!

Of course, it's currently pouring down rain (out of nowhere - earlier today it was sunny skies) so hopefully the weather complies with us this weekend.

Hedo Point is about 2 hours north of the hospital.  Knowing my luck, my water will break while we're there and then we'll have to boogie on back down the island on the expressway to get to the hospital in time.  I'm going to make sure to finish packing my hospital bag tonight and tomorrow I think I'll stick it in the car.  Just to be safe.

Still no definite progress, though nobody physically checked my cervix.  I am struggling to try and recall how it all went down when Amaris was born.  Did I drop?  Did I have any regular contractions before I started my active labor?

I can't remember the smaller details.  That worries me a bit, I think.

I realize the rest of my academic career will not be as easy, but still.  It makes me feel good to point out that I did it, I'm doing it, I win.

So...  Ha.

It really is pissing me off.  My first class is worth ONE measly credit.  My second class is called "Intro to Computer Based Systems" and doesn't start until March.  I think I'll survive.

Why can't people just be happy for me and encouraging about my goal and my long overdue progress?  Is that really something too ridiculous to ask for?

I am officially sick and tired of being sick and tired.  Everyone in the house has recovered from this cold except me.  I am hacking nonstop.  I can't get enough rest.  I am miserable.  I'm popping Tylenol Cold pills just to survive the days (and nights) and because of the size and position of baby girl, almost every time I cough I end up peeing myself.

Yes, seriously.

I've been doing laundry constantly because of it.  Lest I run out of yoga pants.

Yesterday, I thought to myself, it'd be nice if she was born soon because then I'd at least be able to take whatever medicine I wanted to rid myself of this crud.  And then I decided that having one kid wake me up in the middle of the night for no freaking reason was enough and that I had better just cross my legs till I'm feeling healthy again.

Amaris has been struggling to recover her old sleep habits since she recovered from the cold.  She got so used to us getting up with her when she'd wake up mid-way through the night to tend to her needs that now she's addicted to the attention.  She wakes up between 1 and 5 AM each night, crying and asking me for the "smells good" or for "may-sin".  Then we have to explain to her in her half-sleeping state that she doesn't need Vicks VapoRub or Tylenol because she isn't sick anymore.  And that it's not okay to wake up in the middle of the night every night and ask for those things anymore.

So my nights are spent sleeping from somewhere around 10PM till about 9AM, with several interruptions.  Every time I wake up, I cough.  Every time I cough, I pee.  While I'm up peeing, I end up hacking up lots of phlegm into the bathroom sink, and then I continue on coughing for around an hour before I can get back to sleep.  Which I feel is pretty rude of me, so one night I got up out of bed after half an hour of incessant coughing and dragged myself, my blanket and my pillow to the couch, where I stayed for four hours before Mark noticed I was missing and came to retrieve me, saying that he didn't mind the coughing.  (Yeah, right!)

I just feel pretty hopeless at this point.  For some reason I'm not able to kick this.  I recall reading somewhere that during pregnancy the mother's immune system takes a big dive as it applies itself to keeping the baby healthy.  I had just never tested that theory.  I can vouch for it's legitimacy now.

This sucks.

I feel like I've spent the entire first half of Mark's leave block being sick and unable to enjoy our time together!  What a crock of you-know-what.

I mean, honestly.  He finally manages to get some leave and we have to all sit around sick and suffering.  That's just not fair.

I can't believe it's already Friday.  What a waste of time!

Hopefully next week will be better.

PS:  My first class starts next week.  I am overly excited.

Everyone, that is, but me.  I keep thinking to myself that I sort of feel like I'm going to be pregnant forever.  I'm not particularly miserable though I am looking forward to being unpregnant again.  It just somehow doesn't feel like I'll ever be in labor and heading to the hospital to have this little girl.  Like, I can't fathom it actually happening.

And then I feel guilty.  The biggest mood swing that has come with this pregnancy is the feeling of guilt.  Nonstop.  I alternate which daughter I feel guilty for.  The one I currently lack patience for, who is walking around at nearly three years old in diapers because I can't get myself to stick to a potty training regimen, or the one in-utero who spends a lot of time lately listening to me yell at her big sister.  I'm sure she's super excited to come out and play.

When I was pregnant with Amaris, by the time I hit 37 weeks, I was beyond miserable.  I was impatient and anxious and ready to have her out of my body and into our arms.  I was extremely eager to meet the little person who was causing me to expand and behave in strange ways.  This time, I'm eager to meet baby girl, of course, but I realize that I won't be pregnant forever - the end IS in sight - and it'll happen when it happens.  Is that fair?  Is it fair that I'm just so go-with-the-flow this time?  It's not that I'm not excited to meet her, hold her, get started on really getting to know her...  I'm just not uncomfortable, I'm not miserable.  I wouldn't mind having my body back to normal, but for now, I just don't feel like her birth is imminent.  Which seems weird.  Because, honestly, a month from now, I'll be shrinking instead of growing, and there will be another mouth to feed in this house.  She'll be a real, live person, crying and needing to be buckled in when we go places.  Whether I'm ready or not.  Whether I want it or not.  I don't know why I struggle to accept that.

And I'm not a stupid girl.  I am not naive, I knew there was a possibility that I'd be unlike my mom and would not have one of each gender after the first two tries.  My mom had a son, waited 6 years, and then had me.  I just guess that I never really considered that it would actually pan out this way, and that I'd be faced with the challenge of one day dealing with two moody high school aged girls.  I mean, how bizarre is that.  I have daughters.  Instead of being like some families that end up with a boy and a girl or a girl and a boy, I've got two girls.  I just really didn't figure that would be how it worked out for us, for some reason.  And I know Mark didn't think so either.

I'm not really complaining.  I have always said that I'm happy to have whatever gender child as long as he/she is happy and healthy and has ten fingers and ten toes.  And the more I think about having another girl, the more excited I become.  Honestly, Amaris is going to LOVE having a little sister.  I always wanted a little sister growing up.  They're going to have a bond and they're going to grow up close and I love that.  We figure when we leave Okinawa and head back to the states three years from now, they'll start sharing a bedroom, which will be a blast for them.  I guess for me, it's just kind of weird in the grand scheme of things.  I might never have a son.  I mean, we want to try again, but not for another three years or so.  And in three years there is certainly no guarantee that we'll have a boy.  We could just as easily have another girl, obviously.  Things don't always work out the way you want them to.

I guess I just feel like this pregnancy is coming to an end and I'm kind of just letting things happen.  Which I thought wasn't my character.  But nothing else feels right.  I don't feel like complaining about every ache or pain.  I don't feel like having a nonstop pity party.  I don't feel like focusing all of my time and energy on attempting to get myself into labor sooner than necessary.  Really, I don't feel like anything.  I just kind of feel like I'm floating along and things are happening without me paying attention.  And really, I don't know if that feels right either.

Go here to make your own!

Today I took my 36+-weeks-pregnant-ass on the most ridiculous hike ever.

Through the jungle.

While I was sick.

Honestly, I think I climbed something like 4,000 stairs.  In a sweater and jeans.  I thought my body was going to break into a thousand pieces by the time I hauled my sweaty self up the last flight of stairs.

My friend said, "I'll bet you give birth to baby girl sometime next week!"  I said, "I'll bet she at least starts to really drop by tomorrow!"

So far, I don't think we're dropping.  But I looked at the belly in the mirror when we got home and thought to myself, "good LORD, that thing is huge."

I guess that's what nearly 37 weeks looks like.

For the record, I love MJ.

We are polluting Okinawa!  We are mouth-breathing our germs on all of the cautious locals!  Shame on us!  No wonder the masks are such a common sight - maybe they're also trying to protect themselves from our rudeness.  I don't blame them.

I don't own a surgical mask, but if I did, today would be a great day to wear it.  We're heading to the Cherry Blossom Festival up near Nago and I'm sure I'll be coughing all over everybody and "gomen nasai"-ing everybody all day.

Anyways now the crud has moved on to Mark, so the whole house is sick.  I am wide awake because laying in bed made me focus more than necessary on breathing which just pissed me off because I wasn't really able to do it "right".  For now I think I'll go Vicks him up.  No, that's not something sexual.

My throat is killing me, my tonsils are sore, my head is light, and I've been coughing all afternoon.  Oh - and then there's the phlegm.  Am I grossing anybody out yet?  Lots and lots of phlegm.

Of course, my dumb pregnant ass is too paranoid to TAKE anything other than regular strength Tylenol and the occasional chest smearing of Vicks VapoRub.

Amaris is still coughing like it's going out of style and I know she's feeling yucky, too...  but getting a little bit of cabin fever.  To be honest, I'm pretty sure she has croup.  Lovely.

So...  Here I sit.  Alone and sick and tired.  I put a pad in Amaris' SudaCare plug-in and when I stood up, I hit my head on her bookshelf, knocking it and it's pathetically half-screwed-in-to-the-shitty-walls-and-just-barely-holding-on screws off the wall, and landing myself in a rain storm of children's books.  I said, "Okay, I quit.  I pretty much suck at life right now.  Can't I just go to sleep and stay there for, oh, a year or so?"

Mark says no.  He can be such a dream-crusher sometimes.

I am NOT Japanese.  My husband is a miniscule fraction Japanese, my kids are even less.  We're Americans, though.  NOT JAPANESE.  I have nothing against Japanese people.  Japanese people are great.  Okinawans are divine!  But I'm an American, currently living in Okinawa.

Why is it that people have such a hard time grasping that?  They think that because I'm here for 3 years, I'm instantly a local.  The fact that I receive mail in Okinawa does not make me a citizen!  People who should know better, is the worst part.

"So, do you know how to make sushi?"

"No, I haven't learned how yet, but I'm hoping to.  I've always loved sushi.  It's one of the reasons I was excited to come here.  I will start experimenting with sushi as soon as I get myself a good rice cooker."

"Girl, you're Japanese now, you need to get yourself a rice cooker and start making sushi!"

Um, no.  I'm not "Japanese now".  I am not applying for citizenship, I do not speak the language, my eyes didn't magically go slanty and my hair didn't mysteriously become straight, shiny, smooth and black the moment we got off of our plane here in Okinawa.  I'm still a plain old American.  With peachy skin, green eyes and brown hair.  Our car's license plate has a distinctive "Y" on it - the island-wide mark of the "Yankee".  We don't have a tatami room in our apartment, and quite honestly, we don't even have Japanese electrical outlets.

Quit implying that my family is something that it so blatantly isn't.  It's probably offensive to the local population.  We are just visitors here, we are not permanent.

Of course, this entire series of events was followed by the incessant wiggling of baby girl in the womb for nearly an hour, which kept me awake.

Anyways now here I am, awake some more.  I was going to just stay in bed and get up around 8 to do my normal morning things so that I could go and hit up the commissary with my friend before it got to being too late, but I wound up having to get out of bed to plug in my cell phone and figured that baby girl would be awake from the disturbance for a while anyways.

I've been thinking a lot the past few days about the upcoming deployment and I've kind of come to terms with it.  I have been compiling a long list of "to-do"s for myself while he's away.  Because staying busy is the only way to keep sane.

We've been spoiled absolutely rotten for the past 4+ years.  No deployments.  That's unheard of for a Marine Corps wife whose husband has ever had anything at all to do with the infantry.  The two deployments Mark went on were before we were legally married, before we had put any serious thought into having children, and before I'd left Fresno (my job, my family of origin, my friends, my comfort-zone).

The two deployments he went on were intense and scary but relatively short.  One was 6 months, the other was 8.   The 8-monther included a month or two here in Okinawa before they moved to Iraq.

This deployment will be a whole different breed for me.  It'll be twice as long, I'll be alone in a foreign country, and I'll have two kids.  And I'm unconditioned because of the lack of deployments recently.  Oh - and since he's in a new job now he deploys with WOMEN.  Which totally creeps me out.  Nothing against women in the military, it is just weird to consider them in a sandy, ugly, dangerous place with my husband for a year.  I never said I wasn't the jealous, insecure type.

I feel like he's at least had ample time to establish a bond with Amaris but he'll leave not very long after baby girl is born and will be gone for quite some time.  What if they don't click like they're supposed to?  What happens then?

I feel overwhelmed and these thoughts are all clouding my brain.  I keep trying to sort things out, to plan the next few months so that we don't leave things out.  But that's easier said than done.  It's not like you can really plan for any of this, you just have to let it all happen.  I'm not good at letting things happen.

Eventually it'll settle down and work out.  And at the end of the separation, as usual, we'll fall into eachother and hold on as tight as possible and remember all the reasons we love each other so much, and then the lost time won't feel so significant anymore.  Till then I'll probably feel like this.  Life is full of adjustments and compromises.

Let's just say he leaves sooner than I hoped he would and he'll be gone longer than I thought he would.  And he's going to miss a lot of baby girl's first year.  We are really hoping hard for internet connectivity over there that he'll be able to access Skype or iChat on.  Without video chat, I worry he'll come home to kids that don't recognize him.  That kills me.

With Amaris giving me a rough time nearly every night for the past week or so, I am left wondering (sometimes out loud) how I'll survive when there are two of them and one of me.  Mark says it'll work out.  I said, "Yeah, easy for you to say."  That was mean.  I bit my tongue immediately.

And so the cycle of deployment begins.  I'm going to fight the worst of the stages tooth and nail simply because I can't stand feeling like I'm pushing him away.

Amaris is also completely obsessed with pretending to be pregnant.  She has stretched out many of her shirts by stuffing her bear up underneath them, and then will lay down next to me and stroke her belly.  Many nights I've gone in to re-tuck her in to bed and I find her sleeping with the bear wadded up underneath her pajama top.  She is quite a character.

I've been taking it easy lately.  Just keeping up with my normal "household duties" and such, but I've decided that starting this week, we're going to be taking walks at least once a day.  I need to get outside and get active or else I'm pretty sure labor is going to be a very slow, painful process.  Again.

Oh, and I REALLY want this.

Am-rass/Am-brass:  Amaris

et-up:  get up!

beer:  bear

yow:  meow

go-licious:  delicious

why-a:  water

mo-tree-bee bah:  Nutrigrain bar

beat-dest cookie:  Special K bar

Tee-teh:  Daeton

May-ka:  Veronykah

Da-yee:  Daddy

tat:  cat

sweepy:  sleeping

puck-it:  pumpkin

tiki:  take a

two, free, foh, fye!:  2, 3, 4, 5!

hut a knee:  got an owie (not necessarily on her knee)

butt a head:  bumped the head

'scuse 'scuse:  excuse me

buggles:  bubbles

hemmie, mommy:  help me, mommy

why-a pool:  whirlpool

Miss Hedda:  Miss Heather

dopper:  diaper

jammas:  PJs

wooka mommy, wats dis!:  look mommy, watch this!

go-nin-da car:  going in the car

crots:  Crocs

I yuh you:  I love you

huckus-dat?:  what was that?

dog:  hot dog

bow-na-ma:  banana

they-is!:  there he is!

oh-pem-et:  open it

the bah-bee: ??

bit-da bah-bee: ?? ??

mommy, wok:  carry me

weedy bug:  lady bug

see-ta:  Santa

kay-rets:  carrots

cuh-nets:  curtains

chits:  chips

cockers:  crackers

say cheese:  camera

push-a wuh-buh-net:  push a button

posstickle:  popsicle

peetcha:  picture

cuh-was:  writing utensils (pencil, pen, marker, crayon, etc)

com-peeta:  computer

mow chrocka moke!:  more chocolate milk

su-ghey-ee:  spaghetti

new-ohs:  noodles

crappy juice:  cran-apple juice

More to come, I'm sure.

She woke up THREE times last night.  Once at 11, once at 12, and once at 4.  So she is either sick or thinks she is helping to recondition me for baby girl's arrival.  Either way, I'm not impressed.

The first two wake ups were accompanied by bloody-murder screaming.  Which was really cute.  I mean, seriously, totally inconsolable shrieking.  It was not a good time.  I was irritated from being woken up and tried to stay calm but really struggled.  Both times.  I felt bad for her, but I was so frustrated with her for being in such hysterics.  And let's face it, waking a pregnant woman is just not wise.  And also leads to excess potty trips and such.  It's just not cool.

The third wakeup, she got out of bed, walked into the hallway and stood in my doorway crying.  "Mommy, I pooooooooop."  Over and over again.  She's a liar.  She didn't poop.  She didn't even need to poop.  She just thinks that pooping is the answer to all problems and is an acceptable reason, apparently, to wake me up from a peaceful sleep.  Real poop, maybe.  But not phantom poop.  She didn't even smell.  And as far as her diaper goes, she really didn't have much of anything in it.  Mark, by the way, stayed totally asleep through the last two wake-ups.  He woke up during the first one because I was wigging out.

And then this morning, as the alarms were just dying down and we were starting to render focus in our eyes, this mysterious little gold box on the wall - there is one in every room - started ringing.  It's a dull, quiet ring, and was accompanied by odd thumping sounds.  Every time we heard the "thump", my bedside lamp (which was off) flickered.  What does that even mean?

Anyways I got up with Mark - should I say dragged myself out of bed - just after six and packed his bento (his favorite today, chicken katsu with rice) and got him on his way to work.  He left right around 7.  I sat down to check my subscribed blogs and what do I hear?  Amaris, of course.  In the hallway.  Pitching a fit.  She wouldn't go back to sleep in her room.  She asked for daddy.  When I told her daddy went to work, she cried harder.  Then she asked for mommy's bed.  What-the-eff-ever.  Mark will be so disappointed that I gave in to her pleas, but seriously if I don't get her quiet somehow I might start taking off heads.  Not hers, of course, but possibly my own.  So I put her in Mark's side of the bed, tucked her in, gave her a dose of Tylenol (not sure if she feels that warm because she is feverish or because she won't stop pitching a flipping FIT and is in her warmest jammies), and came out for some peace.  Well, mostly peace.  The dishwasher is running.  I will probably go and get into my side of the bed soon for a nap.  I'm exhausted.

Nights like these, I wonder what sort of chaos will really ensue when we bring home the new little bundle.  And quite honestly, that scares me.  A lot.  Baby girl I fully expect to wake in the night.  But Amaris I have come to expect to have a little bit of nighttime dignity.  Clearly that is expecting too much.

PS:  Someone finally voted "After February 10".  I'm not mad.

I've said this before and I'll say it again.  Personally, once we got past the shock of, "JAPAN?  Seriously?  We asked for the EAST coast, not the FAR EAST coast!", we saw this for what it really is.  A tremendous opportunity for our family.  Not many young American families can say that they've had the chance to stay in a foreign country, expenses paid.  How cool is that?  And it's beautiful here.  And the local community is very welcoming and sincere.

Sure, you miss certain stupid little things (I'd love a Target or a Wal Mart...  And there are a couple of choice fast food places that would really hit the spot once in a while) and being away from your family of origin is a bit of a bummer, but military families, of all people, should realize that the time here is so SHORT!  You get to stay for 3 years at a time.  3 years!  That's all!  Soak up whatever you can in those 3 years because honestly they'll fly by and be over with before you know it.

As with any duty station, CONUS or OCONUS, Okinawa is what you make of it.  It's what you want it to be.  Had my attitude been a little better in Texas, I might have enjoyed it more.  Though a lot of my issues with San Angelo were more than skin-deep and personal.  When Mark wasn't at work, I was content there.  I was stoked to take in whatever experiences I could.  San Antonio, Houston, whatever.  Aspects of Texas were manageable and I think for only having been there 6 months, we did alright.

It drives me nuts every time I encounter someone with a negative attitude about this place.  There is nothing wrong with Okinawa.  The food here is wonderful, the scenery is incredible, there is always SOMETHING worth doing.  What's to complain about, honestly?  Boo-hoo, I miss my family?  Woe-is-me, McDonalds is not the same in Japan as it is in America?  Waaaaahhh I'm bored and can't get off my butt and make new friends?

Pathetic.  Occupy your time.  Do a little research.  Get out of your base housing.  I saw a commercial on AFN the other day that showed a photo of a father with his kids having a backyard BBQ, and it said - I'm paraphrasing - "If you can't tell the difference in photos you've taken in Texas from photos you've taken in Rammstein, you need to GET OFF YOUR INSTALLATION!"

I couldn't have said it better myself.  In 3 years, you'll leave this place and you will probably never have to come back.  So for now, why not just deal with it and do whatever you can?

You'll regret this defeatist attitude later on.  I promise.

Beyond these issues with the American community in Okinawa, it also seems like the bulk of the people you encounter here are just plain out weird.  Everybody is starring in their own 24-hour drama worthy of it's own TV spot.  I mean, these people could be making a fortune if personality flaws paid..  It's totally rare and exciting to stumble upon someone who feels just like you do.

Whatever, I think this place is really cool and I'm not going to waste my time here being pissy about stupid trivial little things that can't be changed anyways.  If you're going to be here, you may as well do what you can to avoid being miserable.

And let me tell you, it was good.

Like, really good.  So good that my mind is in a very clear-ish place and I am probably about to say a bunch of things I will later disagree with and regret saying.  But that's neither here nor there, so here goes.

Lately I've been dealing with a lot of guilt for Amaris.  In about a month, she'll have to share her spotlight, and while I'm sure she'll grow to love the whole big sister thing, I still have moments where I worry that she'll be overly jealous or that having a little sister will make her unhappy.  Also, there's the whole sharing my love thing, which I know is going to be just fine and that your heart apparently just produces more love with the birth of a new baby, rather than divvying up your current "child love" between the two, leaving child #1 with less than he/she initially had.  I also realize that Amaris will always be the "luckiest" of my kids, since she'll be the only one that ever got the opportunity to be an only child, so obviously I've spent more time with her already than I'll ever get to spend with any subsequent children.  But still, there are all of these irrational fears I have over becoming a mother of two.  I know, totally normal.  I'll deal.

Another thing that makes me feel guilty is that I have had very little patience for her in these past few weeks months.  She pushes my buttons constantly, and I'm not a really a professional at discipline.  Even with arguments between Mark and I, I am the first to push the disagreement aside and attempt to make nice, even if I am clearly "in the right".  I hate to say I'm a pushover, but I just honestly hate battles and would rather spend my time doing something other than fighting.  I know a good fight once in a while is healthy in any relationship, and I am not saying at all that I avoid all conflict at all costs...  But I do try to keep conflict to a minimum and I choose my battles VERY carefully.  Anyways I'm not usually a patient person anyways, but lately with Amaris I am even less patient than before.  I used to say that I never knew just how patient I could be till I gave birth to Amaris and had all the patience in the world for her, now I have changed my tune a bit.

This may be baby girl talking, but I resent the food-sharing.  Except it's really not even just the food sharing.  I resent the everything sharing.  From food to space to time...  I must be the worst mother in the world.  I just feel like I so seldom have a moment to myself that I am losing touch with any "Kari" outside of "mommy".  And I know baby girl's birth will just multiply that.  Today Amaris ate her lunch (half of a PB&J with some chips and V8 Fusion juice), and I purposely waited till nearly 4PM to eat mine so that I could avoid sharing.  But the moment I had my own food, she was at my side with the cutest little expression asking me for a bite.  Not just one bite, though.  She asked over and over again.  So she really wound up eating nearly an entire Amaris-sized portion of my lunch by the time it was all said and done.  Which frustrated me.  I can't take a shower while she's awake because she will barge into the bathroom and strip out of her clothes and then get in with me.  And then she stands smack dab in the center of the squishy shower mat and hogs the water.  Somehow this little bitty person manages to stand in a way that takes up all of the space and water and forces me and my giganto-belly in a back corner struggling to rinse the shampoo out of my eyes.  That is just so unfair.  And she won't move.  I can't use the toilet without her barging in and narrating.  She will have entire conversations (mostly with herself) about exactly what I am doing there, and when I finish my business and flush the toilet she will gasp and say, "Good job, mommy!  Wash your hands!"  Which is adorable, yes, although it's kind of irritating when you consider that she realizes going on the potty is an accomplishment worthy of praise but won't do it herself.  She is frequently in my lap (even now while my lap is totally disappearing underneath round belly) or standing at my feet attempting to "help" me.  All of these things are totally precious and in many ways I love them.  But in other ways I am just burned out and frustrated.  And hormonal.

So there, how's that for a horrible mommy moment?

Don't get me wrong, I love her to death.  And I love all the silly, quirky little things that she does.  And this age, while it does have it's "terribles", is really cute and a lot of fun.  But sometimes I just feel a little overwhelmed, I guess.  Which brings me to my final point.  No matter how frustrated or irritated I become with her, she always forgives and forgets and ends her days with a kiss and a "Good night, mommy, I love you.  Sweet dreams, mommy."

And really, what could be more rewarding and perfect than that?

Anyways instead of doing the obvious things that need doing, I did weird things.  Cleaned the two non-steel countertops, deep cleaned my stove and toaster oven, ran a couple of loads of laundry (and this time I am actually bordering on panti-less.)

Now I am going to clean the microwave and vacuum the house.  And we'll see where that gets me.

She sat and charged a while.  I opened her back up yesterday to resume my normal activities and the same windows were still open, obviously.  I attempted to "Force Quit", to no avail.  No response to any of my commands.  Frustrated, I held the power button for a reset.

And then it happened.  Or didn't happen.  That's kind of the issue.

The spokes on my "loading" wheel turn and turn and the screen changes (eventually) from gray to blue...  but that is the extent of Lucy's activity.  A cursor appears on the screen after about 10 minutes, but it's a blank blue screen.  Nothing to click.  Nothing to do.  I've gone through the steps about 20 times now.  I've researched suggestions for this particular issue.  All to no avail.  If you hold down certain keys on boot you see other screens, kind of like a behind-the-scenes peek at what is happening during the loading process.  My screens display messages that imply my hard drive has failed.

"disk0s3: i/o error." - doesn't that just sound horrifying?  I don't have a clue what it means, but if you google it you find a bunch of traumatized Apple loyalists trying desperately to salvage their computers via "help" forums.  All of the "help" gurus mention hard disk failure, which can only really be fixed by replacing the HD.  And the HD can only really be replaced by a professional (Apple Store: we don't got) or a really ballsy PB enthusiast who is pretty certain he/she can replace it without destroying the machine.  Plus it costs more money.  And I'm not sure how I feel about all this money I am pumping into my outdated machine.  So far the battery was $49, the RAM $29, and if I were to tack in a new HD, that'd be close to another $100, plus the power cord replacement she really needs.  Is it worthwhile?  Do I even bother?  I mean, certainly $200 is cheaper than replacing the entire computer...  But she'd still just be a PowerBook G4, circa 2004 or so, with fairly limited functionality as far as things go these days.

Oh, and thinking that I might be able to boot using the OS restore disk that came with dear little Jimmy MacElroy (since Lucy's original [outdated] software restore disks are packed away somewhere that isn't here) I stuck disc 1 into the drive on Lucy.  And there it remains.  None of the emergency eject features even work.  Which panics me further.  I don't want to be without that software.

I am just sad.  Totally sad.  We had something special, Lucy and me.  And now it's fading away.

Everybody said she'd come late, and I was determined for her to prove them wrong. Just like she proved them all wrong about being a "she" instead of a "he". I'd been walking around at 1 cm dilated, 70% effaced for a week. 

It was Seabee Days 2006. I was at the base all day with Mark because I didn't want to go into labor at home alone and wind up unable to get a hold of him. So I was spending the weekend under a camoflauge net canopy, sweating up a storm and trying to consume as much water as possible. I alternated between the inflatable camping couch that we had bought at the PX and the chair in front of the cashbox where I acted as "Den Mother", my usual task at Mark's work, pitching in where needed and making sure everybody was taken care of. It was June 24 and 25. 

A lady I knew came walking through (most likely to flirt with all the uniformed Marines, as was her usual goal), and told me she knew a massage guaranteed to put women in labor.  She was a massage therapist. So naturally I offered up my stinky, sweaty, dirty feet. Well, maybe not naturally, but I was desperate. And they wouldn't have been dirty if our booth hadn't been the only one not on asphalt. The foot massage was not enjoyable. It hurt like hell. I gritted my teeth the whole time. It didn't help that the masseuse was a really obnoxious woman I was predetermined to hate. She had told me my kids would look just like hers. She insisted "it" would be a boy. She made dirty comments about the married Marines to me. She was disgusting. 

Anyways I would spend a while each day walking. Walking is supposed to bring on labor, right? People were making bets on when I would give birth. The 1stSgt insisted it would be June 28th - Wednesday. On the 25th, I lost half of my mucous plug in a port-o-potty. I lost the other half throughout the next 12 hours or so, every time I went to the bathroom. I was elated. I showed Mark. He was intrigued. That sort of thing interests him. 

I did all the tricks people suggested to me to start labor, except for the drinking castor oil thing. Sunday night I couldn't sleep. I laid in bed and counted contractions. It was like counting sheep, I think. I did it until I fell asleep. At one point, I woke Mark up and told him that they were coming every 10 minutes. I was excited. 

Monday morning, my friend Jennifer called. "Do we have a baby yet????" No. Don't rub it in. We still have a very full uterus and no baby. She called me every hour or so to check my progress. I was walking laps around the house, Mark was cleaning. Still contracting, nothing too special. 

Monday afternoon, the contractions were regular, and were coming every 3-5 minutes. Mark and I loaded up the car and headed to the hospital. They put me in a beautiful L&D room and I was monitored for about an hour. I was ready! The nurse came in and checked my progress. There wasn't much. Still dilated 1 cm. Maybe 1.5 cm. Difficult to say. 80% effaced or so. Contractions were normal, but not very productive. She called Dr. Lanter and updated her. Dr. Lanter asked to have me walk around for a bit. So she sent me to the long hall ramp and I walked up and down it for an hour. I went back to get checked again, and she said I was 2 cm now, but the progress was slow so I was free to leave and come back. Have some dinner, catch some sleep, she said she expected to see me later on that evening, preferrably after my water had broken OR after the contractions became too much to bear. 

I had a Subway meatball sub for dinner, against the advice of our prepared childbirth instructor, who said to make sure to have something light to eat before delivery. My mom drove to town, anticipating Amaris' arrival. 

At 2AM I was awoken by some intense pain. I shook Mark by the arm and said I thought it might be time to head back to the hospital. We headed out again. We were taken to the triage room. They checked me and said I was 1 cm dilated. 1 cm??? I pitched a fit. I told them I was 2 cm ealier, so 1 cm was bullshit. The nurse was mean. She told me it was in my head. She told me I wasn't really in labor. She told me she was giving me a shot of demerol and sending me home. She told me I wouldn't have a baby for another week at least. Said the demerol would stop my "false labor". 

I got home at 4AM. I was woozy. I couldn't walk. I was very sleepy. I was in no pain. I don't remember getting up the stairs. I think Mark might have half carried me. I made him lay out a towel on my side of the bed because I was afraid of my water breaking or something. I had a big maternity pad on. 

At 6AM, I woke up. I felt a strange popping sensation.  I might have heard it, not sure.  But I know that I felt it and it was unnatural and weird and very definitely was a "pop". I was staring at the ceiling. Still woozy and high on the demerol. I thought to myself, "my water just broke." I'm pretty sure I said it out loud, because I remember Mark saying, "should we go back to the hospital??" And I said something like, "No, not yet. I don't want to get sent home again."  Even though I knew better, that once your water was broken they wouldn't send you home.  I think I was still humiliated from the mean nurse a couple of hours earlier who had administered the demerol to my butt cheek. I felt some pressure, like contractions, but the pain wasn't major. I was too doped out to feel it completely. I turned a little and went back to sleep. 

I have no good concept of time after that. When I woke up again, I was in intense pain. I was folded in half. I told Mark in between contractions, "I think I should go downstairs because if it gets any worse I can't imagine making it down the stairs successfully." So he got a makeshift bed ready for me on the love seat and helped me down the stairs and into it. I stayed there, curled up into a little ball, for a very long time. It was daylight. My mom was in and out of the room, asking me stupid questions, stressing out. Mark was on the internet, of all things. But he wasn't far away. I don't think he knew what to do with the situation. I am pretty sure hours were passing. I couldn't speak. 

Finally my mom insisted it was time to go back to the hospital. 

I don't remember how I got into the car, but I remember while I was on the love seat, I was worrying about getting myself to the car and into the passenger seat. 

My mom crocheted the final touches on Amaris' pink afghan in the back seat. 

When we got to the hospital, it was full. Tuesday rush. Apparently Tuesday tends to be a big day in labor and delivery. It took forever for me to get let into triage, so some time was spent in the waiting room where I was mostly incoherent from pain and medication. When they finally got me into triage I didn't even take my shirt off before I put my hospital gown on. I'd done this twice already, I didn't feel like doing it again. I laid on the triage bed, there were chux pads underneath me. I was either peeing myself, or leaking amniotic fluid. Maybe both. I was in so much pain that I couldn't feel control of my entire bottom half. I was begging for drugs. They hadn't even checked me yet, and I was begging for drugs. 

They checked me. 100% effaced, 6 cm. Moving fast now. Very productive contractions. I remember some discussion about finding me a labor and delivery room NOW. I remember Mark telling me to breathe and holding my hand, not at all overbearingly. 

I don't remember getting from triage to L&D. But I do remember the nurse telling me that Dr. Lanter had okayed me for an epidural, but that the anesthesiologist had just gone in to a C-section, and it would be about an hour before he could get to me. I cried. She said she'd give me some stadol. She did, and it didn't really help, it just pretty much made me incoherent. I was sleeping, but in pain. I couldn't speak, but was struggling. I hate stadol. 

Eventually the anesthesiologist came in and introduced himself. I was 9 cm dilated. I was elated to see him and said, "My best friend!" 

After that I was in a daze. Very talkative and loopy. I started slowing down on progress. They put pitocin in my IV. I couldn't feel anything. 

They said it was time to start trying to push. So I did. But it wasn't doing anything. I pushed, and pushed, and pushed... Nothing. 

Mark held my right leg, my mom held my left. Nothing was happening. I was pushing. The nurse said I was doing something wrong. How do you "push" wrong?? I was totally frustrated, and exhausted. Dr. Lanter came in and asked if I needed help. I told her I did. She explained vacuum extraction, and then left briefly to get things set up. I continued pushing while she was gone but there was really nothing happening.  It turns out Amaris was "sunny-side-up" - probably the reason for my intense back labor and unproductive pushing.

When my doctor came back, it all happened really quickly. I pushed, she pulled. At 5:42PM, my beautiful little bruise-headed baby girl was born talking to herself - not crying. I cried for about an hour and a half solid. I held her, Mark held her, my mom held her... Mark and I both cried our eyes out. It was a really emotional time. My doctor kept asking if I was crying out of emotion or if I was feeling the stitches. No, just emotion. Very overwhelming.

My estimated due date is February 10 and I've so far been measuring spot on with everything.  The poll will close at 12:00AM February 1.  (That's Okinawa time, so what I really mean is that it'll close at 7AM January 31 if you're on the West Coast.)

I've been thinking a lot about baby girl's impending arrival.  Lots of anxieties and such.  I think the moment I packed the diaper bag, it all became immensely more real to me.  I remember

 when I got my positive pregnancy test with Amaris, it was after 6 months of "trying to conceive" and one miscarriage, and the wave of random emotions was really intense.  First elation, then panic, then more excited bliss, then "Oh crap, this is really happening and there's no turning back now."

When I got baby girl's first positive pregnancy test (I took a total of two tests with both pregnancies) I don't really remember how I felt.  Startled and panicked, I think.  I was miserable in San Angelo and to be honest not at a very good place in my marriage.  I'd only been off birth control for about two months and I figured I'd have at least another month before pregnancy even became a concern.  Mark didn't really give me a whole lot of  reaction.  I didn't have much of a reaction myself.  I continued on with my boring daily life, sprinkled in a couple of doctor's appointments and prenatal vitamins, and cut out any and all alcohol rather abruptly.  We didn't share the news till we were out of the first trimester and even then it was still a quiet sort of sharing.  Personally I was too nervous to get excited, and in many ways I still felt miserable (Texas did that to me).  Several times I wondered what would happen, where we'd go, how we'd deal.  I knew we could handle another baby, but there were so many battling factors all at once in the whole situation that I just didn't know what to make of it all.  There was talk of a possible temporary move for Mark to Yuma, AZ for some further training that I wouldn't be allowed to go to, which left me with VERY few options.  All of which involved either being poverty-level-broke or me being alone with Amaris for the birth of the new baby in an unfamiliar place.

Obviously everything panned out just fine.  But for a long time the pregnancy didn't really feel like it was something that was really happening to me.  It felt more like a puzzle that I needed to figure out.  It stressed me constantly.

I have felt "huge and pregnant" since before we arrived in Okinawa, and looking back I am honestly shocked to see how small I still was when we got here.  I am not surprised, looking at the pictures, when I recall people not realizing that I was pregnant.  That used to really piss me off.  Obviously, though, I wasn't as giganto as I felt.

I've spent this pregnancy worrying about so many non-pregnancy things that I kind of feel like it's coming to an end in an unfair way - for the baby, I mean.  I had no parties or anything to celebrate, I honestly have only bought her two articles of clothing - one a set of pajamas that Amaris picked out, and the other a dress I found on sale for 99Yen at "the bunny store".  I've been fortunate that twice women have spotted me (and the belly) at the post office and have given me hand-me-downs, many of them unworn.  And I was extremely fortunate to find a crib for free.  Buying diapers and formula has felt totally surreal the couple of times I've done it.  Many times I've sat and looked around and felt completely unprepared.

The reality is setting in now, the Joovy Caboose is hanging out in the closet, ready to roll.  Her bedroom looks like a nursery, right down to clothes washed, folded and put away in her dresser.  Car seat is ready to install at a moment's notice.  Her diaper bag is packed with all the things a baby needs - diapering supplies, bottle, formula powder, extra clothing, blankets...  She's coming.  She'll be here very soon.

Part of me is still panicking.  This is the part of me that goes, "Oh no!  I don't remember if I liked having a newborn!  I don't know if I'll like her as much as I am crazy about Amaris!  And POOR Amaris!  She has to share her parents now! I don't know if I have the patience to start over again from the beginning!  Shit!  This was a crazy stupid move!  HELP!  I don't want another floppy, pooping, crying baby!  My life is over!"  The other part of me is docile.  "Well, I'll go into labor, have the baby, fall in love with her just like I did with Amaris, and things will be just fine.  I'd rather carry a car seat than this big old belly.  I can't wait to have my body back to myself.  I love babies.  Is it time yet?  Amaris will be a great big sister."

I sort of feel like having your second is a lot like discovering you're pregnant with your first.  All the feelings are the same.  It's just the way that they come about that is different.  For me, anyways.

I've never been one to worry about labor and delivery.  With Amaris, I was anxious about it but not afraid.  I was pretty much right on in those feelings.  Her labor was long and intense but at the end all of the discomfort melted away when I was looking into her little face.  Honestly, looking back I recall all of the pain just fine (no mommy-amnesia), but it was so worthwhile, and honestly I felt like it was just pretty damn exciting.  Even exhilarating.  I immediately appreciated the experience for what it was and had no complaints about it through my recovery.  Labor doesn't scare me.  Delivery doesn't scare me.  Having another teeny baby at home...  that's a little scary.  And even scarier than that is the idea that one day that teeny baby will be just like her crazy big sister.

Anyways, vote in the poll.  :)  I'll be packing my hospital bag.

Almost 35 weeks

So I reviewed.  And then I stewed.  And then I reviewed again.  And I opted to bail on a class before they began.  Rather than bombarding myself during the first half of the semester with a library study class, a US History class (for which the books would have cost me $90!), and the birth of a new baby, I dropped History.  And in the semester's second half, I'll just be taking my Computer-Based Systems class.

These changes dropped my tuition to $710, and negated the need for me to buy any books.

I keep justifying these changes in my head.  Everybody has predicted my failure already.  I've heard from at least two different people (whose opinions I greatly value), "How do you expect to be able to do that?" when I mention school.  So now the pessimist in me is already counting the dropping of that History class (that wasn't even going to begin for another 23 days) as a total loss.

My justification is that this semester I am taking it easy.  Taking it slow.  Taking baby steps.  Being sensible.  I'm going to have another baby.  I'm going to take two classes that should be fairly low-key.  I'll have time to settle into a routine, and time to adjust.  And I'll have time to take my placement exams so that next semester I can start working on the "real" academics (to include not only History but also Math and English).

This is smart, right?  Baby steps are what will get me into a groove and keep my stress levels down and not break the bank.