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  And I'm not sure how I feel about all this money I am pumping into my outdated machine.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I might be able to boot using the OS restore disk that came with dear little Jimmy MacElroy (since Lucy's original [outdated] software restore disks are packed away somewhere that isn't here) I stuck disc 1 into the drive on Lucy.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.