Dear Spawn of Satan On My Chin:

Please go away.

I have scrubbed you, I have microdermabraded you, I have glycolic peeled you, I have Retin A'd you, I have Lavender Oiled you, I have Oxycuted you. And yet still you persist. Can't you tell when you're not a welcome guest?!?!?!?!?

Look, here's the deal. I begrudgingly put up with your shenanigans when I was pregnant, because my hormones were all crazy and there was nothing I could do about it. But the baby is born now, and my hormones should be starting to settle down a little and frankly, I don't like walking around with a gigantic zit cyst on my chin. So beat it already!

You're embarrassing! You walk into the room five minutes before I do, and with you prominently displayed on my chin nobody notices any of my other, better looking facial features. Nobody even notices that I have lost 30 pounds in a week! All they see is this gigantic, honking zitfest!

GO AWAY.

I would like to go back to my regular non-pregnant complexion now. The skin that looks like the weather forecast for Heaven: eternally fair and clear. I miss THAT skin.

If you do not go away on your own, I will be forced to call in someone to perform an exorcism on you. And by exorcism, I mean extraction facial. And trust me, you will NOT like that. So pack your bags and get out of here. I'm sure some greasy faced 15 year old misses you somewhere. Get along, little doggie!

XOXO,
Love, me.

If I sleep while the baby is sleeping, when am I supposed to shower?

Seriously, this is my question.

There are plenty of things that I would like to do while my arms aren't occupied by Jackson. One of them is blog...see? I'm doing this now.

But I also enjoy a hot shower, eating meals, painting my nails, going to the bathroom, doing laundry, washing dishes, cleaning house...I could go on for days.

When the kid only naps for an hour and a half at a time if I'm lucky...how am I supposed to do all these tasks? I'm supposed to be sleeping while the baby is sleeping! But if I sleep while the baby is sleeping, then I can't, say, EAT while the baby is sleeping. Or PEE while the baby is sleeping. Because have you ever tried to go to the bathroom while holding a wiggly infant? It ain't easy, my friend.

But then if I do eat or pee or clean or whatever while the baby is sleeping...I never get to sleep. It's a vicious cycle.

To remedy this, I have determined that the perfect solution would be that at the time of birth, the hormonal shift caused by the removal of the placenta should also trigger an Appendage Growth Hormonal Spurt, which causes mothers to sprout an extra two to four arms. While this would make clothes shopping a little bit more of a challenge, I'd put up with it in order to be able to consume a meal while it is hot again. Wouldn't you?

Jack is crack.

It must be hormones. What is it about holding this tiny person that relaxes every cell in my body? He melts me. When I snuggle him while feeding him, I just turn into a blob of happy jelly. It almost lulls me to sleep!

He makes me so ridiculously happy. Happy isn't even the word. Like I said, he's crack. I'm high on him. When I hold him, my heart just explodes with happies. I love him so much I want to inhale him.

Tim frequently needs a hit too. I tease him that he's a Baby Hog, when he's home he always wants to hold the baby. I'm like "Ummm...can I have my kid back now?" Unless a stinky diaper is involved, Daddy doesn't want to hand him over.

I still can't believe that this person came out of me. This tiny, perfect little person was inside of me. He shared my blood. It's the most amazing thing.

I made a person. We created life.

When I married my husband, I never imagined that I could love anyone as much as I love him. Tim's such a good person. I adore him and I'm so lucky to have him. As much as I love my husband, the love I feel for this tiny package of wonderfulness completely eclipses any feelings of affection I've ever known. "Love" isn't even an adequate word to define it.

I'm totally hooked on this little man.

This also made me laugh today

These made me laugh today

I love cats.

On bottles, breasts and capes

Well, I officially quit pumping. Including the time it takes to wash and sterilize all the parts, I was spending 4+ hours a day pumping my bewbs to get maybe a grand total of 8 ml of breast milk. Total. For the whole day.

The time I spent doing it just wasn't worth what I was getting out of it. Jack is officially going to be a bottle baby.

At first it broke my heart. I cried. I asked God why...why He would take this away from me in addition to everything else I had to give up over the past two weeks. And then I realized - He had to take it all away so I could see that He gave me what I wanted to begin with...He gave me Jack. What more do I need? He gave me the dream of my heart, the one wish I nurtured for so many years. The one thing I wanted, a healthy and happy baby is mine. Maybe I got greedy, maybe I started to ask for too much.

I was talking to my friend Alice yesterday, and we were discussing how much more difficult new motherhood is compared to what they tell you in the parenting books. I really feel like I was duped! I had spent the past 8 months reading parenting books like I was cramming for final exams. I really thought I was prepared for these first two weeks! Boy, was I ever wrong. Now that I'm in it, I feel like I need to be SuperWoman to do it all. But there are times where I'm washing dishes and holding the baby and the phone is ringing and I'm cooking dinner and I have to go to the bathroom too...it's nearly impossible! Maybe I could be better at this if I had gotten my Regulation Issue SuperWoman Cape when they discharged me from the hospital. They gave me all kinds of things...a cheesy diaper bag, that puffer thing to blow into to work out my lungs, weird nylon disposable panties...but no cape.

I really could use that cape.

It makes me laugh when I hear people say that stay at home moms have it easy. Because we're not out there earning paychecks, sitting in endless meetings, patching runs in our hose with clear nail polish, laughing at our bosses' bad jokes. Tell me again how easy I have it, when I don't have a moment to pee much less take a shower, as my shirt bears spit up stains as a badge of honor, while I'm changing a poopy diaper as I get ready to walk the dogs right after I feed the baby...when I haven't even had lunch myself. Oh yeah, it's a freakin' picnic.

They really should give you a cape.

New mother indecision

Since I can't quite bend at the waist without having pinchy pains, I have not shaved my legs for nearly two weeks now.

I can't decide if I should just go to Target and get a bottle of that foamy Nair stuff that you squeegee off with a rubber "razor" (which I could do seated, easily) or just let the hair continue to grow and see how long it will get...maybe go for a Guiness Book of World Records leg hair length.

I think I would feel far more attractive, maybe even a little bit seckse if I went for the depilatory.

I mean, look at how good I feel after I snuck in a shower! Imagine having smooth legs too. Hmm....decisions, decisions.

Labs really DO make excellent family dogs!

Bella loves Jack!

I'm an aunt!

Here's my youngest brother's son, AJ.

AJ was born 6 days after his cousin Jackson.

My two main men

Please try to not die of the extreme cuteness.

What's my name again?

So, I have survived Jack's first week of life.

And when I say "survived" what I mean is that I am still alive (although I feel half dead) and I haven't killed anyone else.

What day is it? Isn't that Daylight Savings Time stuff supposed to change soon?

I am all sleepy and sore and out of touch with reality. I turned on CNN the other day and had to turn it off. School shootings and some congressman hitting on a teenage intern online. Ew. Maybe I didn't miss that much anyways.

I am so thankful. I am thankful to my husband who listens to me cry and tries to comfort me. I am thankful to him for trying to cook so I don't have to. I am thankful to him for being such a great Daddy.

I am thankful to my wonderful friends who have been there for me, who understand how I feel and talk me down from all this crap swirling around in my head. Because as much as I adore my husband, and as much as he tries to "get" me, there are some things that only a girlfriend can understand.

Time for me to go hold my baby, and slowly let my brain turn into soup some more. Being home with a new baby is exhausting, and it has turned my life upside down like never before. It's so incredibly crazy.

I've never been more miserable or more tired or more fulfilled or more content. I'm a walking dichotomy.

Welcome to Hell, Population: Me

I am so overwhelmed right now.

I'm fried.

I'm tired.

I'm sore.

I'm frustrated.

My milk still isn't here yet, Jack won't latch on, giving him formula breaks my heart because I want to give him the best of everything and I know breastmilk is so much better...

I'm pumping and get only drops. It makes me want to cry.

I feel like an incompetent mother. This messes with my brain in a way I can't even put into words. I freak out and think that maybe I'm just as bad a mother as my own mother was to me. And then I bawl my eyes out and have to tell myself that I'm not her. I'm not her, I'm not her, I'm not her.

I'm not her.

When Jack doesn't latch on, I have a hard time not taking it personally. It doesn't feel like he's rejecting my breast, he's rejecting me. It kills me inside.

Why doesn't my baby love me? I gave up everything for him.

My career.

My body.

My health.

Sushi and brie and good wine.

Everything.

And all I want is to give him the best of everything I can and...why won't he let me?

I can't stop crying.

My soul hurts.

If you pray, pray for me and if you pray for me, pray for milk. Everything, everything, EVERYTHING that I wanted for his birth and beyond I have had to give up. I can't give up breastfeeding. I just can't. It's like, the last bastion of being a good mom and doing it right that I have. I have had to give up on everything else that I wanted, planned for and worked for. I can't give this up too. It will kill me if I do.

So pray for milk. I feel so alone and I feel like God doesn't even pay attention to me anymore. I feel like He's left me stranded on an island of Hell to make it on my own. I need to know that's not true. I need to know He still sees me and cares and hears my cries.

This hurts so much I can't even tell you.

'you are not broken you are amazing'

So says the text message that I got the other night.

Thank God for good friends who know just when to say what you need to hear.

Aww, don't worry Dr. Y. We still love you!

Dr. Y came to check up on me today. We talked about how I was doing, how the baby was doing, possible discharge plans for both of us and stuff like that.

Before she left, I said "I have to tell you this. Thank you so much for working so hard to give me the birth I wanted. I know you did everything you could and it means so much to me that you tried so hard."

And she said, "Oh really?! I thought you and your husband for sure would HATE me after I made you have a c-section! I thought you were totally regretting your decision to change doctors to me now."

Oh no no no no no. The only regret I have is not switching doctors sooner.

I told Tim about this convo when he got back from running a few errands and he said "Are you kidding? Changing doctors to her is the best thing we did!"

So if you love your doctor, and they do right by you, make sure to tell them. Because you never know what they're thinking and I personally would have felt bad if Dr. Y kept feeling like I was mad at her when in actuality I am eternally grateful to her.

And if you are looking for a phenomenal OB/Gyn in the NW Chicago Burbs let me know. My doctor is just awesome and I'm happy to pass along her name as a reference. :D

The Final Score - Dr. Y: 2, Jackson: 2

It's Saturday, and I apologize for being silent to all those who have been sitting at home, clicking "refresh", waiting to find out if Jackson is here yet or not. I've been a little preoccupied with things like trying to recuperate after having a baby and stuff.

After spending all morning having strong, frequent contractions and the most hellacious back labor known to mankind (while contractions are bearable, that back labor is crap! Ohmydog so much pain I can't even tell you. Think of the worst pain you've ever felt. Now multiply that by a million, and put it in a place that you can't reach to try to soothe. Backrubs, counter pressure, heat packs...they all sound like a great idea. And yet I didn't find them as helpful as people sell them as), Dr. Y came back to my room around 2:00 on Thursday to check my cervix. I had only dilated 1 cm (you need to be 10 cm to push a baby out! I was a long way from there!) and hardly effaced at all. (The cervix was still thick, it needs to thin out to open up). So after all that work and all that pain I had made no progress towards being able to get Jack out on my own.

Dr. Y looked at me with empathic eyes and said "You know what this means". I nodded and said, "Prep the OR". I do have to say one thing here though - Dr. Y did everything in her power to honor my wishes regarding the birth I wanted. She truly and honestly did. I know I never would have gotten that kind of respect and patience out of Dr. Boob Check. I am so very grateful for Dr. Y's multiple attempts to allow me to have the birth I wanted. Her job was to have a healthy mom and a healthy baby at the end of the day. She did her job, and she did her job well. She really did try to give me what I wanted, I know she did her best. But nothing she did worked.

My heart was broken. Seriously, it hurt so bad having to admit that I was going to have a c-section that I could barely breathe, I was just racked with such immense feelings of failure and loss that my entire being shook. I'm crying right now as I revisit that moment in my head. The nurse got me ready for surgery, they called down an anesthesia guy, and I walked the longest hallway ever from Labor and Delivery to the C-Section Operating Room. I told Tim it felt like a "walk of shame". All the things I did not want so much were happening to me. I had to have an c-section, I had to have an epidural, I had to be tied to the operating table. As they were taping my arms to the wings of the table, I said "I feel like I'm being crucified". Dr. Y laughed hysterically and said that I was the funniest patient she's ever had. But I really did feel like I was making the Ultimate Sacrifice for someone else's well being. I've heard so many Epidural Horror Stories that I wanted to avoid that at all costs. But I couldn't avoid it anymore. I had no choice. I had to do this for Jack. They don't let the Daddy into the room until the procedure is ready to begin, so while they prepped me and epiduraled me, I was all alone. And I truly do mean all alone. I've never felt "alone" as a feeling more acutely in my life. They really should let the Daddies into the OR right away. Sometimes the Mommy needs him there. I certainly did. I kept hearing me telling myself over & over again in my head...'I've failed, I've failed, I've failed...". I really could have used some moral support.

I felt the epidural stuff only on my right side, so they tipped the table to the left. Without warning me. I freaked out. I screamed, "HELP ME I'M FALLING OFF THE TABLE!" because I really thought I was falling off the table, and there was no way in hell I could have fought gravity to hang on to the table. I felt like jelly. I think they gave me too much of the medicine because I was supposed to be numb from the waist down. Instead, my arms were numb, my hands tingled and I felt like I couldn't breathe.

Dr. Y cut me open and I heard her say something about a big blood vessel. I guess that's why I lost so much blood that now my labwork comes back showing me as anemic. Oopsie. Yet another thing my body can't do correctly. In a moment of pure insanity (or clarity, I guess it depends on how you see it), I asked Dr. Y to make the incision so I could try a VBAC next time. NEXT TIME!?!?! Who am I kidding?!?!?! Next time should be the last thing on my mind at this time, but still there I was, planning years ahead already. Cuz that's how I roll.

Dr. Y said the amniotic fluid looked nice & clear, which is good. Jack wasn't in such distress that he passed some of his meconium into his fluid, which can be bad for the baby (because basically they end up breathing their own crap). So that was good. I felt the pressure of her lifting Jackson from my womb.

I then experienced the longest few seconds of my life, as I waited to hear my son's cry. It couldn't have been more than 5 seconds, to be totally honest. But it felt like an eternity. I laid there with my abdomen cut open, unable to see what was going on, while Tim snapped pictures, and all I could do was wait. I kept whispering to myself "Cry, Baby, cry". This really didn't help that feeling-like-I-couldn't-breathe dealie I already had going on!

The most beautiful sound in the world is your child's first lusty wail.



I would have killed or died a million times over to hear that sound. I heard it, and my entire body went slack (like I wasn't slacky from the epidural, but whatever). He was here! He was here and he was crying and he was okay. It was the tiniest little crumb of peace and contentment, but I clung to it.

Since Jackson is a little early, he's having some complications that require he stay in NICU instead of in my room with us (Tim packed my air mattress and has been sleeping on that, on the floor so he could stay in my room with me. What a gem of a guy, huh?). His lungs are a little immature (which is why we wanted to do that amniocentesis in the first place, to check) and he had a little bit of amniotic fluid stuck in there from being born via c-section instead of a vaginal birth. When they come out through "the door", the birth canal helps squeeze that extra fluid out for them. When they have to come out through "a window" they don't get that little perk. So he is in the nursery across the hall, which sounds so close but is yet still so very far away from me. I am still a little wobbly on my feet and they just finally took the IV From Hell out of my arm last night. Jack can't take any food by mouth yet because he's not yet ready to eat and breathe at the same time. So he's on a feeding tube, and Tim has been going to the nursery every few hours to feed and cuddle him. He sings to him and tells him he's going to grow up to be the best quarterback ever of the San Francisco 49ers. :)

I try to make it over there too, but sometimes it doesn't work out with my own eating, insulin dosing and breastmilk pumping schedule. When he's not eating, the nurses want him to rest, so I am shunned from waking him in the nursery to visit with him unless it's a feeding time that fits into my schedule. Except that when I'm not eating, insulin dosing or breastmilk pumping, my doctors want me to rest too. I can't win! :(

I am still more than just a little frustrated with my birth experience. I'm getting over it, trying to accept the outcome. I'm getting there. I'm not there yet. It's really hard for me. I live life with a lot of discipline and planning. I scope out every move. I like it that way. I control my destiny. Over the past few months, I have trained for this. Millions of kegels, squats and pelvic tilts later, my bahina was prepared for birth. I feel like I trained for a marathon that I didn't get to run. It's so disappointing. I did everything I was supposed to. Everything. And it still wasn't enough. My everything wasn't enough. That *kills* me.

I have one tiny ray of sunshine in my dreary outlook. I have Jackson. I have a 6 pound, 11 oz, 19 inch long baby boy who is just the most beautiful thing I have ever seen. And while he's struggling a little bit right now, his size and weight is just what his mom worked so hard for so long for...it's *perfect*. At 37 weeks, a healthy baby of a non-diabetic mother is supposed to weigh between 6 and 7 pounds. Babies of diabetic mothers typically weigh more when the diabetes isn't controlled at all, or is poorly controlled. Not my baby. I worked my tushus off and it shows. It might sound stupid to you, but I take great pride in his size.

Before turning off the lights to go to bed last night, I told Tim the bad news.

I told him there was another man in my life now. Tim said, "Oh yeah?" And I said "Yeah. But don't worry, he doesn't even weigh 7 pounds. You could totally take him out."

And so, I present to you our firstborn son, Jackson Phoenix, who was born on Thursday, September 28th at 2:19 pm. He is 19 inches long and is 6 pounds, 11 ounces of the most beautiful baby I have ever seen. However, I will readily admit that I am quite biased.

The score: Dr. Y - 0. Jackson - 2

It's Thursday morning, and I've just showered and changed hospital gowns. Why do they call these 'gowns'? They aren't appropriate for wear to any formal event. (Or informal one, for that matter!)

Dr. Y came in around 6:30 this morning to take my Cervadil out and check my progress. I am still neither dilated nor effaced at all. The nurse just left my room, after hooking up a new bag of Pitocin in an effort to give that a second try.

I spent all night writhing in pain. I had contractions and back labor all night. It sucked so hard. When Dr. Y checked me this morning and said I had not progressed at all, I cried. All that for nothing. I have now been in the hospital for an entire day for NOTHING. I'm so frustrated. I feel like such a failure.

I wish I knew how long they're going to let me go to see if the Pitocin does anything today. I have just about abandoned all hope of having my desired non-medicated vaginal birth. And I don't care anymore. I give up. I quit. Cut me open, I don't care.

Just make it end now, please.

Update: The new plan sucks monkey nuts too

So after sitting here all day long with the pitocin going, I have dilated and effaced...not at all. Dr. Y put in the cervadil a little while ago. It felt hard and scratchy going in. I don't recommend it at all.

I could have spent today at home and ended up with the same results! I'm pissed!

I wanted to do my nails today. I wanted to do my nails in the same color I wore on our wedding day for Jack's birth day. (All together now..."AWWWWW!") I was so disappointed to think that all those first pictures would be taken of me, holding Jackson, with a sad worn manicure. So when Tim went home to grab our bags and take the dogs to the kennel, I had him grab me my stuff. So, my nails are done now (in OPI Shanghai Shimmer, if you must know) and I am *now* officially ready to give birth. Well, my nails are ready. My cervix isn't. Priorities, you understand.

The plan is...there is no plan!

As of Monday, the "plan" was for me to have an amniocentesis this morning to determine lung maturity and if that came out good, which it should, then we'd come back to the hospital tonight and start a dose of cervadil to ripen my cervix to give birth and start on some pitocin tomorrow morning to induce labor.

Well, this morning Dr. Y took a look inside with an ultrasound to find that I didn't have enough amniotic fluid to do an amniocentesis and my placenta is beginning to go kaput. This all surprised the heck out of me...Dr. Y, not so much. So I did not get to pass go, I did not collect $200, I went directly to...labor & delivery.

Oy. I was all about The Plan. I was ready for The Plan. I had my bags packed at home for The Plan. And now...new plan! The new plan involves me in a L&D room, on an IV of fluids, antibiotics (I have Group B Strep in my dirty whore's vagina, apparently), and pitocin. I have a blood pressure cuff on my left arm that monitors me every few minutes. Contractions feel like the worst menstrual cramps I've ever had. OW!

I'm focusing on letting go of The Plan...or any plan for that matter. I have to wrap my head around this possibly not working out for the unmedicated vaginal birth that I had my heart set on. If my blood pressure doesn't hold out, or if Jackson starts showing signs of distress, I might need to be gutted like a fish. Since I know that being disappointed in your birth experience ups the risk for PPD (and we all know I'm already petrified of the big, bad PPD), I am working hard to mentally get myself to a place where I'm okay with a birth, any birth, as long as the results are a healthy baby.

The fun good news portion of this all is that one of the girls I went to high school with is one of my night nurses in labor & delivery. I haven't seen her since our 10 year reunion. But it's still awfully comforting to have a familiar face I can immediately trust with my life as part of my medical team. Once again, I have to chalk it up to "God knew what I'd need". He knew this would be a difficult turn of events for me to accept, and He knew I'd need a friendly, familiar face to get me through. So he put Sarah here.

A New Perspective

I've decided that I'm okay with having Jackson being born on Thursday. I'd much rather mark the date on my calendar as Jack's birthday than as anything else.

Since I choose to start making a lifetime of new, good memories to replace all those old, bad ones...this makes sense to me.

It's 11:00 pm on Sunday night, and I've just enjoyed my very last ever child-free weekend. It's an odd feeling. In four days, my son will be in my arms.

I'm supposed to rest and take it easy between now and then, but it's incredibly difficult. It's like waiting for the best Christmas of my life.

Mark your calendars! I suppose I should pack a bag now. Also, now taking applications for post-partum support.

Little by little over the past 2 weeks, my blood pressure has been gradually rising. While my health is in decline, the baby seems to be doing just fine. However, I'm told that it's only a matter of time until Jackson begins to be impacted by the problems I'm experiencing.

Based on my current status, my OB would like to perform an amniocentesis next Wednesday morning to check for lung maturity. If the lungs are ready to breathe, we will start the induction process on Wednesday evening and Jack will make his grand debut next Thursday, September 28th. Hold on. I want to check what sign that would make him. Ooh, he'd be a Libra. Libras are nice. Hubby is a Virgo/Libra cusp baby. Anyways, back to the situation at hand.

So, next Thursday I would have my baby. WHOA. That seems so close...and yet so far away! And as I check the calendar, a wave of nausea washes over me. Next Thursday is 9/28. That was my wedding anniversary to my ex husband. EW! It was bad enough how it just so happened to work out that Tim and I got married last year on Dave's birthday. But have our first child on our wedding anniversary? That would be...WEIRD. Dave and I get along great now. I guess we had to get divorced in order to be friends again. I just hung up the phone with him and he laughed hysterically at my conundrum. Thanks a LOT, Pal!

I've been in denial over my impending delivery and I've been a bad girl and haven't packed my bag for the hospital yet. I think this is something I should get done today though. I wish someone could tell me exactly what was going to happen and exactly how it is going to feel and exactly how long it is going to take. I'm not afraid of giving birth, I'm not even afraid of the pain. I'm just afraid of the unknown.

One of the unknowns I am most afraid of is Post Partum Depression. I'm fairly certain that my mother suffered from this with me (why else would you abandon your newborn infant and run away from home?) and with my own personal history of Post Traumatic Stress Disorder and Depression, I feel like I'm a sitting duck. I know the medical physiology of PPD. I know how the fluctuation in hormones can hit you like a ton of bricks and land your heart on its ass. I'm scared to death of this.

I've discussed this with my doctor, and she is going to start me on a prophylactic dose of progesterone after delivery in an attempt to keep my hormone levels even-keeled so I don't go over the deep end. So at least I feel like I'm doing something to address my own worst fear. At the same time, if any of my beloved friends/blog readers would like to volunteer to be my lifeline should I need one, I will gladly accept the volunteered help. I feel like since there's very little I can do to truly prevent PPD from happening to me, the best plan I can have in place involves preparing my body with the progesterone and my mind with a support system in place. It's really hard to be prepared for something you can't prepare for.

If I focus on it too much, I feel like a hamster running in a wheel. I keep running and running and running in my mind but I get nowhere with all my running. It's really very frustrating! I want to run away from it. Away from my genetic predisposition, away from my personal predisposition, away from the inherent risks just from giving birth. I want to hide from it, maybe under my bed or something. I want a gigantic bubble around me, like in the movie Bubble Boy, that will insulate me from anything bad that can or might happen. But I know I can't run or hide or insulate myself from the possibility. And so I reach out to you, dear friends, and ask you if you can be there for me if I need it.

Because frankly, I'm just so afraid. Knowing I can't control it makes me even more afraid. The juxtaposition of my emotions over Jackson's impending birth absolutely torments me. I am so excited to meet him. I feel like I know him so well after loving and nurturing and carrying him for so long. At the same time, I know I don't know him at all. He is an individual with his own thoughts and feelings and likes and desires. I've never loved anyone as much as I love him. There's a certain vulnerability involved when you let yourself truly love someone. If you don't give your heart to them, they can never hurt you. I adore this little person so much, I can't help it. But by loving him, I give him the ability to break my heart and that scares me. And of course, I dread coming to the realization that I am suffering from post partum depression, if that happens. I know I will completely feel like an utter failure if it occurs. To think that all my life - 31 years of hopes and dreams of a family of my own - culminated in me not being able to handle it will crush my spirit.

My excitement to meet Jackson is evenly tempered by all these apprehensions rattling around in my brain. It's ugly to think about. I think I'll go pack my bag now.

P.S. I'm laughing right now, because I just spell checked this entry and spell check suggests "party" instead of "partum" in my post. Post Party Depression. Oh, how I wish it were something as uncomplicated as that.