Dark days

I started taking birth control again a month ago. I had tried before, and I had been very sick, no sex drive, headaches, and other problems. I talked with my doctor and said, "I don't want to puke or lose my sex drive. If you've got something for that, I'm willing to try it." He prescribed Yaz, which was supposed to be more mild than some of its predecessors. I decided to give it a try.

Within the first 3 days, I got the first yeast infection of my life, so I had to treat that. I got nauseated frequently but not to the point of vomiting. The vertigo got bad, and I had blood pressure fluctuation. I broke out badly and my already-frequent headaches were a daily companion. Within a week, I had gone from my usual outspoken self to downright antagonistic. Someone could say something that wouldn't normally bother me and instead of it not even being a blip on my radar, I would go off at them. In my head, I was thinking it was a good opportunity to speak my mind and tell people how I really felt and even if they were upset at first, it was just because I was being honest and they'd come to appreciate it in the long run. That's how it started anyway.

Within two weeks, I was just plain irritated. At everyone. Everything. I could have three days off and I'd return to work snapping and perturbed like I'd been there 6 days. My coworkers were taking notice. My staff was unimpressed with my irritability. My friend Melissa even said one night, "What is wrong with you? We're having a good night and you've still been nothing but crabby." I shrugged it off. "Just burnt out I guess."

By the third week, I was taking active steps to sabotage my closest friendships and nip any new relationships in the bud. I couldn't get off the couch. I cried at the drop of a hat. In my head, I was a constant victim but at the same time the sane part of me knew I was the root of the problem. We went to Zedd's soccer game and I got mad at Lilah for not wearing a hat. I looked at her and thought of how all the other kids looked clean and cute and she just looked rough and raggedy with her crazy hair and play clothes.

This photo was taken that day and I looked at it later and thought, "She's beautiful just like always! What was I thinking?!" I was good at masking it when people were around, primarily because then I was distracted from being alone with myself. But I hated being on my own because I knew something was wrong. I didn't feel like me anymore. I could recall the best memories of my life and they were oddly tainted by negativity. Pictures of me everyone complimented, I looked at in disgust. I weighed myself constantly, feeling like I was getting fat. Thoughts started creeping in my head that I was ruining everything I touched and my family would be better off without me, except for the fact they needed the income from my job to survive. I was staying up at night online to distract myself until I truly couldn't keep my eyes open anymore so I wouldn't have to lay in bed and think because my thoughts were starting to scare me.

Dano finally had a few talks with me after being my constant voice of reason for weeks. He wanted me to go off the pill. I agreed that was probably best. Even after three days of not taking the pill, I'm not all right. In fact, I feel like I'm getting worse. It just feels dark in my head. Dano is the only thing keeping me functioning, and that's only because he can talk me out of my moods where I think the world would be better off without me. I tried going to bed at a normal hour last night and we ended up arguing and I sobbed for an hour until I was exhausted. I'm not even sure what I said to him. I remember hearing breaks screeching on the highway and wondering what it would be like if it was me in the car. I want to get better. I want to feel normal and happy again. I don't know what else I can do. I feel like I'm drowning in my own head.

Nightmares

I just need to get this out.

Two days ago, I was under a lot of stress from work. They gave me an extra day off, then after my shift started, tried to call me in to cover for someone who didn't show up. I was worried they'd find a way to write me up as a no-call to keep from giving me my bonus in two weeks. I was also worried this would somehow affect my ability to transfer to my new facility - a stealth operation on my part that's been in the works for a month now.

That same day, Lilah had woken up on the wrong side of bed. She was just unpleasant from the time she opened her little blue eyes to the time she closed them that night. I spent my day off practically 100% with her. We played. Read stories. Ate snacks. Snuggled. She was even sitting on her customary stool in the kitchen while I made tacos for dinner. She would get down off my lap while we were reading stories to cross the living room, look straight at me, and smack my laptop (big no-no in this house). She would have 100% of her needs met and still emit a high-pitched whine. She terrorized the cat, yelled for no reason, tried to smack me with picture frames, and was just generally naughty. I tried everything and concluded she was just having an off day because of the stormy weather (changes in barometric pressure really affect my little one). There were many one-minute time outs, stern looks, and gritting my teeth and going about my business without making eye contact during the shrieky whines. I was exasperated at the end of the day and more than ready to put her to sleep for the night. I was counting down the hours until bedtime. I kissed her haphazardly, told her I loved her, and Dano took her upstairs. I breathed a sigh of relief and relaxed for the rest of the night.

Late that night, I fell into bed, mentally and physically exhausted. I had the most terrible nightmares I've ever had in my life. They won't get out of my head now, and I need an outlet. I don't want to talk about them because they're truly horrifying to me and I can't even think about or write them without crying, but I need to exorcise them in some way. I decided to write them out here.

 I was home and distraught. It wasn't our house now. It was an older, darker house with 70's wood paneled walls and shabby, scratchy furniture. There were sheets over the dim windows and dust everywhere. Work had fired me days before my bonus was due and denied my transfer. I had begged and pleaded. I told them I had a family, a small daughter to feed. They were my same administrative staff, only bigger, colder, and more powerful. They didn't even hear what I was saying, and said I should have thought about all this before taking an extra day off I wasn't entitled to. I had come home and put Lilah distractedly in the bathtub. I was talking to Dano in the kitchen, very upset, and asking him what we were going to do. I was going back and forth between the bathroom and the kitchen, but not paying attention to Lilah. I don't even remember seeing her in the tub while going back and forth between the rooms.  Finally Dano just said we'd figure something out and went into another room to lie down on the couch with his laptop. I went in with a towel to get Lilah out of the tub, and I knew instantly that she was dead. I don't remember much of this part of the dream. Just that I felt something break in my mind. Something that was everything good, my sanity, my happiness, my will to live. I called for Dano in a broken voice that wasn't mine. He blamed himself for distracting me and not watching her in the tub. His face was contorted in horror and he couldn't drag his eyes off her. He backed out of the room.  I remember holding her in my arms and feeling how heavy she was. I covered her and dried her off, thinking calmly that I was glad her eyes were closed so I wouldn't have to see the lack of light behind them. I took her upstairs and chose an outfit for her. I put a diaper on her and dressed her, combed her hair. I tucked her next to me on my bed and closed my eyes. I remember thinking that I was no mother. I was a murderess, and if God had any mercy in him, I'd never open my eyes again so I could be with her forever. I woke up from my nap because I felt something cold next to me. I knew what it was and held her tightly to me, tears spilling out of my eyes. The sick, dead feeling that had started in the pit of my soul was spreading to the rest of my body and I felt a panic rising. I just rocked my poor child and remembered every moment I could recall from the time I laid eyes on her for the first time. Hours went by. I had to pull myself away from her as I felt my sanity slipping more and more, but I didn't care. I stood up and something in me needed Dano. My feet felt leaden. I closed the door quietly so I wouldn't wake her and walked down the stairs into the room where Dano was lying on the couch. Facebook was open on his laptop, and he'd updated his status moments before. "She's really gone. She's never coming back and I always knew it would be my fault." He had a dull look in his eyes, and an empty bottle of pills next to him. I realized that I was about to lose the only other thing worth living for, and I collapsed on the floor next to him and laid my head in his lap. He folded his arms around me distractedly and almost resolutely, and something inside me was screaming. Screaming so loudly that it drowned out every other thought, emotion, and feeling. There was most certainly a hell, and I was in it. Suddenly I felt like I was rising from deep water, a familiar feeling while I'm dreaming and it always means my consciousness is rising to the surface. My dream-mind felt a swell of hope that none of this had been real and maybe I had hope of redemption after all. I waited. It always feels like a baptism. Whether the dream was good or bad, I feel like I'm leaving it behind for a new life in reality. I felt my body rise with my consciousness, and I opened my eyes to find myself sitting up and sobbing wildly. Dano woke abruptly and reached for me. I can't remember how I ended up in his arms, but he held me tightly and stroked my hair. I had a death-hold on his arms and just sobbed. "Honey, honey it's okay. It was a dream. Calm down. You're okay." Snapshots from my dream kept flooding my mind, like a unique kind of torture. He was shushing me, and I quieted for a moment and heard Lilah's soft, rhythmic breathing in the next room. The image of her lifeless body invaded my mind and I relapsed into hysterical tears again. "I can't get it out of my head. It won't get out of my head!" I was almost shouting at this point. I don't know how long it took him to get me calm enough to sleep, or if I just wore myself out. But I passed into a dreamless sleep for a few more hours.

In the morning, I walked downstairs and Dano looked at me as if he was trying to read from my face how much I remembered. He mentioned something about me having nightmares, and I nodded and burst into tears again. He held me and I tried to get myself under control. He got up to get me coffee and I reached for Lilah Rose. She crawled into my lap and nestled her head into my chest and I held her desperately. She reached for the Xbox controller Dano had set down, unpaused Mass Effect, and fired a few rounds at an unfortunate alien who happened to be standing too close to Commander Shepherd. I laughed and dried my tears. She was my crazy, sweet little baby. It was going to be all right.

 I've been afraid to sleep the last couple of nights. I keep pushing the dream out of my head, but it resurfaces and fear grips me again. I'm holding onto one of my favorite verses - "God did not give us a spirit of fear, but of power, love, and a sound mind." Dano says it was my stress from work taking over my mind, and guilt about being so frustrated with Lilah that day. I thought maybe by writing this out, it would take the power and horror out of it. Now I'm not sure that's true. Maybe only time can take the images and fear away, but in the meantime, I dread going to sleep at night and hold my husband and daughter tightly and often. I'm not sure what else I can do.

Cider Mill

Fall is here, and despite some warm afternoons here and there, it feels like it. The air has a crisp taste to it, and an edge of chilliness. The leaves on the trees are rimmed with light color and the plants have lost their summer green. Everything feels expectant. It's the beginning of my favorite time of year.

Lilah has been changing too. She's more of a real person every day. It takes me forever to go grocery shopping because she has to say hello to every person we encounter and point to things and ask, "What's that, Mama?" She's so curious and fun. She's still a little scared of dogs, but she warms up to certain dogs after awhile. As Dano says, "She likes the ideas of dogs. Just not dogs themselves."

Lilah hates when I leave the house to go to work now. I pick her up to give her a kiss goodbye and she wraps her arms around me tightly and looks at Dano. "Bye bye, Dada!" She screams when I hand her to him. She's my little buddy. On my days off, she goes everywhere with me.

Lilah and I went to the Birmingham Farmer's Market. I got both of us ready and picked her up. "Bye bye, Dada!" I smiled. She was right, this time.
"Yep. Bye bye, Dada. You're coming with Mama today." She smiled so big I couldn't see her eyeballs.
"Mama!"
It was a nice drive down Woodward into Downtown Birmingham. The Farmer's Market was outside with live music and lots of friendly people and produce stands. We wandered about for a bit before getting back into the car and driving to the Franklin Cider Mill. "Out, Mama!" said my backseat driver. I got her out and we explored the mill. There was a large stone room with a giant candy apple-red, wooden waterwheel. Lilah stood on the stone ledge and gripped the metal bars with her pudgy little hands. She liked the spray from the waterwheel on her face. I wanted some fresh cider for the house, so we went to search for it. We passed a stand selling huge footlong hotdogs and sausages. Lilah smelled them on the breeze and her head snapped sharply toward the stand and her eyes resembled saucers. The hotdogs and sausages were easily as big as her arm. "Hooooootdogs, Mama!" I laughed.
"We'll have hotdogs when we get home, my love." She watched them until they were out of sight. The store was set up like an old barn. She tried samples of various crackers, sausages, and cheeses before deciding she wanted all of them. I bought a brown paper bag filled with hot spiced donuts and a half-gallon of fresh cider. We went to the tent outside and bought Dano a caramel apple with nuts and a large jar of apple butter. I prefer pumpkin butter, but I was outvoted. My arms were getting full of our acquisitions and I nervously let Lilah walk holding my hand. She wanted none of this and tottered off on her own. That was exactly what I had feared. Thankfully I'm still faster. She had stopped on the wooden bridge over the river to hold the bars and look at the water.
"Duckies!" I held her hand firmly and we walked to the stone hedge by the river. I placed her on the edge and sat next to her. Her eyes lit up when I pulled a steaming donut out of the paper bag (now getting dark spots from the frying oil). I broke it in half and handed her a piece. She munched thoughtfully and we watched the ducks. Some other children were throwing bits of their donuts to the ducks to lure them closer. When a duck (or child) would approach, Lilah would pull back sharply and shield her donut.
"What does a duckie say?" I asked her.
"Uh, quack?" a little boy said judgmentally, raising his eyebrow and continuing to stalk a duck. Lilah said,
"Quack, quack, quack," between bites of her donut. We sat together awhile and made our way back to the car. It was a lovely little detour, and I'm thinking of making it a Fall tradition. When we got home, I gave Lilah a cup of diluted cider and set about putting ketchup on a hotdog for her. By the time I turned around to hand it to her, she was trying to catch her breath. She had gulped down the cider in less than a minute. Our doctor always had told us "Let her eat her fruits, not drink them," so she only gets juices once in a great while. Obviously, she considered it a special treat and sucked it down quickly before I could change my mind. I've got to be honest. That doesn't bode well for me later.

Shopping excursion

It's so strange. I gave birth to a baby and somehow I'm looking at a kid. They can't possibly be the same person. I wrestled her into my lap yesterday and told her, "Did you know that for the first two months you were alive, you wouldn't take a nap during the day unless you were laying on your mama or daddy? Hours I spent holding you. Did you know that?" She glared at me and said, "Yeah."

We went to the mall last week to go shopping for Fall clothes. It was perfectly lovely. I shopped mostly at the Carters outlet. She played at the table of blocks in the middle of the store and I shopped. I have to admit it made me so anxious to have her out of my sight, I wouldn't go around the backs of the racks. She played happily with another little girl. Well, more played next to her than played with her. We got lots of nice outfits and moved on. Gap had nothing to write home about. Gymboree was mostly just frightening. So was the Children's Place. Both stores had more toddler/kid than infant clothing, and what they did have looked like it had come straight out of a Hannah Montana episode. Lilah doesn't wear anything with writing on it (special exceptions are made for things like the "Save Some For Me" shirt her Grannie got her, with a picture of the Earth on it). But my child is not the one you'll catch wearing the "Brat" or "Princess" t shirt, or anything with sequins or glitter. The clothes I buy for her are bright, colorful, usually mix-and-match outfits (buy less and end up with more!), and the only writing you'll find on anything I just bought her is a tiny embroidered "adorable" on the sleeve of a dress I just bought her. It was so small I didn't even notice it until I came home.

I was feeling more than disgusted by the baby mini-skirts and sequined vests decided to call it a day after wandering the Children's Place. We were making out way through the veritable mob of well-dressed mothers, miserable fathers, and carefully groomed children when I heard a small peep from the front of the stroller. "Hat!" Lilah is decidedly anti-headwear, and not for lack of her mother trying to change her mind. She takes hats off and flings them. I looked and saw she was pointing to a row of hats on a shelf. "Yes, those are hats, Lilah."
"My hat!" I sighed. 'I wish!' I thought.
"No, love. You hate hats."
"Hat, Mama!" I picked one up and handed it to her. She jammed it on her head over her eyes. I laughed. It did look adorable. She took it off and handed it to me. "Hat." I put it on her head. She pulled the brim over her eyes and giggled, then pulled it off. "Peek!" We played that game for a few minutes before she put it on again and kept it on.
"Do you want this hat, Li?"
"Mine."
"Well, okay. Your hat." I was actually overjoyed. Not only did she have excellent taste, but she was already making her own clothing decisions at a year and a half. My mother still tried to dress me in coordinated outfits when I was 11, and had more than what could be considered a healthy say in my wardrobe at 16. We endured a line of unpleasantly conventional people to get to the register. I didn't see one person ahead of me that spent less than $150.00. Most spent much more. And we were checking out with a solitary hat. I laughed a little to myself about it. Lilah grabbed the ten dollar bill out of my hand and I helped her hand it to the check out lady, who looked like someone had, to borrow an expression from my friend Melissa, "pissed in her cornflakes". We left the Children's Place victorious, hat in tow.

We decided on a victory lunch at a little cafe. I got a great turkey and artichoke flatbread and Lilah had a three-cheese flatbread, orange slices, and as a special treat she even got an apple juice. I informed her of this (her first doctor always said, "Let her eat her fruit, not drink it," so juice is very rare), and she started bouncing in my arms. "Appa juice, Mama! Appa juice! Juuuuice!" She was very excited. I watered it down 50/50 and she never knew the difference. We chatted over lunch and I reveled in how great our day had been. One of the things that had been drilled into my head over and over as a child/teen/adult was my mother saying, "I hate shopping. I'm not a girly-girl and I hate girl stuff." Strangely she grew out of this when Gracie was born and became to her the mother I had always wanted but had resigned myself to never getting, believing her to be truly incapable of it. Apparently, it was just me. It was always me. Lilah and I are not "girly-girls" by any means. She loves her ride-on firetruck above all her other toys. She roars like a demon and eats dirt like a champ. But she genuinely enjoyed spending a day at the mall shopping for her clothes with her mama, and even started picking out her own things and inserting her own tastes and opinions. So I'm really thankful for a little white hat and a sweet little girl and a trip to the mall.

An outing

One of my favorite things to do with Lilah now is go shopping. It can be for anything. Groceries. Toilet paper. Milkshake run at Sonic. I love taking Lilah Rose and I love making it an adventure. She's so inquisitive and happy. She drinks in the world around her and I'm just happy to be a part of it.

Today, Lilah and I went to Target and Kroger for everyday things. She was dressed in a pretty 1960s throwback dress. It was yellow with white hems and neck, and had black flowers on it. Her hair was in a ponytail (which isn't just a bean sprout anymore!) and the not-quite-hair-but-longer-than-bangs strands were restrained with a black headband. She had yellow knee socks and looked beautiful as usual. The ride to Target was short. We listened to Colin Meloy Sings Live. I sang along and Lilah tried from the backseat - "Ba pa pa pa!" The songs were punctuated with a British man's voice giving us directions from the GPS on the dash. When we got to Target, I said, "We're here!"
She said, "Get out, Mama?"
"Yes, love. We're getting out." I settled her into the cart and strapped her in. We were barely through the automatic doors before her sneaky little butt had done a 180 in the cart (while still buckled in) so she was on her knees facing the back of the cart. She grabbed my list and pen out of my hand and tossed it on the ground, and started bouncing up and down on her knees and saying "Hi!" to literally every passerby. Most were charmed and said, "Well, hi there! Aren't you beautiful?!" Or something along those lines. She'd say, "Yeah!" and smile to show of her pretty white teeth. Every single person who interacted with her got lost in those wily blue eyes.

We went to the shoe aisle. She needs good shoes to support her almost-walking. She's taking 6-8 steps independently now. I looked at a lot of them and chose three pairs that were cute, comfortable, and functional. I held them up. "Okay. Choices, Lilah. Pick two pairs of shoes please." We've been trying to offer her choices between two things lately to foster a sense of independence and control. We do not want a snotty toddler. I made a mistake by offering her three items to choose from on a trip where she was already feeling sassy and busy. She cocked her head and lifted one pair of black shoes out of the box. I secretly hoped she would change her mind about them. She got a devious smile on her face and tossed them on the ground. "Uh-oh, Mama!" *Giggles*. I sighed and knelt down to pick up the shoes.
"So I'll take that as a..." *Thunk*. A pair of little brown mary janes hit me on the head followed by hysterical laughter from the cart.
"Uh-oh, Mama!" More laughter. We ended up with two pairs of shoes, a bump on my head, a cart full of stuff, and we moved on to Kroger.

We loaded up the cart with fruit and bread, since that's what we came for and I can't seem to keep any of those items in my house. I showed her a pretty cake with a daisy on it. "Bite, Mama?"
"No, love. It isn't your cake."
"...Bite, Mama? Mine?" We moved on to the produce section. I picked a cantaloupe.
"Melon, Lilah. It's tasty." I sat it in her lap. She took a bite of the rind and made a face. I sighed.
"Yuck."
"Yeah, yuck. It's not peeled. We still need berries, grapes, kiwi, and something else." We can't say the word 'banana' around Lilah unless we're prepared to produce one for her consumption instantly. She was busy trying to pry open the carton of strawberries when we passed the banana aisle. I prepared myself for what was ahead. As soon as she spotted them, she started rocking back and forth like a crack addict and reaching for them.
"Nana, Mama! Nana! Nana!"
"Yes, Lilah. You can have one as soon as we get in the car." We went to check out and the lady was nice but a little flustered. Her bagger was late so she was going back and forth between bagging and checking out. I told her I could bag my own. She asked if I was sure. "Yeah, it's not a problem." She looked relieved. Lilah started chatting with her. It was so strange. I watched the stress and worry melt off her face as she continued exchanging words with my daughter. Before we left, she said,
"You're just a little ray of sunshine, you know that? I needed you today. I could use a few more things as good as you to brighten up my days." We thanked her and left.

On the way home I got to thinking about how many grouchy, unhappy-looking people I frequently noticed in the world, and how many happy, smiling people I had encountered today. The world probably wasn't getting more carefree. It was the effect my sweet little baby had on the people she interacted with. Her smile lights up the people she graces with it. Sullen-looking people can be moping about their day, and it all changes when one little girl says, "Hi!" I think that's pretty special.

"A dreamer is one who can only find his way by moonlight..."

"...and his punishment is that he sees the dawn before the rest of the world." ~Oscar Wilde

I am, by nature, a dreamer. My mind is usually a jumble of stress and emotion during the day, but for some reason manages to sort and file itself into an almost recognizable and damn-near functional human psyche after I slip into The Dreaming (as Neil Gaiman calls the twilight world). Consider the following...

My dad asked me to call him on my birthday. We kept missing each other, and he emailed again a couple days ago to pinpoint a more exact time that would be good for both of us. I had talked to Nick about it already, who shared his sunshiney opinion - that my dad was starting to see things from a different light and wanted to turn over a new leaf. I was more inclined to a slightly less optimistic point of view - perhaps he had a terminal illness and wanted to make amends, or perhaps early-onset Alzheimer's and wanted to talk to me before he forgot how.

My heart was pounding and I tasted metal on the back of my tongue as I dialed on the way home from work. He picked up, and his tone was strained. We weren't more than a few words into the conversation before I realized I didn't need to clear my calendar for Thanksgiving and Christmas just yet. Here are some highlights -

He was less than impressed with my 13 year old brother contacting me a few months back and me not immediately reporting his disobedience to my parents. Apparently my duty was to rat out a troubled little boy to the people who forfeited any communication with me 3 years ago, and by not doing so, I proved to them that I would still prefer a sneaky, dishonest state of existence to an above-board relationship. I "set Mason up to fail." If I had made a "better" decision, the long-awaited conversation with my dad would have been 100% different according to him. Got to hear the same old sob story about how my mother will take my words and actions to the grave and re-lives them every day. He said, "Do not have any sort of contact with my minor children. I'm sure, as a parent now, you can understand..." and that's really the last thing I actually heard. My mind flashed back to countless arguments in my childhood that had ended with, "When you're a parent, you'll understand." The problem is, now that I'm a parent I understand even less. In fact, I find their words and actions appalling. Here are some of my responses -

I did the best I could with a difficult situation and handled it in the way I felt was most right. I had a troubled sibling reaching out to me and didn't turn him away or sell him out. I acted like a big sister. I still felt like I'd made the right decision and was sorry he disagreed, but that was the nice thing about us both being adults - we could make decisions the other disagreed with. Just the fact that he considered Mason talking to me "setting him up to fail" spoke volumes about how his opinion really hadn't changed. I was really over a happy relationship with my family being the proverbial carrot always dangled in front of me. He hadn't called to start over. He'd called to tell me that once again, he thought I'd fucked up and was disappointed and I had so many other things going on in my life right now, I really couldn't be bothered with all that. As far as my mother was concerned, I told him that I asked for forgiveness for my actions and apologized years ago. I had forgiven them and moved on to lead a healthy, happy life. It wasn't any concern of mine that she chose to relive it until it ate her alive like a cancer. My responsibility ended years ago. The rest was on her. "And as for me being a parent, all I understand is that as a parent, I could never let one of my kids slip through the cracks, so I'm pretty sure we can leave my child out of this. You're going to think what you want about this, so there's really nothing left to say. I love you, despite what you may think." He hung up.


I pulled the car into a parking lot so I could cry properly. I started to drive home again when I could see the road again. Now I'm not saying this for worry or sympathy, but I saw a car in the oncoming lane and I was too far over because my eyes were still blurred. I swerved out of the way and pulled onto my street, but I thought, "Maybe I should have just let them hit me. Maybe things would be different then." I banished the thought as fast as it slithered into my head and realized just how poisonous my parents still were if they could instantly inspire such unhealthy emotions. Dano held me when I got home and told me he was proud of me, that I'd done and said the right things. I said I should have known better all along and trusted my suspicions that he had ulterior motives. Dano reminded me that I had shared the same suspicions when Nick had emailed and I was wrong then. That made me feel much better. I had sharp pains in my stomach and felt nauseated and had a headache. Par for the course after a conversation with one of my parents. I thought, "Feeling like crap physically - check. Feeling like crap emotionally - check. Self-esteem hanging in around zero - check. Oh yeah. Same old Dad."


I went upstairs and ran my hand over a sleeping Lilah Rose and swore before all the universe for the thousandth time that I'd never leave her. I got into bed and Dano held me until he drifted to sleep. I was restless and tossed and turned. Tears sneaked out of my eyes even when I screwed them tightly closed and I cursed my lachrymal glands. I tried feeling sad, angry, sorry for myself, and no emotion consoled me. I thought, "I bet my dad's not sleeping well tonight either, after all this." So I closed my eyes and meditated, emotionally reaching my arms out for a daddy who always loves me, never leaves me, and always heals me when my heart breaks. I asked to grant my dad a peaceful rest and a calm mind. As soon as I started asking good things for my dad, the hurt started to soothe a little and the scar tissue started to form again where my heart had just been wrenched open. I fell into a deep sleep and dreamed. 


I felt like I was falling, but not fast. I was more drifting down through an inky blackness, a dark so deep it was thick and palpable. It wasn't a scary darkness. It was calming and friendly. I fell into a dream where I had planned an elaborate party in the woods down to the last detail. I'm not sure what I was celebrating, but I had cooked all of this amazing food and made a bunch of handmade delicious candies. I made just enough for everyone I knew was coming. I was exhilarated, proud of my work, and excited. My dad and little brothers Noah and Mason (at the ages I saw them last) came along uninvited and ravenously devoured everything. My decorations were ruined, the food was gone, and they mocked my efforts. "Who has a party in the woods anyway? That food wasn't even good." I ran deep into the woods crying and threw myself at the base of an ancient oak tree. I felt strong arms around me and I opened my eyes. For some reason, I was still me, but I was also an acorn. I was covered in pine needles and looked almost like a hedgehog (I was me, but I could also see me. It was one of those dreams). I thought I'd open my eyes to a man holding me (they were man-arms) but I saw I was being held lovingly in the branches and boughs of the tree. I was surprised and curious. With hands that looked like branches and leaves but felt like hands, the tree brushed off the dirt and needles from my skin. "Why am I an acorn?" I asked the tree.
"Because you've always been mine."
"Who are you?"
"You were theirs for a time, but you've always belonged to me."
"But who are you?" All around me, and yet only in my head, I heard a line from the song "The Hazards of Love 4 - The Drowned". It went "And painting rings around your eyes, these peppered holes so filled with crying. A whisper weighed upon the tattered down where you and I were lying. But I pulled you and I called you here, and I caught you and I brought you here."
"You brought me here? Why?"
"Because you're mine. I love you and you're mine. They had you for their time but we have taken you back." I looked around the canopy. 
"Who is 'we'?" It was just understood that it was the same tree, but that tree was connected to all the other trees in the forest, the soil and water with its roots, the heavens with its highest branches, the universe itself.
"You aren't theirs anymore. Now grow." And I was planted between two mountainous roots at the base of the ancient oak tree.


Then I woke up.

Still not walking

I'm not too terribly bothered by the fact Lilah Rose is a late walker. Her vocabulary grows by the day, and she speed walks around furniture or holding onto a bigger hand. She had made no attempt at walking solo until this weekend. We had coaxed and encouraged and even shouted, "Just walk already!" on occasion to no avail. Yesterday Lilah and I went out on the boat with my aunt and uncle and she adored it. The wind, the water, the people floating lazily by on tubes or speeding past on seadoos. She loved all of it. She leaned as far as I'd allow her to over the side and wave her chubby little arms at passersby. "Hi. Hi. Hi, Lilah!" She even swam a bit in a shallow sandy corner of Coldwater Lake. While on the boat, she took 3 or 4 steps by herself, nonchalantly like she had been walking her whole life. I wanted to push her down. "Lilah Rose Marie. You won't walk on solid ground in a house but you'll stroll around when you're on a moving boat? What's wrong with you?!" My aunt suggested she just needed more of a challenge, that anyone could walk on land. She could walk on a boat. I was more than a little exasperated.

Lilah's trademark is never shutting up, it seems. I put her in the shower with me and she babbles away to the point I can't even hear my own thoughts anymore. One time I actually did get impatient. "Lilah! I can't even think with your constant chattering!" She grinned up at me. "Hi, Mama."

We're going to Hiawatha again. We're leaving this Thursday. I'm curious to see how Lilah tolerates camping at 16 months rather than 6. Updates to come!