BabyMama & The Baby Boos and Hoos

Surprise: our sweet baby girl is now over a month old! This past month there have been a billion things - big and small - that I've thought to share. But, #NewbornLife has meant very little time and mental energy to string thoughts together, let alone write them out. As such, going to start with another mommy-brain* related topic that is very prevalent in the fourth trimester: baby blues.

Approximately 80% of new moms experience what is referred to as “baby blues.” When referencing baby blues related symptoms, articles often talk about irritability (partly due to lack of sleep), new moms feeling unfit or overall parenting anxiety, sadness etc. Women are told that this is a mostly harmless, short-lived period of hormonal flux that ends within a few weeks of giving birth. They and their partners are told how to recognize if it’s something more sinister - in the form of postpartum depression (which can sometimes surface several weeks later).

For me personally, I had more what I refer to as the “baby boo hoos” - in which my face would suddenly start leaking and refuse to stop for a myriad of reasons. Most of which seemed silly at the time (and still do now). But, this is motherhood, so, I figure I’ll do as mothers do and overshare. Here were a few of the many moments that sparked my Niagara Falls:

• I started off strong by openly weeping at the lovely nurse from the day shift at the Mom and Baby Recovery Ward. She walked us out when we were getting discharged from the hospital. As Andy brought around the car, I sobbed because everyone was just so kind to us, and how could I ever thank them enough, and they were there for us even with staffing shortages and a pandemic, and all the things. But also, would things continue to go well when we got home? Or was it all because of the excellent staff that we'd even made it that far (to day three)? What would become of us without their support?? (Spoiler alert: we're okay.)
• Then, more tears later that day and throughout the following weeks, because I was just so happy that the baby and I were both home safe and nothing bad had happened to us. It had all gone fine. All my worst fears had not come true. All was well.
• All the messages, cards, presents - every single well wish sent me into a spiral because people were just so nice, and how did we deserve such kindness, and how wonderful for our daughter to have such loving people in her life. Alllll the feels. 
• In the same vein of kindness, every time the grandmas left or were set to leave, tears. Tears thinking about the women who raised us, watching us raise a new generation. Grandmas always get me. Always and forever.
• That first week home, laying down for tiny bouts of sleep, feeling my deflated bump, knowing our baby girl was no longer in there. No more kicks or wiggles. After weeks of daily kick counts and being hyper aware of each movement, instead there was just nothing. A squishy void. Because I had graduated from being the vessel. Our little one was now a part of me in a different way, after so many months being as close as one can be. It was also a tissue grabbing affair anytime I left to run an errand or do anything without her - knowing that each trip was the further away from each other we have physically ever been. Even just after delivery, seeing her on the other side of the room, knowing she was only going to continue to get further from me. That she'll have so many adventures ahead without me. It was like some weird Golden Compass dæmon thing, where feeling her so far away was almost painful. Even though like, I was just ten minutes away doing a pickup at Target. Mom tears for days.
• Holding her on my chest for a snuggle or a burp/spit-up sesh. Seeing how small she is. How her entire self takes up such a tiny space on this earth. Knowing that in my lifetime she'll never been this frail or dependent again. That she's at the precipice of a great life. Feeling all that potential as a warm squishy babe. Sobs of awe. Sobs that I hope I'll be there to see her dream those dreams and make them come true.
• Which leads to the big one, that I keep blubbering about every time my husband brings it up as an example of weird things I bawl about... we were talking about how our little one will likely live to see the next century, even though we probably won't. And how fascinating that was. But what struck me most is that, when that happens, she'll be a little old lady. Our sweet tiny baby will have lived out so much of her life and potentially be in the company of kids or grandkids of her own, and we'll be just memories, alive only in her mind. Not likely there to share it with her (we saw Y2K, I'm cool not doing another round). But, the thought of her as a little old lady breakkkks me, for no good reason.**

Overall, I wouldn't call it the Baby Blues, and I’d say I didn’t have just the  Boo-Hoos either. Because in addition to the random cries, I’d also have other flares in the scares. More so paranoid anxiety flares that were likewise related to hormone flux and lack of sleep? Or some such thing. These were what I just call the “Baby Boos” (because scary). Some examples:

• Within a half hour of arriving home, our newborn officially solely in our care, I had a total freak-out meltdown. Due to Covid restrictions, no one had been allowed to come see us at the hospital. So, the grandmas and my sister were set to come see us at home shortly after our arrival. I wanted to get the hospital bracelets off so they could see us looking less clinical. Grabbing a pair of regular scissors and running on very little sleep (also, with my body completely broken/destroyed from the first few days of recovery following a long labor), I went to cut the bracelets off. Our little girl let out a giant shriek and I was completely convinced that I had literally cut one of her fingers off. Like, I was surer I was going to see gushing blood and an actual finger on the table. I threw the scissors down and held her and was completely hysterical until my husband intervened with a much smaller pair of scissors, quickly cut the bracelets off, and assured me I had NOT maimed our daughter.
• The first few weeks, I would wake up thinking I was co-sleeping and panic. I'd think I had the baby in my arms, under the covers, and would wake up my husband, babbling/shouting that he had to take the baby from me and put it in the bassinet. That she shouldn’t be in the bed. All this while gesturing wildly at my phone or a pillow or a stuffed animal, half-asleep, convinced that whatever object was a baby. It was never a baby. It was always just my fear manifesting in a creepy way in the middle of some sleepless night. 

The mind plays terrible tricks at such a vulnerable point in the pregnancy journey. The fourth trimester is a roller coaster of emotions. I tried to ride that wave of boos and hoos with as much grace as I could, but I'm fairly certain I looked like a nutter most of the time. May our newest addition not think her mama is crazy until a future date, when I'm back to normal insanity. And may normal insanity resume someday soon. Til then, let's just all give new moms a break when their hormones fill a scene.

I just want to hug and squeeze and cry all over you, wee bébé!

*This child has literally tapped most of my intelligence and brain power and taken it for her own. I now have the IQ and processing power of a squishy rock. What’s a squishy rock? I don’t even know... Go team.

**Although, if you've ever seen me watch 'Interstellar' - the little old lady scene in that is absolutely just me dissolved into tears. So, maybe this tracks.

BabyMama & The Due Date

It's official. I Jennifer Greyed it. I carried a watermelon. 

Today marks 40 weeks. Our baby's official due date. And with an induction on the books for one week out (our original due date: November 17th), ready or not, the countdown is REALLY in the single digits now. This is happening. While I still am not mentally ready for labor, or even parenting a newborn probably, I am very ready to be done being pregnant and to start focusing on our new little one (instead of corporate work, prep for their arrival, and all the other nonsense) and our newly expanded family. 

So, here's the d-date feels:

• Here's hoping d-date becomes b-day! Today I have been bumping the birthday jammers and telling this bump that TODAY could be their birthday, but they can't celebrate while still inside, they need to come out! My husband was due on his due date - only about 5% of babies are - so we'll see. Still have time.
• Quit scaring new moms. We're good enough at scaring ourselves, thanks. Disclaimer: I have absolutely been guilty of not saying the right things to my pregnant friends/family - something I only realize now, having been the preggers one, and wish I'd have been more thoughtful about before. That said, you know what a woman who is about to go into labor any time DOESN'T love to hear? Not limited to:
• "You think you're tired now, JUST WAIT until xyz..."
• "Oh labor is terrible, here's all the horrible things that happened to me, my cousin, some woman I read about on the internet."
• "ALL first time moms go WAY over their due date and have GIANT babies."*
• "You look HUGE." 
• I still don't know nothing about birthin' no babies. People keep asking what I'll need, or what I plan to do for x or y, and most of the time, I just don't have straight answers. I won't know what kind of support I need until I'm like, in it. And even then I may not. This is actually my first rodeo. I cannot say in advance what condition I'll be in (if I need a C-section or have a horrible labor vs. if everything goes smoothly), or how our little one will be (maybe they'll be colicky or totally chill, or maybe something will be amiss and they'll need extra care). I'm not sure how that fourth trimester is going to go (if I'll have awful PPD, or struggles with breastfeeding, etc.). I'm lucky that I have a supportive and loving partner, and that we likewise have supportive immediate family who will be around to help, and that I have a lot of mom friends to ask questions of - but this is new territory, so, we're just going to navigate it as best as we can and play it by ear. PLEASE don't take offense when I don't know how to communicate during this time. 
• Waiting is hard, and yet easy? I'm not trying a bunch of crazy old wives' methods to try and induce labor here. I'm just carrying on like normal. My body and this baby know what they need to do, and they'll do it when it's time - else, will medically intervene in a week. For now, as they will. Assuming all is well in there, this baby must have a reason to not be out yet, so, I'll be here when it's ready. I can't say I'm thrilled about waiting, but, it just is what it is. 
• I'm still mad about the pandemic. And how our moms and siblings and friends won't be able to come to the hospital and be there after this new life joins us. I've long since accepted that that just is what it is, but I'm still just so mad about it, and always will be. Get vaccinated, please. 
• It's still so strange. That at any time, our lives WILL be completely changing. That the quiet of us sitting and watching GBBO with a few little belly bump kicks of disruption will soon be us with another person. That I grew that person and carried it around for nine months. That when our baby is delivered and taken away by the hospital staff to be cleaned and examined, it will be the farthest away from me that that baby has EVER been, and it will spend the rest of its life going on adventure far away from the womb that it shared with me. 

My husband will be dad, and I will be mom. And it's all VERY exciting and VERY scary. And I just hope it all goes well. We'll know at some point in the next week. So keep those fingers crossed. 

They say it's your due date?

*A few notes on this particular comment, which I get at least once a day:

• Statistically speaking it's just not true (about 60% give birth before their due date - though some stats vary), and they also don't let women go too far past their due dates anymore - overall, d-dates aren't a perfect science
• I currently have at least 6 friends due AFTER me who have ALL already given birth. 
• Both our older first-born siblings were premie babies. 
• Every fucking pregnancy is different, don't tell me how mine is going to be, thanks. 
• Cool, thanks for wishing a large baby on my vagina, that's definitely what I want to hear. 

** I had a million other thoughts when I decided to type this up but... I don't remember. My brain is mush. Love you all just the same. Go team. 

BabyMama & The Bébé Q's

As the bébé q's rolled in, I started answering questions in bulk over on the Gram. There were a few bigger questions though that I couldn't quite fit my ramblings into a caption for. So, pairing them together on here.

Besides the disclaimer I gave in my last post, I want to make it absolutely clear that the responses below are solely my opinion* and if yours is different THAT IS REALLY FINE. It's hard enough figuring out how to make this major life shift into parenthood without all the added pressure of everyone else's beliefs weighing in. Zero judgements from me if you're approaching (or have approached) your own pregnancy differently, or if you disagree with my comments below. I respect that we're all doing our best, and that everyone's journey can look VERY different, even if there are tons of overlapping factors. I'm not trying to vex anyone - you keep doing you.

Bébé Q: "Was it planned?"

This is sometimes paired with the other frequent semi-Q of "I thought you didn't plan on having kids...?" If you've known me for some time, this set of Q's doesn't come without warrant. I have always been quite vocal about my feelings. To avoid ranting, here's a short punch list:

• one does not NEED children to have a complete family; family can mean a lot of different things
• if I personally never had children, I could still live a very fulfilling and happy life; it's totally fine to be childfree
• having and raising children is a huge responsibility, not to be entered lightly; I couldn't personally hack it as a single mom and would want a very strong partner to parent with

I'm sorry to say this: but being a mom has never been on my bucket list. The maternal urge, the need to nurture, just came in other forms than baby-making. Yes, this feels really shitty to say, since I know there are many women who want nothing more than to be a biological mother, and men who want nothing more than to be fathers, but, it's just the truth. If you'd have asked me about wanting kids in my twenties, I'd have probably straight up laughed in your face. 

I prioritized my education, my career, traveling, and developing who I was as a person. Finding a good partner, settling down, and birthing babies? Not on the radar. And the partners I did find? Well, I was likewise pretty truthful with them that if a baby is what they wanted, I was NOT their gal. They were nice guys, but I knew they were not men for the long haul. And that was fine. It just was what it was. I was still very happy and content with life. 

And at one point, I got lucky. I stumbled into the right partner, and we spent years adventuring and settling into a new life together. We decided to live together. We decided to get hitched. We decided to invest in a house - one that was big enough in case we decided to add to our family. And likewise, together we decided, yeah, let's have a baby. 

Having witnessed the fertility struggles of so many loved ones, we approached it in a fairly straightforward manner: we'd try, and if we found we weren't able to have kids, then we would be content as is. If kids weren't in the cards, we'd sell the big house and buy a condo downtown. If it worked out, we'd already have a big house, ready to nest into. No IVF, no adoption, no other paths, should things not work out. We'd see how things went. 

As a woman "of a certain age," who has always had the thought in the back of my mind that maybe I wouldn't physically be able to have kids, I would not say I went into this optimistically. I was a realist. My hopes were not high. I followed the advice of my OB/GYN and went off my pills for a couple months before we started "actively trying," so I could learn what my actual cycle looks like (because I've been on a pill-driven cycle for the past 15 years), and loosely tracked my "fertility window" with a pencil on my little desk calendar. And again, I got lucky. And here we are, a few short weeks away from bébé's arrival.

It is not a "whoopsie" baby. It is not a "pandemic baby."** This baby being consciously brought into this world by loving parents, who are confident in each other, who are comfortable with where they are at in life, and who... want to have someone to care for them when they are the old people in the post-apocalyptic hellscape. You know, typical stuff.

Bébé Q: "Is it a boy or a girl?"

Why does it matter?*** Why are my baby's reproductive organs SO important to everyone? Can't they just be a baby and not immediately defined by their gender? Aren't they going to spend the rest of their life being forced to deal with the gender norms and stereotypes of the world? While they're in the womb, can't we just let them be? Do we HAVE to stuff them into a blue or pink box straight out of the womb? Am I less of a mother for buying clothes that are gender-neutral OR just come in a variety of colors? Can't they have dinosaurs and sparkles? 

If you want to / did a gender reveal and want to scream from the rooftops that you've got a baby boy or baby girl arriving on xyz date - do you. (But like, don't shoot off anything that starts a forest fire, please.) It is just not my thing. I just want them to be born healthy and happy and whatever gender they are, we will raise them to be curious, independent, and kind. Period. 

When people ask this question, the easiest answer has been, "We're keeping it a surprise" or "We don't know." Those answers don't piss people off. When they find out that WE know, but are choosing not to tell THEM, that is when people tend to get weirdly aggressive and mad. Like, we are wronging them somehow by not divulging. It's... kind of exhausting. I can even give valid reasons like "Hey, if we decide to have more kids, and they're a different gender, this way we don't have to get all new stuff, we can just reuse what we had - think of the money/time/waste savings!" but, it's still a personal slight somehow. People are still upset they can't buy you all pink or blue things.

And yeah, I know I'm getting a lot of eye rolls and "there goes Gina on her soap box again" - but if you're willing to get legit angry at someone for them not telling you their baby's gender? Or if you have spent the past eight months trying to "trick" one of us into telling you? I mean, go reevaluate and chill. Because, you're just adding unnecessary drama to a pile of legit worries new parents have on their plate. And honestly, if the baby's genitals matter that much to you, you'll find out soon enough, won't you?

Bébé Q: "How has it been being sober?"

Another question largely asked by people who have known me longer lol -- If you told me in my early twenties to be sober for nine months, I would have probably reallllly struggled based on my lifestyle at the time. I hate to give any good credit to this awful pandemic, but I'll say it's a big factor in why sobriety hasn't phased me. 

First off, our pandemic social calendar doesn't look like it used to. No happy-hours with coworkers. No attending festivals or concerts every weekend. Infrequent eating out at restaurants. And just an overall decline in events where we'd normally find a cocktail in hand. So, while I've never had a problem being the gal with a Coke at a boozy event, it's been way less of a thing because those events just aren't happening.

The other side of this: I haven't been drinking at home during all this. Because I know myself, and I know what a slippery slope that could have been. My younger self, and my family, have a sorted history with alcohol. So when the world shut down and everything went to hell, I was very conscious of the fact that a cocktail might make the situation feel less stressful - but could become a heavy crutch for balancing out my anxiety. I did not want to go down that path, so I mostly just avoided drinking entirely. By the time I found out I was pregnant, not drinking was already a part of my routine, so it didn't seem like as big of a deal. Which was really nice. Though, I definitely miss my brandy-old fashioneds. I look forward to welcoming that old friend back into my life. 

Bébé Q: "Are you planning on having more kids?"

Sigh, y'all know how I feel about the constant "what's next?" questions... that said, we'll see how it goes. In my mind's eye, we'd have two total. No more. Having grown up with a sibling, I see the value in having that person (for better or worse) to share the journey with, so I'd say we're not "planning" for an only child. BUT there are so so many factors at play here. Maybe I'll have an absolutely horrible labor (knock on wood) and/or not physically be able to have more. Maybe we'll find out that we're just totally overwhelmed by parenthood (knock on woooood) and we don't want any more. Maybe we'll try and just run out of time on the biological clock somehow. Who knows? In terms of "planning" I've really learned that... you just can't. The best laid plans of mice and men, y'all. 

Bébé Q: "Are you scared?"

As all hell. But with 15 days til D-Date, we're sort of at the point of no return. To quote Home Alone: "This is it. Don't get scared now." 

Fab bump credit to McKenna Marie Photography
https://www.mckennamariephoto.com/

*Even my husband and I aren't 100% aligned on things around this pregnancy/birth. We're maneuvering to find what middle ground we as a couple, and as parents, are comfortable with. But we are two separate individuals who form and defend our own viewpoints. That's just part of a relationship - working out how to be a united front as two unique persons. 

** Sorry, but I REALLY fucking hate how often people give a wink wink nudge nudge and say "oooh pandemic baby, cuz y'all were bored, right??" UM, did you live in a VERY different 2020 than I did? Because there was nothing sexy about 2020, and 2021 is on its heels for a very unattractive year to live in. Watching the news in horror every day, being separated from loved ones, and constantly afraid of losing someone you care about to an overwhelming global pestilence? Yeah, sorry, that's not really something that puts me "in the mood." Being isolated with my spouse in a tiny space, not going outside for days on end, while a psycho wave of conspiracy theorists try to destroy my sanity? Doesn't exactly get me all "hot and bothered." When my anxiety is through the roof and I'm worried about a potential food shortage while slathered in hand sanitizer? No, my first thought was not, "I'm bored, let's bang." And I also did NOT decide to BRING A PERSON INTO THIS WORLD just out of sheer boredom. Fuck off.  

***Also, I know I'll get a bunch of people upset because they will think I am personally mad at them for even asking this question. I'm absolutely not. It's a very straightforward and easy-to-ask question when you hear someone is having a baby. You ABSOLUTELY should feel free to ask. Just don't be pissy if the parents-to-be don't give you the answer you "want" to hear. That's literally it. 

BabyMama: I'd Like to Stay a Little Longer

Here we are, a four month hiatus since the last post. As ever, that comes with a lot of reasons (or excuses?), so let's jump right in.

Baby Talk is Difficult

While I've been actively posting about this pregnancy on the temporary space of Gram Stories, I've been light on the blog, FB, posts, etc. Because every. single. time. I go to put something up, I think about all the couples in my life who have a checkered past with fertility. Friends and family who have lost little ones before they could even hold them in their arms. Parents who went through the unthinkable moment of losing a child. Genuinely good people who have struggled down every road, chasing after the baby from their dreams. And I know that almost all those people, despite their tumultuous relationship with the reproductive cycle, want to celebrate and be happy for others - but that doesn't mean I don't feel like I'm still punching them in the gut with every bump pic. 

And those that are in a more difficult place, sometimes they just can't feel supportive, because their personal hurt is too great. That's where it gets into the "how dare you complain about a stretch mark or the pending nightmare of pushing a watermelon out your snatch, at least you're pregnant." As if your right to feel anything is negated by the fact that you should be so lucky to even be in the position you're in. There's an underlying judgment from those in pain - justifiable or not. But it does make me feel like, who am I to say something negative about this "miraculous" journey. I got pregnant when others are struggling; so just count those blessings and shush up.* 

Then comes the other element: I do not know what I'm talking about. This IS my first rodeo. And any time I say anything baby related at all, there is a barrage of well-meaning advice. Of people wanting to share their experiences. Sometimes just to connect, and sometimes to try and guide me in a different direction because they think I'm screwing it up. The latter sometimes makes me think, just don't say anything. It's easier.

All of the above is of course, in my head. And it shouldn't have stopped me from sharing, documenting, and just working through all this via words. But, it kinda did. And that's just how it went.

It's Not the Shiny Stuff

Most of what I want to hash out... it's kinda dark? Or at least, not so bubbly? Like, the mind-fuck of creating and carrying a human life inside your body and being solely responsible for its wellbeing for NINE months. Like, all the horrifying and strange things your hormones and body go through, the things other mothers don't seem to want to talk to you about until AFTER you're pregnant - at which point there is a flood of horror stories and things that can go awry that you're just suddenly treated to hearing about as you start to experience them (third tri carpal tunnel anyone??). Like, how your life and relationship to others in the world is literally never going to be the same, and it's always difficult to lament a loss of identity, but even more so when everyone keeps telling you it's the bee's knees and you're like "but so was my old life." 

This all jumps back to the "just glow, don't bitch" note above. But also, it's hard to talk through some of these difficult items without having a "yeah but look at this cute onesie" response. And I get that response, because if you think too hard on some of this, it's easy to spiral a bit. And that onesie is absolutely adorable. Not processing at all isn't the answer, though, but I'm not sure where the balance is. 

Which leads me to what I actually wanted to talk about... 

With all that in mind, the biggest thing that's been weighing on me is one of those things that people just don't say out loud. It's an unspeakable. I'm going to rabble about it a bit and I do NOT want a bunch of "reassurance" or "it'll be fine" messages after. That's not why I'm bringing it up. Despite my current hormone situation, I am a rational, intelligent woman, in possession of all the statistics in the world around this topic. I'm fully aware of the massive amount of privilege I have going into this, as a young-ish white woman in a good socio-economic situation; with access to all the proper facilities, doctors, and knowledge; in good health; with an awesome support system; etc. But, it's in my mind and it's not going away.

...

I will never forget a phone call I go in my early twenties, from my first close friend to have a baby. Friends had barely started getting married, let alone having babies, so this was totally new territory. And her biggest worry wasn't about being a mother, or even about the process of physically having a baby. She was worried about surviving the labor itself. That her husband would be left alone with their new baby, and she wouldn't be there. That this future they were building towards wouldn't include her. 

It was something I had literally never even considered. That sort of thing didn't happen in real life, it just happened offscreen to the moms in Disney movies. It couldn't happen, because all we ever talked about was the miracle of birth and yay baby, not the fact that the mother is going through a major physical trauma to bring that life into the world. 

But her fear was real. It wasn't invalid. Because it does happen. 

So here I am, with less than a month til my due date, "panic nesting" as I call it. Trying frantically to get everything organized, labelled, and ready. Walking through annoying details with my husband so he knows where things are, how to find everything. Attempting to get everything perfect, even if it's not stuff we'll "need right away." And when people try to talk to me about those early days with a newborn, and I hear the forever loop of "sleep when the baby sleeps," and advice about sleep training... most of it just bounces into a wall in my mind and falls into a box for later. Because there is definitely a wall there. The labor. The birth. And the underlying uncertainty that maybe... that's the end of the line.** Maybe all these preparations are what I'm leaving behind for my loved ones, to make sure things go smoothly if I'm not able to be there to help later. 

It's kind of an achy, awful feeling. I could write about it and explore it at great length, but I know it's a super uncomfortable thought, and I'm not sure the emo/philosophical path I'd go down would be helpful for anyone, so I'm not fully going to dive in on here...

And again, I know it is not a likelihood. I understand the odds. I get that I'm probably more likely to walk out and get hit by a car. That all doesn't matter. What matters is that... well, I'd like to stay a little longer, but I know it won't be entirely in my control. Being pregnant, you quickly figure out just how much is no longer in your control, and you sort of accept it, and figure out how to move forward with that awareness. So, I don't let this thought overwhelm me, and constantly weigh me down, but I carry it along with the other uncertainties and wonder how things will all play out. 

I sure hope that within the next month, we'll be at the point just past this. And I'll be on the 'good' side of those statistics. Settling into that 'new parents' phase that I haven't properly put thought towards yet. Where I'll be able to look down at that wee little life we created and say, "Hey, we made it. Now let's go figure this future out together." Because it's a future I'd really like to be a part of. 

<3

We've got this, wee bump.

*Granted, not everyone is happy to be pregnant - there are MANY complex situations, but in our case we're not unhappy about it. Also, I'm not diving into the other side of this - that some people realllllly could give a hoot about kids/babies. Which I absolutely understand, having lived a very happy childless life up to this point. It can also be frustrating to see a constant celebration around "traditional" life events like weddings and babies, when that is absolutely NOT the path many take. And it's annoying to not see other big successes (like, getting a promotion at work, or moving to a new city, or having a beautiful plant that you've kept alive through the winter, or finally finishing that binge of "Grey's Anatomy," etc.) being celebrated in the same way, because they truly are important. But, I could rant all day about that, and, my posts are already too damn long lol so just... know that I know what I'm not shining a light on and I'm sorry.

** Also, YES, I know how absolutely selfish this all sounds. Most moms are just worried about having a healthy baby, and I'm over here worrying about myself. But. I was here first. I know me. Wee bebe, I'm still getting to know. So yes, I'm selfish and I'm concerned about myself. I'm not saying I'm not also VERY much concerned about the wellness of this little one who I'm carrying. People are complex and can feel more than one thing, y'all - so let's not get judgey.

BabyMama & The Thought Police

One thing I neglected to note on my to-do list for 2021: get pregnant. 

That isn't to say it wasn't planned, just that it wasn't any of y'all's business at the time. Being a woman of a certain age, and having witnessed many loved ones struggle with fertility, I didn't necessarily know that 2021 would be the year of the bébé, but surprise, here we are! Twenty weeks pregnant, baby! Sorry blog, with all the other announcements, you get the sloppy-second, offhanded remarks. (Still loveee you!)

I never necessarily understood why people played it so close to the vest in the early months of pregnancy, why it was all so hush-hush until suddenly BAM they were SUPER preggers and ready to announce. And while I still think that knowledge is power, and we can all only benefit from sharing our experiences and learning together... I get it now. The missing piece for me had been the lack of understanding around just how risky those early weeks are. Given my age / physical factors, there was about a 20% chance of a miscarriage. TWENTY percent. ONE in FIVE. 

Holy shit. That felt so, so high.

I had no idea miscarriages were that common. The concept blew my mind. Probably because this is one of many "women's issues" that doesn't get talked about as much (though these days, people tend to be more open) - which sucks, because it isn't just a woman's issue. It impacts family, friends, would-be-fathers, and the whole 'village' of people who would have loved that baby. It's a sad and scary thought. 

"So, why the secrecy, Gina, if you are so adamant about people discussing these things?" you ask, rightly so. And, had something happened, I know I'd have needed my people. I know I'd have reached out, had talked to my loved ones in our closer circle. But you know, that's a controlled conversation. 

If you put a pregnancy announcement out into the world, it ripples. The random woman at the grocery store your mom knew in high school suddenly knows that your womb is occupado. It's big news and people are excited. And people want to ask you about it when they see you. And what happens when you're out for a walk and suddenly someone asks about your baby that's no more? A happy query about the little life you lost? How do you react to that sucker punch to the heart? It feels like, it'd be a lot. Like, if it's someone you're close to checking in, it's comforting; but if it's an inquiry when your guard is down, it's a sob fest. I couldn't risk it. 

And honestly, I kept a big set of walls up around my own heart, pumping blood for two, in that first trimester. The more you love something, the harder the loss, was my defense mechanism. I didn't think too much about it, didn't set too many plans in motion,* didn't let my mind wander and wonder about who this teeny creature might become. Mind you, I also didn't  necessarily spend all those weeks feeling constantly afraid or worrying, I did my best to spend them blank. Uninvested. Almost detached.** And some of that remoteness has carried on into the second tri. 

Yeah, I get that that makes me sound like a monster / bad mom, and as if I don't care, but I have a good reason: the thought police. 

As a fairly high-strung person, I've spent years learning how to manage my anxieties, calm my mind, and mitigate the restlessness when it strikes. I've got my strategies for keeping everyone around me from thinking I'm a total nutter and/or off the rails. That doesn't mean my brain isn't still a hive of chaos, but you know, that I've figured out how to work and live in harmony with that. But now there is someone else in there, someone else who is directly impacted by that chaos. A mini person who shares my body and feelings. And gosh, I sure don't want to scare them.

So, I find myself dealing with a side effect of pregnancy that I hadn't thought about previously: keeping my chill so this wee one doesn't have to feel my worries. I knew having good physical health would be important, but I hadn't considered the massive importance of mental health. I want this womb to be a tranquil getaway, a place of peace and comfort, before our tiny human has to violently exit said womb and come join us in this frenzied world. And yes, sometimes I just have a wave of hormones and start sobbing for literally no reason, but beyond that, serenity is the absolute objective. 

I'm certainly not at the point where I have this all figured out. I don't know the best way to keep a positive vibe internally 24/7 to keep this child in that zen mode. I know I am approaching this imperfectly and will have some major fluxes in anxiety that surely are the opposite of zen,*** but this has been a good perspective shift for me in the long run, too. If I think that my mental chaos isn't "good" for the baby, why would I think it's fine for myself? Because, while I'll surely adore this little spawn, it will only be dependent on me for a certain period of time. I am going to be with me literally til the end. So some of this care and energy that I'm so willing to funnel towards another, it's gonna need to come back to mama. Because mama matters. And right now, doing good for mama is also doing good for bébé. We're literally in this together, and we're going to tackle it with a calm AF smile. 

Wish us luck. 

Good vibes and ice cream only.

* And now I feel completely behind on things lol damnnnnit.
** Even on the way to the twenty-week ultrasound, when my husband was just a bundle of excitement and joy, I felt just numb. Because I was terrified we'd get there and that the ultrasound would show no movement, no heartbeat, that something was wrong and I just didn't have the motherly instinct to know it. I couldn't get myself excited, because the more I thought about it, the more I worried. I even took a photo with my bump before we left for the appointment, just in case that was the last moment where our baby was in there. It was a pretty effed up thought, and as soon as I snapped the pic, I immediately shifted my brain back to blank. It was okay if I didn't feel joy, as long as I didn't feel scared as hell and sad. Blank was better... I don't tell this story to make everyone worry about my sanity, but because I'm sure I'm not the only woman who has ever felt this way. We're all just doing our best, and we're all doing okay. 
*** Like, did the baby freak out when I woke up after having a nightmare last night?? Did my accelerated heart rate and panic cause that little floating fetus to bob about like "ahh what's happening" and now it's traumatized? How could I possibly even know?! Ahh. 

When Life Doesn't Give You Lemons

Two weeks after the stay-at-home orders went into effect, we made our first masked trip to the grocery store. I was armed to the teeth with hand sani, but was terrified. Entering the store, I skirted around like a paranoid lemur, or a kid playing "the ground is lava," except the people were lava... I was surrounded by lava monsters.

With my anxiety off the charts, and my inner monologue telling me that this visit to the vegetables was going to be the last thing I ever did (for surely I would catch Covid from a cucumber and be dead by morning), it wasn't going to take much to push me over the edge. I clung to a tiny paper list (afraid to touch my phone) with essentials and a few specialty ingredients. Next up: lemons. I wanted to make these 'honey lemon cloud cookies' (I started my "distract me from the end times" pandemic baking early), and I needed fresh lemons. 

This was the moment that my panic about the state of the world and my first world privilege met, and did a tango. (A poorly choreographed, sporadic tango.) There was the display stand for lemons. There was the little sign with the price. And there they were, empty little shelves, with not a single lemon to be found. 

And I immediately started crying. 

Because of a lack of lemons. 

But of course, it wasn't really about the lemons. It was because my heart couldn't take one more thing. One more change. One more uncertainty. First a cancelled honeymoon and isolation from my loved ones, and now no lemons? What was next? Where would it end? Next time would there be no food at all? Would we all end up fighting for a can of who-cares-what-veggie and bartering our wedding rings for some flour, like in those post-apocalyptic films that I binged watched throughout those early days of the pani?* That empty shelf escalated into a thousand worst case scenarios in my mind, and I let them drop via tears onto my mask, afraid to touch my face to wipe them away...

And now here we are. Over a year later. We've all had a lot of ups and downs during this time. Some of us have been really lucky, and some haven't. The mental, physical, and emotional toll has looked different for each person, with a lot of striking similarities for many. But what now? What happens after a year lacking lemons? After all this hypervigilance and fear and sadness? After months of playing worst-case-scenario-roulette? 

Well here's where I'm personally at....

1. I still plan to mostly stay at home. I'll still be working remote. I still will mostly be getting carryout instead of going to restaurants. I still won't abandon my quest to watch every single WWII documentary available on streaming services. I'm not ready to fully dive back in. If you're vaccinated, and you are ready - cool, you do you. But I'm just not there yet. There were a finite number of situations in the past year where I was to be in a crowded space with strangers, and I spent a month leading up to those events having absolute panicked meltdowns, put my best game face on for the benefit of others when the time came, and then hyperventilated and sobbed in the shower for an hour once the events were over. I'm not saying it was entirely rational, but I'm not saying you'll see me out at the bar every weekend now either.  This might take me some time, and I know that probably feels weird, but I'm just not the exact same as I was before (yet? ever?), and I can't help it. Thanks for being cool about it.
2. I'm only seeing certain people in person. They're vaccinated, they haven't shown a total disregard for human life during this, and I miss them. Honestly, I'm coming out of this pani with major fucking trust issues, so while I will always care about the people I've always cared about, there are some people who I just probably don't need to ever interact with in person again, based on recent actions. And that's okay. It sucks, but it's okay. Those I do see, I may only see briefly, and it may be outside, but I'll be very overjoyed just the same. 
3. You'll probably still see me wearing a mask. At the time of typing this, only about 37% of Americans are fully vaccinated. Wearing masks is still important for those who aren't. You know, solidarity. And honestly, wearing a mask has never been a bother to me, even with my asthma. So, if it doesn't bother me, it shouldn't bother you. Don't make it painfully awkward, don't bombard me with your opinions about it, just let me do my thing. 
4. You might need to be patient with me. I might not be okay with more than a quick hug, even though I really, really miss hugs. I might only want to chat/hang out for a brief time and then leave because I'm exhausted, or anxious. I might get frustrated when I finally feel okay about seeing you in person and you say you can't because you have other plans (Is everyone just making tons of plans?? That feels too devil-may-care for me right now, in my social-prude state.). And I might be unnecessarily pissy that I didn't hear from you more when I was really down and needed you to (virtually) show up - though that's not fair, because you were going through your own shit and I likewise probably wasn't there for you when you needed me to be.** Basically: I might come with more emotions than I normally do, and they might be sitting out on my shoulder making faces, instead of tucked away neatly in my purse like usual. 
5. I still worry about things, even when they're beyond my control. I know, I know, I know, worrying constantly about things beyond your control isn't sustainable. I get it that I have a finite sphere of influence, and that in all this, I can just do what I can to control my own personal actions to do my personal best to protect myself and my loved ones. I can't make someone else get vaccinated. I can't control what nutball conspiracy theories someone adds to a spew mountain of Facebook comments, or who believes them. I can't influence global policy to ensure equity in vaccine distribution. But that doesn't mean my heart doesn't break when I see this virus ravaging India, or when I hear about an immunocompromised person who was unable to get vaccinated dying, or when I witness the anxiety amongst my friends with kids who don't know how best to protect their little ones with the world reopening. I wish I could just shut off that switch and say "I'm good, I'm vaccinated, so, the pandemic is over for ME, let's get back at it!" but I am not there. This thing is still happening. And the longer it goes unchecked in some areas, the more likely it is to mutate and come back around to impacting me - so yes, I'll probably continue to worry and care and be vocal and if that bothers you, well, then shoo. Because my mama bear nature applies on a wider scale. 

There is going to come a point where I'll look back on and read old posts and statuses from this time and not feel them so deeply maybe. Right now, when timehop puts me back a year, I just nod and find that I am in a very similar mental frame now as I was then. The lemons might be back on the shelf, but that shelf still feels empty. I hope it won't forever. And I hope someday this will feel like a distant memory. In the meantime, stay safe, friends, and treasure your lemons while ye may.

And for now, we look for alternatives.

* Yes, I sometimes call the pandemic a "pani," like it's some sort of casual friend that I have a little nickname for. I know other people call it other things. I know it's stupid. But I need to minimize this monster in my mind sometimes in order to survive, so just let me have this silly quip. 

** Don't worry, I promise not to ever talk about this outloud with any of you. What's past is past, I know we all did our best and our individual best looked different on different days for each of us. So some days when I was curled up in a ball and needed you, you might have been in your own ball needing me - this year was just a stalemate of support in so many cases, and what good is it actually being pissy about it? So, just know that this subtle bitterness is all in my head and won't ever surface in person. Love you, mean it. 

Ten Years (Yet Only Moments) Ago

Every year on this day, I try to put a few thoughts into words but never quite manage. Today I'm sitting at the sunny dining room table while a flurry of handymen install a new A/C unit and do duct / HVAC work in our house. It's probably not the best time to delve into my memories of a loved one lost but, hell, when is a good time?* Where I really want to be is on the road, headed north to my hometown to spend this day with my family (whom I miss so frickin' much) as they celebrate the legacy of a damn good man. But it's pandemic times, and me just a few weeks out from being fully vaccinated, so, here we are....

It always amazes me to think that what I know of any person is just a small part of what makes up their life. I only ever know them through my particular lens, and my interactions with them, despite there being infinite other instances they share elsewhere with others. I knew Vern as an uncle, not as a father, brother, or son. In those capacities, I saw him through the eyes of my cousins, who grew up in a loving household; my mom, as she laughed and joked with her big brother; and my grandma, as her first born doted upon her. 

I wasn't even alive the first half of his life, but he was there for all of mine. And there are still such distinct moments I shared with him. Moments that I know are still happening in another time and place.  

• My uncle and aunt had a library room in their old house. It had floor to ceiling shelves with books. Vern told me that if I read every one of those books, I'd pretty much know all that needs knowing. He loved learning, and always knew something about everything. As a child, I more than once thought he was probably the smartest man in the whole world. 
• That library didn't just have books, it also had hundreds of movies. VHS tapes and eventually DVDs. Every New Year's Eve we would have a movie marathon. My mom, sister, grandma and I all got to pick out a movie to watch. We'd make the drive out to that room, that library, and pick out how we wanted to ring out and in the new year. His love for movies was infectious. Any tape you picked out, he could tell you some extra tidbit about. That room was a school of knowledge and fun facts, with Uncle Vern as the professor.
• They lived out of town in the country, in a small unincorporated community that pretty much featured just a winding road, a bar, a cheese factory, and my aunt and uncle's house. So they jokingly called Vern the Mayor. And I believed it. Because he seemed like the kind of guy who'd make a nice mayor. Everyone knew him and liked him, and if you needed anything, he'd be there to help.
• Given their location, every summer meant a giant birthday bonfire. All the cousins and family in one spot to bask in the flames of the previous year's Christmas trees, massed atop a giant pile of wood and fuel. Just be sure to grab him a beer, so long as you're over by the cooler there.
• Any celebration was made a little more jovial when Vern was there. Sunday Packers game potlucks, tearing up the dance floor at a wedding, or the inevitable silly stringing at a birthday. Somehow, you never saw it coming, but it always came. You went from blowing out birthday candles to just caked in silly string. When we moved out of the trailer, there was still silly string stains on the ceiling from one overly zealous celebration. 
• He had a beautiful singing voice. In the rare occasion I was with him at the same time in a church, it was a real treat to hear him belt out the hymnals. And any time there was a bar with a jukebox or a random karaoke machine, there was that voice. I have a vivid memory of sitting on a stool at a bar up north by our cabin, sipping a kiddy cocktail, my legs dangling, watching Uncle Vern harmonize a John Denver song with a stranger. Take me home, country roads, indeed.
• Times up at the cabin were great. Swimming in the lake, cooking back-to-back and butt-to-butt in that tiny kitchen while everyone played cards at the table, while some golden oldies streamed from a radio perched atop the fridge. My uncles and the cabin are interlaced in my mind. One of the last times being when Vern was sick, but everyone gathered up to build a new outhouse. Each of my uncles had a specific skillset when it came to building, whether electric, plumbing, framing, etc. Between the three of them, they could design and construct just about anything. Even my grandma's "pop back" garage.**
• Swimming at the lake wasn't the only spot for a dip. Every family wedding or event that involved a hotel, and you'd find Vern in the pool. I remember going with another uncle to 'find Vern' and of course we found him swimming. "It's brother Vern, the whiiiiiite whaaaaale," my uncle bellowed as Vern laughed and splashed. Minutes later my aunt appearing with a, "Vern, get out of the damn pool, you gotta get ready!" 
• My aunt. Goodness gracious did he sure love her. Their marriage is still one I hold on a pedestal in my mind as to what a happy married couple looks like. A married couple who has seen it all, been through times good and bad, and has come out stronger. Vern always had a mischievous look in his eye and a little chuckle as he'd pat my aunt's butt as she walked past him; a chiding little remark from her was always accompanied with a smile. Growing up, they were the duo with the longest marriage in my eyes. It seemed like they were still newlyweds somehow, and yet the just always had such a deep understanding and respect for each other. They both played their role in the relationship, and I watched as a kid, thinking I was seeing #relationshipgoals without even yet knowing what that meant.
• He was just a loving person. He wanted to make sure everyone felt cared about. Every year on Valentine's Day, he'd go down to my mom's office and bring chocolates and treats for my ma and all the women in her office. Every year. Just so they knew they were appreciated.
• And hugs. OH boy, did he sure give the best hugs. Almost overwhelming to a small child, but his hugs would just envelop you in love and kindness.

I could probably go on for ages, plucking out little memories, but that list will never be long enough because it unfortunately stops short. The "new" memories of my Uncle Vern exist only in my mind. The thought of his beautiful singing voice delivering a sad hymn at my grandma's funeral; or of him waving me out to the dance floor at my wedding as some Neil Diamond song he requested began to play; or of him chatting politics with Andy's dad at a backyard BBQ at our new house; or of him bringing a box of balloons/candy and a can of silly string to my non-existent child's birthday party. None of these moments are real. None of them happened or will happen. But they're there in my mind, in a parallel reality. And they make me smile to imagine. 

It was ten years ago today that my Uncle Vern passed away. Diagnosed in September 2010 with pancreatic cancer (which rapidly spread elsewhere), they'd given him three to six months, and there we were in the ominous month seven. I had graduated college in a recession and struggled to find a job in my field, so that year, my uncle's last year, I was living at home with my mom and got the gift of time with my family. He was the first close (actually close) relative who died, and being 22 at the time, I was lucky to have not felt such loss sooner. Telling the story of that year, and what it really looks like to lose such a light in such a dreadful way, is still not something I can properly put to words. But the point I guess isn't that he died, as awful and heart wrenching as it was, the point is that he lived. He really, truly, fully lived. And the world is all the better for it. And we all miss him like hell.

Silly string: you never see it coming, but it always does.

* If they grown men can handle a lady in a dainty floral face mask quietly crying as she types at her laptop, while they lug around filters, fans and ducts, then they can just get on out! 
** A solidly built garage is still no match for an old woman with a lead foot. Just before we had to take away my grandma's license, she had one last hurrah in which she drove her car straight through the back of that garage my uncles had helped build her. In another garage, a back wall might have stopped and perhaps killed an old woman from the impact, but not this garage. Instead the back wall sort of just popped open for her daring escape into the backyard and through the woods. The car may not have made it, but she came out of the whole ordeal fine (just pissed off, per usual).

The Whole of the Moon

2020-One. 2020-Won? 20.21. 

Here we go again. Another turn of the page, as we flip into a new year. It's hard to imagine what the encore to 2020 could look like. Since I can't see the future (would I want to??), all I can do is craft a vibe I'm aiming for and try to fulfill that, regardless of the landscape I find myself in. 

For my typical start-of-year list (see oldies 2016, 2017, 2018, 2019), I never included a "word of the year" until this past year. In 2020, I had both a word and song. The song was the vibe I wanted to root to. The word, a theme to aspire to. Maybe doing both ended up jinxing things, so this year I'm sticking with just a jammer: "The Whole of the Moon" by the Waterboys. 

As a high level, I want to be more big picture. These past nine months, it's been easy to get tripped up and caught on small hurdles. To feel like I'm failing in little moments, and not realize the bigger accomplishments. As someone who is both parts of this song, I need to find a better balance between the two. 

I wrote up some elaborate novel in which I had a goal based on various song lyrics, but wowww was that sure overthinking things. So, I scrapped that and started over. And then I let a few days pass, and the world flipped on its head again (lol attempted coups, who knew? *weeps*). And then I scrapped everything again. Now, I'm returning back, a few weeks in, having rethought several times, and here's what we've got. 

• Wander out in the world. To be honest, I spent most of 2020 afraid to go outside. Even with my mask, and hand sani, and a doe-eyed desire to experience nature in safe, wide-open spaces, I found myself completely overwhelmed by the amount of other people out and about. This year, I'm hoping to get outside more, on less occupied suburban streets. To manage my anxiety and the people-phobia I've developed. And hopefully, we can also finally have a honeymoon / travel again.* 
• Write it out. Get back into writing for fun, not just for a place to dump my existential crises. (I had no idea that was the plural for 'crisis' - English is fucking fascinating.) 
• Create my own Brigadoon. These early months will probably be very home-centric. Since I can't go seek paradise via travel, I need to make our home our own sanctuary. (I also want to make sure our house looks nice for when people can finally come see it, but that's secondary to our own comfort in these winter months.) 
• More music. Jammers. More jammers. Because I spend too much of the day in silence otherwise.
• Be better in relation to others. A better wife, daughter, sister, friend, coworker, neighbor, etc. I have an expectation of what it looks like to "properly" fulfill all those roles, but with changing times, so too we must change our approach. Keeping myself grounded so I can be a better me for others is so important to me. Get back to being an anchor instead of a free-floating chunk of ocean garbage. And make sure everyone knows how grateful I am for them. Spread that love. Get a little more outward, instead of retreating inward.
• Stretch for the stars. My default "comfort" position is more-or-less a hunchback / fetal position mix. I can physically feel my body withdrawal into itself when I'm stressed out. So, once again, my posture needs a lot of work. While WFH has given me the gumption to not be completely chained to my desk all day long, it also means I've been working in less-than-ergonomically-pleasing setups for months. I need to keep the old body limber as I move into my palindrome year. 
• Keep my blood pumping. Speaking of being stationary too much... I need to get in some more cardio this year, and try to get my resting heartrate to a better place. 
• Figure out how to better contribute to the world. I want to figure out composting. Search for some local organizations to be involved with to help my immediate environment. Do some garbage pickup. Something. The joke at my job when things are high tension has always been, "Take it easy, we're not saving lives here." But maybe I want to be? Maybe I want to do something that's more beneficial to others? Since that isn't something in the cards in my current occupation, I need to look for philanthropy elsewhere. 
• Continue to curate my wardrobe. During quarantine, I got pretty active on Poshmark: getting rid of clothes that no longer matched me (for physical fit or appearance) and buying other secondhand items with those earnings. Helping close that loop and avoid new garments digitally, since hopping to thrift stores wasn't feasible. As I curate, I also need to be better about my ghost outfit.** I need to dress myself each day in a way that's less "trapped at home" and more presentable. And all day, not just a rapid change ten minutes before my husband gets home so he doesn't think I'm a scrub.
• Unfurrow my brow. I may have done permanent damage already. These worry lines may not go away. Must quit showing my apprehension on my face. 
• Keep learning and unlearning. We all have a lot of implicit biases and a lot of what we've learned in life is a product of our immediate environment. I'd like to continue to learn and grow, and unlearn where I need to. To continue to support BIPOC-owned businesses. To do what I can to be a part of the solution and not a part of the problem - by educating myself and advocating for others. I want to practice and get better about having conversations around race and other important topics. I tried hard in 2020 to learn and eloquently discuss, but I know I didn't always do a good job. Sometimes my good intentions didn't come through verbally or I got too frustrated. I need to do better. We all can do better.
• Budge the budget. Now that we have a house, our expenses are different. As we settle in and figure out how much it costs to "run" this household, I'm exciting to dig in on our budget. We had a large amount saved up for a down payment, and now that we've doled that out, we want to figure out how much of our other savings/incoming funds can go into investments with a higher return.*** 
• Keep the vices to a minimum. I've been largely sober this pandemic, because I know what a slippery slope it'd have been to hit the bottle during these unprecedented times. I'd like to keep that up (or down?). But I also need to look at some of my other vices, like my massive sugar consumption, and figure out how to stomp them down a bit. I don't want to emerge from the plague times as a junkie in any respect. 
• Micro progress is still progress. Instead of setting specific long term goals, I'm focusing on a short list of goals each week (many which lend themselves to larger / longer run ones). Not even each month, but each week, because if there's anything last year taught us, it's how much things can change on a dime. Looking ahead more than a week may not be practical. This also gives me flexibility to make progress and keep it right within my sights, even during emotional roller coasting based on global/national events. 

Yeah, the above are vague and overarching. That's the point of them. The weekly goals will focus on specific actions that feed in, but for now, a broad stroke is the best this gal can do. Sure, I probably missed some stuff in the re-workings, too. But I'll be damned if I was going to wait another week to try and get my new years post out. Sending you off with a wish: may 2021 be kinder to us, and may we all be kinder to ourselves and each other. Go team.

Make today your bitch, friends.

* Anyone else seem to have all of their 2020 trips just plopped into the new year? Last year was supposed to be a big travel hurrah for us... looks like maybe we'll try for it again?

** If you haven't heard this particular line - basically, it's the concept that the clothes you die in will be the ones you're stuck wearing as a ghost forever. Since death is unpredictable, you should always dress yourself in an outfit that is comfortable, fashionable, and reflects who you are, because you never know which outfit may end up being your garb for the rest of eternity.

*** I love talking money shit, so if anyone ever wants to dig in on savings and budgeting, you just hit this girl up!