I'm fine! I'm fine! The EVERYTHING IS OKAY alarm is going off at full volume, I promise. Much like our neighbor's car alarm two nights ago, in the middle of the night, to which we responded by getting up, muttering a lot of curse words before slamming the window shut. The next morning, we discovered that another neighbor's house had been broken into around that time, along with a good half-dozen cars in the area. Including ours. Although "broken into" makes it sound more dramatic than the reality, because our cars were unlocked. coughMORONScough. Nothing was taken from mine, though the glove compartment and center console had both been opened and tossed around, but they didn't even snag my phone charger or the stack of Emergency Tissues. (Here's what a dork I am: When Jason told me about the break-in, I was like, OH MY GOD THE ERGO CARRIER WAS IN THE TRUNK DID THEY STEAL THE ERGO CARRIER?) ("Um. No. That wasn't really the kind of thing they were after, babe.") ("Well, shows how much THEY know, because that's a really expensive carrier and they could totally make like, $80 at a consignment store. I'D steal an Ergo carrier.")... Read more →

This story requires some background. In fact, I'd say this story is probably a good 95% background. This is the kind of story I would submit to my creative writing professor in college and get back with the words YES, AND....???? scrawled after the ending because the denouement was basically me running out of time at library that morning and then pretending that the unsatisfying, abrupt ending was ON PURPOSE, like even the WHOLE POINT, god, nobody GETS ME, it was DEEP and SOCIALLY-COMMENTATING-Y. Anyway! It is true, I was very misunderstood. Now let's all move on and pretend that this is a vaguely accurate rendering of the great state of Pennsylvania: If you believe the original boundary-deciding people all had raging meth habits, I think it kind of works. Now, I spent the first 19 years or so of my life in this general part of Pennsylvania: Basically, if you picture New Jersey as the head and shoulders of some old dude in profile (AND I BET YOU DO NOW), I grew up tucked directly under his chin. Jason also spent a good chunk of his adolescence in the same area, only in the town where M. Night Shyamalan... Read more →

Dear Febreze No Spill Wood Diffuser Scented Thing In My Bathroom, I hate you. I hate you so much. I don't even know what you smell like, except that once upon a time I thought it was fairly nice but now it's the loudest, most-gag-inducing smell I have ever smelled, and I once spent my first trimester in an office with a coworker who liked her English muffins "blackened" every single damn morning. I hate you especially hard when your loud, gag-inducing, flowery, musky, whatever scent combines with the smell of the toothpaste or the shampoo or GOD HELP ME, the drain de-clogger stuff we keep having to use because MY HAIR IS FALLING OUT and honestly I think that's only about half-pregnancy symptom and half-stress-from-dealing-with-YOU and maybe some memories of the aforementioned burnt English muffins. Hate! Amy PS. Even though Jason moved you to the guest bathroom down the hall I CAN STILL SMELL YOU. *** Dear Chipotle, I love you. I have always loved you. Why do you hate me all of a sudden? Why do you want to hurt me? What did I do? Whatever it is I'm sorry, Amy *** Dear OB, I have to bring... Read more →

A doctor flat-out told him to stop the chemo. An infectious disease doctor, there to discuss the team's inability to 100% identify whatever mysterious infection he has this time, with a side of brutal bluntness. "You need to stop this." He's not going to stop. He refuses. A nurse told him it was time for a hospital bed in the living room. An at-home nurse, one he's known and trusted since his heart surgery, and her opinion was echoed by just about everyone at the hospital. "You cannot climb the stairs anymore." He's not getting a hospital bed in the living room. Also refuses. A transfusion brought his platelets up, a little. They are still lower than where they were after his LAST hospitalization and his LAST transfusion, and it's not like that was a good number either. They are trying to stop an ocean with a cork. He's going back for more chemo on Tuesday. I'm trying so hard to understand. It's not my body or my life or my fight. I'm trying to let go of anger at the toll this is taking on him, on my mom, on their relationship, on the entire family. Since he lost... Read more →

I've been waiting all day for more updates -- something more substantial than what I have pieced together right now -- so I could post something...well, MORE. But there's no nice narrative today. The first text message I received from my mother after day two of chemo was a good one. No bad reactions. One more day of treatment and then three weeks off. He's amazing. He's a Miracle Man. I put the phone down and walked away from it. When it rang during dinner I didn't even get up to check the caller ID. Shut up, telemarketers, we're all having a nice time over here. Of course, it was my mom. The bad reaction just came later this time. Fever, shakes, a trip to the ER and another infection. Looks like pneumonia again. White blood cells and platelets have cratered. Chemo was canceled for today. Instead, a blood transfusion, perhaps. He's on a floor that's not quite the ICU and not quite the general garden-variety sick-level population. Maybe he'll go home tomorrow, or the next day. And I don't know anything more than that. I don't think this is nearly as serious of a reaction as last time, but... Read more →

(Edited to add for clarity: This is a story about something that happened LAST THURSDAY. As in, before I posted yesterday's ultrasound results, which were YAY and GOOD. Yes, I have chosen to discuss my pregnancy before the three-month-mark, come good or bad or disaster, because...well, it's my blog and I'm like that. Have always been like that, actually, because I very much depend on the support network I have here...again, come good or bad or disaster. I did not mean for this story to sound insensitive -- it happened, it was scary, it was okay.) (Seriously, about that last bit: IT WAS OKAY.) On Thursday morning, after Noah's occupational therapy appointment, I chatted with his therapist and breezily, brazenly -- and completely impulsively -- blurted out the pregnancy news. I'm still not sure why, because she in no way fits into my squishy parameters of Invisible Internet Person and/or Real Life Person In Whom I'd Depend On In The Event Of A Miscarriage Anyway. But the words fell out of my mouth, and that was that. The news was out. And now that I've mentioned it, do you mind watching my kids for two quick minutes because OH MY... Read more →

I am currently in possession of a sure-to-scan horribly photo of a healthy, seven-week-old 3D-ified blobby thing. Said blobby thing is totally getting photobombed by a giant yolk sac, which I actually thought was my baby's head for most of the ultrasound until the doctor corrected me. Be careful what you commit to calling "cute" out loud during these things, I guess is the lesson I'd like to pass on to y'all. Said blobby thing is also in possession of a nice, strong heartbeat. So. Breathe out, and stuff. We're a go for baby. Read more →

Ezra. You are sunshine and stubbornness. Independent, yet anything but a loner. A mimic, but with your own ideas about anything. Easygoing right up until the moment you've been pushed just far enough. Fearless, except for when you are not. You still seem so small to me, but your personality is as oversized as the 2T hand-me-downs currently are. You make friends everywhere you go, charming adults with your smile and cheerful greetings and offers of plastic cupcakes or empty teacups. You are easily the best two-year-old conversationalist I've ever met, chatting about everything from shoes to elbows to WALL*E to choo choos to meatballs. You can kick a ball or hit it off a tee with a bat, you think stretching your arms behind you while crouching before tossing them up in the air counts as jumping, you can walk down the stairs alone, slowed only by your tendency to stop and applaud for yourself. You watched some big kids breakdance once and now like to put your head on the ground and kick your feet when music comes on. If your big brother can do it, well dammit, you're going to give a good try too. You love... Read more →

The same thing happened with Ezra -- unlike the first time*, I wasn't entirely sure of our conception date so every attempt at dating the pregnancy at the doctor's office resulted in a constant march backwards. I'd show up at an appointment thinking I was six weeks along and leave only five weeks. Then the next week it turned out that the bean-thing on the ultrasound was still only measuring five-and-a-half weeks. The doctor kept tossing out potential dates like, did you guys maybe do it on the 10th? Maybe the 14th? Finally I just said something like, "Look, I think what's really important here is that my husband didn't go on any business trips this month, so whatever date you wanna go with, I can safely guarantee that he was home, present and likely wanting to have sex." And Jason nodded confidently in agreement. *January 5, 2005. 20 minutes after Lost ended, give or take 15 minutes for fast-forwarded commercials on the TiVo and probably brushing my teeth because I like to keep the romance alive and stuff. This time, thanks to the wonderful world of iPhone apps, I'd actually kept a goddamn record, though I didn't really mean... Read more →

Well, sweeties, sometimes, when two Spider-Mans love each other very very much... Okay. Not going into THAT kind of detail or anything, but still. I'm pregnant. I'M PREGNANT. For those of you who were thoroughly gobsmacked by this news, trust me, I'm only about a week ahead of you on the WHAAAA? And HUHHHHH? And HOLYSHIIIII? But let's back up. Once upon a time, there was a crazy girl who, in the end-stage throes of baby fever, practically had to twist her husband's arm into having just one single little puny baby. And after many many many months and a couple years of trying, they agreed to stick with that one single (not-so-little-or-puny) baby. Until said baby was all of five weeks old, when her husband suddenly announced, "THIS IS FUN. LET'S DO THIS AGAIN." And so, after many many many months and a couple years of trying, they had another baby. Who was definitely supposed to be the last baby. The crazy girl even thought so too, most of the time. But then...I don't know. The crazy spread, and her husband just never seemed ready to make that appointment for the big snip, and the feeling of "completeness" that... Read more →