Bad days:

I'm gonna be honest, today has been pretty horrific. I pretty much can't stop crying, although I did manage to get some teaching done. As soon as I'm away from the audience, though, I start in again.

The people who took Bella emailed me this morning and said they cried when they left here, they felt so sorry for us. They also said Bella had a good night and was enjoying their yard and chasing a tennis ball. It was really sweet, and also completely heartbreaking. My head is aching from all of the tears.

Anyway, let's switch subjects, ok? Because I really don't think I can deal anymore.

Are you going to blogher? Are you considering it? I went last year; it was really interesting. I'm pretty sure I want to go again. Will you be there?

Phantom limbs still hurt:

Bella just left with her new family. I can barely type those words because I simply cannot believe it just happened.

We were set to take her yesterday to a woman I have been emailing with, who lives two hours away. However, she didn't confirm with me and I wasn't driving two hours each way if I wasn't 100% sure she would be there. So we did nothing, and it was like a great relief. In under the radar for one more day.

So we posted an ad again on craigslist, and I got an email back saying that someone wanted to meet her.

The family, a couple and their 18-year old daughter, came tonight and fell in love with Bella. They found her charming and enjoyed her antics and wanted to take her home. They have a yard, and the wife stays home all day, and they have experience with German Shepherds. So we let her leave, because what can you do?

They were kind enough to give us a few minutes alone with her to say good-bye, a time in which she kissed me so hard it hurt and shook the lovely beausband's hand, and then ran to the door to see where the other people were.

So we sit here in a totally empty home, no one begging for a little bite of our food, no crate the size of a twin bed in our bedroom, no dog putting her face on our laps to be given a little scratch.

I hope you, whoever you are, never have to go through anything like this.

The pain is immeasurable.

Another thing I didn't realize about pregnancy (uh-oh, is this fast becoming a mommy blog?):

That sometimes the baby will kick you so hard that you gasp and your heart skips a beat. Strong baby.

It's now T minus 74 days. Want to talk about terror?

Further side effects of pregnancy:

I am 30 years old. I have lived seven of my 30 years in Los Angeles, and nine in San Francisco. Not ONCE in all that time have I given the slightest shit about celebrities. Honestly, watching awards shows with me is ridiculous. Music? TV? Movies? I haven't a clue who ANYONE is, unless they were prominently featured on an 80's sitcom.

Suddenly? Pregnancy? Has made me star-obsessed. I honestly can't figure why, unless it's all that time spent on the couch, watching TV, during my first trimester. I now read all the gossip blogs daily, regaling the lovely beausband with things like "How can Angeline (we are so on a first-name basis) be two weeks behind me? LOOK AT HER STOMACH! There is no way." or "I really think this whole Katie Holmes pregnancy thing is a lie." Ad nauseum. And it's not just pregnancy news, although there is a lot of that these days. It's who is where and what they are doing and buying and shooting.

I'm really hoping this- like the nausea, hip pains, and inability to drink coffee- ends immediately after giving birth. Because it's just not acceptable for this posthipchick to care.

These are real friends:

I left the following message for my friend, Deb, the other day, who is four days ahead of me in this insane pregnancy thing.

"Hi. Are your hips killing you? It's gotten to the point where I can no longer walk. Are you suffering as well? Don't call me back if you feel good, because I don't really want to hear about it. I want to see how you are, but only if it's bad."

The Unfortunate Incident of the Smoke in the Brunchtime:

I had a fairly distressing incident at school today.

Once again, it's brunch duty. I'm at my appointed post, keeping an eagle eye out over the smokey group from yesterday. Nothing seems to be going down, and I leave my post for a minute to use the facilities.

As I'm walking over there, I pass a group of kids and again- puff of smoke. I've been a teacher for three years now and NEVER seen anyone smoke. And now twice in two days. I stood in front of the group, staring in disbelief. I didn't see anything more, but I was sure that it was smoke.

A few minutes later, I walk into my 3rd period class. The students start their routine and I tell them to put everything down, turn around, and look at me. "Folks," I tell them, "I want to remind you that smoking of any substance at school is illegal and will get you expelled." Everyone stares at me, intent. "And not only is it illegal, it's also just stupid. Teachers are not dumb. We SEE the smoke rise." Everyone laughs, but I notice particular tittering around one boy, who I remember was in the group this morning from which the smoke emitted. A good, quiet boy.

"Ohhhh, you got caught", kids mutter. "Stupid", other kids say.

I return to the lesson, and slyly open my computer and shoot my principal and VP an email, telling them that I suspect this student and that he's in my class.

A few minutes later, the VP comes and takes him and his stuff away. About 1/2 hour later, he returns.

After class, he approaches me. "Ms. J", he says, clearly mad, "they told me that you think I was smoking at brunch. I cannot believe you would think that. I am really offended by your accusation."

I admit, it caught me off guard. For one, I wasn't aware they would tell him that it was ME who suspected him, and two, I was surprised at his bravery for approaching me. I told him I was sorry he was accused, but that I had reasons for my suspicions, and that it is my job to keep the campus safe, but that wasn't really enough for him. He kept saying how hurt he was, and that he couldn't believe I would accuse him. It was, to say the least, extremely uncomfortable.

My principal apologized later for telling him it was me; that is not policy, and it accidentally slipped. She felt bad about it, and I felt bad that he was so hurt.

Where to from here? Do I apologize again? Let it go? See what he says tomorrow? I don't want him to hold a grudge, only because I fear how it will effect his attitude, and performance, in my class. At the same time, I'm not going to grovel to a 13-year old who was falsely accused, but for what I believed at the time was good reason. Thoughts? Suggestions? Ideas?

Kicky McKickster:

So the baby has been kicking for a few months now- at first a really wonderous feeling, and then sometimes slightly annoying, but now we are in a pattern.

The baby kicks for about an hour or so, and then sleeps for an hour or so. It's perfect. As soon as I start to worry- "Hmm, the baby hasn't kicked in awhile", it kicks again. We like it.

But something has happened today. The baby doesn't seem to want to sleep. Since 9 a.m., I think the baby has been quiet for a grand total of about an hour. And it's REALLY moving; not just little kicks, but rolls and jabs and tickles.

Why? Why would the pattern suddenly change? I almost called the doctor today, but realized I was being slightly neurotic. I'm giving everything two days before I call, so the advice nurses don't start talking shit about the crazy pregnant woman who calls with every ache and pain.

But the kicking is really driving me batty.

Add cop to the list of duties:

Brunch, yard duty. I have six students lined up against a fence, standing silently and making up time, since they made the sorry mistake of being tardy to my class one too many times.

I'm glancing around, doing my yard duty, and I look out and see a group of four students standing on the edge of the blacktop and a distinct puff of smoke rising from the group.

Puff, puff. I check to ensure I can't see my breath. Nope, no breath. There is actual smoke.

I let my six students go and waddle as fast as I can over to the group of smokies. Somehow, they missed me coming and while I didn't catch them WITH anything, I marched them down (walking in front of me to ensure that nobody would throw anything out) to the office. Ain't nobody gonna get away with that on MY watch.

After walking them to the office, the bell rings. Off to my classroom. Approaching the doors, I notice a group of kids all a little too clumped together. You only need to work in middle school for about a week to know this means something is going down. I approach quickly and see a fight was about to start, and take one kid to my room while another teacher takes the other kid.

The ten-minute police sting is over.

Finding her place:

We believe we have found a home for Bella.
Their are some nice people in Modesto (about 2 hours from us) that have a whippet/ chihuahua mix that LOVES to roughhouse with big dogs. They have a large yard with a doggie door for the dogs to go inside and out. They want Bella to join them.

It's not the nice lesbian couple in a country home we imagined for her, but we're going to try it anyway.

Since we haven't met them, we are going to bring her to them on Sunday and let her have a two-week trial. That way, if she doesn't work out, they won't send her to a shelter or anything.

I cannot imagine what it is going to be like to bring her, or leave her there, or come home to an empty house. I really can't.

Wish us luck.

I know I've talked a lot of shit about pregnancy:

But man, my hair looks good!

Some days it's best to shut the computer, or your mouth:

I was going to post yesterday about how I was just about ready to have the big MB, and how I could no longer walk, and how my stress level has reached such heights that I had no idea how I was going to make it through the next 2 1/2 months.

But you've heard it all before, and I'm trying to go with the motto 'Nobody cares' (i.e., the guy that checks me out at the grocery store doesn't really want to know how badly my hips hurt, or that I have too much to do this week), because- let's be honest- it's just damn boring.

But the funk seems to have lifted, partially, I'm sure, because of the fact that the weather today is unbelievable for January- sunny and warm- and the trees are starting to blossom. East coasters, you can now commence bitching. Also, I am taking a half day tomorrow, to knock out some of my major stressors, and that feels like a teeny slice of heaven.

BUT you know it can't all be good, because that is not life. After school today, some of my students from last year came to visit me. We caught up on school, grades, classes, etc. And then they told me which of my former students are pregnant. 9th graders. Fourteen-year olds. Are. Now. Pregnant. One of the girls was one I really love- she's very bright and loved to read. And she's pregnant with the boy who told me to close my legs. I felt seriously ill after their visit, because I cannot imagine how these girls will manage.

It is so incredibly difficult to be pregnant when you are 30, and employed, and making decent money, and have health insurance, and an education, and an amazing partner to get you through it. How in God's name people do it without any of this AND at 14 is a complete mystery to me. I simply cannot imagine how distressing that would be, and it breaks my heart to think of these girls going through it.

Why did I make that high & mighty vow about not spending ridiculous amounts of money on baby clothes again?:

Because Oh-My-God, these are the cutest things ever. Seriously- the onesie that says 'Give Peas a Chance'? I melt.

I'd rather be teaching:

Today I had to sit through an 8-hour class in which the old teacher babbled on and on with personal stories about teaching in the 1950's and being forced to wear only skirts, and listen to people talk about the (gasp!) horror of sex facing our young people today, and watch anti-drug videos hosted by Pat Morita and Michael Gross. I learned not ONE SINGLE THING and do not expect to for the remaining five full days of this $700 course.

I'm just a little bitter.

Two reasons to love being a teacher:

1. There are a lot of things about being a pregnant teacher that S-U-C-K, but one thing that doesn't suck is that you couldn't ask for better "co-workers". Eighth graders firmly believe that you are fully incapacitated during pregnancy and will do anything for you. Never do I move a desk, pick up a piece of trash, or close a drawer. I'm sort of wishing I could bring my students home with me, not out of wanting to get them out of their terrible lives, but as little gofers around the house. It would be nice.

2. Getting letters like this from former students, in envelopes and with stamps and EVERYTHING:

Dear Ms. J,

I'm writing to express my deepest appreciation and gratitude for being your student, student council member, and friend.

One reason I enjoyed your class was because you inspired me in many ways. My favorite class in high school is reading and English, because of all your dedication you put into teaching those subjects. Also, I am reading so many books, I even read an Anne Frank story. It's really amusing because when one of my teachers was telling us about Anne Frank, I answered mostly all the questions, because of learning about it in your class. I remember a lot of things that you taught it in class.

Another reason you inspired me was you are not just a raeding and English teacher, you are a leader as well. You are leading me onto success and achievement. If someone told me to pick a role model, I would pick you, because of your warm spirit in your loving heart that has touched so many people including mine. You have challenged me to keep going and keep achieving my goals.

In closing, I just wanted to say thank you for everything you have done for me, although I will have other teachers teaching me lessons, I will never forget you and everything you have taught me.

Sincerely,
V.L.

Are you crying yet?

28 weeks, or 25 lbs. of "baby":

Soothing the aches:

Thank you all for your kind words and offers yesterday. Maybe the blog can be my back-up plan; if something happens, I can just 'publish post' and someone will come take care of me. Anyway, I apologize for the histrionics, but with hormones raging away, there's not much I can do. Plus, I'm pretty good at wearing my heart on my sleeve here.

I should mention that it is not the 25 lb. weight gain that really bothered me, it's the rate at which I gained it. At almost six months pregnant, I had gained 12 lbs. In the last three weeks, I've gained 13. Thirteen lbs. in three weeks! No wonder my back is killing me.

I've been feeling baby parts for awhile now- I press the stomach and feel a butt, or a head, but this morning, 6 a.m., I felt a foot so distinctly that I thought it might have somehow exited the stomach. It was very creepy.

What hell looks like:

I went to the doctor today. I've gained 25 lbs. already and I have elevated levels of something something and have to get the long version of the gestational diabetes test. That consists of fasting for 12 hours, going in and drinking a nasty-ass drink, and waiting for three hours while they take my blood every hour. Being that I'm currently eating every hour or so, you can imagine what the prospect of this looks like. Dreadful, to say the least. BUT, that's not even the worst of it. The worst of it is what the next 12 weeks looks like. Which makes you realize that HOLY SHIT, IN 12 WEEKS I'M GOING TO HAVE A BABY.

So let's review the next 12 weeks:
Mondays: Work all day, class until 7 p.m.
Tuesdays: Work all day, staff meeting, Yoga 6- 7 p.m.
Wednesday: Work all day, class until 7 p.m.
Thursdays: "Just" work all day
Fridays: "Just" work all day

Now the weekends (there are 12 left):
- Three of them will be spent Saturday and Sunday in a credentialing course from 9-5:30
- Two of them will be spent at baby showers
- Two of them will be spent taking credentialing tests
- We are moving
- We still need to find a home for Bella
- One spent at childbirthing classes
- One spent at infant care classes
- One of them will be spent taking this stupid diabetes test, because God forbid I miss work and take any of my sick days since TEACHERS DON'T GET MATERNITY LEAVE.

Now top all of that off with the fact that the lovely beausband is also working most of these weekends, leaving no one to take care of me. And add to that that this is the week I am supposed to pack my hospital bag, "just in case", and make a back-up plan, "just in case", and I have no back-up plan. I'm supposed to have someone besides my husband to call if something happens, and because we live in the suburbs and have no friends, I HAVE NO ONE TO BE MY BACK-UP PLAN. Pardon me while I go cry now.

Insane in the membrane:

Ok, am I the only pregnant woman out there who is not totally convinced that the "baby" inside of her is actually a baby? Does anyone else suspect that it could be something else, like a big fish or a bird? Or just a tempermental growth of some sort?

Fucking Memes:

I normally don't do these things, but I am crazy for this girl, and would do whatever she told me to. After this, no more memes.

Four jobs I've had:
1. Selling mumus to old ladies
2. Camp counselor
3. Bagel salesperson
4. Teacher

Four places I've lived (I've only lived four places. Well, four cities.)
1. Los Angeles
2. Santa Rosa
3. San Francisco
4. Mountain View

Four websites I visit daily:
1. sfgate
2. craigslist
3. salon
4. Each and every one of those on my sidebar, many times a day

Four television shows I love to watch:
1. West Wing
2. Lost
3. Family Ties
4. Sex in the City (I never saw it the first time around)

Four of my favorite foods:
1. Sushi (three months until we are reunited)
2. Dessert of any kind
3. Cheese
4. Crab

Four albums you can't live without:
(Warning: My musical tastes are sad and poor. If anything proves my inability to be hip, EVER, it is this category. I can't even do albums, I'll do artists.)
1. Ani Difranco
2. Patty Griffin
3. Dar Williams
4. There's this new band I just heard, Coldplay- they are really good. You should check them out!

Four places you'd rather be:
1. San Francisco
2. New York
3. Paris
4. Somewhere warm, where I was wearing a bikini all day

I'm cutting the chain off here.

What it feels like to cut off your own arm:

Awhile ago, I posted about the fact that our dog, Bella, bit someone in the face. I quickly took the post down, because I wasn't really willing to face what I knew was the truth yet.

Bella was a rescue dog and came to us obviously abused and quite skittish. For three years, we have made her the center of our daily lives. She brings us so much joy- those big brown eyes that stare at you woefully when you leave, the pure joy to see you return. The love has been immense, showered on us by her, and to her by us.

But there have been a few problems with Bella that we have, mostly, been able to control. She is still a bit skittish, and sometimes responds to situations in which she feels uncomfortable in a way that is unacceptable, namely snapping. The last time was more severe than it ever has been, and actually drew blood. Now granted, the woman put her face into Bella's face (note: something you should never do with a dog), but it still scared the living shit out of me.

I spent a long time afterwards alternately freaking out, crying, and becoming more skittish myself. Because, obviously, we are very shortly going to have a new roommate joining us, and said roommate will most certainly been putting his face into Bella's. And said roommate is going to have friends, friends whose parents probably don't want them around a skittish dog who snaps at them. I'm just saying.

So I found a dog behaviorist that I felt I could trust. And I told her about Bella, and her history, and the few incidents she has had. And the behaviorist told me, in no uncertain terms, that Bella should not be in a house with children. Because children basically act erratically, and Bella snaps when people act erratically, she was almost certain to bite our child. Then the nice behaviorist listened to me cry.

I keep thinking if things were different- if we were going to have a big yard, or lived in the country- we could make it work. But the fact of the matter is we are going to live in a small city apartment, and any dog is an extremely intricate part of our lives. And I have had to reconcile the fact that we can not put our child in that kind of danger. I know some people are willing to risk that, and I understand their choice. But I'm not.

So we have had to start looking into other homes for Bella. This is what it feels like to cut off your own arm. I cannot imagine our lives without her, or what it will feel like to walk away from her. When I even begin to think about it, I sob. And they aren't even the regular hormonal tears; they are pure grief. I love that dog, down to my very core. I cannot even begin to consider what life without her will be like, but I know I have to. If she is put into a situation in which she bites again, I'm afraid of what will happen- both to the person and to her. She needs to be somewhere where she can thrive, and that is not in a little apartment with three people.

I know it's the right decision, but it still hurts so much.

Cravings:

I have not had many cravings during pregnancy; it's been more about food aversions for me. For about five months, I couldn't even TALK about Mexican or Italian food, unless the Italian food was really bland and had nothing to do with tomatoes. Pizza is still totally out, unless it's some sort of fancy pizza. Sure, I'm enjoying ice cream and cheese danishes and wanting specific foods, but the only thing I've sent the lovely beausband out for at a slightly inconvenient time was a cucumber.

But Jesus Christ, I want some sushi. It's the one craving I have, and the one thing I can't eat. I've still been eating "sushi", meaning avocado rolls and salmon skin rolls and anything else I am allowed to eat. But I want tuna. Raw. On rice. With ponzu sauce. About 50 of those, actually.

I asked the people at the sushi restaurant if women in Japan were not allowed to eat raw fish during pregnancy and they didn't really have an answer for me. Surely this can't be a worldwide ban, right? But the thing of it is, I want raw TUNA at that, every pregnant woman's big no-no. Why is my body craving this so intensely if I can't have it? It doesn't seem right.

Bending and Breaking (wind):

I started a pre-natal yoga class this week. Twenty-one women, one room, lots of little swimming bebes. You know something bad is going to go down. I've decided one of three things is going to happen at a class:

1. Someone's water will break
2. Someone will start bleeding
3. Someone's going to fart

I'm betting on #3 myself. I mean, let's be reasonable here. Pregnant women? Contorting their already contorted bodies? Some gas is going to pass. I think everyone tried really hard to hold it in the first session, the same way you try to impress your fellow classmates on the first day of school by looking organized and intelligent and asking only important questions. But you know the facade cannot keep up.

I was curious to see how I compared, sizewise, to other women due around the same time as me. I feel huge, but people still say I look small. One woman there was due the day after me and she was probably twice my size! So maybe I am small. I noticed, however, that I seemed to be the only one who felt the need to groan when changing positions, which seems strange. I feel like I can barely move (please don't tell me how it's only going to get worse because I GET THAT ALREADY, BUT I CAN'T HELP HOW I FEEL TODAY), and women much bigger than me were moving around into all these positions without any sound. Of course, I've always been just a teeny bit vocal, right Mom?

I'll keep you posted on the first farter.

Why you need to watch the movie BEFORE you show it to your students:

So that you don't end up in the back of the room, head down on your desk, sobbing hormonal tears and having your students come up and ask you if you "need another Kleenex". Yeah, cause that would suck.

Just another manic Monday, ah-ah:

About a block away from school today, there was yet another stray dog in the street. A puppy at that- no more than nine months old. Of course, I had the obligation to round the dog up and get him in my car, since I can't just let these dogs run in the middle of the street, waiting to be hit by cars. I do this, or attempt to do this, on about a monthly basis around my school. This dog was tagged, however- no small miracle- so I brought him and his muddy self (which proceeded to get all over my clothes) to school and went to put him in the bike cage (our normal storage area for stray dogs), and there was already ANOTHER dog in the cage- a husky puppy with no tags found earlier. It wasn't quite as smooth as all this- there was the finding and "making" of a leash, a wriggling puppy to contain, and me and all my pregnant waddling self to deal with it. By 8:30, I was seriously out of breath.

But I needed the laptop carts to take a test 2nd period, so I waited around the office for the keys, where my VP was being berated by our school's most notorious parent. I heard her yelling at him more than once that "all the teachers are lying". Never a good sign. While I was in the office, the owner of the puppy I'd found came in to claim him. I told him I was the one who found his puppy, as if it wasn't evident from the PUPPY PAWPRINTS ALL OVER MY KHAKI PANTS and he just sort of shrugged at me. You're welcome, dude.

When I do finally get the keys and laptops, I find out they weren't charged over the weekend, which is BAD news, as we are on a tight schedule to get this testing done, and I have nothing else planned for a period that begins in... 5 minutes. By the skin of our teeth, we made it through.

Then there was the five hours of teaching, today being a day I had to talk quite a bit. My throat and head were killing me by 3:00. The baby put itself into a weird and sort of painful position for awhile, making me need to sit down.

I think overall, I prefer Sundays.

Embracing the dorkitude:

After weeks of feeling like I can't carry the multitude of heavy teacher bags for much longer, I broke down today and bought a rolling briefcase. That's right, I will now join the ranks of bad-backed nerds and geriatric folks everywhere. The lovely beausband tried to cheer me up by telling me that "Lots of the profs at Stanford have them!", but you know what? That only increased the dorkitude level.

The sacrifices I'm already making, I tell you.

Pregnancy Update 101:

I just want to tell you that it is really weird to have another person in your body with you, and I'm really beginning to realize that this is ANOTHER person. One who wants to do things on his/ her own timetable, and one who has very strong and active limbs in which to get my attention.

It's very strange to sit still, and feel someone jerking around inside of you. Also, this baby never seems to rest, which is a cause for concern. We are a resting family, damn it, and he/ she better get with the program.

Last night I was lying down and felt the baby sort of move to one side and I reached down and felt my stomach and could VERY CLEARLY feel the head and the butt. It was almost too much to bear; the incredible mix of awe and disgust.

It's still just so hard to fathom this is actually happening.

Credentialing:

There has been a lot of talk lately in the Edusphere about credentialing programs and their worth.

Which makes me want to tell you a little story of my own.

There is a woman in my credentialing class who I actually think is mentally retarded- if she's not officially, her IQ is certainly very close to qualifying. I don't mean this as insulting to her- it's just true. Basic concepts like how to write a lesson plan escape her after a year and a half, and she cannot keep a job because of her lack of competence. I'm not saying she doesn't try- she tries REALLY, REALLY hard- but it's really, really hard for her. I don't know how she managed to get through college- I know she did the JC to SJSU route, so she must have just worked hard and had teachers who didn't really know what to do with her, so continued to pass her along. It happens; I've seen it with her in every class we've had together. She always passes, because the professors are so befuddled.

With one semester of the program left, she will certainly get her credential at the end and be a "Highly Qualified Teacher".

This does not change the fact that she is extremely slow mentally. And that she will perhaps get a job teaching one of these days. How is this person highly qualified? Should people who are mentally retarded or with really low IQ's (remember, I mean this clinically, not with judgment) be allowed to teach? Is this what we are considering "highly qualified"?

And people wonder why I don't find my credentialing education valuable.

My new motto:

An apple pie a day keeps the doctor away!

The one in which I jump ship and become an emo blogger:

Last night, I was listening to the U2 song, "Sometimes you can't make it on your own", and thinking about Bono dedicating it to his dad and then to Dooce writing about her own response to the song shortly afterwards.

And then the tears started.

I don't talk much about my family on this blog, primarily because there is not much to say. I get along well with and love my mom (hi, mom!) and don't speak to my dad at all, so what is there to say?

But listening to that song last night made me think about the fact that there is really nothing of my dad in me, and how that's good, because he's not exactly the personality you'd want, but also sad, because I wish I had a better dad. We don't talk now because I couldn't take it anymore- the sociopathic behavior, the inability to consider anyone but himself, the constant lying, the taking and taking and taking he does. I couldn't accept his behavior and it came to a point where I either had to accept him for who he is or not deal with him anymore. I chose the later. I am always impressed with families who try to work things out and continue to be involved with each other through major strifes, but that is not my family's way. People pull the plug on others all the time, and this time I did it to my dad. It's something I vacillate between being incredibly proud of and horribly ashamed about.

Last night I had an image of calling him and saying, "Guess what? You're going to be a Grandpa." But deep inside, I know I don't want to be saying that to my dad; I want to be saying it to a dad who would actually care (years of therapy didn't count for nothing). I know my dad is lonely and probably depressed, and it makes me unbelievably sad to know that he IS going to have a grandchild and that he's not going to know that child. But I keep coming back to the fact that he causes me too much pain to have him in my life, and that he has made those choices and now must live with the consequences. It doesn't make me feel good, though.

The other part of this that makes me feel so much upheaval is the fact that I know that given the circumstances, I did the most radical act possible- I married a man who would never be like this. My own kids will never have to face this sort of situation and I am so very proud of this that sometimes I bawl hysterically. My husband is going to be the kind of dad I wish I'd had, and somehow this makes it all the more poignant.

Seriously? The hormones? Raging? Must stop.

Because the bent over in the kitchen, sobbing, unable to breathe MESS that I keep falling into is clearly not going to work out for three more months. I have honestly cried more in the last three days than in the last three YEARS put together. It's like being a PMS'd teenager all over again, cause THAT'S something you want.

New Years Eve, 2005:

7:00 p.m.: Wake up from 2.5 hour nap, very groggy. Bella has a bout of diarrhea.

8:00 p.m.: Run out to grab take-out before heading to party. Bella still having diarrhea..

9:00 p.m.: Watching retrospective of the year on TV, I begin sobbing uncontrollably because "2005 was so hard for people". Finish box of Kleenex.

9:30 p.m.: Lovely beausband and I get in tiff. More crying.

10:00 p.m.: Announce I am "too emotional" to go to party.

11:00 p.m.: Fold laundry. Bella cries at door and has even more diarrhea.

11:15 p.m.: Lovely beausband goes out to get Immodium AD for Bella.

11:30 p.m.: Play two games of Sequence.

12:00 a.m.: Happy New Year! Kiss the lovely beausband and eat chocolates.

1:30 a.m.: After two episodes of The Cosby Show, head to bed.

2:00-4:30 a.m.: Lovely beausband cannot sleep. Bella goes out twice to go to the bathroom. More diarrhea.

4:30 a.m.: Lovely beausband finally falls asleep.

5:00 a.m.: I wake up with horrible anxiety attack. Wake up lovely beausband and tell him to just "watch me" so I can fall back to sleep. Attempt deep breathing. Bella goes out for more diarrhea.

12:00 p.m.: Twelve hours after New Year, groggigly get out of bed.

3:00 p.m.: Back to bed for nap.

5:00 p.m.: Pics of the belly, week 25, aka The Week The Baby Never Stopped Kicking