Unplanned Parenthood

Dissolved

This week I found out that my divorce is final.  The judge signed the "Dissolution of Marriage" decree.

I found out via e-mail because I had e-mailed the county clerk's office to get an update and see if there was anything further they needed from us.  She responded that the judge had signed the dissolution last Friday.  I read that as I browsed through Old Navy, trying to remember what I went there for in the first place, and my friendly little iPhone buzzed good-naturedly, "you've got mail!"

I wasn't expecting that e-mail or really that news.  I mean, obviously I knew it was coming, I just didn't expect to get it while I fondled cheap camisoles.  I had a twinge of...something.  I think my mom described it best as a moment of "wow, that's really too bad."  And I mean that in all sincerity.  I'm sad and sorry that things have ended this way, but I also know that this is the right thing for both of us.

I've said it before, but right now I'm the strongest and happiest I've been in a long, long time, and I would venture to say that he is, too.  What's right at 23 isn't necessarily right at 30.  People grow up and apart and all that.

Things are good.  And there's still a little twinge of something when I think about it and catch myself by surprise, but that just takes time.  A year ago when people told me that "time heals all wounds," I wanted to punch them and roll my eyes at the same time.

But I'm glad I never did that because time does, indeed, heal.  Now I have a better friendship with my ex than I have in years.  Neither of us has to be angry or hurt or resentful anymore.  Our focus is Jack and we can be friends.  And that feels right and good.

I'm hanging on.  I'm ready for the next phase, however wild the ride might be.

A substance of some kind

I just went over the posts I've put up here for the last couple of months and they are mostly cop-out picture posts.  Yes, everyone loves pictures and one of the reasons I write here is to chronicle life with Jack, but I haven't put anything of substance up lately (wait, have I ever?  And don't get your hopes up, I doubt this is The Post I've Been Waiting to Write.).  One of my favorite bloggers, Emily, recently wrote a post talking about how hard it is to write when you aren't in the practice of doing it regularly because you feel this pressure to Write Something Important.

The truth is that I have a lot of things to say, but I also don't really know yet where certain lines are drawn in terms of my personal life.  Many people who read here are here to know about Jack and so I've tried to concentrate on that part.  I'm skeptical about writing long, deep posts about Jack because it boils down to this: this is really fucking hard and also the most rewarding, wonderful thing I've ever done.  How many different ways can I say that?  Well, it appears that I have no idea and so I just keep shoving pictures at you.

(I have no idea where this is going.  *thinking of transition subject*)

We are going to tumbling class this morning, and let me just tell you that watching toddlers touch their toes in an effort to "warm up" is just about the cutest thing I've ever seen.  I love that Jack is at this age where he's finally starting to shift from parallel play to trying to play with other kids.  He notices them and suddenly wants to engage them, impress them, and show them what he can do.  It's so fun to watch.

And, as for my personal life, I think we shall just call him R for now. 

My 32nd year started at 3:15 a.m. - thanks, son!

So!  Today is my 32nd birthday.

Five or six years ago I was sitting with my friend Robert (hi Robert!) at Cambridge Common in Cambridge, MA, drinking a beer and talking about life and taxes (Robert also does my taxes) and I mentioned that things were feeling so up in the air and I felt kind of frustrated because I thought my 20's were supposed to be the "best years of my life."  He replied, "Who told you that?  The 30s are way better.  In your 30s you know yourself better and have settled into yourself."  Never have truer words been spoken.  I went through the Quarter Life Crisis, and several pretty tough years, culminating in Ultimate Suckiness about a year ago.  But, wow.  What a difference a year makes.  I am stronger and more confident than I have ever been.  I have my own place, I am raising a beautiful, smart son, I have a life filled with people who love me, I have a stable job.  My life feels full of potential, happiness, love and growth.  I am incredibly lucky.  Today I am recognizing my luckiness, and I hope I remember it every single day.

So far, my 30s totally fucking rock.

Memorial Weekend: Food Edition

I had a wonderful weekend at my dad's house.  My step-mom and I made coconut cupcakes for my sister's birthday, filled with gingered mango puree, which we then topped with white chocolate Italian buttercream.  To make 'em even more gorgeous, we topped each one with a white chocolate seashell that we painted with luster dust.  Check it out:

Between the cupcakes and the buttercream we were just an eensy weensy shy of 3 pounds of butter.  Let's just say they were...rich.  And pretty much the most delicious cupcakes ever created.

We also made potato salad, flank steak and ate copious amounts of watermelon.  The weather was gorgeous and I read an entire novel.  For three nights in a row I slept until almost 9:00 the next morning.  It was an amazing weekend.

I went running this morning, for the first time outside the gym, and it was freaking HARD.  There are, like, hills and cars and shit.  But, man, it made me feel good.

P.S.  Shawnna and I make the best potato salad ever and we use very few utensils to do so.  Also, quality control is very important.

In which TLC's A Baby Story and Home Improvement kicks my ass

I've had the flu for 3 days.  Today is the first day that I've actually been able to be vertical for more than 5 minutes.  Yesterday I slept all. day. long.

The good thing about sleeping all day is that you don't find yourself in situations like I found myself today.  Prone, on the couch, switching back and forth between TLC's A Baby Story and the finale episode of Home Improvement.

Let me just throw this out there: WHAT A HORRIBLE IDEA.

In Home Improvement, Tim loses his job but Jill gets a job offer in another state and so the family reminisces about the good times they had in the house, and then Tim gets his job back but doesn't tell Jill because he know she wants (and deserves!) the job she got in Indiana, but then Jill finds out and they end up staying in the house because THEY LOVE EACH OTHER AND THEIR FAMILY AND THAT'S WHAT'S IMPORTANT.  OH MY GOD.  ENTER WATERWORKS.

On TLC's A Baby Store there's a couple who was told they couldn't have children but then miracle of miracles she got pregnant naturally and they are so blessed and then they showed the whole labor and the perfect baby girl was born both parents cried and IT WAS A GODDAMN MIRACLE.  ENTER WATERWORKS.

I haven't eaten in three days, I'm dehydrated, Jack should be home any minute and I'm not sure how I'm going to get through the afternoon.  Also the evening.  And then the night.

One day at a time

Wow.

My day started at 4:05 this morning with a whiny, teething baby.  This baby, my lovely darling boy, tortured me until 7:45 when my sister called and asked if we wanted to meet her and her kids (Jack's very best friends) for breakfast.  "Yes," I breathed desperately into the phone, "please."

I got us ready, skidded towards the front door, and took off like a shot out of the driveway.  Jack was asleep in 10 minutes.  I arrived at the restaurant, and sat in my front seat with my shoulders hunched.  It was 8:30 in the morning, and I was surrendering.  My sister got my breakfast to go and brought it out to me, where I ate it with a plastic fork, watching it rain and listening to the snores from the backseat.

It was a long day.  After 583 hours, I looked at the clock and it was 11:22 a.m.  Not only was my child cutting his one year molars (whining, sticking his fingers way back in his mouth, gagging himself, whine, gag, repeat), but it was one of those days when I really just wanted to go home, lay on my couch and feel sorry for myself.  All day long.  Maybe I would eat ice cream for breakfast.  Wine for lunch.

The really shitty thing about going through a break-up with a baby is that babies, apparently, don't make allowances for pathetic days.  I wanted to be pathetic.  Instead I just felt pathetic and carried around a gagging, whining baby.  Actually, that's, like, totally pathetic.

My sister took him for an hour and I went to the gym.  FOR MY FOURTH RUN OF THE WEEK.  OH MY GOD, I AM AMAZING.  And also pathetic.  Jack played outside, whined some more, ate some beans, I cleaned the beans off the floor, he played with his friends and now he's sleeping.  Peacefully sleeping.

Let's have three fist pumps in the air for family and friends.  I survived today.  I couldn't have done it without them.

Some days you feel desperate at 11:22 a.m. and thankful at 8:12 p.m.  We made it through today.

Medicated

It's so cliche.  I never thought I'd be a person on anti-depressants.  I didn't need them.  I was fine, just stressed out.  I just had a lack of self-confidence that I needed to deal with.  I got irritable sometimes, but doesn't everyone?

I look back on my whole life and shake my head.  I have dealt with crippling anxiety most of my life.  What most people would describe as "high-strung" was really the tip of the iceberg, it was the outsider's view of me.  It was all the anxiety that I couldn't keep internal.

In retrospect, it was probably manageable until I hit about 20 years old and since then, for the last 10 years, it has grown monstrous, too much for me to handle.  Even as a child I remember lying in bed, getting myself worked up over...what?  Nothing.  What was I going to wear to school?  Would the other kids laugh at me?  Was I going to wake up on time?  Did I finish all my homework?  Maybe I should look at it one more time?  Over and over and over.

As an adult, this anxiety caused me to question myself.  Obsessively.  Worrying about every ultimate outcome.  What would happen tomorrow?  Friday?  Next month?  How would I deal with every possible scenario?  Year after year this questioning ate away at my self-confidence.  I didn't think I could do (insert project/work/school/social event here) because WHAT IF?  Many people thought I was quiet or shy (or sometimes even snobby, which is often how shy people are mistaken), but the truth was that, for example, in a group of people if I thought of something to say I would then obsess over how it was going to sound, how it would be received, how I could say it better, is it relevant, is it noteworthy, until it was too late to say anything and the subject had passed.

I couldn't answer the phone sometimes for fear of not knowing what to say to someone.  I would obsessively check the front door if I heard footsteps in the hallway and silently pray that no one was about to knock on my door.  Because what would I say?  What would they think?  I hated running into people I knew or hadn't seen in a long time for fear that they were judging every little thing about me.  Not because they were judgmental people but because I was constantly judging myself.

It was very hard for me to relax.  Ever.  I would often lay awake at 3 a.m. wondering if a check cleared our account, what I was going to wear to work the next day, going over the upcoming workday in every. minute. detail.  I started drinking.  Sometimes a lot.  Over the years, I settled into a routine that always included a glass of wine the moment I got home from work.  I never drank during the day, but always in the evening.  It sometimes started earlier on the weekends if I didn't have anything to do.  I couldn't just be.  It never occurred to me that I was medicating myself.  Now I know that that is exactly what I was doing.  After a couple glasses of wine, I was funny and charming and said things I wouldn't normally say.  Or couldn't say.  The relentless knot in my stomach loosened up.

Then I got pregnant, and I couldn't drink.  The anxiety continued to build, and then I had a baby.  A wonderful, tiny, perfect baby that I couldn't enjoy because I was wound up so tight I couldn't sleep, couldn't breastfeed, could not relax for five minutes.   I cried all day long, until I finally got help.  Finally, after 30 years.

I've been on this drug for about 6 months now.  I have never felt better.  Well, actually, I have never felt this normal.  I feel normal, content, patient.  Most importantly, and what I am so thankful for, I feel present.  I am confident, I can think clearly.  I don't feel medicated, and in fact I feel the opposite.  I feel like I have spent my entire life on stimulants and have finally come down.  I can think about the future and get excited instead of anxious.  I can be happy in my own skin.

I'm trying not to beat myself up for not seeking help sooner or being more plugged in to my body and realizing sooner that I had a problem.  I'm trying not to feel like I wasted my 20's.  I don't want to look back, just forward.

I don't advocate that people stay on anti-depressants long term.  However, I do believe there is a difference between situational depression and chemical imbalance.   I don't think that therapy is my answer right now.  I don't think that meditation, yoga and diet are enough for me right now.  I've practiced those things in the past.  I have tried to feel better on my own and I have been unsuccessful.  I do hope to get to a place where I don't have to be on medication.  But one thing at a time.

The key words are "right now."  Right now I feel good.  Right now I'm concentrating on healing on the inside and being good to myself, kind to myself.

I'm starting to like myself and it feels really good.   

Swan Song

Jack and I are living on a small lake about 45 minutes north of Seattle.  Every night about a hundred swans descend in flocks of 5-10 birds, landing with a splash on the lake and then spend their evening honking.  Loudly.  In the morning, as the sun breaks over the lake, they ascend again to spend their day...somewhere.  I assume they're going to a field somewhere or maybe a secret swan society.  I've considered trying to tag one, just to find out what they get up to during the day, but have you seen a swan up close?  They're huge.  Also, I have no sort of technology with which to "tag"  swan.  It doesn't stop me from thinking about how I would do it, though.  I seem to have a lot of thinking time on my hands in the evening, during those magical hours between Jack's bedtime and mine.

Here's a glimpse of the evening swan ritual:

Swans from Katie on Vimeo.

Washingtonian

It's very strange to be back in my hometown.

I grew up in a small town north of Seattle, a town populated by farmers, loggers and more farmers and loggers.  I left when I graduated highschool, when I was 17, and have only been back sporadically for holidays and to visit family.

I suddenly find myself driving the same streets, but suddenly they have names attached instead of just 'the road in front of Vern's house.'  The elementary school I attended is completely renovated with only one original building intact.  The highschool is gone, moved to a bigger, better location.  The greasy hamburger and ice cream joint I worked in is now a fancy-pants bank.  I just found out that one of my highschool boyfriends passed away in November.  My childhood home now looks like a half-way house.  They cut down my tree.  I drove by the house of the first boy I kissed.  I doubt he lives there anymore.

The library is exactly the same and so is main street.  The guy that lived across the alley from us when we were growing up had his house painted a hideous neon teal when I was a kid and it's still that color.  The hardware store is still here, and so is the diner, the bar and the seedy bowling alley.

We are in a valley here, with a river running from one end of the town to the other, green fields and snow-topped mountains surround us.  It's much more beautiful than I ever knew.  It's quaint and friendly and people wave at you and hold doors for other people.  It's nice.

I'm working part-time at the old dairy, in a store that carries local products, espresso and groceries.  I used to come down to that exact store, back when it was still the dairy, to buy ice cream after school when I was in junior high.  Everyone did.

Everything is the same, yet everything is different.  Sometimes, driving to work in the morning, I feel like I'm in a dream.

Where to begin?

Sigh.

So much has happened in the last two weeks that I just don't know where to begin.  How do I put it all down into words during Jack's nap of an undetermined length of time?  How do I make that last sentence make sense without re-writing it another 800 times.

Here's a basic rundown:

I'm in Washington, where Jack and I will be hanging out for a while.  LP is finishing up in Arizona and then will be joining us.  We are actively seeking to leave Arizona and relocate to the pacific northwest.

I am starting a Baking and Pastry Arts program here in April.  I am going to get the education required to do what I've wanted to do for so long.   I'm going to be a baker.  A pastry cook.  Whatever.  I will be covered in flour and chocolate and I will be artistic and poor and baking delicious goods that will bring smiles to faces.

We are planning to relocate in Portland after he takes care of his end of the business side of things and I take care of my end of the education side of things and then we are taking our amazing, precious son with us to the land of car-free, 100% post-consumer-recycled-goods, wheat-grass-slurping, hippie goodness.  My peeps.

There is so much to think about and so much to plan for, but I'm not anxious this time.  Yes, it obviously has something to do with being medicated, but I also feel like we're moving forward.  We are not at the mercy of "outside influence."  We are making decisions that we are both excited about and are looking forward to implementing.

I am truly, indescribably happy.

Huh.  How about that?