Please, please, please, let my stomach forget it belongs to me…

I’m trying really hard not to bitch too loudly about how utterly suck this morning-midmorning-noon-afternoon-evening-night-midnight-earlymorning sickness is, but it’s really hard. Now it seems that things that work once aren’t likely to work again – like a baby with colic, only with more nausea. Sprite seems to be helping a bit, but not completely, and only for a short period of time before it stops. (Maybe I should burp more…)

Did I mention that I got a letter back from Black Gate Magazine and that they want to see “Two Rings and a Glove”? I’m very stoked about this, and I started re-reading the last edit I had for it. Lucky thing, too, as it seems that I have completely deleted one of the more vital scenes, where Opureve gives Naghire the crucial hints he needs to complete his quest. I make repeated references to it, but I have no idea where the original passage went, and trying to find the voice of this piece is going to be a bitch. It has that very flowery, opulent, fairy-tale-fantasy feel to it, with a lot of “well, you’d understand if you saw it” kind of comments (such as allusions to unprintable words and unspeakable acts of loving). I have to say, it’s one of my favorite stories and I’m glad that the query letter went well. It’s still going to be a long shot, though, because Black Gate only buys one or two pieces per month, and they have a HUGE slush pile, from what I understand. Still, if they’re looking for something light, engaging, and downright fun, that’ll be an extra not-bad-bit-of-money for me.

The kids love PokeMon, which is good, and I sneak a bit of time here and there to play it as well, not just because I like playing PokeMon but because whether I played it or not, the kids would constantly be asking me, “Mom, what do I do next? How do I faint that one? Is that a shadow? Can I get it later? What kind of PokeBall should I use? Is that guy important? Can I check the news now? How do I get to that prize box?” It’s better to have an answer than to roll my eyes and buy them cheat books.

Joe and I spoke briefly about the possibility of twins. He said, “If it’s two girls, we’ll name one Grace, and we’ll name the other one Supplies – it’s Japanese for ‘unexpected joy’!” And he thinks I’m a little wacky for wanting to keep “Justin Case” handy if we have a boy…

On one hand, how cool would it be to have twins? That would so, like, rock! And it would explain why I feel like such complete and utter crap, thereby relieving me of the inadvertent guilt I’m subjecting myself to. On the other hand, how much more scary could it be to go through that? I mean, it probably wouldn’t be that big of a deal except that I’m a very small woman – there’s only so far out I can grow in the first place.

Meh, meh-mrow-meh-me-mow.

In other words, “No way patty cake oh no no weh go down up cup spoon oh no peekaboo I don’t believe it oh no peekaboo”. And “one two tickle!”

That’s a translated-into-human version of Roux’s stream-of-consciousness this evening. He looked like he was getting tired, and then he just looked up and started rattling off almost every word he knows, then he stopped, put his head in his hands, looked up again, and hissed at the cats.

We have such a strange child.

And I’d rather talk about him than bitch to high heaven about what a royal pain in the ass it is to move when you pretty much have to pack, keep house, wrangle kids, and rearrange, all by yourself. Why won’t I bitch? Because Joe is out there doing just as much, just in different ways. There are times that I’m insanely jealous of his ability to leave the house every day – at least it’s a change in scenery – but then I start thinking about it, and the only thing I really do when I leave is sit there and wonder how the kids are doing.

In other news, the Untamed (the band Joe plays bass for) has an audition this Sunday, March 13, at the Sundance Saloon in Fort Collins, Colorado. I’ve only been playing phone tag with the booking lady there for a few months, and hopefully this means that there will be more regular gigs for the boys over the summer. It’s a Tuesday-Friday-Saturday stand for them when they get booked there, and it’s a pretty high-traffic place, so… yeah, I know no one is close enough to show up to the audition night, but at least send good vibes in the meantime.

All hail the deep-fried pot stickers!

And…. the baby is now asleep. I guess he had to empty his word bag before he finally drifted off to slumber.


Just had to share: WE’RE PREGNANT!

It’s probably going to be a girl, and she’s definitely going to be a Scorpio (barring any third-trimester oddities). This totally explains the boobies and the headache.

I’m going to go clean house now. Anyone wanna come out and help us move? I’m not going to be able to move all this stuff myself now…

And the Cute Attacks continue

It turns out that Joseph is learning more and more of his words, but hasn’t quite figured out the contexts. So, this morning, I asked him if he wanted eggs for breakfast, and he said, “No…” and shook his head. And then I asked him if he wanted chocolate cake, or chocolate chip cookies, or toast, or bacon, all with the same answer. Then I asked him what he wanted for breakfast, and he said, “Up!”

With any luck, the Normality Factor will be updated soon. Joe and I are working on a new design. He said “white board”, but I’m thinking “chalkboard” more, I think… with his skills, I might be able to implement a more interesting chalk-board design, with wingdings and such.

Only two days until my letter gets to Cassidy’s mom. Not like I’m nervous or anything.

Okay, I’m really, really nervous.

Yesterday, I felt like crap. Slept on and off from four in the morning until one in the afternoon. Or, more specifically, I DIDN’T sleep on and off – between Joseph teething and me just feeling yucky, sleep was not a constant factor. Then I got up (Finally!) and did some other stuff and made some phone calls and went downstairs to the garage for my traditional Morning Half-a-Cig – and got so damned sick to my stomach that I had to lay down again.

Of course, everyone thinks I’m pregnant already, but I don’t think I could get pregnancy sign only a few days after ovulation. I mean, it’s not completely unheard of, but how likely is it? Not very.

I think I was just sleep depped. I’m not even going to think about whether or not I’m pregnant for at least another week or so.

Hopefully, the Grand Finale

Dear Cassidy,

Today is your eleventh birthday. With all of my heart, I wish I could be there to give you a hug and tell you how glad I am that you’re alive. I wish I could tell you how much I love you, how much I have always loved you, and how much I will continue to love you, every moment of every day.

But, alas, I cannot be there. It seems that your parents forgot to forward me a current address when they moved, so I’m not sure where you are right now. Honestly, that makes me a little sad–no, that makes me very sad, because although I would never do anything to endanger your happiness, there is a sense of security in knowing simply that you are safe and okay and happy. I am still struggling with the idea of what I might say to you if I ever get to meet you again, but I know this is simply my overactive imagination giving me things to chew on instead of focusing on the fact that you’re not here.

And, interestingly enough, I don’t think you *could* be here. You are exactly where you are supposed to be, and there is no reason to not think that it’s the most perfect place in the world for you. Amazing things came together to bring you and your parents together. I’m not sure if they ever told you the story of how we came together, or of when you were born. There is still a fear in me that they might not have ever found the right time to tell you that you were adopted, but that is something else that I’m trying to have faith in.

When I found myself pregnant with you, I was scared – terrified, really – and I thought of all the options and choices that are available to young women who find themselves in serious trouble. The only reasonable option was to find a good home for you – I knew that you’d have amazing things awaiting you, incredible things to do, mistakes and messes to make, skinned knees to experience, and feelings to feel. While I was going through a weekly paper one week, I found the advertisement that your parents had put in there, but the really interesting thing was, it wasn’t supposed to be there at all. Their ad had expired two weeks before, and the people at the paper just put in their listing to fill the space.

I’d tried calling a number of other couples before I called your mom, and by the time I got around to their ad, I was furious. I couldn’t believe the audacity of those people! Most of them clearly didn’t have the presence of mind to understand what being a parent was – even the ones that already had kids – and I was ready to just call anyone for the sake of venting. I called your mother, and I asked some pointed questions, and then something amazing happened.

My anger disappeared, and I realized that I was talking to the mother of my baby. And she realized she was talking to the mother of her baby, too.

Over the next several months, we talked at least once a week, and I fell more and more in love with your parents, knowing that they were the right people to take care of you. I admit freely that there was a big part of me that wanted to take care of you myself, but I also knew that it wouldn’t be fair to subject you to the hurt and healing that I knew I still had to go through. Here were these people that had built their whole lives to have a baby right at that moment, and there I was completely out of my depth and frustrated with the prospects that were thrust upon me. It was only common sense that said that if I loved you – truly and really and completely loved you the way I do – I would make sure that the people you were raised by would have every resource available to give you ever chance to be happy.

And that’s exactly what I did.

Now, time has marched on. You now have three half-siblings – an 8-year-old sister, a 6-year-old brother, and a 1-year-old brother. You may even have another one soon. I’m married to a wonderful man who holds me when I cry because I miss you, and doesn’t try to make the hurt go away – he just lets me feel it, and helps me back up when it’s over. We live in Wyoming, near the capital, and we have a large house with an extended spirit-family (people whom we love unconditionally without the blood relation), ten cats, and a large black dog. I still wear the nose ring I got on my first Mother’s Day, lo these many ages ago, and my hair has gone from black to red to natural blonde to blue with purple and green streaks back to black and now it’s red. I still look pretty much the way I did after you were born with no extra weight or anything, and it is my sincerest hope that you inherit some of my metabolism.

In about an hour, we’re going to have a big turkey dinner to celebrate this beautiful day, and I’m going to tell the story of your birth again. We’re going to toast to you and send you all the love and energy and happiness that we can, because that’s what families do.

And you are the luckiest girl in the world, because you have two families that love you and would do anything in the world for you. As you approach the rumbling mess of adolescence, I know that it can be hard to see how much your parents love you, and it is my birthday wish to you that you never completely lose sight of that.

Birthday wishes are very powerful things, you know. These days, I don’t think of myself so much as your birth mother as your “faery god-mother”. I graced you with the greated gift any person could want, full of every possibility and pitfall, and let you go to enjoy it. It was my honor and pleasure to carry you for your parents, and if I sometimes get sad, it’s only because I want to know that you and they both know that.

I love you, Cassidy. Happy Birthday.

— Dawn