so tremendously overdue

So my last post was more than a year and a half ago. Shameful.
It is especially shameful considering the events of the last year and a half.
Let's just say it may have been one of the most eventful 20 months of my life -- some incredibly high highs and some pretty tough lows.
So I'll just give you the Cliff Notes version:
Sept. 12, 2009, Michael and his best bud Ray (who share a birthday) were celebrating with about 30 of our friends at our house. The party was super awesome complete with a giant jumpy water slide, drive-thru daiquiris and some awesome friends. I'd made Michael and Ray's favorite cakes complete with fancy candles as well as cupcakes. There was PLENTY of cake. After the boys blew out their candles Michael says, "There's not enough cake. I got another cake because I didn't think there would be enough."
I grumbily go inside because I'm kind of pissed off because there is more than enough cake. He calls me back outside and he walks toward me with a white sheet cake in his arms with the words, "Will you marry me" written in pink icing.
So sweet. I couldn't believe it and for some reason was convinced he was going to smash it into my face.
I said yes and squealed and cried.
It was so much fun as friends filtered in later that night -- I'd say, "Look at this cake" and they'd squeal like I had.
I'm a lucky girl.
So by that Monday I had a venue and wedding date picked. My in-laws thought I was insane, but we have discussed my planning proclivities.
Wedding planning and events came and went. It was great fun. I had a wonderful shower at Aunt Brenda's house put together by my friend Tia and new family in Louisiana. Dress shopping with David was interesting. I scoured the internet for deals, DIY techniques and other craziness to make this wedding happen.
I also got a second job at Walden Books and had the best time (and got some great deals.) Everyone got books or other items from the bookstore that year for the holidays. And it was fun. If I could make as much as I make in my "real job" at the bookstore, I'd totally do that full time.
The crazy planning for the wedding -- which was also a lot of fun -- came to a screeching halt just a few weeks before the wedding itself with a phone call.
I immediately knew something was up when my mom called and said, "Are you at work?" "No." "Is Michael there?" "Yes." "Your dad has cancer."
It didn't happen all that abruptly but it felt like that. It felt like I'd been shot. I lost it. I cried like a baby. I had no idea what to do. I'm crying now typing all this. Sigh.
Michael took the phone. He got the details. It didn't really matter. Details didn't change the facts.
We all knew dad wouldn't live forever. No one does. But my dad has struggled with illnesses before. He's been at the verge of some terrible stuff but always pushed through it. And although we are hopeful he will do it again -- HOPE -- is my motto now a days, it gets harder and harder to have that hope now.
So mom, dad and Sarah came as planned (well dad wasn't going to come until the weekend of the wedding but with the news and how he was feeling came early) a week before the wedding. It was wonderful to have everyone together. It had been forever since we'd all had time together as a family.
The wedding was perfect. It was a beautiful day on March 27, 2010. We were married outside of the Samuel Guy House in Natchitoches, La. The reception was there as well. We had a brunch with mimosas, an omelet and belgian waffle station, cheese grits, sausage and biscuits.
Everyone was there. We had an awesome photo booth with costumes, we had an amazing live band -- Fat Boys South -- and it was the best time with family and friends. We started the day around 5 a.m. (getting ready, photos, etc.) and didn't stop partying until as late as 3 a.m. It was perfect.
Time came and went. Michael and I honeymooned in New Orleans and had a great time.
Work was work. We both continued to slave away at the word factory. Until late June...
With dad being sick, well really for the past several years, I've wanted to get closer to home. Dad's illness just gave the desire some urgency.
I started a job in Anderson, Ind., as the government and business reporter on July 1, 2010. I moved by myself and after just a few months of marriage Michael and I went it alone. He stayed in Louisiana living with Ray at our old house (which Ray moved into) and I moved here by myself with the Van Gogh.
It was tough, for both of us. Lots of tearful phone calls, lots of emails, lots of texts. But we made it.
In September Michael joined me and worked as a freelance reporter for both The Town Talk in Louisiana (via his desk in Indiana) and for the paper I work for here. In October he was named the sports editor at The Chronicle Tribune in Marion. It is long hours and an hour commute one way so I know it is tough for him. But he's a trooper.
I have tried to take advantage of being close to home and go see mom and dad as often as possible. Dad has good days and bad. There have been several hospital stays, even a long stint in ICU and a surgery, but we revel in the good days.
On Nov. 13, we threw a surprise party for the coolest dad around. Our pretty awesome family came from near and far to celebrate the day with us as well as friends. It was an amazing day.
The following Monday was a pretty amazing day too. Michael and I decided, even though we hadn't even been married a year, that it was time to give Van a little brother or sister. Like the move, dad's illness hastened this desire. I can't imagine my child not getting to know, or at least meet, his grandfather who is one of the most amazing people around.
So that Monday -- Nov. 15 -- I thought perhaps maybe the baby making had "stuck" and drove to Walgreen's on a full bladder (because first thing in the morning is the best time to test) picked up some tests and then rushed to work. I took the test in the bathroom at work and it was positive. I took it again. It was still positive.
I went out to my car and called my mom in tears. I called Michael. Gulp. That was his reaction. It was followed by excitement.
And from that point on Poppy was a part of our lives. Poppy is the baby's name (unknown gender) for the time being as when we found out about the baby he or she was the size of a Poppy seed.
The baby is now the size of a large plum and I'm nearly 12 weeks along. It is all very exciting.
So ups, downs and in-betweens, it has been a heck of a year and a half.
That's all for now (I've done more than enough). I will try to be a better, more dedicated blogger!

Pressure...

There's a song called "Pressure" that is one of the ring tones on my phone. I'm not sure who sings it, David picked it as it is his ring tone. It has the same riff or sound as "Ice, Ice, Baby." Before Michael and I started dating, David was the ICE (in case of emergency) in my cell phone.
OK, there is a point to this story... pressure is the theme of the day.
We're all under it. Sometimes it seems so strong that you feel like you can't breath. It can be suffocating. The one applying the pressure probably has no idea the torture they are inflicting on you. Nine times out of 10 it is one of the people in your life that loves you the most, and what they are pressuring you about is something they think will make your life better. But it doesn't make it any less suffocating.
In addition to all being under pressure of some kind, I'm sure we all take turns doing the pressuring ourselves.
Those that know me well wouldn't be surprised to learn that I'm a planner (some would even say a tad-bit controlling, but planner is fairer and nicer). It's a compulsion. It hasn't always been that way. I've spent a good part of my life in places where time had a whole other concept than what we operate on. Maybe it is all of that uncertainty for so long that made me this way. Maybe it is the fact that I have little power over my medical woes that I desire to plan the other things in my life.
Don't get me wrong... I love chaos. I'm certainly spontaneous at times. I've had my crazy moments, but I still have a broader desire to have a "basic plan."
The last 10 months have caused that big, broad, basic plan to change pretty drastically. When I first moved here I wasn't going to even think about dating a Louisiana boy. I was going to put in my time and get the heck out of dodge. But two and a half years later and in dodge I still rest. Curled up in bed next to me (well at least on the nights that he doesn't fall asleep on the couch) is a born and bred Louisiana boy.
Here comes the pressure, which is SO far from intended. (They say the first step to addressing a problem is admitting it, right?)
I love Michael. I know I'm going to spend the rest of my life with this wonderful, wonderful man! And any talk of this magical ring -- that is nothing more than a symbol of our commitment to and love for each other to the rest of the world -- was nothing more than me being excited about the next step. I know that he loves me and has made that commitment to me without that metal and gemstone! And even sillier talk of wedding venues, flowers and babies is just crazy talk. It is the impending 30-year-old in me talking, promise.
Ladies out there, I'm not crazy for being excited about and looking forward to the rest of my life with my soul mate am I?
So, I'm going to take the pressure from my family to move closer to home for what it's worth and as it's intended -- a desire to have their baby closer to home so they can see her and take care of her.
And I hope that I can stop any unintended pressure and get across only that I'm excited about what the future holds for us.
I'm enrolling in my 12-step program tomorrow, promise!

Medical mishaps and why you just have to cry sometimes

So things aren't always that exciting, and I don't know if I would classify this week as "exciting," but it was certainly eventful.
If you haven't heard my classify myself as a lemon yet you can hear me say it now (well imagine I'm saying it) "I'm a lemon! There's a lemon law that allows for a trade-in in these situations. I demand a new body!" OK, now that I've said that and I've moved on to reality, I "broke down" this week and had another "episode."
I'm throwing all these quotes in because these are the various phrases used to describe my "syncopal episodes" which are really me passing out and smacking the heck out of my head. It typically happens at the most inopportune times (not that there really are opportune times to lose consciousness). It has happened during press conferences of a national news event, outside of a burning home, in front of a brick hearth and most recently after a mayor's press briefing onto a marble floor. Fun stuff huh!
Well, far removed from it there are a few funny moments from this most recent "medical mishap." My friend Rob, who has been around for this phenomenon before was on hand. Up until a few weeks ago Rob was also a co-worker. Now he's competition. Well, unconsciousness apparently overrides competition, even "minutes before the noon." Rob knows that the whole passing thing out happens, and I am NOT a fan of 911 getting called. This is what I've been told happened:
Rob took control of the scene assuring every one that every thing was OK. That lasted for only a few minutes when he started to crumble like a little girl concerned that I'd broken my neck. Apparently I wouldn't come to, was shaking funny and laying in an odd way. Well after several minutes a city clerk took my black high-heel off and stuck it in my face. My feet are apparently stinky enough to bring me out of unconsciousness. Awesome!
Well emergency medical folks came and went. I knew the firefighters, not at all embarrassing! I didn't go with them. Instead I called a frantic Michael to come and get me to take me to the emergency room because my head and neck hurt SOOO bad. He left in such a rush that the first time he walked out of the house he didn't have a shirt on. He eventually got one on but came to pick me up wearing swim trunks, flip flops and a T-shirt.
We went to Cabrini and started the waiting game. OK, so it was only like 30 minutes but I've never had to wait in an ER. Usually they rush me right back and I was hurting. And there were terribly loud and obnoxious children screaming all around.
We get back and the poking and prodding begins. SUCKS!
We got there around noon and didn't leave until around 8 p.m. Michael, who was exhausted, was a trooper. He didn't sign up for this. I'm apparently even giving him gray hairs! But Michael eventually had to go to work, and I really didn't want to be by myself. Well, this is where living 15 hours from family makes things tough. Michael goes to work, Rob has a brand new baby and wife at home and David is on vacation. So I was going to have to be by myself.
Michael's wonderful momma though came and hung out with me. What a blessing! Even though I don't have "my family" here, I feel like Michael's family has become mine. It meant so much to me to have her there and made that experience so much better.
I came home that night and slept until the next morning when the medical mishaps continued. I woke up and the subdued feelings of nausea were full-front. I spent the day throwing up and feeling miserable. I couldn't even keep an ice cube down.
That's where having to cry came in. As great as it is to have Michael here to take care of me and his loving family it's not the same as my own momma. She called and I cried and cried. A late afternoon prescription to control the nausea made all better. Around 8 p.m. I even got hungry. Michael made me a grilled cheese sandwich (with honey butter... interesting mistake.)
All of this gobbly gook means this -- I'm tired of this whole sick thing but am not giving up and will continue to fight, I have an awesome dude to take care of me, I am grateful for my new family but I still miss and need my momma!
Happy, healthy thoughts your way!