September 17, 2001

Healing -- We are all in a state of bereavement, one with many complex stages. For me, I have to start living again, I cannot bring a life into this world while in a depressed state of mind. I owe it to the Alien to shake myself and worry about what may happen only when it happens, and otherwise get the heck on with my life.

As such, there is a new image in the Gallery of Visual Journal Entries for you to look at.

19:23 :: link :: email this link ::

September 16, 2001

Alien Action -- The Alien has been quite the little trooper through all this, patiently putting up with rollercoaster emotions, being squeezed regularly by Braxton Hicks contractions that are starting to take on some real oomph, and water retention that made me feel like I was walking on water balloons.

Apparently 4-6L of water is all it takes to reduce elephant feet back to human tootsies. That and somehow keeping my feet up and my body leaning forward for over a day.

We (Scott) also managed to get a photo of our nasty spider, only to discover that s/he is one of two spiders that size in the bushes, and shockingly, the second spider is bigger. Tomorrow I get a tripod to try my hand at capturing the digital souls of these little obsessions of mine. I am far too unsteady on my pins lately to manage without one. Standing still, you can see my pulse on my abdomen, and it makes my hands twitch. WHOOMPA WHOOMPA WHOOMPA.

The doctor appointment on Friday was the first time I heard “everything is going just fine, we're right on track, nothing to worry about”. But a close look at the timeline reveals the truth of the matter to me very clearly—I have until October 3rd (my grandfather's birthday, the same grandfather Sheridan is named after) to get this Alien outta the Mothership, else snip snip, we go under the knife. Why? Because the Alien is a big sucker, and we don't want it to get stuck. I'll technically only be slightly overdue (40.5 weeks) but as the head measured 41 weeks at 36, we're thinking, well, you know, that the noggin and the exit might be the wrong size for each other.

But I'm hoping for sooner. Down, out, down, out, down, out! Out you come little Alien, I wanna smell your toasty new baby smell, and your brother is aching to hug you. He's been carrying his stuffies and hammers and pens and food and books and the cats around, wrapped up in blankets and towels, like they are babies, practicing, so out you come. No time like the present!

23:35 :: link :: email this link ::