I don’t like to admit when I’m scared. Do any of us? But I’m going to admit to you that I’m scared and why. In my last post, I talked about the dream I had about having another baby. And that in the dream Little Girl was upset and that worried me. (Read on …)

I don’t remember the whole dream, but I do remember that I gave birth (no I’m not pregnant) and I didn’t know what the gender was until I checked inside the diaper. It was a girl. I dreamed I gave birth at 3 a.m. and that we brought her home that day and had somewhere to go that night and I didn’t know what to do with her. Do I take a few hours old baby with me or stay home? But I had to be wherever it was I had to be. (Yes, I know it’s all very unrealistic, but whatever, it was a dream.) And then, I realized I should feed her so I tried to nurse her and lo and behold, CHAMPION LATCHER (which never happened with our preemie Little Girl, so that was cool). And then we had to introduce her to Little Girl. At first she was fine and then she started to just sob her eyes out and so I had to hand off the new baby (and for those of you who know the girl name I have picked out if we ever have another daughter, that was her name) to her father and take Little Girl off by ourselves and reassure her that I still loved her and that I would miss our alone time together, but she would really love having a sister and they would grow up and be best friends, yadda yadda yadda.

Very strange dream. Does it mean anything? No idea. But I dreamed a few months before I got pregnant with LG that I had a baby girl, so who knows? I have to admit, though, the part about LG being so upset really bothers me. *sigh*

I wear glasses. I have an astigmatism and I am near-sighted. Oddly enough, when I went to get my eyes tested a few months ago, the eye doctor said my eyes had actually improved and that could be a result of pregnancy. The astigmatism had changed and he said that with all the changes in the body during pregnancy it’s not surprising that it could have happened. Hey, if I got a positive change in my body from pregnancy, I’m all for it.

I also wear glasses because I often get ocular migraines from bright lights. I wear my sunglasses outside and when driving during the day and I wear my regular glasses when I’m going to be exposed to really bright lights, like the lights we use for our monthly music gig at church. The anti-glare lenses help keep the bright light from adversely affecting my eyes and causing the ocular migraine.

Sunday we had our monthly church gig and I used my glasses. I usually take them off when I do my solos so they don’t mess up my field of vision when reading my lyrics. So I took them on and off throughout the afternoon. Then we did evening mass a few hours later and I usually do the same thing during mass - take them off for solos or during the sign of peace when I’m hugging people. I remember taking the glasses on and off and leaving them on my music stand at various times throughout the mass.

Then Mike and I went straight to a movie after mass. But when I reached into my purse to get my glasses so I could see the screen more sharply, they were nowhere to be found. I figured I must have left them at church and I’d get them Monday night when we did the 2nd part of our monthly music gig.

Monday night rolled around and as soon as I got there, I started looking for my glasses. I looked everywhere. Ev-er-y-where. No glasses. I went to the church office to check the lost and found. No glasses. I looked in the music folders in the car to see if they’d gotten shoved in with them the night before. I looked in the back of my car to see if they’d fallen out. I looked all over the music area some more. No glasses. Other people looked and still no glasses. So I figured somehow someway I’d lost them and I’d have to get new glasses. At least it wasn’t my prescription sunglasses so I still had those for when I was driving in the bright summer Arizona sun.

This morning Little Girl was doing something so adorable (pointing to her baby doll’s eyes and saying “eye” and then pointing to other body parts as I asked her to) that I had to call Mike on the phone to tell him about it. I dialed the phone and leaned on the kitchen island as I was telling him her latest feat. And just take a wild guess what I saw on the island? Yep. My glasses. How they got there I’m not sure, but there are two possibilities. The first possibility is that I’m losing it and I didn’t actually have them at mass and that I brought them home after the Sunday music gig and left them there (but I really remember having them at mass Sunday night - vividly - and picking them up as I was walking out of the choir area and besides, I didn’t see them on the island at any point before this morning). The second possibility is that they somehow magically transported themselves from church to my house.

I’m not sure if either possibility is good news. The only good news in this situation is that I don’t have to go pay for new glasses. I think my mom is messing with me from the great beyond. Either that, or I’m getting senile. Personally, I vote for my mom messing with me. Yep. That’s what I’m going with. Door number one.

Wow it’s Thursday and I just realized I didn’t post today. I’m so used to having the Thursday Thirteen to post about, that I almost forgot to post something today. Honestly, I just don’t have a lot to say this week. I think I’m on one of those “I don’t feel much like blogging” cycles right now. We’ll see how long it lasts.

Anyway, a couple of random comments:

• Thank you to all of you who commented on that post right down there about me not knowing how to not be a heart patient. I suppose right now I’m sort of in limbo, since I still have a year to go before they actually release me. And for gosh sakes, that’s 365 days I can worry about it. Yippee. I liken it to not knowing how to not hold your breath because you’ve been underwater for so long. I’ve worried about my heart for almost 11 years. I’m not sure I know how to stop. And there’s always that fear that I don’t really want to admit to that something will happen in the next 364 days to screw everything up. Once a worrier, always a worrier I guess.

• Little Girl is cracking me up. She holds up one finger (her index finger to be exact) and says “twoooooooooooooo”. And it’s so darn cute I don’t have the heart to correct it yet. If I get the chance, I’ll try to get a little movie of it because it is seriously adorable.

• She’s also freaking me out, because she once again climbed up on the sofa tonight. This time I happened to be watching her and saw how she did it. It’s not so much that I care whether she gets on the sofa, it’s that I’m terrified she’ll fall off backwards and get a concussion. I think I might need to go get one of those long body pillows to put on the floor next to the sofa so if she does fall, she’ll have a softer landing. It also means that my days of going to the bathroom by myself are numbered. *sigh*

Hmmm…I guess I had more to say than I thought I did.

I was born with a heart defect. Atrial septal defect. Hole in my heart. So from the day I was born, I was a heart patient. When I was four, I had open heart surgery to repair it. But I was still under a cardiologist’s care for a good part of my childhood. Then I was released. Released and told I could do anything. No restrictions. And I did a lot of stuff. But I had a scar from that surgery that reminded me that indeed I had been a heart patient even if I was now just a member of the “mended heart club”.

And then when I was fourteen, I developed an “atrial flutter” and so again I was a “heart patient”. But that got taken care of and soon enough I was off the medication and life went on.

But then when I was 28 (almost 11 years ago now), I had a heart attack. Unexplained. Probably a blood clot. A “fluke” one of my doctors said. And again I was a “heart patient”. And then there were more atrial flutters. And there were questions about whether or not I should get pregnant. And on and on. But through it all, for the last 11 years, I’ve been a heart patient.

Last year I hit the 10 year anniversary of my heart attack. And it’s been long enough, that no one considers it an issue anymore. Not even the insurance companies. And then my cardiologist decided that we should do something about these atrial flutters I kept getting. Something permanent. So I had an ablation. And it worked. It’s been almost a year since I had the procedure and my heart has been working perfectly. No flutters. No nothing. Just the occasional palpitation that we all get, but most of us don’t notice because most of us are not so very in tune with every beat of their hearts like I am. Because, you know, I’m a “heart patient”. And in a year, I’ll go back and most likely, they’ll release me and I’ll be done. I won’t have to go back anymore. No more checkups. Nothing. I won’t be a “heart patient” anymore. And well, I’m not sure I know exactly how to deal with that.

Being a heart patient has been part of who I am for so long, I’m not sure I know how to not be one. I’m not sure I know how to not think of that as part of my identity. The thought of it kind of freaks me out. How do you let go of something that you’ve taken ownership or for so long? How do I not be a heart patient? And why am I having such a hard time with this? Shouldn’t I be thrilled? Shouldn’t I rejoice? Shouldn’t I be ecstatic? Why do I feel like I’m losing something? Something that makes me who I am?

The scar that I got when I had open heart surgery when I four years old is still there. It’s part of my identity. It’s part of the very fiber of my being. I’ve had to live with it for 35 years. I’ve had to explain it to people. I’ve had to put up with it being there when I wear a low cut top. I’ve had to wonder if it made me less attractive. I’ve gotten used to it. I’ve accepted it. It’s part of me. And so has being a heart patient been. So has worrying about every twinge and every pain. Will I ever be able to accept that I don’t have to do that anymore?

When I had my heart attack, it rocked my world. It made me realize I was not immortal. That some day I would die. And I guess in some ways, ever since that day, I’ve worried about that. I’ve thought about that. I’ve been concerned. And, of course, someday I will die. We all do that. But maybe (hopefully) not anytime soon. And maybe not because my heart isn’t working the way it should.

It’s a lot to grasp. I guess I sort of figured I’d always be a “heart patient”. And now I have to get used to the idea that maybe, just maybe, I won’t.

Since I have nothing to write about today and I’m going to be crazy busy because I have two church gigs (and of course EVERYONE *cough*Marlene*cough* *cough*Rochelle*cough* is bailing on us for the 2nd gig (i.e. Mass) due to the stupid SUPERBOWL (and WHO CARES ANYWAY? :P) (Can you tell I’m slightly bitter? hehe), I thought I would just ask a question today. Respond if you care to.

Theresa and her hubby Mike had a “date night” Friday night sans kids for the whole night. Imagine that! I sure can’t! I know Marlene and her hubby have had overnights at nice hotels to get away by themselves and I’m sure others of you have done that also, my bro-in-law and his wife are apparently leaving their almost 3 yo with Grandma every other Friday night to do so, and I certainly know it’s important for marital harmony to get away once in awhile, but the thought of leaving Little Girl for a whole night is just more than I can take at this point. I would not be able to enjoy the time away AT ALL because I know I would be stressing out and thinking about her the whole time and be pretty all-around miserable and not be able to focus on Mike anyway. So, really, this is not an option for me yet.

Therefore, my question for all of you is: At what age did you leave your little one overnight for the first time?

Yellow Rose tagged me with a really weird meme about being weird and weirdly enough I’m going to do my best to think of five weird habits I have to write about!

1. Every time I wash my hands I have to put hand lotion on them right away. I can’t stand the feel of dry skin.

2. Whenever I see a white hair (especially if it’s curly) in my head or my husbands I will pluck it out.

3. My favorite place to kiss my husband is behind his ears. I have to kiss behind his ears before I will kiss his lips. And I have to sniff as I do it. (Is that a weird habit or a fetish? LOL)

4. I make up songs at any moment about any thing for any reason. (Okay, lots of people probably do that and I don’t know if it’s really weird, but I’m having a hard time coming up with weird things…lol!)

5. And finally, I can’t believe I’m admitting this, but I like to sniff my arms (not my underarms - my upper arms and forearms…I think I’m very scent-oriented!).

I’m not tagging anyone, but if you want to play feel free!

Okay, it’s time to go to confession…sit right down right here and talk to me people…tell me the truth (remember Santa is watching!!)…

Who out there talks to themselves when they are out running errands? *looks around at the raised hands*

Good…isn’t confession good for the soul?

Now, one more thing…who out there talks to themselves even more when the kids aren’t with them then they did before they had kids? *waits*

Come on now, be honest! *looks around and snickers*

Much better. I just wanted to make sure I wasn’t the only one who people point and laugh at does that. :D

This meme is making it’s rounds throughout blogland at the moment, so I thought I’d give it a whirl. I’m not tagging anyone, but feel free to participate if you feel an urge.

1. I hate my middle name. It is a combination of my mom’s first name and my dad’s middle name. It’s always sounded either Asian or hickish (there actually is or was an Asian restaurant here in Phoenix that had the same name although spelled differently) and I just don’t like it all that much. And no, I’m not posting it. If you are really dying to know it…click the contact button up there and if you ask nicely I might tell you. :D

2. I am wearing fuzzy purple slippers right now. Because my feet are cold. Quite often my feet are hot and so I sleep with them outside of the covers. Except when it’s cold. Which it is. Cold. Here. Very.

3. I always say I’m an only child, but that is technically not true. My parents had a baby boy a year and a half before I was born. My mom didn’t even know she was pregnant, tripped and fell and went into early labor. He only lived a few hours. They said had he been a little bigger or a little farther along, he might have made it. But, had he made it, they probably wouldn’t have had me. So there you go.

4. When I was a kid, even though we lived in the city limits, we raised chickens. Not just any chickens. Show chickens. Special chickens. My father would give them baths and blow dry their feathers before they went to the fair or different chicken shows. I kid you not.

5. I don’t know how to roller skate or ice skate. The sensation of sliding is not pleasant to me and it freaks me out.

There. Aren’t you glad I told you all those things?

Three summers ago (that would be 2003 for those of you who are keeping score), I was in a nasty car accident in Northern Ireland. Yes, you read that right - Northern Ireland. Nothing broken - just cuts and bruises and pulled muscles and a lot of pain. The rental car didn’t make it however. Anyway, when I came back home to the States, I started going to a massage therapist to help my back pain (and it totally did, let me tell you). My bro-in-law is a massage therapist, but something about laying naked on a table with only a sheet covering me and having my husband’s brother touching me just didn’t sit well with me…lol! So instead, bro-in-law recommended a friend of his that lived a lot closer to us anyway. I started going to her once a week and we paid her by trading Mike’s handyman skills for her magical hands.

Then, I got pregnant. And with all the complications and morning 24/7 sickness I had, I stopped going to see her. Over the months I’ve thought about going to get a massage when my back was aching or something like that, but it’s not like I think about her on a regular basis. However, this morning as I was trying to go back to sleep I was thinking about her (yes I had muscle aches…lol) and wondering if Mike had worked off all the trade yet. I finally fell back asleep and that was that. But then later this morning, after we were all up and around, I heard Mike talking on his cell phone and wandered back with the baby to see what was up. I’m sure you’ve guessed already that it was the massage therapist who needs some work done on her condo. Crazy.

I bet you think this post is going to be about Baby Girl. WRONG! The meltdown in question was mine. I supposed it was bound to happen sooner or later. Long story short, Mike said something to me this morning that I felt was insensitive even though he didn’t mean it that way and I lost it. He felt horrible, of course, but maybe it was for the best because I finally had a really good cry. And that’s probably a very healthy thing. Baby Girl was oblivious. She thinks she is the only creature on earth who can cry I suppose. I’m okay with that for the time being.

And today? I went out and got the mail in all by myself! So brave I am! :P I know, I know. Baby steps. I’ll get there.

I was sitting in the office working on Mike’s computer a little more and out of the corner of my eye through the window I saw something move. Of course, my heart started pounding and I literally jumped in my seat. I looked through the window and what did I see? The tarp on top of some junk Mike has in the yard blowing in the wind. Sheesh. Chill out Karin!

The total exhaustion from lack of sleep washes over you and also the realization of what could have happened. No, it didn’t happen, and no it shouldn’t be dwelt upon. But I guess at some point the shock wears off and it dawns on you what kind of a situation you were really in.

I just need to sleep for about two days. And then it will feel better maybe. Very tired. Must sleep now.

I rarely post about anything religious or political because when you do that you’re sure to piss off, annoy, offend or otherwise irritate someone and really, I just want people to like me you know! But seriously, those are just not debates I want to get into on my blog. In real life, in conversations with other people on the phone, face to face or in text messages with Mr. Syndromes is a different story.

However, I’ve got something on my mind and I need to write about it. For me, writing is a catharsis and a way to analyze and organize my thoughts on things. So, right now, I’m telling you, if you start reading this post and you find yourself getting offended or angry or your hackles up, just move. away. from the. blog. Don’t read it. Come back later or tomorrow when there’s something else to talk about. I’m not saying you can’t state your opinions - by all means the comments are going to be left open as long as the dialog is respectful. I’m just saying if you are going to get mad at me and not like me anymore, just don’t bother reading it. I certainly don’t mean to offend anyone, but sometimes things just need to be said. You now have one more chance to leave, otherwise, click away. (Read on …)

Okay, I thought I would take this opportunity to update on you on two posts I made recently. (Read on …)