feverish

The child, she was feverish yesterday. Since she has been gnawing on my shoulder when I pick her up, and showed no other sick signs, I figured it was teeth related. So I happily went to my mom's writing group and let Lucy cavort with several children.
Now this morning I wake up with a slight sore throat.
Sigh.
Sorry, other moms. I'm not feeling bad enough to be sure that it was sickness yet--in fact, it might just be residual ash in the air from that BBQ San Diego had last month.
But the poor child--she was so hot in the middle of the night. Poor thing. She's acting fine though.
I still want to believe it's just teeth. Maybe some big, crispy molars.
Teeth. Teeth.

perseverence

I shouldn't pay attention to my moods. You know, the moods where you don't possibly have the energy to edit a piece of writing after the child goes to bed--you just need a glass of red wine and the TV on. That mood, it lies. It is a lying liar.
But the good news is I ignored it, and the piece is better!
And I'm done posting for the day.

dreaming

Last night I dreamed that I had a very serious discussion (kind of an intervention) with my mother -in-law and Dyami. Except it wasn't my actual mother-in-law, Donna, it was some other woman with blonde hair. In the dream, I knew she wasn't Dyami's mom or my mom, but some other woman somehow related to us. She was very kind, but she told me that Dyami had been worrying/complaining for a while about my laziness. I mean, my laziness was just appalling.
In the dream, I took this very seriously, and felt really bad. How could i not have realized how lazy I was? I wondered.
Then I told this woman that we really needed to get together more often, maybe over lunch, because I didn't really feel I knew her that well.
Of course, when I woke up, I realized how odd--how really odd--the dream was. First of all, who the heck was this woman? And how exactly is she an in-law without being related to Dyami? Second of all, what is my psyche thinking? Lazy? Where did that come from? I know for a fact that is not one of Dyami's pet peeves about me. Right, Honey? Honey?
Perhaps it's residual guilt or something over the fact that I watched Pirates of the Caribbean last night and the night before. Instead of cleaning the bathtub, or whatever non-lazy people do.
I wish we could order our dreams, so I could get rid of these kinds. And the dreams where I've registered for a (history/math/Spanish) class, forgotten to drop it, and forget to attend the whole semester. That one's always fun.
Really, though, I kind of want to meet this in-law woman, despite her intervention. She was really nice.

thinking

I'm a little sleep deprived. I was reading a story for my Fiction Writing class yesterday from the POV of a new father, and he had all these really complicated, florid thoughts at 3:30 in the AM, and my main critique was the lack of verisimilitude.
Of course, I just used the word "verisimilitude" while cranky and tired, so there you go.

posting

I have about thirty seconds to post.
Dyami and I just had a great conversation, about Issues and Marriage and Keeping Happy and Being On the Same Page. It was good, and there was much rejoicing.
D said something sweet.
"You're a great wife, Heather."
"Thanks, honey. I try."
"I know. That's one of my favorite things about you."
"Thank you honey."
I am not always the person I want to be (I am trying to grow into that person, day to day), but it helps to have a husband that builds me up.

reunion

I went to a party tonight of mostly people I knew from high school. Some socially adept people I know actually stay in touch with multiple people from back then, and they brought us all back together. It was really fun.
I'm amazed, at these shindigs, at how socially inept I often was in high school, how scared of my peers I was. How did that happen? (Perhaps Jr. High had something to do with it?) And it's so lovely to see people that sort of intimidated me (for some reason) back then, and realize there's nothing scary about them, that in fact, they're fun to talk to.
Also, it's lovely to see people who didn't intimidate me, and catch up with how they're doing.
Time can be a very lovely thing. You change into a whole different person without even realizing it's happening.

the book of common prayer

So a while ago I started pretending I was Episcopalian.
It's sort of de rigeur these days, evangelical Christians going old-school-liturgical on everyone. I was inspired by a few memoirs that mentioned the BCP, so I first started using one online, and then bought one. It's little and kind of cute: it has a little ribbon attached so you can mark passages! I love that in books.
There are little prayer services built into it--ones specifically written for morning, evening, afternoon, and late evening. There are really short ones, and longer, full-service ones. In the morning, when I nurse Lucy, I open up the book. If I'm lazy/half asleep I do the two minute version. If I'm chipper, I do the longer version. Then, the last few nights, I've been kind of stressed out, so I pulled it out and did the Compline (late evening) prayers. They were really beautiful and reminded me of God's presence, and helped me find some peace in my head before bedtime.
Here's what I like about using the BCP:

• It's a no-brainer. As someone that tends towards perfectionism, I just open it up, and I can pray without having to think about it. When I think about prayer too much, the prayer usually ends up not happening. Remembering all the things there are to pray for! Forgetting what I'm trying to pray for! Getting lost in my thoughts! With the book, I have a visual guide, that prompts me to pray for other things.
• It's a lot of scripture. I've been reading the psalms too. And the prayers are often based on some beautiful passages from the Prophets, or Psalms, or Gospels. What's not scriptural is just written really well. It's lovely to read. And thoughtful.
• I used to struggle to be all heady and intellectual and studious with God each day. And I hated it. It felt like a chore, and I don't think it did much for my faith. But reading beautiful prayers, and remembering God's promises in a structured way--helps me reconnect to my faith and recharge each day.
  
• I feel like I'm in a church service, there, all by myself.
• The book is just a cool, jam-packed resource. It's sort of like the Little Book of Things Believers Might Need or Might Just Want to Know. Episcopalian confession? Check. Prayer for the Sunday after Epiphany? Check. Burial service? Check. Catechism? Check. Psalms? Check. Creeds? Check. List of Holidays in the church? Check. Reading through the Bible schedule? Check. I mean, I could be a really Episcopalian Episcopalian, if I were so inclined.
• Classic British mysteries often involve Anglican trivia. Anglican is almost Episcopalian. So that helps me, right there.
• Black tea. Also that.

In all seriousness, though, it's one of the coolest Christian books I've bought in a long time. And just those moments of peace I have found through it really help. Sure, I can look up stuff in the Bible, but it, too, is a huge book, that is kind of like an ocean. The BCP is kind of like a little, cozy yacht that makes the ocean scenic and pleasant, rather than overpowering.

running to stand still

So a few years ago, I was on a "Get in Shape Girl"* kick. My goal: run a mile. Every other morning or so, I'd put on my tennis shoes, a sports bra (and other clothes too, don't worry) and run. I figured it would take me a few weeks to work up to a mile, but by the end of the summer, I thought I'd for sure be jogging happily around our neighborhood.
That didn't so much happen.
What happened was I spent the whole summer trying to work up to that mile. I'd jog at my (nearly walking) pace, and after about three minutes, I'd have to slow to a walk. I'd try to push myself, and I'd feel like I was trying to run through water. Then I'd go home and sleep the rest of the day. What astounded me was that it didn't get much better the longer I trained.
I could run most of a mile, but it was disheartening that I didn't achieve my (seemingly small) goal.
What made me decide to give up the running was when I went out jogging one morning with Dyami after I had been "training" most of the summer. My husband doesn't run now, and he was exercising a lot less than me that summer. He used to play soccer in high school. And after about half a block, he asked very politely if I would mind if he ran ahead, because I was running too slow. And he proceeded to run my whole jogging course easily, in half the time it took me.

Hrmph.

After that, I decided I was just not a runner. Walking, Pilates, dancing, all fine. I was in fine shape, my body just didn't like to run. No biggie.
Except then, the other day, I ran, and it worked! See, I'd set out for a walk with Lucy in the stroller, and my planned route fell through, because there was no sidewalk along a particularly busy stretch of road. And she was already fussy, and I had to retrace my steps back probably about a mile before I could take her out of the stroller.
I decided to run, expecting that after half a block, I'd get the sideache, and the shortness of breath, and the underwater lungs, and the blurred vision and the leg cramps.
Instead, I ran uphill, easily. My breathing...easy. My legs...strong.
I ran back around the corner, past the kids playing stickball, down the hill, and back to my destination.
No problem. I could have kept going.
Sure, the next day I felt very sore (running requires different muscles than walking! Who knew?) but I also felt triumphant.
Turns out that all that walking around I do to friends' houses in the neighborhood with a twenty-pound baby strapped to me are actually good for something.
Maybe I should challenge Dyami to a rematch.

*Did any of you have those fitness toy things? I had the rhythm ribbon. It was blue. It amused our cat, and got shredded, eventually. Is anyone else now bothered by the message those toys were sending to young girls?

posting, posting...

1, 2, 3.
Sorry, folks, that's all we have time for tonight.
sad!

cleanup

Guess I'll get ready, choose a t-shirt and jeans. Oh, hi, Lucy. Look, how cute, she's pulling down a t-shirt off its hanger. And another one. Whoops! Let me just hang these up while you--oh. You found the shoe caddy. Oh, I guess you're going to, honey, can you leave the shoes alone? Let me just pick those up and we can...Hmmm. Good. Go play in the bathroom. Sure, open that cabinet. And play with my toiletries. Thumb in the deoderant? Greeeeat. Oh, yes, I guess you can, no, those rags weren't folded nicelyor anything. Help yourself. And I'll just tackle this tiny mess and--
No, God, please! Not the bookshelves!

communication

Having Lucy communicate feels really good, like winning the lottery or something. Sure, it can be a little hit or miss--("Lucy, do you want some food?" "No. No." (while reaching for it), but the contrast from before is marked. Before, communicating was sort of lreading tea leaves. Sure, there might besomething to it--or it might be an overactive imagination. But now, now I'm sure, sometimes that she wants this, or will do something without protest. For example: if I ask, "Lucy, do you want to switch sides" (when nursing), if she nods, then she'll unlatch and not protest if I lift her up and switch sides.
That is astounding.

Some of you might ask what "before" was, and I don't really know. Everything is so gradual, so fleeting, that one day you're wondering, did t that mean what I think it meant? and the next you're telling her to clean her room.
Well, maybe by tomorrow.

When posting with a baby on one's lap

Make it the shortest post ever.

a walk

Lucy and I went for her first walk today.
She held tightly on to my finger, and sauntered down our driveway and into the street. It took a little coaxing to get her to the sidewalk (read: I picked her up and carried her, despite vociferous protests) but once there, she toddled almost down to the main cross-street, almost two full blocks.

As we walked, the full weight of all the things she has to experience yet overwhelmed me.
Rain. Storms. And why the ground can be concrete, or asphalt, or dirt. Why that is. Places that have not been landscaped and paved to within an inch of their life. Mysterious holes in the earth. Inchworms and ladybugs. Sunsets, and walking on the beach, finding sand crabs. The desert, the mountains. Trees, and different kinds. That a dog can be a mighty range of creatures, as can cats. Other cities. The world.
I get to introduce her to many of these things. Or be there when she discovers them.

It was a good walk.

brokey

Two things are brokey around here.
1. My committment to NaBloPoMo. Oh, sweet innocence, beleiving that I could post each day!
2. My laptop. This is one reason for #1. The other day I was sitting, probably checking email, and the screen flickered a few times, and then went from looking like a computer screen to a weird moonscape portrait in a few seconds. Like all weird silver and grey shadows. I didn't think that boded well for my computer.
Things to be thankful for: My computer failed less than one week after I printed off my thesis and handed it in. I have hard copies, but I don't think I needed the added stress of retyping a 100-plus page manuscript.
I had hopes that it was just my monitor that went bad, but last night we connected the computer to another monitor, and found that a) my laptop monitor works okay and b) the computer is not working okay--ie, it didn't work well enough for me to back up my files.
So, I am going to try with NaBloPoMo, but the obstacles, they are more daunting now.

a book series I won't be investing in...I think

I stumbled upon these books on Amazon (sadly, I can't remember how I ended up finding them).
Now, at first, I thought, these books are awesome! Maybe I should get some! I mean, what kid wouldn't want to read about scabs and poop? And why shouldn't they?
But then I started reading the reviews.
They were a little less than complementary.
On the other hand, they were hilarious. Apparently these books are imports from japan, and like many things, just didn't translate all that well.
A sample follows:
About "Everyone Poops": "...Later on, they are told that it comes in different shapes, colors, and smells, and that, depending on who is doing it, it is done in different places. The summarizing statement is that "all living things eat, so everyone poops." However, there is never any explanation offered as to why....In case the message hasn't sunk in, the final spread presents a chorus line of creatures, backsides forward, each producing poop...."
About "The Gas We Pass": The drearily colored, amateur line cartoons depict a family of no particular race and zoo animals with sound balloons, such as "BURP!" and "BAAROOMM" being emitted from both ends."
About "The Holes in Your Nose": There are some imports that just shouldn't make the crossing, and this study of nostrils is one of them. ....Unfortunately, the book goes more than slightly overboard in its exploration of nasal passages. For example, a gorilla with a runny nose denies the offer of a tissue, saying that he plans to "let it dry then pick it off and eat it." Even the hardiest readers may find themselves opting out of this one."
Describing"Breasts": The rambling text explains that women have breasts so they can make milk and feed it to their babies, but that men, even Sumo wrestlers who have big breasts, dont make milk. The milk ducts look like cauliflower florets in a strainer and the drawings of a baby and its mothers breast look more like the child is playing with Snoopys nose or two Junior Mints.

I love that: strained cauliflower and Snoopy's nose. There you go. I might never have to post again.

more letters, more opinions

So I wrote two letters this morning, one to the N. Korean delegation in New York regarding a group of Christians that were arrested and called spies (and possibly executed), and another one regarding persecuted religious minorities in Iraq to my Representative, Brian Bilbray.
I'm trying to not get carried away with do-gooding. I tend to get carried away, and am not able to keep up the pace of my goodness, and then I get jaded about myself, and stop even the minimum of effort. So my goal is one or two letters a week for at least November. That seems pretty doable.
In other news, I saw this post about women not signing up for birth classes. I have a few thoughts on this.

• One one hand, I think entirely too much attention is paid to pregnancy, at the exclusion of the much harder stuff involved with actually raising your child. Or breastfeeding. I think a lot of women would be better served with a breastfeeding class, and maybe a Q&A with real moms about what to expect from motherhood.
  
• I wonder if women are avoiding the classes because so many of them are just "Hospital 101".
  
• I had mixed feelings about our birth class--a lot of it seemed sort of self-indulgent--but in the end, during my birth, I thought about some of the facts we learned, and the knowledge really helped me not freak out. And talking about birth, and reading what to expect--not just reading about it--also proved helpful.
• But bottom line, I think not taking a birth class is a bad idea. As the blog points out, the lack of birth education generally leads to more medicalized births. Women think birth isn't possible without major medical interventions, because no one tells them differently--and they sure won't learn about that on TV.
  
• With all the publicity right now about our broken health care system, I wonder why nobody has pointed the the elephant in the room: the fact that we overspend egregiously on complicated hospital births for perfectly healthy babies and women. Anaesthesiaologists, hospital stays, medical equipment, surgeries, all of these things add up. And much of it is done not to soothe women, or help them (I'm all for epidurals if it helps someone get through a difficult labor--not so much into it just as a matter of course)--but to keep hospitals and doctors from getting their butts sued. This cannot be a good idea.

So there you go: the righteous indignation roundup. Happy Veteren's day.

confession

So at 11 pm last night, I remembered I hadn't posted. And I didn't get up! For shame! See, I am already not posting on Sundays, and I was really tired and I just didn't think it was a big deal. Well, actually, I had a little argument with myself about whether I should get up, and I don't remember who one, because I fell asleep in the middle of it.
Last night's sleep was crappy. Not newborn crappy, just mildly crappy. But the problem is that we've gotten a bit carefree, what with the predictably-sleeping child, and so we've been going to bed a bit late. And so when she wakes us up two times, and then gets up early, it is hard not to lose my cool.
I like being able to be carefree. Except these babies, they really want to rub it in that they are in control, and any plans for long stretches of sleep you make are subject to their veto. It is a very powerful veto.
Let's hope tonight is better. There's always that (slim) chance. Usually once her sleep gets bad we have to do something slightly forceful to get it back on track. Ugh.

nablopomo day whatever.

forgot to post last nite. Not getting great sleep. L woke early. Extremely irritable (me, if that wasn't clear). need morning tea. excuse me while I go take care of that.

it is finished.

The thesis, it is finished. Finito. Terminado. Endstop, period.
This is very exciting news, since I had taken to poking at my eyes with sharp objects when I thought about the sundry deadlines and signatures I had yet to get.
My "hand it in with no worries" deadline was today.
As of last night, I thought I only had one out of three required signatures on the cursed piece of paper that is the Golden Ticket to Graduation.
Then the stars and planets aligned, and God was In His Heaven, and the two professors signed, and I picked up the paper before class. And thus I was ready to hand it in to the Powers That Be.
Today, Lucy and I journeyed down to SDSU (about 40 minutes away if there's no traffic, which never happens except at 11 pm). We navigated Parking Structure Hell. We braved the Horrible Elevators of Death (Lucy suddenly developed a fear of elevators...which there are about 50,000 at State). We found the Gates of Purgatory (ie. the Graduate Division offices).
And they were really nice, and helpful, and they had little sunflower pens, and the woman that has to make sure my thesis formatting was correct said, "wow! Perfect!" and stamped it! And I was able to go to Montezuma Publishing the same day and hand them the manuscript and pay for the library copy, and they said "This is all you have to do to graduate! You're done!"
I'm done. I'm done.
I'm done!
Well, except for that pesky class I'm taking. Besides that.

class tonight

I'm posting now because I'm going to class tonight. I have no great ideas about what to post, except that Lucy got really cute Robeez mary Janes. They are black and white and have a grey flower on the "buckle".
She's really styley, and I think she knows it.

no. No no no. No!

It has started.

Me: Lucy, do you want this delicious lentil soup? It's so tasty.
L: No! (Shaking of head).
Me: Lucy, it's time to change your diaper.
L: No! Nonononono! Mama! No!
Me: That's not for babies.
L: No! Aaaaaaaaa!
Me: Please give back Mommy's $100 glasses.
L: Nooooooo.
Me: Mama needs to pee, and then we'll nurse.
L: Nonono. Mamamamamamama! No!

All the parenting books say if you don't say "no" a ton, your child will not say no to you. To those experts, I say, "No! Nonononono!" They are smoking crack.
It's fine, really, that she says no. It's not the end of the world. It actually cracks me up a little bit. But did it really have to start this early? I know it's only going to get worse. Much worse.
No!!!

writing wrong

So I got my packet for the Write-a-Wrong-a-Thon via email today. Opened the PDF and saw a few pictures of Christian religious leaders in various countries who have been imprisoned for their faith.
Something about pictures conveys the reality of that more than just words.
Anyway, one part of the campaign is to have people sponsor you. I write a letter, you pledge $. Then I donate it all to the organization.
I hate asking people for money, and I immediately was like, not going to do that.
Then I thought, well, I'll just post how I hate asking people for money on my blog, and if people are led, and have some extra centavos, they can contribute if they want to.
Since NaBloPoMo and this WaWaT dovetail nicely, I'll try to do updates here on my blog. I think I'm going to try to write a letter now: to Dmitry Shestakov, an imprisoned pastor in Uzbekistan.
But in less encouraging news, I opened the (real) mail today and found my letter to Myanmar returned to me for "insufficient address." I used the address from Amnesty International. My poor, forlorn letter little letter probably didn't even make it past the US.
So I guess I have to try again. If anyone knows the address for Foreign Minister Nyan Win, let me know.

I'm not posting

This is a cheating post.
Dyami and I don't do computers on Sundays. I signed up for NaBloPoMo and considered making a tiny exception for four weeks, but you know, I really like our Sundays with no screen time. I like being countercultural and out of step and slightly awkward. So I'm going to forward date my posts and post on Saturday. So there you go.

glasses

I recently got glasses.
I'm kind of a cyclops--I have one eye with 20/20 vision, and the other that's half-blind. My brain has worked overtime to compensate, though, and my good eye is extremely dominant, so I hardly even notice that one half of my vision is pretty cloudy. I can read, see distances, see close up just fine without correction.
When they discovered my bad eye, however, in third grade, I got a contact lens to correct it.
Except for a pair of glasses in seventh grade that I loathed, I always wore that contact.
In theory.
Contacts are kind of a pain, especially for forgetful, lazy people like myself. You kind of need to care for the lenses, since by extension, the lenses go in your eyes. I knew this, but never maintained the strict regimen of cleaning, enzyme tablets, etc, that I was supposed to. When I was post-college, and they invented the one-solution-does-it-all stuff, I thought, surely now I have no excuses.
I still hardly wore the thing. See, they're itchy! And when you only have one in, you can really tell how itchy it is! And if something gets in your eye, you might as well be blind! Sometimes my eye would just start tearing up and I'd have to take the stupid thing out. Usually this was in a place where I had dirty hands and no place to put the lens.
Legally, I am supposed to wear "corrective lenses" while driving. Realistically, I maintained an uneasy middle ground, where I'd try to remember to put it in if it was dark out. Which I often forgot to do.
So I felt really brilliant (or stupid: why did it take so long?) when I decided to give glasses a try again. Some people have reading glasses; I would have driving glasses.
I got the eye exam, paid for the lenses, hoped they weren't too geeky (I think glasses can be very cute--Think Tina Fey--but I'm not all hip to glass selection).
Then I put them on at home and felt like I'd stepped into a funhouse with weird mirrors.
It felt like I was watching my life on a movie screen--all strangely distorted and 'framed'.
And when I kept them on for more than twenty minutes, my brain hurt.
Plus, when I tried to drive, I quickly determined it was far more scary/dangerous to have them on.
I was very scared that I'd made a very expensive mistake. But since I'd plunked down the money, I kept wearing them, and they got better. First, it was just during the day--night was still scary. But then, driving home from Ojai after the fires, I wore the glasses the whole way home. I was very tired and slightly headachy afterwards, but since then, I can hardly notice my brain adjust after I put them on.
It is a very good feeling to drive legally (even if I don't notice a big difference in my driving when I put on the glasses). It is a very good feeling not to have to deal with ^%$*^% contact lenses.
Everyone is happy.
Plus, Dyami said the glasses kind of make me look like a 'sexy librarian.' Which is really the look I was going for. (Raspy voice: Hey, Sweet-Cheeks. Can I scan your (wink) library card? ) Really, I secretly long to be a librarian...or own a failing bookstore, where there aren't any customers, and I ahve a huge inventory that I read all day. This fantasy would also involve cats. And an underfed emplooyee that would scoop the kitty litter and remember to feed them.
Now that I have the glasses, I'm almost there!

doing something

So I had looked on a cool website about persecution of Christians*, persecution.com--and though it has info on what is going on around the world, it doesn't really have action points.
Then I looked on Tears of the Oppressed and found an Amnesty International type site where you can write letters to advocate for victims.
They're having a special push in November to write as many letters as possible.
So I signed up. They're going to send me an info pack.
Anyone interested in joining me? I'll try to post info here as I get it--maybe that way several of us can participate as we feel led.
As a completely unimportant side-benefit, perhaps it will give me somethign to write about for NaBloPoMo! That way the totally self-indulgent navel-gazing will have redeeming characteristics!

*I liked TotO's explanation for why they help Christians, not all people oppressed--surely there are religious and people groups as or more oppressed then Christians. But since my faith is important to me, and I have no conception of what it would be like to not be able to practice it, I feel drawn to this effort. Sort of like I have a special identification to the victims of the SD wildfires over the victims of Hurricane Katrina--even though Katrina was arguably more devastating, it's easier for me to conceptualize what is happening here. So as I hear news reports of non-Christians persecuted, I will try to take action, but I want to keep Christians on my radar.

swing dancing

I went out on the town last night, to the Firehouse, a local Lindy Hop club. I used to go swing dancing three, four, five times a week, back in the day. Back in the day where I was not married, lived in Claremont, and had no kids.
Swing-dancing was super fun, and I stayed until nearly 11 pm. That meant I was home, showered and in bed by nearly midnight.
This is very late for me these days.
But I feel fine! And I'm mostly recovered! And L slept well enough that idon't feel like poking my eyes out this morning!
My whole body has that pleasant achy feeling from exercising more than usual.
And now I have posted the second time for NaBloPoMo, since I did my first post yesterday without remembering about it.
Ha!

being a woman

I've been feeling a bit melancholy the last few days. Sort of hard on myself in my head: like when I make a small mistake or a bad decision, I don't just laugh at my clumsiness and move on--I take it as a sign that Something Is Seriously Wrong With Me. Some of this is due to stress (will my thesis ever be officially signed off? Will I ever get the three signatures I need on the one key piece of paper? Will the gods find yet another way of thwarting my good planning--so far we've had (1) catastrophic wildfires, (2) my forgetfulness, and (3) really terrible Halloween traffic?)

But I digress. The melancholy is more than just stress, though. I really think that it's partly hormonal. I say this because before Lucy was born and I stopped, ahem, taking things to make sure she wasn't born, I went into a tailspin of self-loathing for a month. It was bad enough that I went to see a therapist I'd been to a few years earlier. She asked me a few questions, until she found out that I'd stopped taking the pill, and said, do you get like this every month? And I considered, and realized that, yes, indeed I did, but it had just been worse than usual. She told me not to worry, that there were things I could do to not feel so melancholy (like exercise and change my diet) but that it was also okay to just be blue at the end of the month, kind of cleansing, and I could feel the feelings if I wanted to.

Having had the steady hormones of pregnancy/nursing, I had forgotten about those monthly blues. Until my face started breaking out and I started cussing at myself because I accidentally changed Lucy's diaper when it didn't really need changing.
Being a woman is weird. You feel things that seem wholly related to circumstances, or Life, or Who You Are, but there are also these weird chemicals floating around in your brain that play a much bigger role in how you feel than you'd like to think. And not that the feelings aren't valid--it's not like the weird loathing is wholly chemical--it feels more like my defenses are lower right now, and the subtle insecurities I feel are just magnified. And it's not like men don't have these chemically induced moods--of course they do--it's just their chemicals are constant in a way ours aren't, and thus they're easier to forget about.
To be honest, I feel weird posting about this because my last two commenters are male, but you two can hang with this topic, right? (No comment necessary. Feel free to stay away from the blog for a few days, until the estrogen blows over).