Wrapping Up? (It Gets Better Part 4)

I closed Part 3 by telling you "how badly my mom was doing began to really hit me," complete with that link. If you haven't read it yet, you can click over and do that now -- it's essentially Part 4 of this story, and this post labeled Part 4 should be Part 5. Not confusing at all!

But I didn't say in that link how the trip down to California to say goodbye to my mom went, because it hadn't happened yet.

I absolutely love this picture. Somehow, amazingly, it shows joy and laughter as I sit by my mom, who's dying, and by my baby, who by the grace of God is whole and healthy even though her organs are in weird places.

Getting So Much Better (It Gets Better Part 3)

Parts 1 and 2.

I think I'd started towards scheduling my first postpartum therapy session already. So after a lowest point where, though I wasn't going to commit suicide, I still had a case of clear and definite suicidal thinking, I took the leap and told my therapist about it at my appointment, in early November 2017. My baby was born in late August, so I was just a little over two months postpartum.

You can love your baby with all your heart, feel intense gratitude, and still be depressed.

I agreed with her that it was time to try medication, that we don't earn brownie points for making things harder and more painful than they have to be.

I'd also already had postpartum checks and discussion with one particular amazing OB at my practice, I'll call her Dr. B. (She happened to be the first doctor, after we found out in the prenatal visits about my baby's rare and scary organ placement, who stopped and asked me how I was doing with all of it.)

Really, It Does Get Better (It Gets Better Part 2)

Part 1 is here.


Trigger Warning: Suicidal Thoughts.

As I said, we received bad news at the 20-week anatomy scan in my latest pregnancy, 2017.

I never did get that one complication again, despite what they say is a 90% chance of recurrence in my type of case, but I did have other circumstances combined with my baby's weird organ placement that meant induction again, just in case it meant certain bad things, at 39 weeks.

It was another different experience, though it had more in common with my second induction than my first, so that was good. It went slowly until it didn't AT ALL -- epidurals either speed things up for me, or if it's just coincidence and it was going to speed up anyway, I'm still eternally grateful for the epidural, because I do NOT want to experience 45 minutes from 5 cm to the actual birth without an epidural!

But I digress. :) There was a NICU team there, but our baby was doing so well they decided to let her stay with me overnight and take her down for testing in the NICU in the morning, so that was good. Even though they had us track and report every time she spat up a little, and about how much.

The next few days in the NICU were only a few days, but felt longer. They felt full of inconclusive test results. And a spinal headache. The nurse who put in my IV for the blood patch to treat my spinal blew out a vein, and later I took a sort of fierce satisfaction in how completely awful that bruise looked. It didn't feel that bad, even that initial botched IV was nothing compared to induction or my headache, but it shocked and horrified others and I grinned at pain made visible. You know?

This is not at its worst. Not at all. Unfortunately I didn't take enough pictures of it! :)

Begin Again Part 2

Begin Again: The Brave Practice of Releasing Hurt and Receiving Rest by Leeana Tankersley
Read: 4/7/18-4/24/18

Last week I started to tell how I found this book, and about my grief with my mother in the late stages of dementia.

I left off with listening to The Next Right Thing podcast, the episode Be a Beginner.

I'd just been told, by multiple people, that I didn't know how to do this, how to proceed, because I'd never done it before.

So this week, if you're in your own grief, anxiety, or transition, I invite you in with these words from the transcript:

"If you are newly engaged or newly pregnant or if you are a new step-parent or just moved into a new house, you are grateful for the new role that you have and maybe excited about the future. But there’s a lot you don’t yet know and there isn’t a handbook to teach you.

Begin Again Part 1

Begin Again: The Brave Practice of Releasing Hurt and Receiving Rest by Leeana Tankersley
Read: 4/7/18-4/24/18

This book is based on/inspired by the line in the Rule of St. Benedict, "Always we begin again." I absolutely loved it and would recommend it to everyone, but especially anyone who's in transition now, and especially especially anyone who's grieving anything.

Why? It's not a book on grief, right? I mean, "Hurt" is in the title, but "Releasing Hurt?" What if you just lost someone and the thing you're beginning is grief, and you're not ready to be done with that process yet?

This isn't a book that only applies to happy beginnings. Beginnings also involve endings, even the "my world is falling apart" sort.

I could give you a beautiful quote from the introduction to prove it, but first, let me tell you a story.

Here's how I found Begin Again. What I've written so far, anyway, and we'll finish the story and review next week. (Hopefully, that's the plan.)


My mom isn't doing very well. Nothing especially new there, but she's at a stage of not doing well that seems to be closer to the end, and I've been surprised at how hard it's been hitting me.

An Ordinary and Holy Tuesday

Someone, probably many someones, though I don't know who, have said not to compare others' outsides to your insides. And that's part of the trouble with social media -- it can make this more difficult. So, lest you see me at my best and think I have it all together... ( O_o )

This is Joy, if you can't tell. Ha.

Things I Learned This Spring

Cooper Mountain Nature Park

Linking up with Emily Freeman to share what I've learned this spring.

I'm learning, apparently, to ban perfectionism by keeping things short. (I mean, less than 2000 words is short, right?!) This is the furthest thing from an exhaustive list of what I've learned recently. I could probably write every day for a month on what I've been learning! And I'll tell myself that I will write that series, so I don't feel as bad about leaving things out. It's a useful and pretty lie, it is.

Here are two. Two things I've learned. Well, two categories. Two category iceberg tips.

1. The Enneagram. Mostly when I'd heard about the Enneagram, up until this spring, I'd kind of been like, meh, I like the personality systems I already have, thanks. Don't need another one. I'd heard that Myers-Briggs highlights strengths whereas the Enneagram focuses on motivations, but when you include cognitive steps in your Myers-Briggs you can start to get a bit deeper than just behavior and preferences, too. So meh.

Ribs and Sleep and My Heart

Went to physical therapy Monday. I mentioned to my therapist that I was trying to pay more attention to exactly which ribs hurt, which were painful to the touch, as it can be hard to tell without investigating -- sometimes I can even press in one place and the pain response is somewhere else. And I think maybe when I have a really bad Episode there could be multiple ribs involved.

She said that yes, right then my two upper ribs and three lower ribs on the right side were all involved -- out/frozen/seized up, whatever.

The, um, "best" part? Even at my worst on Monday, it wasn't all that bad. Maybe medium bad, certainly not an Episode. With almost half my ribs on one side out. So... yeah. Certainly seems possible that it could be ALL OF THEM when I have a Rib Episode, and/or they're farther out. Fits with the way the pain moves around when it's Bad according to the different positions I try.

EDS problems.*

Sadness. And Mothers.

Trigger warning: Sadness. And mothers. Clearly.


I learned this summer, three weeks ago, that my mother is now in late-stage Alzheimer's, and has probably about twelve months to live.


Womp womp.

I learned other things this summer too, things I want to share with you, but I couldn't put this one in the same post as all the bright and happy things. I just couldn't. They can exist on the same blog, and in the same heart, but not in the same post, not today. (Link to the bright and happy things forthcoming, if you'd like to read them. Watch this space. If you don't see a link on Facebook or wherever when that goes live.)

(Also there are other wonderful, funny, cheery, and deep posts over at the linkup on Emily Freeman's blog, here! And there's still some time to join in, if you want!)

Release Day for Not Alone

Do any of you remember when I said I have a thing, and it's getting published?! Today's the day, today's the day, guys, it's RELEASE DAY!! SQUEEEEEE!!

I've said some things about it in the past, but I shall gather them together here now, for accessibility. Here you go.


From last year, "I Have a Thing!":

"My 'thing' is a personal essay. It will be included in a collection about infertility and miscarriage, from Kalos Press. Mine is about miscarriage.

"'This isn’t a book that offers solutions – there are plenty of experts for that. Nor is this a book that expounds theological explanations for pain and loss – that necessary job is already well done elsewhere.

High-Risk Pregnancy and Feeeelings

Well, it's back. Intrahepatic Cholestasis of Pregnancy, ICP. (In the past I've generally called it Cholestasis, which seems clearer than using an abbreviation, but... ICP is shorter to type.) As of a few weeks ago, the night of July 28th.

No, I haven't been back to the hospital yet. This is from my induction with Gracie. It just seemed... fitting.

Sorry, this is going to be long. Very. This should probably be split into four, but it all goes together so I'm going to leave it together, sorrynotsorry. I have a lot of feelings, and it seems like a lot has happened in the last few weeks. And some backstory is necessary. The "tl;dr:" version? High-risk pregnancy MESSES WITH YOUR HEAD. 'Tis a roller coaster.

Practicalities of Living Life in a Hard Season, Part Three: A Narrative

Practicalities of Living Life in a Hard Season, Part One
Practicalities of Living Life in a Hard Season, Part Two: High Sensitivity

Okay, so Parts One and Two explained my main dilemma, with two especially resonant links. Musings on the line between excuses and reasons, what self-care looks like and how hard it can be, and what happens when you throw high sensitivity into the mix. Keep in mind that, as I mentioned in the beginning, when I feel like my life is spiraling out of control, I tend to numb myself out in various ways, to gain a sense of pseudo-control. So not helpful. But not something I want to be beating myself up for either, because it IS understandable, and beating myself up just makes me feel more out of control.

I've been thinking about that sense of control and the narrative I tell myself. Why I really, really want a good narrative, one that makes sense of me, one that tells me how to work with myself.

Beauty in Winter

2014 was a big year for learning things. Sad and tragic things, fun things, productive things, beautiful things, all kinds of things! As Gracie sometimes says, "Ah the wings!"

(All the things.)

I would love it if I'd already written blog posts for many of these, which I could just link to with a little summary, but 2014 has also been a hard year, and the words and stories are slow to come. They're coming, now, but I can't push them all out before this linkup. (Speaking of things learned.) So I'll write what I can and maybe add some links later, to future posts.

(Because what an epic long blog post with lots of links really really needs is even MOAR links, to other huge long blog posts. Yup.)

1. Reminders of grace are all around.

Practicalities of Living Life in a Hard Season, Part One

Note: I wrote most of the material in this post and series at the beginning of November. Comments on time frames reflect that, I didn't go to the trouble to update them all. "Last Wednesday" means the Wednesday before the day I wrote this in November, not actually last Wednesday. The "Merry Christmas" part is current, but not the rest.

Okay. That is all. Carry on.




Merry Christmas! This may not be the best time ever for a new six-part or however-many-parts series, but I've been working on this one for a while now (see above), and am feeling particularly inspired at the moment to finish it up and put it out there, so. *shrug* Eh, it's okay if you're busy with your family right now. I'll link back to it again later.

(And if you're not busy, or you're feeling particularly sad or lonely or let-down or frustrated or all of the above right now and that's why you're online, welcome! This is for you. Hugs. I wish I had easy answers for you, instead of my story. But I hope it helps a little.)

Bodies and Due Dates

Trigger warning: Miscarriage

This isn't the order I wanted to put these posts in. First there was supposed to be a general update which would explain basic context, then one which had some things about bodily grieving, and then after that this one about the expected due date, the date if I hadn't had a miscarriage.

A Reply to a Reply to a Reply (Because. Heh.)

Trigger warning: Miscarriage and pregnancy loss, spoken about in very general terms. Possible postpartum depression. I'll go back and add similar warnings to the beginnings of earlier posts about my miscarriage. I hadn't read very many of other people's accounts yet when I posted them, and wasn't thinking yet of possible needs for warnings. If

An Open Response to A Little Bit of Personality's Call to Action

ETA: Trigger warning: Miscarriage, possible postpartum depression

I read aLBoP's "A Call to Action" yesterday evening. My toddler woke me up about a quarter 'til two, and now I write this, a little after three

I Have a Thing!

It's going to be PUBLISHED! Squuuueeeeeeee!

If you need me, I'll be over here on the ceiling.*

averagecats.com: Ceiling Cat

Oh wait, you wanted a few details? Fine. Be that way.

My "thing" is a personal essay. It will be included in a collection about infertility and miscarriage, from Kalos Press. Mine is about miscarriage.

"This isn’t a book that offers solutions – there are plenty of experts for that. Nor is this a book that expounds theological explanations for pain and loss – that necessary job is already well done elsewhere.

"What this book offers is simpler, and more primary: it offers companionship. No one loss is like any other, yet sharing our losses can offer, if not true solace, at least the comfort of knowing there is someone else there beside you in the dark, someone who understands. We hope that in sharing these stories you will gain the words and phrase to better frame, to better comprehend, to better share, your own story." [-from the introduction-to-be, quoted in the editor's Call for Submissions here]

Why, hello, my life mission statement!

("I write for myself, because I have to. I try and I hope to write for you as well. These things don't have to be opposed, either. Though I do it for myself, I hope my writing is not selfish. I tell my story to let you know you're not alone.")

(I would also quote some other blog posts here, about how my personality type helps me gain the words to frame my story and to help give you the words you need; but I haven't quite written those blog posts just yet.)

Um. Anyway.

>_>

The publication process is not a fast thing, so don't expect this book to be out any time soon. But I will let you know when it's available!

Believe me. I will SO let you know. ^_^

*Okay okay, I've known for a little while now, but wanted to make sure it was fine to announce before doing so. Still. Squee.

Radio Silence

ETA: Trigger warning: Miscarriage

Or: All the Losses.

But that title feels too much like tempting fate. It's like when I had Cholestasis of Pregnancy, and so many times I wanted to say something like, "I have all the itchy!" except I'd read accounts which had shown it could get much worse.

Yeah, so I can be overly literal. What's your point?


I should probably explain where I've been for the last half a year? I wrote this post, everything not in italics, on March 15, 2014, but couldn't (or wouldn't) publish it yet, for various reasons. And then because we moved, as I mentioned we might in the post; a thousand miles north, and I was swamped. Also other things happened, and I was decompressing.

I thought about publishing a version more edited and updated, but I like the snapshot it creates as is. So I'm going to wait until later to give you more current details. Here, have a piece of a sad update:

Sorry for the long silence here. It's been... interesting. A lot has happened. As is often the case with silence. This year has paralleled 2012 too closely for comfort.

In the ten Christmases since I graduated from college, nine of them since I married, most of those years I've wanted to send out a Christmas letter. I've never done it, for one reason or another.

In the last few years, part of it was working at a liturgical church. Christmas is the Crazy Time. It's not enough that it's such a big holiday, Easter is that, but isn't as bad. It's also the year-end projects, and all the things to finish before going out on vacation.

So surrounded by liturgical symbols and words about Advent being a time of quiet and contemplation, I'd work overtime every day, then collapse at home, too spent and exhausted for thought. This last year, on my last day before vacation I worked almost eleven hours -- which perhaps isn't so very bad, except that it's exactly double my official office hours.

After that I was silent because of vacation. We went to Texas to see friends, and it was wonderful. Truly restful for me, and finally, a bit of that quiet and contemplation I'd heard so much about. Space, at least, to reset and recover. We stayed through the beginning of January.

January. At first there was a lot of adjustment, coming back to work. A new boss, other things. Then I was simply silent because I'd fallen out of the habit of blogging. I almost posted again, but...

The last week in January happened. I suspected, then found out I was pregnant. We didn't know how we'd afford a second child, or how we'd make room in our little house. Somehow, we would make it work. Somehow. I didn't know how I'd make it through work with morning sickness, either. It was already much worse than the early morning sickness with Gracie (codename). Make it work. Somehow.

The next evening Gracie suddenly came down with a high fever. We gave her Tylenol, and Tylenol, and more Tylenol... not all at once, of course... and I woke every couple hours in the night to check on her and make sure her fever didn't shoot up again.

The next day, the last day of January, I stayed home from work to care for her. But later in the day John came home, and I was called in to work, to find out I was laid off and turn in my keys.

The next month came with big decisions. Which direction to go in. An opportunity which seemed like it would have solved all our money problems, but may well have created new sorts of problems. We turned it down. There are still more decisions, and we might move. Also there were family events, more development to the tragedy I can't talk about.

Towards the end of February I went in for my first ultrasound. Only to find out our baby's heart wasn't, isn't beating. A missed miscarriage. It's been about two and a half weeks now, and still my body hasn't realized.

In my next appointment, the follow-up a week later, I thought to ask, and found out that his or her heart must have stopped within a few days of the ultrasound. The machine measured its growth to the very expected day -- 9 weeks, 0 days. So within a few days -- the margin of error.

My mother continues to decline. More than I've let myself see, think about, or admit. I don't think she remembers my name; she certainly doesn't remember my daughter's, but she loves to see her. I should take her to go visit more often, especially now that I'm a stay-at-home mom. Especially before we move, if we do.

All the loss.

But no, I know it could be worse.

What's my point?

I don't know, how can I know yet? I've barely written since that last week in January, and I process through writing. But I'm in a time of waiting now, and I think I'm beginning to come back to myself.

I want to be honest, here at Quettandil. I want to be like The Actual Pastor, and "Living my life as is, instead of as if." Heh. If this update on my life is my poor man's version of a late Christmas letter, it must be the most pathetic one in history. Now, if I were actually like The Actual Pastor, this post would both be deeply honest AND super inspiring. Somehow. I... don't know how to do that, yet.

But here it is. Why I've been silent, and the frame and context for whatever follows. If we move, I may not have much time to post again for a bit.

"DST is eeeevil," or: Mixed Feelings

I'm finally going to participate in RambleRamble's weekly linkup. I've meant to, many times, but never quite made it before.

The prompt: "Need to get something off your chest? How about sharing a good rant with us?"

My snarky post would definitely qualify as ranty, but I'm not going to get that one ready by midnight tonight, so a different post and rant it is. I'm sorry if some of the sentences here don't make sense or don't scan easily. I wrote this kinda quickly (for me). I mean, I composed parts of it mentally in the wee hours of the night last night, and mostly wrote it down (and edited, and added the pics and links) during my daughter's naps today. I'm not sure if I caught and clarified all the confusing bits. I tried.


Unfortunately, this rant is going to be watered down a little bit by the mixed feelings. Not that I have mixed feelings about Daylight Saving Time itself, the concept of it. Far from it. Pure evil. But... Well, I'll explain later, after the rant.

Let's start out with a couple little quotes from Facebook. This is what I've already said about Daylight Saving Time ending. In comments on a status.

"As a fellow new (-ish) parent, I'm terrified of what this means for the time change this year. I mean, fall is supposed to be the good one! The magical extra hour of sleep! But I'm sure that as soon as 4:30 rolls around my girl's gonna be like, "Mama, Mama! I'm so happy, Mama! Aren't you? Isn't life great? Let's plaaay!!!" (Roughly. She doesn't actually talk yet.)

Somehow, I'd always heard from parents that Daylight's Saving Time especially sucks when you have kids, but it seems like I only heard about how hard it is to get them to go to bed when it's still light outside, not how hard it is to get them to SLEEP IN JUST ONCE FOR THE LOVE OF ALL THAT IS GOOD.

Weekends are when I get more sleep deprived. Because even after almost a year, I can't seem to get it through my head that I can't stay up later on Friday night. Oh, and the tireder I am, the more I make stupid decisions... like staying up late. It's like an infinite loop of tired and dumb.

Phew. Apparently I had a few things I wanted to get off my chest on this topic. >_>"

Later I said,

"Seems I spoke too soon.

Best. Jinx. Ever."

And,

"She'll sometimes sleep longer if we let her cuddle in bed with us. And there's no light anywhere.

Of course, other times she just climbs all over us, scratches our faces..."

I saw one person on Facebook defend Daylight Saving Time on the grounds that children were walking to school in the dark. Please, think of the children!

Um? Wait, when were they walking in the dark? In the winter? Fall is when DST ends, sooo... yeah, no time change would not affect that a whit.

Even if it did, um... maybe we should start school later in the day? Just a thought? I mean, I know there can be some logistical issues, but if the alternative is Daylight Freakin' Saving Time, seems like a good idea to me.

That's the other thing. Why are we trying to save light in the summer? It's summer! There's plenty of light! What, because there's so much of it, so we're trying to stockpile it for the winter? Sorry, I don't think it works that way.

This is probably a good place to link to The Actual Pastor's very nicely ranty post on Daylight Saving Time: "The Real Reason We Observe Daylight Saving Time: to Kill Parents." It is bitter and lovely.

Yep, once upon a time, at least the evil of the time change in the spring was sort of kind of counterbalanced by the joy and magic of the extra hour of sleep in the fall.

But now? Now that I'm a parent? There is no magical extra hour of sleep, there is only pain and anger. I see Daylight Saving Time's true face now. There is nothing good in it, it is rotten to the core. It should die a terrible, painful death, be burned to ash, and have its ashes scattered to the four winds so that no one might ever reassemble the pieces and resurrect the practice.


And yet, for all that (and I do believe that), I can't end on that note. Last year my daughter was born on the day of the extra hour, and I can't think of it without being reminded of her.

It's kind of hard to maintain the rage of being woken up at 4:30 in the morning because of the most retarded, useless practice ever... when you remember that at that time last year you were also up, because you were in the middle of giving birth to your child.

To be mad about not getting that extra hour of sleep you expected (and maybe to actually lose sleep because you foolishly went to bed planning for it, even though you knew it was not to be), when last year you hadn't slept soundly, for... well, for weeks actually, to a certain extent... but especially not since you checked into the hospital approximately 36 hours earlier.

To be angry that the good chunks of sleep you did get were so short, when last year the epidural gave you some really nice good chunks of sleep too, at least when you weren't literally shivering uncontrollably from a reaction to it, just trying with all your might to keep your teeth from chattering. Or until you were woken by alarms at your baby's heart rate, and a lowering of the pitocin. Or woken by nurses giving you antibiotics for an infection. Still, you think back to the beginning of labor, and ah, that epidural gave some good sleep!

Daylight Saving Time last year. About an hour and a half before Gracie's birth.

It's hard to measure pain sometimes, it's so subjective. Even more so, memories of pain. But there are objective data points, here and there. At first I remember how I was handling it, how I thought I could've kept on going, if I hadn't learned I had to keep going for so long, that I was only dilated 1 cm.

Then I remember. I remember when the labor started, how I could laugh with people in the room, and check Facebook. How that quickly changed, how soon I could only watch a bit of very mild TV for distraction -- had to be a calm nature channel, nothing stressful or demanding to my brain, my attention.

The contractions. The pain always lingered, so to speak, after the needle on the graph stopped showing the contraction. It took a little while to come back down to normal.

Soon I could only watch the TV as a distraction between the contractions. But soon after that there wasn't really any "in between." Maybe there was officially, but the pain never went away. Between having had Braxton Hicks contractions that would last five minutes or more, sometimes, and as little as a minute apart (or less), possibly because of an irritable uterus that wouldn't completely relax for twenty mintues at a stretch at times, and then add in a low level of pitocin to start up actual labor? Things became not happy.


Not that, you know, labor is normally happy. But I've heard inductions can be worse than "regular" labor, and I'm pretty sure I've heard there are supposed to be breaks between contractions, at least until close to the end. Unlike some of the stories from women with an irritable uterus.

I used to get really bad menstrual cramps. Bad enough to throw up, once, and very close to that many, many other times, as I realized after the vomiting incident. Labor... was kind of, sort of, a little like that? You know, besides being a ton worse. But with cramps, moving around, tossing and turning from side to side, will help a little bit, for a moment. With contractions (real honest-to-God ones, not the Braxton Hicks), it's like if you move even a fraction of an inch, you'll be impaling yourself further on the metal pole that's rammed down your center. All you can do is breathe and count, and then you can't even do that, all you can do is exist until it's over.

That's my experience, anyway.

Sorry, I don't know when this became a rant about childbirth. This is not the next part of the pregnancy complications and birth story I've been meaning to tell. But, it's written, I guess I'll go ahead, out of order or not. And I'll remind you that expressing the difficulty of something does NOT mean the person talking thinks it was a mistake, or not worthwhile. Momastery's "2011 Lesson #2: Don't Carpe Diem" is relevant here. None of this diminishes my love for my baby, not even a tiny little bit. Similarly, talking about how hard parenting is, or how I miss long stretches of sleep? Yeah, the appropriate response is not, "Well you shouldn't have decided to have a kid, then." Just in case you were wondering.

Some people say you forget the pain when the child is born, to which I give a very mature and dignified, WTF??!

I mean, I know the Bible has a verse about how a woman forgets her pain for the joy that a child has entered the world (John 16:21), but I'm pretty sure it was being poetic, and speaking very generally. I've heard women talk about this as though they literally forgot. That that's why they would have another child, because they actually don't remember what it was like. And I'm not just talking, "Oh wow, I forgot it was this bad," but like, forgot. the. whole. thing. Seriously? I mean, I was skeptical before I had my daughter. My brain, as far as I know, just doesn't work like that. I didn't think childbirth would damage it in such a way that that would change. It didn't. Childbirth was... memorable.

So, anyway, since I DO remember all that, it's hard to be very mad about Daylight Saving Time, somehow. Well, other than Daylight Saving Time never being an important or necessary part of bringing a child into the world. That little detail.

I almost wish it was easier to stay mad. Like I'm the jerk invalidating my own emotions, saying, "You think that's bad? Wait 'til..." Bleh. Well, here's a compromise with myself. I can be mad about lost sleep the other 364 days of the year. I can sure as heck be frustrated that, with a few exceptions, I haven't had more than four or five hours of sleep at a time in over a year now, or even as much as four at a time in I don't know how long now, maybe weeks? That ohmyGOODNESS I really need to night wean this child.

But I love her, and a day that reminds me of her birth can't be all bad, despite itself. Even if the concept of DST is pure and unadulterated evil.

Around 8 hours after her birth.