You want a cohesive narrative. But it does not happen.

Sadly, my life is more like a Gertrude Stein novel. With really bad attention to verb tenses. Or a Flannery O'Connor short story, which, I love her short stories, but seriously, I do not want to be one of her protagonists.

But stuff does appear to lead to other stuff anyway.

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I never thought I'd have a child. 

For a few years there, I thought:

1) I couldn't have children. Because, and here's an overshare, there's a little something wrong down there.

2) I thought I'd be married to the emotionally abusive asshole.

Fortunately for me, I came to my senses, and the Emotionally Abusive Asshole, unfortunately for her, married some other poor woman, who sounds really nice, but must, alas, spend her life being married to that fool. Bless her heart.  

 3) I always intended to adopt. Which I still intend to do. Every time I think about it, I get this funny pang. I know it's supposed to happen. 

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The Kid is getting ready to walk. I know this walking will happen soon because, as of yesterday, she's been balancing without holding on to things. !!!!!!! Eek. Is the house kid-proofed? Hell, no. I need also a bigger play pen, like half room size bigger. Any suggestions?

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 When I got pregnant, I was stunned. And jumped up and down for joy. Then, I got nervous and sat down.

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Once when driving through Arkansas, I got caught in an ice storm. I called the highway patrol in Arkansas and got directed to their weather line. Picture this: I'm stuck in bumper-to-bumper traffic. Clowns to the left of me. Jokers to the right. Well, a lot of really big trucks and me. There I was, stuck in the middle with the dog. The 'weather' line rang and rang, and finally, a tinny recording came on that said (in a southern accent):

"It's icy. Be careful." 

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 When I started seeing stars during the first few months of my pregnancy, the doctor and I both thought: "Pre-eclampsia!" But my blood pressure sat comfortably and crazily at 90/60. 

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When I was dating the motorcyclist guitarist, I talked him into driving the cycle at 100 miles an hour. It was extraordinarily stupid. But the sensation! Wind. Like moving through the eye of a tornado. Cold and hot pockets of air shooting by. The feeling like we were sitting still while the earth was moving along. My hands around his waist. How could something so dangerous be so intoxicating?

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 It was near the end, a few weeks before Christmas, that my blood pressure began to rise. At 31 weeks. I started keeping a record and taking my pressure at home. I had terrible mood swings, too. I became so angry at the cat once that I had to lay down on the couch and will myself back into calmness. Because my blood pressure had shot up so high, stars had shot across my field of vision like little mad fireflies.

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 I loved driving cross country. Of course, I did this driving because I have a phobia about flying. I still do. It's petrifying. Let's just put it this way. I'm telling you about it now and picturing everyone going back to look at this entry after my plummeting death and saying, "Wow. She was psychic." 

How can something so safe feel like death in a can?

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The day after Christmas, I took my pressure that morning and discovered that it was 160/100. I placed myself on the couch and took it again. 150/95. Shit. I didn't even have a bag packed at 34 1/2 weeks. I grabbed keys, put the dog in the house with food and water, filled the cat and bird bowls, and got in the car. I thought, "Well, I'll be home by dinner anyway."

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The Kid has a cold. I hate that. She keeps getting these recurrent ear infections. She coughs in her sleep. I have these friends who, very strictly, keep their baby in her room at night. No matter if she yells. Or screams. I want to be tough like that. But then the Kid sits up in her crib, red-faced and crying. And I go in and hold her. She puts her head on my shoulder. I am the ultimate sucker. I gather her up and put her in bed with me. I hate it when she's sick. It frightens me. I think of myself as a big weenie-dumbhead.

No one told me how much fear goes hand-in-hand with love when you're a parent. I didn't know. Is it just me? I can't tell.  

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The thing about driving cross country that I love is that I'm free from all other responsibilities. I don't have to be responsible for anything but arriving. In New Mexico, I stay at this wonderful bed and breakfast where I've stayed so often, they know me by name and give me extra discounts. My favorite part of the drive is getting up at 4am, putting myself and the dog in the car, and driving through the darkness before dawn. Art Bell sometimes. Sometimes NPR. Nothing but New Mexico mountains. It's like a mystery that doesn't need to be solved. 

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 When I got to the hospital, I went to the wrong emergency room. And then, that emergency room, even though I was obviously pregnant and needed to go, would not release me to labor and delivery. My blood pressure shot up even higher. My doctor had to call twice, and finally, gave up on the emergency room staff and just called labor and delivery to come and get me. They sent a wheelchair. It was the wheelchair that made me think, "Uh oh. This might be more serious than I was thinking."

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 The Emotionally Abusive Asshole wanted to remain friends. I didn't but decided I was being ridiculous. I have remained friends with many of my ex-boyfriends.

My instincts were right. He called me just before Thanksgiving, when I hadn't spoken to him in months, to tell me he couldn't be friends any longer because his new girlfriend felt our relationship was threatening. I said, "What relationship? We're friends that live 2000 miles apart. Huh? Why are you putting me in the middle of your relationship? This isn't appropriate. We haven't dated for almost two years!" In the end, I hung up, very sad and angry. The next day I was just angry. And then even angrier as friend after friend called because the Emotionally Abusive Asshole, in a parting shot, had called every friend we had and told them I was "coming apart emotionally because he was moving on and that I still wanted to get back together." WHAT?!? I broke it off with him! Two years! I was especially furious when a few of our friends believed him. The others just called because they suspected he was lying and wanted to confirm it. 

I mean ... what an asshole. I spend exactly a week being pissed. Then, I thought, fuck it. He is such an idiot. And everyone always liked me better anyway.

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To my surprise, at the hospital, I was wheeled directly into the high risk pregnancy unit. I stammered, "Wait. I have to go home. The animals ..."

No one listened to me, except to give me looks of exasperation and pity. My doctor showed up briefly with her friend the expert in ultrasounds and big ultrasound machine. The Kid was IUGR, which means, basically that, due to some problem with the pre-eclampsia, my uterus, et. al. wasn't being as nutritious as it needed to be. So, the Kid on the outside had stopped growing at 31 weeks. The inside, I was assured, was still fine. But I was on bed rest in the hospital until the baby was born. I called some friends, who, bless them, took care of the animals for the majority of my hospital stay. I called my family. I stared at the ceiling and listened to the baby's heartbeat on the monitor.

 And then they came in with the magnesium sulfate. 

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In Arkansas, I always stayed in Fort Smith, one of the loveliest little towns I've ever seen. I parked it at the Holiday Inn there. Basically the only big hotel in town. They have these terrific clear glass elevators, so that you can see as you travel up to the top floors. The first time I stayed there, the dog and I got in the elevator, and all was well until the elevator started to move. One look out at the lobby leaving us behind and the dog prostrated herself on the floor of the elevator, splaying all four limbs in different directions and looked at me like, "My god! Get down here! Don't you want to live?"

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The magnesium sulfate ... there was supposed to be a point where I got used to it. But I was one of a small percentage of people who didn't feel better as time went by. By the end, I was weeping and begging passersby to take me off of it. Forty-eight hours passed before that happened. How to describe it .... it feels like someone has broken every bone in your body. It feels like your body can't move. It took huge effort to move at all. When the woman came to give me a sponge bath, I laid my head on her shoulder and cried. She patted my back and told me not to worry.

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 I don't like driving through Texas because they always stop you if your license plate isn't Texan. Then, if you're me, you have to spend twenty minutes doing "Dumb Girl" to keep from getting a ticket for going two miles over the speed limit. Also, once the patrol officer, after posing like a peacock for a full fifteen stupid minutes, stuck his hand in the car to touch my shoulder and the dog thrust her tiny self forward from the back seat and did something I've never seen her do to another person. She growled and vibrated and bared her teeth. wow. 

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When the 21 year old guy asked me to sleep with him, I said no.

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On the tenth day in bed, the doctor came in and said, well, we're not waiting any longer. Your liver is showing signs of compromise. I'm doing the c-section tomorrow.

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When you travel by train, the terrain changes with such subtlety that you don't even notice it at first. You do notice the cute little couple in their eighties with matching Christmas hats that light up when you go to dinner. You sit with them because, well, of course, you sit with them! They tell you about how they were both dating other people when they met and fell in love. She was engaged to another man! And then they both went to a party and met each other. They ran away the first night and got married. The families were angry. The significant used-to-be-others were sad. "It was  a mess," the man says. Then they smile at each other with complete understanding, and you feel an envy so deep and such joy at the same time, you almost start to cry.

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Before the c-section, you are told by your friend about the arms of the mother being tied down. She tells you what to say to prevent that. The nurse argues that they aren't restraining you, they're just tying your arms down with "these soft cloths" to prevent them from moving. When you refuse again you add, "The medicine hasn't started to work yet. That one isn't going to get past me." She looks both embarrassed and pissed but rallies to do a great job with the operation.

I barely get to see the baby until 36 hours later because they put me back on the magnesium sulfate for about 2 4 hours and because I have to be hooked up to ... no ... not sharing that.

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The bartender winks at you. You think about flirting with him with an actual purpose of doing something bad. You don't. Maybe it is a moment like this that starts you on the road to being a person who dares to really live her life. Since you sort of don't in that moment.

Later, he tells you that he wanted to date you then, but thought you weren't interested. Only confirming you were right to start living your life without worrying about the messiness involved.

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I meet the Kid on the end of the second day. I hold her. She opens her eyes and looks at me. And won't look away. Everyone is astonished. She keeps looking at me. Like she knows me. Which, of course, she does.

She is so perfect.

In times likes there, I remember all the things that lead to this point. I am grateful. How could something so simultaneously difficult, painful, messy, boring, exciting, funny and just downright stupid lead to this moment? This really wonderful moment.

My mind is officially boggled. Because I have no idea.  

I adjust the blanket around her and wonder if I'm holding her right. I smile. My mother starts talking about childproofing the house. I say there's plenty of time. She and the nurse exchange glances of exasperation and pity. They are so right.

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