Yesterday was Savannah's 1st birthday. This is a letter for her:
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To my dearest Savannah,
Today is your first birthday, and I hardly understand where the past twelve months have gone. It seems like only yesterday I was in the hospital, clinging to the Polaroid picture I was given of you. Wondering how you were, if you were in pain, when I might get to see you in person. I was so scared. But, it turned out to be the happiest day of my life...
30 March 1999 was a very pretty day. I had gotten up for work, and I told your Daddy I didn't feel well. I didn't want to go to work. It wasn't something specifically wrong, but I'm so glad my body seemed to know that you were in such trouble.
I called the doctor when I arrived at work, and waited for her to call back, to let me know what she thought I should do. The kids were coming in by then, as I was getting the classroom ready to start the day.
Finally, the doctor called me back, and she was concerned that I hadn't felt you moving much. She told me to come in right away. I had no idea that I wouldn't be coming back to school to work ever again.
I was concerned, but not overly so as I drove to the doctor's office. I had the windows down, and it was a warm morning, bright with lots of sunshine. We listened to the radio, and it was the last time for a quite a while that I'd feel as carefree as I did during that drive.
They took me in, and decided to do an ultrasound to see what might be going on with you, and to figure out what might be wrong. No one said it right away, but I could tell by the looks they were giving one another something was very wrong. They all talked in whispers, and I started to cry, because I wanted you to be okay.
The doctor told me that you were not doing well in my tummy. You weren't getting the food and air you needed, and that you probably hadn't grown much at all since February, when we had the our last ultrasound. They told me I needed to go to the hospital right away, but I didn't realize that might mean you would be born later that day.
I was hardly able to speak when I called your Daddy at work, to tell him we had to go to the hospital. I just kept crying and was so scared that something might happen to you.
I don't know how I made it to Daddy's office. I don't know how I managed to drive to the hospital. When we were waiting to be admitted to the hospital, I called your Nana and Papa, who were on their way to Atlanta to spend Easter with us. I told them that you might be born, while they were on their way. And, I think they were both glad that they had already planned to come that day.
The nurse who came to our room was very nice. And she helped a lot in making things slightly less scary. But, everything happened really quickly, once I was there. They strapped a monitor around my tummy, to listen for your heartbeat and I think they knew fairly soon, that you needed to be outside of me, so they could take care of you better than I could.
The epidural shot hurt a lot, especially since I was so nervous to begin with, but... soon, I was on my way to the operating room. And Daddy came in before they started the c-section, all dressed up in hospital clothes.
At 1:34pm, you were born. I heard your tiny cry and Daddy got to see you, as the doctors held you up. I didn't see you right away, and I think I'll always be sad about that. They gave me a picture a few hours later, but... I'm just sorry I didn't see you until the next day.
I'm sorry I didn't do better. I'm sorry that you had to be born so early. I'm sorry you had to be on a ventilator, and that you had to be in the hospital for so long. I'm sorry I couldn't breastfeed you directly. I'm sorry that the first year of your life has been so difficult at times.
I don't think I'll ever be able to make you understand how much I love you, how lucky I feel that you are with me today to celebrate your first birthday or how much you've taught me about life and love and determination during this past year. I don't know if you'll ever understand how special you are, not just to me or to your Daddy... you are extraordinary, really. Just because you Are.
But, you know... I'll never be able to give you a hard time about 'I went through some many hours of labour and pain to have you'. It was quick. And the process of 'having' you was painless. It was the waiting and hoping for you that hurt me so much. Waiting to hold you. Waiting for you to breathe on your own. Waiting for you to be able to drink from a bottle. Waiting for you to be able to come home.
Thank you for picking your Daddy and I as your parents. Thank you for fighting so hard and doing so much to be able to come home with us. Thank you for the way you smile at me when I pick you up out of your crib every morning. Thank you for all your goofy faces and for your beautiful laugh. Thank you for every day you give me the chance to love you more than I thought possible only the day before...
Being your Mommy makes me incomparably happy and proud.
So, happy first birthday my little Sweet Pea... And know that I am trying as hard as I can every day to be the best Mommy to you that I can...
I love you always and forever,
Mommy
Today is my 27th birthday. So far, it's been the same as any other day here... except for the fact that being 27 years old bothers me, in a lot of different ways.
I don't feel 27. Gods know I hardly even felt 26. After you turn 21, does anyone ever feel like their age again?
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The last birthday I looked forward to was my 21st birthday. I can remember it well... as well as can be expected, for being exceedingly inebriated in celebration.
Just past midnight, on my 21st birthday, it was a Sunday night... 'Sted supplied me with my first 'legal' beer, although it wasn't really legal, considering that we weren't supposed to have any kind of alcohol in the dorms, whether you were 21 or not.
She had just turned 21 the month before, and she happened to have a couple of bottles of Killian's Red in her little dorm sized fridge. So, she gave me one. I sat with her and drank it, while she was typing away to our friends online, telling them it was also my 21st birthday.
The day itself was non-eventful. I didn't go to class, but then again, I didn't go to class much at all that semester. I was missing Wallace, who had gone back to Indiana four days earlier. And, I had to go to our fraternity meeting at 9pm.
'Sted and I used to be in the Phi Sigma Pi honour fraternity, although the chapter at Edinboro seemed wholly social. Although, occasionally we did do things other than get together, and party.
I didn't have a lot of other friends of drinking age at Edinboro, so it was nice that a few of our 'brothers' decided to make a bigger deal out of going out with 'Sted and I to celebrate my birthday.
The other nice thing about having other people come with us was, I didn't have to buy a drink... I don't think I paid for one, the entire night. I've not ever had an occasion for anyone to want to get me drunk as much as these two guys did, that night.
Keeping in mind, in little old Edinboro, there were only three bars... that was the extent of my bar tour. First, the Hotel bar, then the Edinboro bar, and then finally, the Copper Coin... which I stumbled into, from what I remember. I liked the Hotel bar the most, since it was smaller and quieter. It was awfully busy at the Edinboro bar, and the Copper Coin, was quite busy too. We did a lot of laughing and a lot of drinking.
I vaguely remember 'Sted left a bit earlier than I did, since she didn't want to get quite as drunk as I did. And I vaguely remember the trip back to my dorm, as the guy I was riding with thought it was funny that he was knocking down trash cans in the street with his car. And, considering where my dorm was in relation to where the Copper Coin was, I have no clue where we were or what we were doing. Chris had probably had too much to drink too. And, I'm thankful that no one got hurt from his escapades.
'Sted was online when I staggered to her door, and she just kept giggling at me, at my state of incapacitation and at the little bit of buzz she had left. Her friend, Fishby from Australia wanted to call me to wish me happy birthday, so I ran to my room for him to call.
Then, I decided I had to talk to Wallace. I called his dorm room, and there was no answer. I proceeded to call all the rooms down the hall from him, as the dorm numbers where in sequential order, to find him. Finally, I got someone, at 3am, or some other such insane time of night to tell me that he was indeed back in his room.
During that historical phone call, I giggled and regaled my tales of drunken stupor with 'Sted and the boys, and for the grand finale, tried to vomit quietly while still on the phone with a very sober Wallace. It was not my finest moment.
So, that was the last birthday I looked forward to... and remembering how I felt on 22 March, as I was preparing to drive three and a half hours home for Spring Break, I'm glad that I have no grand partying plans for my 27th birthday.
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I spoke with Wallace on the phone, and he sang me 'Happy Birthday' from work. Savannah is waking up from her nap, and hoping for my attention. And, I just got a beautiful card from my parents.
I'm happy for the little sweet things in my life, even if I'm not the most thrilled about being 27 years old. I'm much more excited about celebrating Savannah's first birthday, in a little over a week.
Spring is definitely springing here in my little world here in Atlanta. I had the first sure sign of it today, as I walked out into my screen porch.
Was it the warm weather or the sun shining in through the mini blinds, you might ask? Or was it the dogwoods in bloom or the squirrels playing in the pinestraw? Actually, it was none of these things. I've seen all of them for the past couple of weeks now.
The first definitive sign of Spring here at the Beeson household is... the creepy old guy with his tank top and shorts, walking his two yippy dogs on the path back behind our apartment. He's back again for a new season. And I know that Spring can't be far behind.
See, I know of the creepy old guy well. Although, I didn't know about him, really until after Savannah was born.
When I was home, after I got out of the hospital last year, I was home by myself all day while Wallace was at work. And, I did a lot of nothing. I watched tv, cleaned a little here and there. I was also expressing breast milk 4-5 times a day for Savannah, since I wasn't breastfeeding her myself when she was in the NICU.
We live on the bottom floor of our apartment building. And, it's okay mostly. The rent is cheapest on the bottom floor, and it gets gradually more expensive the higher the floor that you're on. There are actually only three levels to any building here. But, the nice thing about ours, over the ones above us, other than being a bit cheaper is that our screen porch has a door, and you can walk out the back of your apartment, if you want to.
The disadvantages to living on the bottom floor are more numerous. I'm paranoid about leaving the windows open, as I'm a country girl and scared that someone might try to get into our apartment with such easy access. Also, I keep most all of the miniblinds closed all the time, since I don't want to 'be on tv' as my mom used to call it, or have people peering into my apartment all the time. If I feel like walking around naked, I won't gross anyone out. Or if I decide to break into song and dance for Savannah to make her laugh, it won't bother anyone outside either.
But, mostly the windows facing the back of the building, I do leave the blinds open a bit. And through the screen porch, I leave them all open. Since, there really are not a lot of passerby, on the path behind the building... except for the creepy old guy in tank top and shorts walking his two dogs.
The creepy old guy really only ever wears a tank top and shorts. Ever. I've only seen him in something different maybe twice, when the weather was getting colder.
I have gleaned a little bit of information about the creepy old guy, just by my own assumptions, but I actually have more questions than I have answers.. He couldn't possibly have a job, I don't think... Unless he works nights or something. And, if he doesn't have a job, how in the world does he afford to live here? Is he so broke that he owns nothing else to wear but a tank top, the underwear kind and ratty-ass cutoff jean shorts? Or, how does he afford to feed his dogs if he doesn't work, and walks his dogs twice a day past my screen porch window?
My introduction to the creepy old guy was probably the Monday, after I came home from the hospital. (He doesn't seem to walk his dogs much back here on the weekends for some reason, which would explain why I didn't know about him, until I was at home all the time.) I was sitting on the couch, probably watching tv, with my big old Medela double breast pump attached to each of my breasts, while expressing for Savannah. And that creepy old guy just stood, right outside the window staring at me.
Now, being an exhibitionist has a certain charm, but not for a creepy old guy with his dogs, who lives in my apartment complex. Even when I noticed he was staring, and I attempted to be nonchalant, but clearly displeased with the fact that he was staring at me and my bare breasts hooked up to the breast pump, and he just stood there.
So, he's been creepy to me ever since. But, I see him every day when the weather gets warmer. And his dog walks will be a daily occurrence on the path behind my apartment, probably until about October or November.
So, if someone asks me how I know that it's really Spring, I'll tell them...
I love to watch the dogwoods bloom in Atlanta.
Since, I plan to share the creepy old guy stories only with you...
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Hope you have a good weekend, and I'm looking forward to Maura coming over to stay with us tonight. So we can watch movies, hang out and chat about her past weekend spend at Mardi Gras. Lucky bitch.
Ms. Savannah is getting her two bottom teeth in!! It started about two weeks ago, and you can see them much better now. She's been eversothankfully nonplused by the event, although she seems to find it funny if Wallace or I happen to give her one of our fingers to suck on, and we keep saying "Ouch!" as she bites down, with those two tiny teeth.
It's indescribably cool that she's getting teeth... I don't have any idea if any other parent feels this way when their child starts teething. It's a great affirmation to me, that she's growing properly and her little body knows when it is supposed to be doing things like growing teeth, etc. I still worry that she'll keep on track with her growth as time goes along, but for now, she seems to be doing just fine.
She's going to be so cute with those little teeth on the bottom, every time she smiles. We're planning on getting some new professional pictures of her done around her birthday. They'll look so sweet.
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We went out over the weekend, to look at houses available for rent in another part of Atlanta. I think we've both decided that it would be really nice, especially since we can't afford to buy a house right now, to find one to rent. The price range is really similar to the apartment we have now. And it wouldn't be a lot more expensive for us to see if we could find a house instead.
The ones we happened to look at weren't great, but there was one that was a possibility. We have plenty of time to look for one, and we could move before our lease was up, if we happened to find a house we absolutely loved. So, I'm on the hunt for decent rental homes in the Smyrna/Marietta area of metro Atlanta. We're hoping for at least 3 bedrooms, and other things like decks, fenced yards, and fireplaces could only be a plus. So, if you happen to know of any, please email me.
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Now, I started this entry a while ago... and I've been thinking about what else I might want to write about, when it occurred to me that my online journal is _not_ at all a good representation of who I am. Especially for my friends and people who know me in life, one might think that as soon as Savannah was born and I started writing in an online journal, someone shoved a ray of sunshine so far up my ass that it would only be removable by surgical means, or an act of the gods.
I tend to want to write about the happy and positive in my life. And I am a generally happy person by nature. Unless you happen to ask my husband, after I've gone off on him for the umpteenth time about emptying his pockets before I have to do the laundry. When I get angry, it's a Major event. And the one person I get angry with more often than not is Wallace. I put up with a lot from other people, but I can't seem to let things go with him. I think it has something to do with the nature of our personality differences, as well as the fact that he's the closest person to me, ever. And, since I strive for perfection in myself, I still can't seem to understand why he hasn't developed a psychic connection with me to know what I want and when I want it. But, I'm still trying very hard to relax about these things.
I've been told that I have a good sense of humor. But, between Wallace and I, I seem to waver in my comic abilities. He's marvelously funny, except in a goofy/silly kind of way. And I tend to be considerably more sarcastic and edgy in my humor. So, I tend to feel much less 'funny' in his presence. In addition to the fact that I don't try to be funny much of the time, while he's often on. And stays on. (sidenote: I hope that my sweetie doesn't take offense to this, as he does read my journal too. I mean the goofy/silly part in the most loving way. Since he's much smarter than I am too, I'm not saying anything about his level of intelligence, just his humor.)
But, when I'm funny, I'm often biting as well. I enjoy being friendly and comfortable enough with friends to be able to make fun of them, call them names, etc. I suppose since I've been the brunt of jokes most of my younger life, I've picked up on it, and used it to my own advantage later on. Although, most of the 'making fun of people' I would never be able to do to someone's face... I can be tough, most especially to people I don't know.
I love reading The Book of Rob, for this very reason. His sense of humor is very similar to mine. And people have taken offense to things he's published in his journal. But he's smart and funny, and people need to know to take some of what he says with a grain of salt.
So, know that I'm not always happy, not always positive and sometimes I'm an outright bitch. I'm hoping to go on from this entry to be a little more true to myself. As edgy as I am beyond my online journal. I think that's why some people have chosen to love me in this life. And, I'm pretty happy with myself too, warts and all. My former Mary Sunshine-style of journal writing has been thrown out of the window. I'm not perfect. I'll never ever be described as 'perky'. And while my emotions run very close to the surface (I am an Aries, by gods... with a birthday coming up.) I'll be sure to let y'all know about all of them... Instead of just the pretty ones.
It boggles my mind that in 12 short days, I'll be 27 years old.