post-meltdown

Dear friends,

Even though the official meltdown has passed, I'm in a really touchy frame of mind that, I think, makes me kind of intolerable. Or at least, I am annoying myself and hope to respect (most) of you enough to keep you from the worst of it. I hate every word that I type or say to someone else. I am very, very behind on all correspondence, including some really important stuff like saying "Hi!" to the electric company and promising them we'll pay them so our lives don't get shut off.

Last night I came home to a dark house-- no lights, no air conditioning, no fans. It says something (really scary) about me that the first thing I thought was, "I guess we finally get our power shut off for being so delinquent." Then I thought, "Oh, but it's Sunday. People don't get their power shut off on Sundays." THEN, I thought, "Now hey, it's been mighty windy tonight and at least one traffic light was out on my way home...could it be... a power outage?" I strolled outside to catch the chronic cell phone talker outside of his apartment (he is seriously standing on the sidewalk across the street most of the day and night, talking on his cell phone) but he wasn't illuminated by the usual glow of his porch light. THAT'S how I knew that we still had at least one more day of power left (after the neighborhood power outage is fixed, duh). I was relieved. Not annoyed, as most of my neighbors probably were, no. I was just happy that something that gets fucked up isn't mine or TD's fault. In a lot of ways, that sums it up.

I'm so excited for PB's arrival that I've been crying when I read the parts in The Baby Whisperer in which Tracy Hogg discusses all the things you should do with your baby when she first comes home. The best thing is what Hogg describes as the English tradition of having tea right away when arriving home. Hallelujah! I want to plan for a big pot of tea and some cookies with the baby, naked, in the middle of it all (preferably in the middle of the table), so we can see just what she's all about. And then we'll film it so she'll know whens he's older just why she's so messed up. Another thing I really like about Tracy Hogg's approach is that she advocates respect always for your baby which involves--hang on here--doing what you'd do for any new resident of your home: giving her a tour and showing her and telling her about things like the shower, the kitchen, and the tv. Huh. But then when I imagined that that's precisely what I'd want to do, so badly, to show PB all of her new home, I cried. And cried. Which is when I had to shut the book and get a fucking grip. Which, obviously, meant that I turned the tv right on to a show about THE ABUSE OF BABY ELEPHANTS. I then had a brilliant idea: there should be a tv show rating system for pregnant women. I should never, ever, ever, ever, have been allowed to watch that show. Because if I thought the crying was done? Holy hell, it had only just begun.

I guess that's the thing. I am so excited and happy, but now, even more than before, I am scared. All this crying about elephants and things is mostly about things that are scary and out of my control. I was pretty brilliant at being (feeling) self-assured about how we'd do with The Bean when she came and, even as I sat on the toilet and TD sat on the edge of the tub the night we found out I was pregnant, I wasn't scared. I was terribly, terribly, excited. But those were the days when, if the power went out because we couldn't/didn't pay the bill, it was just the two of us who had to deal. Now what will we do with this little person who needs us all the time, every minute, and MUST have heat in the winter and food and clothes and an education?

I'm terrified. Simply terrified. So I am plugging away, trying to come up with a scheme to figure out how we will make sure this baby cared for, the very best way we know how, while keeping a roof over our heads.

xoKate

p.s. sorry for being kind of a bummer and way out of touch with all of you.