Goodbye 2015!

Goodbye 2015!

It was a good year, even though I forgot to post anything on the blog. This year, I'm trying to get back in the habit of writing.

In 2015 we bought our first "real house" along with Brian's parents. They have closed the bed & breakfast and are in the process of selling the house on the coast and moving permanently in with us. Currently, they're staying with us for about a week and a half at a time and it's working out well for everyone involved. Fortunately, the house has a master suite, so everybody can have their own space. Very important for when small people have nightmares and wake up in the middle of the night, stumbling into someone's bedroom looking for comfort.

Mental-health-wise, it was a good  year. After spending 2014 trying medications seemingly at random to help with the postpartum depression/my regular depression which returned with a vengeance, I finally got on a good "cocktail" of medications. (My co-workers at the county took a vote and told me how much they liked it!)

Mimi started 2nd grade, then promptly told me "Mama, it's really embarrassing when you tell stories about me." So even though she's so cute it's hard not to gush, I probably won't be commenting on her doings as much.

Carol has started talking in complete sentences. She didn't bother until she was 3, because Mimi made sure she got most of her needs & wants met and "interpreted" for her. Her first complete multi-subject sentence was "Me hug the kitty that lives under our deck."

Which brings me to FizBit. Although he theoretically belongs to the next door neighbors, he resides under our deck. Why? He's seen the writing on the wall and decided he'd rather run the risk of being hugged by an overly affectionate 3 year old than regularly live with his 10, 7 and 4 year old humans. Who like to do things like dress him up in doll clothes and pretend he's a puppet. It's not the same thing as having a "real" cat, but it's a nice substitute.

Carol likes having a cat around so much that she regularly hugs him and says things like "Me love you kitty." And then insists that she herself is a cat for the rest of the day. When she was a newborn, her cries sounded like mewing because she was a bit premature, but this is slightly ridiculous.

"Carol, it's time to use the potty!"
"But mama, me kitty! Kitties no need to use the potty."

So on this blog, I'm just going to refer to her as Kitty.

Preterm Labor: the Sequel

Over the last few months, I've been too busy to blog. Either that, or the self-esteem issues that come with my chronic depression have done a good job of convincing me that blogging is pointless because "no one wants to hear what you have to say anyway." Possibly both.
I didn't even bother to post the news about our "new addition." But now due to mandatory medical leave, I seem to have time for writing once more.
Shirley's fervent prayers for a little sister (the week where she prayed "and if the baby is a little brother--I guess I'll keep it" was particularly memorable)  are in the process of being answered. Carol Marzetta Mackey should show up for her scheduled C-section November 27th.
However, last week, Carol apparently got tired of waiting and I wound up in the local ER with contractions every 3-4 minutes. ("Dr. Obstetrician was looking over your chart from home and said he was really impressed with how strong and regular they were" isn't something you really want to hear from the staff. Unless they're giving out prizes--but all I got was some drugs that make me a cranky space cadet.)
So now I'm home for the remainder of this week and taking meds to stop the contractions. The meds help stop the contractions, but the side effects are a pain. I've got a massive constant headache, dizziness, feel exhausted, nauseous, anxious, and can't concentrate on anything for more than a couple of minutes. It's like having mono with a side order of paranoia.

First words

Shirley has hit that developmental stage where she's started babbling. She talks to us, the radio, her hands, her toys--anything that strikes her fancy. She spent most of the time I was watching her before work Saturday talking to our bookshelves!

But it's always "ah-goo gaba gaba" sort of stuff. Nothing remotely recognizeable as any form of English, even babytalk.

Except for yesterday. Yesterday as she was in mid-fussing to be picked up, she said "me me me!"
Brian and I were shocked and wondering if we'd really heard what we thought we'd heard. Sure enough, thirty seconds later, it came again: "Mimi!"

Good thing we didn't commemorate her personality by nicknaming her something profane!