Aaron wanted to take his brand-new legs out for a spin the first day he had them, so he decided to say hello to a few friends. Here's one precious moment from that day.
Monday, November 11, 2013
Thursday, October 17, 2013
I'm not busy, just scattered.
Somehow I am 25 weeks pregnant but before we go any further: Aaron retires out in <30 days, has extensive throat and nose surgery before that, we go home for two weeks, return to move a week later, and then should everything keep going well, we'll welcome little AJ in late January.
Overwhelmed much? Who knew leaving the military could be even more hectic than being in it. He also did not receive a mid-month paycheck, because DFAS was the only entity not to process his extension paperwork... back in August. Of course, nothing was figured out until the paycheck before last came up a bit short. Of course we were promised it would be fixed. And of course it wasn't, leaving us hanging until the 15th when the money didn't roll in. He should receive this all back paid on November 1, but we'll see. It's incredibly stressful because he should not retire without receiving all of his active duty pay. That seems to be what we would call a very bad idea. Then we'll go about 4-12 months without consistent income. Some will roll in here, some later, some sooner than later. He has all his out-process paperwork so as long as he's paid up, November 16 will be the day the bell rings on his active duty career. So long, and thanks for all the fish.
There are absolutely a ton of feelings going on with this retirement, but the one which comes to mind is how I'll feel now that he won't correct people when they ask if he's a retired veteran. "No, I am still active duty." I won't boast that he says it proudly and puffed up, but he is clear. He liked pointing out that you could still serve, even while injured. And he could have continued on in some capacity if he had chosen to do so, but that was not in the best interest of our family. He hardly brought it up. In fact, he just seems to accept it. He's the happiest dude I know, so I'm not surprised. He just wants me to allow him to 6 months without a haircut.
For me, however, I bounce between indifferent and happy that the military will be behind us. We still have loads of uncertainty ahead of us, so that's nothing new. But at least it's our uncertainty; we're waiting on ourselves and not anyone else to tell us what to do. I wish it was as easy and simple as, "Move home, build a house, raise family, go to school, get jobs." But we want to stay here. We want him to have access to one of the best hospitals in the world, and maybe the best place in the world for amputees. The VA in DC isn't too bad, either. At any point he can switch to Standard and still receive the care he would need from Walter Reed (mainly amputee) and the VA, but then choose from dozens of top-notch civilian providers as well. Staying here will give us both the most opportunity. We miss family and know it would be easiest to just "go home," but home is wherever we are. And we've been here longer than we've been anywhere else, anyway.
Pregnancy is physically incredibly easy for me. I can control a lot with diet and exercise (or pay the price for not being mindful). My back hurts a little and I have dealt with insomnia, but I've never been sick and I think I look great. I'm me, with just a bit extra. I've gained maybe close to 20 pounds, I guess. I don't have a scale in the house so I only know when I go in or visit other people who own scales. You can cyber punch me all you want for this next sentence: I finally broke 100 pounds for the first time in my life. I don't mind the changes to my body, but I definitely don't feel sexy, ever. I think I can look "nice" and "cute" but sexy? Nope. Not feeling it. I'm sure it'll come back at some point. Maternity clothes definitely make me feel better about myself, even though I didn't like shopping for them. And nothing a new pair of Michael Kors black boots with gold zipper and buckle couldn't fix. Even Selena Gomez liked them (she said as much when she visited the hospital). Of course, had I known we weren't getting paid, I would probably be boot-less. C'est la vie.
Emotionally, I can be kind of wreck but I think I'm okay. Mostly. I get really upset when I feel like there's no hope for certain things to get better. Some people really take pleasure in telling me how tired I'm going to be, how hard it'll be, how I have no idea what I'm in, et. al. It's actually pretty damn rude if you ask me. And further, not one person who has gone through this journey then entering parenthood has told me anything like that. No one who has faced real adversary prior to caring for a newborn has upset me. I know I should just nod and smile, but sometimes it does get to me. If you don't know their journey, don't comment on it, k? I feel completely capable in regards to handling an infant and my current life. I'm not saying I'll be rocking more classes or not eat a lot of microwaved food for awhile, but I'm not scared. I don't think it's going to be the hardest thing I ever do. The most important? Yeah, that I do agree with. It isn't The Most Important Job In The World, but for my existence raising my kid to be a healthy, functioning, contributing adult is probably the most important responsibility of my life. And if I can save a life, I'm sure I can raise one. At least I have Aaron here with me. The pleasure and privilege of that is not lost on me.
Life is stressful, but good. I am having way too many baby showers because so many people feel so much joy from little AJ's pending full-fledged existence. She's viable now, so I am currently baking a preemie in there instead of a fetus. I feel her all the time and can do certain things to get her to move. I really thought I'd have to meet her first to be so in love, but I've surprised myself. I want her. I need her. And I can't wait to meet her and tell her that I belong to her more than she'll ever belong to me.
We haven't bought anything because of the move, but I can't wait to build her room! Well, we ordered her furniture. Her very expensive, very heavy beech 3-piece suite. The chest and dresser are Bombay style, and in this princess pearl white I just love. Aaron and I took one look and knew it was for us. Nothing else compared. At least the crib converts up to a full-sized bed, so she'll get to keep this forever. If I let her take it with her when she moves out, that is. I really love this furniture.
Overwhelmed much? Who knew leaving the military could be even more hectic than being in it. He also did not receive a mid-month paycheck, because DFAS was the only entity not to process his extension paperwork... back in August. Of course, nothing was figured out until the paycheck before last came up a bit short. Of course we were promised it would be fixed. And of course it wasn't, leaving us hanging until the 15th when the money didn't roll in. He should receive this all back paid on November 1, but we'll see. It's incredibly stressful because he should not retire without receiving all of his active duty pay. That seems to be what we would call a very bad idea. Then we'll go about 4-12 months without consistent income. Some will roll in here, some later, some sooner than later. He has all his out-process paperwork so as long as he's paid up, November 16 will be the day the bell rings on his active duty career. So long, and thanks for all the fish.
There are absolutely a ton of feelings going on with this retirement, but the one which comes to mind is how I'll feel now that he won't correct people when they ask if he's a retired veteran. "No, I am still active duty." I won't boast that he says it proudly and puffed up, but he is clear. He liked pointing out that you could still serve, even while injured. And he could have continued on in some capacity if he had chosen to do so, but that was not in the best interest of our family. He hardly brought it up. In fact, he just seems to accept it. He's the happiest dude I know, so I'm not surprised. He just wants me to allow him to 6 months without a haircut.
For me, however, I bounce between indifferent and happy that the military will be behind us. We still have loads of uncertainty ahead of us, so that's nothing new. But at least it's our uncertainty; we're waiting on ourselves and not anyone else to tell us what to do. I wish it was as easy and simple as, "Move home, build a house, raise family, go to school, get jobs." But we want to stay here. We want him to have access to one of the best hospitals in the world, and maybe the best place in the world for amputees. The VA in DC isn't too bad, either. At any point he can switch to Standard and still receive the care he would need from Walter Reed (mainly amputee) and the VA, but then choose from dozens of top-notch civilian providers as well. Staying here will give us both the most opportunity. We miss family and know it would be easiest to just "go home," but home is wherever we are. And we've been here longer than we've been anywhere else, anyway.
Pregnancy is physically incredibly easy for me. I can control a lot with diet and exercise (or pay the price for not being mindful). My back hurts a little and I have dealt with insomnia, but I've never been sick and I think I look great. I'm me, with just a bit extra. I've gained maybe close to 20 pounds, I guess. I don't have a scale in the house so I only know when I go in or visit other people who own scales. You can cyber punch me all you want for this next sentence: I finally broke 100 pounds for the first time in my life. I don't mind the changes to my body, but I definitely don't feel sexy, ever. I think I can look "nice" and "cute" but sexy? Nope. Not feeling it. I'm sure it'll come back at some point. Maternity clothes definitely make me feel better about myself, even though I didn't like shopping for them. And nothing a new pair of Michael Kors black boots with gold zipper and buckle couldn't fix. Even Selena Gomez liked them (she said as much when she visited the hospital). Of course, had I known we weren't getting paid, I would probably be boot-less. C'est la vie.
Emotionally, I can be kind of wreck but I think I'm okay. Mostly. I get really upset when I feel like there's no hope for certain things to get better. Some people really take pleasure in telling me how tired I'm going to be, how hard it'll be, how I have no idea what I'm in, et. al. It's actually pretty damn rude if you ask me. And further, not one person who has gone through this journey then entering parenthood has told me anything like that. No one who has faced real adversary prior to caring for a newborn has upset me. I know I should just nod and smile, but sometimes it does get to me. If you don't know their journey, don't comment on it, k? I feel completely capable in regards to handling an infant and my current life. I'm not saying I'll be rocking more classes or not eat a lot of microwaved food for awhile, but I'm not scared. I don't think it's going to be the hardest thing I ever do. The most important? Yeah, that I do agree with. It isn't The Most Important Job In The World, but for my existence raising my kid to be a healthy, functioning, contributing adult is probably the most important responsibility of my life. And if I can save a life, I'm sure I can raise one. At least I have Aaron here with me. The pleasure and privilege of that is not lost on me.
Life is stressful, but good. I am having way too many baby showers because so many people feel so much joy from little AJ's pending full-fledged existence. She's viable now, so I am currently baking a preemie in there instead of a fetus. I feel her all the time and can do certain things to get her to move. I really thought I'd have to meet her first to be so in love, but I've surprised myself. I want her. I need her. And I can't wait to meet her and tell her that I belong to her more than she'll ever belong to me.
We haven't bought anything because of the move, but I can't wait to build her room! Well, we ordered her furniture. Her very expensive, very heavy beech 3-piece suite. The chest and dresser are Bombay style, and in this princess pearl white I just love. Aaron and I took one look and knew it was for us. Nothing else compared. At least the crib converts up to a full-sized bed, so she'll get to keep this forever. If I let her take it with her when she moves out, that is. I really love this furniture.
Here's some of it.
So everything is okay. I do have quite a list of big life changes in front me for the next 120 days or so, and while I might not rock it all- it all will get done. We'll be juuuuuuust fine. And eventually, we'll be awesome! Aaron has been awesome at walking a ton lately, and really kicking recovery's ass. So I really can't ask for more, can I?
Monday, September 9, 2013
From TriCare to Civilian.
I finally had enough with TriCare Prime and receiving prenatal treatment at the hospital and switched to Standard to receive civilian care. I had a new appointment four days later with my new doctor. I had seen him before for regular lady stuff, and was delighted to learn he also did OB. I'm already feeling much more relaxed about it.
We moved my due date up a bit (I knew the one the hospital was using was a little off but come hell or high water they don't move dates, all based off of the initial ultrasound), he measured me, called in my anatomy scan, and told me when to come back. And I get to return that week, not the week after! We had a real conversation about food and rules. We talked a little bit about birth and my feelings on it, including my very real anxiety which stems from what I went through with Aaron the first year he was in recovery. The doc really respected that and let me know that within reason, I will be making the choices when it comes to birth. And as for birth, I will not be discussing that publicly because ohmygods the judgement! Sheesh.
I don't think Walter Reed provides bad prenatal care. In fact, I'd love to give birth there. I felt more empowered to speak up there than I do with my current doctor, mainly because I like him so much and the providers seem to change a lot at WR. But it's definitely Tri-Cow, and I am not a bovine on the way to slaughter. I am not just another pregnant dependent. No one is. I feel that a lot of times, I was simultaneously expected to not look things up for myself but also figure them out for myself. I was given a purple pregnancy journal and planner at the beginning and seemed to be expected to just refer to that. I was almost done with my first trimester before I started getting care, and I am thankful I didn't need any first-trimester-only interventions. I would have missed the window entirely.
But the care can be dismissive. They don't seem to pay a lot of attention to a mother's anxiety and just pish-posh any concerns. Someone told a friend to "not bother" with a birth plan! The final straw for me wasn't even prenatal, but ultrasound. A geneticist referred me for an echo-cardiogram and the hospital couldn't see me. I was not given any instructions on what to do next. I actually asked the appointment setter what she expected me to do, and she didn't have anything. I said, "I guess I should just hope I'm okay since I can't be treated!" She wished me luck. So, yeah- done.
The hospital I'll be delivering at is a bit of a drive from where we'll be living then, so I'll have to keep an eye on the weather. The only downside is that the hospital is the only one in the area with a few shared rooms so it can still charge you for the private. It's just enough money for you to think it's doable, but it's not cheap! I hope to get out of there quickly. With having constant care from Aaron and relatives, I think I'll be okay even if there's been surgery. A lot of my friends keep suggesting a longer hospital stay "to rest," but I swear I've lived in one enough to be done for the rest of my life. Hospital anxiety much? I will want to go back to my new apartment, spend time on my expensive mattress, eating delicious heat and bake casseroles, and enjoying my new baby. Or napping on the floor next to the dog. Either way. Better than a hospital. So cheers to choosing my medical care and loving my new doctor!
We moved my due date up a bit (I knew the one the hospital was using was a little off but come hell or high water they don't move dates, all based off of the initial ultrasound), he measured me, called in my anatomy scan, and told me when to come back. And I get to return that week, not the week after! We had a real conversation about food and rules. We talked a little bit about birth and my feelings on it, including my very real anxiety which stems from what I went through with Aaron the first year he was in recovery. The doc really respected that and let me know that within reason, I will be making the choices when it comes to birth. And as for birth, I will not be discussing that publicly because ohmygods the judgement! Sheesh.
I don't think Walter Reed provides bad prenatal care. In fact, I'd love to give birth there. I felt more empowered to speak up there than I do with my current doctor, mainly because I like him so much and the providers seem to change a lot at WR. But it's definitely Tri-Cow, and I am not a bovine on the way to slaughter. I am not just another pregnant dependent. No one is. I feel that a lot of times, I was simultaneously expected to not look things up for myself but also figure them out for myself. I was given a purple pregnancy journal and planner at the beginning and seemed to be expected to just refer to that. I was almost done with my first trimester before I started getting care, and I am thankful I didn't need any first-trimester-only interventions. I would have missed the window entirely.
But the care can be dismissive. They don't seem to pay a lot of attention to a mother's anxiety and just pish-posh any concerns. Someone told a friend to "not bother" with a birth plan! The final straw for me wasn't even prenatal, but ultrasound. A geneticist referred me for an echo-cardiogram and the hospital couldn't see me. I was not given any instructions on what to do next. I actually asked the appointment setter what she expected me to do, and she didn't have anything. I said, "I guess I should just hope I'm okay since I can't be treated!" She wished me luck. So, yeah- done.
The hospital I'll be delivering at is a bit of a drive from where we'll be living then, so I'll have to keep an eye on the weather. The only downside is that the hospital is the only one in the area with a few shared rooms so it can still charge you for the private. It's just enough money for you to think it's doable, but it's not cheap! I hope to get out of there quickly. With having constant care from Aaron and relatives, I think I'll be okay even if there's been surgery. A lot of my friends keep suggesting a longer hospital stay "to rest," but I swear I've lived in one enough to be done for the rest of my life. Hospital anxiety much? I will want to go back to my new apartment, spend time on my expensive mattress, eating delicious heat and bake casseroles, and enjoying my new baby. Or napping on the floor next to the dog. Either way. Better than a hospital. So cheers to choosing my medical care and loving my new doctor!
Wednesday, August 28, 2013
It Can Make You Sick.
I have so many thoughts right now. Admittedly, I haven't read the news very thoroughly but I have been listening to NPR and visiting news sites which aren't American. So I'm going to word vomit for a bit and then we can all go back to our mornings.
I never get over having to meet other people who are just beginning a journey we have almost finished. I feel physically ill each time I have gone to meet a new wounded warrior and their shell-shocked family. In about a week, it will have been two years since Aaron and I lost everything we had built and dreamed about, and begun the long road to rebuilding our life together. I am still not over it; I am not sure I ever will be. So when I see a spouse or parent with that look on their face, the one that relays so many wordless emotions, I just want to cry with them. I just want to hug them and I always wish I could somehow give them my two years' worth of knowledge and experience on this journey. I want to them to believe me when I say that it will be okay again, but it's going to be awful getting there. Purgatory would be a paradise most days for some time, but it will change. There will eventually be more okay days than bad; then maybe at some point, more good days than bad or just okay.
So when the news blows up and the word is that our nation might try to solve another nation's problems the way we have been doing for some years now, I just want to scream. Or sob. Or just quit. I feel actual anxiety thinking about people going through what I've been through. I wouldn't wish this on anyone. At times, though, it feels as if those like us and the dead are just collateral damage. It's just a cost of what this nation does. NBD, right? We got $100,000 and a sweet retirement deal for my husband's troubles, and I'll even get paid, too. The families of the dead supposedly get four or five times that amount. So I guess because we're paid off, it's all okay, right? But it only really works out for the most physically injured and the families of the fallen. Ask a single leg amputee, someone with extensive nerve damage, or PTSD how well they made out after losing so much. Those are the ones who get screwed, and I promise there are more of them than there are of us.
So I'm going to have to say "no." I have to take a pass. I am just as horrified at what is happening to sweet little babies and other innocents. I have never felt threatened on my land, nor watched a war between two groups take out so many people who had no choices in the matter. Perhaps if more nations were willing to match American troop numbers, I'd feel better about it. But we know that isn't the case. It appears that our people are worth less than others. Is it because there is more of us? I don't know. I don't know what to say nor can I make a suggestion on how to fix anything. Should the world care to do something? Yes. But it's a little selective, don't you think? What about all the other nations who have gone through similar loss? Why this one? Why this time? There is nothing worth more planes full of maimed and the dead. Not one cause. It just needs to stop.
I never get over having to meet other people who are just beginning a journey we have almost finished. I feel physically ill each time I have gone to meet a new wounded warrior and their shell-shocked family. In about a week, it will have been two years since Aaron and I lost everything we had built and dreamed about, and begun the long road to rebuilding our life together. I am still not over it; I am not sure I ever will be. So when I see a spouse or parent with that look on their face, the one that relays so many wordless emotions, I just want to cry with them. I just want to hug them and I always wish I could somehow give them my two years' worth of knowledge and experience on this journey. I want to them to believe me when I say that it will be okay again, but it's going to be awful getting there. Purgatory would be a paradise most days for some time, but it will change. There will eventually be more okay days than bad; then maybe at some point, more good days than bad or just okay.
So when the news blows up and the word is that our nation might try to solve another nation's problems the way we have been doing for some years now, I just want to scream. Or sob. Or just quit. I feel actual anxiety thinking about people going through what I've been through. I wouldn't wish this on anyone. At times, though, it feels as if those like us and the dead are just collateral damage. It's just a cost of what this nation does. NBD, right? We got $100,000 and a sweet retirement deal for my husband's troubles, and I'll even get paid, too. The families of the dead supposedly get four or five times that amount. So I guess because we're paid off, it's all okay, right? But it only really works out for the most physically injured and the families of the fallen. Ask a single leg amputee, someone with extensive nerve damage, or PTSD how well they made out after losing so much. Those are the ones who get screwed, and I promise there are more of them than there are of us.
So I'm going to have to say "no." I have to take a pass. I am just as horrified at what is happening to sweet little babies and other innocents. I have never felt threatened on my land, nor watched a war between two groups take out so many people who had no choices in the matter. Perhaps if more nations were willing to match American troop numbers, I'd feel better about it. But we know that isn't the case. It appears that our people are worth less than others. Is it because there is more of us? I don't know. I don't know what to say nor can I make a suggestion on how to fix anything. Should the world care to do something? Yes. But it's a little selective, don't you think? What about all the other nations who have gone through similar loss? Why this one? Why this time? There is nothing worth more planes full of maimed and the dead. Not one cause. It just needs to stop.
Sunday, August 11, 2013
Just Be Happy, Asshats!
Election year can make anyone nuts and that includes me. End of the year, I was posting news articles all over the place. I don't know why, since I am well-aware that nothing I say can really ever change someone's mind, especially if their entire belief system is the polar opposite of mine. In the past several months, I've abstained from inflammatory over-sharing. What does that mean, though? I got really happy when DOMA was repealed (the same day I found out I was pregnant!), but I didn't share the voting records of Congress critters to prove that someone else's party member sucks or discuss how family planning clinics provide essential services besides terminations. It just isn't going to do any good. I can't change anyone, so why waste the energy? I posted some stuff about the George Zimmerman trial, the worst being that maybe people should stop celebrating a verdict and pray for the parents of a dead minor child. I mean, I guess that's inflammatory. But I am not sure it should be.
Okay, so I get a little preachy about love and acceptance, but that is a far cry from being preachy about actual political crap. It's not hard to figure out which way I swing, but that's not the point. If I want to talk about how maybe George Zimmerman could have given Trayvon Martin a ride that rainy night instead of following him (not my idea; stolen from Twitter), it's not to piss people off. It's to provide a different perspective on what this world is, and what it could be. That is all.
Overall, I've decided to be a damn hippie and just be effing happy as much as I can. It's about love, right? I can get a little intense about it (angry optimist?), but it's definitely working for me. I also like to hide things on Facebook that I don't like, instead of trying to tell someone why the information posted sucks. I mean, why does it bother me? As long as no one is hurting me or my family, why should I care if someone is a bigot or racist? Or maybe it isn't all that bad, but I just don't agree with someone. It just doesn't affect me. At all. If I really don't like someone, I just won't hang out with that person. It's not that hard to keep my mouth shut and go play with my puppy to remind myself that I can choose to be really happy.
So for the most part, I just read cute and sappy stuff on the internet. And I share that. And I get really excited over cupcakes on my birthday at a Nationals game. It's working.
I just can't care about everything anymore. I can only hope that I teach my kid love and acceptance, you know? If we're going to talk religion, I'd rather teach my kid about Jesus and his actions than God and that vengeance. If I don't like someone's choices, I should teach my kid that some people make decisions in situations we can't imagine and shouldn't judge, even if we don't like it. I am sure many people feel the same way about me and my choices. In fact, I am certain there are a few people out there who are horrified I have a chance at being a mother. Good for them. They don't bother me any more than I actually bother them. I don't think I see any of those people, anyway.
Just be happy, you miserable wads of festering butt boils! That is all! Happy 31st Birthday to me (yesterday)! I could not be a luckier woman!
Okay, so I get a little preachy about love and acceptance, but that is a far cry from being preachy about actual political crap. It's not hard to figure out which way I swing, but that's not the point. If I want to talk about how maybe George Zimmerman could have given Trayvon Martin a ride that rainy night instead of following him (not my idea; stolen from Twitter), it's not to piss people off. It's to provide a different perspective on what this world is, and what it could be. That is all.
Overall, I've decided to be a damn hippie and just be effing happy as much as I can. It's about love, right? I can get a little intense about it (angry optimist?), but it's definitely working for me. I also like to hide things on Facebook that I don't like, instead of trying to tell someone why the information posted sucks. I mean, why does it bother me? As long as no one is hurting me or my family, why should I care if someone is a bigot or racist? Or maybe it isn't all that bad, but I just don't agree with someone. It just doesn't affect me. At all. If I really don't like someone, I just won't hang out with that person. It's not that hard to keep my mouth shut and go play with my puppy to remind myself that I can choose to be really happy.
So for the most part, I just read cute and sappy stuff on the internet. And I share that. And I get really excited over cupcakes on my birthday at a Nationals game. It's working.
I just can't care about everything anymore. I can only hope that I teach my kid love and acceptance, you know? If we're going to talk religion, I'd rather teach my kid about Jesus and his actions than God and that vengeance. If I don't like someone's choices, I should teach my kid that some people make decisions in situations we can't imagine and shouldn't judge, even if we don't like it. I am sure many people feel the same way about me and my choices. In fact, I am certain there are a few people out there who are horrified I have a chance at being a mother. Good for them. They don't bother me any more than I actually bother them. I don't think I see any of those people, anyway.
Just be happy, you miserable wads of festering butt boils! That is all! Happy 31st Birthday to me (yesterday)! I could not be a luckier woman!
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