My husband and I use Bank of America for our bank accounts, and we have a credit card through them. My husband got the credit card sometime during medical school (I don't know the exact year, and he's in surgery as I type this, so I can't ask him). He graduated from medical school in 2004, so he's had this credit card for more than 5 years. My husband opened the bank account when he was a freshman in college-1996 (originally it was Bank Boston, and then they were bought out by BOA).
When I moved to Boston in 1999 I opened an account at the same bank.
So, to recap, my husband has had a relationship with this bank for about 13 years, and I have had one for about 10 years.

This July, right before my husband started his new job, we reviewed our finances.
We had accrued a modest amount of debt since Willa was born. My husband had been training and getting paid very little. So we were charging a lot on the credit card.
Now, here are some facts:
With the exception of a couple of months period right around the time we got married in 2003, we had always paid our credit card bill IN FULL every month.
During the time when I was pregnant, and we started charging more, and we weren't able to pay the bill in full, we still paid AT LEAST double the minimum due every month.

When we reviewed our finances we realized that our interest rate on the BOA credit card was very high. We should have called them YEARS before to negotiate a lower rate- it was probably not the best time to ask for a reduced rate when the country was in a recession and we had a balance on the card, but we called them anyway. They told us the only way they would lower our interest rate was if we closed the account. We didn't want to do that because it would have screwed up our credit, and we had a bunch of automatic payments tied to the card. At least we gave it a shot, we said.

Right before we had called BOA to ask for a lower rate, we had started using Mint.com (which I highly recommend.) A few days after our phone call with BOA I did a double take when I signed on to Mint.com and noticed that our BOA credit card limit was $10,000 lower. I thought maybe I was wrong, but I checked with the husband and he confirmed that it was indeed $10,000 lower.

We called BOA (again) and asked what was going on, and basically we were told that because we asked for a lower interest rate they lowered our limit. I would like to point out that with the new limit, we were now only a few thousand dollars away from reaching the limit. So, if I had not checked Mint.com and noticed that our limit had been lowered, and I had tried to charge more than a couple of thousand dollars, to say, pay for my daughter's school tuition, my card would have been denied.
I said as much to BOA. I said "you can't just lower our limit by $10,000 without telling us". Their response "We sent you a letter." (which we hadn't received yet) to which I said "That's all well and good, but the limit decrease should not have gone into affect until we received the letter."
They had no sympathy for us. I could hear them shrugging their shoulders through the phone.

Last week, I tried to use my Bank Of America credit card and it was denied. I used my debit card to pay the bill, and that night the husband and I called them. Apparently withing the past few months, one of the companies we had purchased something from had a security breach and customers' credit card information was stolen. So, as a precaution Bank Of America sent a letter to their customers, and then issued them new cards. We never got the letter or the cards. The letter had stated that on a certain date our current cards would be shut down. That was the day I tried to use the card and it got denied.
We told them we never got the letter or the cards. They said they would issue new ones. We asked how long it would take for the new cards to get here- they said about 7 business days. We explained that we use the card almost every day. We asked if they could overnight or express mail the new cards to us- they said no. We said we couldn't go a week without a card. They said we could keep using the card until the new cards arrived and we activated them. We were relieved. Then, today I tried to use the card at the supermarket- it was denied.

I came home and called them. As usual, I had a hard time getting through to a human being. After explaining the whole story (again) for 15 minutes to a very confused customer service rep, I was disconnected while in the middle of a sentence. I collected myself, and once the steam stopped leaking out of my ears I called back. Explained the whole story (AGAIN) to another (very confused) person. Finally after being put on hold a bunch of times she gave me the bottom line- my current card has been completely shut down. The new cards were sent out over the weekend. We have no card to use until the new card gets here. We were, as usual, given the wrong information.
As I was on the phone with Bank Of America, I was on freecreditreport.com filling out a form for my credit report (part of the continuing saga of us trying to get our finances in order) and they asked for a credit card number (They don't charge it, it's just part of the verification process). So, I asked the woman who I was on the phone with what I was supposed to do and she told me I couldn't do anything until the new cards arrived. Even though she gave me the new number it won't work until we activate the new cards.

I find it so funny that if you owe them money the credit card companies have no problem calling you relentlessly (this hasn't happened to us, but I know plenty of people it has happened to), but when security has been breached, and they are shutting down your card and supposedly sending you new ones, they can't call you.

Another fun fact. We asked them why they couldn't email us. They told us they don't use email to communicate with customers. That is ridiculous. It is 2009. Everyone uses email. Our Bank of America bank accounts communicate with us through email. How is that different from the credit card.
If they had sent us an email none of this would have happened.

On another note- we signed up for an ING Direct savings account last night. Another thing we should have done years ago. Their interest rate is 10 times the interest Bank Of America is giving us. And they charge us A TON of random charges.

Like I said before- we have paid AT LEAST twice the minimum we have owed for the entire time we have had the card. In the 10 weeks since my husband started his new job, we have paid off 75% of the balance on the credit card. we should have the entire thing paid off in the next 6 weeks.
We are good customers. We are the type of customers a bank should want. Now that my husband is making decent money, we will eventually have a mortgage, and more money in our accounts, and possibly be opening up additional accounts. Bank Of America should be fighting to keep us. Instead they are constantly giving us the run around, and giving us poor customer service.

I've said it before, and I'll say it again-When are corporations going to learn that you need to spend money to make money? Also, if you have a good product with good customer service, you don't have to spend a ton on advertising. Word of mouth can go a long way. And the only word of mouth Bank Of America seems to be getting these days is negative.

They could learn a lesson from Apple.

Posted by torrie at 04:47 PM | Permalink | Comments (22)

Remember this entry?

Well, we have a problem.

Last November, when Willa was first diagnosed with Cold Induced Urticaria we weren't sure what to expect. We gave her medicine almost every night for months. The medicine made it more manageable. If it wasn't too cold Willa could even play outside for a few minutes. But, it was a constant concern.
She had hives all the way through May. Basically, if it was 55 degrees or less, she got hives.
They never really seemed to bother her though. Occasionally she would tug at her ears, but that's it. The summer was great because I spent three months never having to worry about the urticaria. We had a couple of instances where Willa went swimming in a relatively cold pool, and she didn't get any hives. I stupidly took that to mean her urticaria was getting better. I convinced myself that it was getting better, that it wasn't a big deal.

Then, a few weeks ago it was 55 degrees and cloudy outside. I took Willa and Dexter on a long walk. About halfway through the walk Willa started to get some hives. I headed home, but we were about 20-30 minutes away at that point. Willa started to cry and and pull at her hands which were now swollen and covered in hives. She kept saying "Mommy, it hurts!" I was helpless.
Here are some pictures:

I was completely traumatized. Completely.

I had to deal with the reality- Willa has Urticaria. She might outgrow it, but that usually happens after 5-7 years. She's only had it for a year. She might never outgrow it.

We can't live in Manhattan where you have to walk everywhere.

Urticaria is rarely life-threatening, but there is something instinctual that happens when I see my kid swollen and covered in hives- I feel like I must fix it.

I can't fix this.

After that traumatizing episode I completely freaked out. I told my husband that we should move to California. In my usual psychotic fashion I started researching towns in California.

For a few weeks I was spending my time applying to pre-schools in Manhattan, while simultaneously looking at pre-schools in California. I was driving myself insane. I had to cover all the bases. I didn't really want to move to California. I mean, if I could convince all of my friends and family to move there, I totally would, but our entire life is on the East coast.

I was praying fro a miracle.

So finally, my husband and I had a long talk.

We both finally said the words "We can't move to Manhattan."

And I was relieved and heartbroken all at once.

And then we decided we would compromise. We aren't moving to Manhattan. We aren't moving to California. We are staying in the town where we have lived for the past year and a half.

Here is how I feel about that:

As much as I am a mature, responsible adult, I still have childish fantasies. I wanted to live in Manhattan. I wanted to hang out with my friends all the time. But this isn't an episode of Friends. Perhaps I am mourning the loss of my fantasy instead of the reality. Sure, if I lived in Manhattan I probably would have seen my friends more often, but not that much more often. They all work a ton. And who's to say that a bunch of them won't move out to the suburbs too.

The town and the area we live in is fantastic for kids. There's no denying that.

True, I wrote before about how I felt like I didn't fit in here, but maybe I need to make more of an effort. Maybe I need to go to some of the vegetarian meetups in the area so I can meet other like-minded people. Also, the mother's helper has only been here a few times, but already I can see what a huge impact having a little help can have on me. I think that if I have a little help, and spend a little time on myself, I'll be much happier.

I still hate that my husband works 10-12 hours a day and then spends another 2 hours a day commuting, but we have to do what's best for our kid.

At least here I can take her from the house to the car, and from the car to the library, or the Y, or the store, etc. As opposed to Manhattan where you have to walk everywhere.

And as much as we were willing to spend extra money to live in Manhattan, it makes so much more sense financially to stay here. To not have to constantly worry about money will be nice.

I must admit, it's always been great being able to say I grew up in Manhattan. There's something special about it. I wanted that for Willa too.

I still have doubts about whether or not we should be staying here. I don't like the idea of my kid having to take medicine every day for 6 months out of the year. Plus, I HATE the cold. I wouldn't mind living in a place that's warm. However, our whole support system is here, and we don't think it makes sense to start a new life on the other side of the country when there's a possibility that Willa might outgrow this in a few years. We want Willa to grow up surrounded by her Aunts, Uncles, Cousins, and Grandparents.

The weird thing about all of this is that I have absolutely no resentment towards Willa. I would do anything for her. She's getting so big, but she's still so small and fragile. I must protect her. And the only way I can sleep at night is if I know I'm doing what's best for her.

This is what's best.

I am trying my hardest to make the best of this situation. To be excited about the prospect of living in a bigger place, of not having to deal with all of the Manhattan school drama (I will write a post about that one day), of enjoying nature.

Manhattan is my home. It always will be. But maybe it is/was my childhood home. Maybe it's time for me to stop clinging to my childhood. Maybe this new town can be my grownup home. Maybe I just need to give it a chance.

Posted by torrie at 09:06 AM | Permalink | Comments (21)

Well, since I wrote this, over a year ago, things have only gotten worse.
Shortly after I wrote that post I got a steroid injection in my shoulder which gave me some relief for about 3-4 months. So it flared up again, and I tried to ignore it, until it got so bad that I was in constant pain. A couple of months ago my doctor scheduled me for another shoulder injection. This time I got no relief. Before the injection, they gave me a comprehensive ultrasound, and the results were not good. Fraying tendons, misshaped capsule, substantial inflammation. Not good.
A little less than 5 years ago I had shoulder surgery. The recovery was HORRIBLE. It was months before I could use my arm. How could I go through that with a toddler?

As I said in the post I linked to, the pain makes everything harder. EVERYTHING. I'm exhausted by the end of the day.

So, I finally bit the bullet. We hired a mother's helper. It's only for 8 hours a week, but it is going to be so helpful. We're not looking at it as a luxury, we're looking at it as a necessity. I am so thankful that my husband's new salary is making it so that we can afford some help. We really need help.
My husband also wants me to hire someone to come and clean at least a couple of times a month. He's totally right- we should do that- It's becoming increasingly difficult for me to clean, however, there is a part of me that feels so weird about hiring people to help me.
When I go to parties, you'll often find me chatting with the waiters, or the kitchen staff. I feel awkward having people do things for me. I don't ever want anyone to think that I'm entitled or spoiled.

I trying to learn how to accept help, but It's hard. I think maybe it's because I'm not OK with needing help. I want to be independent. I want to be able to do it all.

I don't want to be trapped in this body that keeps failing me.

But I am.

Posted by torrie at 02:36 PM | Permalink | Comments (13)

Dear Torrie,

When are you going to learn that watching Grey's Anatomy right before bed is not a good idea?
Especially when one of the characters is battling Melanoma, the same disease you watched your father die from. Especially the night before the anniversary of September 11th. Especially the day after someone close to you had a 12 hour surgery. Especially when you have a million things to accomplish in the next few days. Especially when you've had a really tough week.

Do you enjoy only getting ONE HOUR of sleep because you spend all night tossing and turning because your mind is racing?

When will you learn?

(You idiot.)

Love,

Your Subconscious

Posted by torrie at 09:19 AM | Permalink | Comments (2)

I have been on the phone for six hours straight (I can't tell you why yet- hopefully I'll be able to in the future) and it's not even for something fun, like winning concert tickets. I am stressed and in tears.

We are out of toilet paper and most food, but I can't go to the supermarket because I haven't washed my hair since Friday.

I have two zits on my forehead.

I have eleventy billion things to do.

I'm hungry. I would like some warm chocolate chip cookies please.

We won't even talk about my shoulder and back.

Posted by torrie at 03:29 PM | Permalink | Comments (1)

So, I've written about this enthralling subject before.

I am so fucking frustrated.

We have gotten to the point where Willa only naps one or two days a week (if I'm lucky). She'll go 5 days without napping.

Here's the kicker- it's not like I'm trying to force a non-tired kid to nap. She's visibly tired. She gets whiney, and cranky, and starts falling over. If she doesn't nap, the afternoons are horrible. She'll often burst into tears for no apparent reason BECAUSE SHE IS SO TIRED.

I just don't get it. I remember nap time IN KINDERGARTEN when I WAS FIVE. Willa started fighting her naps when she was A YEAR OLD. Seriously. The first day ever that she didn't take a nap was on her first birthday. She stopped napping in her stroller when she was about 10 months old.

I honestly am more tired now then when Willa was an infant.

If she doesn't nap, it's 12-13 hours a day of non-stop action. It's not that Willa is hyper active- it's just that she's very INTERACTIVE.

"Mommy, let's dance"
"Mommy, read me this book"
"Mommy, chase me"
"Mommy, watch me!"
"Mommy look"

She's getting better, but she's not the best at playing by herself. I can't blame her. It's much more fun to share activities with someone.

Admittedly, my physical issues make parenting more challenging for me than most.

TANGENT: I am really fighting with myself to not use the TV as a crutch, but it's difficult. I used to be able to shower while she was napping, but now that there is rarely a nap, I have no choice but to turn the TV so I can shower. I must mention- Willa HATES when I shower. She cries hysterically. We think it's a fear thing. I am comfortable with letting my kid cry in certain situations, but not if she is hysterical and shaking with fear. So, a few mornings a week, I turn on Sesame Street so I can shower.
I've stopped beating myself up about it because you know what? We read about 20 books a day, we take classes at the Y, we go to programs at the library twice a week, we go to museums, etc.- a little Sesame Street isn't going to hurt her.

Back to the napping issue-
After we eat lunch, I give Willa about 10 minutes to digest (which also gives her a chance to poop). Then we head to her room, brush her teeth, change her diaper, and read a couple of books. Then I sing her her lullaby and put her in the crib. She is usually yawning and acting sleepy. We have black out curtains. The minute I walk out of her room she starts singing and jumping up and down in her crib.

After about a half an hour of her playing I go in and check to make sure she hasn't pooped. Either way, I change her diaper if necessary, and put her back down. She often cries and says "All done Mommy!"

Today, she is napping, after an hour and 45 minutes of singing and playing, and me going back in her room twice, and finally, 15 minutes of her crying it out.

It shouldn't be this hard. I hate letting her cry it out.

But, I'm exhausted. And so is she. And I have things to do.

At night, after we put her to sleep, I am too tired to get anything accomplished. To be honest, getting her to nap is so physically and mentally exhausting, that on the rare occasion that she does nap, most of the time I don't get much accomplished either. I'm not getting stuff done. I'm overwhelmed.

I was a nanny for years. I am not one of those woman who was surprised at how hard parenting is. However, I always assumed my kid would nap- at least until school started. So, I always told myself, well even if I'm really tired, or sick, at least I can have a break or take a nap when my kid naps.

Boy, was I wrong.

Posted by torrie at 02:55 PM | Permalink | Comments (10)

I'm not writing, because I don't want to complain.
It's not so much that I'm worried about annoying my readers, as it is I'm worried about annoying myself.
I'm sick of my negative attitude and my lack of gratitude.
I want to be a positive, grateful person.

I should be thankful that my husband even has a job, not complaining about how for the first two weeks of his new job he will leave the house at 5:45am and not come home until after 8:00pm.
I should be thankful for what an amazing husband I have, who does more than his fare share, instead of selfishly worrying about me not getting a break.
I should be thankful for the roof over my head, not constantly worrying about money.
I should be thankful that I'm able to walk and have access to great medical care, not complaining about how much pain I'm in, and how I can barely use my right arm.
I should be thankful that my husband had 5 weeks off, instead of being disappointed in myself for all of the things I didn't get accomplished.

I'm tired of worrying and complaining about everything, but it's a really hard habit to break.

Posted by torrie at 10:24 PM | Permalink | Comments (5)

Today, the California Supreme Court upheld the ban on same sex marriages.
It's days like today that I am disappointed in the human race.
Sexuality is not a choice. Why would someone choose to make their life more difficult, choose constant ridicule? Why would someone choose to have less rights, less freedom?

You are born gay. There's no question.

And I'm not sure how anyone who's ever had a child could argue otherwise.
My daughter is a girly-girl. She loves dresses, and bows, and party shoes, and dolls, and all things pink.
My husband and I never steered her towards that. If anything we tried to steer her away from that.
We dressed her in mostly gender neutral clothes. We bought her gender neutral toys and books.
But, SHE IS WHO SHE IS. We can teach her right from wrong. We can teach her manners, but we can't change who she is.
This is why I don't understand how the majority of people in California went to the polls on November 4th, and voted away the rights of an entire group of people who are just trying to be WHO THEY ARE.
They just want to be with the people they love, just like the rest of us.
And, I just don't see how two other people who are in love and get married would threaten my marriage.

And if you try to use the argument with me that your religion says that homosexuality is wrong, I ask you this- Do you really think that God believes in prejudice?

I am not looking forward to the day when my daughter asks me why our friends, her aunts and uncles, can't get married in the majority of states in this country.

I don't know what I'll tell her.

Update- Read these:
You can't see her
How you sound

Posted by torrie at 01:51 PM | Permalink | Comments (8)

My kid has been up since 5am, and she is currently refusing to nap.
She was cranky and whiny ALL MORNING. I know she's tired, but still, she won't nap. Which means this afternoon is going to be TONS of fun.
Willa normally wakes up around 7am, but for the past 9 or 10 days the latest she has woken up is 6:30.
I'm REALLY hoping it's because she is teething, and then when her teeth break through she will go back to her old schedule.

Most of the things you can do with kids- museums, libraries, the mall- don't open until 10am, so I've been struggling to keep her occupied in the morning.

This could not be happening at a worse time. I've got a billionty things going on.
Today I have to make and drop of dinner for a family of 5. (One of the moms in my playgroup just had a baby.)
Tomorrow, my mom is coming to stay, and I have to attend a dinner.
Thursday, the husband is working over night. (Which means he'll leave for work at 6am on Thursday and not be home until about 10am on Friday.)
Friday is Willa's birthday- we're taking her to the Bronx Zoo.
Saturday, we're taking Willa to a carnival during the day, and going to a party at night.
And Sunday is Willa's birthday party. We are expecting 35-40 people.
I have to get the decorations and the favors, and clean the house, and make the cake, and cook all the food, and, and , and- EXCUSE ME WHILE I GO BREATHE INTO A PAPER BAG.

I have no idea how I'm going to get everything done- especially with a cranky, clingy kid who won't nap.

I'm exhausted.

Posted by torrie at 01:08 PM | Permalink | Comments (8)

About how Willa has been sick for 5 days, and woke up this morning shaking with a 103.1 fever, and has hardly eaten anything since becoming sick?

About how I am so exhausted because for the past week either Willa has been waking up in the middle of the night with fever, or every time she coughs it wakes me up, or Dexter is barking in his sleep, or the cat is scratching in the kitty litter?

About how a couple of nights ago, I closed both closet doors by accident, and the kitty litter is in the closet, and so my cat peed ALL OVER Dexter's bed?

About how my husband threw his back out, because, you know, we needed that?

About how I am in constant pain?

About how my husband STILL hasn't received a job offer, which is making us SUPER nervous?

About how last night I stayed up to watch the end of the Oscars, because I am a giant idiot, and then went in to my bedroom exhausted only to discover that my cat had puked all over my bed and pillow?

About how my cats' medication for her hyperthyroidism is making her vomit excessively, and the only other treatments are invasive and super expensive?

About how this morning Dexter puked all over the place?

About how our first "date night" in six weeks is a memorial service?

About how I found out that my suspicions about someone were true, and they hurt someone I love dearly?

Yeah, I didn't think so.

Even I'm sick of hearing me complain.

Posted by torrie at 02:01 PM | Permalink | Comments (11)

One of my best friends in the world, my friend Tracy, is in the hospital.
She is my sister. She inspires me.
And she is sick, and in pain, and scared, and I'm not with her, and it's killing me.
I really want to fly to Houston to be with her.
I feel like someone is sitting on my chest.

A quick explanation of what happened:
She started complaining that her ear hurt a couple of weeks ago. She thought she just had some water in her ear.
Then the pain got really bad, then she fainted, then half of her face swelled up, so she finally saw an ENT on Saturday.
She had a wicked ear infection. He gave her some oral antibiotics, but by Sunday night there was copious amounts of fluid leaking from her ear and she was in terrible pain. I begged her to go to the hospital.
Finally on Sunday night she went to the hospital. If I remember correctly, the doctor's words when he saw her in the ER were "OH MY GOD".
She was admitted to the hospital. The ear infection had spread to her face.
I thought they would just give her some IV antibiotics and some pain meds and she'd be out of there in no time.
Then yesterday she had a bad reaction to one of the drugs and she developed a fever.
Today the infectious disease doctor saw her and said "No one realized how bad this infection is".
The doctor is optimistic, but the earliest she will get out is Thursday.
I don't mean to be dramatic, but I would really appreciate it if you guys could send some good vibes her way.

Thank you.

*Update- Tracy was released from the hospital last night. They put a port in her so she can IV antibiotics at home.
Thank you for all of your kind words and prayers.

Posted by torrie at 07:16 PM | Permalink | Comments (16)

I was going to write a whole long post about everything that is going on in my life, but honestly, I don't have the energy.

To sum up-

I am not happy. I should be- I've got an amazing husband, an amazing kid, and a roof over my head.
But, I'm not happy.

I am completely overwhelmed.

I have to keep a house with three humans and four animals clean by myself.

I have to feed two of the animals twice a day, and the other two animals three times a day. Two of the animals get medication twice a day.

I have to take care of my kid mostly by myself. (The husband works a minimum of 60 hours a week, and we have no family of friends nearby, or a babysitter.)

My kid has been fighting her nap every day.

No nap means no break for me.

No nap means no showering for me. Last week I set a record for days in a row without showering.

My kid eats three full meals a day which I mostly cook from scratch, and two snacks.

My point is I don't know how to take care of everyone, cook, clean, run errands, pay bills, exercise, etc., etc., etc.

Things are falling through the cracks.

Bills are getting paid late, thank you cards aren't being written, emails aren't being returned.

And when I try to relax, I'm not really relaxing because I have all of the things I haven't done hanging over me.

I go to bed every night still not recovered from the day. And sleeping doesn't fix that because you can't mentally unwind when you are sleeping.

I can't catch up.

Speaking of sleeping-
My sleep quality sucks.

I'm not being dramatic when I say that in order to get everything done after watching my kid for 12-13 hours straight, I would then have to spend the three hours between her bed time and my bed time working non stop.
I just can't do that. I am in too much pain and too exhausted.

I am spent.

The worst part is- my husband works so hard- he leaves the house before Willa wakes up and on a good night gets home an hour before she goes to sleep. He then eats dinner, returns emails, and does a bunch of chores. He often only gets five hours of sleep. His days off are spent running errands and giving me break.
He carries the weight of supporting his family, and deals with a wife who is both physically and mentally a mess.
When does he get a break?
This in turn makes me feel tremendously guilty.

I've been very manic- one minute bursting with love and happiness, the next hanging on to my sanity with a thread.

I've been crying in front of my child.

Today, I wanted to run away. I wanted to scream.

Anyway, I didn't write this for sympathy- I'm just trying to explain my absence.

I'm having a bit of a crisis. I'm trying to figure out my life.

I haven't had the urge to write anything, because writing takes energy that I haven't got.

Please bear with me

Posted by torrie at 06:35 PM | Permalink | Comments (35)

If I had the time and I wasn't so mentally and physically exhausted I would write a post, but my kid has been fighting her nap EVERY SINGLE DAY. I have tried everything I've read in every single book and article.EVER. I've tried everyone's advice.
I've tried putting her down, earlier, later, before she eats, after she eats, etc. , etc, etc.

I am at my wits end.

So, instead of writing a blog post, I will ask you this-

At what age did your kid stop napping? At what age did you stop napping?

I was still taking naps in kindergarten. My kid isn't even 20 months old yet.

Posted by torrie at 03:15 PM | Permalink | Comments (46)

Instead of spending Willa's nap doing something productive, I went through all of my pictures on Flickr, and put together slide shows of each of the last 4 years.
There are certainly a lot of moments and people dear to us who weren't captured. These are not my "best" pictures- some are unflattering, some are blurry, etc., but they are the pictures that most accurately depict that year.

2005 was about me recovering from career ending shoulder surgery, tons of physical therapy, finding out my dad's cancer had metastasized, a major back injury, and my husband's internship.

In 2006 I was pregnant 3 times (!!!), had two miscarriages, landed an ad campaign with Nikon, Turned 30, had my pictures in The New York Times, traveled a bunch, and had the enjoyable part of my pregnancy with Willa.

2007 was perhaps the most important year I've ever had. I had a very rough pregnancy and was bed ridden for months, Willa was born, my husband became chief resident, and my father passed away.

2008 has been interesting. Willa was modeling, my husband turned 30, finished his residency, and started his fellowship. We moved, my pictures were published in a book, I re injured my shoulder, Obama became president elect, and Willa was diagnosed with Urticaria.

Posted by torrie at 07:36 PM | Permalink | Comments (8)

How much anxiety is too much?

Is it normal to worry EVERY TIME your husband gets in a car that he will die in a horrific accident?
Because you just can't imagine life without him.

Is it normal to worry EVERY DAY that your child will get some horrible disease?
That's she's just too awesome and you're waiting for the other shoe to drop.

Is it normal to worry that someone will steal your child when you drop them off at the Y childcare center?
Or, that if anyone else watches your kid, they might get injured (even though the worst injury she's ever sustained was on your watch)?
Because no one can watch her as carefully as you can.

Is it normal when every time you take the train in to the city, the same city you lived in until 6 months ago, that terrorists will blow up the train station?

Is it normal to worry every time your husband is at work that someone will break in to your house? And to have a plan for how you will protect your child?
Even though you live in one of the safest towns in the country.

Is it normal to occasionally, seemingly out of nowhere, to think about your father's death, 16 months later, and feel like someone is sitting on your chest?

And I haven't even mentioned some of the really demented things I worry about.

What amount of worrying is normal?

Posted by torrie at 09:03 PM | Permalink | Comments (29)

Let's recap, shall we?

My kid is just getting over the stomach flu she's had since Sunday night/Monday morning.
My husband came home from work early yesterday with fever, chills, and a splitting headache. It was so bad- he was writhing around in pain- that I thought his head was going to split open and scorpions were going to crawl out.
My husband's work holiday party was last night. We, of course, did not go.
I woke up this morning with Willa's stomach flu.
My back is still out.
I had to cancel my first personal training session at the Y today, for obvious reasons.
My garage door broke yesterday.
My mother is here helping out.
Except that Willa is in the midst of a mommy phase. I must be in her sight at all times, otherwise there is much whining and screaming. So, even though my mom is here, while I'm laying in bed trying to keep the contents of my stomach inside of me, there is a toddler slamming on my bedroom door.
Also, Willa is going stir crazy because she hasn't been out much since Sunday, but my mom can't drive, and Willa can't be outside for that long because she hasn't taken her medication because of her stomach flu.

Would anyone like to slash my tires, or punch me in the face while we're at it?

Posted by torrie at 12:22 PM | Permalink | Comments (10)

So, this morning I went to get Willa out of her crib, and the minute I opened her door I knew something was off. There was something weird in her crib. From afar it looked like maybe the stuffing from one of her toys had come out. Upon closer inspection I realized that it was vomit. Willa and all of her crib toys were covered in vomit. And, it was not fresh, which means that she vomited sometime in the middle of the night, went back to sleep and then rolled around in it.

Last night, I took a muscle relaxant because I threw my back out. I regret that decision now, because it obviously kept me from hearing my daughter vomiting in the middle of the night.

So there I was- in so much pain I couldn't stand upright, coughing up green mucus from a lingering sinus infection, with a sick child covered in vomit. I had no idea how I was going to lift the crib mattress to change the sheet.
So, I grabbed the phone and called my husband who had left for work about 15 minutes before. Amazingly, he turned around and came home.
He took care of all of the vomit stuff and threw everything in the laundry.
Then he realized that standing upright is probably important when taking care of a toddler, especially one who is vomiting, so he called work and told them he wasn't coming in.

A little while latter Willa walked over to the bathroom and started pointing to the cabinet where we keep the medicine, as if she was asking for some medicine- and then she projectile vomited.

She ate nothing but a bite of a pretzel all day. She drank some milk, but then she vomited it up on my living room carpet. She also had some rather unsettling poops, which I'd rather not talk about.

I spent the day wincing in pain and laying around while my husband did everything, including steam clean the carpet.

I am PRAYING that this is just a 24 hour stomach virus, and that Willa will wake up tomorrow NOT covered in vomit.

I honestly don't know what I would have done if my husband hadn't been home. My guess is, I would have been laying on the floor in the fetal position while my kid repeatedly hit me in the head with a book, and occasionally paused to vomit on me.*

How do single parents do it???

*Wow. I use the word VOMIT a lot in this post.

Posted by torrie at 07:20 PM | Permalink | Comments (15)

The doctor thinks she has cold induced Urticaria. Which basically means she is allergic to the cold.
I am super thrilled about this considering that we live in the Northeast, and it's cold about 6 months out of the year.
So, basically, for 6 months out of the year she will be covered in horrible looking hives.
We can give her Zyrtec, but I'm only going to do that if the hives seem to be bothering her. I'm not going to give her medication if it's just for cosmetic purposes.
Also, she can have a pretty severe reaction, so the doctor wants me to carry Benadryl with us at all times.
Tomorrow, we are supposed to start a swim class at the Y. The doctor said that if the water isn't warm enough we may not be able to do it.

I'm trying not to be a drama queen about this. Some kids outgrow it. Some don't.

I'm sad though. Sad that Willa won't be able to play in the snow, or go skiing with her father.

Sad, that for six months out of the year, my kid won't be able to play outside.

Posted by torrie at 12:14 PM | Permalink | Comments (23)

Yesterday morning when I got Willa out of her crib I noticed that one of her hands looked mottled and like it had bug bites on it. I assumed it was spider bites.
She was acting fine and it didn't seem to be bothering her.

We had our first class at the Y shortly after breakfast. It was awesome and Willa had a great time. However, during the class I watched as what I had thought were bug bites, spread up her arms and then onto her face.

(this picture does not do it justice- it looked HORRIBLE)

My husband happened to meet us at the class (he was just getting home from work after working a 25 hour shift) and he decided to call the doctor. Our doctor wasn't in the office, so we spoke to his partner. he wanted us to bring Willa in.
We really love Willa's pediatrician, but he's in the city, so it's a major pain in the ass to see him.

So we took Willa to get something to eat, during which time her rash got even worse- her arms and face were covered in hives, and then I drove into the city with Willa and my husband sleeping in the car. When Willa woke up her rash was gone. We were right outside the pediatricians office, we had driven all the way in to the city, and now her rash was gone. So, we went in to the pediatricians office and told the receptionist that we wouldn't be needing the appointment. Then we walked around our old neighbor hood for a while.
It was cold yesterday, and when we had walked for a bit, we noticed that Willa's rash was starting to come back, But, we also noticed something else, whenever we went inside her rash got better.
So, the cold made it worse. WEIRD.
The doctor ended up calling us and he wasn't that worried about it because Willa didn't have a fever, and she didn't seem itchy.

Today, when Willa woke up she didn't have a spot on her.

Then we ran some errands. We were hardly outside- just walking from the car into stores, but her cheeks got a little splotchy. When we came back home her skin looked normal again- that is until we took Dexter for a walk this afternoon. As we walked, Willa's face broke out into hives. She looked like she had some horrible disease. When I brought her home and took off her coat I realized that the rash was on her arms again too.

We have no idea what's going on.
Is she allergic to the cold? Is it just a reaction to a bug bite that is exacerbated by the cold?
My husband is currently on the computer doing some research.
Tomorrow I'll talk to the pediatrician again.

It's never boring around here.

Posted by torrie at 07:46 PM | Permalink | Comments (11)

I am going insane I think.

Lack of sleep can do that to a person.

Between the cats howling or scratching all night, and Willa refusing to take a nap, I am just barely hanging on to my sanity.

I'm thinking of letting Willa spend the night at my mom's.

I've never spent a night apart from her before, but I think it's the only way I am going to get some rest.

Although, knowing me, I won't get any sleep if I'm separated from her.

I can't win.

Here's my question for you-

How old was your child the first time you spent a night apart from them?

Posted by torrie at 01:50 PM | Permalink | Comments (22)

Last Saturday (the 18th) I woke up feeling crappy, but that's nothing new these days. I had plans to meet my friend Cass and I really didn't want to break them, so I went anyway. I sat across for her and tried to drink my tea, but I just felt worse and worse. Finally Cass, who had been watching me turn green, suggested we get together another time and I go home and rest. Within a half an hour of getting home I was puking up everything I had ever eaten, ever. I spent the rest of the weekend- the weekend when I was supposed to get so much accomplished because every other weekend was booked up- laying on the couch.

Then, on Monday, we noticed that Dexter had a hot spot. He's had a lot of them in his 8 years and we've learned how to treat them ourselves. So we did just that. Until it got so bad that I was up half the night with him on Tuesday/ Wednesday morning. On Wednesday evening I took him to the vet and had to hold him down while they stuck him with needles. His infection was really bad- he had a fever. He was in so much pain and wouldn't even get off the couch to eat- that's the first time in his life he's been so sick that he wasn't interested in food. He has spent the last week wearing an e-collar almost every minute and hardly getting up off the couch. He's miserable.

On Wednesday night, after spending almost $500 at the vet, The husband and I had a talk about money. I've been asking him for months what our credit card balance was and he wouldn't tell me. I finally got him to tell me. Big mistake. It was almost 4 times what I thought it was. I was devastated. I thought that after this last year of training, when my husband starts making quadruple what he makes now, that I wouldn't have to worry about money anymore. But, now I realize that there will be credit card debt and student loans to pay. Plus, the car that my husband drives to work is falling apart and will need to be replaced soon, and Willa will be starting preschool next fall. I am so sick of worrying about money and I thought there was an end in sight, but now I see that I was wrong.

On Thursday I took Willa for a long walk. On the way back home she started to get very whiney. I was rushing to get her home and when I pushed the stroller off the curb to cross the street, the stroller flipped over and Willa landed on her face with the stroller on top of her. There was blood everywhere. Her mouth was full of blood. I couldn't even tell where the blood was coming from. I took her inside and washed her up. and the bleeding stopped and she was fine except for two fat lips and a bruised face. I however, was completely traumatized. And worth mentioning- I was wearing my only good winter coat, which is camel colored and my new fingerless winter white gloves, when the accident occurred. They were both covered in blood. So not important in the grand scheme of things, but still sucks.
After I got Willa all cleaned up I realized that Mookie was walking around crying and going in and out of the litter box and the bathtub. So I called the vet and they told me to bring him in right away. The vet said that if he had a blocked urethra again they would do surgery on him the next day. I can't take Willa to the vet with me because she has doctor anxiety and the last time we were there she screamed the ENTIRE TIME.
So, I called my husband and asked him to come home. Do you have any idea how hard it is for a doctor to leave work because his cat is sick? But, he came home anyway and he took Mookie to the vet. We were surprised to Find out that he didn't have a blocked urethra. Now he has a new problem- inflamed bladder. This is, of course, after he is on two different medications and a dietary supplement, and prescription food. We were relieved to find out that Mookie didn't need surgery, but the new drug (on top of his other drugs) that they want to put him on indefinitely, costs $120 a month.

Friday was a fairly good day with the exception of Willa's face being swollen up, and Dexter and Mookie being Sick. Then Friday night my mom (who was staying with us for the weekend) got a call from her husband- their dog, who had recently been diagnosed with cancer- wouldn't eat.

On Saturday morning my mom's dog died.

On Saturday afternoon I had to drive into the city in the pouring rain for a photo shoot. When I booked the shoot the woman gave me the impression that I would be shooting six people. The day before I found out that it was fourteen people. When I got there I found out that five of the people were children, the oldest one was six. You try photographing fourteen people at the same time. IT'S NOT EASY.

Sunday was actually a good day. We took Willa to an orchard/farm in the morning, and saw Coldplay at night.

Last night (Monday) my husband was at work (he's doing a week of the night shift) and I let Dexter out into the backyard right before bed. I was watching him out the window and I saw him poop, and then I saw him turn around and EAT HIS OWN POOP. Then I died.
I realized that when I saw him eating something in the backyard earlier in the day that it might have also been poop.
I went to sleep thoroughly disgusted.

This morning I woke up and let Dexter out of our bedroom and went in to Willa's room to get her. I changed her diaper and took her down to the living room. Dexter was laying on the couch and right below him on the carpet was a pile of vomited up poop. I cleaned it up and let Dexter out in the backyard. I watched him pee three times and poop. I made sure he didn't eat the poop. About an hour later he was acting like he needed to go out again so I let him out and he peed a ton. 45 minutes later I walked into the living room and he was sitting on our arm chair and he looked weird. And that's when I heard it- the sound of urine hitting fabric. He peed all over our chair. I let him out again and he peed a bunch more. We know that the steroids that the doctor gave him for his infection is causing this, the only other time he's peed in the house he was on steroids- but still- he didn't drink that much water, so I'm not sure how he can produce so much pee.

My husband came home from work and steam cleaned the chair (we had borrowed my mother's steam cleaner to clean our carpets- score!) while I went to the basement to do some laundry. When I got to the basement I realized that the heavy rain we got over night had caused some flooding.

And then my head exploded.

The end.

Posted by torrie at 01:12 PM | Permalink | Comments (22)

I used to be thin.

Wear a bikini, walk around naked, clothes looked cute on me, THIN.

Now, NOT SO MUCH.

When I was 23 I moved to Boston to be with my husband, who went to college and medical school there.
I had been a pastry chef for 4 years. I worked long hours. It was VERY physical. And, I would often go for hours on end without eating. Such was life in the culinary industry.
I was thin and muscular.

When I moved to Boston I got a job managing a cafe/chocolate shop. They were famous for their hot chocolate. I had a hot chocolate for breakfast every morning (I made it with soy milk because I thought I was being healthy, but I didn't take into account soy milk's fat content). For lunch I often had a bagel with egg salad.

Between that and eating the typical college food that I was surrounded by, I gained between 10-15 lbs that year. The freshman 15, at age 23.

Because I had been so slim to begin with, the extra weight by no means made me fat, it just made me average.

The next year the stress started. I wish I was one of those people who can't eat when they were stressed out, but I am the opposite- food is comfort.

In 2000, my beloved grandmother died. A few months later September 11th happened (it had a HUGE impact on me, but that's another post). Two months later my now husband then boyfriend asked me to marry him.
During the next six years- my father was diagnosed with melanoma, and had two surgeries to remove the growth in his cheek. We got married. My father had two shoulder surgeries, prostate surgery, and spine surgery. Someone very close to us (sorry-can't mention who) was diagnosed with lung cancer, had two surgeries to remove tumors, and had chemo. We moved to NYC. I had career ending shoulder surgery. My father was diagnosed with metastatic melanoma, which resulted in two years of treatment, and eventually his death. Someone else close to us (who also wishes to remain nameless) was diagnosed with congestive heart failure (on the SAME DAY I found out about my dad's cancer spreading), had a hip replaced, had prostate surgery, and has had pneumonia several times. I ruptured a disk in my back, I lost two pregnancies. My mother passed out while driving and was hospitalized. I had a horrible pregnancy that finally resulted in a healthy baby. We moved to the suburbs. I re-injured my shoulder.

Stress, stress stress. Eat, eat, eat.

Right before I had Willa I went to a trainer for three months. My BMI was in the high end of healthy.
I gained a respectable 35 lbs. when I was pregnant.
I lost all of the pregnancy weight by the time Willa was 4 months old- taking care of a newborn and your dying father=very busy and no time to eat.

So, I had lost all of the weight, but my body looked so different. Everything was distributed differently.
I always had an hourglass figure. I always had a sizable ass and hips, but now I have a belly.
My entire wardrobe revolved around my old figure. I have no idea how to dress now.

I feel like I'm in a stranger's body.

Then we moved out of Manhattan- the city of walking.

The move was so stressful. It's so hard to get anything done with a toddler around. My husband's job is not what he expected- he's working a lot more. I rarely get a break.
And I've been in so much pain lately.

I want a cookie.

So I've had a few cookies.

And since we've moved I've gained about 8 pounds. I am the heaviest I've ever been (with the exception of being pregnant). My BMI is 26.35.

I am miserable.

This isn't about how much I weigh, or what size jeans I wear- it's about how I feel.

I feel like crap. I feel depressed. I'm tired. I'm not sleeping well.

I hate my body. My husband tried to talk to me while I was in the shower the other day, and I made him leave. I don't want my own husband to see me naked. That is sad.

This summer my kid missed out on swimming in a pool because I didn't want to put a bathing suit on. So, the way I feel about my body is keeping me from doing things with my child. That is unacceptable.

Now, here's the problem:

I can't cut back on calories. Let me explain-

I've never been a big eater. I spent years working in the culinary industry, rarely stopping to eat. I've totally screwed up my metabolism. When I keep track of my daily calories they are usually between 1,200 and 1,500. Not enough.
I actually think I need to eat MORE to lose weight so my metabolism can reset itself.
I also need to eat better. Here's what my diet looks like now- carbs, carbs, carbs. I go entire days without eating a single vegetable. And I'm a VEGETARIAN.
Now, I just need to figure out how to make the time to eat healthy. Taking care of a toddler does not afford me the time to prepare a lot of meals. I often just eat a handful of crackers until my kid is napping and I can have a proper meal.

The other part of the problem- lack of exercise.

First, I have a lot of physical issues that prevent me from doing a lot of things.
For instance, the last time I took a yoga class I had to sit half the class out because of my shoulder.
I really should have my exercise supervised by a trainer or a physical therapist, but I can't afford either.

Second, time. I have none of it.

At least 5 mornings a week I take Dexter for a walk while pushing Willa in the stroller. I walk briskly for about a half an hour for about 2 miles. Now, this hurts my shoulder, but if I'm going to get healthy I need to make sacrifices, and I realize that with my physical issues I'm going to have to deal with pain.

Other than the morning walk I'm not getting much exercise. I try to go to yoga, but I can't take a lot of the classes because of my limitations, and the husband is rarely home during the time they have classes that I can actually take, so I end up only going about twice a month.

I've thought about exercise videos, but I am concerned that I really should be supervised when I'm exercising, and to be honest, I hate exercise videos.

My husband doesn't get home until about 7pm, at which point I am exhausted and it's time for me to make dinner. If he gets home earlier I try to go for a walk, but that's rare.

I think the Wii Fit would be great for me, but I just can't afford it.

I really want to be healthy, I just don't know how to find the time.

I don't have unrealistic expectations. I don't expect to look like a celebrity.
I just don't want to dread getting dressed every day.
I want to feel strong.
I want to set a healthy example for my daughter. Show her that eating healthy and exercising should be a part of life.

I just want to feel comfortable in my own skin.

I just want to feel like me again.

Posted by torrie at 12:18 PM | Permalink | Comments (22)

Mookie peed three times over night. I've never been so thrilled about urine in my life.

Now we have a new problem.

When I brought Mookie home last night I expected Itsy to act weird. It is very common for a cat to hiss at another cat when they come home from the hospital because they smell funny.

This, however is really bad.

At first Mookie was just ignoring Itsy's hissing and growling, but then he started hissing and growling too.

Last night at about 11 pm they started getting pretty nasty with each other. So, we decided to lock Itsy in our second bathroom with her food, water, and a large shoe box filled with litter. We thought it was more important for Mookie to have access to the regular litter box.

This morning at 5:10 my husband whent into the bathroom to feed Itsy and Mookie jumped over his feet and attacked her.They started running around the house trying to kill each other. I sprang out of bed and ran out and we were able to get Itsy back in the bathroom. A little while later the husband went to chack on Itsy and Mookie tried to do the same thing.

I am alone all day, until about 6-7pm, then tomorrow the husband will leave for work at 6 am and won't be home until about 10am on Sunday.

I don't know how I'm going to handle all of this by myself.

Itsy and Mookie were best friends a few days ago, and now they are trying to kill each other.

I don't know how to make it stop.

Posted by torrie at 08:14 AM | Permalink | Comments (16)

Our cat Mookie was admitted to the hospital today.

Again.

They think he might have an obstructed urethra. AGAIN.

I'm going to write about Mookie's medical issues in the hopes that someone might read this, have been through the same thing, and has found a solution.

Mookie started having problems when he was about a year old.
He was peeing outside of the litter box.
We are not the type of people to just get rid of an animal when they have behavioral issues, but cat pee destroys things.
He peed on Dexter's dog bed, we had to throw it out.
He peed on our brand new $1,000 mattress (purchased as a desperate attemp tto fix my back problems), we had to call a steam cleaning company, and paid a ton of money for an emergency appointment.

We really didn't know what to do.

Then one day I stepped out of the shower and Mookie jumped in.
He looked right at me and peed blood.

I took him to the vet. (Our vet at the time was two blocks away and we had a very close relationship with them.)

And so, over the next few years this would happen.
Mookie would walk around crying, would go in and out of the litter box, lick his crotch excessively, and would occasionally pee on something. Then the vet would put him on medicine, and it would eventually pass.

We tried different kitty litters. We tried all different kinds of food. We got him a kitty water fountain. But, he would still get sick.

The one thing that really seemed to help was taking him off dry food. I had done a bunch of research, and I had read that cats derive most of their moisture from their food, so if they eat dry food they are not getting enough moisture.

So he's been on only wet food for a couple of years now.

Then one morning he started walking around and screaming like I had never heard him before. Then he got up on the couch and was straining to pee, and he was straining so hard that he pooped.

My vet told me to take him right to the hospital.

So, I took him to one of the top animal hospitals in the country, which I happened to live a few blocks from. A doctor took us into a triage room and felt his bladder. She looked me in the eye and said "I have to take him in the back RIGHT NOW- this is an emergency".

It turns out that he had a blocked urethra. They told me that if I hadn't brought him in, he would have died.
He stayed in the hospital for three days.

Then the vet put him on a supplement (cosequin).

He was healthy for a few months, then he got sick again.

Then we started putting water on his food. That seemed to work, until today.

So, here is a list of all of the things we have done to try to prevent Mookie form getting sick, all of which has either been recommended by a vet, or I have come across while doing research:

-We feed him only wet food.
-We use an all natural kitty litter.
-We scoop the litter frequently
-We put water on his food.
-We feed him frequently (three times a day).
-We got him a water fountain.
-We give him a supplement.

I should also mention:

-Mookie is in great shape. He's very active.
-I hate Science Diet. The ingredients are crappy. I would really love him to be on a natural food. (Right now he's on Wellness.) However, if the only thing that helps him is Science Diet, than I will begrudgingly put him on it.
-I REALLY want to avoid him having surgery because there are some nasty side effects.

We have been dealing with this for about 7 years.
We are out of ideas.

I'm sick of seeing Mookie in pain. I love him, and I just want him to feel better.
I'm sick of loosing thousands of dollars. (Although I should say, we have, and we will, pay any amount of money to make him feel better.)

Does anybody have any suggestion?

Posted by torrie at 01:13 PM | Permalink | Comments (32)

So, after an MRI and several X-Rays my doctor has determined that I have adhesive capsulitis.

I wasn't exactly surprised, but I'm really upset about it.

I've been having joint and spine problems since I was 9 years old. No medical professional has ever been able to tell me why. There is no name for my disorder. It's just lots of problems with my joints and spine- loose joints- which caused me to have shoulder surgery almost 4 years ago, bursitis and tendinitis in my shoulders and hips, deteriorating meniscus in my knee, carpal tunnel syndrome, and 5 (at last count) herniated discs.

I'm used to being in pain every day. But, I always held out hope that I would find something to "fix" me. I thought if I did enough yoga, or acupuncture, or massage, or stretching, that I would be cured. I'm all for putting up a fight, but this latest diagnosis has made me realize that I can not be cured.
I will struggle with this for the rest of my life.

That's really hard for me to accept.

I'm only 32 years old, and I'm already in so much pain. The doctors marvel at how my body acts like it is twice its age. (Adhesive capsulitis is rarely seen in people under 50.) What will I be like when I'm 62, or 82? The thought terrifies me.

Do you know how heartbreaking it is to have a doctor look you in the eye and tell you that you will be in pain every day for the rest of your life?

Every day tasks that most people, myself included, take for granted have become a struggle. brushing my dog, doing the dishes, putting my hair in a ponytail, driving, making dinner- these are all things that cause me considerable pain. I can't go bowling, swim laps, play pool, play darts, or go white water rafting.

It hurts every time I pick up my child.

That has been the hardest part of all of this for me- it is keeping me from being the mother that I want to be. Instead of enjoying every minute with my daughter, I'm counting the minutes until my husband gets home so I can have a break.
Being in pain makes EVERYTHING harder. What is a quick trip to the store for most people is a huge undertaking for me- carry kid down stairs- load kid into car seat- drive- open back of car (we have an SUV and the back is really hard to open and close.)- wrestle stroller out of car- lift kid out car seat- buckle kid into stroller- close back of car-push stroller- open back of car- put shopping bags in back of car- unbuckle kid- put kid in car seat- fold up stroller- put stroller in back of car- close back of car- drive- open back of car- get kid out of car seat- pick up shopping bags- close back of car- try to balance kid and shopping bags while walking up front steps and opening door. It all hurts.

Pain shatters your hopes and dreams. It takes the fun out of everything. It makes life more frustrating. It leaves little room for patience.

Pain is robbing me of enjoying my child. I'm so angry.

My husband has been so amazing through all of this. He's so supportive. It must be so hard/ frustrating for such a young, vibrant, active guy to be married to a woman who can't do anything.
His fellowship is not what we thought it would be. He is working so much more. A minimum of 60 hours a week. He's working 7 out of 13 weekends. He's working this weekend, which means I won't really get a break until next weekend.
It's been really hard. We can't afford a babysitter. He leaves for work at 6am and comes home at around 7pm. Then he gives Willa a bath and puts her to bed. He eats dinner and them does the dishes or whatever other chores need to be done. 2 out of the last 5 weeks have been spent on night float. This means he leaves for work at 7pm, works all night, gets home between 9-10am and sleeps all day. Those weeks have been really hard for me- I get no break at all. Whenever he gets a day of the week off (usually because he was working all night) he watches Willa while I get an acupuncture treatment. If he's around on the weekends there are a ton of chores to do.
Both of us rarely get a break. I feel really bad for him. I feel like he really deserves a break, but so do I.
He has ten more months until he is done with his fellowship. Ten more months until his salary increases so we can hire some help. I'm counting the days.

The most important treatment for adhesive capsulitis is lots of physical therapy.
We really don't know what to do about this.
I should be going to PT 2-3 times a week, but I have no one to watch Willa, and we can't afford to hire a babysitter. My mother comes and stays with us every once in a while for a week or two, but that's not enough.
For now I'm going to do some research and see what exercises I can do at home.

Flare ups of adhesive capsulitis last 1-3 years. 40-60% of sufferers have some permanent loss of mobility.

I know that there are people who have it much worse than me, and that I should be grateful, but it's really hard to look on the bright side when you are in constant pain.
I have become Debbie Downer.
I'm no fun at all.
I try to put on a brave face- to grit my teeth and smile through the pain, but it's becoming increasingly difficult and I'm tired.

Posted by torrie at 09:56 PM | Permalink | Comments (15)

Today is the one year anniversary of my father's death.

I can't believe it's been a year. Similar to the way I feel about Willa's birth, part of me feels like my father's death was just yesterday, and part of me feels like it was ages ago.

Sometimes I forget and say "my father is" instead of "my father was".

The hardest part for me has been realizing that there are questions I have that will never be answered. Why did he do that? What was he thinking?
I'm not very skilled at letting go.

I realized that, as with every other uncomfortable situation in my life, I have been dealing with my dad's death by not dealing with it at all. I am the queen of avoidance.
And, in doing so, I have kept Willa's grandfather from her.
I should be talking about him with her. Telling her his likes and dislikes. Showing her pictures.
But, I'm not, because it hurts. That is not fair, and I vow to do better from here on out.

I might be hurt, but I am a mother first. I need to put my daughter's feeling's before mine.

And maybe, if I'm lucky, it will help me heal.

For those who are interested here is my father's obituary in the New York Times.

Posted by torrie at 09:52 PM | Permalink | Comments (19)

Several of you have asked me to update about Willa's modeling career so here goes-

Oh internet. The lessons I have learned from this experience.

I hope that when someone does a search for "should my baby model?" or "baby modeling" or "child modeling" they will find this post so I can tell them why it is a horrible idea.

Here's what no one tells you about the child modeling industry- IT SUCKS.

Here's how it works-
You are at the clients beck and call.
Every day between 3-6pm the agency would call to tell us if we had any go-sees (auditions) for the next day. This means that you can't schedule anything.
THEN, if your child gets the job they don't tell you that you have a photo shoot until the day before.
So basically, you have no idea what you will be doing the next day until the night before.
For someone like me, who like to make plans, this will make your head explode.

Another problem- go-sees and photo shoots are scheduled for all different times, and they very often would screw with Willa's nap schedule. Willa is about a thousand times more enjoyable when she gets a good nap, so it always sucks when she is thrown off her schedule. There are kids who are good at going with the flow, and do well even without a nap. Willa is not one of those kids.

There are so many other stressful aspects to child modeling-
The logistics can be a nightmare.
Because most subway stations are not stroller friendly I usually take a cab or my car to the auditions and shoots. I've spent countless hours driving around in circles trying to find a parking space. I've gotten so excited about finding a space only to discover I didn't have any quarters for the meter. I once paid $32 for 31 minutes of parking.
I can't tell you how many go-sees or photo shoots we have shown up to only to discover that the building has stairs. I've had to beg strange men to help me haul the stroller up and down stairs.
Until recently we lived all the way on the east Side of Manhattan, uptown, and 90% of the go-sees and photo shoots were down town and on the west side.

I once dragged Willa and my husband to a go-see on a Sunday and sat there for an hour only to be told that Willa didn't qualify because she couldn't stand unassisted(she was 10 months old).

Another time we went all the way down town for a go-see for a company Willa had worked for three weeks earlier. I assumed it was for a fitting, but instead, we walked in and all they did was take a polaroid of her.
I was super pissed- a company who had booked her three weeks ago and had head shots of her needed me to screw up Willa's nap schedule and make a two hour round trip so they could take a polaroid? I don't think so.

These companies have no respect for you or your child. They don't care about your child's schedule. They just schedule everything and expect you to be there.

Recently, a company called my agency at 6 pm and told them that they wanted 5 kids (including Willa) at 8am the next morning, all the way out on Long Island. I refused (as did most of the mothers of the other kids). I would have had to wake Willa up at 5am to get there on time, when she usually wakes up at 7-8am.
The woman from Willa's agency was practically in tears because this particular company did shit like this all the time, and here she was at 8pm making phone calls. The company gets away with it because there are plenty of parents who are willing to do ANYTHING to make their child a successful model. I am not one of those parents.

Another aspect that's weird, for lack of a better word, is that you very rarely get to see the pictures from the shoots. They don't send you copies. I've had to search them out. I spent a while last night searching the internet for pictures of Willa. It's kind of odd to know that there are picture out there in the world of my kid that I haven't even seen.

Willa doesn't get every job that she auditions for. I handle this really well because we're not doing this for the fame and fortune. But, some parents get very upset when their child doesn't get a job. If you are going to be disappointed every time your kid doesn't book something, then child modeling is not the business for you.

The modeling industry is a strange word. Once, when Willa was shooting for the cover of a major parenting magazine (they shoot 4-5 kids and then pick the picture they like best), they changed her outfit because they thought her arms looked chubby in the sleeveless top she was wearing. She was 11 months old at the time.

So, where do we stand now?

Well, Willa is still technically a model, but we do very little work.

She is now on "by request only" which means that I only take her to auditions for companies who have specifically requested to see her because they have seen her headshot. I don't take her on any more huge auditions, or as I like to call them "cattle calls". You have to work for a while and book several shoots before most agencies will let you do that.
Lately we've only been working 1-2 days a month, compared to a few months ago when there were weeks when we were working 4 days.
Also, to be honest, when Willa was younger she booked a lot, but now that she's a toddler, and still pretty bald, she's not booking as much. People expect a child of Willa's age to have a full head of hair.
We're in a good situation now because I feel comfortable saying no and picking and choosing what we do.

So to sum up- The baby and child modeling industry has a lot of flaws. It's a ton of work for very little reward.

Posted by torrie at 03:22 PM | Permalink | Comments (16)

I think I'm going to start living my life differently.

Maybe some stealing. Maybe some drugs. Definitely some debauchery.
No more helping little old ladies cross the street. No more letting cars cut in front of me.

Fuck that.

I have lived my life being a good person- even when no one was watching- and the universe insists on shitting on me. REPEATEDLY.

Posted by torrie at 08:33 PM | Permalink | Comments (7)

I can't move my right arm.

OK- that's a lie. I can move it, but when I do it feels like someone shot me with a nail gun and then set my arm on fire.
Three and a half years ago I had shoulder surgery. It ended my career as a pastry chef.
My recovery was long and painful. The first eight weeks I could barely move my arm. I endured months of physical therapy.

I've had physical problems since I was a kid. My spine and my joints have been a constant problem. Nobody has ever been able to figure out why.
I'm so tired of constantly being in pain. It's exhausting. And it affects every aspect of my life.

My doctors, my husband, and my mother have used the word handicapped when referring to me.
I'm having a really hard time accepting that word.
There are people in much worse shape than me.

I might not "look" handicapped, but I can't do a lot of the things "normal" people do.
No bowling, playing darts, playing pool, rowing a boat, playing baseball, etc.
It hurts to put my hair in a ponytail.
It hurts to open a door.
It hurts to walk my dog.
It hurts to drive.
It hurts to pick up my child.

I started to have pain in my shoulder again a few months ago. I ignored it. I didn't tell anyone about it because I didn't want it to be real. But, in the past couple of weeks it had become unbearable. I toss and turn all night. Yesterday I reached for something on a shelf and I yelped out in pain.

I'm seeing my doctor in a couple of weeks. He will tell me what I already know- I need to have surgery again.

It was hard enough the first time- I really don't know what I'm going to do.
I won't be able to pick up my kid for at least 8 weeks. How do you explain to a toddler that you can't pick them up? You don't. She won't understand. Her feeling will just be hurt.
My mother will have to stay with us to take care of me and Willa. The problem is, we live in the suburbs now and my mother doesn't really drive. Also, she can't stay with us forever, and the first time I had surgery it was a good 5-6 months before I could really use my arm and lift things.
I won't be able to shower by myself, butter my toast myself, or get dressed by myself.

On top of all of this my husband's new job has been a nightmare. He's been working WAY more than they told him he would. He is at work at 7AM and if he's home by 7pm we're lucky because it means he gets to see Willa for a 1/2 an hour before she goes to sleep. He's working 5 out of 9 weekends.

We can't afford a babysitter. We can't afford a housekeeper.
I don't even know how I'm going to afford months of physical therapy (my insurance doesn't cover all of it).

How is my husband supposed to work a bare minimum of 60 hours a week (most weeks it's more like 80), and do all of the chores?

Also, I guess my photography career is over too. My shoulder can handle the shoots, but not the hours spent sitting at the computer editing. Even just sitting here typing this my entire right arm is burning.

This whole thing is a disaster.

There's no solution. There's no bright side.

Posted by torrie at 02:58 PM | Permalink | Comments (22)

When we moved we got rid of our computer desk. It had been sitting in a corner of our bedroom, and in our new place we wanted to set the computer up in the living room.
It was so beat up and falling apart. (You can see it in the background of this picture.)It had been a hand me down from my mother. Her husband had painted it before they gave it to us. Except, I don't think he actually used paint, I think he used white-out, because if you even touched it with your fingernail the paint would scratch off.

Needless to say, it was time to get rid of it.

I started to look for a desk.

First of all I had no idea how expensive desks were. It seemed that there were two categories of desks- the $200 and less desks, which were pieces of shit made from particle board- then there were the $800 and up desks made of real wood. It was very hard to find anything in between.

My mother-in-law offered to buy us a desk, which we were really happy about it because we are super broke. (We moved to SAVE money, and instead it COST us money. FUCK.)
Now, even though someone else was buying it for us we still didn't want to spend $1,000 on a desk.

And so began the search for a well constructed desk that cost $500, or less.

Other requirements-
It had to be a dark wood- preferably a mahogany stain.
It had to have a drawer for our keyboard.
It had to have space either in it or under it for our CPU

Places we looked:
Target
Pottery Barn (which I wasn't thrilled about because we've had bad experiences with them.)
Staples
Office Max
West Elm
Raymour and Flanigan
Ikea

Finally we found a desk we liked in Crate and Barrel. It wasn't exactly what I wanted- I would love a desk with a hutch and drawers for storage, but I was willing to settle.

So we went and picked it up and they put it in our car. It was in a box and needed to be assembled.
We waited until Willa went to sleep, and then we went to get it out of the car. It was so heavy that we figured that I would destroy my back if we tried to carry the box up the stairs. So, we decided to open the box in the driveway and bring it in piece by piece.
Once we opened the box we saw that one of the corners was pretty damaged. We called the store and they told us it was the only one in stock and that it would take about 10 business days to get a new one, and that they wouldn't order the new one until we returned the old one. We had a long debate about whether or not to keep it. The husband was pissed and wanted to return it. I was so sick of not being able to set up my PC- we've been here for a month and I've been without my PC for the whole time. I only have photoshop on the PC, so I haven't been able to edit any pictures for a month. A big problem considering I'm a photographer. Also, the damage was on the back left corner which would be against the wall, so I argued that no one would see it.
So, we decided to keep it. We started putting it together- it was very complicated and had a ton of screws. We were already tired and annoyed, and about 45 minutes into it we had to remove the key board drawer to put the front legs on- and that's when we noticed that the drawer was completely fucked up. the hinges had been ripped off, and it was not something that we could fix.
At this point the husband was furious.
We were tired and frustrated. We now had to take apart the desk and get it back into the box, and back into the car.
I returned it the next day.

So, we are still without a desk.

Yesterday, we went to our local Salvation Army store and we didn't find anything there either.

We REALLY need a desk. I have hundreds of pictures that need to be edited.

I don't know why finding a desk is so difficult. I'm so frustrated.

Can anyone suggest a good place to find the kind of desk we are looking for in our price range?

Posted by torrie at 01:17 PM | Permalink | Comments (51)

I can not get the image of my father in his last days out of my head.

His sunken cheeks. His bulging eyes. His frail, skinny arms. His shuffling gait.

It haunts me.

Yesterday I was in a yoga class. We were doing the part of the class where you do deep breathing and meditate. And the image of my father, a skeleton of his former self, kept popping into my head.

I don't really know what to do to stop thinking about it. I really wish I hadn't seen him like that, but I did. My advice to anyone who is debating whether or not they should see someone they care about on their death bed is DON'T. It is so much better to remember them as they were.

I feel like I have come to terms with his death, so I don't understand why I still have bad dreams and constantly think about him. Maybe I have some unresolved issues?
There are definitely things that I am mad about, but there's nothing I can do about it now that my father is gone.

I need to move on.

I just don't know how.

Posted by torrie at 10:53 AM | Permalink | Comments (20)

Today I am sad. I was sitting here listening to Willa playing with my mother in the other room- she was giggling and having a great time. I was thinking back to when she was smaller- just a few months old- there was a word I would say and she would instantly giggle. I can't remember what the word was.

Willa is just a little over a year and I'm already forgetting the little details.
I curse myself for not writing everything down. I curse my laziness.

I just feel like life is flying by, and I wish it would slow down. I'm not living life to the fullest. I'm not savoring the small moments.

My kid is waving to everyone. And taking steps. And saying new words every day. I feel like I was just pregnant yesterday.

I feel like I'm going to blink and it's going to be her first day of kindergarten. And then I'm going to blink again and she's going to be going to the prom.

Life is flying by and I don't feel like I'm doing a good enough job of documenting it.

I think the move is making me sentimental.

Also, yesterday would have been my dad's 71st birthday.

I hope the stress I am feeling now doesn't crush me.

Posted by torrie at 11:17 AM | Permalink | Comments (8)

I've been in a really shitty mood lately.

Like, REALLY shitty.

Like, stereotypical, fire breathing, crazy, PMS'ing shitty.

I woke up this morning with the intention of being in a better mood.
My plan was working. My kid was being cute. We split a pear and she made yummy (nom nom nom) sounds every time she put a piece in her mouth.

We took Dexter on a nice long walk. Willa pointed at all of the flowers and dogs she saw.
The weather was beautiful

Then, we were a half a block from our building when a man came up behind us and said "Can you let me by? You're taking up the whole side walk!"

?????

There I am struggling to wrangle a dog and a stroller, and it's trash day, so half the sidewalk is covered in garbage bags, and we were about 50 feet from an area where he could have gotten around us, and he thought that the appropriate response was to be rude to me?

So, I yelled at him "Have you ever heard the phrase excuse me?"

To which he replied "Have you? (What the fuck does that even mean? Good comeback douche.)

To which I replied "What, am I supposed to be psychic? How was I supposed to know you were behind me? ASSHOLE."

Then I walked into my building and the skin on all of the people in the lobby melted right off.

So, now I'm in a bad mood. AGAIN.

And I'm not sure what I'm supposed to do in a situation like that when my daughter is with me.

I don't want her to start yelling "ASSHOLE" at people, but I also don't want her to think it's ok for people to treat her with disrespect.

It's a fine line.

Posted by torrie at 10:20 AM | Permalink | Comments (18)

I think I might be done here. At least for a while. I don't know. It's feeling like a chore.

I just don't have the time. Running the household. Taking care of the animals. Taking care of Willa. Packing. Etc., Etc., Etc.
Willa's modeling career has kept me really busy lately too. In the last two weeks she's either had an audition (go-see) or a shoot on Tuesday, Friday, Sunday, Monday, Tuesday, and Wednesday. She has a photo shoot and a go-see tomorrow.
I am exhausted.
And I spend Willa's naps eating or showering or returning phone calls. It's really annoying how much time eating and showering takes.

At night, after Willa goes to sleep, I make dinner (although lately I've been ordering out WAY too much because I just don't have the energy to cook), eat dinner, return emails, make phone calls, try to have an actual conversation with my husband, and watch TV. I barely have time to read blogs, let alone write one.

I'm sad because blogging is one of the few things I do for myself, and I've met a lot of great people on the internet. But, the truth is, I'm not a writer. When something is on my mind I don't feel the need to write it down. I've never kept a journal. When I write it's forced. I struggle to explain myself properly. I wish we could all just hang out- I'm much wittier in person.

I'm trying to prioritize thing in my life right now. Things that are important to me right now-being a good mother, wife, and friend. Eating healthy. Exercising. Photography. Updating my blog is on the bottom of the list.

I'm really stressed out. I can barely get the daily stuff done. I don't know how I'm going to find time to pack. I'm moving in two months. AND I have stuff going on EVERY SINGLE WEEKEND.
Somethings got to give. I need to spend more time away from the computer. I'm addicted and it's not healthy.

I'll still Twitter and Flickr. And I might come back here eventually.

I'll miss you guys.

Posted by torrie at 09:38 PM | Permalink | Comments (21)

One minute I am having a bad dream about my father that I can't remember the details of when I wake up. The next I am having a dream that my husband and I are having hot shower sex.

One minute I am banging my head against the wall because my kid is screaming in her crib because she won't take a nap and I know she is tired. So, I end up having to put her in the stroller and walk and walk in the cold and rain for 45 minutes with tears streaming down my face because I am hungry and exhausted. The next minute I am playing with my kid and she is in a great mood- curious and laughing- and I think my heart is going to burst from all of the love.

One minute I am annoyed and yanking on Dexter's leash shouting "LEAVE IT" when he tries to eat some unidentified thing off of the sidewalk because I know it will give him diarrhea and he will wake me up in the middle of the night to go out- because I'm not exhausted enough already. The next minute Dexter greets me when I walk in the door with a stuffed animal in his mouth and a wagging tail. Later we snuggle in bed together and he rolls around on his back snorting with delight while I rub his tummy.

One minute I feel like I'm a fraud for calling myself a photographer because I really have no idea what I'm doing technically- I'm afraid that one of my clients will ask me a technical question and I won't know the answer. The next, I am excited and proud of a picture I took and I feel like I really have an eye. And isn't the end result- a good picture- all that really matters?

One minute I'm feeling self conscious and embarrassed about my post-baby body. And I'm angry at myself for not eating better and exercising more. The next, minute my husband tells me I'm sexy, and I realize that maybe my body isn't so bad, and that in a couple of years when we have more money I can hire a trainer and really get in shape.

One minute I'm totally stressed out about all of the things I have to do. The next, I'm crossing stuff off of the list and feeling a sense of accomplishment.

One minute I am in so much pain. My shoulder, my back, my hips. The next minute I realize that I am thankful that I can walk, and that I have access to some of the best medical care in the world.

One minute I feel like life is too much for me to handle. The weight of the world is on my shoulders. The next minute I'm at the park, pushing Willa in the swing while she squeals with joy, my husband and Dexter standing next to me, and I realize that maybe life isn't so bad after all.

Posted by torrie at 05:38 PM | Permalink | Comments (13)

This has a topic that I've been wanting to write about for a long time.

There seems to be this trend on the internet, specifically in the blogging community- Who is suffering the most?

I remember when I lost my first pregnancy people left comments with undertones of "Well, at least you can GET pregnant". Someone even had the gall to tell me to get over it- that her mother had carried a baby to full term and then had a still birth.

Someone is always suffering more than you.

You had a miscarriage? They've had two.
Your father died? Their spouse died.

When did misery become a competition?

It seems that in order to gain support you must have a hard time. You need to suffer from infertility, or have multiple miscarriages, or be broke, or have an illness, or have a child with physical or developmental delays.
And even if you are suffering from something, rest assured, there is always someone who has it worse.

Is this really human nature? If so, this makes me so sad.

Why can't we be happy for someone when something goes their way?

Money, in particular, seems to be a very touchy subject among bloggers.

I myself, have restricted what I've written about for fear that I would be judged.

When I did the first ad campaign for Nikon they gave me a free D80 camera.
There was a period where, before the ad came out, I wasn't allowed to talk about where I got the camera from or the ad campaign.
I actually hid the fact that I had the D80 until the ad came out because I knew there would be a few people who would say things like "Weren't you just complaining about not having any money? How can you afford that camera?"

There is a lot of assuming going on by people who read blogs.

There are many other things I've been hesitant to write about because people would assume that I have money. And people who have money are obviously spoiled brats.

I have this stroller. It costs about $1,000. My mother-in-law bought it for us. I also have a cleaning lady that my mother-in-law pays for.
We have a car- in Manhattan. It was given to me when my grandmother passed away. The parking in our building is free because my husband is a chief resident.

But what if I had paid for those things myself?

Why is it wrong for people to work hard and reward themselves?
And what if they didn't work hard? What if their family has money? What if they have never known what it is like to struggle financially? Does that make their trials and tribulations or their tragedies any less painful or real? Can someone who is financially stable not be a kind, thoughtful, humble person?

I'm not saying you can't envy someone, or even be a little bit jealous, but why do you need to spew hate at them?

The grass is always greener on the other side of the fence it seems. So, while someone might have something that you covet, I'm sure that you have something that they want as well.

Doesn't it make for better karma to be happy and supportive of other people and their triumphs?

I don't agree with everything that people who write the blogs I read do or say. And I think it is perfectly healthy to have friendly debates. But, I would never intentionally insult someone or say something mean to them, no matter how strongly I might disagree with them.

And sure, there are some assholes out there blogging. But, they usually say controversial things just to get attention, so when you leave an obnoxious comment you are just feeding their fire.

So, here's my unsolicited advice-

Don't assume things. You can't possibly know all the details from one (or even several) blog entries.

If you don't have anything nice to say- DON'T SAY ANYTHING. See that little red x at the top of the page? Click it, and move on. No one is forcing you to read someone's blog.

I have several friends who get paid to blog. This does not mean they should write about what you want them to write about. You wouldn't email your favorite author and tell them that their last book was boring and you liked their books better before they had a child, or moved, or whatever other life changing thing happened to them that you think "changed" their writing. You are not paying to read their blog so, again, if you don't like what you read, MOVE ON.

Thank you for being such a good listener.

Posted by torrie at 01:08 PM | Permalink | Comments (48)

When I am interviewing you for a job WATCHING MY INFANT CHILD- do not tell me that you only have personal references because you didn't want to "bother" the people you used to work for.
I 'm not going to hire you based on the fact that your aunt Selma says that you are a really nice girl.

Also, even if you are interviewing for a janitor position, sneakers are NOT appropriate interview attire.

Posted by torrie at 04:52 PM | Permalink | Comments (9)

My kid has eczema.

At first she just had a little raised red patch on her chest, but now it is everywhere. Even on her face.

I've done my research. Kids with eczema are prone to other allergies. I'm so afraid she'll have food allergies. I'm afraid she'll be the kid at the birthday party who can't eat the cake and ice cream. And she'll have to carry an epi pen with her at all times. And going to a restaurant will be scary instead of fun.
I'm sure I'll be accused of over reacting, but I can't help but worry.

And call me superficial, but I can't stand that it has spread to her face. Her formerly perfect little face now has red bumpy patches all over it.

During my research I found out that eczema can be caused by dairy products that the mother has eaten (if the baby is breastfed). This means starting today I will not be eating dairy. Do you know how hard that is going to be for an already picky vegetarian? Also, what about the several months worth of breastmilk in the freezer that I have pumped? I guess I need to throw it all out.

I'd love to hear your experiences with skin and food allergies.

Posted by torrie at 09:52 AM | Permalink | Comments (40)

I really don't know what to do.

Next year my husband is doing a fellowship (further medical training) at a hospital that is about 45 minutes away from our apartment. We currently live across the street from the hospital that he works at now.
As you might expect his schedule sucks. He typically has to be at work by 7am, and he usually doesn't get home until about 7pm. Willa wakes up between 7:30-8:30am, and goes to sleep at 7pm, so there are many days when he doesn't even get to see her. Which also means that I don't get a break.
Then there are the days that he is on call. That means that he is at work by 7am and doesn't get home until about 8am the following morning. He is occasionally on a rotation that allows him to come home for a few minutes, but on most of his rotations he's not allowed to leave the hospital because he's on the code team. (This means that if someone "codes" he gets paged and has to run to their bedside.) This (the husband being on call) happens on average, once or twice a week. Those days are really hard for me. Willa has finally developed a bed time routine, but I have to take Dexter out at 10 or 11pm. So, I have to take Willa, who is sleeping soundly, out of her crib and put her in her stroller, and take her out in the cold. This almost always wakes her up.

Some people think that him being on call isn't that bad because he has the next day off. It's not as nice as it sounds. He's usually up all night when he's on call, so he spends most of the next day sleeping.
I very rarely get a break. When the husband is able to help out I usually spend that time showering or editing pictures. We can't afford to hire a sitter. Willa won't take a bottle. And my husband is rarely around to help. I can't even remember the last time I left the house without Willa. I really can't.
I feel bad complaining. My husband is at the hospital for at least 60 hours a week. He then comes home and has to work on all of the chief resident stuff, which takes up SO MUCH TIME. And he has to do it all in his "spare" time, which is ridiculous. Sometimes he plays a concert on a week night or a weekend (he's a musician too). He also has to find time to do things like eat and shower. He really is fantastic. He tries to spend every single free moment he has with Willa. He probably spends more time with Willa than most fathers who have twice the amount of free time spend with their kids.
Next year this will all be even worse. The husband will have a 45 minute commute each way. Which means he's home even less than he is now. And the nights that he's on call, there won't even be a chance that he'll be able to come home for a few minutes. I can only imagine how fun it is going to be to get a toddler out of her crib to take the dog out.
Oh, and have I mentioned that we have no idea where we are going to be living next year?
Yeah. That's another post for another day.

*Update- I've answered a few of your questions in the comments.

Posted by torrie at 10:26 AM | Permalink | Comments (50)

I hate to travel.

First- the actual act of traveling. Driving sucks because of traffic, and it kills my back. And I can't read or do a crossword puzzle in the car because I get carsick.
Flying sucks because I have to figure out how to get to the airport and now with Willa, having a car seat needs to be factored in (when we flew to North Carolina for my dad's memorial service we decided to drive our car to the airport and leave it in long term parking. It cost us $80 but it was still cheaper than taking a cab back and forth, and we didn't have to worry about installing a car seat or lugging one around; our rental car in NC had one). Then of course there are the other fun perks of flying- long lines while dragging all your stuff around, practically having to get undressed when you go through security, delayed or canceled flights, lost luggage, sitting on the runway in a hot plane, terrible food, or lack thereof. The airlines have lost my luggage, damaged my suitcase (several times), made me cry, stranded me in various cities (once in Miami I had to stay in a horrible motel room that smelled- without my luggage because I didn't make my connecting flight, but my bags did). I also seem to catch a cold almost every time I fly.

I was never one of these people who loves traveling. I don't deal well with change.

Hotel beds are always super uncomfortable no matter where you stay. We have a Select Comfort bed and I've become quite addicted to it. Whenever I'm not sleeping at home I am miserable. I remember for my husband's college reunion my mother-in-law treated us to a ridiculously expensive hotel in Boston. The bed was so uncomfortable that we seriously debated going down to the garage and sleeping in our car. And don't even get me started on the pillows. Who the hell likes down pillows? First, they are waaaay too soft. You put your head on one and the part behind your head completely flattens out so you have no neck support at all and the sides stick up and engulf your head like you are wearing giant earmuffs. Second, the feathers stick through the pillow and poke you in the face.

Then there's the food issue. I am the pickiest eater ever. You know Meg Ryan's character in When Harry Met Sally? Yeah, well she's got nothing on me.That combined with the fact that I am a vegetarian makes it very difficult for me to find food when I'm away from home. When I was in France I'd ask for something vegetarian (In French no less) and it would arrive at the table with bacon on it. Then, of course my stomach gets all out of whack. For instance, on my honeymoon I was either constipated or had diarrhea every day. (I know, super sexy, huh? My husband is a lucky man.)

We also have to figure out what to do with the animals when we are away.
Dexter is not the type of dog you can stick in a kennel. The two younger cats are on a special diet (because of Mookie's bladder/kidney problems) where they have to be fed three times a day. Our older cat is about 15 and does not travel well. We usually take Dexter and the two younger cats to my mom's house (a two hour drive away), which is a royal pain in the ass. We have to bring a litter box and litter, bowls, a water fountain, and cans of wet food for the cats, and Dexter's dry food, wet food, and his bowl. Then, let's not forget all of the brushes and medicine. All that stuff, Dexter, the two cats in their carriers, and Willa barely fit in the car. Plus, the cats serenade us with their melodic screaming the entire two hour drive.
I'm very thankful that my mom is willing to take care of the animals (although this means that I can never go on a trip with my mother), but we still have to find someone to come to our apartment and feed our older cat at least once a day.

The amount of stuff we have to bring with us when we travel with Willa is unbelievable. Clothes, wipes, diapers, toys, books, blankets, something for her to sleep in (we brought the Pack N' Play to North Carolina), car seat, and a stroller. We also realized that we need to bring something for her to sit in. She spends a lot of her day hanging out in the bouncy seat or her Bebe Pod. Without it we would have to hold her all the time, which neither of our backs can take (she is giant- she weighs about 18lbs. now). We brought the Bebe Pod to North Carolina. Also, we had to make due with out Willa's bathtub while we were there.

It's all just too much.

Most of the time when I get home from a "vacation" I feel like I need a vacation. I am a creature of habit. I like to be home. I like to sleep in my bed. I like to prepare food the way I like it. I like to be surrounded by my things.

Maybe one day, when I have money, I'll enjoy traveling more. I can charter a private jet. I can hire someone to drive me around. I can have any kind of food I want.
Until then,if you need me, I'll be in my bed, surrounded by my things, picking all of the scallions out of my scallion pancakes, straining the mushrooms out of my mushroom soup, and taking all of the tomato sauce off of my pizza.

Posted by torrie at 03:18 PM | Permalink | Comments (12)

If you are a girl baby:

-You must wear pink at all times, otherwise, even if you are wearing a dress, people will ask if you are a boy.

- You CAN'T wear blue. God forbid. Everyone knows that only boys can wear blue.

-Don't even THINK about wearing anything sports related because as someone said to me once "But that's BOY clothing."

-Your stroller should be pink or purple or covered in butterflies. Only boys ride in blue or black strollers.

-You can't wear jeans (unless it's a jean skirt) because OBVIOUSLY boys wear jeans. Even if the stitching on the jeans is PINK.

-You must have hair, otherwise you must be a boy.
To clarify:
Hair = Girl
Bald = Boy
This explains why people do this to their children.

I hope I've made myself clear.

Obviously a boy:

Posted by torrie at 09:35 PM | Permalink | Comments (38)

It has been a month since my father died.
A lot has surprised me- like how OK I seem to be be with it. I mean, I haven't really freaked out- not yet anyway. I thought I might lose it this past weekend when I was at his house sorting through his stuff, or when we scattered his ashes, but I only cried a couple of times. That was weird, by the way- picking up my dad's ashes from the funeral home. There was my dad- who used to be six feet tall, in something about the size of a shoe box. There I was walking down the street carrying my dad. I was surprised at how heavy his ashes were.
I never understood why people need to see the body for closure until now. I mean on Friday I was standing there talking to him and on Saturday he was dead. For most of my life my dad has lived in a different state than me. I've gone as long as six months without seeing him. So, it just doesn't really feel like he's gone. Not yet anyway. To be honest, sometimes I forget that he's dead. Willa is really enjoying her bath and I think "I should call my dad- he'd really appreciate this." And then I realize- OH. Or, I'm doing a crossword puzzle and I need help with a clue and I think "My dad will know this." And then I remember- OH. I've even gotten that "Hey, I should call my dad I haven't spoken to him in a while" feeling. I've even reached for the phone.
I think maybe out of the blue one day I'll have a moment like that and then I'll finally lose it.

I think part of the reason I feel this way is because his death was so uneventful. He had a long illness, yes, but I guess I've watched too many movies. I thought there would be a "death bed". As in "He's on his death bed". You know, a period where the person lies there unconscious and everyone sits next to the bed waiting. But, he was talking to me and twelve hours later he was dead. And I never actually saw his dead body. So, for all I know he could be off somewhere on a shipwreck expedition. But he's not.
Another issue I have is we never had "the talk". The one where he says all things he wants to say to me. Like, he's proud of me, or he gives me some sage advice. He never really said anything to me.
I thought that maybe this weekend while I was sorting through his stuff I would find an envelope tucked away marked "Torrie" and I would find a letter in it that my dad wrote me saying all the things he never said to me.
My dad was always very tough on me- I thought towards the end he would, I don't know, maybe tell me he was proud of me.
There is no letter.

As times like this often do, this has taught me who my friends are. Most have been great, but there are a few who have totally dropped the ball. It amazes me how some people haven't called or even emailed me. I know it's an awkward uncomfortable situation. I know it's hard to know the right thing to say, but the mature thing, the RIGHT thing to do is make a phone call or send an email. And I hate the excuse "I wanted to give you your space." If you know me at all, I don't care about "space" I just want some support.

As difficult as the past few months have been- dealing with all of this while trying to take care of a new baby- Willa has been a wonderful distraction. If it wasn't for her I probably wouldn't be getting out of bed these days. And as sad/upset/confused as I may be I can't help but be happy when she smiles at me.
It's too bad she has to go to sleep at night because that's when I stop being distracted and the bad dreams come.

Posted by torrie at 07:50 PM | Permalink | Comments (14)

-I found out that my building has been throwing out all of our recyclables with the regular trash. This makes me furious. I promptly reported them.

-I got a botched bikini wax- uneven, ripped skin, wax left all over me- and then the salon had the nerve to try to charge me extra.

-I was breastfeeding Willa and I started laughing. Apparently Willa doesn't like when I laugh because she started to cry. She's so adorable when she cries- she has a perfect pout- that it made me laugh harder which made her cry more.

-I have a canker sore on my tongue.

-Dexter has another hot spot.

-I was clipping my nails so I don't stab myself or my child and a nail clipping flew into my eye.

-The Mets lost.

I'm going to bed before anything else goes wrong.

Update: After a night of virtually no sleep, this is how my morning started.

Posted by torrie at 09:44 PM | Permalink | Comments (12)

Here's the plan- I have decided that I am never actually going to get teeth. I'm just going to teeth FOREVER, or at least until I go away to college. I will be happy, smiling, laughing, and talking up a storm and than with NO WARNING my bottom lip will quiver and I will let out a yelp of pain. I will also have trouble going to sleep and when I finally do fall asleep I will toss back and forth and wake up EVERY HOUR ALL NIGHT.

Love,

Willa

P.S. What does it mean when mommy sits in the corner and rocks back and forth whilst babbling incoherently to herself?

P.P.S. POOP! (AAaaaahahahahahaaaaa!)

Posted by torrie at 05:40 PM | Permalink | Comments (12)

My dad died on Saturday.

I visited him on Friday (my birthday) and he wasn't doing very well. I asked him if he wanted me to cancel my weekend trip and he said to me "That's the last thing I want you to do. Go have fun."
I spoke to his doctor and asked her if I should cancel my trip and she said "I haven't placed him on critical watch yet, so I think he'll be fine through the weekend." I asked her how much longer she thought he had and she said "A week. Two weeks top."

I sat in the chair next to my dad's bed and wept while he was sleeping.

I kissed my dad on the forehead, said I would be back Monday morning, told him I loved him, and left the hospital.

I reluctantly left for my trip to Massachusetts on Friday night. II was supposed to sing at the Guthrie Center on Saturday night. It took us 4 1/2 hours to drive there, through pouring rain. We got there at 11:30pm.

On Saturday morning at 10am I got a call from the hospital saying that my dad's blood pressure was low and they were going to place him on critical watch to be cautious. I asked his doctor if I should drive back and she said "If you're asking me if I think he'll die today the answer is no, but there's always a possibility. Why don't you call me back at 3:00 to check on him because I will have re-evaluated him by then."
At 3pm I called and the nurse told me the doctor wouldn't be available until 4pm.
At 4pm I was breast feeding Willa when the phone rang. It was the hospital calling to tell me my father had died.

My first instinct was to feel guilty about the fact that my father died alone.

But the more people I talk to, the more I'm starting to believe that my father didn't want me to watch him die.

My nephew told me that when I was out of the room when we visited him on Wednesday, my father said to him "I'm in a lot of pain. I don't have much longer. Don't tell Torrie , I don't want to ruin her Birthday."

Another thing that in a strange way made me feel better is that my dad's dog died on Thursday. He was nine years old, had no known medical problems, and had just been walking around and wagging his tail that morning. He just went to sleep and didn't wake up. Thursday was the day my dad really started to go downhill (I think he waited until Saturday to let go because he didn't want to ruin my Birthday). I think his dog just didn't want to live without him. We didn't tell my father that his dog died. They are together now.

I have spent the last three days visiting the funeral home, writing lists, making DOZENS of phone calls, and planning two memorial services. All with a baby suckling at my breast. You can't imagine how hard it is to call people and tell them that their friend died. My dad had a lot of friends.

I am on auto-pilot. I don't think it's really sunk in yet that my father is gone.

Tomorrow The New York Times will be doing a featured obituary on my dad. I'll try to link to it if I can.
* Update- they didn't make it to press in time. I think it will be in tomorrow's paper. I'll update when they let me know.

I have had several people people ask me where they can make a donation in my dad's honor.
Here are two options:
The American Cancer Society
or
The QAR project

You have no idea how much all of your kind words and support have meant to me.

*Update-Here's an article about my dad.

Posted by torrie at 10:29 AM | Permalink | Comments (55)

We are supposed to leave on August 25th for a ten day vacation at my mom's house. She lives in the Pocono mountains. It's all trees, and lakes, and farmers' markets- AKA relaxation.
I just looked on line to rent a mini van because we won't be able to fit in our car. It will be me, my husband, Willa, my mom, Dexter, two of my cats, and all of our stuff.
The CHEAPEST car rental rate I could find was more than $1,000. We can't even remotely afford that. I naively thought it would cost about half of that, which we still couldn't really afford, but I was rationalizing it because we were staying at my mom's so we aren't paying for flights or a hotel. Plus, have I mentioned how much we need a vacation?
I have no idea what we are going to do.

My dad is in constant pain now. They have been giving him percocet for the past few days and it's making him very sleepy. Now they're going to have to give him something stronger. So, I guess he'll be spending his remaining days completely out of it.

The Sarcastic Journalist sent me cupcakes and This Fish came to town and took me and Willa to our favorite cafe. Have I mentioned how awesome my friends are?

My birthday is tomorrow and I couldn't care less.

Posted by torrie at 05:13 PM | Permalink | Comments (23)

The last few days have been the toughest of my life.

After this happened things only got worse.

On Thursday night my dad fell (in my apartment) and hit his head on a glass vase. He only had a small cut over his eye, and my husband was home to help him up, but it got me thinking. What was I going to do if he fell when my husband wasn't home? What if he fell in the shower?
I was already having a rough time taking care of both my father and Willa. My father is so weak he can't even open his pill bottles. I had to do everything for him. Now I had to worry about him falling. I was a prisoner in my own home. With the exception of taking Dexter for quick walks, I wouldn't leave my father alone for fear that he would fall while I was out.

On Friday my father's doctor called to say that his scans from the previous two days showed that he had a blood clot. They told me to take him over to the hospital to have him admitted so they could give him blood thinners. I had no one to watch Willa, so my husband had to leave work. Not exactly easy when you're a doctor in the middle of a surgery. Willa wasn't allowed back in the urgent care area, so we kept taking turns watching her while the other one stayed with my father.
Now the idea of my father falling was even worse. If he fell while on blood thinners he could very likely have internal bleeding. I had a long talk with the doctor who admitted him. I told him about the whole situation and that my father was broke, and that we were broke, so we couldn't afford to hire an in home nurse. He assured me that my father would be in the hospital through the weekend. (He was supposed to see his oncologist on Monday anyway.)

I was relieved that I wouldn't have to take care of him, and that he would be safe.
Add more to the pile of guilt.

On Saturday morning we were getting ready to leave for the hospital when my father called and said they were letting him go home. We were confused. We rushed over to the hospital and found out that he was going to sign out against medical advice (AMA).
A nurse, a med student, and two doctors all explained to him that it would be best for him to stay in the hospital. While I paced the hallway crying, my husband had a long talk with him and told him how hard it was for me to take care of both him and Willa, and that I wouldn't be able to pick him up if he fell. It all went in one ear and out the other. I sat down with him and I was very honest. It was a really hard conversation because my father is a very proud man and he refuses to except his limitations.
He looked me in the eyes and said "please don't make me stay here".
What do you say to that? How do you say no to that?
So, he signed out AMA and we took him home.
About an hour after we got home I was sitting in the living room and I thought I heard a noise coming from the nursery/guest room. I picked up Willa and walked into the other room. I found my father on the floor. He had opened a drawer on the changing table and was trying to pull him self up on it. My husband had a really hard time getting him up off the floor, he hurt his back doing it. Not to mention that if I hadn't gone into the other room when I did my father probably would have pulled the changing table over onto himself. If ever there was an "I told you so" moment this was it. But, we didn't say anything. I'm sure my father was embarrassed enough already.

We survived Sunday. One friend came by and brought us breakfast and two friends (who we had canceled plans with because of my father)came by and brought us dinner.

Monday was the appointment with my father's oncologist. He told my father that there was nothing more they could do for him. He also told him that he needed 24 hour nursing care, and that I couldn't provide that for him. My father has great respect for his doctor, so he agreed that it was time for hospice. I don't think when my father flew here on Wednesday that he realized that he would never see his home or his dog again. I don't think I realized it.
I spoke privately with the doctor and I asked him how much longer my dad had. He said if he had to guess- a month. My father never asked the doctor how much longer he had, and the doctor never told him, so several times over the last couple of days my father has made reference to "the next few months" and my heart breaks a little more each time.
The doctor decided to re-admit my dad to the hospital so that they could drain some fluid. The cancer in his liver is causing fluid to build up in his abdomen and legs. The fluid in his legs is so bad that it has actually started to leak through his skin to the point where his pants are wet.

So, back to urgent care we went. When we got there we found out that the blood they had drawn at the doctor's office showed that my dad's potassium was low, which could indicate a heart problem. They had to run a bunch of tests. It was 9pm before my father was transfered to a room.

His heart seems to be fine, and as I type this they are performing the procedure on him to drain the fluid.

When we got home Monday night we discovered that Dexter has a hot spot, which has since grown to epic proportions. He is miserable.

Between taking care of Willa, my dad, and the animals I barely have time to eat and shower. The apartment is getting dirty and the bills aren't getting paid.

I really don't know how I'm getting through all this. I realized that it's amazing what you can get through if you don't have a choice. I've also been getting a lot of amazing support from my friends. Especially my internet friends.

This is all taking a huge emotional toll one me. I'm having nightmares and my anxiety has kicked into high gear. I've been having totally irrational fears. I fear that my building will catch on fire while I'm not home and the animals will be stuck inside. I fear that something like September 11th will happen when I'm not home and they will close off my neighborhood and I won't be able to get back into my building and my animals will starve to death. I worry constantly that my husband will die. I worry that when I'm walking down the street with Willa in the bassinet attachment of her stroller that someone will snatch her. I worry that Willa will catch some horrible disease because she's spending so much time in the hospital. I worry that I will be in a horrible accident that will render me unconscious and Willa won't be getting my breast milk. I worry that I will drop Willa.
The list goes on and on.

I'm struggling with so many conflicting emotions my head and my heart are swimming.

I'm trying to learn to be Ok with death because it is a part of life.

One bright spot- up until this point my dad has shown little interest in Willa. He hasn't done more than say "hi" to her. Yesterday when I was visiting him in the hospital he asked if Willa might like to lay in bed with him. So, I put her next to him in the hospital bed and she lay there and smiled and cooed at him.
It was all I could do to not fall into a heap of tears on the floor.

This whole situation has made me feel very much like a child. Like all of this is too much for me to handle. That a grown up should handle it. All these questions about medical history, and medications, and long term care. It's the kind of situation where I would normally want my parents to help. But, it's my parent who needs the help. I want my mommy. I want her to make me a cup of tea and cinnamon toast, and stroke my hair, and tell me everything's going to be all right.
But it's not going to be all right.

I want to run away.

Posted by torrie at 10:44 PM | Permalink | Comments (51)

I just picked my dad up from the airport. (He flew in to see his doctor here to see if there are any experimental trials he qualifies for. This is his last resort.)
It took me an hour and a half to get to the airport. It usually takes me 20 minutes.
The airport attendant left my father sitting on the curb, in a wheelchair, in the 90 degree heat for an hour.
Then, as if my day wasn't going bad enough, my father fell down and busted his lip open when he stepped off the curb. I couldn't get him up. There was hardly anyone around. A female cab driver tried to help me pick him up, but she couldn't get him up either. Finally, a cop car drove by and I flagged them down and they helped me get him in the car.
Then, of course, there was a ton of traffic on the way home, and all this while Willa was in the backseat.

I don't know how I'm going to get through this. I really don't.

Posted by torrie at 05:33 PM | Permalink | Comments (22)

On Thursday we got the results of my father's latest scan. The drugs he's been on for the last six months have stopped working. His cancer is spreading.
Ironically Thursday was also the day my father and my brother were flying to New York to visit and meet Willa. My brother has been living with my father and taking care of him. He tried to warn me about my father's appearance (I hadn't seen him since I was about seven months pregnant), but nothing could have prepared me.
I went to the airport Thursday night to pick them up. An airport attendant pushed my dad out to my car in a wheelchair. I almost didn't recognize him. His entire upper body, including his face, is skin and bones. His cheekbones looked sharp and his eyes were bulging. His arms were barely bigger than my wrists. His belly is swollen from the cancer in his liver. His legs and feet are swollen from all of the fluid the doctors have been pumping into him.

The last few days have been horrible. Watching him struggle physically was hard- he can't open his own pill bottles, he can barely get off the couch by himself- but watching what's going on with his mental health is really difficult.
His brain is still fine- he still has his amazing memory- but he is VERY depressed. I can't blame him for that, but it's been hard for me to see him like that because I know there's nothing much I can do. He's hardly shown any interest in Willa. This weekend I kept having to go into my bedroom to cry. Last night I cried myself to sleep. It took all of my strength not to cry in front of him.
And what's the right thing to do in a situation like this? Do you let the person see you cry? Show them that it's upsetting you so they know how much you care? Or, do you act like everything is fine so they think you're handling everything well? Let them think that you'll be OK when they're gone?
I have so many different emotions. I'm sad because I will miss him and Willa will miss out. He won't be around to teach Willa how to swim or ride a bike like he did for all four of his children and all four of his other grandchildren. I'm scared because I'm not handling this very well, and he's only going to get worse. I'm angry at the universe, and at my father for not taking care of himself and for giving up. (Please don't leave comments or send me emails about how I'm a bitch because I'm mad at my father for giving up. I know that I have no idea what it's like to battle cancer. I never said being angry was rational, but I can't help how I feel.) I feel guilty. Guilty because when they went home I was kind of relieved. Guilty because I don't want to deal with all of this. And guilty because I just want the whole situation to be over. I in no way mean that I want my father to die- it's just that he was diagnosed with metastatic cancer almost 2 1/2 years ago. It has been hanging over me. I can't get away from it. I think about it all the time, and it has been 2 1/2 years of phone calls between me, my brother, and my father. Phone calls to doctors. Hours of research by me and my husband. And I've spent hours upon hours in hospitals and waiting rooms. (I know, I know, I am a selfish bitch. No need to remind me.)

I want the situation to be over, but if the situation is over that means that my dad is gone, and I don't want that either.

I guess what I'm really after is a miracle.

Posted by torrie at 11:15 AM | Permalink | Comments (23)

I have mastitis.
It is causing me to have a 102 degree fever, chills, dizziness, exhaustion, and lots of pain .

This would normally be awesome, but it is especially awesome, because my oldest friend is getting married this weekend. And I'm a bridesmaid. And I'm making the wedding cake. And the wedding is three hours away.

To add to the fun:

-I made a big batch of buttercream icing only to discover that I had bought SALTED butter.
Anyone want some salty icing?

-I went to pick up my bridesmaid dress today. I have gone back twice to have it altered correctly. It still doesn't fit right.
I got in my elevator after walking the twelve blocks (round trip) in the heat, with my fever, only to realize that one of the detachable straps was missing. I desperately need the straps, otherwise everyone at the wedding is going to see some boobs for free. The lady at the tailor didn't secure the straps, AND didn't close the bottom of the bag that the dress was in.
I cried in the elevator.
Then, I had to retrace my steps to try and find the strap.
I found it.
That is about the only thing that has gone my way today.

Did I mention that I'm also taking care of a five-week old?

At least she's cute.

Posted by torrie at 05:33 PM | Permalink | Comments (25)

NOT FUN- Getting a bikini wax when you are already sore, swollen, and dilated.

Posted by torrie at 04:00 PM | Permalink | Comments (15)

I just ate half a croissant with chocolate hazelnut spread.....

And then I threw it all up.

Posted by torrie at 10:33 PM | Permalink | Comments (9)

I just spent 45 minutes writing a very complicated post that included pictures and links.

Then, it got erased.

It is very painful for me to sit up at the computer for 45 minutes, so I can't re-write it.

I think I'm going to cry.

Posted by torrie at 11:47 AM | Permalink | Comments (5)

Tell me I'm sporting American Idol hair and when I ask you what the hell you're talking about tell me that "It looks like that Indian kid's."

Posted by torrie at 10:36 PM | Permalink | Comments (6)

My doctor thinks I have bronchitis.

No, I am not kidding.

This is day nine of the cold from hell.

It started off as a sore throat and has turned into constant coughing, and spitting up green stuff.

Three times over the past few days I have vomited up stuff that I can only describe as what it might look like if someone put a gremlin in a blender. It's been fun.

My husband finally convinced me to call my doctor today because I'm getting worse instead of better, I haven't gained any weight in the last week and a half, and I can't sleep because I cough all night.

My doctor prescribed antibiotics today.
She's afraid that if I don't get this under control it will turn into pneumonia. Especially since I can't sit up for more than a half an hour at a time because of my rib pain. (I think I forgot to mention that after consulting with two doctors, my physical therapist, and a massage therapist, they are all in agreement that the rib pain is being caused by a pinched nerve in my back. Not much they can do for it. I had my second acupuncture appointment yesterday- have another one tomorrow- we'll see if that works.)

Lesson learned- you can't plan everything and you can't predict how things are going to go.
I thought I would have a great pregnancy (maybe because my mom did).
I didn't think I would be in constant pain. I didn't think I would have to be on modified bed rest.
I certainly didn't think I would take any drugs. I have taken Tylenol, Benadryl (to try to knock me out so I would stop coughing and get some sleep- it didn't work), and now antibiotics.

I guess all of this is good preparation for when the baby arrives and almost nothing goes the way I thought it would.

Posted by torrie at 02:08 PM | Permalink | Comments (20)

I am mad at you for giving up.

I know you're tired. I know you've been fighting for two years. But I thought you would never give up. And I can't help but believe that the cancer knows when you give up, and it's all too happy to take over.

I am mad at you for being so stubborn. Being inflexible does not impress me. Your buddies from the Marines might be impressed that you refuse pain medication, but I'm not impressed.
I'm not impressed because you are not doing everything you can. At first you were eating well and taking your vitamins. Now you have fallen back into your old routine of eating crap. And drinking nothing but soda. And not taking your vitamins. Cancer is like a cockroach- it loves a dirty environment. You are making it feel right at home. You are being lazy. Even faced with death you are not willing to change. To do what's right. If you want to impress me you would change and take care of yourself.

For two years I have given so much time and energy into keeping you alive. I have read tons of books, spent hours doing research online, gone with you to all of your doctor's appointments, spoken to your doctors on the phone, and prepared tons of healthy, delicious meals.

I'm tired too. And I'm mad that I've put more time and energy into making you well than you have.

You know nothing about your disease. You never educated yourself on the subject.
You've educated yourself on so many different subjects, but you show show no interest in the most important one. Why don't you have a passion for living?

I'm done fighting with you to take care of yourself. I'm done. I just don't have the energy anymore. I'm giving up, just like you. Two wrongs don't make a right, but I can't force you to fight.

I can't help take in personally that you are giving up.

It's not fair to me, or to your unborn grandchild.

You have taught all 4 of your children and all 4 of your grandchildren to swim. And ride their bikes. And you were the one who bought us our sneakers.
And my child will miss out.

I will miss being able to call you and ask for directions, or for help with the crossword puzzle. I will miss the lessons you give me about things like taxes and the stock market. I will miss calling you to see if you know the answer to Final Jeopardy.

I will miss you.

I just hope you can hold on long enough to meet your grandchild.

FUCK CANCER.

Posted by torrie at 05:00 PM | Permalink | Comments (24)

I could never express my anger as eloquently as this.

If you live in Alabama, please email me.
I will gladly send you a "present". Nudge, nudge. Wink, wink.

Posted by torrie at 09:13 PM | Permalink | Comments (5)

I am in constant pain. For the past three weeks or so Ive been having excruciating rib pain.
At first it was just at night, but it has started earlier and earlier everyday, so now it's ALL DAY.
The one good thing about it is it distracts me from my back pain. Yay.

The doctor has no idea why the hell I'm having such severe rib pain.
The pain does not change no matter what I'm doing or what I eat.
The only thing that helps slightly is if I lay down. So, that's pretty much all I've been doing.

I think they are going to do an ultrasound to make sure it's not my gallbladder. Fun.

Oh, and I have a miserable cold too. Thank God for nipple cream. I've been rubbing it on my nose so that it doesn't crack open.

I hope you all are having fun and doing exciting things because then I can at least live vicariously through you.
Feel free to tell me all about your exciting weekend (Sex??? Drugs???- help me out- I'm BORED).

Posted by torrie at 06:06 PM | Permalink | Comments (10)

So, my back is bad. Really bad. But you knew that already. And I've been having EXCRUCIATING rib pain, but that's a whole other story.

So, my OB wanted me to see my spine specialist and have an MRI. She also wants me to meet with the head of the OB Anesthesia department at the hospital where I am giving birth.

So, about SIX WEEKS ago I called my spine doctor to make an appointment and I found out he doesn't take my insurance anymore. (I would like to point out that it is the same insurance that he uses for HIMSELF- he works at the same hospital as my husband.)

So, I began my search for another spine doctor. That was fun.
Most of them don't take insurance. (I'm sorry, but how many people out there are actually paying out of pocket to go to the doctor???)
I finally found someone. The first available appointment was for February 21st. Yes, I told them that I was pregnant and in pain. They don't care.

So, I went to my OB yesterday (regular check-up) and she asked me if I had gotten an MRI yet.
I realized that it's silly for me to go to the spine doctor on the 21st, THEN have him order an MRI. It makes much more sense for me to have the MRI first, so that when I show up we can discuss the results. Because otherwise, I will go to the spine doctor, he'll order the MRI, I'll have to wait a week for an MRI appointment, and then god knows how long for another appointment with the spine doctor.
Also, I can't meet with the OB Anesthesia doctor until I have the MRI.

So, I call the spine doctor's office and explain all of this to the secretary and she was all "That's not how he does things. He'll want to see you first"
And I (very nicely) said "I understand that's how he usually does things, but I was hoping he could make an exception because I'm pregnant, in a lot of pain, and my husband is a resident at the hospital. Also, I can't meet with the OB Anesthesia doctor until I have the MRI."

(I forgot to mention to you- I mentioned this to the secretary- that the new spine doctor works ACROSS THE HALL from the old spine doctor and could very easily access my file.)

The secretary started to get all huffy and rude with me. (I can't WAIT to meet her!)

So, I said "You don't have to lose your patience and be rude, I'm in a lot of pain and I'M PREGNANT."

And then I realized I wasn't going to get anywhere with her, so I asked her to have the doctor call me- which she LOVED. (Because I don't see how any doctor in their right mind, after I explain the situation, wouldn't be willing to let me get an MRI.)

So, do you think the doctor will actually call me?

I'm not holding my breath.

Posted by torrie at 12:40 PM | Permalink | Comments (13)

*Warning*- if you or someone you love has been a victim of sexual abuse this might be a very difficult post to read.

So, there are so many things that go on in my life that I can't talk about here. Mostly because there are some insanely private people in my family and I don't want to start a war. It can been quite frustrating at times.
The reason I haven't mentioned what I'm about to tell you before was for legal reasons. Those legal reasons have since been resolved, so now I am free to talk about it.

First, I need to give you some background-
My dad had three kids with his first wife- one boy and two girls. My dad divorced his first wife when she started to go crazy, REALLY crazy, and refused to get help.
Fast forward to the present-
Both of my sisters have two kids. My sister Lisa has a twenty year old boy and an eight year old girl. My sister Kim has two girls ages seven and eight.
My dad's first wife, Paula has been with the same guy, Paul, for about thirty years now. They live close to my sisters and would babysit their kids.
Paul beat the shit out of my sister Lisa when she was a teenager, and has hit Paula many times.
See, if that was me I never would have let them near my kids, but it's amazing how forgiving people can be of family.
Anyway, about a year ago, my sister Kim was in the bathroom getting her girls ready for bed when her youngest asked her to help her wipe, to which my sister replied "you are a big girl, you don't need help wiping" and my niece said "Poppy (Paul) helps me do it."
This led to a conversation which ended with my niece saying that "poppy kissed her on her pee-pee and then he played with his pee-pee and white stuff came out".

The next few weeks were horrible.
We found out that Paul had been molesting all three of my nieces.
My sister and my nieces had several meetings with police and child protective services (Who all concluded, that without a doubt, the girls had been molested).
My father was devastated, to say the least.
He was battling terminal cancer, and now this.
Also, he couldn't even go be with my sister because he had to be in New York for his cancer treatment.

As if all of this wasn't bad enough, Paula, my sisters' mother, decided to stand by her husband (who, it is worth noting, admitted to the police that he had "kissed them on their labias") instead of standing by her children and her grandchildren.
Over night my sisters lost their mother and their step-father and my sister Kim had to deal with constant questions from her two girls about where Grandma and Poppy were.
My sister Lisa remains in denial about the whole thing and refuses to admit that her daughter was molested.

Over the course of the past year while we waited for Paul's trial (which kept getting delayed because our legal system likes to protect criminals) my sister Kim's two children had a ton of therapy.
During this therapy, which was at a state run facility that specializes in treating abused children, it was drilled into my nieces heads that this was not their fault, and that they did nothing wrong.
And yet, as the trial was approaching, and everyone was preparing the girls for the witness stand Kim's youngest daughter said "Mommy, can't we just say we're sorry?"
When I heard that my heart broke into a million pieces.
Even after months of therapy, these girls still thought they did something wrong. They thought they were the reason Grandma and Poppy didn't come to visit anymore.
And I wonder if, even after years of therapy, they will ever TRULY not feel guilty.

Paul finally stood trial.
My dad sat in the courtroom and watched his ex-wife get on the stand on lie through her teeth.
But, the evidence (the girls' testimony, state experts testimony, and Paul's confession) was overwhelming and Paul will be spending the rest of his life in jail.
You know what they do to child molesters in jail, don't you? I can only hope he suffers.

With the birth of my own child impending, I wonder if I will be able to protect her from something like this.
I mean, my sisters thought they were protecting their children by having family members watch them, and look what happened.

I once heard a quote that went something like this:
"Having a child is like having your heart walking around outside your body."

I haven't even met my child yet, but I'm starting to realize that that might be a very accurate description.

Posted by torrie at 08:12 PM | Permalink | Comments (31)

As some of you have already noticed, I have put a new poll in the left sidebar asking whether or not you think the baby will arrive on time.
So far 6 people have voted and of those 6 people 5 have said that the baby will be late.
(* I wonder if you all are saying that because my belly looks small for six months? I'll have you know that at our last sonogram the baby was measuring 79th percentile for her "age" and on Tuesday the doctor said my fundus was measuring high for 24 weeks.)

That is so NOT FUNNY people.

I have mentioned, but haven't gone into detail, about my back problems.
Things have gotten really bad.

I am in constant pain. Sitting hurts. Standing hurts. Sleeping (or TRYING to) hurts. We thought my back would be bad while I was pregnant, but we just didn't think it would get this bad this soon. My due date is May 24th, which means I have almost 4 MONTHS left (if I deliver on time) because pregnancy IS NOT 9 months, it's 40 WEEKS. Which is why when I saw that 5 of you think I'm going to deliver this baby past my due date I almost threw myself out the window.

Per my doctor's orders I am not allowed to do most things. No laundry, no dishes, nothing that involves bending over, and nothing that involves lifting more than five pounds. And no more yoga.
Some of you might think that sounds fabulous, but the problem is I REALLY like my husband.
So, while most of you might enjoy getting to sit around and do nothing all day, it just makes me feel guilty. My husband works on average at least 12 hours a day. Then, he comes home and has to do the chores while I sit on my fat ass and watch. I feel helpless and useless. He, of course, has been wonderfully supportive, and never complains, which only makes me feel worse.
Life would be a lot easier if he was a dick.

Also, I am having the nesting instinct. I look around at my very cluttered apartment and I want to clean it and organize it, but I'm not allowed.

Also, I am exhausted. These days "sleeping" consists of me tossing and turning all night while my back, ribs and hips throb. On Monday night I actually got a little bit of sleep because I let myself sleep on my back. I woke up on Tuesday and I almost passed out. Nothing I did made the dizziness go away. I went to the doctor and after they made sure that the baby was OK they concluded that I was dizzy because I slept on my back. So, no more back sleeping for me. Which basically means no more sleeping for me.
That whole "catch up on your sleep before the baby comes" thing is not going to happen.

Also, I am a fucking hippie, so I refuse to take any medication for my pain while I am pregnant.
I hate that about myself. This pregnancy would be so much more enjoyable if I would just eat some fucking Pepperidge Farms cookies and pop some vicoden.

Also, hold onto your hats because this is a groundbreaking statement, INSURANCE COMPANIES SUCK ASS. They do not cover acupuncture UNLESS you are having pregnancy related nausea.
So, I am thinking of making the appointment with the acupuncturist and hoping she will join me in giving my insurance company the middle finger, and stick the needles into the places that help back pain instead of the places that help nausea.

The insurance company has, however, found it in their heart to let me go to physical therapy twice a week. I still pay a $20 co-pay for each visit, and of course massage isn't covered, but it's the only thing keeping me alive right now.

Also, I had this idea that my husband and I would really live it up and be social until the baby comes. NOT SO MUCH. We went to a party on Friday night. We were there for only two hours. I was in pain the whole time. It took all of my strength just to sit there and try to make small talk with people through gritted teeth. Going to the movies has also become torture because it is nearly impossible for me to stay in the same position for more than 15 minutes. I went to the Martha Stewart show yesterday. Between the waiting and the actual filming I spent about 3 hours sitting in a horrible, uncomfortable wooden chair. You would think that Martha Stewart would have some pillows all up in that bitch, but NOOooooo.
It was NOT a good thing.

I have received several emails and comments from well meaning people giving me suggestions for my back, so i just want to clear up a few things:

I have tried the following things to help my back pain-

A body pillow
Several other pillows
Ice
Heat
Yoga
Walking
Stretching
Deep breathing/ meditation
Physical therapy
Banging my head against the wall
(I have ordered, but have not yet received an exercise ball to sit on, and a snoogle.)

Nothing is working. This is not typical pregnancy related back pain- this is a ruptured disk.
So, I think I'm stuck with it. I'm trying to come to terms with the fact that I will be in constant pain until the baby comes.
The only thing I ask of you is that you let me complain. It's one of the few things left that I'm actually allowed to do, and damn I'm good at it.

Posted by torrie at 06:00 PM | Permalink | Comments (23)

It's completely irrational. I know that. That doesn't mean I can stop.

I'm worried about the baby.

Sometimes it consumes me.

Today my husband and I were having tea and doing a crossword at a nice little cafe and I had to ruin it by bursting into tears.

I worry that those aren't really kicks I'm feeling. That they're just gas bubbles.

I worry because I can't hear her heartbeat with my husband's stethoscope, even though I can barely hear my own.

I worry that because I am leaking colostrum that I will go into preterm labor.

Every test I've had- blood, urine, sonogram- has been "perfect". The doctors and nurses keep using the word "perfect". And yet, I still worry.

I like to write how many weeks along I am on my calender so that when I'm making plans I'll know how far along I will be. I'm scared to write out the weeks- 24, 25, 26, etc.- because the first time I did that ,and after I lost the baby every time I looked at the calender I was reminded of how far along I would have been.

I spoke to a friend recently who told me that she only had one sonogram her entire pregnancy.
I've already had five and I'll probably have a couple of more before the pregnancy is over. Each time they tell me everything looks great. "Perfect".
But I keep worrying that there will be no heartbeat.
I was just at the doctor a week ago. She did a quick doppler to listen to the heartbeat. It sounded great. But I can't wait until I hear it again (my next appointment isn't until February 13th).

I've mentioned my anxiety about the heartbeat before and some of you have suggested I rent a doppler. I don't want to do that. I feel like I would only be feeding my anxiety. As it is I'm constantly trying to hear the heartbeat with the stethoscope. It's a good thing my husband takes it to work with him every day, otherwise I'd probably obsessively have the thing stuck in my ears all day long.

Something else that is adding to my stress is that February is right around the corner.
It is a notoriously bad month for me. We lost the first pregnancy in February. My dad was diagnosed with terminal cancer in February. A good friend's dad died in February. And lots of other horrible things have occurred in the month of February.
So, you can understand why my chest tightens a little every time I look at the calender.

I'll be holding my breath until I (hopefully) hear the baby's heart beat at my next doctor's appointment.

Until then, I will be counting the days and trying to silence the demons.

Posted by torrie at 05:48 PM | Permalink | Comments (22)

There is a maintenance guy in our hallway cleaning the floors. He has been whistling incessantly for the past 15 minutes. It is driving me CRAZY. (I've spoken about my hatred for whistling before- see #68)

I so badly want to go out into the hallway and ask him to PLEASE FOR THE LOVE OF GOD STOP, but I don't want him to think I'm a bitch. I have to see this guy almost every day.

Is there a polite way to ask someone to stop doing something annoying- whistling, chewing gum, tapping their foot, etc., or will they just think you're a bitch no matter what?

On another note- I have been getting a MASSIVE amount of comment spam so I turned the comment verification on. It might take a while for your first comment to post. Once you have been verified, your comments should post right away.

Posted by torrie at 11:48 AM | Permalink | Comments (5)

I have much better posts than this one to write, but I am lazy. Instead, enjoy this poorly written post riddled with bad grammar.

So, without further ado, here is a list of things that have happened in the last week (in no particular order).

- My back has gotten increasingly bad. Walking used to be the only thing that made it feel better, and now that hurts too, so I'm basically screwed.

-We had our 20 week anatomy ultrasound. It was mostly awesome. Except for the part where the baby was breech and totally would not cooperate and they kept making me move from side to side, and then they made me walk around and eat ice cream, and after all that the baby was still breech. So, 4 different sonogram technicians poked and prodded my belly trying to measure various parts of the baby.
There was one part where the baby was kicking me, and I mean REALLY kicking me. Like get this fucking uterus off my feet/ kung foo fighting kicking me and even the sonogram technician whose job it is to look at babies in the womb ALL DAY was like "WHOA, that kid is really kicking you" and I'm thinking that when I can REALLY feel her kick (right now I only feel flutters) this is not going to be as cute.
After two hours, when we were on our fourth sonogram technician, the only thing left to do was take some measurements of the baby's profile. That was right about the time the baby decided to nuzzle her face into the placenta so we couldn't see a god damn thing. I fear that this baby is just like me.

- I was going to drive the animals to my mom's house by myself on Friday because we were going to be leaving for vacation at 5AM on Saturday, but the husband concluded that there was no way with my bad back that I was going to be able to load all the animals and their crap into the car by myself and then drive 4 hours (especially knowing that I was going to have to sit on a plane for six hours on Saturday). So, he made the executive decision that after the sonogram on Thursday he would drive to my mom's.
Because the sonogram took so long we didn't even get on the road until 6:45pm, so we didn't get home until 11:30 PM. The husband had to get up at 5 the next morning.
When we got back, the husband couldn't find his wallet anywhere. Which was just what we needed to be dealing with after such an emotionally exhausting day. We concluded that the only time he had taken his wallet out was when we stopped for gas (about an hour into our 4 +hour round trip). So, I spent 10 minutes on the phone with directory assistance trying to figure out the phone number of the gas station.
I finally got the number, and miraculously they had found the wallet.
However that meant that I was going to have to drive 2+ hours round trip on Friday to pick up the wallet which kind of defeated the purpose of the husband driving me the night before.
I was complaining about all of this to Heather over IM on Friday morning when she offered to drive me. Seriously. It's things like this that make me realize that I have hit the friend jackpot.
So, she drove me. And I picked up the wallet. And everything was still in it.

- We left for our vacation at 5AM on Saturday. At the security check at the airport I got pulled aside to be screened. The woman was wanding me and there wasn't even a beep and she said to me "why did he pull you aside?" and I said "I don't know, maybe because I'm pregnant" and so she asked him and sure enough he said he pulled me aside because he wanted to make sure I wasn't smuggling anything under my shirt. The woman, who was his superior, got really pissed and said "she's pregnant, you idiot".

-We used all of our frequent flier miles to fly first class because we figured it would be easier on my back. Boy, were we wrong. They didn't have any pillows, so I had to use 4 blankets to support my back. One of flight attendants was rude to me, there was hardly any leg room, and the food sucked.
So NOT worth it.

-We are in Utah. We're up in the mountains right above Salt Lake City. The husband is skiing while I sit around the lodge on my fat ass all day.

-Utah is BEAUTIFUL, but DRY. Really DRY.
I have never consumed so much water in my life.
Also, my nose is all dry and crusted, and bloody. I'm seriously considering shoving some of my moisturizer up there.

-Yesterday I leaked colostrum all over my husband's T-shirt.
I can't believe this is already happening. I thought that wouldn't happen until after I give birth.
I keep thinking if I'm leaking this much now, imagine how much I will leak once my milk actually comes in. I wonder what kind of trajectory these bad boys will have.

-Flickr has something against me and it won't let me upload any of my pictures from my laptop.

-People ski entirely too fast.

Posted by torrie at 11:50 AM | Permalink | Comments (11)

My back has been killing me lately. I mean really killing me.
Not the "I'm pregnant and my back is sore" kind of killing me, but the "Every time I bend over it feels like someone is stabbing me. Please kill me now." kind.
My doctor sent me to physical therapy (AGAIN).
Yesterday was my first appointment.
The therapist confirmed what I was fearing- I have re-ruptured my disk.
FUN.
I expected to have back problems while I was pregnant, I was just hoping they wouldn't be this bad this soon.
I'm already having a lot of trouble sleeping and I'm only halfway there. My physical therapist was kind enough to tell me that my sleeping situation will only get worse as my pregnancy progresses.
GREAT.
Also, I was scheduled for my pre-natal yoga class yesterday. I was looking forward to it because I thought maybe it would make my back feel better. I stood outside the locked studio, in the cold, for 25 minutes waiting for the instructor, but he never showed up.
AWESOME.
Oh, and the therapist told me that I can't do half of the yoga moves I've been doing anymore. And I can't lift any weights except for 5lb. dumbells.
I had this vision of me being one of those toned, in-shape pregnant chicks. Apparently that's not going to happen.

I just hope that my back doesn't get so bad that I have to go on bed rest.

Posted by torrie at 11:27 AM | Permalink | Comments (10)

When someone callls you to tell you that they just found out they are having a girl the first words out of your mouth should not be "Oh, I was hoping you would have a boy".

Posted by torrie at 11:09 AM | Permalink | Comments (14)

So, there's this guy who lives in my building. He has a dog, so I see him quite often as us dog people tend to hang in packs.

He ALWAYS wears shorts.

Hot= shorts
Cold= shorts

Last night it was 37 degrees with an even colder wind chill. He was wearing a sweater, a jacket, a hat, and SHORTS.

I do not get this phenomenon.

Does it really take that much more effort to put on pants then it does to put on shorts?

"Man, I am tired. Thank god I only have to put my legs through this short piece of fabric!"

Is he claustrophobic, but only in the calf area?

"Oh my god! There's fabric touching my calves! Get it off! GET IT OFF!"

Do his muscular calves produce a huge amount of heat compared with the rest of his body?

"I feel like someone set my legs on fire from the knees down! Someone, get me some SHORTS!"

I. Don't. Get. It.

My husband went to college with a girl who ALWAYS wore flip flops or sandals. Even in the snow.

I see guys who walk around in the freezing cold without a jacket on because hey, jackets are so NOT cool.

I don't get these people. They'd rather be freezing than lose their cool factor by wearing jackets, or shoes, or *GASP* pants?

And the people who claim they are not cold- unless you are pregnant- I DON'T BELIEVE YOU.

Posted by torrie at 02:55 PM | Permalink | Comments (10)

-When your good camera lens breaks the week before Christmas, when you have a thousand picture related activities scheduled.

-When you are a back sleeper, and you can't sleep on your back anymore,

-When you order Chinese food and they forget to give you packets of duck sauce. I NEED the duck sauce.

-When you get your favorite organic orange juice from the ONE place that sells it, and you pour yourself a big glass, and it's rotten.

-When your hair can't decide if it wants to be curly or straight.

-My husband's work schedule. Working 30 hours IN A ROW is not cool.

-Dust.

-People who say "X-Mas" instead of "Christmas"

What's annoying you?

Posted by torrie at 01:14 PM | Permalink | Comments (19)

Because my father is not doing well and I just keep thinking I hope he can make it until the baby is born.

Posted by torrie at 10:09 AM | Permalink | Comments (13)

I have no idea what I'm doing.

I don't know what CSS is.

I don't know HTML.

I've had the same mast head for over a year and as much as I love it, I'd love to change it up every once and a while, but I don't know how.

Hell, I don't even know how to change the colors on my blog, let alone create a new mast head. (I'm also horrible at Photoshop.)

Movable Type is like a foreign language that I just can't understand.

Also, every time I publish a new post it tells me there was an error.

I have a couple of people who I have asked MANY stupid, computer related questions, and they've been so patient, but to be honest I think they're sick of me.

So, is there anyone out there who speaks the mystifying languages of Movable Type and Photoshop who'd be willing to help me?

Please?!

Pretty Please?!

Have I mentioned that I used to be a pastry chef and I make the best cookies in the world?

Posted by torrie at 11:13 AM | Permalink | Comments (7)

-This one stood outside my bedroom door and screamed every thirty to sixty seconds for the entire two hours.

-This one used the kitty litter, which is in the bathroom located right outside my bedroom door, which consists of him scratching and kicking the shit out of the litter box for twenty minutes.

-The phone rang twice.

-The cell phone rang once.

-My husband's beeper which was in the guest room (next door to my bedroom) went off and than continued to beep every sixty seconds for the remainder of my "nap".

-This one licked his paws incessantly.

-The people who live next door came home and let their heavy, metal front door slam, so my whole apartment shook.

-My head exploded.

Posted by torrie at 05:53 PM | Permalink | Comments (7)

Call me two hours before I'm scheduled to start the prenatal yoga class that I signed up for (and paid for) weeks ago, and have been looking forward to, to tell me that I'm the only one who signed up, so they won't be having the class.

Posted by torrie at 10:16 AM | Permalink | Comments (7)

I don't ask much from you guys.

Tonight I am asking you to help my friend. She is sick and I need you to send some good vibes her way.

The internet can be an amazing place. I know it has helped me get through some very tough times.

I hope it (you) can help my friend.

Posted by torrie at 08:14 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)

So, whenever we have an OB appoinment we take a cab there and then walk home.
Before we leave for the doctor's office I make sure my bits are all nice and clean- hair trimmed- smelling fresh as a meadow. If we walked the 2 miles to the office, my area might resemble more of a swamp than a meadow. Being that I grew up in New York I am physically incapable of walking slow. As New Yorkers we must always rush, even if we are not in a hurry,
So, my point is- walking fast=sweat.
Sweat= Not such a pleasant situation down below.
My OB is my favorite doctor of all time. I'd rather not offend her with a crotch that smells like a gym locker, so we take a cab.
Yesterday we had an OB appointment (everything was perfect. we heard the baby's heart beat!). In the cab on the way there I started hearing what sounded like the cabbie was popping gum. I HATE gum popping. Almost as much as I hate whistling.
But then I caught something shiny and metal out of the corner of my eye. I bent forward to get a closer look and that's when I realized- HE WAS CLIPPING HIS NAILS WHILE DRIVING.
Now, I don't even like to be in the same house when someone clips their nails, let alone trapped in a motor vehicle with them (WHILE THEY ARE DRIVING). Suddenly gum popping didn't seem so bad.
We got out of the cab and I stood on the sidewalk and dry heaved for a while.
I had nightmare's about it last night.
I guess you could say we were lucky that he wasn't clipping his toenails.

Posted by torrie at 11:34 AM | Permalink | Comments (13)

So, yesterday I was on the phone with Duchess. I walked in to my bedroom to start packing for my trip and there was a LARGE explosion that shook my building I looked out the window and saw a huge fireball and realized immediately that a plane had hit the building across the street from me. I watched in horror for a second as windows blew out and burnt pieces of paper started flying through the air.
I proceeded to freak out. I must say I am quite disappointed in my reaction. I basically hung up on poor Duchess and started to hysterically cry. (I called her back about ten minutes later to explain what was going on, but still- can you imagine being on the phone with your friend and all of a sudden they freak out and say "A PLANE JUST HIT THE BUILDING ACROSS THE STREET FROM ME! I HAVE TO GO!"?)
I dialed 911 several times with shakey hands but I couldn't get through.
I was watching the building. Watching the smoke get worse. And it occurred to me that I should stop watching in case people started jumping.
Then the phone started ringing. Both my home phone and my cell phone rang all day. I must say my friends could not be more awesome. They called and emailed all day to check on me. Some even called several times. They knew I was alone yesterday (The husband was on call last night). They knew what it must have been like for me to see a plane fly into a building. They didn't judge me or say I was over-reacting when they called and I was sobbing. And they kept calling me until 10pm last night. They offered up their offices and apartments. I love them all.
It didn't occur to me to leave until the smoke started to get very think and black and I could smell the fumes. Being pregnant put a whole new spin on the situation. I took a 2 minute shower to wash of all of the nervous sweat. Then I went down to the 16th floor to my friends' apartment (I live on the 32nd floor). By this time the smoke had calmed down so I went across the street to the hospital just so I could give my husband a hug.
Once I found out it was an accident I felt 100 times better. I can't say I didn't have bad dreams last night, but I'm feeling much better today.

In a few hours I leave for my trip to Chicago and Indianapolis.

Along the way I will meet up with Bucky, Jessica Rabbit, Nick, Melissa, and Schnozz.
It's going to be a blogger festival!

Thanks to the new laptop I should be able to check in from time to time.

Posted by torrie at 09:03 AM | Permalink | Comments (20)

I was woken up at 5AM this morning by someone down on the street using a jackhammer.

5AM. This MORNING. Jackhammer.

I live on the 32nd floor. I can only imagine what it was like for the people who live on all of the floors below me.

Posted by torrie at 11:08 AM | Permalink | Comments (6)

So, I'm hungry.

REALLY hungry.

I know you think you understand, but you don't.

I have never been this hungry in my life. It's a different kind of hunger. It's not the type that you can ignore. It demands attention. Like, NOW. And I go from being not hungry, to if I don't eat now I'm going to chew my own arm off, in 60 seconds flat.

I feel like my body is being held hostage.
"Just give us what we want and nobody gets hurt"
"But I don't have any Three Musketeer bars"
"Well, you better find a way to get some OR EVERYBODY DIES!"

My favorite part is when I'm eating something, actually shoveling food into my mouth,and I'm still ravenous.
It's like my brain doesn't realize that I'm eating.

I'm almost never satisfied and even when I am, I'm hungry again an hour later.

I'm just going to say this out loud with the hope that if I do, it can't possibly be true:

I better not be having twins.

Posted by torrie at 11:22 AM | Permalink | Comments (11)

I don't know how you people find the time to work AND blog.

I'm so busy with several different projects, and I can't seem to find the time to write a decent blog entry.

How do you do it?

Posted by torrie at 10:02 AM | Permalink | Comments (11)

Today is my last day in my twenties.

In my twenties I have:

- Met, fell in love with, and married my husband.
- Graduated from culinary school, worked my way up to executive pastry chef, and won a gold medal at a culinary competition
- Had three surgeries, including a career ending shoulder surgery.
- Adopted Dexter, Mookie, and Itsy.
- Lost my beloved Grandmother.
- Had two of my photographs published in The New York Times.
- Made many great friends.
- Left my comfort zone and moved to a new city.
- Been pregnant twice and lost both pregnancies.
- Found out my father has terminal cancer.
- Started eating better.
- Gained 27 pounds.
- Lost 8 of those pounds.
- Discovered and fell in love with the internet.
- Read too many books to count.
- Had LOTS of sex.
- Learned a lot about myself.
- Stopped letting people walk all over me.
- Became a brunette.
- Almost come to terms with my nose.
- Learned a lot about myself.

It's funny; I use to think I needed to accomplish everything by the time I turned 30. Now that 30 is here, in some ways, I feel like my life is just beginning.

I'm excited to see what's in store for my thirties.

Posted by torrie at 11:57 AM | Permalink | Comments (21)

I'm supposed to get my period on Thursday- AKA, my 30th birthday.

Posted by torrie at 03:19 PM | Permalink | Comments (3)

Here's a little advice:

When the heat index is 110 degrees, your dog does not need to go on his typical 1/2 hour walk, nor does he need to go to the park to play. REALLY. He also doesn't need to lay down on the boiling hot concrete while you smoke a fucking cigar (it's not your dog's fault that your penis is so small).Take your poor animal for a quick pee, put some ice cubes in his water bowl, and let him sit in the air conditioning for God's sake
The same rule applies to your children. They don't have to go outside EVERY DAY.
Why does no one take this weather seriously? It's dangerous out there, people.

On another note- I've instituted a new rule:
If you are stupid enough to say to me "Hot enough for ya?", then I reserve the right to punch you directly in the face.

Posted by torrie at 03:21 PM | Permalink | Comments (7)

The summer I turned fourteen was a turbulent time.
My mother was divorcing my stepfather. He had started to get a little wacky- showering with his undershirt on for example- and it was the straw that broke the camel's back of an already strained marriage.
So, we left our three bedroom, doorman apartment on Manhattan's Upper East Side for Queens and a small one bedroom apartment.
Queens was right over the bridge from Manhattan, but a world apart.
Not only was I going through puberty (I got my period for the first time that summer), which is awkward enough on its own, but I went from an all girls private school to a public junior high school where most of the students had known each other since kindergarten.
I was a foreigner invading their territory. I had taken French (they didn't even OFFER French at this school- just Spanish), I didn't wear Champion sweatshirts, and I didn't know what Z Cavariccis were.
I was lost.

We rented our apartment from a 40- something Greek couple. We lived on the first floor, they lived on the second floor.
They had a daughter who was a year older than me. Her name was Veronika. She was the complete opposite of me. Tall (I didn't even reach five feet until I was fourteen), she had long dark hair (mine was blonde), and she had boobs (I was flat chested until I was 18). I was fascinated with her.
She went to Catholic school (I was a Jew). She rolled her school uniform skirt up as high as it would go (I had NO style and wore acid washed jeans and Keds). She was everything I wasn't, and I worshiped her for it.

We became fast friends.

Veronika was the stereotypical Catholic school girl.
She lied to her very strict Greek parents, she smoked cigarettes, and there's no better way to say this- she was a slut.
She was a skirt rolling, hair flipping, giggling, master. And all of the (men and) boys joined me in my worship.

One of my favorite stories that sums up her slutiness is this-
Veronika's parents wanted her to get an after school job.
She worked in a local bagel shop owned by a man 20 years older than her.
She started having an affair with him.
One day when she got home after a long day of "work", the kind of work that she could have used kneepads for, her mother asked her what the white stuff on her shirt was.
I froze in terror. I thought I was about to witness Veronika's mother's discovery that her little girl was blowing the much older Bagel King. Instead, without missing a beat Veronika said "It's cream cheese, mom".
I was stunned by her ability to lie to her parents' faces, something I could never do. I was a good girl. I never lied to my mother, not for fear of consequences, but for fear of losing my mother's trust. I would lose sleep and get a stomach ache if I thought I might be disappointing my mother.
I also had never done more than kiss a boy. I was afraid of the penis (what if it didn't like me?). Veronika was in a completely different league than me.
I secretly envied her lack of morals.

I spent almost all of my free time that year hanging out with Veronika. I was the Robin to her Batman. It was an unusual role for me, I was usually the leader, but I was desperate to make friends and fit it even if it meant playing the supporting role.

Veronika was never a good friend, but that didn't matter to me- my Manhattan friends had started to drift away from me (they couldn't be seen with someone who lived in Queens!), and almost everyone at school hated me. So, I happily stood on the sidelines and watched Veronika, smoke, drink, sneak out of the house, and fool around with any man she could get her hands on.

I think it is a testament to my mother's amazing parenting skills that she never told me I couldn't hang out with Veronika. She thought that if she did, it would only make me want to spend more time with her. My mother was right. I was a good kid, but I was still a teenager. So, my mother kept her mouth shut, and when Veronika would get into trouble my mother would help her out. Veronika's father was abusive, and my mother's father had been abusive, so she felt sorry for her.

So, without any opposition on the home front I continued to follow Veronika around like a dutiful puppy dog. And she gave me nothing in return. She repeatedly took advantage of me and our friendship. I let her.

The summer that I turned 16 our financial situation improved and my mother and I moved to a big three bedroom apartment.

I had made a new group of friends who were honest and trustworthy. They were good people. But, I tried to continue my friendship with Veronika. I was really bad at breaking ties with someone, and I guess I was waiting for a return on all of the time and energy I had invested in our friendship.

One night, shortly after I moved to the new apartment, Veronika invited me to go out with her, her brother (who was a year younger than me), and some of her "friends". She wanted to go to a club in Astoria, Queens. Astoria was in the same borough that I lived in, but it was a foreign land to me.
The club Veronika brought me to had a sign on the front door "MUST BE 25 YEARS OLD TO ENTER". I thought she was crazy. I looked like I was twelve. I had been to some dance clubs where you had to be 18 to get in, but this was another story. How the hell were we going to get in? But Veronika, wearing a low cut top, did some expert giggling and hair flipping at the guy manning the front door, and the next thing I knew, I was inside.
The moment I stepped inside I felt uncomfortable. There were sleazy older men everywhere, looking at me like I was a piece of fresh meat. My skin was crawling and I was itching to get out of there. I begged Veronika to leave, but knew she wouldn't leave until SHE wanted to leave. Finally, after about 45 of the most uncomfortable minutes of my life, Veronika decided we should leave because they didn't have any dancing.
We stepped outside, but unfortunately my discomfort didn't improve much- It was late, I was in a strange place, and the streets were pretty empty. We started walking. Veronika's brother and a few of her friends were drunk. A car passed us and the occupants shouted lewd remarks at us. The couple of years I had spent in Queens taught me that the people in the car were more than likely gang members, to keep my mouth shut, and keep walking.
Apparently Veronika's brother, even though he grew up in Queens, thought it would be a good idea to stand in the middle of the street, raise his arms in the air, and curse at the guys in the car.
With in the blink of an eye the car had backed down the street towards us, the car doors flew open, and the guys threw Veronika's brother up against a wall and put a gun to his head.

I don't know what happened next, because a cab was driving down the street, and I hopped in and never looked back.

I never spoke to Veronika again. The gun was the last straw. I didn't care anymore how cool she was or how un-cool I was. She had put me in dangerous and uncomfortable situations too many times.

I don't regret the time I spent with her. It taught me to want more out of my friendships.

I still think about Veronika sometimes. Wonder where she is or what she's doing with her life. Did she go to college? Is she married? Does she have kids?
I also wonder what would have happened if that cab hadn't been driving down that street at that moment.

It's funny how you can care so much about someone who never cared about you.

Posted by torrie at 11:28 AM | Permalink | Comments (15)

I haven't written a real post since June 26th, and even that was just a modge-podge of different thoughts strung together with no rhyme or reason.
If I actually considered myself a writer, I would say I have writer's block.

I need your help.

What should I write about?

Have any questions you'd like to ask me? Anything you're curious about?

Almost no topic is off limits.

Posted by torrie at 04:43 PM | Permalink | Comments (22)

My father's cancer has spread to his liver.
Things are not looking good.

Posted by torrie at 08:14 PM | Permalink | Comments (17)

Trying to clean your entire apartment and pack for your trip when you can't move your legs because your trainer kicked your ass with squats yesterday.

Posted by torrie at 02:51 PM | Permalink | Comments (2)

The Mets game last night was so bad that it physically made me sick.

I even had baseball related nightmares.

On a brighter note-
I have my first of three personal training sessions today.
I refuse to start trying to have a baby again until I get in shape/loose some weight.

I saw The Devil Wears Prada yesterday. It was cute, but it's the kind of movie that you can wait to see on video.

We are going away this weekend because my husband has a concert in the Berkshires (in addition to being a doctor, he's also a musician).
The following FIVE weekends he's on call, then the third and fourth weekend in August we have plans (for my 30th birthday). THEN, the summer is OVER.
This SUCKS.

Oh, and last but not least- WATERMELON IS AWESOME.

(I'm sure right now you're asking yourself "why in the name of all that is holy, do I read this blog?" I don't have an answer for you because I don't quite get why you read this blog either.)

Posted by torrie at 09:59 AM | Permalink | Comments (10)

I was in the emergency room from 10:30pm-4:00am.

At 9pm I started having major pain on my lower right abdomen.

I was literally writhing around and moaning from the pain.

The husband was NOT HAPPY and made me go to the ER.

They think my cyst(which was on the left) grew even larger to the point where it was pushing to the right, and then ruptured.

At 4am, there was talk of me seeing a resident from the OB depertment. I would have waited hours for that to happen and they would have repeated the same tests, so I finally excepted the pain medicine they'd been offering me all night and went home.

I just spoke to my OB's office and I'm waiting for a call back, because I'm sure they will want to do futher poke and proding tests.

I feel better today, less pain, but boy am I TIRED.

Time to get back to bed.....

*Updtae: My doctor confirmed that I have indeed ruptured my gigantic cyst (Who I had named Melvin- I'll miss you Melvin).

Posted by torrie at 10:05 AM | Permalink | Comments (12)

I am jealous.

I've spent the last two weekends with the kind of people who can "do it all".
I want desperately to be one of those people.

Last Saturday I ran into Benjamin Wagner. Benjamin is the executive producer of MTVNews.com. He also is a very acomplished singer/song writer who has released 10 albums and regularly performs. In his "spare time" he runs (including the NYC marathon), blogs, is an avid photographer, and (Benjamin, correct me if I'm wrong) paints. He is also currently working on a documentary about Mister Rogers.

After running into Benjamin, who has more energy in his pinkie than I have in my whole body, I drove to New Jersey to visit my oldest friend.
Durng the day she works for the New Jersey DEP. Her weekly schedule is as such:
Monday night- Drawing class
Tuesday night- Climbing
Wednesday night- Ultimate frisbee (she's on a team)
Thursday night- Free (although she very often schedules meetings for this night)
Friday night- Climbing
On the weekends and some weekday mornings she goes running.
In her "spare time" she knits, grows a hydroponic garden, and is planning her wedding.

This weekend was my cousin's baby shower. She's 37 weeks pregnant. I made the cake and the cookies, which of course, overwhelmed me.
Monday-Friday she teaches dance at a public school. Two nights a week and Saturday she teaches dance at a private dance school.
On Friday night they had their recital. My cousin, in all of her pregnant glory, danced in several numbers.
Her due date is July 2nd. She is teaching at the public school until June 28th.

My point is-I don't have a nine-five job. I don't exercise on a regular basis. I don't take any classes. And yet, I still get overwhelmed.

Instead of taking things step by step, I just completely shut down and do NOTHING.

Why can't I be more like these people?
Why can't I handle more on my plate?

Do you think it's a personality trait that will never change, or something you can work on and learn?

Posted by torrie at 01:53 PM | Permalink | Comments (19)

1) Bagels are my favorite food.
2) I am a carbohydrate junkie
3) My husband is two years younger than me. Before I met him I had only dated older men (boys).
4) I am a strict vegetarian. It's like a religion to me.
5) I hate organized religion.
6) I've never thrown up from drinking.
7) I hated high school.
8) I don't wear bras.
9) My favorite books are To Kill a Mocking Bird and The Catcher in the Rye. I've read both of them several times.
10) I love to read.
11) I went to culinary school.
12) I used to be a pastry chef.
13) I've also been a nanny.
14) I can sing, or so I've been told.
15) I love to dance. I've got rythm.
16) In high school I majored in dance, but had to stop because of an injury.
17) The only bone I've ever broken is my pinkie. (Knock on wood)
18) My father offered to pay for me to get a nose job. I refused just to spite him, and now sometimes I regret it.
19) I've never stayed over night in a hospital.
20) I predicted the big earth quake that hit California in the late 80's.
21) I have watched the movie Dirty Dancing too many times to count.
22) I had my first boyfriend when I was nine, but didn't lose my virginity until I was eighteen.
23) I've been pregnant twice, but I don't have any children.
24) I have three cats and one dog.
25) I will not pee in front of anyone. Not even my mother.
26) I grew up in Manhattan.
27) I went to sleep away camp in the Poconos.
28) I love when it rains. I especially love thunderstorms.
29) I have a mild case of OCD. Paintings can't be crooked, things have to be eaten in a certain way, etc.
30) I was in a pageant when I was 12. I won.
31) I am a pack rat.
32) I bruise easily.
33) I have straight pubic hair. The hair on my head is wavy. This makes no sense.
34) I like to write to do lists so I can cross things off.
35) I HATE onions. They are evil.
36) I have a BAD back.
37) I love the smell of fresh cut grass.
38) I have been blogging since August, 2003.
39) I have 42 pairs of shoes. None of them are leather.
40) I am broke.
41) I hate doing the dishes.
42) David Copperfield made me disappear.
43) Jon Bon Jovi laughed at me.
44) I've had sex with two different people in one day.
45) I have a tattoo.
46) My husband has a tongue ring. I *love* it.
47) I was a camp counselor.
48) I once told Scott Hamilton to "Get out on the ice and do a couple of back flips!"
49) Two of my photos were published in the New York Times.
50) I love to learn.
51) I am allergic to cats and dogs.
52) I HATE the cold.
53) I used to be a gymnast
54) I can't watch other people fold clothes because THEY DO IT WRONG.
55) I lived in Boston for five years. It wasn't New York.
56) I have fifty billion medical problems.
57) I like to exaggerate.
58) If you tickle me I will black out and hurt you. I'm dead serious.
59) My wedding was vegetarian. The food was so good, half of the guests didn't even realize it.
60) I had the best wedding EVER.
61) Some of my favorite movies are American Beauty, Garden State, 40 Year Old Virgin, Office Space, Coming to America, and Forrest Gump. I'm sure I'm forgetting a bunch more.
62) Some of my favorite bands/artists are Coldplay, Cake, Indigo Girls, The Beatles, Eminem, Sublime, Billy Joel, Fiona Apple, Miles Davis, Paul Simon, and Radiohead. I am not ashamed.
63) Billy Joel once told me he was too drunk to remember me interrupting his meal.
64) I was flat chested until I was about 19. Now I'm a 36C.
65) I HATE coffee.
66) I LOVE tea.
67) I hate underwear. I wear them reluctantly and am constantly digging them out of my cavernous ass.
68) I hate whistling. It's like nails on a chalk board to me.
69) My father-in-law whistles ALL THE TIME.
70) I have seven nephews and three nieces.
71) I think I'm the only person on the planet who hates the TV show Law and Order.
72) I moved out of the house when I was 19.
73) If I could wish for one secret power it would be to never have to shave my legs again.
74) I am allergic to artichokes.
75) I've never been anywhere in the middle of the country. The closest I've been to the middle is Ohio or Utah.
76) I'm a good driver. I drive like a man.
78) I desperately want to go to England. I don't know why.
79) I used to have waist length blonde hair.
80) I don't chew gum.
81) I don't drink soda.
82) I don't like sex toys. That's how I roll.
83) Sometimes I like to talk like I'm from the hood. WORD.
84) Thanks to blogging, I have friends that live in states and countries I've never been to.
85) My favorite color is blue.
86) I have two half sisters and a half brother.
87) I can't say the word *fart*. It makes me cringe. The fact that I was even able to type it is a miracle.
88) I've had many crushes, but I've only been in love once.
89) I am not good at styling my hair, or anyone else's hair for that matter.
90) I wear SPF on my face every day, even in the winter.
91) I haven't "tanned" since I was 18. I look pale, but I actually have my dad's Sicilain skin and I can get quite dark.
92) Chocolate is my drug of choice.
93) I love book stores. I could spend all day in a book store.
94) I didn't learn how to tie my shoe laces until I was six, and I couldn't ride a bike without training wheels until I was almost ten.
95) I watch entirely too much television.
96) My husband is a genius. Literally. It's like living with a human encyclopedia and dictionary all rolled into one.
97) I got braces my senior year in high school. It sucked.
98) I can't eat spicy food. This is very difficult considering I'm a vegetarian.
99) I try to avoid the topic of politics because I just get upset and frustrated.
100) Writing this list was not easy.

Did you learn anything new about me?

Posted by torrie at 12:08 PM | Permalink | Comments (32)

I'm depressed.

There. I said it.

The only dreams I remember when I wake up are the bad ones. Or maybe I'm only having the bad ones.

I'm disappointed in myself. My procrastination. My avoidance.

I did virtually nothing productive today. I should have done laundry. But I didn't. And so, there I was at midnight, loading the dishwasher, so I could go to bed without feeling completely useless.

My poor husband is still at work. He's been at work since 6:30 this morning. And I can't even get the fucking laundry done. He'll come home to a pile of laundry and a messy apartment. He won't have any clean underwear. He doesn't deserve that. He deserves better. A better wife. If I'm not going to make any money the least I could do is some fucking laundry.

I have a to-do list a mile long. But instead of trying to get stuff done and mark things off the list, I just ignore it completely.

I watch crappy movies, Little House on the Prairie, and several episodes of Sex in the City.
I fuck around on the computer, but my eyes just glaze over. I don't even have the stamina to read blogs.

I can't stop worrying about things. EVERY SECOND OF EVERY DAY.

Will I ever have a baby?

Will I have to have surgery?

Will I ever have a pain free day?

What will happen to my father?

How can I make some money?

The list goes on and on.

I'm also hating myself. I'm never satisfied. I HATE that.

I have no idea how long this bout with depression will last. Sometimes it's months, sometimes it's days.
I hope it's the latter.

I'm so overwhelmed.

Posted by torrie at 12:15 AM | Permalink | Comments (13)

I think it's time that Ellen DeGeneres stops dancing at the begining of EVERY. SINGLE. SHOW.

The first year she did her show it was cute.
"Hey! Look at the funny, white, lesbian trying to dance!"

Now, it's just SAD.

I really love Ellen, but the dancing just has to stop.

Posted by torrie at 10:05 AM | Permalink | Comments (4)

I had a Pretty Woman moment yesterday.

The husband and I were out on Long Island (ie, the burbs) visiting the in-laws and running some errands.

We dropped our car off for service and right across the street is a very fancy-schmancy store that sells $300 T-shirts. I happened to have more than $500 in credit at said fancy-schmancy store because my mother-in-law insists on repeatedly buying my husband dress shirts and ties- even though he wears pajamas (scrubs) to work every day-so we return them and get credit.
If he never purchased another dress shirt or tie he'd still have enough to last him to eternity.

So we go into the fancy schmancy store that is named after a sport you play while riding a horse and a man who's last name is a women's name -*ahem*.

I am looking at a cashmere sweater when a sales woman comes up to me and asks me what size I'm looking for.

"A small or a medium"

"Oh, you are definitely NOT a small. Have you ever worn our stuff?"
(Insult #1)

"Yes I have, and depending on the cut, I wear a small or a medium"

"This isn't on sale, you know"
(Insult #2)

"That's fine"

"Our sale merchandise is over there"
(Insult #3)

"I'm not concerned as to whether something is on sale or not"

"All right honey. Well, let me know if you need a fitting room"
(Condescending)

I actually started humming the song "Pretty Woman" when she walked away.

I hate the assumption that because I'm wearing jeans and a T-shirt I don't "belong" in their store.

Several years ago I worked in a very high end women's boutique.
One day a very shlumpy looking woman came into the store- overalls, sneakers, messy hair- and I thought to myself "This women isn't going to buy anything. She's just going to waste my time."
And then she bought a $3,000 coat right out of the window without even blinking.

I learned my lesson that day.

The irony is, the area where this store is located is notorious for wealthy housewives who wear sweat pants and flip-flops with their Louis Vuitton bags.
You'd think the saleswomen would have known better.

Maybe next time I go shopping I'll wear my ball gown.

Posted by torrie at 10:14 PM | Permalink | Comments (13)

Yesterday was a tough day.

I was hoping I would be pregnant on Mothers' Day.

I know it's just a Hallmark Holiday concocted to sell cards and gifts, but when you're not pregnant, and you want to be, it makes you feel useless and awkward.

It wasn't just a bad day because it was Mothers Day- I also threw my back out, so I took codeine and then had brunch with my in-laws, where my mother-in-law decided to lecture us on our finances, or lack thereof. As in, you don't have any money, and you're never going to be able to afford to buy a house/apartment. What a great conversation to have while you're stoned. I would have preferred to talk about chocolate, or cookies, or chocolate cookies.

I also decided yesterday would be a great day to go to Babies R Us and buy my cousin's baby shower gift. Don't get me wrong, I'm very happy for my cousin, but standing in a baby super store on Mother's Day, childless, surrounded by all of the cute baby clothes and toys was not the best idea I've ever had.

I hope you had a better day than I did.

Posted by torrie at 09:31 AM | Permalink | Comments (4)

So, I was taking Dexter for his morning walk. Dexter likes to carry a toy when we go for a walk:

I must also preface this story by saying that Dexter LOVES children and babies.
I'm not sure where his obsession with little ones came from, but maybe it's because they taste good:

Mmmmmmmm, TASTY!

Tastes like chicken!

Anyway, back to the story-

Dexter and I were crossing the street. On the sidewalk we were approaching, there were several people, including a couple with a todder in a stroller.
As we stepped up onto the curb the father jumped in front of the stroller and started yelling "NO, no, no!"
I said "It's OK, he won't hurt her."
To which he responded "No, no, no!"
"He's a therapy dog" I said, getting frustrated (I was in NO MOOD for ridiculous people).
And then he delivered a line that I will never forget:

"KEEP IT AWAY FROM MY HUMAN"

Blink. Blink.

Did he just say "Keep it away from my human"?
All of the people standing on the curb had their mouths hanging open in disbelief. A few chuckled.

Keep in mind that during this entire incident Dexter was wagging his tail and holding his stuffed animal in his mouth, unaware of his power to strike terror.
I'd also like to point out that his wife was with him, but she never said a word. She just stood there with this look on her face like "If I say anything he's going to beat me again".

After my initial shock wore off, I said "I feel really sorry for your daughter because when she's an adult she won't be able to walk down the street because of her fear of dogs"
He gave me an eloquent rebuttal of "That's fine".

Um, actually, no it's not FINE.

So, I said to him, "It's really unfortunate that you're putting your own fears on your child" and then I turned and crossed the street.

This happened on Friday. I've spent all weekend analyzing it.

Why did he say "MY HUMAN"? Why didn't he say "my child", or "my daughter", or "my little girl"?

Who refers to their child as "MY HUMAN"?

The first questions everyone who I tell this story to asks me is "Was he foreign? Did he not have a command of the English language?"

He spoke perfect English.

* Side note: Have modern day humans lost all of their instincts?
I'm asking this question because things like this happen all the time. Dexter will be skipping along with a giant rainbow colored stuffed octopus in his mouth and some people will still be terrified. I have no tolerance for people who have one bad experience with a dog and then, subsequently, are terrified of ALL DOGS. I've gotten screwed by tons of people and yet I'm not scared of ALL PEOPLE.
I truly believe that if I had grown up in the middle of the jungle and never seen a dog before, that when I saw Dexter, walking down the street, tail wagging, with a stuffed animal in his mouth, I would be able to read his body language and realize that he meant me no harm. This would be especially true if another person ASSURED me that he was docile.

Tracy came up with the only explanation that makes any sense:

The man and his wife were aliens who couldn't conceive a baby, so they came to earth and stole a human baby. They had never seen a dog before, so when they saw Dexter they freaked out and thought that this vicious monster might eat their precious human baby.

Yes.

Vicious.

Evil monster.

It all makes sense now.

Posted by torrie at 10:47 AM | Permalink | Comments (24)

I'm done.

I don't want to be an adult anymore.

Even being a teenager, as painful as that was, would be preferable.

I want to worry about whether or not the boy I have a crush on will be in the pizza parlor during the same lunch period as me.

I want to worry about what color laces to get for my Doc Martens.

I want to worry about whether or not I will be invited to the party at the popular girl's house.

I don't want all of these adult responsibilities.

I want to worry about when I'll get my first period, not that the blood coming out of me is a loss of life.

I want to worry about what I got on my math test, not whether or not my father's tumors are growing.

I want to worry about whether or not I'll pass my drivers license test, not whether or not I can afford the repairs my car needs.

And, if I do, SOMEHOW, finally come to terms with being an adult, I want it to be fun.

Where's the fun?

And I want the fact that I'm married to the love of my life to overshadow all of the bad stuff.
Why can't love be enough for me?

I want to be one of those people who finds the silver lining and looks on the bright side.

I want to travel to the farthest corner of the earth and hide from it all.

The problem is, no matter where I go, I can't escape my feelings, or my heavy heart.

Posted by torrie at 10:00 AM | Permalink | Comments (16)

In order for you to understand what I've been through in the past 48 hours I need to start the story at the beginning....

When the husband and I decided we were ready to start trying to have a baby soon, I went to an OB for a pre-pregnancy checkup. We'll call this doctor "Doctor A".
I REALLY liked Doctor A. She was very calm and soothing which was a good match for me considering how high strung I am.
Then I became pregnant (three months after we started trying) and I called Doctor A's office to make an appointment and was told that Doctor A was pregnant, had a complication, and was on bed rest and wouldn't be back in the office for several months. I became a patient of another doctor in the same practice. We'll call this doctor "Doctor B".
I liked Doctor B. She was not as calm as Doctor A, but she was nice, and her daughter was vegetarian, so she understood my diet. Doctor B was the one who gave me the sonogram when we found out the baby had no heartbeat.
I had the D&C (surgery to remove the baby) and was told (by Doctor B) to wait until I got my period once and then we could start trying again.
That's what we did. And we got pregnant on the first try.

But from the moment I found out I was pregnant two weeks ago I felt like something wasn't right. I can't really explain it. I tried not to think about it because I couldn't tell if my feelings were real or if they were just paranoia because of what happened with the first pregnancy. I even bought three boxes of pregnancy tests- all different kinds- for a total of SEVEN tests. I took all seven of them over a 48 period and they all said positive, including the digital ones.
So, I tried not to listen to the nagging feeling that something was wrong.
One of my best friends got married this past Saturday night, and I made the cake. I worked on the cake Wednesday, Thursday, and Friday, and then I went to the wedding on Saturday.
I'm so glad that this didn't happen until Sunday.
As I said in the previous post I woke up with a bad feeling on Sunday and by 3pm I was in the emergency room.
I wasn't actively bleeding, but I was having cramping.
They performed an ultrasound and said they couldn't see anything because my bladder was full, so I went to the bathroom and they repeated the ultrasound. They said my bladder was still full and they still couldn't see anything (even though I had JUST peed). The husband questioned them about this and they just shrugged it off.
The conclusion the doctors in the ER came up with was that I had had a chemical pregnancy and I was now having my period. They told me to call my doctor's office in the morning.
I burst into tears because I felt like an idiot for going to the ER for my PERIOD. I was also upset because I really didn't feel like this was my period. For the next 20 hours or so I had NO BLOOD.
I called my doctor's office Monday morning and spoke to the nurse. She said the people in the ER were a bunch of idiots and that in 1/4 of all pregnancies there is some bleeding, so I shouldn't lose all hope. She told me to come in tomorrow (Tuesday) to see the doctor and have my blood drawn so they could test my HCG level.
I wanted to kill her for giving me false hope because I knew I was going to miscarry. Sure enough a little while after I hung up the phone, I started passing clots.
Today (Tuesday) I went to the doctor's office. The nurse put us in a conference room and told us the doctor would be right in. I was expecting Doctor B, but in walked Doctor A. As luck would have it she had just returned from maternity leave yesterday. She did a pelvic exam and confirmed that I was, in fact, having a miscarriage. She tried to do an ultrasound and said the same thing the ER doctors had said to me "Your bladder is too full". The husband and I explained that I had just gone to the bathroom and that we had the same problem in the ER. She had this look on her face like a light bulb had gone off. She started to take some measurements on the ultrasound screen and found out that I had a good sized cyst on my ovary (AGAIN) that was pressing on my bladder. I had been feeling extremely bloated lately. I had even told the husband that it felt like There was an over filled balloon in my abdomen and that I felt like I wanted to stick a needle in it to let all of the air out . I asked the doctor if the cyst could be causing my bloating she said "Absolutely, it can make you feel like you have an overfilled water balloon inside of you".
At least I had an explanation for that.
After reviewing my chart Doctor A told us some very interesting stuff.
Apparently the first pregnancy might have been a partial molar pregnancy. After you have a molar pregnancy your HCG levels are supposed to be monitored. You are not supposed to try to get pregnant again until your HCG levels reach zero. Molar pregnancies can cause your HCG levels to become abnormally high which means that even if you get your period you might still have elevated HCG levels. Doctor B never did a follow up with me and never tested my HCG levels. Also, it is recommended that you wait AT LEAST two cycles (after a molar pregnancy or a miscarriage) before you start trying to get pregnant again. Doctor B told us we could start trying after my first period.
Basically, Doctor B fucked up big time. Doctor A said that this pregnancy probably got messed up because it was too soon after the first pregnancy and my HCG levels probably never were at zero. If we had waited another month everything probably would have been fine.
If my husband didn't work at the same hospital and if Doctor B wasn't in the same practice as Doctor A (who will be my doctor from now on)we would SERIOUSLY consider suing.
I now have to wait another three months before I can start trying again.
I'm SO FUCKING FRUSTRATED, especially because if I had had the proper care, this probably wouldn't have happened.

As for the cyst, I will have another ultrasound next week. They will continue to monitor the cyst and if it doesn't shrink they might have to perform surgery to remove it.
I'm really hoping that I don't have to have surgery (again). Between me, my father, and my inlaws, my husband and I have endured THIRTEEN surgeries in the past three years. I think we've reached our quota.

I know there are people in the world who are worse off than me, but I can't help but feel like the universe is taking a gigantic crap on me.

*I apologize if this post has typos and is all over the place. It's 12:17 in the morning and I'm EXHAUSTED.

*Update: The Sarcastic Journalist wrote a post about miscarriage for Blogging Baby. She was nice enough to ask me if I would mind if she wrote the article, and she listened to what I had to say on the subject. Read the article here.

Posted by torrie at 07:15 PM | Permalink | Comments (29)

I spent several hours in the emergency room yesterday.

I was/am five weeks pregnant.

Yesterday I woke up with a horrible feeling.

I even said to my husband "I'm scared I'm going to have a miscarriage today. If I can just get through today, then I'll be OK."

Sure enough, at about 2pm, I peed and there was bright red blood.

I came out of the bathroom and said to my husband "OK, it's time to go to the hospital."
He couldn't believe that I had known.

To make a long story short-
I either had a chemical pregnancy, which is when the egg is fertilized but never fully implants in the uterus, or I am having a miscarriage.
I have to go to the doctor either today or tomorrow for some more testing.

I'm so angry. I'm angry at the universe (haven't I been through enough?) and angry at myself for getting excited about being pregnant, again.

I'm so exhausted, but I'm trying to soldier on because the alternative is me falling into a deep depression.

I am making a promise right now to you, my husband, and myself, that I will do whatever it takes to fight the depression.

Posted by torrie at 09:43 AM | Permalink | Comments (38)

I was at my in-laws yesterday. I was gardening while Dexter sat in the grass chewing on sticks.
A woman, wearing about ten pounds of makeup, came walking down the street with her little white dog (I think it was a Maltese). She was the kind of person you instantly dislike. As I stood there, in front of the garden with my gloves on, we had a polite three minute converstaion while our dogs smelled each other. During this conversation I learned that she hardly ever walks her dog- she usually just lets him out in the backyard- which made me dislike her even more.
Then we finished our conversation (thank GOD), and she started to walk away. She got about two feet before her dog lifted his leg and started peeing on the garden. Did she try to stop him or pull him away? NO. She just stood there and watched him pee right on the flowers I had been tending to and then she kept walking. No apology.
You know what I like to call a person like that?
An ignorant WHORE.
What else should I call her?

On a completely different note, today is Tracy's BIRTHDAY! Go give her some love.

Posted by torrie at 02:33 PM | Permalink | Comments (7)

My cat Annie, who lives in our bedroom, took a shit so heinous last night that it WOKE ME UP.

There's nothing quite like scooping kitty litter at 4 AM.

Posted by torrie at 11:07 AM | Permalink | Comments (2)

Someone please explain to me why even though I'm working out ALL THE TIME and eating the healthiest I ever have, I am not losing weight.

I weigh 4 pounds more now than when I got pregnant the first time.

Now excuse me while I go bang my head against the wall repeatedly.

Posted by torrie at 12:04 PM | Permalink | Comments (10)

Where do they find the people who work in Kinko's?

SERIOUSLY.

Posted by torrie at 02:05 PM | Permalink | Comments (6)

Because you are smoking a cigarette, in front of a no smoking sign, IN FRONT OF THE CANCER HOSPITAL.

Posted by torrie at 12:23 PM | Permalink | Comments (11)

Mookie is sick AGAIN. As I'm sure I've stated before, we have tried everything; different foods, different kitty litters, different medications, etc.
I watched him sit in the litter box this morning for twenty minutes, straining to get some pee out. Then he walked around the apartment screaming in pain.He then sat in the bathtub for another twenty minutes straining. I gave him some powerful pain medicine which knocks him out. I hate having to drug him all of the time.
Now I'm just counting the minutes until he starts peeing blood.
Since we've tried all of the treatments and nothing works, the next step is surgery.
Besides the fact that surgery scares the shit out of me, in an effort to cut back on expenses to save for a baby, we let all of the animals' health insurance lapse. I'm sure the surgery will cost us at least $1000.
$1000 is a HUGE amount of money for us. We just invested a large sum of money in my new web site, and it will probably be quite a while (if at all) before we make any money back from it.

I'M SO STRESSED OUT.

Has anyone had a similar problem with their cat?
Has anyone heard of this surgery (I think they shorten the urethra)?

Posted by torrie at 01:55 PM | Permalink | Comments (8)

I live on the thirty-second floor of a thirty-four-floor apartment building.
I've never met the people who live directly above us, but the husband and I have come up with our own conclusions about how many of them there are. We've even guessed who they are.
Person #1- Working Woman. Wears high heels for the majority of the time she is home. We have gathered this information due to the fact that they obviously have no rugs because we can hear every clickety step of the high heels.
Person #2- The Carpenter. He is thus named because of the constant banging, hammering, and sawing we hear.
Person #3- The Toddler. The toddler like to drop things. A LOT. I know this because of the aforementioned lack of rugs. He also likes to run laps around the apartment, bounce balls, and produce high pitch screams that make all of the dogs in the neighborhood cringe.
It seems that their favorite family activity is to move furniture. Working Woman and the The Carpenter like to move the large pieces of furniture, while The Toddler follows behind dragging a chair.
They also have some kind of exercise machine. Maybe a rowing machine or a Nordick Track. I know this because we hear the whoor-whoor sound BECAUSE THEY HAVE NO RUGS.
Instead of an alarm clock, the Working woman and The Carpenter have either an African dance troupe or a tippany drummer wake them up. Every morning, even on the weekends, sometime between 7:45 and 8:45 I am awoken by a VERY loud BANG BANG BANG that shakes my whole bedroom. I work from home, so I usually don't wake up until at least 9 am. The Working Women and The Carpenter obviously have other plans for me.

Here's my dilemma:
I can deal with the noise during the day, but the noise late at night/early in the morning is driving me crazy.
I need your help deciding what course of action I should take.
I could-
a) Bang on the ceiling with a broom whenever I hear the noise
b) File a formal complaint with the building, which would mean the building would write them a warning saying that there have been noise complaints and to please make sure that 85% of their floors are covered with carpet (which is building policy). However, they would automatically know it was us who made the complaint because we are the only ones who live underneath them. It might piss them off that we didn't go to them first before we filed a complaint.
c) I could write them a nice but direct letter stating that there is a lot of noise coming from their apartment, and that we can deal with it during the day, but it wakes us up on an almost daily basis. And, that it appears that part of the problem is that they have no rugs.
The only problem with this scenario is that if it's someone my husband works with, which is a distinct possibility (Our building is staff housing for the hospital), it could create an awkward situation for him.

Most of the people I've asked think I should just let the building handle it (option b).
What do you think?

Posted by torrie at 01:43 PM | Permalink | Comments (22) | TrackBacks (1)

Sometimes I wish I had the kind of morning sickness where you can vomit at the drop of a hat.

That way when I walk by the cigar shop right down the street from me, I could vomit directly on one of the assholes smoking cigars at 10 am in the middle of the sidewalk.

Posted by torrie at 11:31 AM | Permalink | Comments (10)

I finally got my first really hateful comment!

I feel special.

I thought what better way to celebrate and give the commenter what they want (attention) than to share the comment and the commenter's email address with all of you.

This comment was left on my last post (the one with the picture of my first sonogram).

"A. Who cares? and B. Why would you put a picture of your uterus on the
internet. Are you so proud of the fact that you are a woman who got pregnant.
I am 16 weeks pregnant, would you like to see a picture of my uterus?? Spend
some time doing something meaningful."

-Christina
cmh212@hotmail.com

This person obviously took the time to go through my archives and really get to know me.

Posted by torrie at 10:19 AM | Permalink | Comments (26)

I haven't sent out any holiday cards.
I've only bought one present.
I hate all of the pressure. I'd rather buy someone a gift on a Tuesday in August because it's perfect, rather than trying to force it in December.
I have 51 emails in my inbox waiting to be dealt with.

Wow. I'm pretty overwhelmed for someone who's unemployed.

Posted by torrie at 04:27 PM | Permalink | Comments (9)

I will now do what I do best- complain.

I spent ALL DAY in a hospital on Monday, Tuesday and Wednesday because someone close to me had major surgery.
They're doing fine physically, but not so great mentally.
It has been VERY emotionally draining.
I came home yesterday for 10 ten minutes (I live across the street from the hospital) to walk Dexter only to discover that Mookie is sick (AGAIN).
So I had to call the vet in addition to the five thousand other phone calls I made and received over the past few days, because I seem to be the family liaison.
I did not eat dinner until 10pm last night.
I was so infuriated with my mother-in-law(what else is new?) yesterday that when she called the hospital room I tore her a new one and then hung up when she was in mid sentence.
She deserved it.
I have not been feeling well lately (surprise, surprise). I have been very dizzy. I was hoping that it was because I was pregnant, but no such luck, I got my period again.
My husband works A LOT, so he's not always around when I need a hug.
The vet bill today was over $200. AND that was the REDUCED rate.
The boots I bought on Ebay, my FIRST Ebay purchase, are a totally different color that the picture, AND they are too small.
I slept in the guest room so I could be with Mookie last night. He spent the whole night curled up next to me which is cute, but I didn't want to disturb him so I couldn't move my legs all night and now my knee is killing me.
That was a long sentence.
I just got so dizzy I almost passed out on my keyboard.
The husband just called me to remind me that we're supposed to go to a party tonight.
I have NO desire to go.
I have a migrane.
I had one yesterday too.
I have gotten nothing accomplished today.

*END RANT*

Update: I just noticed that one of the Google ads says "fishy vaginal odor?"
AWESOME.

Posted by torrie at 04:27 PM | Permalink | Comments (8)

Can someone please explain to me what the big deal with Antonio Banderas is.
Women actually find this guy attractive?
I just want to spray him with lysol.

Posted by torrie at 11:12 AM | Permalink | Comments (13)

What the hell is wrong with me?

Why, when the sink is overflowing with dishes, do I re-organize the utensil drawer?

Why do I rearrange the husband's (already folded) shirts when there are piles of clothes EVERYWHERE and the clean laundry has been sitting in the laundry bag, unfolded for two weeks?

Why do I spend hours on the computer instead of running errands, making phone calls, and paying the bills?

Why can't I get organized?

Is it something you can learn, or is it a personality trait that you're stuck with?

Posted by torrie at 11:48 AM | Permalink | Comments (12)

Yeah, walking the dog in a Nor'easter is tons of fun.

Posted by torrie at 11:23 AM | Permalink | Comments (2)

When I was 18 I was deciding between culinary school and photography school.
I chose culinary school because I met with a photographer who dissuaded me from choosing his profession.
He said that you could take a crappy picture, scan it into a computer and fix it and that because of this everyone was trying to be a photographer.
It's not that I regret culinary school, baking is a great skill to have, but I do regret not going to photography school.
I wonder if I would have become as bored with photography as I did with wedding cakes. I knew there was a problem when after three years of being a pastry chef I realized I liked putting the fresh flowers on the cakes more than I liked baking and assembling the cakes. Maybe I should have been a florist?
And, I often wonder, if I had chosen to be a photographer if I would have had as many physical ailments as I do now? Would I have needed shoulder surgery?

Even though I chose the culinary path I never lost my interest in photography. I have boxes and albums filled with photos. But, my photography always came in spurts. I would take pictures five days in a row and then not touch my camera again for three weeks.

It wasn't until I had my shoulder surgery and found myself sitting at home without a job for the first time since I was twelve, that I started taking pictures almost every single day.
It hasn't been easy. I've been using the digital camera my husband got in college. It's about seven or eight years old.
When it first came out it was a great camera; Now it's archaic.
Not only is it frustrating that I see something I want to capture and the camera can't handle it, but the camera has now started to fall apart.

The following is a list of things wrong with the camera.
1)The case is cracked
2)It uses up battery power WAY too fast.
3)The flash is stuck, so if you want to use it you have to pry it open.
4)The lens covering gets stuck sometimes.
5)When the lens covering actually opens sometimes it gives you an error message saying the lens is stuck.
6)The flap that covers the slot where the card goes in is broken and keeps flapping open.
7)The buttons that are used to navigate the view finder and change the settings stick.

I can't afford photography school, but I've thought of maybe taking a photography class.
I'm pretty sure you need a camera that works to take a class.

I, of course, can not afford a new camera.
I could buy a cheap $100 digital camera, but I refuse.
What's the point? I would be frustrated all over again.
I need a camera that can handle some serious shit. I need a camera that I can change the settings on. I need a camera that has different lenses.

I walk around and see all of these great photographic opportunities that I've missed.
I know I have great potential, I just need the right tool.

I don't see this situation being remedied any time soon.
My husband's salary is not going to increase substantially for another three years, we are trying to have a baby which means I won't be going back to work and we'll have even less money. Babies are EXPENSIVE. As it is I'm going to have to sell my hair.
I thought maybe I could raise enough money from Cafe Press, but I've only made $150 and 10% of that goes to charity, and now that I'm dot com I have to pay hosting fees every month.

And, something tells me $1,000 isn't going to fall out of the sky tomorrow.

So, I've decided to throw in the towel. I give up. I'm putting the camera away.
Maybe I'll take it out on special occasions, but right now it's giving me more frustration that joy.

I need a new hobby.

Any suggestions?

Posted by torrie at 12:12 PM | Permalink | Comments (11)