Transfiguration.

By the time most of you read this, we will hopefully have already begun celebrating my daughter's birthday. Tomorrow, I'm the one being cut open instead of Aaron, but just as his scars altered our path forever, so will this one.

I can tell myself everything will be fine but I also know that I'm not entitled to anything good in this world. I am not "owed" because I've already paid a lot to be here. It is what it is. But statistically, one can only win the lottery (good or bad) so much. Right? I was raised a Christian and I still talk to God, but I talk to all the people in my life who aren't here, too. If our souls do go somewhere after we die, maybe they can all do a little dance for me and help ferry Alexandra Jayne into this world without too much drama.

I have no deep thoughts on becoming a mother just yet because I chose this and I've had about 7 months to let it settle. This is happening and I'm as ready as I can be. I hope to raise a human who is good for this world. I want her to want to be like her parents. I want her to know that before she came along, her parents lived a lifetime of love, baptized by fire. And as she grows, she'll know that we still love each other. I want her to see the kind of life I want her to have, I guess. But most of all, I want a healthy child I get to keep and raise. She doesn't ever have to save the world; she's already made mine and Aaron's so much better. Just by being the one to grow from our love she has already given us so much. She is truly a miracle. She was not supposed to happen, and yet here we are on the eve of her arrival.

I am so excited to finally meet my daughter, but just as much (or maybe a little more), I am thrilled for my husband. He is going to make such a good father. I try to tell him but I believe I fail: He is what makes this worthwhile. He is the reason I can do this. I am the lucky one here. I believe it was more his path to become a parent than mine and I am just fortunate enough to be with him. Really. He's so excited. He's asked me what I want him to wear. He wants to stay each night in the hospital with us. He's staying up late to cook me a midnight breakfast. I went out and bought him this ridiculous gadget as a surprise. He likes gadgets; he's researched everything baby. I love to see him smile. After our midnight meal, we'll pretend to sleep.

I don't have too much else to say. I am treasuring her movements from within because we're on borrowed time for it (although, she's doing a good job of actually hurting me so I am not too sentimental about the end of pregnancy). I made a birth decision and Aaron's on board, as is my awesome doctor. I'm nervous, but calm. Should everything go as planned, I'll be holding her by the time everyone else is eating lunch. Send a good though up for us, and I'll be back soon.

39 Weeks & A New Year.

It's been a hot minute… or twelve since I dropped in and spewed my thoughts. I think about it; I want to do it; I make plans to do it; but man, does every excuse and life just not get in the way of the tiny things that will only take a few minutes? Every time. So what's it been like over here lately?

Well, we moved. In my third trimester. Over the holidays. I won't go into it because I've become a champion whiner lately, but I am not kidding in the least when I say it has been about the second most traumatizing event I've lived through. Pregnancy, disability, moving- it's a perfect storm for a few daily meltdowns. We would not have gotten through it without the amazing help of family and friends, and immense patience on both our parts. It was rough on everyone, and I'm glad it's over. I will never move while pregnant again, though.

I do love our new place (which is just another apartment in our old place). I had to give up some kitchen storage space and my own huge bathroom for a regular sized one, but the trade-off is my own room- a loft! My office. A place for me and my things. Part of the last few years has been making do, and often I felt I got what was left over after all the shared things and prosthetic things and a gun locker and well… you get the picture. Aaron ended up in the master bath because his modest shower bench didn't fit in the guest, but I'm okay with that. I have my desk back, and it's far away from a gun locker. My clothes might be spread out over two closets and a dresser upstairs, but it's worth it.

We painted the baby's room! And our furniture came after a ton of drama (but we got free delivery, free toddler rails, and apologies from two different stores, so all good). We are going to finish it tomorrow and then I'll post pictures. I re-framed art from my own little girl room, and found some cheap pieces on Ebay. I am in love with our little girl's room.

I haven't intentionally not written during the pregnancy, but I just haven't have too much to say about it. I think I've been luckier than most, but you wouldn't know it by the complaining I can do. When I am in pain, and in particular experiencing back pain, it's pretty awful. When I can't sleep, I cry sometimes. As I deal with pain that creeps into my days instead of just the nights, I become harder to handle for Aaron. It's getting rough on everyone, but I still believe that I've had a good pregnancy. I was really good until about 32 weeks. But I think it's supposed to be this way, you know? So we get excited about becoming parents. I could have stayed pregnant a year if it were like the second trimester. And I know I look pretty good for someone who has gained 25 pounds! However, that's more than a fourth of my pre-pregnancy body weight- all in one place. So yeah, we know why I have horrible back pain. And no one warned me about "lightening crotch" aka "knives in the lady parts." Baby can hit nerves on or near the cervix and it is awful. I could drive off the road from the sudden pain. Pregnancy, even the easiest most soul-filling ones that connect you with Mother Earth and God, is not for sissies.

Aaron retired! Yep, he's done. Our family is done! Blue ID card and everything. I got a new one, too. He's grown a beard and let his hair get out of control for a few weeks. We have a plan for the future, but it also involves a lot of "I dunno." Which is fine with us- school until a better answer arrives! He is getting a better idea of what a dream career will be, so that could happen, too. I want to go back to butt-in-seat classes this fall but we'll see how this family thing goes. It might take someone at home to make all this tick, and I'm the best candidate at the moment. I will at least take a few online courses. I'm even looking into some writing programs. Something about gestating this kid has helped clear up my mind on what I do and don't want to do. And probably just getting older, too. Thank God for the clarity of the 30s. It's like the 20s, but less drunk.

But I did not have any deep retirement epiphanies. I've had a few about our government, in light of the news that some of Aaron's benefits are being cut before he can even get them. And here's what it boils down to for me: I will never regret his service, but I can quickly be ashamed of the country he served for not holding itself accountable to its promises. The cut to Combat Related Special Compensation is particularly nasty. It's hard to explain, but CRSC is supposed to help fill the income gap in retirement and disability pay that comes with being medically discharged from combat injuries before a full career is had. While these severely injured members get full medical and retirement, there's only so much they can get disability based on length of service. So CRSC was created to fill that gap. Now it's being cut, so it's a direct assault on those most injured in combat specifically. But hey, we're just budget leeches. We live off the government tit and I guess it's time we paid up. Which is why we're going to save as much as we can, go to school to improve ourselves, and get jobs so we don't have to trust the government to live up its side of the bargain. Don't even get me started on the retiree COLA cuts and who ends up paying the most in that (the ones forced to retire early, like Aaron). It's all just a big, fat "ugh" and I'm over the debate. We're all going to get screwed eventually, and so I might as well try to let go of the anger now.

Speaking of debate, I also haven't felt inclined to blog during the pregnancy because I just don't want to invite anyone to tell me their opinion. If I want it, I'll ask for it. I have enough mom friends who have all done things differently for me to get some very different perspectives on this whole ordeal. I experienced backlash early in my pregnancy for a few choices so I learned to keep my mouth shut. I talk to people I trust and who aren't judgmental. Each woman's experience is different and hence, our decisions will be different. That's the end of it, right?

I look forward to a 2014 with more writing. I want a bright, wide future. I get to have my husband at home as we embark on parenthood, which is by far the luckiest part of this whole new life. I love our apartment. Danica the spoiled puppy is doing great, and I think she'll do okay with the baby (eventually). And I really couldn't ask for more; maybe just more of the same! Hope you're all having great starts to the new year. Until next time-

Two Veterans.

Aaron wanted to take his brand-new legs out for a spin the first day he had them, so he decided to say hello to a few friends. Here's one precious moment from that day.

I'm not busy, just scattered.

Somehow I am 25 weeks pregnant but before we go any further: Aaron retires out in <30 days, has extensive throat and nose surgery before that, we go home for two weeks, return to move a week later, and then should everything keep going well, we'll welcome little AJ in late January.

Overwhelmed much? Who knew leaving the military could be even more hectic than being in it. He also did not receive a mid-month paycheck, because DFAS was the only entity not to process his extension paperwork... back in August. Of course, nothing was figured out until the paycheck before last came up a bit short. Of course we were promised it would be fixed. And of course it wasn't, leaving us hanging until the 15th when the money didn't roll in. He should receive this all back paid on November 1, but we'll see. It's incredibly stressful because he should not retire without receiving all of his active duty pay. That seems to be what we would call a very bad idea. Then we'll go about 4-12 months without consistent income. Some will roll in here, some later, some sooner than later. He has all his out-process paperwork so as long as he's paid up, November 16 will be the day the bell rings on his active duty career. So long, and thanks for all the fish.

There are absolutely a ton of feelings going on with this retirement, but the one which comes to mind is how I'll feel now that he won't correct people when they ask if he's a retired veteran. "No, I am still active duty." I won't boast that he says it proudly and puffed up, but he is clear. He liked pointing out that you could still serve, even while injured. And he could have continued on in some capacity if he had chosen to do so, but that was not in the best interest of our family. He hardly brought it up. In fact, he just seems to accept it. He's the happiest dude I know, so I'm not surprised. He just wants me to allow him to 6 months without a haircut.

For me, however, I bounce between indifferent and happy that the military will be behind us. We still have loads of uncertainty ahead of us, so that's nothing new. But at least it's our uncertainty; we're waiting on ourselves and not anyone else to tell us what to do. I wish it was as easy and simple as, "Move home, build a house, raise family, go to school, get jobs." But we want to stay here. We want him to have access to one of the best hospitals in the world, and maybe the best place in the world for amputees. The VA in DC isn't too bad, either. At any point he can switch to Standard and still receive the care he would need from Walter Reed (mainly amputee) and the VA, but then choose from dozens of top-notch civilian providers as well. Staying here will give us both the most opportunity. We miss family and know it would be easiest to just "go home," but home is wherever we are. And we've been here longer than we've been anywhere else, anyway.

Pregnancy is physically incredibly easy for me. I can control a lot with diet and exercise (or pay the price for not being mindful). My back hurts a little and I have dealt with insomnia, but I've never been sick and I think I look great. I'm me, with just a bit extra. I've gained maybe close to 20 pounds, I guess. I don't have a scale in the house so I only know when I go in or visit other people who own scales. You can cyber punch me all you want for this next sentence: I finally broke 100 pounds for the first time in my life. I don't mind the changes to my body, but I definitely don't feel sexy, ever. I think I can look "nice" and "cute" but sexy? Nope. Not feeling it. I'm sure it'll come back at some point. Maternity clothes definitely make me feel better about myself, even though I didn't like shopping for them. And nothing a new pair of Michael Kors black boots with gold zipper and buckle couldn't fix. Even Selena Gomez liked them (she said as much when she visited the hospital). Of course, had I known we weren't getting paid, I would probably be boot-less. C'est la vie.

Emotionally, I can be kind of wreck but I think I'm okay. Mostly. I get really upset when I feel like there's no hope for certain things to get better. Some people really take pleasure in telling me how tired I'm going to be, how hard it'll be, how I have no idea what I'm in, et. al. It's actually pretty damn rude if you ask me. And further, not one person who has gone through this journey then entering parenthood has told me anything like that. No one who has faced real adversary prior to caring for a newborn has upset me. I know I should just nod and smile, but sometimes it does get to me. If you don't know their journey, don't comment on it, k? I feel completely capable in regards to handling an infant and my current life. I'm not saying I'll be rocking more classes or not eat a lot of microwaved food for awhile, but I'm not scared. I don't think it's going to be the hardest thing I ever do. The most important? Yeah, that I do agree with. It isn't The Most Important Job In The World, but for my existence raising my kid to be a healthy, functioning, contributing adult is probably the most important responsibility of my life. And if I can save a life, I'm sure I can raise one. At least I have Aaron here with me. The pleasure and privilege of that is not lost on me.

Life is stressful, but good. I am having way too many baby showers because so many people feel so much joy from little AJ's pending full-fledged existence. She's viable now, so I am currently baking a preemie in there instead of a fetus. I feel her all the time and can do certain things to get her to move. I really thought I'd have to meet her first to be so in love, but I've surprised myself. I want her. I need her. And I can't wait to meet her and tell her that I belong to her more than she'll ever belong to me.

We haven't bought anything because of the move, but I can't wait to build her room! Well, we ordered her furniture. Her very expensive, very heavy beech 3-piece suite. The chest and dresser are Bombay style, and in this princess pearl white I just love. Aaron and I took one look and knew it was for us. Nothing else compared. At least the crib converts up to a full-sized bed, so she'll get to keep this forever. If I let her take it with her when she moves out, that is. I really love this furniture.

Here's some of it. 

So everything is okay. I do have quite a list of big life changes in front me for the next 120 days or so, and while I might not rock it all- it all will get done. We'll be juuuuuuust fine. And eventually, we'll be awesome! Aaron has been awesome at walking a ton lately, and really kicking recovery's ass. So I really can't ask for more, can I?

From TriCare to Civilian.

I finally had enough with TriCare Prime and receiving prenatal treatment at the hospital and switched to Standard to receive civilian care. I had a new appointment four days later with my new doctor. I had seen him before for regular lady stuff, and was delighted to learn he also did OB. I'm already feeling much more relaxed about it.

We moved my due date up a bit (I knew the one the hospital was using was a little off but come hell or high water they don't move dates, all based off of the initial ultrasound), he measured me, called in my anatomy scan, and told me when to come back. And I get to return that week, not the week after! We had a real conversation about food and rules. We talked a little bit about birth and my feelings on it, including my very real anxiety which stems from what I went through with Aaron the first year he was in recovery. The doc really respected that and let me know that within reason, I will be making the choices when it comes to birth. And as for birth, I will not be discussing that publicly because ohmygods the judgement! Sheesh.

I don't think Walter Reed provides bad prenatal care. In fact, I'd love to give birth there. I felt more empowered to speak up there than I do with my current doctor, mainly because I like him so much and the providers seem to change a lot at WR. But it's definitely Tri-Cow, and I am not a bovine on the way to slaughter. I am not just another pregnant dependent. No one is. I feel that a lot of times, I was simultaneously expected to not look things up for myself but also figure them out for myself. I was given a purple pregnancy journal and planner at the beginning and seemed to be expected to just refer to that. I was almost done with my first trimester before I started getting care, and I am thankful I didn't need any first-trimester-only interventions. I would have missed the window entirely.

But the care can be dismissive. They don't seem to pay a lot of attention to a mother's anxiety and just pish-posh any concerns. Someone told a friend to "not bother" with a birth plan! The final straw for me wasn't even prenatal, but ultrasound. A geneticist referred me for an echo-cardiogram and the hospital couldn't see me. I was not given any instructions on what to do next. I actually asked the appointment setter what she expected me to do, and she didn't have anything. I said, "I guess I should just hope I'm okay since I can't be treated!" She wished me luck. So, yeah- done. 

The hospital I'll be delivering at is a bit of a drive from where we'll be living then, so I'll have to keep an eye on the weather. The only downside is that the hospital is the only one in the area with a few shared rooms so it can still charge you for the private. It's just enough money for you to think it's doable, but it's not cheap! I hope to get out of there quickly. With having constant care from Aaron and relatives, I think I'll be okay even if there's been surgery. A lot of my friends keep suggesting a longer hospital stay "to rest," but I swear I've lived in one enough to be done for the rest of my life. Hospital anxiety much? I will want to go back to my new apartment, spend time on my expensive mattress, eating delicious heat and bake casseroles, and enjoying my new baby. Or napping on the floor next to the dog. Either way. Better than a hospital. So cheers to choosing my medical care and loving my new doctor!

It Can Make You Sick.

I have so many thoughts right now. Admittedly, I haven't read the news very thoroughly but I have been listening to NPR and visiting news sites which aren't American. So I'm going to word vomit for a bit and then we can all go back to our mornings.

I never get over having to meet other people who are just beginning a journey we have almost finished. I feel physically ill each time I have gone to meet a new wounded warrior and their shell-shocked family. In about a week, it will have been two years since Aaron and I lost everything we had built and dreamed about, and begun the long road to rebuilding our life together. I am still not over it; I am not sure I ever will be. So when I see a spouse or parent with that look on their face, the one that relays so many wordless emotions, I just want to cry with them. I just want to hug them and I always wish I could somehow give them my two years' worth of knowledge and experience on this journey. I want to them to believe me when I say that it will be okay again, but it's going to be awful getting there. Purgatory would be a paradise most days for some time, but it will change. There will eventually be more okay days than bad; then maybe at some point, more good days than bad or just okay.

So when the news blows up and the word is that our nation might try to solve another nation's problems the way we have been doing for some years now, I just want to scream. Or sob. Or just quit. I feel actual anxiety thinking about people going through what I've been through. I wouldn't wish this on anyone. At times, though, it feels as if those like us and the dead are just collateral damage. It's just a cost of what this nation does. NBD, right? We got $100,000 and a sweet retirement deal for my husband's troubles, and I'll even get paid, too. The families of the dead supposedly get four or five times that amount. So I guess because we're paid off, it's all okay, right? But it only really works out for the most physically injured and the families of the fallen. Ask a single leg amputee, someone with extensive nerve damage, or PTSD how well they made out after losing so much. Those are the ones who get screwed, and I promise there are more of them than there are of us.

So I'm going to have to say "no." I have to take a pass. I am just as horrified at what is happening to sweet little babies and other innocents. I have never felt threatened on my land, nor watched a war between two groups take out so many people who had no choices in the matter. Perhaps if more nations were willing to match American troop numbers, I'd feel better about it. But we know that isn't the case. It appears that our people are worth less than others. Is it because there is more of us? I don't know. I don't know what to say nor can I make a suggestion on how to fix anything. Should the world care to do something? Yes. But it's a little selective, don't you think? What about all the other nations who have gone through similar loss? Why this one? Why this time? There is nothing worth more planes full of maimed and the dead. Not one cause. It just needs to stop.

Just Be Happy, Asshats!

Election year can make anyone nuts and that includes me. End of the year, I was posting news articles all over the place. I don't know why, since I am well-aware that nothing I say can really ever change someone's mind, especially if their entire belief system is the polar opposite of mine. In the past several months, I've abstained from inflammatory over-sharing. What does that mean, though? I got really happy when DOMA was repealed (the same day I found out I was pregnant!), but I didn't share the voting records of Congress critters to prove that someone else's party member sucks or discuss how family planning clinics provide essential services besides terminations. It just isn't going to do any good. I can't change anyone, so why waste the energy? I posted some stuff about the George Zimmerman trial, the worst being that maybe people should stop celebrating a verdict and pray for the parents of a dead minor child. I mean, I guess that's inflammatory. But I am not sure it should be.

Okay, so I get a little preachy about love and acceptance, but that is a far cry from being preachy about actual political crap. It's not hard to figure out which way I swing, but that's not the point. If I want to talk about how maybe George Zimmerman could have given Trayvon Martin a ride that rainy night instead of following him (not my idea; stolen from Twitter), it's not to piss people off. It's to provide a different perspective on what this world is, and what it could be. That is all.

Overall, I've decided to be a damn hippie and just be effing happy as much as  I can. It's about love, right? I can get a little intense about it (angry optimist?), but it's definitely working for me. I also like to hide things on Facebook that I don't like, instead of trying to tell someone why the information posted sucks. I mean, why does it bother me? As long as no one is hurting me or my family, why should I care if someone is a bigot or racist? Or maybe it isn't all that bad, but I just don't agree with someone. It just doesn't affect me. At all. If I really don't like someone, I just won't hang out with that person. It's not that hard to keep my mouth shut and go play with my puppy to remind myself that I can choose to be really happy.

So for the most part, I just read cute and sappy stuff on the internet. And I share that. And I get really excited over cupcakes on my birthday at a Nationals game. It's working.

I just can't care about everything anymore. I can only hope that I teach my kid love and acceptance, you know? If we're going to talk religion, I'd rather teach my kid about Jesus and his actions than God and that vengeance. If I don't like someone's choices, I should teach my kid that some people make decisions in situations we can't imagine and shouldn't judge, even if we don't like it. I am sure many people feel the same way about me and my choices. In fact, I am certain there are a few people out there who are horrified I have a chance at being a mother. Good for them. They don't bother me any more than I actually bother them. I don't think I see any of those people, anyway.

Just be happy, you miserable wads of festering butt boils!  That is all! Happy 31st Birthday to me (yesterday)! I could not be a luckier woman!