my big, fat update/year in review

I am back! And it is NOT the end of 2009, like I originally said (see right sidebar).

Nonetheless, I have decided to combine my big fat update with thoughts and reflections about 2008 as I begin this blog anew. In addition, for 2009, I have committed to writing concisely if not succinctly, and/or sporadically if not briefly. I've determined this is the only way I will survive the rest of my life, if I am to continue writing unfettered (and unpublished).

I've been thinking about 2008—specifically, where I was emotionally in January 2008. I felt as though I’d been run over by a big Mack truck. I’d separated from Charles 6 months earlier which had in turn led to a series of unfortunate decisions, until I realized that Dorothy Gale from Kansas was right: if I ever going looking for my heart’s desire again and it’s not in my own backyard, I never really lost it to begin with. ....I spent a lot of time sleeping when I moved back in with Charles, as though I'd been on a very long journey that took me through several time zones, leaving me severely jet lagged.

Directly after figuring that out, in March, I was given an epiphany straight from the Universe Itself about What It All Had Been Leading Up To (as well as: Why We Put You Here In The First Place). Which was Miss Melissa, of course. There I’d been, crying my eyes out with such regularity it was becoming quite startling, not to mention causing me to wonder what in the sam hell was wrong with me. It had me calling up nurse advisors and telling them I was absolutely sure I was losing my mind and hadn’t the FDA already approved medication to fix that? And if so, could I have some? Thank goodness it was just a fetal anomality which turned into a supremely cute little girl with chipmunk cheeks. It really could have been something much worse. A brain tumor for example…take the blessing as it appears, I learned.

The next 10 months (and human gestation does take ten months, which is 40 weeks total, which is what I was forced—without my knowledge or consent when told I was pregnant—into committing to) were a blur of hormonal surges, cravings, swelling beyond what most mere mortals can imagine, high blood pressure spikes (and one urgent hospital visit due to high blood pressure spike), the constant pricking of veins for blood tests combined with a series of totally unnecessary 24-hour urine samples, post-pregnancy medication for lingering high blood pressure, bleeding and chewed up nipples, breast feeding consternation followed by brief depression relieved by the acceptance of the sacred blessings of formula, the loss of my modesty (and my own personal leisurely free time), 500 new stretch marks, and 1 long cesarean incision scar that was blessedly hidden in the bikini line, yet ironically unable to hide the 500 new stretch marks. Which someone has told me to appreciate as proud scars of motherhood…though I do have a feeling that person does not have to look at red, cat scratch-like lesions running up and down their stomach in the mirror each morning.I'm fairly certain their stretchmarks are quaint, dainty little things that totally blend in with their torso, as if Mother Nature herself intended it to Be So.

Did I mention I accomplished all this at the ripe old age of 36, which in medical circles is also known as: Elderly Mother Syndrome?

And then, 3 hours of pushing and 2 release signatures on C-section medical forms later, on October 30, 2008 at 12:04 AM, Melissa Alexandra arrived. And life as I knew it ended: things that once mattered to me suddenly did not; who was elected president and how we will solve global warming suddenly did; and I discovered what it is like to truly feel as though your heart will burst, simply by watching someone as they sleep. And how it feels to love another human being without the need to possess or control them; to simply love them the way they are, while waiting with eager anticipation to watch them grow and find out who they were meant to become.

There were things in 2008 I wish I could have done better. I regret—and yet, don’t regret—all the milkshakes. I definitely regret the cheeseburgers. And french fries. And breaded shrimp, cupcakes, Cheetohs, malted milk balls, not-diet Coca Colas, Peppermint Patties, fully buttered movie theater popcorn, and all the Starbucks soy chai lattes. Oh, the Starbucks soy chai lattes! And the many, many glasses of chocolate milk. I also regret not investing in Tums stock before the stock market went crazy sexy kapooey.

I wish I’d done more walking. My blood pressure wishes this as well. I wish I’d done more meditating, tea drinking, and serious writing. Because I will now have to schedule in my walking, meditating, tea drinking, and serious writing. And I’m not really a schedule person, you know: at work I am, simply as a self-preservation technique; but at home, I’ve always been a very free-spirited, organic, let it happen as the Universe wills it type of person. But I discovered in 2008—probably around Week Four of Newborn Life—this simply will not work. Babies need schedules, which means I will need one as well. And that’s just Poop. Did you hear me, babies? Poop!

Which, speaking of Poop, who knew back in January of 2008 that I would be okay with another person's poop? I mean, I’m practically sticking my face in it 2 or more times a day…when I’m not shoving my nose into baby butt to smell if it’s a poopy diaper or a wet diaper. I do dread vomit, though. I’ve never, ever been good around vomit.

I wish I could have been less self-righteous, less indignant in 2008. Who am I to judge anyone for what they do? I mean, if it makes you feel better to be an ass after someone states what you yourself have acknowledged to be Truth, then have at it. I don’t have to look at you in the mirror every day.

And then, finally, in 2008 I wish I could have channeled more Rachel Naomi Remen, MD, less Rosie O'Donnell. Rachel Naomi Remen (MD) is a sweet, forgiving, spiritually evolved human being. She would never talk about wishing to be less self-righteous and then turn right around to accuse someone else of being an ass, and then shrug her shoulders and go, “Whatever. Your life, not mine.” As if I’ve never done anything un-cringe-worthy. I cringe. At least 400 times during 2008, as a matter of fact.

I usually don’t make resolutions, just brief, passing wishes. But for 2009, I’ve found myself really, truly resolving for some odd reason. I resolve to be a better person (and so I will return to my All Paths Lead to God progressive Christian Unity church, at least 1 Sunday a month or as my schedule allows), and I resolve to feel more whole on the inside and out (and so I will walk and meditate at least 5 out of 7 days, or as my schedule allows) (and I will eat more fruits and vegetables, at least 6 out of 7 days, or as my schedule allows). And I resolve to figure out this personal scheduling phenomenon. People actually do this? With consistency? And not simply because they need to stay regular, so they don’t get canned at work?

I’m going to be totally pissed if scheduling makes me begin talking like Martha Stewart. I’m going to be completely incensed if it means I can’t create elaborate daydream fantasies involving Clive Owen and that super cute Sunday morning CNN anchor guy, this one, the one with the crazy cute green eyes and the way hot lips:

Yes. Completely incensed.