Caterwauling

I’d had a mental post all ready to go about fools and freaks (hat tip to Sabre), but I don’t have four hours to write. 😉

So instead, I’ll honor a special little girl who turned 3 years old today, my niece Alex. Here she is with the caterpillar book that I’d bought for NICU bonding sessions. She was two full months early and was at 4.6 pounds in this photo. Her veins had shut down and the NICU nurses had to shave her head and hook up her IVs that way. Which, she promptly ripped out, the brat. 😉

Whenever I want to get all pity-partyish about my own widdle life, I remember this kid’s entry into this world. I remember her mom, my best friend, borrowing money from her parents so she could run out and buy a video camera because the doctors told her that Alex likely wouldn’t live through her second night on this earth. I remember the horrible pregnancy and the almost-relief that at least when Alex was born, my friend could feel better physically, even though she was dying emotionally, watching this baby fight every minute of her life to stay alive.

Alex spent the whole first year of her life on monitors and medicines. I can count on about 12 hands how many overnights were spent in the emergency room because of her breathing or heartbeat or chronic pain that came from having nodes and needles taped to her fragile skin at all times.

And today, she’s 3. It’s been that long since I drove maniacally to GW Hospital to get to see her the afternoon she was born. I wasn’t able to hold her for months — with the stress and the mental exhaustion and the 24/7 care, my friend sort of dropped out of sight for awhile. We are both alike in that if things are going REALLY terribly, we fade from view. It worried and it scared me when she’d go silent, but I understood.

Actually, I take that back. I’d just had surgery a month after Alex was born and was fairly suicidal about it. When I woke up in the recovery room, Alex was on my chest and my friend was at my side. Both of us were hooked up to IVs and monitors, and it was just a moment I won’t forget. I figured if she could get through all her crap, I could get through mine.

Alex doesn’t like anybody other than her mom and maybe even her dad holding her. But she took to me instantly. (Per Sabre, all babies do. And I suspect she might be on to something with that.) I always joked that she heard my voice throughout the pregnancy as her mom and I made big plans for her and for ourselves. That had to be it. Alex is my girl, plain and simple. I would have given her my heart if it would have helped her to get better. And believe me, she holds onto that heart tightly. When she wasn’t flipping us all off, of course.

She never wants to go to sleep. It’s always an ordeal. (Yes, I am the reason for every piece of denim that child owns. Denim rules!) We theorize that she doesn’t want to miss a minute of life. And while we don’t blame her, I hope that when I have a kid, it enjoys taking naps. Because I know I would if I had the chance!

And today, she’s a happy, healthy and completely energetic kid. No complications, no nothing that the doctors had forecast. She’s even got an adorable little brother. So, happy birthday, Princess — don’t grow up too much between now and October when I get out there to see you!

I learned something about myself today, and it’s that the more emotional I get, the more productive I am. I went from buoyant, happy goddess today to boo/hiss/snarl/scratch bitch in a heartbeat. (Yes, there was a reason. Several of them.) And it’s weird how motivated this gets me. When I’m annoyed, I want to pound the keyboard. (And pound back a beer, but decorum, people.)

Now, I know we all have nervous/stressed out energy bursts, but this revelation explains a lot about me. I look back at my past and realize that I can attribute most of my achievements to duress. That feeling of “I don’t know what else to do, so I might as well do something positive with my energy” works wonders. It really does.

A lot of people (who clearly don’t know me well) think I’m quiet and even passive. And good, because that’s what I want them to think. But make me mad, and I start to do things. Not vengeful or unconstructive or even destructive things — I make fucking fondue out of government cheese.

I’ve often been told to just not care so much. To not let the little things get under my skin and ruin my day. But that’s not me. I’m cool in crisis moments, so let me have my meltdown moments over the frustrating shit that’s tiny and yet that I cannot control. They’re the reason why I get anything done at all.

Sometimes it seems that forces are purposely trying their damndest to keep you from accomplishing anything at all. Justifying their existence, I suppose. And it takes me getting into my zone of “I don’t hear you. I don’t see you. La la la la la la laaaaaaa” for me to rise above it all and do my own thing and win something that shouldnt have been an issue in the first place. I win by feeling like I accomplished something. I feel defeated when I have nothing to show for my efforts.

That’s why I blog, people. It’s a victory every time I hit that “publish” button. At the end of the day, even if it’s all I have to show that I did something, anything that day, damn it, I’ll take it.

Via Amy, (Ms. Marmot, if you’re nasty. And you know you are!), personalized greetings from Samuel L. Jackson have been cracking my shit up all morning.

Click here for Snakes on a (Mothafuckin’) Plane: interactive edition!