What're you lookin' at? | Ramblings from a self-proclaimed yada yada yada...ist

Tragic Love Friday: Set the pain to music

People, what a week. Luke and I spent the majority of our after-work hours rummaging through the various crevices of our apartment, dumping loads of crap onto the unsuspecting folks at Goodwill, continuing to mull over the pros and cons of a damn changing table (OK, that one's just me), and figuring out how many pizzas we'll need to feed the wonderful friends and family helping us move this Saturday. I also managed to (FINALLY) settle on a book list for my students and (FINALLY) follow through on the promise I made many moons ago to the winners of my TLF contest.

That's right. Not only is Silly Hily's first season of Beverly Hills, 90210 traveling to her office via Priority Mail as we speak, I also created, burned, and distributed limited-edition copies of the Love, Betrayal, and a Baby Original Soundtrack. Somebody give me a medal.

What's that? You want to see the playlist? Of course you do. You want to make your own!

"Cruel Summer," Ace of Base

First of all, right off the bat I have to thank Hilary for the hours of Gmail chat time she spent hashing out possible song choices for major plot points in the story. When debating a theme song for part one, she was the one who came up with "Cruel Summer," and I immediately agreed, because shit, if illegitimate pregnancy, infidelity, attempted murder, and prison time don't set the standard for a tragic time of year, what the hell does?

"Don't Rush Me," Taylor Dayne

This was chosen to represent what may have been at the heart of David and Kayla's relationship troubles: Kayla's unwillingness to put out. I so admire the sentiment here--a young girl wanting to "take it slowly, slowly" because their love is "well worth waiting for," but really, would a stroke below the belt have been too much to ask for?

"Ex-Girlfriend," No Doubt

The sequence of these last two songs is one of my favorites on the soundtrack; the cause-and-effect implication is priceless. It demonstrates to all those virgins hopeful for a more positive outcome that you better work to keep your man at home.

"Boom! I Got Your Boyfriend," M.C. Luscious

Enter Jenna and her role as the woman who had little trouble dating and then sleeping with her best friend's ex-boyfriend weeks after the man broke said best friend's heart. He was playin' her too hard, know what I'm sayin'?

FYI, I remember hearing a parody of this song on a Chicago radio station when I was a kid that had me in stitches every time: "Boom! I Got Your Boyfriend (and I'm a Man)." Classic Eddie and JoBo! It was second only to "I Gotta Go Pee."

"Strawberry Wine," Deana Carter

A tale about the loss of sexual innocence as told by a visiting farm girl not quite of legal age, these lyrics perfectly capture the sentiment behind the romantic night David and Kayla spent together. I really wanted to use "We've Got Tonight" and frantically searched for it on iTunes to no avail, until Molly pointed out to me that the version I wanted wasn't by Kenny Rogers, but Bob Seger, and she graciously sent me a mixed CD that included a live recording, but that version didn't seem to mesh with the rest of the soundtrack, so I picked this one instead, which was also on Molly's CD.  Does this girl have good taste in music or does this girl have good taste in music?

Also, for what it's worth, I loved David and Kayla's chemistry, and part of me wishes I'd never killed him off. Based on this one scene, I truly believe they could've made each other happy for the rest of their lives.

"Mr. Loverman," Shabba Ranks

The soundtrack wouldn't have been complete without a little ditty celebrating David's philandering ways. I don't really care for anything about this song except the title and the random "Shabbas!" peppered throughout the chorus, but what more do you need?

"The Boy is Mine," Brandy and Monica

Again, another song I'm not crazy about, but what else nails the rivalry between Kayla and Jenna?

"One More Try," Timmy T

I downloaded this song around the time the cheesy love song swap was going on, so I'm delighted to put it to good use now, to reflect David's desperate attempts to win Jenna back once his act of indiscretion was revealed, though why he didn't just call it a day and go back to Kayla is beyond me. And I'm the damn AUTHOR.

"Livin' on the Edge," Aerosmith

Hilary and I debated over a song for Cassie for weeks. "There are plenty of crazy bitches in the world," I typed at one point. "Why has nobody written a song about them?"

So we decided on this one, because damn if this girl wasn't dangling her common sense over a ravine the size of the Grand Canyon.

(I Just Died) In Your Arms – Cutting Crew

No explanation necessary.

"Jailhouse Rock," Elvis Presley

Even better...

"Love Child," Diana Ross and the Supremes

...And best. Did you notice this is the second pro-abstinence song on the soundtrack? I originally thought this was just about some woman's fatherless past, but it turns out she's also discouraging a man's advances because she doesn't want to populate the world with another baby out of wedlock. Well done, Diana.

"Invisible Man," 98 Degrees

Had Nick Lachey formed this slammin' boy band just two years earlier, this is the song that would've played through Michael's head every time he shot a load in his pants over the thought of getting to first base with Jenna. Proposed by David.

"Born to Run," Bruce Springsteen

It was either this or "On the Road Again" to represent the kidnapping, and I can only take so much of Willie Nelson before I want to plug my ears with cottonballs.

"Fall to Pieces," Avril Lavigne

This is the only song on the soundtrack that has a respectable chance of receiving airplay on a contemporary radio station, which is why I almost kept it off, but in the end I thought it served an important purpose, a musical background to the montage of Kayla making piece with Jenna, Jenna and Michael being carried away in squad cars, and all of them realizing the love they feel for one another. I wouldn't call myself an Avril fan, but she really earned my trust with this one. It almost makes up for "Sk8er Boi."

"Save the Best for Last," Vanessa Williams

Picture this as the song of choice for Jenna and Michael's first wedding dance, and it totally works. Plus, very en vogue for the time.

"How Can I Help You Say Good-bye," Patty Loveless

The second country song to sneak its way onto the CD, I could think of no better way to honor the short time Kayla and Katherine had together as mother and daughter. It's one of those songs that's guaranteed to pull a tear from my eye, right up there with Reba McIntyre's "The Greatest Man I Never Knew." (I love you, Dad! Sob.)

"Graduation Day," Vitamin C

OK, so technically the gang didn't graduate together--hell, David wasn't even alive to walk across the stage--but the "friends forever" theme still stands, because by the end of the story, they've pretty much figured out how to co-exist in the same universe without fighting over past mistakes. Deep down, these characters are all connected, all care about each other, and I think that holds true for the sequel, too, even if it's not yet obvious.

I debated skipping out on this week's actual excerpt, partly because things are insanely busy around here, partly because this entry is already long enough, and partly because we're fewer than fifty pages from wrapping up the sequel and I'm all for dragging this out as long as possible. However, since I hadn't given prior notice, I didn't think it would be fair. So I've decided to compromise by finishing up Kyle's chapter from last week. Next Friday is when the wheels really start to turn.

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CHAPTER TWELVE - KYLE (CONTINUED)

Snow was falling and the wind was blowing as I walked through the streets. It was pretty isolated, except for a handful of people milling around, running in and out of stores, doing last-minute Christmas shopping. The big day was only a week away. I sat down on a bench and let my mind ponder on everything.

My mother was pregnant. God. I liked being the only kid around. I certainly didn't plan on having brothers or sisters. And she's not even married! It really bothered me that she was sleeping around with some guy. Especially since she didn't introduce her family to him. That hurt. [I can see his point. He never would've raped Katherine without a proper Mom introduction.] Some guy was the father of my soon-to-be brother or sister, and I had no idea who he was. [To be fair, you don't know your own dad, either. Why break the cycle now?]

And then Mom said Katherine was a part of this whole mess. Did she know something I didn't?

Katherine. My God.

I had hurt her, I could tell. In school she kept to herself, and she wouldn't even look at me. She looked lost. I imagined she felt out of place with the world.

Not that it mattered, I told myself firmly. It was her fault that shit happened. That night... Damn. She made me be forceful, teasing me like that. I wanted it to be special. Instead, she ruined it and made me hate her. I DO hate her.

It doesn't matter that I fell in love with her.

Not at all.

[Poor Kyle. Don't you hate it when the girl you force into sex doesn't hold herself accountable for her own actions?]

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That's a wrap, kiddies. Wish me luck as I supervise all the heavy lifting this weekend. It's a rough job, but someone's gotta do it.

Trading Spaces

Last night, for the first time since it was put on hold for us a month and a half ago, Luke and I walked through the two-bedroom unit we're scheduled to move into this weekend.

When we first discussed the possibility of upgrading our apartment, we were given the keys to the model unit behind the clubhouse and oohed and ahhed at the thought of gaining an extra few hundred square feet. Our bedroom would be smaller, but we'd have a separate dwelling place for the baby. Our living room would shrink, but we'd gain a dining room. There'd be less overall closet space but an extra bathroom. For the extra ninety-five dollars a month, the trade-offs seemed worth it.

I don't know what I was expecting when we entered the premises yesterday evening, but for some reason I was taken aback at how small everything seemed. Either the model falsely advertises a more spacious unit or my imagination's spent the last forty-five days restructuring the entire floor plan to its liking. Both are possible, but either way, we'll have just enough space for the impending third member of our family. Nothing less, and definitely nothing more.

My heart sank a little as I viewed what would soon be our home. I love the unit that Luke and I currently live in, and I hate the idea of moving into a place I'm not as crazy about. On the other hand, I'm so glad we can afford to make this move, and I know it's necessary. It really is the best thing for us.

When I was younger, I always thought that your "next step up" was bound to be better than the one you took before. As in, the next job I get will be more fulfilling than the one I have now. The next place we move to will be more exciting. This moving experience is the best example I have to show me each life upgrade won't be one-hundred-percent satisfactory. In any situation, you'll always find flaws.

Luckily, though, it can still bring you a whole lot of joy.

I've never lived in a two-bedroom apartment before, and I'm excited that Luke and I are doing this to make room for a child we created out of love for each other and the family we want to build. That's a pretty awesome upgrade, if you ask me.

Although I think we've changed our minds on the changing table. Ain't nothin' wrong with the crib or the floor.

(Luke also suggested the couch--the beautiful queen-sized sleeper sofa we ordered in beige to better match our decor--and if looks could kill, I'd be welcoming Freke into the world as a single mother.)

In Both Instances, I Waited as Long as I Could

* Edited to include a second picture of my fabulous find.

You know all that talk I spewed on Friday about cracking down on the whole we're-moving-in-a-week thing? Yeah. Not so much. But that's not to say the weekend was a total waste.

To snag a line from the great Amalah, the diaper bag, it has been purchased.

Luke and I braved the rain in order to make TWO trips to Babies R Us this weekend, in an attempt to sort through the various gizmos and gadgets and thingamabobs that will eventually make their way on our gift registry for the shower my sister plans to throw for us in September. Samantha is already kicking around ideas for the location and has asked to receive a guest list and registry location sometime in July, and seeing as we usually can't last around all those carseats for more than eight seconds before our eyes start protuding from our sockets, we thought we'd tackle each part of the store in stages so as not to become overwhelmed. We found a crib and changing table (both of which we plan to purchase ourselves so we can have them shipped and assembled as soon as possible), strollers and a high chair we really like. We discussed bedding and dresser options and wandered through the aisles sort of aimlessly, not really intending to buy anything, until we hit the diaper bags.

Since they're not very expensive, I've been insistent that Luke and I each choose a bag of our own to cart around Freke's oodles of gear, and I wanted one that'll give the impression that I'm a hip mom, a savvy mom, a mom who can exude class in thirty-five dollars or fewer. Bonus points if it could actually hold a onesie or two.

Carter's messenger bag was priced at $29.99 and seemed roomy enough to store diapers, wipes, an extra change of clothing, and bottles. Plus, it has a really cute blue and brown polka-dot pattern on the inside and is absent of any outlandish cartoon-character patterns. I was sold on that last point alone.

So, I saw the bag, and I fell in love with it, but I didn't walk away with it that fateful Saturday afternoon. Instead, Luke and I got into our car and drove home, while I hemmed and hawwed over the consequences of making such a significant decision. Was I ready to commit to an item that'll be attached to my body for months on end so early in my pregnancy? I mean really, I hadn't even looked at Target's selection yet.

"I really liked that diaper bag," I told my husband as we pulled out of the shopping complex. "I really did."

"Great, honey," he said.

"You know, I really do love that bag," I mused as we took our spot on the expressway. "And there were only two. Two! What if they're not there when we register? What if I can't find it online?"

"If you want, tomorrow we can--"

"OK. You talked me into it."

On Sunday, before we even had lunch, we made trip number two and the bag and I were reunited. And it felt so good.

Not only does this baby boast of TWO bottle holders, it has open pockets on the front and back, one of which holds a perfectly darling changing pad. A diamond in the rough, to be sure.

Tell me, for those to whom this question applies, which features were most important to you when choosing a diaper bag? Did you own more than one? If so, for what reasons? Did/does your partner have one of his/her own, or was it easier to just share one? Not that that last tidbit is going to keep me from swatting Luke's hand if a finger so much as brushes against my lovely brown-suede masterpiece, but inquiring minds and all that.

While you're musing on those deep thoughts, let me present to you my first belly picture, taken this morning and thus freezing my sixteen-week-old gestating stomach(e) in time for all the world to see.

At four months pregnant, I weigh 129.6 pounds and still wear regularly sized clothing (thank you, baby Jesus), though I suspect this pot belly will cause me to hit the store for new pairs of pants soon, and at night Luke has to share my lower half with the other man in my life, who asks that he simply be known as Pillow. The food of the moment is nectarines; I'd eat two or three of them a day if I could. We are still firm on our chosen boy's name, but when it comes to our potential daughter, I change my mind every few days or so, either because it's too uppity or not sweet enough or doesn't have any a's. My whole life I've dreamed of conjuring the perfect name for a mini-Frema, and dammit, I am going to take my sweet ass time.

Tragic Love Friday: Anything you can do, I can do better

I know that everybody's lives are hectic and jam-packed, but sometimes I wonder what the hell I've gotten myself into. Full-time job. Baby on the way. Adjunct teaching this fall. Secret freelancing gig slated to start next week (details coming soon, I promise). I'm so excited about all the opportunities that've fallen into my lap this year, but I'm still scared that maybe I've bitten off more than I can chew. Oh, well. You never know until you try, right?

Anyway, on the homefront, things seem to be moving along. Luke and I went sofa shopping Thursday night and found some reasonably priced furniture at Sofa Express (and More!), so tonight we're going in to place an order for a queen-sized sleeper and matching chair. We're also still researching bookcase options, since Indianapolis retailers are slowly squelching our dreams of avoiding yet another delivery charge. In regards to a new kitchen table, Luke and I have decided to put that off until next year, when we hope to get into a house.

This weekend, we'll dedicate some time to giving the apartment and our storage unit a much-needed once-over to avoid bogging down our new abode with items we can agree to live without. I also hope to make some more progress with my reading for class and, if time allows, burn that damn TLF soundtrack I've been yakking about for the last couple of months. Most of the songs are ready; it's the damn cover art I'm stuck on. If anybody's up for putting something together, feel free to let me know.

Before I jump into this week's latest tragic occurrence, I wanted to share with you an idea proposed to me via e-mail this week. It was suggested that I make available a version of the story that isn't peppered with commentary, as all those brackets can keep a person from becoming fully invested in the plot. I don't mind doing this as long as it's worth my time, which I can only gauge by receiving feedback from you. How valuable are my quips and random asides to TLF? Would you welcome (one day) reading the story without having to sift through my poor attempts at humor?

OK. Now where were we? Oh, poor Katherine. So pregnant. So alone. So very naive in the ways of killing your unborn child.

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CHAPTER ELEVEN - KATHERINE (CONTINUED)

When I woke up, I felt different. I couldn't move. "Katrina?" I whispered.

Someone was crying. I tried to lift my head, but that person was cradling it. Shannon. "Kat-Katherine," she sobbed.

[And who, might you ask, be playing the role of Katherine's BFF? Your suggestions were golden, but since I never watched American Dreams and don't really care for Jessica Alba, the part went to:

I know Elizabeth-Berkeley-as-Jessie-Spano will do an excellent job. Thanks for playing. Also, a special shout-out goes to our dear friend Isabel, who almost had me out of my chair with her mention of Joyce DeWitt.]

I pulled myself into a sitting position, but it was hard. Very hard. That's when I saw the blood. I was soaked in it, in chunks of blood and a watery liquid, from the waist down. Amazed, I gathered it in my hands. It fell through my fingers as if it were sand. Bits of my baby. I brought her to my face. A distinct smell of vomit was in the air. That and feces.

[I sincerely hope you've already had lunch.]

"You've been throwing up for hours," Shannon choked. "You're bowels have been running, and--blood...Gushing--" She covered her mouth.

"It worked," I said, surprised. "How?"

"You cried out before you - passed out. I carried you to the bathroom and was able to pump some of the stuff out of you. You started to gag--I held you over the toilet, but I couldn't stop the blood." She looked horrified.

[But apparently not enough to call 911. Smart girl, that Shannon.]

[Also, lucky is the woman who can sleep through violent regurgitation and raging diarrhea.]

[Also also, I totally typed "when you're driving in a Chevy" into Yahoo! to confirm the proper spelling for diarrhea.]

"That's OK." Dazed, I viewed the room. It was covered with blood, vomit, shit and water. "She had to leave." I caressed my face with my daughter. Her smell was sweet. Shannon grabbed my hands. "Kath, you were pregnant. You lost your baby."

I nodded.

[Um, how would Shannon know this? Katherine's only a few weeks along, and unless there was an arm or toe bopping on the surface, there'd be no way for a teenager to diagnose this as a miscarriage.]

"Don't you see? You need a doctor!"

I shook my head. "No! No doctor! It's all over and I'm OK now. I'll clean up the mess." I went to stand, but my knees buckled.

"Like hell you will!" She supported my wobbly frame. "I'm calling someone. My parents left early, but--"

"No!" I clutched her shirt collar. "Shannie, please. My parents would die. My God, they can't know! And Kyle... Look. I know you're worried, and scared, but it's OK. I'm OK, see? I woke up, didn't I? And everything is out. My insides feel too empty for anything to be left." Actually, something was still swimming around, but it was probably a side-effect. "I'm begging you, Shannie. Please. I - I promise I'll see a doctor soon, but not right away."

She was weakening. "This isn't right," she said shakily.

[Neither was doing speed for your exercise video on Saved by the Bell, but we all make mistakes.]

"It's my body. It doesn't even hurt," I lied.

"If you don't see a doctor sometime soon, Katherine Marie Spencer, I'll kill you myself! I will!" I hugged her with what little strength I could muster. I thought I saw Katrina in the doorway. I shut my eyes.

After a while, Shannon let me go. "You need a bath," she said firmly. "I'm going to wash you. Don't argue with me, you're too weak," she said sharply when I opened my mouth to protest. "I'm in charge now, and you owe me that much." I couldn't disagree with her.

She filled the tub with hot, soapy water that hurt deliciously. She put in some bubbles to hide me. I sat and washed myself best I could while she washed the bathroom down three times, bleaching the floor twice to remove the blood stains. Then she soaped me down herself, and shampooed my hair. I was quiet until I noticed the water's change in color. "It's red," I cried.

"Don't worry," she told me quickly. "You're spotting. It's supposed to happen."

[I love how these girls aren't even out of high school and still feel perfectly capable of offering expert medical advice.]

She gave me clothes to wear, which she assisted in putting on; I just couldn't do it. I had to wear a pad for the spotting.

"What did you do to yourself, sweetie?" she asked while she brushed my headful of hair.

"My mom's sleeping pills; anti-depressants; sedatives..."

"Why?"

"To fix God's mistake," I answered, and she didn't ask anything else.

"I think you should make yourself throw up a few times, to make sure your system's clean."

[Of course. Purging is the new antibiotic!]

"OK." I checked the clock. 6:30 in the evening. "Wow. I gotta go. Where'd your parents go this morning, anyway?"

"Christmas shopping, downtown in the city." She grabbed my hand. "Stay another night."

I smiled. "I can't. I owe Lucas a checkers game." She hugged me to her, and I let out a deep sigh. "I'll be fine, really. I'll call you tomorrow."

"Can you walk?"

"I'll manage." I felt a little stronger. I felt Shannon's eyes on me as I limped my way home. My stomache was killing me.

CHAPTER TWELVE - KYLE

"Kyle? What are you doing in here?" Mom asked, entering my room without knocking. She frowned at the sight of dirty clothes everywhere, my rumpled bed and balled up paper airplanes. I shrugged and crumbled another piece of paper, then smoothed it out and made it into an airplane. Its flight was short-lived and landed near my mom's feet. "Wouldn't it be easier to just tell me what's wrong than turn your room into a runway?" she asked, crushing it with the foot of her heel. I rolled over on my bed until my back was facing her. "I'm fine. I'll be even better as soon as you leave." She ignored my reply and sat down beside me. Honestly, this woman can never take a hint.

[Amen, Kyle. However, if I were your mother and you talked to me like that, I'd pop you in the mouth.]

"I could help you if you'd quit being so damned mouthy." Mom smoothed my hair. I let her. "I haven't seen Katherine around in a long time."

I stiffened. "She's just a dumb blonde; nothing special."

"That's not true. I think she's very special, and I'm pretty sure you do, too." I heard the longing in my mother's voice, and it hit me that she missed her. "The two of you were like best friends. Can't you get beyond your differences and rebuild that?"

I finally understood. She hadn't realized that there had been a sexual attraction between us; she thought we were strictly platonic. We kinda were, too, until the night of the dance...

Forget about it, I told myself. Aloud I replied, "I never want to see her again."

"Fine, but you'll be sorry." She stood up. "C'mon in the kitchen. Aunt Cassie's waiting for us."

"Why?" I asked. She ran her fingers through her hair and gave a nervous smile. "I've got some pretty big news for you two that'll affect everybody."

"No! You promised!" I cried, jumping up and glaring at her. "You said we could stay! I don't want to leave!"

"Hey, hey, you've got the wrong idea," Mom assured me, touching my arm. "We're not moving again. I'm keeping my promise."

"Then what is it?" I muttered.

"Kitchen," she ordered, and pointed to the door. I obeyed, looking at her suspiciously.

I sat next to Aunt Cassie. "Hey, you," she greeted, but her face looked grim. She didn't look at Mom when Mom started to speak.

"You know I haven't been feeling the hottest lately. I thought it was the flu, but I wasn't too sure. So I went to the doctor, and he said--" She paused for a moment, then finished with "--I'm pregnant."

[This is where the "Anything you can do, I can do better" part of today's title came from, because God forbid something good or bad happen to anybody without this woman jumping in with a one-upper. Jenna gets pregnant? Kayla gets pregnant AND carries the baby to term. Jenna gets married and enjoys a committed, monogamous relationship for over a decade? Kayla steals him in two weeks. Biological daughter is raped? Kayla gets knocked up by said daughter's father. Kayla wins, every time!]

"WHAT?!?" Aunt Cassie smashed her fist on the table and rose out of her seat. "Are you fucken CRAZY?!?"

"The baby is due sometime in August," Mom continued. She opened her mouth to say more, but she was interrupted by a blow to the mouth from my aunt.

[Batshit crazy is back! Hooray!]

"Hey, stop!" I yelled and pushed her away. Mom stumbled back a few feet, and felt her mouth, which was bleeding.

"Hit my mother again and I'll knock you out," I snarled at my aunt. She was breathing hard, clutching a chair.

I fixed an icepack for Mom and handed it to her. "Thanks," she mumbled, pressing it to her face.

"How could you get pregnant?" I yelled; the very thought of it made me sick. "Why are you screwin' some guy when you aren't married? You didn't even introduce him to either of us. He's a stranger!"

"Young man, I'll let that go because you're upset, but you better watch your mouth!" Her voice wobbled, and she looked on the verge of tears.

"He's no stranger, is he, Kay?" Aunt Cassie said sarcastically.

"You shut up! He's a good man!" Mom snapped, wiping her eyes. "He loves me."

"He also loves his--" Mom threw the icepack at her. She had real good aim; it hit Aunt Cassie square in the face.

[If only it were this good twelve years ago!]

But she wasn't finished. She lunged for her, grabbing her hair and giving it a hard yank. "Watch what you say, Cass; I mean it," she snarled. She let go of her hair and sat down, burying her face in her hands.

[MAN, there's a lot of girl-on-girl action going on today!]

"I'm sorry," Aunt Cassie said softly and put a hand on Mom's shoulder as she started to cry. "I didn't mean to hurt you, really. I just--Kay, you know what's going to happen. You know! He can't leave! And what is Katherine going to think? She'll hate you." Mom nodded, sobbing. I suddenly felt very out of place; lost in the shuffle.

"Who cares what Katherine thinks? I'm your SON! What about what I think?!" She looked up at me then. Her eyes looked burned out, but her face held a certain serenity. The world was falling down on her, and yet, as upset as she was, she still looked peaceful. I had seen that kind of look only once before, when I was only 11. I knelt beside her and grabbed her hands. I couldn't stop shaking.

"Momma, it'll be OK," I whispered.

She understood, and held me while I cried.

"I know I let you down," she whispered. "I'm sorry. I also know that a lot of stuff is going to be brought up from a long time ago, and you're going to hate me for a long time. Just know everything I did, I did for a reason I thought was good at the time." She kissed the top of my head. "I've always loved you because you're my son."

"OK." She was scaring me. I pulled away. "What does Katherine have to do with anything?"

"A lot," she admitted. "But that'll come out later."

"Who is he, Mom?" I asked softly. She sighed. "I can't tell you yet, sweetie. It's too sticky a situation."

Aunt Cassie looked defeated. "We tried so hard," she said.

"I know, Cassie," Mom replied. "But I think it'll be OK. A baby is never a bad thing." She smiled and patted her belly affectionately, which showed no signs of pregnancy. "The truth has to be told sometime, anyway."

"You know he can't marry you," my aunt warned.

My mother just smiled again, and for some reason, it relaxed me. Mom could handle it. She was not a stupid lady.

[I think we'll be the judge of that.]

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There's still one page left of Kyle's chapter, but I've delayed today's posting long enough. Peace out, homies.

According to my doctor, I'm one hot momma

Maybe "hot" is too strong a word, but this morning at the ob/gyn's office, the first thing he did after shaking my hand was comment on how warm I felt. Then he winked. Or was it an eye twitch? So tired today. It's all a blur.

As far as Freke is concerned, everything is A-OK. My urine sample came up clean, and while I haven't lost or gained any weight since my last appointment, I'm continuously reassured that this child is acting as a parasite and thus freely taking whichever nutrients it needs to thrive, regardless if there's anything left for me. After relaying this information to my mother on the phone later in the afternoon, she said, "His whole life he'll be taking from you. Get used to it now."

(In case you didn't notice, my mom thinks Freke's a boy.)

I had a lot of questions today, questions about when to schedule classes and search for a pediatrician, and also uncontrollable smiles on the way to work, because we went ahead and scheduled my first ultrasound for July 11th at 10:30 a.m. By lunchtime I'll (hopefully) know whether to read up on HPV vaccinations or begin addressing the whole "to circumcise or not circumcise" issue.

I was informed we can invite family and friends to witness the baby's debut on the two-dimensional screen, but Luke likes the idea of us finding out together, just the two of us, and seeing as we'll be up north that weekend, anyway, we can just bring in our VHS tape and show everyone just as well, though my mother has informed me that she doesn't want to know the gender, despite my warning that I'll be sharing the news with the entire Internet. So, for any relatives who read this blog (Auntie Diane, are you out there? Stop lurking!), know that your lips must remain sealed regarding the revelation of any wee body parts. Because, don't you know, "finding out the gender in the delivery room is the only fun thing about pregnancy."

What can I say? I want my fun now.

At least the box spring and bed frame were brand new. That counts for something, right?

So, have you noticed it's been a while since I last spoke about money? Because really, it's been a while since I spoke about money.

A few months ago, I had devised the ultimate spreadsheet for keeping track of our finances. Segmented by week, divided into categories, I envisioned dedicating fifteen minutes every Sunday night to adding receipts and typing figures into cute little Excel boxes, all to influence our purchasing habits for the rest of the month. And for a while, it worked. We didn't always stay within budget, but at least we knew just how much we'd overspent and which categories had received more than their fair share of TLC.

Then, on April Fool's Day, we found out I was pregnant, and it all went to pot. We have not updated a spreadsheet since, resigning ourselves to removing precious savings from our bank account each month to pay our credit card bill in full.

What can I say? My hands were too busy clutching the toilet to sort through all those tiny pieces of paper, and we knew we could always cover the Visa total, so it seemed better to focus our time on more important things, like bidding a formal farewell to life as we know it, sans any fruit of our loins.

Though we've not done well tracking our money lately, we've sure done a bang-up job of spending it. In two weekends, we'll move into a larger, two-bedroom apartment. In a few months, we'll be upgrading our cell phone plan--a plan that currently involves one phone shared between two people--so that by the end of my pregnancy we'll be readily available to each other at all times. There's talk of replacing Luke's rickety 1993 Chevy Lumina with a vehicle I would actually allow our child to ride in and paying off the Cobalt to make room in the budget for diapers, doctor's visits, and baby food. All of this while hoarding pennies for my maternity leave and preparing ourselves for Luke's eventual job loss.

To say I'm feeling overwhelmed by all we hope to accomplish during these next five months (holy crap, five months?!) would be an understatement.

Regarding our more immediate future, we've discussed replacing several pieces of furniture within our apartment to make life a little more comfortable. A kitchen table that seats more than two people, for one thing. A bookshelf not made of particle board. A sleeper sofa for accommodating the slew of guests we expect to receive once the baby is here because I refuse to put our parents on an air mattress and also refuse to sleep on one myself when I'll be getting up to feed a newborn every two to three hours.

So far we've been lucky in that we haven't had to blow any cash on major items or appliances in our adult lives. My first sofa set was purchased for a whopping hundred and twenty dollars and featured decor straight from the set of All in the Family, and I passed it on to my sister, Ryan, when Luke moved in because he had inherited a sturdier one from his brother. My parents bestowed upon me an old kitchen table and a brand-new microwave when I moved into my first apartment back in Rensselaer, and I scored coffee tables from my aunt. The TV we use was given to Luke for his birthday a few years ago, and I bought our "gently used" mattress from one of Saint Joe's administrative assistants back when I was an employee. If there were a universe called Free And Second Hand, we would be the masters of it and the bosses of you.

Keeping in mind our penchant for used (and eventually abused) furnishings, it should surprise no one that Luke and I both hyperventilate after agreeing to pay a thousand dollars for a couch or spend two hundred dollars on a damn table. We already have those things! Look! They're right there! What the hell are we thinking? Yet there were no qualms about dropping five hundred dollars on the Nintendo Wii and its related accessories, and there was never a question as to whether or not we'd take a vacation. Tell me we're not the only ones who subscribe to such madness.

In the end, it'll be OK. We have a respectable amount in our savings account, including what we'll need to cover my three months of FMLA time, and we add to it every two weeks. I'll be getting a raise this month, and possibly a bonus. I'm pursuing a freelance opportunity that'll reveal itself soon, and I'll bring in a small stipend for teaching the blogging class this fall. Luke will most likely get a raise of his own come August. There's no need to worry. Deep in my heart, I know this.

But it still breaks my arm to hand over that damn credit card.

Tragic Love Friday: She's (not) having a baby

Ah, the gloriousness of a three-day work week. Aren't they the prettiest things ever?

Last night was spent in a whirlwind attempt to finally put our dishevled apartment back together, catch up on five episodes of All My Children, and finish one of the blog books I'm reading for class. I was on the verge of high-fiving myself when the taco I had for dinner decided to resurface, and I spent the last twenty minutes before bed rinsing out the toilet seat cover and bleaching the sink, all while Luke slept like a baby.

Almost fifteen weeks along and I'm still gagging myself with a toothbrush. Will it ever end?

Also, a random AMC note for those who watch: Is anybody else digging the new Greenlee? The character's a total biotch, of course, but the replacement actress they found is actually doing a decent job. Meanwhile, I continue to hate Ryan Lavery with the burning passion of a thousand suns. Just because Greenlee is the reason that Kendall was impregnated with Ryan's sperm doesn't mean she has any "moral claim" to Spike, seeing as she abandoned her gestating BFF the minute she found out Kendall used her own egg because Greenlee's were destroyed in a city-wide blackout and Ryan's sperm was thawing and there was no time to collect more of Greenlee's eggs and Kendall was terrified that Greenlee would kill herself because Ryan had faked his death by driving off a cliff and she wanted his child more than anything in the world, even though Ryan wasn't into kids at the time and actually had a vasectomy but sneaky Greenlee stole his sperm from a fertility clinic, which was donated back when Ryan first came to town and needed cash. The nerve of some people.

But anyway. On to TLF.

-------

CHAPTER TEN - KATHERINE (CONTINUED)

It was final. I was pregnant. I had officially become a statistic, and I hated that. It wasn't my fault! I didn't want kids; never had, and definitely never will. Yet here I was, an expectant mother.

But would I stay that way? I wasn't a fool; I knew my options. A baby was definitely not on my list of accomplishments this year. I couldn't do it. I had to get rid of my kid--I mean, the fetus. That's it.

"I'm having--I'm having--" I couldn't say the word "abortion." I just couldn't. "I'm ending my pregnancy," I said to myself firmly. That sounded better.

[Is Katherine breaking your heart yet? This poor girl can't get a break. I don't know if I have the heart to snark on her. But I'll try.]

Well, one thing was for sure. I wouldn't be able to go and have an abortion. The doctor would call my parents faster than I could say [your mom! Ha, I did it!] my name. Don't doctors have to say those things? I wasn't certain, but I didn't want to find out. [Apparently, neither did 'lil Frema. What a lazypants she was.] Also, I was broke. I'd have to do it myself. But how?

I felt horrible. I was planning to end a human life, on my own. "Oh, God," I sobbed, burying my face in my hands. My tears flowed, and for once I couldn't stop them. Shaking, I walked into my parents' room and grabbed the bottles off my mother's dresser. I examined the contents and labels. Sedatives, sleeping pills, anti-depressants... It suddenly hit me that my mother was emotionally unstable, probably had been for years. "Don't think about that," I whispered, my voice unsteady. My eyes were blurred with my tears, so I couldn't read the fine print that followed the "WARNING" label. I didn't care. I'd be OK in the end. I popped open the lid to the sleeping pills and only took one. Right now I needed rest. I'd plan everything out later. I swallowed the pill and curled up on my parents' bed, trying to drown out of my head the consequences of my decision.

[Remember when Julia was pregnant on Party of Five and wanted to an abortion but actually experienced a miscarriage? Even lil' Frema knew that was a cop-out on behalf of the writers. So, in the instances when you're too icked out for words--and trust me, folks, it gets icky--at least commend this youngling for her literary bravery.]

* * *

When I awoke, I felt groggy, unaware of everything. Where am I? I wondered. My head felt as heavy as a truck, and it hurt. I felt a distinct movement in my stomache. I got up slowly and fumbled around until my hand found the lightswitch. The room was filled with light, and I had to close my eyes. I let the wall support me as I slid down to the floor. When I opened them, Shannon was kneeling next to me.

I blinked my eyes. "Sh-Shannon." My tongue was like leather. "How come you're here?"

"Lucas let me in. No one else is here. We have to talk." She pulled me to my feet. "C'mon."

"Wait a minute." I pulled away and tried to glare at her, but it turned into a frown. "I have things to do. It'll have to wait until--maybe, in a few days--"

"With what, Katherine?!? What do you do besides veg out at home and isolate yourself? Nothing, and I'm sick of it. It's not healthy! Look at you!" Her eyes filled with tears. "Let me help you. Tell me what's wrong."

"Nothing's wrong! Who the hell do you think you are talking to me like that? I'm FINE. Or I was until you showed up." I opened my mouth to yell some more until I saw the look on her face. Suddenly I felt bad. She was only worried about me. She had no idea what was going on.

My best friend saw my body loosen up, and she opened her arms. I accepted, and her embrace was tight. It's a good thing; otherwise I know I would've fallen.

[Shannon's a good pal and all, but don't you think her language is a little intense? It's like they're lesbians without benefits.]

"C'mon," she repeated. "Spend the night tonight."

[I rest my case.]

"Can't. Tomorrow's school," I replied, letting go.

"Today's Friday, Kath."

"I gotta ask my mom, and she's not home." Shannon looked hurt; I couldn't blame her. My mother wouldn't care, and she knows that.

An idea popped into my head.

"I'll leave a note," I relented. "I just gotta get some stuff." She nodded. She was waiting in the kitchen; I grabbed two of each pill and stuck them in my pocket. The rumble in my belly was painful. It didn't take a rocket scientist to figure out what those "WARNING" labels were for.

Before I left, I checked on Lucas. He had an old photo album on his lap. "THE BRADY BUNCH" was on TV. I sat down beside him. "Whatcha lookin' at this stuff for, Luke?" He shrugged. We stared at the TV screen as Mike kissed Carol before he left for work.

"Dad doesn't do that anymore," he commented.

"No," I agreed. "But Mom's not home when he leaves. She works in the morning, or she's asleep from the night before."

"Nobody cooks dinner," he continued. "Dad doesn't play checkers anymore. (His favorite game.) Mom won't help me with my math. I got an 'F' on a big test yesterday." My brother's forehead wrinkled, and his chin trembled. "Leigh's never home. I hate her. And you act funny. You're staying at Shannon's, aren't you?" he demanded. I nodded, and he grabbed my arm. "Please don't leave, Kathy. I hate being alone!" His face completely crumbled, and he buried his face in my sweater. I cradled him in my arms. God, I felt awful for going. "I have to, Luke," I whispered. "I'll be home tomorrow, and we'll have a checkers marathon and we'll go over your test, and anything else you want to do." He lifted his head. "Promise?" I hugged him again. "I swear it."

I left him sitting there. I forget that he's only 12 sometimes.

"Let's go," I told Shannon.

[Too bad Katherine doesn't want children. She's already a better mother than Jenna and Kayla combined.]

END OF PART TWO

[Don't worry, I won't leave you hanging! I brought the next--the last! (sob)--notebook with me to work!]

PART THREE

CHAPTER ELEVEN - KATHERINE

We sat on Shannon's bed in silence. I didn't know what to say. I wanted to tell her that it wasn't her, but I couldn't tell her the truth.

"I'm sorry," I finally said.

"Why?"

"I know I haven't been the greatest person to be around. I didn't mean to take it out on you."

"You were that way for a reason, Kath. What's wrong?" she asked gently.

"It's OK now, Shannie," I replied, ignoring her question and thinking of my pills. "Everything's gonna be OK. I don't want to think about it anymore."

"Katherine--"

"Shannon, please." I hugged her quickly. "Don't ask."

Thankfully she let it drop. We ate pizza and painted our nails. I caught up on gossip, but my heart wasn't into it. She could tell. "Kath, I've seen Kyle around with Andrea Polly," she said tentatively. "What happened with him?"

"It didn't work out," I answered. "He's a real jerk. Too possessive." Lies, lies, lies!

[Actually, that's the truth. He was possessive. Illegally and brutally possessive. Of her poor, innocent body.]

"Oh," Shannon cried. "I feel so stupid! That's why you've been like this." She squeezed my hand.

"It's alright, Shannie. There was nothing you could do." I stood up. "Be right back."

In the bathroom, I clutched the six pills in my clammy hand. I glanced in the mirror, only I didn't see me. I saw a little girl of about four or five. Her golden hair was in piggy tails, and her smile revealed shiny white teeth. Her eyes, however, had no pupils.

[So I guess the sleeping pill Katherine took also induces hallucinations? If that's the case, Jenna's been having a grand ole time these last few years. Also, from this description, I can't stop picturing Cindy Brady. And the brat wasn't even cute! Damn lil' Frema and her references to sixties-era television.]

"Mommy, ouch! That hurts! I don't feel good." The toddler's body cringed, and she cried out. "Momma, stop! Stop, momma, I'm in here!" I held back my sobs. "Go away, go away," I whispered, shaking my head and blinking hard. The little girl was gone. I was alone in my reflection.

["Are you pregnant? Do you feel trapped and alone? If so, take the wire hanger away from your vaginal canal and call the toll-free number at the bottom of your screen." Thus concluding lil' Frema's first pro-life commercial.]

[This making fun of people's pain, it's easier than I thought!]

"Katrina," I said, and I liked the sound. "Katrina," I continued, swallowing one pill; then another and another. "I'm not your momma. God gave you to me on accident. I'm returning you to Heaven, that's all." I drank a little water. "I wouldn't be a good momma anyway." I kissed the mirror, just in case my baby came back. "Bye-bye, Katrina."

[I got the "toddler's" name from my best friend in high school. We're still friends today; she even stood up in my wedding. Lucky for lil' Frema that her first initial fit in with the whole "K" theme she's got going on.]

Back in my friend's room, we turned off the lights and put on a movie. All the while my stomache churned, my head pounded, and my tongue felt too thick for my mouth. As the room started to fade, I started to panic, and for the first time I thought about the possibility that I could die. I would've deserved it.

My mind blanked, and all was dark.

-------

So, now that we're seeing more of Shannon, which celebrity do you think should play her? Let me know in the comments, and I'll find a picture of the one who collects the most votes.

Also, there are only fifty-three pages left until the end of the sequel. There is no part three, and I'm still not sure what to do. Keep going without the charm of lil' Frema or let TLF die peacefully in the "What're you lookin' at?" archives? This is how Meryl Streep's character must've felt in Sophie's Choice, I swear.

How We Spent Our Last Baby-Free Vacation

Growing up, the concept of vacationing was foreign to me. With five children and a stay-at-home mother, time and money never seemed to be on my family's side. Visiting new places never seemed possible, and I was constantly in awe of friends who frolicked on the beach in Florida or camped out at a nearby park. They had to be rich, I remember thinking. Normal people can't afford to sleep in hotels or rent cabins or pay for admission into Disney World. And then I met Luke.

While we haven't exactly traveled the world, my husband and I have done our fair share of enjoying the U.S. since we started dating in 2001. We've hiked and camped and tobaggoned in various state parks throughout Indiana; gone to Pennsylvania to visit friends; accompanied Saint Joe's Habitat for Humanity chapter to Texas; seen the view at Niagara Falls from Canada and New York. And just this weekend, we embarked on our first trip to Mackinac Island, prefaced with a couple of days in Ludington and Traverse City, Michigan.

First day in Ludington, and the first of FIVE glorious days in the sun. A welcome change from our last few trips.

Luke's original plan for Friday was to hike to the lighthouse in Ludington State Park, but leaving Merrillville right around lunchtime, encountering one wrong turn, and fighting through interstate traffic meant we didn't even arrive in Ludington until early evening. We had dinner and spent the night in a quaint little motel watching two hours of Law and Order. All I did was sit in the damn car and I was still exhausted.

To make up for our lack of activity the day before, we were packed up and on the way to the park by nine o'clock the next morning. Hiking to the lighthouse took almost an hour, but I savored every minute. In between laying on the couch, gagging over the toilet, and sitting in front of the computer, I'd forgotten how good it felt to move my body. Meanwhile, Luke was so happy to be out and about I could have cried for him. He really has been so wonderful to me these last couple of months, and he more than deserved this time to play.

View from the top of the lighthouse. It's hard to believe we weren't overlooking an ocean.

Afterwards, we walked along the beach, grabbed our car, and moved on to our next destination: Sleeping Bear Dunes National Lakeshore.

With all the hiking we did that morning, I knew I couldn't do any more, so we opted for a scenic driving tour that had twelve designated spots where you could get out of your car and take in the view. This was the third one, I think.

The sign isn't kidding about the 450-foot drop. Can you believe people were actually attempting to climb it? Because they were. Luke seemed interested, and I told him he was more than welcome. The baby and I were perfectly willing to wait in the car.

One of the few shots we have together from the trip. Every time I see the beach in our photos I die a little inside, wishing we could've taken a dip in the water, but the lake's temperature was cold, colder than your mom, even, and I decided that splashing around in our pool at home would suit me just fine.

A day ten times busier than our first, and I was ten times as tired. I swear I thought I was sunsick, even though I'd lathered on SPF 30 sunscreen before we left the motel.

Sunday was the big day--the day we headed for Mackinac Island! We made it to Mackinaw City (yes, correct spelling) in the early afternoon, amazed that the weather was still on our side. I can't tell you how many trips we've taken that were tainted with clouds or rain or both. Apparently, June is "the" month to travel.

Mackinac Bridge. We didn't cross it, but Luke took this shot from the ferry.

By the time we reached the island, it was three o'clock. After checking in at the hotel and making our way back to the main strip, it was almost four, making it too late to get in on any of the activities we'd planned (read: Luke planned) for our stay, so we basically just walked around and looked for a place to eat dinner. We were both a little bummed about not doing more but knew the second day would more than make up for it.

Here's where I'll say a few words about our lodging of choice: Mission Point Resort, one of the fancier overnight options available on the island.

Arrangements for our stay inspired a bit of a squabble back in April because Luke wanted to stay at one of the chain establishments in Mackinaw City and I wanted to splurge for something nicer, like a bed and breakfast. For each trip we've taken, we've always scrimped on our hotel; for our time in Niagara, we (read: Luke) chose a hotel room on the base level of the building, as in, we could see our car and the rest of the parking lot from our window, because the rate was fifty bucks a night. Seeing as this is the last "big" vacation we'll take together before Freke's arrival, I wanted to upgrade to a place that didn't market a box of doughnuts and a gallon of milk as a continental breakfast, nevermind that we'd be staying at the height of the tourist season, nevermind that two nights at this charming resort cost half a grand. Luke actually picked this place because it offered a package that included round-trip ferry tickets, breakfast at two of their four restaurants, and tickets to their in-house museum.

And was it worth it? you ask. Well, the breakfast buffet featured sausage, bacon, waffles, omelets, fresh fruit, and pastries. It was definitely worth it.

On Monday morning Luke went on a bike ride while I slept in, and the rest of the day was spent taking a leisurely carriage ride, visiting Fort Mackinac, walking in and out of fudge shops, and reminding ourselves to add Somewhere in Time (filmed on the island) to our Blockbuster queue.

The above picture is of the famous Grand Hotel, which charges twelve dollars per person just to walk in front of the damn building, so Luke took this from his seat in the carriage. The guide said they feature a suite available for three thousand dollars a night. THREE THOUSAND DOLLARS. A NIGHT. Holy God.

When you're on Mackinac Island, you gotta have fudge. On our first day we snacked on a quarter pound of Ryba's peanut butter but later remembered that we can get Ryba's any ole time we want to from Navy Pier, so when it came time to bring some home, we went with JoAnn's, and it actually tasted better. I was chowing down on some chocolate peanut butter goodness last night while yelling at the soon-to-be American citizen on Deal or No Deal to take the freaking seventy-one thousand dollars already and quit talking about rising like a Phoenix from the ashes or whatever.

Here's a view from Fort Mackinac. Are you seeing all the bright sun and blue sky and shimmery water? So gorgeous.

And the bonus to all that fun? The resort had HBO, so on Monday night we caught the premiere of the second season of Big Love.

Luke and I had such a wonderful time on this vacation, and all throughout we talked about different trips we want to take in the future and how we don't want the fact that we'll have a baby to hold us back from all the exciting things we want to do. Call us naive if you want, but we firmly believe that life is as easy or as difficult as you make it out to be, and if you approach traveling with children as a big deal, it's going to be a big deal. We don't want to it to be a big deal. We want to explore the country and eventually the world, even during the years Freke will be too young to remember, because life is not all about Freke. It's about the two of us being in this adventure together and how we choose to raise our family, and I refuse to make choices that might lead Freke to believe anything is out of reach or impossible.

Nothing is impossible.

As I continue to catch up on work and apartment upkeep, please forgive me for not responding individually to comments left in my absence. Consider me back on the bandwagon starting today.

Tragic Love Friday: A little less talk, a lot more action

Well, not really a lot more, but enough to make up for the lull in the storyline these last couple of weeks.

Before I get into that, though, I wanted to thank you all for the great comments you've left the last two days, specifically the ones focusing on my blogging class and maternity leave. Since Luke and I leave for Michigan soon and I still need to wash up, I'm going to skip out on responding to everyone individually and address all the questions/suggestions right here.

Blogging Class

Since the class is offered through Saint Joe's English department, it has to be focused more on the trends and cultural ramifications of blogging and less on actual maintenance. I knew from the very beginning I'd require each student to have a blog, and there will most certainly be discussion of the elements of good design, how to navigate through the blogosphere, proper etiquette, the various technical aspects a blog can have (widgets, RSS feeds, Flickr, etc.), but I can't spend an entire class period on the ins and outs of html code or how to create a podcast, though I will do my best to point them in the right direction if they're interested in those things. The formation of blogging communities is also a topic I had planned to cover, especially since it'll be addressed in a couple of sessions at this year's BlogHer conference, so why I didn't include it in my list of bullet points I don't know.

Somebody asked about how much information I'll share about my own blog, and seeing as its existence is the main reason I was invited to teach in the first place, I've decided to let them know I have one. If they want the URL, I'll provide it, and I'll be happy to share my own experiences when an appropriate opportunity presents itself, but that'll probably be the extent of it. After all, a professor with a book in the works wouldn't pass out photocopied chapters to the class for review.

Maternity Leave

Your stories are continuing to blow me away, so keep them coming, if you can. The suggestion to get my deal in writing was a good one, but with the way the FLMA law is written, I'm automatically guaranteed my same position with my same pay scale and benefits. If they revoke that, they're breaking the law. I don't think they want to break the law. It's still a smart idea, though, and I may just do it, anyway.

The part-time issue is tricky. I could probably go that route and stay with the company but not in my current position as communications director, which means Luke would have to pick up the slack with a part-time job of his own, which means there's a good chance we'll have to foot the bill for some sort of daycare, which is exactly what we're trying to avoid. Plus, I don't think either one of our companies offers insurance to part-time employees.

My work week already has the potential to be pretty flexible, and that will continue once I return from leave. I'm strongly leaning towards cramming all of my hours into a four-day time span so I can enjoy an extra day at home with my family. Telecommuting is also an option, of course, but if I'm honest with myself, I'd probably be too distracted by my husand and the baby to get any actual work accomplished. It'll be fine every once and a while, but my gut is telling me that on the days I'm not at the office, I should be fully present at home.

As far as using vacation days to supplement my leave, I'm completely against it, at least for myself. I understand going that route if you can't afford to take the time otherwise, or using accrued time to extend your absence beyond the twelve weeks, but since Luke and I can prepare ourselves for my lack of income, you better believe every single minute of paid time off I have will be used before December 10th. I earned those days, dammit, just like I put in the time to be eligible for FMLA, and I will use them both the way they were intended. I don't know what it is about using vacation time to replace maternity leave that gets me so riled up. Probably the fact that companies make out waaaay better in that scenario than the employee.

(Take a deep breath, Frema. It'll all be OK.)

Let's move on, now, to learn more about two ladies who soon just might benefit from a little FMLA time themselves.

(OK, Katherine won't because she's only in high school, but that was a great segue, you have to agree.)

-------

CHAPTER NINE - MICHAEL

I was at home when Jenna stormed through the door.

"You're home early," I commented. "How was your presentation?"

"I don't know. Ask my former boss," she replied angerily, her eyes glassy. I went and wrapped my arms around her waist, and she tightened her arms around my neck. She gazed at me with sad eyes.

"I screwed up, babe." She started to cry, burying her face in my shirt.

[How sad is this marriage? Poor Jenna, so defeated, with no fight left, and poor Michael, so secretly macking on another woman. I received a comment on a post from part one earlier this week, on the one where Michael first professed his undying love for Jenna to the Internet, and I started to miss the old days where the biggest problem was a pregnant woman getting hit by a car. It's much more fun to write about the misguided antics of naive teenagers than the self-destructive ones of grown adults.]

"What happened?" I asked once she settled down.

"That bitch Agatha took my presentation, and that was it. Crawford canned me." [Don't you like how lil' Frema believed that all employees referred to their bosses as "sir" or their last names?] Jenna let out a shaky breath. "What are we gonna do, Mike? How are we gonna live?"

"Oh, we'll be fine. We can live in those brown boxes behind the garage, and we can spend quality time as a family picking through our neighbor's garbage." She smiled. "Don't be silly. We can live in the car." We both laughed.

"Don't worry, Jen. You'll look for another job, that's all."

"I guess." She pulled out of my embrace and put on a pot of coffee. "How come you're home early?"

[Do you know that question put this story at a standstill for at least a month? Lil' Frema couldn't figure out a plausible reason that Michael wouldn't be at work. Her brilliant solution was...]

"I didn't go at all. Wasn't in the mood."

Jenna cocked her head to the side, looking at me thoughtfully. "Yesterday?"

"Yeah," I lied. She kissed me. "I really am sorry about what happened."

"So am I."

We just stood there, and after a few minutes, I realized the silence we were experiencing was inappropriate and tense, and I didn't want to deal with it. I guided her to our room. "You've had a rough day, and I've got some things to do. Get some sleep and I'll see you at dinner." Her body flinched and her shoulders sagged. "OK," she said softly. She leaned against the woodwork, her back still to me. I let her go. Suddenly she looked very old. I tried to shake the image as I headed out the door.

[Man, my wife is such a drag. Does she think her life is a sequel to Working Girl? Maybe if she bagged cans at the local Pick 'n Save, she wouldn't have such tired skin and poor posture. My mistress is beautiful and smart and reflective and doesn't look a day older than 31. She isn't concerned with piddly matters like career advancement.]

[Also, mad props to TasterSpoon for planting the Working Girl reference in my head.]

* * *

Kay was dancing when I arrived at her house. She laughed as she grabbed my hands and spun herself around me. The radio was playing an old Beatles song. "Money can't buy me love, can't buy me love," she sang. I pulled her to me and dipped her.

Life was fun with Kay. We went out all the time, or when no one was home [like the night her son was raping my daughter], we stayed at her house. Just last weekend we put up her Christmas tree.

[Because baby Jesus loves it when adulterers come together to honor his birth with flashing lights.]

A slower song came on, and we swayed to the rhythm. [Name that tune! I vote for "That's the Way Love Goes" by Miss Janet Jackson. What? It could totally follow a Beatles song!] "You're not well," she said.

"No," I agreed. "But you help me a lot." I hugged her. "Thank you."

"Cass is mad at me. She says I'm breaking up your family."

[Cass! Kay and Cass! Michael, why have you allowed your throbbing penis to drown out the warning sirens that should be ringing in your ears?]

"My problems with Jenna started long before you met me."

Kay stopped and stood still. "This isn't gonna work, is it." It was a statement, and she sounded sad. "We're never gonna be able to be together without hurting our families."

"Don't say that," I cried, dismayed. "We CAN be together." I paused, then said slowly, "I think I'm in love with you. You can't leave me now."

She stared at me for a few moments, her expression unreadable. Finally she smiled and kissed my cheek. "Thank you," she said.

I carried her in my arms and went to her room. I laid her on the bed gently and held her. We were both a little nervous. Kay voiced our thoughts. "I'll understand if it's because of Jenna that you don't want to," she whispered, running her hands over my chest. I shook my head and kissed her passionately. She didn't pull away.

[Surprise, surprise.]

We came together for the very first time. She fell asleep in my arms, and I was happy.

CHAPTER TEN - KATHERINE

I clutched the toilet on my knees, feeling my breakfast leave my body again. I felt dizzy and weak, laying on the bathroom floor when it was all over. The light blinded my eyes, but I didn't bother to cover them. "God, if you're there, I need you now," I whispered.

The time between now and the rape was still kind of blurry. I went to school but couldn't concentrate. Shannon couldn't figure out my mood swings. My mother found a job at the local Burger King and was putting in tons of overtime, so although she noticed me, she didn't see me. [So deep!] Dad's been acting funny, too. He's never home, and he's always showering when he comes home. I think he's having an affair; I can tell Mom does, too, because she doesn't kiss him anymore when he comes home from work anymore. They never go out. It's like watching two strangers interact. My sister doesn't seem to care. Leigh's always out with her friends since no one's home to check on her. Lucas just looks confused. I do what I can, but I have my own problems. He watches reruns of 'Growing Pains' and 'Family Ties' and seems very, very sad.

[If ever a family belonged in the Dr. Phil house, it would be this one.]

As for me, I'm sick. Throwing up all the time, eating like a pig, crying constantly. It'd be easy just to deny it, but that would be stupid, and I'm not a stupid girl. [Except for when I missed seeing my own damn name on those hidden adoption papers.] It's better to face things head on. Those were the thoughts swimming in my head as I picked myself up off the floor, put on a jacket and headed to the store. I spent my last twenty bucks [!] on "First Response" and managed not to be seen.

[When I was a kid, I saw an after-school special on HBO about a girl who thought she was pregnant but was too embarrassed to pay for a test at the register, so she snuck one into her jacket and left a ten-dollar bill in its place. Is it wrong that I thought that was cool?]

At home, I checked the time. 9:30 A.M. Screw school. [Like father, like daughter!] No one was home to make me go, and my future was much more important. I read the directions. I had to pee on a stick (provided by the box, how thoughtful). [Honey, that stick is the test. Peeing on anything else just means you're weird.] A plus meant to expect a new addition. A minus meant better luck next time. Seeing as I had nothing left in my system, I couldn't see how I could manage to do the first part. After five glasses of OJ, though, I succeeded. When I finished, I set the stick on the bathroom sink. I didn't want to look. I couldn't be a mom; I was 15! How could I go to school? Have a life? Tell my parents? Face Kyle?

My body flinched when I thought of Kyle. Never had my heart ached for (and hated so much) one person. It was terrible. We ignored each other at school; I couldn't stand to look at him.

It was hard for me to breathe, and I shook uncontrollably, but I didn't cry. I hadn't shed a tear over anything that had happened, and for that I was glad. It made me feel more in control.

I needed someone. Shannon came to mind. I missed my best friend, but there was nothing she could do. I had to be strong for myself. I grabbed the stick and stared at it, long and hard. I blinked, shook my head and pinched myself, but the plus sign didn't change.

For the second time that morning [actually third, but who's counting?], I vomitted.

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I leave you with that pleasant image as I prepare to embark on my four-day vacation, with promises to eat lots of fudge.

In which I ponder moving to Canada. I hear mothers get one year of PAID leave there.

This morning I finally gathered the courage to speak to my human resources manager about an issue that's been troubling me for weeks.

Maternity leave.

First, some backstory.

It's no secret to anyone who reads this blog that the idea of being a stay-at-home mom has always appealed me. I grew up the oldest of five children with a mother worked maybe six months the entire time I lived at home, and I appreciate that she was there when we came home from school, there to see us perform in assemblies, there to put a hot dinner on the table for us every night. I loved having that mom, and I feel passionately about providing a similar environment for my own family.

When I first proposed the idea to Luke, he was supportive of the concept but worried about the money. When he first moved to Indianapolis and was searching for work, we were able to live on what I made with little problem, but we'd never had to do the reverse. Once we crunched the numbers and reviewed the data, I was shocked, because even though he has a great position that requires a college degree and years of professional experience, he works for a non-profit group and thus earns a wage that's not enough for a family of three to live on and still afford insurance. Hell, it'd be hard for even two.

And yet I was still determined to make it work. I was heartbroken over the thought of having my motherhood dream taken away from me. "Besides, it's not like you'd be willing to quit your job and stay home in my place," I said accusingly.

Only, as luck would have it, he was, which threw my desired family plan into a complete tailspin.

For as long as I'd been sniffing baby heads, I'd never really considered working after my first child was born, for a lot of reasons, but mainly because I never thought I'd have to. I always assumed that by the time we were ready to have kids, my husband's income would be enough to financially support us. I never imagined a scenario where we'd need two incomes to survive. I also never imagined marrying a man who'd eagerly "switch roles" and take on the role of primary caregiver while I took the corporate world by storm. But there it was, right in front of us, this new solution I'd never believed to be available, this new solution that looks like it's going to be the best fit for us.

What does all of this have to do with my maternity leave?

A lot. Once we decided to follow through with our new family plan, I realized the FMLA time I take after Freke's birth may be the only time I get to be a stay-at-home mother, so when Luke and I discussed the length of my leave, I was adamant about wanting the full twelve weeks. Even though not one cent of it will be paid.

I don't know any woman who's taken twelve weeks of maternity leave. In my experience, most take six weeks off and go back to work. When my mother's youngest sister had her daughter in the late nineties, she took three. THREE! But never twelve. I remember following Amalah's pregnancy and feeling a sense of awe that her employer "let her" stay away from the office for three months. That's like a whole season! Can people really DO that?

Turns out they can. Like I said waaaay back at the beginning of this entry, I spoke with HR this morning, and I outlined my situation, and the manager was totally supportive. It wasn't until then that it hit me how scared I was that work would be ticked off at me for requesting "so much time off," like I was a little girl who wanted a candy bar but was afraid of having my hand slapped and being told "No." Imagine my delight upon learning that if I want the leave, I have the leave, and there's not a damn thing anyone can do about it. I was so happy, I almost shed a tear in her office.

Luke and I will have to pad our savings account well before December 10th to make this happen, but we have enough time and dispensable income (right now, anyway) that money won't be a problem. We've even started discussing how long Luke might want to join the baby and me at home, so we can prepare for that, too.

During my meeting, I learned a surprising fact: it just so happens that I am the first person at my company to request the entire amount of available FMLA time. For an organization that's been around for almost twenty years, I'm once again in awe, only this feeling is tinged with sadness, because how many mothers would choose to spend more time recuperating from childbirth and adjusting to life with a new baby if they could? How many women have to go back to work because they can't afford not to?

I have a lot of thoughts swirling around in my head about this topic that'll probably inspire a series of posts in the near future. For now, though, I want to hear YOUR stories. Mothers and fathers out there, how long did you take off work to care for a new baby? Did you find yourself wanting more time, or were you ready to go back earlier? For those without children, what's it like when a co-worker takes maternity/paternity leave? Are people resentful? Supportive? Or just happy about extra vacancies in the company parking lot?

Everything-But-the-Kitchen-Sink Wednesday

So, I tried on my swimsuit for the first time this year, and you know what?

I totally look pregnant in it.

Parading around my bedroom in front of our full-length mirror, marveling at the lessening gap between my gut rolls, I couldn't stop gazing at myself, couldn't stop rubbing my belly. I've taken the tests, I've heard the heartbeat, I've lost my dinner more times than I can count, and yet, it was like discovering I was pregnant for the first time. Like, oh my God, something is totally growing inside of me.

Needless to say, it's time for a new swimsuit.

(And since I'll be at the mall anyway, new underwear. My pants fit fine, but the skivvies are cutting off my circulation. When will Victoria's Secret wise up and start a maternity line?)

Things are at an even keel around here, as far as weight goes.

WEIGHT ON 2/28: 135.6
CURRENT WEIGHT: 129.4
TOTAL PREGNANCY POUNDS GAINED: -6.2

Lunch is getting harder and harder to plan for, as soups of all textures and flavors currently turn my stomach and frozen dinners and sandwiches sound as appealing as chunks of cardboard, so I've been trying to make do with apples, nectarines, yogurt, and a Ziplock bag stuffed with pickles until it's time to go home. This afternoon I broke down and spent five dollars and ten cents on three cheeseburgers, an order of mozzarella sticks, and a small fry from White Castle, but two bites into my second burger Freke sent a stern message via my digestive tract advising me to make wiser choices in the future. Can this really be a child of mine? Next thing you know it'll be jonesing for seafood. I love this baby, but not that much, you know?

I've also been busy pouring through potential texts for my blogging class this fall, as you can tell by the endless list of Amazon links on my About page. I didn't take any education classes in college or grad school, so teaching is brand-spanking new to me, and I'm terrified I won't have enough material to keep my students engaged for two and a half hours a week for thirteen weeks. Worse, I'm afraid my tendency to stumble over my words and talk too fast in front of large groups will give these undergrads the impression that I'm a complete and total idiot. And I'm not, I promise you I'm not, no matter what your mom might tell you.

Here are some of the topics I plan to address:

• The origin of blogs
• Popular technical features
• Available blogging technologies
• How blogs have influenced politics, business, advertising/marketing, and communications
• Web standards
• Copyright protection
• Privacy/safety issues
• Blogging versus the traditional personal essay
• Creative writing versus blogging
• Money-making opportunities

If you were taking my class, what else would you expect/hope to learn about blogging? Inquiring minds want to know.

Let's see, what else can I blab about? Luke and I are still waiting to see a two-bedroom apartment on hold for us within our complex, an apartment that's been vacant since May 13th but for some reason still isn't presentable enough to view. Whether it's this unit or another one, though, we are set to move on the last weekend of the month, and every few days or so one of us questions our decision. On one hand, we can get rid of a few items in our current place and find room for a crib and a Pack 'n Play, but on the other hand, wanting to have a kitchen table isn't that outrageous a desire, is it? On one hand, it'd be nice to save the extra ninety-five dollars a month a bigger apartment will require, but on the other hand, how long can two adults and a baby live in 675 square feet without somebody requesting a divorce or parental emancipation?

Round and round and round we go with the whole discussion until we realize that we just plain want the extra space because car seats and strollers and dressers and cribs can't be stored in our hall closet, so we are moving and that's the end of that.

Of course, too much space could also be an issue, as evidenced by the movie First Born starring Elisabeth Shue, which Luke and I rented and watched on Monday night. I'm a sucker for films revolving around demon-baby plots, and since the DVD's cover art featued an upside-down cross in the title and a tagline of "Stay away from the baby," I thought for sure I'd hit the supernatural jackpot. Only not so much.

The movie is centered around a couple of ritzy city-dwellers who find out they're with child and move to the suburbs, in a house larger than your local Dominick's, to provide a safe environment for their budding family.

(Spoilers ahead, in case you care.)

Elisabeth Shue goes into premature labor after tripping over rocks in her lawn and receives an emergency c-section. The nurse who shows her how to breastfeed tells her "it's all downhill from here." Her asshole husband--who had previously PROMISED to take time off when the baby arrived--leaves for work at six in the morning and never comes home earlier than ten. She develops mastitis. She accidentally locks herself in the basement while her daughter cries in her crib upstairs. She runs to the store and forgets to take the baby into the house. The doctors she contacts for help cut off the ends of her sentences. She finds an abandoned doll on the subway and takes it home, but it has a hard time staying in the same damn place. And through it all we're led to believe Elisabeth's Shues troubles might be caused by spirits in the new house or a manipulative witch masquerading as a kindly, elderly baby-sitter.

In the end she buries her baby in the backyard, thinking it's the doll, so my bet is on post-partum depression.

Probably not the best flick to see when you're one week away from your second trimester. We should've gone with Fast Food Nation.

Apparently all I needed was a little cuddle time with the television

Because after I came home from work on Friday, bawled on my couch for ten minutes for reasons I could barely explain to my own husband, and satisfied my flair for the dramatic with a non-negotiable daily dose of All My Children, all was right with the world. Luke made pizza for dinner, and we watched some Law and Order, and then we spent the rest of the night taking turns on the Wii, he with the newest Legend of Zelda game, me with a download of the original NES Ninja Gaiden, which, may I say, is much more fun to play on the Wii because the hard drive will save your progress. Which means I can continue to try my hand at beating the multi-armed samurai featured in the first world of the fourth level until the end of time.

Saturday was spent doing much of the same, so much of the same, in fact, that neither one of us hit the showers until five o'clock. Luke passed out a few hours later while I warped back in time to the year 1990, the year I discovered the first, the best, the video-game-princess-I-love-more-than-life-itself Zelda, whose graphics are refreshingly one-dimensional and music is catchier than any chart topper on contemporary radio. I couldn't put down my controller until four pieces of the triforce were charged to my care. For intellectual stimulation, we watched Thank You for Smoking (fantastic) and the last few episodes of Big Love (I can't believe I have to wait a freakin' year before the second season is over and available on DVD to find out if the families will be driven out of Utah for their now publicly polygamous ways and how Margie's pregnancy affects her status with the other two wives, who currently treat her like a five-year-old preparing for her first day of kindergarten on a daily basis. Also, I still think Nicki's a bitch, but it was really cool to watch her stand up to Barb's sister, and she actually looked very pretty for the "Beehive Mother of the Year" awards ceremony). I didn't leave our apartment for the entire day. Luke ventured out to the supermarket in the morning, for cinnamon rolls. Bliss.

Our Sunday was equally glorious. We purposefully showered before noon so we could go out to lunch and see a matinee screening of Pirates of the Caribbean: At World's End, which I thought was a lot of fun and much more worth my money than Spider-Man 3; good thing, too, because by the time the lights went up Luke and I were already engaged in a full-fledged sprint to the bathroom, which caused us to miss a pivotal scene that aired after the ending credits and is rumored to tie up a few loose ends in the plot, which means we will probably see it one more time before the conclusion of its theater run. We ended our day with dinner, dishes, and bills, the latter two chores being mine, and it was a pleasure doing both because Luke has been so good about keeping up on things around here while I moan on the couch, and the dishes were the result of steak and roasted potatoes and I wanted to show my appreciation for his hard work in the kitchen. Also, it was the first time since this whole "morning sickness" started that I actually approached our bills with vigor; as I write out checks and balance our register, I'm always reminded of how lucky we are that we can meet our financial obligations and still put a respectable portion of our earnings into our savings account.

So basically it took me three paragraphs to tell you that I'm feeling much better, and it can only go uphill from here, as Luke and I are leaving on Friday morning for a four-day romp through western Michigan and Mackinac Island, home to the best fudge on Earth. This trip is most likely going to be the last one we take before the baby's arrival, and by George, we're going to make every second count. For real, peeps.

Tragic Love Friday: Now with a little help from my friends

Man, my posting sucked this week, didn't it? Things were a little crazy at work as we wrapped up filming for our marketing videos, and in general I've been feeling pretty blue, which means events primed to turn on the water works range from being called "poochy" to scratching my right eye with my apparently-too-sharp fingernail, so blogging has fallen off to the wayside a little. I hope to boost my spirits over the next couple of days by splashing around in the pool. Of course, putting on the swim suit could be a traumatic experience as well. My life is so wild and unpredictable!

Since I skipped out on Wednesday's weight update, here are the numbers today:

WEIGHT ON 2/28: 135.6
CURRENT WEIGHT: 129.8
TOTAL PREGNANCY POUNDS GAINED: -5.8

This is the lowest recording I've seen since my Weight Watchers days, and when you remember that my normal weight is usually closer to 138, the loss is even more startling. It's still difficult to eat much in one sitting and even harder to muster up an appetite when I'm not sure what's going to agree with the baby. Freke might just be pickier than me.

Anyway, with all this fatigue and self-pity I've got going on, the idea of typing out TLF today almost pushed me over the edge. Luckily, I have fabulous readers who suggested I copy the pages and fax them over ASAP. That's exactly what Jennifer of Operation Pink Herring did, and I was happy to take her up on it. She even provided commentary, so this week you have the pleasure of Jenn's AND Frema's keen insights. Please remember to thank her in the comments for being so damn awesome.

Since Jenn did the honors, her comments will appear in the traditional bracket form. I'll pepper a few doozies here and there that'll be highlighted in green.

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CHAPTER EIGHT - JENNA CONTINUED

SLAM!

I jumped up as I heard the slamming of the front door. A moment later, Michael entered our room.  "Hi," he said, throwing his shoes by the bed. "Sorry I'm so late. I had parent conferences 'til nine, then I finished grading some papers."

I glanced at the clock, not looking at him.  "Until 12:30, Michael?"

"I hit the bar when I was done."

I studied my nails as if they were the most fascinating thing in the world. "I heard about a fairly old invention the other day. I THINK it's called a phone, but I could be wrong." [Holy passive-aggression, Batman! With a side of cliché!]

"I'm sorry."

"Bullshit, Michael! You should have called! For the first time in weeks, I'm home on time, and you knew that! I thought we would catch up, make time for each other!" [Whoa, Jenna, since when does the entire world revolve around your Folgers account?] I picked up his shoe and threw it at him. [That will teach him to just throw his shoes by the bed! I bet Jenna has asked him a million times to put them in the closet.] He ducked, and the shoe broke a picture frame and sent it crashing to the floor. Our wedding picture. How appropriate.

[From passive-aggression to domestic violence in three seconds flat! Impressive.]

"Nice, Jenna. Very adult." He glared at me as I knelt down to pick up the pieces of broken glass. 

"How come just because you finally decide to come home at a decent hour, I have to be available to you? When was the last time you left work because I only had a half day?"  I didn't reply, just kept picking up the glass. When it was all picked up, I threw it away in the kitchen. Michael was holding my nightie when I returned. He no longer looked angery. "You had something planned, didn't you?" he asked softly. [It's my fault, baby. I made you do it. Please forgive me.]

"It was nothing important." [Aw, Jenna, don't say that.  False modesty doesn't become you.]

"Come on, Jen. Don't shut me out. Talk to me." [If my spouse had thrown an object at my head, I am not sure I'd be interested in talking. Way to be the bigger person, Michael.]  He sat next to me on the bed.

Frema says: Oh, Jennifer, he's only being a bigger person because the "bar" he "hit" wears a 36C bra.

"OK, fine. I made a nice dinner, dressed up a little. I thought tonight would be special. You not even calling kind of ruined it. That's all. No big deal." [When it's a big deal, I'll use a shotgun instead of a measly shoe!] I started to cry. He went to put his arms around me, but I pushed him away. "Don't try to comfort me or say that you're sorry. Just let me be."

"I can't. Let's fix this tonight. I don't want to go to bed angry." [Next time on Dr. Phil: how to repair your tattered, unfaithful marriage in one night! The new miracle technique all the therapists are talking about!]

Frema says: He just wants to have two pieces of ass in the same night.

"Angery?" I was amazed. "What in the hell have I done to make you angry? [Um, shoe? Flying through the air? Broken glass?] And who says you're sleeping in a bed tonight?"

"I'm ANGERY because you've let work push your family aside. I'm ANGERY because you don't talk to me anymore! I don't know what you're feeling or what you want. You need to help me out." [I love Lil' Frema's spelling of ANGERY. It's like anger, with a little extra GRRR.]

Frema says: Don't you hate it when your mistress acts like a better wife than your actual wife?

"By now, Michael, you shouldn't need my help! You should be able to understand me!" [Honestly, Michael. I don't even know why we paid for all those mind-reading classes!]

"I can't! You make it impossible!"

"Screw you!" I raised a hand to hit him. He stared into my eyes.

"Go ahead. Hit me if it helps any. I deserve it."

Frema says: You sure do, you bastard. Jenna still owes you from part one!

"Yes, you do." But I lowered my hand. "But it won't help." This time I allowed him to hold me as I sobbed. I didn't want to argue anymore.