(or, rather Thoughts on a Second)
Well here we are, less than a week from my Official Due Date, and I've got an already-week-old newborn laying next to me on the bed.
(Turns out all that week 37 nesting wasn't jumping the gun, after all.)
I'll get around to Little Brother's Birth Story in the next month or so, but in the meantime I wanted to ruminate a bit on how The Second Time Is Different (At Least for Me).
First of all, let me assure you, Gentle Readers, that I absolutely do love Little Brother as much as I love TLG; I do not see him as a threat to TLG's resources; and basically everything everyone told me about how It Was All Going to Be Okay, was totally true.
So thank goodness for that!
Now that we have that out of the way, the main thing I've noticed is how much easier it is to enjoy the newborn stage. I'll admit: I was kind of dreading having a newborn again. I kept repeating the phrase, "Boring torture" to describe my recollection of the experience. Fortunately for me that's not really the case this time around- due to a combination of factors, I think. I'm just so much more chill, because I've been here, survived that- already learned all the diapering tricks, the nursing hacks, and how to recognize the all-importance Emergence of Patterns. So I can spend less time freaking out about The Right Way To Do Things, and more time just appreciating his ultra-soft-skin and long, mobile toes.
The other thing is that, in retrospect, I'm pretty sure I was suffering from Postpartum Anxiety with TLG. At the time Nathan and I were on High Alert for me to develop Postpartum Depression (given my history with depression in general it didn't seem like a stretch), but I didn't even know that PPA was a thing. I just thought all parents felt like I felt- that literally any time I didn't have eyes on my child he was probably dead and it was all my fault. I thought that all new parents would lay in bed, terrified to move because if they got up and checked then the baby would actually be dead, and not just... probably dead.
Yeah. I thought that malarkey was normal. That is not normal. And the fact that I thought it was normal just goes to show how screwed up my brain had gotten.
I do not feel that way now, thank all the stars. I think I now have actually normal levels of anxiety- I only check to see if he's breathing like once, maybe twice a day, instead of constantly. I can sleep at night (in two hour increments, sure, but I will take it) rather than having a hideous "my child died in his sleep" movies playing on permanent repeat in my brain.
It makes for a much more relaxing experience all-around.
8.25.2019
8.10.2019
Pride (Words for a Memorial Gathering)
(As always, this is what I wrote, but not necessarily what I said.)
***
When I was young child, I felt sorry for the kids who had two "Grandmas". How confusing it must be, to have the same name for two different people, always having to throw on a modifier to clarify who you were talking about. I took smug pride in my possession of an "Oma", obviously the superior arrangement- just as German was obviously the superior ancestry.
***
When I was young child, I felt sorry for the kids who had two "Grandmas". How confusing it must be, to have the same name for two different people, always having to throw on a modifier to clarify who you were talking about. I took smug pride in my possession of an "Oma", obviously the superior arrangement- just as German was obviously the superior ancestry.
Oma and I got along brilliantly when I was small: she taught me about important things like proper silverware etiquette, the best kind of bread to feed ducks, and how to behave in a sauna. She would spend hours cooking and baking with me, or watching the dramatic performances I dragged my little brother into, or swimming with me in pools and lakes. She would blow bubbles for me to chase, and we were special friends. Our relationship was a simple one, and easy. We loved one another.
As I got older, and began the transition into adulthood, it became apparent that I had a lot in common with Oma- and that commonality lead to, shall we say, friction. Both of us smart, both of us strong-willed, both of us so certain we were right. I struggled between wanting so badly for her to be proud of me, and not wanting to care at all what she thought. She would bait me, and I would overreact. Our relationship was a complex one, and not easy. We loved one another.
I got older still, undeniably a woman by anyone's measure. I brought Nathan into the family and I swear- I swear that was the best thing I ever did for my relationship with Oma. She adored him, and her adoration of him made her think better of my decision-making abilities. And I was more confident in my self and my life choices, less likely to take offense where none was intended, and more able to laugh things off. Our relationship became mature, and good. We loved one another.
And then, almost four years ago, I had my son, TLG. Oma was getting older, more physically fragile- she couldn't play with her youngest great-grandson in the garden as she had with me, but she could- and did- admire him as he wore her own son's handed-down lederhosen; could give him little cars to play with; could blow bubbles for him to chase. Their relationship was a simple one, and easy. They loved one another- and it enriched my love for her. I think seeing me as a mother enriched her love for me, as well. Our mutual respect deepened, and we were proud to be called similar.
The last time I saw Oma, she was in a garden, surrounded by people she loved, and who loved her. TLG was using Opa's cane as a wizard's staff, magically "turning" us into various animals. Opa became an elephant, Nathan a newt- but then TLG turned to Oma (better known to him as Ur-Uma), and said, "Poof! You're a lion!" and she smiled and laughed, tired from her recent medical ordeals, but delighted by his choice.
A lion, I thought. How appropriate. Not just because she was born under the sign of Leo, but because she was strong and fierce like a lioness, protecting and providing for her family, her pride. Queen of her surroundings by sheer force of will- and the ability to roar when necessary.
She is gone now, which adds some complexity back into our relationship, but the love remains as strong as ever.
As does the pride.
8.09.2019
Mini-Memorial
We are getting ready for bed, and I am explaining to TLG that tomorrow we are going to up to Olympia, to see Ur-Opa.
"I think he must be very sad," says TLG.
"Yes, he is," says Nathan.
"He will need a big hug," I add. "You can tell him you're sorry that Ur-Oma died, and that you love him. That might help him feel a little okay."
I go on to say that we will be dressed up nicely, because we will be going to a Memorial Service, where we will share memories and stories about Ur-Oma.
"Why?" he asks.
"Because that is what you do, when someone you love dies," I say. "You tell stories about them, and remember, and it helps with the sadness."
"Me too?" he asks.
"You can if you want to," I respond. "Do you have a story about Ur-Oma you'd like to share?"
"Yes," he says, with all the innate, unflappable confidence of a 3-year-old.
"What story would you like to share?"
He hesitates. "Um," he says, obviously thinking hard. "Ur-Oma died,"
"Yes she did," I say. "But did you want to share a memory about her?" His little brow furrows, and he continues to think.
"Hugs," he says at last.
"She gave you hugs?" I ask, just to clarify. "And you liked them?"
"Yes!" He beams up at me, pleased with his answer, and my comprehension. I smile at him, stroking his hair and thinking, it took me nearly two hours to write the tribute I plan on delivering tomorrow... but his is probably better.
"I think he must be very sad," says TLG.
"Yes, he is," says Nathan.
"He will need a big hug," I add. "You can tell him you're sorry that Ur-Oma died, and that you love him. That might help him feel a little okay."
I go on to say that we will be dressed up nicely, because we will be going to a Memorial Service, where we will share memories and stories about Ur-Oma.
"Why?" he asks.
"Because that is what you do, when someone you love dies," I say. "You tell stories about them, and remember, and it helps with the sadness."
"Me too?" he asks.
"You can if you want to," I respond. "Do you have a story about Ur-Oma you'd like to share?"
"Yes," he says, with all the innate, unflappable confidence of a 3-year-old.
"What story would you like to share?"
He hesitates. "Um," he says, obviously thinking hard. "Ur-Oma died,"
"Yes she did," I say. "But did you want to share a memory about her?" His little brow furrows, and he continues to think.
"Hugs," he says at last.
"She gave you hugs?" I ask, just to clarify. "And you liked them?"
"Yes!" He beams up at me, pleased with his answer, and my comprehension. I smile at him, stroking his hair and thinking, it took me nearly two hours to write the tribute I plan on delivering tomorrow... but his is probably better.
8.06.2019
Nesting With My (Big) Baby Bird
This weekend was devoted to capital-N Nesting. Like, I even wrote it on the calendar, you guys- that's how serious about it I was; no work appointments today, by golly- I have a car seat to clean and install!
I made a whole To Do List, which is not in and of itself particularly surprising (To Do Lists are How I Roll), but I did have some doubts about my ability to get all the way through it, given my Extremely Pregnant and Slightly Anemic State. But I did get through it, Gentle Readers- I did! Everything on the list got checked off! And what's more, I didn't do it alone- Nathan helped quite a bit, but (more importantly to this particular blog entry) TLG helped, too.
One of my main tasks was to wash all of the newborn-to-three-month-old-clothes that I'd saved from TLG's infancy (/since received in anticipation of Little Brother's arrival), and TLG stood right there with me, happily transferring all the tiny little outfits from the hamper into the washing machine, one after the other. And then he later transferred them into the dryer, and finally back into the clean-clothes hamper He is delighting in his impending role of Big Brother, and it makes me so, so happy to see him so happy. I can only hope the delight will survive Little Brother's actual arrival...
We are now 100% ready for Little Brother to arrive, at least from a purely pragmatic point of view: car seat installed, bassinet set up, clothes washed, diapers and wipes ready and waiting. Really, when it comes right down to it, everything else is gravy, and since TLG got himself born at just shy of 39 weeks, I felt getting The Essentials set up before the end of week 37 was just good sense (please no one laugh too hard if Little Brother decides not to make an appearance until after his official due date...). There are other things I'd like to get done before D-Day (that's D for Delivery, you know) but I'm not going to sweat it if I don't get around to them. (#parentingveteran, amiright?)
Now, in terms of emotional preparedness... that's another topic, entirely. I find it interesting that I seem to have greater affection for this unborn child than I did for TLG at the same stage, a feeling which I can only credit to TLG already expressing his pure and uncomplicated love for Little Brother. He hugs my belly, kisses it, giggles delightedly when he feels kicks or sees movement, and talks excitedly about how Little Brother will be born this month! I see his love, and of course I love what my child loves (hence my re-found ability to discuss dinosaurs at great length), so therefore I love this newest uterine pirate in a way I was incapable of fathoming during my pregnancy with TLG. Plus, you know... after two miscarriages I believe I was holding myself at a Bit of a Protective Reserve, whereas now I know it's entirely possible this baby will make it! Woo!
But even as I'm feeling all this warmth and affection for Little Brother, at the same time I also have very real concerns about my ability to love him as much as I love TLG, once Little Brother becomes a reality rather than an idea. Intellectually I understand that hormones will eventually kick in and I'll love him unreservedly, just as I did TLG, but my heart worries I'll only ever see him as a threat to TLG's resources, and never be able to bond properly.
I'm told this is a common (and entirely unfounded) concern.
Here's hoping.
I made a whole To Do List, which is not in and of itself particularly surprising (To Do Lists are How I Roll), but I did have some doubts about my ability to get all the way through it, given my Extremely Pregnant and Slightly Anemic State. But I did get through it, Gentle Readers- I did! Everything on the list got checked off! And what's more, I didn't do it alone- Nathan helped quite a bit, but (more importantly to this particular blog entry) TLG helped, too.
One of my main tasks was to wash all of the newborn-to-three-month-old-clothes that I'd saved from TLG's infancy (/since received in anticipation of Little Brother's arrival), and TLG stood right there with me, happily transferring all the tiny little outfits from the hamper into the washing machine, one after the other. And then he later transferred them into the dryer, and finally back into the clean-clothes hamper He is delighting in his impending role of Big Brother, and it makes me so, so happy to see him so happy. I can only hope the delight will survive Little Brother's actual arrival...
We are now 100% ready for Little Brother to arrive, at least from a purely pragmatic point of view: car seat installed, bassinet set up, clothes washed, diapers and wipes ready and waiting. Really, when it comes right down to it, everything else is gravy, and since TLG got himself born at just shy of 39 weeks, I felt getting The Essentials set up before the end of week 37 was just good sense (please no one laugh too hard if Little Brother decides not to make an appearance until after his official due date...). There are other things I'd like to get done before D-Day (that's D for Delivery, you know) but I'm not going to sweat it if I don't get around to them. (#parentingveteran, amiright?)
Now, in terms of emotional preparedness... that's another topic, entirely. I find it interesting that I seem to have greater affection for this unborn child than I did for TLG at the same stage, a feeling which I can only credit to TLG already expressing his pure and uncomplicated love for Little Brother. He hugs my belly, kisses it, giggles delightedly when he feels kicks or sees movement, and talks excitedly about how Little Brother will be born this month! I see his love, and of course I love what my child loves (hence my re-found ability to discuss dinosaurs at great length), so therefore I love this newest uterine pirate in a way I was incapable of fathoming during my pregnancy with TLG. Plus, you know... after two miscarriages I believe I was holding myself at a Bit of a Protective Reserve, whereas now I know it's entirely possible this baby will make it! Woo!
But even as I'm feeling all this warmth and affection for Little Brother, at the same time I also have very real concerns about my ability to love him as much as I love TLG, once Little Brother becomes a reality rather than an idea. Intellectually I understand that hormones will eventually kick in and I'll love him unreservedly, just as I did TLG, but my heart worries I'll only ever see him as a threat to TLG's resources, and never be able to bond properly.
I'm told this is a common (and entirely unfounded) concern.
Here's hoping.
7.21.2019
Listening to Sad Music So That I Can Cry
My Oma died today.
(Oma, of course, being the German word for Grandmother: in this instance my Mom's Mom.)
It wasn't a surprise at all- she'd had a stroke back in May, was hospitalized/in rehab for about six weeks, and we all knew that basically the goal was to get her well enough to come home to die.
And she did. So at least there's that.
I got the call while I was at the playground. Nathan and I had taken TLG and my best friend's son (whom we were babysitting this weekend) to run off some energy, and thank all the gods Nathan was literally standing right next to me when I got the call, able to put his arm around me and be a solid presence grounding me.
It was my mom, and her voice when she said hello- I knew. And I cracked a joke because that's how we roll, and we both laughed and cried and then I had to lock that shit down because I had two little boys I had just told I was taking for ice cream.
I'm proud of my ability to compartmentalize- it is extremely useful is emergency situations. But the problem is that it's a lot harder to unlock that emotional box than it is to lock it in the first place.
Even after we were back to our typical Family Unit of Three, with Nathan occupying TLG downstairs so that I could have some Alone Time upstairs... nothing. Numbness. And I feel like I can't talk about it with TLG until I can express honest emotion. Right now I'm too detached, too clinical. I a not a healthy model of grief.
Hence I'm now working on this blog entry, forcing myself to face and process things, and listening to sad music for good measure. Sometimes you just have to artificially jump start the emotions before they'll flow properly. Priming a pump, or something. I don't know. I don't have it in me to make elegant metaphors, at the moment.
And just like that, it's working.
(Oma, of course, being the German word for Grandmother: in this instance my Mom's Mom.)
It wasn't a surprise at all- she'd had a stroke back in May, was hospitalized/in rehab for about six weeks, and we all knew that basically the goal was to get her well enough to come home to die.
And she did. So at least there's that.
I got the call while I was at the playground. Nathan and I had taken TLG and my best friend's son (whom we were babysitting this weekend) to run off some energy, and thank all the gods Nathan was literally standing right next to me when I got the call, able to put his arm around me and be a solid presence grounding me.
It was my mom, and her voice when she said hello- I knew. And I cracked a joke because that's how we roll, and we both laughed and cried and then I had to lock that shit down because I had two little boys I had just told I was taking for ice cream.
I'm proud of my ability to compartmentalize- it is extremely useful is emergency situations. But the problem is that it's a lot harder to unlock that emotional box than it is to lock it in the first place.
Even after we were back to our typical Family Unit of Three, with Nathan occupying TLG downstairs so that I could have some Alone Time upstairs... nothing. Numbness. And I feel like I can't talk about it with TLG until I can express honest emotion. Right now I'm too detached, too clinical. I a not a healthy model of grief.
Hence I'm now working on this blog entry, forcing myself to face and process things, and listening to sad music for good measure. Sometimes you just have to artificially jump start the emotions before they'll flow properly. Priming a pump, or something. I don't know. I don't have it in me to make elegant metaphors, at the moment.
And just like that, it's working.
6.27.2019
Counting Down 65 Days
or: Yes! I'm Pregnant Again!
Hey, remember how last time I was all, "turns out I'm really terrible about not mentioning the pregnancy while I blog,"? Well that remains a true statement, hence the extremely extended silence. But I let the fetal cat out of the social media bag this past Sunday, so here I am doing a write-up on the blog. And it's important to me that I start blogging with regularity again, since it's so fun to look back at TLG's first year of life through my in-the-moment lens. I'm trying not to shortchange this new one, whom we are calling Little Brother amongst our little family, but whom I'll call LBB (aka Little Baby Boy) on the blog (for now- the TLG -formerly-known-as-Neeps taught me the folly of expecting pre-birth nicknames to stick).
Now with that out of the way, let's hit the other Typical Questions
-My due date is August 30th (aka 65 days from now) but based on past experience, I'm laying money on August 24th or sooner.
-As you may have surmised, it's another boy! We are freaking stoked, because (as I exclaimed during the anatomy scan) this means we don't have to learn a new set of genitals! Winning. Actually I have a funny story about this- TLG was dead set on having a little sister (he wanted to name her Rosie, of all things) so when we broke the news that Little Brother was, in fact, a little brother, he wailed, "Nooooo!" I got it all on video- priceless. But we talked him around by pointing out that I have a little brother (Uncle David, whom he adores) and Daddy is not just a little brother but the littlest brother, so now he's on board with the idea that little brothers can be cool, and more importantly, little brothers look up to big brothers, who get to teach them All The Things. We'll see how long this enthusiasm lasts once the squirming larva is actually here, but for now I'll take it!
-Just like with TLG, we have no clue what LBB's Real Life name will be. We have a list of names that we'll choose from once we actually meet him, but for now... LBB it is.
-Yes, this is the Last One. Steps Will Be Taken to ensure it, I assure you.
There, that ought to cover it, for now. Here's to our future adventures as a Family of Four!
 |
| All swanky at a Work Event. |
Hey, remember how last time I was all, "turns out I'm really terrible about not mentioning the pregnancy while I blog,"? Well that remains a true statement, hence the extremely extended silence. But I let the fetal cat out of the social media bag this past Sunday, so here I am doing a write-up on the blog. And it's important to me that I start blogging with regularity again, since it's so fun to look back at TLG's first year of life through my in-the-moment lens. I'm trying not to shortchange this new one, whom we are calling Little Brother amongst our little family, but whom I'll call LBB (aka Little Baby Boy) on the blog (for now- the TLG -formerly-known-as-Neeps taught me the folly of expecting pre-birth nicknames to stick).
Now with that out of the way, let's hit the other Typical Questions
-My due date is August 30th (aka 65 days from now) but based on past experience, I'm laying money on August 24th or sooner.
-As you may have surmised, it's another boy! We are freaking stoked, because (as I exclaimed during the anatomy scan) this means we don't have to learn a new set of genitals! Winning. Actually I have a funny story about this- TLG was dead set on having a little sister (he wanted to name her Rosie, of all things) so when we broke the news that Little Brother was, in fact, a little brother, he wailed, "Nooooo!" I got it all on video- priceless. But we talked him around by pointing out that I have a little brother (Uncle David, whom he adores) and Daddy is not just a little brother but the littlest brother, so now he's on board with the idea that little brothers can be cool, and more importantly, little brothers look up to big brothers, who get to teach them All The Things. We'll see how long this enthusiasm lasts once the squirming larva is actually here, but for now I'll take it!
-Just like with TLG, we have no clue what LBB's Real Life name will be. We have a list of names that we'll choose from once we actually meet him, but for now... LBB it is.
-Yes, this is the Last One. Steps Will Be Taken to ensure it, I assure you.
There, that ought to cover it, for now. Here's to our future adventures as a Family of Four!
6.16.2019
Father's Day 2019
(How's that for a distinctive title?)
It's been somewhat of an Emotionally Weird Father's Day.
Let me explain.
It's been five years since I've had a truly Terrible Father's Day- that being the one that occurred right after the second miscarriage, and Nathan and Katie and I got lunch at Red Lobster and the clueless waitress said brightly to us (a trio of extremely quiet, mid-thirties people eating lunch at 2pm with no children in our midst), "Are you here celebrating Father's Day?"
(Read the room, lady. Read the room.)
The 19 years preceding that, they'd run the gamut from "Crying most of the day," to "Hey who wants the day off because I will definitely take your shift and get some extra money out of this stupid made up holiday!"
But then TLG came along, and the game changed. Suddenly it was a Happy Day again, with an actual reason to celebrate, and warm, tender feelings for my Lifemate in his role as Lifegiver. It gives me great pleasure to be able to anticipate the made up holiday with joy and expectation, to be able to make it into a Special Day (or at least a day with Special Moments) for my mate. The Specialness I had planned for today was helping TLG make a card for Nathan, taking him to the second service of church so he could see Daddy play, and then going out to eat wherever Nathan wanted (not Red Lobster...) Nathan obviously left the house at his usual way-too-early time (since he plays for both services, and gets there early to run through things), so I was alone as TLG scarfed his breakfast downstairs and I ruminated my Costume Choices.
In the end I felt a very powerful call to wear an old shirt of my dad's leftover from his early Air Force days (Yep, a ~40 year old t-shirt. It has exactly one tiny hole in it, the result of a too-enthusiastic cat. They do not make things like they used to, that's for damn sure.) I didn't put much thought into it, just "Yes, this is a good shirt to wear today, to remember my father in a non-painful way."
But then... someone actually asked me about the shirt.
"Okay, I have to know," says the kind substitute pastor gesturing to my back. "Who is JP 13?"
"Oh," I blink, taken off guard by the question, and suddenly realizing it wasn't perhaps totally appropriate to wear a shirt that says, "The Hell We Can't" into my husband's church. "JP was my dad. And 13 was his..." I fumble for a way to translate into Civilian Terms. "...class... thing."
"Class of 2013?" The pastor eyes my obviously late-thirties-self with a smile. "I don't think so,"
"No no," I wave my hands helplessly. "Not the year. Their class number. Like a squadron. It was from some training he did after he graduated from the Air Force Academy. They... they got to design their own patches and..." I stretch the front of the shirt out, as though somehow he hasn't already noticed, "They chose squeezing blood from a turnip. Obviously. And I, uh... I decided to wear it in remembrance of him today." Sorry about the 'hell' thing, I add mentally.
"It's a wonderful remembrance," he says, and I like him that much more.
The conversation wrapped up pretty quickly thereafter, but the shock of it- of someone who doesn't know me asking, and me actually talking about my father- shifted my brain a bit. So that rather than "Okay thought about Daddy for 30 seconds this morning now I can put all my focus onto Nathan," it became more of a balance between the two. The bitter and the sweet. And I'm not saying it's bad, or that I'm upset it happened. But it added an emotional nuance to the day I wasn't expecting. And I may or may not have teared up a bit at the end of service when Nathan was talking to the congregation about what it means to be a good father.
Anyway.
Overall it was an extremely good day. We had (a very late) lunch at Thai Orchid, and then Nathan went to the guitar store for a few hours (because I firmly believe that Mother's and Father's Days ought to be about the parental figure in question doing something for themselves) while TLG and I hung out at home. And now I'm going to bed, because I am of an age where Good Days include Early Bedtimes.
::sigh::
It's been somewhat of an Emotionally Weird Father's Day.
Let me explain.
It's been five years since I've had a truly Terrible Father's Day- that being the one that occurred right after the second miscarriage, and Nathan and Katie and I got lunch at Red Lobster and the clueless waitress said brightly to us (a trio of extremely quiet, mid-thirties people eating lunch at 2pm with no children in our midst), "Are you here celebrating Father's Day?"
(Read the room, lady. Read the room.)
The 19 years preceding that, they'd run the gamut from "Crying most of the day," to "Hey who wants the day off because I will definitely take your shift and get some extra money out of this stupid made up holiday!"
But then TLG came along, and the game changed. Suddenly it was a Happy Day again, with an actual reason to celebrate, and warm, tender feelings for my Lifemate in his role as Lifegiver. It gives me great pleasure to be able to anticipate the made up holiday with joy and expectation, to be able to make it into a Special Day (or at least a day with Special Moments) for my mate. The Specialness I had planned for today was helping TLG make a card for Nathan, taking him to the second service of church so he could see Daddy play, and then going out to eat wherever Nathan wanted (not Red Lobster...) Nathan obviously left the house at his usual way-too-early time (since he plays for both services, and gets there early to run through things), so I was alone as TLG scarfed his breakfast downstairs and I ruminated my Costume Choices.
In the end I felt a very powerful call to wear an old shirt of my dad's leftover from his early Air Force days (Yep, a ~40 year old t-shirt. It has exactly one tiny hole in it, the result of a too-enthusiastic cat. They do not make things like they used to, that's for damn sure.) I didn't put much thought into it, just "Yes, this is a good shirt to wear today, to remember my father in a non-painful way."
But then... someone actually asked me about the shirt.
"Okay, I have to know," says the kind substitute pastor gesturing to my back. "Who is JP 13?"
"Oh," I blink, taken off guard by the question, and suddenly realizing it wasn't perhaps totally appropriate to wear a shirt that says, "The Hell We Can't" into my husband's church. "JP was my dad. And 13 was his..." I fumble for a way to translate into Civilian Terms. "...class... thing."
"Class of 2013?" The pastor eyes my obviously late-thirties-self with a smile. "I don't think so,"
"No no," I wave my hands helplessly. "Not the year. Their class number. Like a squadron. It was from some training he did after he graduated from the Air Force Academy. They... they got to design their own patches and..." I stretch the front of the shirt out, as though somehow he hasn't already noticed, "They chose squeezing blood from a turnip. Obviously. And I, uh... I decided to wear it in remembrance of him today." Sorry about the 'hell' thing, I add mentally.
"It's a wonderful remembrance," he says, and I like him that much more.
The conversation wrapped up pretty quickly thereafter, but the shock of it- of someone who doesn't know me asking, and me actually talking about my father- shifted my brain a bit. So that rather than "Okay thought about Daddy for 30 seconds this morning now I can put all my focus onto Nathan," it became more of a balance between the two. The bitter and the sweet. And I'm not saying it's bad, or that I'm upset it happened. But it added an emotional nuance to the day I wasn't expecting. And I may or may not have teared up a bit at the end of service when Nathan was talking to the congregation about what it means to be a good father.
Anyway.
Overall it was an extremely good day. We had (a very late) lunch at Thai Orchid, and then Nathan went to the guitar store for a few hours (because I firmly believe that Mother's and Father's Days ought to be about the parental figure in question doing something for themselves) while TLG and I hung out at home. And now I'm going to bed, because I am of an age where Good Days include Early Bedtimes.
::sigh::
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