Breath in...and out. In...and out.

The following is a response to a comment made by Danielle yesterday.
I thought that her insight was so poignant that I just had to post my response so the whole wide world could also read:

Danielle,

So true! So. SO. True. You might just be inside my head!

A mantra I repeat to myself over and over in cases similar to these is:

"He's not trying to hurt you, he's just trying to help."

I did not have much emotional support from my parents growing up. As an adult I have realized that the coping skills I developed because of my earlier life experiences are downright harmful if my goal is to establish and carry out a healthy long-term relationship.

If my goal were, say...to live in a cave all alone for the rest of my life, my communication and coping skills might suit me just fine.

"Me want food. These my berries."

A few things I have discovered:

I have realized that I often push Andrew away when I need him the most. I learned as a child that if I rely on someone it will spell disaster when I need them and they aren't there. (And they WON'T be there!) So I unconsciously decided that it is just better to force things into being as I want them and do things ALL ON MY OWN!

But Andrew IS there. He is always there. And I want him to be there.

"He's not trying to hurt you, he's just trying to help...

He's not trying to hurt you, he's just trying to help."

Over and over and over again...

It is a constant struggle to reconfigure my previous perceptions about the world and relationships.

When we first met, poor Andrew had to quickly learn my less functional form of communication. A communication which basically boiled down to: talking loudly over the other person until they gave up. (Note: Not Helpful!) While he did, learn it, he never partook in it. He merely waited until I was finished ranting and expressed his feelings about me talking (loudly) over him...

I have also had to learn that he is not out to "make me wrong" when he brings up...well pretty much anything.

The idea that someone is "making me wrong" stems from the way my parents communicate with each other. In their conversations it is clearly always the other person's fault. Although they are still technically married and live together today, my parents spent the majority of my adolescence life separated and living miles apart from each other (from the time I was 13 years old until I was 20.) Therefore, this idea that Andrew is trying to "make me wrong" still remains a facet of my communication and could use some serious work.

Him: "Hey babe, can we take our shoes off in the house from now on?"

Me: "Oh my gosh, I am so sorry. Did I track mud all over your house? Gosh, I am such an idiot. Here, let me mop for you."

Meanwhile, he will just be standing and staring at me while I fumble about apologizing all over the place for doing something I actually didn't do.

Him: "Suzanne, honey. You did not do anything. We are just taking our shoes off in the house from now on, okay?"

And even though I hear his words, I still feel like I did something wrong. That is when (if I remember) I say that little mantra...and it helps! I have told Andrew about my little mantra, so sometimes he reminds me too. When he does, that also helps.

As for the, "festering hurt wound that has already happened..." Lol. Fantastic phasing, by-the-way Danielle!

It might sound weird or simply untrue, but as soon as he told me that he was really just scared, I felt a sense of peace. I completely believed him. It all suddenly made sense. I feel like the effects of blasting through this little hurdle has made us stronger as a couple. I also feel like Andrew grew a lot as a person as he worked through this issue. It was a valuable discovery process for him as he delved inside himself to see if it was really about the car.

Thanks to Danielle for the fabulous insight!

Anger. Hostility. Rage.

Amy asked me a few weeks ago if Andrew was planning to move-in with me since my roommate moved out.

Great question. Loaded, tricky and unpleasant. But a great question none-the-less. Also, a subject I had been meaning to write about for several weeks. Funny considering my lovey-dovey post yesterday...but no, no, as far as I know I am not bipolar. ;) I still love Andrew to death. And he is still the kindest gentlest guy around.

I suppose the best place to start is back at the beginning:

The day after Christmas, my (now ex-)roommate called me at my parents house in California to let me know she had decided she was moving-in with her family. While I was sad to hear she was leaving, it was not exactly a shock. It was a logical, rational decision as far as I was concerned. So expected, that I was only surprised she had not arrived at that conclusion earlier.

When Patty called, she was semi-excited to tell me because she thought that Andrew might want to move-in and take over her lease. "You two are so close." She said. "I know you have been talking about moving in together next August, so why don't you just bump it up a few months?"

The idea was something I had been secretly and very selfishly been thinking about for a few weeks. After I learned that Patty's cancer had spread the idea of her staying in our house seemed ridiculous as the rent and burden of having to continue working seemed overwhelming. So I definitely admit the idea of Patty moving out and Andrew moving-in had popped into my selfish little brain more than a few times before.

Therefore, as soon as I got off of the phone with Patty, I called Andrew who was on vacation with his family in New Hampshire. I told him that Patty was moving out and we would be looking to find someone to take over her lease starting March 1st. (Note: Patty ended up moving out earlier because her treatment was not going as well as they originally hoped.)

Andrew sounded happy on the phone. He said he would call me back when he got a chance to slip away from his family and we could talk more. When he called me back hours later he said, in no uncertain terms, that moving-in together now was not an option for him. Because....



Because....




Because.....

HE WOULDN'T HAVE A PLACE TO PARK
HIS CAR
IN FRONT OF MY HOUSE!




His CAR.





His CAR!!!!!!

Because Andrew's license plates are from out-of-state, and I live in an urban area where you need a residential parking permit to park, Andrew would have nowhere to park unless he switched his plates over. (Something I have been telling him he should do for months. Therefore, it was already a huge source of bitterness for me.)

I tried to play it off at the time like it didn't bother me. I tried to pretend that I understood. But for someone who usually moves mountains to make things work for us, I just did not understand why he was so easily deterred. So ready to give up. It felt like he had literally slapped me in the face.

I was so crushed.

If he just did not want to move-in with me now, that would be one thing. But he was letting a fixable situation be the reason. He was letting his freaking car dictate our future.

The situation ate at me for weeks.

I tried not to bring up it. But inevitably it slipped out in my bitter comments regarding his less-than-stellar current living situation,

"Well if you lived with me, your kitchen stuff would actually be clean when you wanted to use it because I actually clean-up after myself!"


"Oh really? You hate your roommate?!
Well, if you lived with me, you wouldn't have to return home to find your front door wide open and no one home...Later to find out that your idiot roommate was in such a hurry when she left that she forgot to close the door!
BECAUSE, GUESS WHAT!?
I know how to shut an f***ing door!"

Needless to say, I had a large wad of hostility aimed straight at his head.

Unfortunately that wad spewed out at him whenever he said anything about his house, or my house. As it turns out, I also had a great deal of hostility building up towards his father too (who, come to find out, had actually led him to decide on the idea that moving-in with me would be too much of a "hassle" because he would have to switch his license plates!)

I am too much of a hassle?! A "hassle?!"

Dear god Andrew. Just tell me that you are seeing someone else! Tell me that you have decided you never want to live with me or marry me! Please please, please, please do not let me think that I am just too much of a hassle for you!

Finally, in one large argument a week-or-so ago, the truth finally came out. Over about a three hour time period Andrew realized,

"I think I am just scared to move-in with you now.
I am so sorry I made it to be about my car. It is so not about the car.
Oh gosh. I am so sorry. Please, please forgive me."

Phew. Finally.

That is a perfectly reasonable, understandable and commendable answer.

I just knew that it couldn't be about the F-ing car.



So, to answer Amy's original question:

Andrew is not moving-in with me because he is scared and not quite ready for that, yet.

Not a problem.

Not a problem, at all.

I would wait years and years and years and years and years for that handsome man.

In the meantime I, clearly, have my own issues to work on. For example: Anger. Hostility. Rage. And expressing feelings and emotions in less hurtful words than I currently resort to. I know it is not my fault for learning to deal with my emotions in this manner, growing up it was just the way that my family resolved conflict. However, it is my fault if I continue to do so with Andrew. He never yells and rarely raises his voice to me.

He deserves to be treated with just as much respect as he shows me.

Has your man ever tried to redirect a situation away
from his fear of commitment?
If so, what did he make the issue about instead?

Have you had to change ways you communicate as an adult because you came from a family, or had bad habits, that were not exactly functional?

Overflowing Waterfall Love

Love. Love. Love.
(If you so choose, let the song play while you read...
It was in my mind as I wrote.)

I am absolutely overflowing with love today.

It could be because Andrew and I took a little tour of a local brewery this morning and they had free tastings (10am tour! Yeah. Because that is just how we roll sometimes...)

I might be overflowing with love because Andrew took me out to a very nice restaurant last night. And while I usually am the type who opts for take-out or any place where I can still wear jeans and a t-shirt, I was actually looking forward to this particular dinner all week. Despite the fact that the "fabulous" restaurant turned out to be an overpriced Red Lobster in disguise...and offered merely edible food, instead of truly astounding cuisine, it was a very nice night out and I particularly enjoyed the company.


Or, perhaps I am overflowing with love today because Andrew and I stopped by a grocery store on the way home to pick up a good selection of the clearance Valentine's Day candy (50% off!?) And even though I am trying to save money, and declined Andrew's offer after he saw me drooling over a bag of all green Peanut M&M's, he snuck away and bought them for me anyway. (True gentleman, right?! He knows when I actually mean I do not want something, and when I am just saying I do not want something...Now, that is talent!)

Nope. I do not think it was any of the above examples.

I think this particular love induced waterfall, which I am currently swimming through, was triggered by my dear boyfriend's constant kindness and concern for my welfare.

His first priority always seems to be my comfort and well-being (both physical and emotional). A shocking contrast to the family dynamic of which I was raised.

Yesterday night, I was so dizzy. I mean dizzy.

Severe vertigo.

Had Andrew not been with me all day long, he probably would have thought I had been drinking all. day. long.

Just as I was last night: Sometimes I get dizzy. Really dizzy. Falling over dizzy. Room spinning dizzy. Can't walk in a straight line dizzy.

Whether the dizziness occurs because of the meds I take for my pituitary tumor, or because my Eustachian tubes are clogged, I do not know. Probably a combination of the two. Doctors usually have different theories. All I know is that when it happens, I get scared. I never know where it is going to end. "Will I pass out? Will I be able to keep walking?" Other thoughts race in my head, "Did I have a stroke? Is my brain tumor growing?"

I always review the symptoms of a stroke with those around me, just in case. "Andrew, if the words/syllables/sounds coming out of my mouth suddenly do not make any sense, or if one side of my face looks stiff, or if I suddenly can not walk or move my arms...Just Call 911. Do not worry if I tell you I am fine. Take control and call 911. Okay?"

He always agrees. I see him doing his best to smile sweetly and look straight into my eyes. However, I can tell that he is doing his best to mask his own fears. Heaven forbid we should ever find ourselves in that terrible situation, I do have 100% confidence that Andrew could handle it.

I do not know why I am so worried about having a stroke. Maybe because the fear of not being able to communicate when I know something is wrong positively terrifies me. The thought of screaming inside my head, trying to move my arms or my legs, scrambling to reach for the phone, but being fundamentally unable to communicate or help myself...boils fear inside of me like nothing else on earth.

Maybe I worry because my luck with doctors has not been the best!? Therefore, I am always worried that they missed something.

Andrew and I do not know where this road we are on will lead us.

We have no idea what problems lie ahead.

We do not know what sort of medical trauma my body is concealing for us, waiting to emerge at just the wrong moment.

All I know is that for the time we share together, I get to spend my days with an absolute gift. Someone so wonderful, gentle and kind. A person with humor, intellect, and empathy. With a zeal for life so contagious it makes those around him want to get involved and gently blow the world's troubles away.

I think I am overflowing with love today because I have reached a concrete-cognitive-realization of unconditional love.

A tangible form of emotional enlightenment.

For the first time in my life, it is within my grasp.

Ph.D. Application Update

Yucky news to share with you today:

Yesterday in the mail I received the letter I suspected was on it's way. I was not admitted to the Ph.D. program I applied for...

Which reminded me of the saying,

"When God shuts a door, somewhere he opens a window."

If being rejected from the Ph.D. program means that I will get to become a mother somehow. Someday. Whether it be through direct exchange or substitution by the universe gods...Or, if not being admitted to the Ph.D. program merely means that I will not be preoccupied for the next 5 years of my life, therefore giving me the opportunity to try and have children sooner...

I am totally. Completely. 100%. A-okay. With this outcome.

Glass half-full?

Check.

Does it count as TTC if you are using condoms?
That would just mean that the best, fastest, and brightest sperm would make it through?!

Right?

Right?!

Right?!?!

10 Americans

This video is best viewed without having any background information.

Give it 5 tiny little minutes.

If you want to watch the rest of it after five minutes,
your future children will thank you.

Thoughts?

As always: Thanks for tuning in!

True Gentle Soul

My house is downright depressing these days.

My roommate moved out on Sunday. With her went most of the furniture, cleaning supplies, and houseplants.

And while I thought it was the absence of all of this material "stuff" that was dragging me down, I realized this morning that with her also went a vibrancy and zeal for life that few people on earth exhibit.

And that, is a toughie to replace.

She always had a welcoming vibe about her. Always the essence of serenity. Cool. Calm. Despite the chemo and the mounds of hair in the bathroom which had not only covered the floor, but also clogged the drains in both the shower and sink...

My roommate was a true gentle soul.

I realize I am talking about her in past tense, as if she were dead. And she is not dead. She is very much alive. However, I doubt I will see much of her in the months and years ahead.

The last couple months I had a fly on the wall's perspective of how living with cancer takes things you once thought were important and shakes them up like an etch a sketch toy.


When the doctor told her that the cancer had spread to her lungs and pelvis, I watched her exchange time spent with "close" friends for time spent with her family. She used to party-it-up at clubs on Saturday night's, but even before the chemo started again she exchanged clubbing for snuggling up on the couch with her 5-year-old niece. She often sipped tea or hot chocolate and gazed off thinking.




Patty always "knew" that she wanted to be a mom too. We bonded over that shared interest early on. However, with no partner and no reproductive organs, this prospect made it slightly more difficult that she had envisioned when she was younger. Ever since I moved in, I attempted to empower her to compile a game plan so that when she was ready, she would know exactly which direction she should jump. Not long after I first moved in, she told me how thankful she was that I was encouraging her to look into adoption.

She told me she can't wait to meet her own child one day.

I too, would love to meet her lovely daughter or son one day.

So, here's to Patty and Hope.

Here's to whatever the future may hold for us all.

Big Whopping Regrets

Today I realized how emotionally absent I have been on this particular visit. I have been so preoccupied with projects. One. after. another. after. another.

When I arrived here mid-December I had to finish three large papers due before the end of the semester which basically monopolized all my time. Since Christmas, I have been preoccupied with my freaking Ph.D. application that is consuming my life. And through all of this, I was never truly successful in living for the moment.

This realization has made me really sad. I look back on the missed opportunities I passed up.

For Example, dinner over at my sister's house with my parents: I just did not go because I was "working" on my application. I really did work on it, but now looking back on the way I used my time that night, I could have certainly taken the time and spent it with my family.

And the one thing that positively breaks my heart when I look back on it: My dad invited me to see the movie "Avatar" with him, my mom, and my sister. He apparently thought I said "Yes," originally, (he does not have the best hearing these days...) because when it was time to leave he looked positively heartbroken after he saw I was still in my pajamas and had no intention of going. Once again, I said I could not go because I was "working" on my freaking Ph.D. application.

When I saw how disappointed he was, I should have thrown on clothes and gone with them, but I did not. And I heartbreaking-ly regret that now. Unfortunately, I think it will be one of those regrets that I look back on when he is gone and I will just sob my eyes out. Just like I am right now. Oh, if you could only see my snot-covered-sleeve...

(What?! You don't wipe your nose/eyes with your sleeve when you are alone and balling your eyes out? Oh. Well...does it make any difference that I try and keep the snot section separated from the tears section?)

I guess I forgot that I want to make family a priority for me. Even though my parents did not set a good example for me growing up, I forgot that I decided I would be different. I have been so obsessed with focusing on the future for myself and my non-existent-children, that I forgot about the family I have now. The family that may, or may not, be around for too much longer. The family that not only knows my history, but is my history.

It is so hard truly living in the moment.

I wish I had done better.

I guess it is good that I realized my mistakes now, before I have flown back "home." That way I can do better these last few days.

(Is it home here? Or there?
The last few years, neither location has really felt like "home."
What happened?
Where did it go?)



Remembering what is truly important...

Soapbox Confessional: Sleep!

I have always been a HUGE fan of sleep. In high school I would routinely sleep through my first classes, and usually show up right around 3rd or 4th period. (Amazingly I still passed and graduated "on time!")

Even as an adult today, I seem to require more sleep than average. However, I do not see any shame in this. It is apparently what my body needs, for whatever reason. Sometimes it takes a little pre-planning (Yes! Schedule your sleep!) but it is usually manageable.

And, if I can squeeze in all of that "extra" sleep now, maybe my body will be supercharged whenever a cute-little-cuddly, (aka squealing-sleep-depriving) baby should enter into the picture.

So, I wanted to share with you a New Year's Resolution that I truly can get behind: Sleep Challenge 2010: Women, It's Time to Sleep Our Way to the Top. Literally.

And since Arianna Huffington and Cindi Leive did a fine job articulating the reasons that women should consider making sleep a priority, I will just leave you with them.

Photo Credit: Dan Hallman

And no, I am not being paid in any way to endorse this idea.

Like Glamour or Huffington Post even know I exist. Pshaw!

Breaking Down a Few Walls (Part I)

Why am I so concerned with becoming a mother?

Great question.

My determination to be a mom has always existed. Regardless of how old I was myself, when I was a child/teenager/or young adult the first magazine I would reach for in a waiting room was "Parents," or "Parenting," or something with a freaking baby on the cover!

However, I know that my fascination over "when" and "how" I would become a mom began to boil up inside of me when I was 19-years-old. Which makes sense, given my medical history.

Therefore, I think it is time to break down a few walls which exist between you and I, dear readers. I am going to just lay it all out there for you. Right here. In black and white.



Will there be TMI? Maybe for some. Will there be heartbreak, pain, and tears? Pain, yes. Tears, maybe a few. Heartbreak, is yet to be determined.

However, I know that the majority of the women who read my blog have dealt with many of the same issues, and even more so in some cases. So why shouldn't I just lay it all out on the table for everyone to read? After all, this is an anonymous blog so I have nothing to be embarrassed about...right?

(By-the-way, shout-out to any lurker guy readers! You are totally, completely, and utterly welcome! More than that, you are encouraged to continue stopping by.)

I am going to be blunt. Gutsy. I will be fearless in the medical exploitation of myself. After all, maybe - just maybe - someone will benefit from the lessons I've learned through the medical bull-hockey I have endured over the last seven years.

So, I am just going to lay it all out. Without prefacing.

Tomorrow, in my next post.

GRE? Check!

I will spare you the panicky-anxiety-ridden-details. (My boyfriend was witness to the pre and post test hysteria, and I think he would agree that it would just be better to leave you with the impression that I am a relatively competent and successful human being.) I heard that snickering!

What is important here, is that I was successful in checking off the all important box which required I submit myself to the standardized crap process of sitting for the Graduate Record Exam.



(Let the justification commence...) Just like the SAT, the GRE was designed to predict how well a person will do in Graduate School...What bothers me, is why graduate programs still require the GRE after it is has been determined that an individual student's aptitude are not measured by their standardized crap tests. The SAT failed to measure my performance in my undergraduate education, and my previous scores on the GRE failed to predict how I would perform in my current graduate courses. So why would they think that the GRE would be a good way to predict my performance in a Doctoral Program?

Fortunately, I am confident that I (at least) met the raw score threshold that the program requires for admissions consideration. I never was banking on my GRE scores to propel me to the top of the candidate list, or even to make me a strong candidate. I believe that my work and education experience, combined with my superior essay writing skills, and my superb letters of reference, will be the proclamation to the admissions committee which screams:

"Let Me In! You know I would do great at this program.

Pretty please?"

Here Compass, Compass...

"Disclaimer: This ride could suck. It could be so bad, you wished it sucked."

If God staffed attorneys, I envision this would be among the disclaimers in the miles of pre-birth paperwork individual souls signed before their dramatic entrances on earth. Another line (I'm just sure) those attorneys slipped in, is:

“Some of you will be given a compass upon your entrance to earth (your 'compass status' will be chosen entirely at random.) If you are so lucky to receive a compass, please note: Life will almost certainly flip you over, spin you around 754 degrees, grab your compass, bury it in the middle of the desert, turn around, knock you down, and then - when you are lying on the ground (dazed and confused) - Life will kick you a few times for good measure.

Be forewarned, if you should ever retrieve your compass from the desert, Life reserves every right to smash it with a hammer...”

I have been extremely busy lately, struggling to hang in there during the home stretch of this semester's class work. Deadlines for three large projects looming at the beginning of next week. Next Friday, I am scheduled to take the GRE for the second time. However, I have not spent nearly enough time studying for it, so most likely my scores will be the same (or worse...maybe they will go down.)

This is disappointing to me, because after I figured a few things out, my head has been a little straighter more clear. I have been more accepting of the fact that being a mom just is not in the cards for me - at least, not for a few years. And so I am determined to get into the Ph.D program I now have my heart set on.

But then, life has its own ideas about the way things should go...

My roommate called me today while I was at the grocery store. And though she had been cautiously optimistic that her battle with Ovarian Cancer was behind her, today she received some unwanted news from her Oncologist.

I know enough, to know, that I am ignorant when it comes to talking with people regarding their life threatening illness.

For most other concerns, I am usually a good person for others to talk with when they are feeling down or confused. I have been told that I am approachable, kind and comforting. I feel that people think these things about me because I (usually) can find ways to relate with them over what they are going through. But I DO NOT RELATE WITH CANCER. I do not relate to living with a disease that might kill me. I do not relate with all of the internal conflicts and fears that must go along with that disease. And I cannot begin to guess how different types of cancers cause their own distinct intricacies. I know enough, to know, that people with cancer do not want to hear that I "understand." Because I do not understand.

In the time that I have known her, I have tried to be sensitive to the fact that her ovarian cancer took her ovaries away from her, as well as the possibility of having a biological child. I even took the extra step of keeping my feminine hygiene products out of sight in the bathroom cabinet, because I know (sometimes) small things like that, still sting for her.

One night, not too terrible long ago, I even thought about telling her about this blog. But then, knowing that if she was not in just the right mood, she might feel defensive and say (or think,) "Well, at least you still have your ovaries!" And she is right. I do. I am not entirely sure they are functional, but at least I still have them.

I feel like cancer is similar to infertility in the way that some people try to be sensitive, but really do not understand: When women "whine" about their pregnancy, or "complain" about those four long months it took them to conceive little Billy, it is like a punch to the gut of the woman with infertility. Or, when people suggest to a woman struggling to conceive that she "just adopt..." Well, do not get me started. Apples to oranges. It is not the same. Infertility is a concept I can relate to. And even though I have no direct experience with the feelings that hit you every "failed" month, I am prepared for the road ahead of me.

Because of my familiarity with the insensitivity of persons speaking about infertility, I do not want to be like those people who suggest inappropriate/insensitive things.

And since I am a research freak, I have done a fair bit of reading tonight online about, "how to help a friend when they have cancer." But it does not really apply to me/us. I have not known my roommate long. We met through Craigslist last August when she needed to rent one of the rooms in her two-bedroom apartment. We mainly connect on the issues of wanting children and politics. That is pretty much it. We have never really hung out outside of our house. Our schedules are different and she is not really around when I am at home. I left a message on her voicemail earlier to tell her I would be at the library working late (um...yes, I am working now...just not on what I am suppose to be working on...crap.) But on her voicemail, I did the one thing all of my online sources advice against doing. I left a general statement of, "Let me know if there is anything I can do..."

Blah.

I am suppose to offer something specific in order to help her. Not a general offer. Why does cancer make people crazy? Why does cancer turn usually competent and considerate people into self-preserving ding bats?

If you have advice on ways to help a roommate out who is living with Ovarian Cancer, please fill me in. I am not sure where this journey is going to take us.

I really wish I had my compass back.

Sincerely,

Ding Bat Suzanne

Today is For...

Reminding myself of just how lucky/fortunate/blessed I have been this past year. I am thankful for the many triumphs and near failures I have endured. I look ahead to future opportunities and people (maybe, babies?) I haven't yet had the pleasure of meeting/cuddling.

First ISC Award Goes to...

"The World's Worst Parents" (as defined by me).

The winner of this shameful award goes to....

The parents of this poor baby:




Winner of the second ISC award (as defined by me,)
"Worst Ethics in Photojournalism."

The winner of this shameful award goes to....

Finlay MacKay, who was given photo credit for this shoot.




And lastly,

Shame. Shame. On Time Magazine for not only capitalizing on a child's pain/fear and making him/her cry for the cover, but for also releasing a "Moving Cover" to show the child's pain in even greater detail.

tsk.tsk. To these people - It's like all Child Development books might as well be written in Greek!

Comic Relief

I recently discovered Sarah Haskins and I find her absolutely hilarious. All of her "Target Women" sketches are about the absurd messages various marketing campaigns use on women...as well as the societal pressures women face. I've been laughing my ass off since I discovered her comedic talents. It's all very applicable to the conflicts I feel on a daily basis.

For your viewing pleasure: Sarah Haskins in
Target Women

Reflections and Foresight

Last night was a great night. My boyfriend and I kicked back on his couch, popped a bottle of champagne, and watched a much anticipated two-hour special on TV. We were able to bask and reminisce in what were some of the best moments of our lives - to date. The splendor of this particular television special contained plot twists and an ultimate conclusion that could only have been written by God him(her)self.

It was a fantastic night.

As the night wound down and we were crawling into bed my dear boyfriend nonchalantly said, "By-the-way, I found a really cool website online. It's called, '1001 rules for my unborn son.' Most of the rules are pretty good. I think I'd like to start a list of my own, ya' know?"

I don't know why but I actually blushed.

It's almost like the knowledge that his mind and my mind are synchronously coexisting unbeknownst to us, makes a part of me want to run and hide. As if I am afraid that it is all just too good to be true.

Check out the website my dear boyfriend recommended, there's some pretty cute lines in there.

Like: Number 376, "If you need music on the beach, you're missing the point."

Number 360, "Never under any circumstances ask a woman if she is pregnant."

Number 315: "You can't cram for a dentist's exam."

Number 305, "Don't be so eager to leave the kids table."

Hey, wouldn't that be funny if that blog/book was actually written by my dear boyfriend? It's not. But, I guess you never really know... ;)