jam jams & dead-baby blogs

I'm sitting here in my living room wearing flannel pajamas with Scottie Dogs printed on them. They were a gift from Bernadette. Mr. C told her that pajamas would be a good gift, because I love pajamas. Which I do. I have several pair that he has bought me as gifts, or that I have bought for myself. I love the fact that they feel like little uniforms. The most recent pair that I bought for myself are a light weight cotton and they have garden gnomes all over them and some tropical leaves. I find them to be kitchy and ironic. Since no one sees me in them besides the "inner circle"--the privileged few in my life who get to see me in my jam jams, thank you very much--then it is perfectly ok to embrace kitch in this way.

So that is how I am choosing to accept these Scottie Dog pajamas into my life--kitch, irony...sheer silliness.

Almost every picture of me during my pregnancy with William is in pajamas. Primarily in one or the other of the two polka dot pair that we bought last winter. One pair is black, with pink, red, and white polka dots. Mr. C got them for me when we were out Christmas shopping one day. I loved them so much that I bought another pair in red with black, pink, and white polka dots at an after-Christmas sale. They are silky and the waist band rolls down easily, which meant that they accommodated my growing belly quite nicely.

This pair that I am wearing now, the Scottie Dogs, are a winter-only, non-pregnant (or not passed the first trimester at least) pair of pajamas. Bernadette found them in XS, which is technically my size (so hard to find petite sizes...but I guess I could humble myself and go into the kids' department...uh, no).

__________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________ Huh, I really didn't set out to write a post about my jam jams, yo.

Yep, so I am sitting here on the slipper chair with ottoman that I bought because it was sooooo cute and matches my living room set-up so nicely. Then Jackson decided that the ottoman made the most perfect scratching post. Ugh. No way to fix that. And he is way too old to be de-clawed (any cat over the age of 6 months is too old, according to a former teacher who is also a vet.--she said it is like cutting off each finger down to the second joint...yuck). Anyway, the first year that we lived in this house we didn't allow the cats upstairs because we bought a leather sofa and chair and were afraid of what they might do to them. Once we started letting them upstairs it was all over with the cats only being downstairs. It just seemed cruel to limit their domain to only one level...and I enjoyed spending more time with them. The result is that now the sofa and chair have scratches from the cats losing thieir balance, getting startled, falling, etc. Some of the scratches are pretty long and deep. Oh well, it is just furniture. That is what throw balnkets are for...? Some people work really hard for their leather furniture to have that lived-in look...unfortuantely that is not exactly the style of these pieces (more modern minimalist than gentelman's den).

Yikes, this wasn't supposed to be a post about my livingroom furniture, either!
__________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________ I'll try again...

I stayed up until 5:00 am last night reading blogs! We drove back across the state from about 3:00 until 7:00 and I slept most of the time because: Mr. C had the heat up high and the seat warmers on and he was playing Tool, which for some reason puts me to sleep. So maybe that is why I stayed up so long? I guess it is part of it...it is also because reading what I guess are best described as "dead baby" blogs is addictive. I find myself needing to know how things happened for other people...how they dealt with it. I start reading and know what is in store for these people because I am coming on the scene long after the events have occurred. So I can go back through the archives and read along...it just breaks my heart...but it also is affirming in many ways and yes, it gives me hope.

Blech. I am sorry to anyone who comes across this blog and suffers through reading my garbage. I really prefered when I felt anonymous here. Not that I am no longer anonymous, because I am 99.9% certain that no one has read this but me. I'm still not even sure how to help other people find me here. I am not interested in sharing this with the people in my life. If I were to do that then this would no longer be what I had intended for it to be--a place for me to go and get my thoughts out of my head. I cannot continue to write if I have some notion that I have to live up to someone elses expectations for what I should be writing about.

So far it has been random, at best.

I am glad, though, that I found the other dead-baby blogs because the reason I am here at all is to help me deal with William's death and to *hopefully* deal with pregnancy after living through his loss. I didn't set out to find them, didn't realize they were out there (so sad that there are enough of us out there that there this many actually have blogs) but now I know and I should look at it as a positive thing rather than something to make me feel self-conscious.

Have I let another day go by without running? It is gray and rainy out and if I get into my running clothes now then I can go out for a run before it gets too dark.

I'm getting closer to figuring out how to post pictures! I resolve RIGHT NOW to discontinue all self-conscious justifications. I was about to write something lame about how I should already know how to do this, blah blah blah. But the fact is that I don't but I will. Mr. C got me Photoshop Elements for Christmas per my request and I am so HAPPY to finally be able to begin using iPhoto as well. Downstairs I can hook this Power Book up to a docking station that has a big monitor and is connected to a printer and scanner. Finally! I guess that I do things in my own time.

I'm tired and this cold is still hanging on. I wish that I could go for a run and not have to hack and spit and feel like I am drowning. Yuck.

ok, the mac is tired and needs to be plugged in and right now that means that it requires me to type with one hand b/c i am too lazy to move.

peace out, then