I’m not a feminist.

A lot of the really great bloggers I know are. So I read their posts about toy aisles on pink steroids, the marketing of anorexic bodies and inequality in the workplace. And I…

Okay, I have another confession.

I sort of roll my eyes. I’m sorry blogger friends. You really are great. I just can’t relate.

I’ve never been told I’m less capable or have less options because I am female. I’ve had quite the opposite experience actually. I sort of feel like I was subtlety pushed into engineering by well meaning parents and teachers. In fact, I wish we would stop “encouraging” girls to choose careers in math and science. Because, hey, they might be happier doing something else.

I went to a college where the boys out numbered the girls 3 to 1. And I’ve worked professionally in a predominately male environment. I remember standing in a tent during a major maintenance event as a two-year engineer, looking out over a sea of contractors, and realizing that of the hundreds there I was potentially the only woman. I couldn’t spot another one. Now that was an exceptional case. Still, the numbers quickly dropped from equal outside of my immediate group.

And I never felt like I was treated as less than because I was a woman. If anything, I felt like I was at times treated as greater than. Not in the, “Here’s a great opportunity for you!” sort of way. But in the, “I’m going to be nice to you because I haven’t seen a girl in awhile,” sort of way. So when I hear about this discrimination in the workplace thing I usually think, “Yeah… doesn’t really happen.” At least it hasn’t happened to me.

Or has it…? (You knew I was going there, didn’t you?)

I’m now in the process of maybe returning to work. I’m having the conversations. The complex conversations wrought with corporate politics. And it’s been a surprisingly eye-opening experience. It all started when a former co-worker contacted me to say, “There’s a job opening over here. What do you think about applying?”

She went on to say that typically they only accept people of a particular high-pay level into the group. But that they’re looking to bring in someone of a medium-to-slightly-higher-than-medium-pay level for this position. She thought that I could be a good fit.

Okay…

So then I went and talked to this other manager to see if there were any open positions in a couple other groups. He went and talked to yet a few more manager types and came back to say this – a position previously filled by a guy of a particular high-pay level had recently become available. They were thinking of filling it with someone of a medium-to-slightly-higher-than-medium-pay level, and they all thought I could be a good fit.

I’ve been sitting with this news for a couple days now. Digesting it. Because here’s the thing.

It’s abundantly clear that nobody even realizes I’m at a NOT-QUITE-MEDIUM pay level!

And so, naturally, I am now asking myself, “WHY???” At the beginning of the last two years I worked my supervisor said something along the lines of, “You might get a promotion at the end of the year.” And then I didn’t. Twice. What did I do about it?

Exactly nothing. Not a peep out of me! Not at the beginning of the year. Not in the middle. Not at the end. Not once did I ask why I hadn’t gotten that promotion or what I could do to get it the next time around.

NOTHING.

And I’m kicking myself over it now. Why didn’t I EVER bring it up? I’ll tell you why.

Because I AM A WOMAN.

I don’t mean I thought to myself, “I better not ask about that promotion because I’m a woman.” Of course I didn’t think THAT. But I did think things like:

• If I ask about a promotion I will appear ungrateful. In this economy I should just be thankful I have a job that, admittedly, already pays well.
• I don’t want to be presumptuous. Or braggy. My work product will speak for itself.
• I definitely don’t want to come across like one of those people who’s just trying to get ahead. Those people are so annoying. (They are.)
• I just don’t want to be that needy employee always asking for handouts and extra favors. I don’t want to be DIFFICULT. I want to be AGREEABLE and LIKABLE.

There are probably men out there that think these sorts of things. But really, I think they’re the woman’s mantra.

Let me be clear. I know with certainty that nobody’s sitting in a board room grabbing promotions out of our tiny, female grasps. I did this to myself. And this lesson is coming, quite literally, at a price.

Advocating for yourself doesn’t make you a bitch. I think this belief is what sexism looks like in today’s world.

And there it was all over my Home page. News about the Boston Marathon explosions. I was floored. First because I am human, but also because I am a runner. A long distance runner at that.

I have the calluses on my feet to prove it. Hardened skin etched over miles of asphalt, mud, dirt and cement. I wear sun sprinkles on my cheeks, tan lines on my legs. I know my way around town only from running. People ask me, “Where do you run?”

“All over,” I say. All over.

I know what it takes to show up at the start line. It takes heart, literally and figuratively. I know what it feels like to finish. I’ve done it so many times.

And even though I haven’t run the Boston Marathon, I KNOW. I understand in the way every runner whose been around the block a few hundred thousand times KNOWS. It’s not just any race. It’s THE race. It’s the moderately-competitive-recreational-runner’s crowning achievement. Once you’ve qualified for BOSTON, you’ve made it. It’s official. You’re the real deal.

Which is one of the (many) reasons why today was just so sad. It was an attack on the notion that with hard work comes great reward. On the idea that all we must do to experience joy and triumph is endure the pain. It was an attack on hope.

And now our nation is grieving. Some the very poignant and incomprehensibly real grief of loss, I’m sure. Be it life or limb. Some are grappling with a renewed sense of insecurity and lack of control. Are we ever safe? Are our children ever safe? This was my thought as I watched my baby running around in the back yard, equally thrilled with the bird perched on our fence and A ROCK. She and my husband will be waiting for me at the finish line of my next race a month from now.

And so we all want to know WHY. Why would anyone take away our lives, our limbs, our security and our hope?

The more I think about that question, the more I think there can only be one answer. I think you must have to lose hope before you can take hope. I think you probably have to feel profoundly hurt before you can so profoundly hurt another. And all this pain and sadness and loss of hope are just too much for me to bear. So I am prepared to do the only thing I believe is capable of breaking this cycle.

I forgive you, Boston Marathon Bomber. We are all more than our most terrible deeds. I offer you my love, so that it may heal your hurt and you can join with the rest of us again – in hope.

Just recently she started patting her stuffed animals on the back while she’s holding them. Which I find OH SO SWEET because that’s what I do with her. And she’s been pretty diligent about giving all her stuffed animals squirts of nasal spray.

She’s still LOVING animals, especially dogs. She’s started “barking” when she sees one. It sounds like a “MMM MMM” from the diaphragm. I especially get a kick out of this when I’m running with her in the stroller. Because I can’t see her and don’t usually hear from her until we pass a dog and she gets going.

I’m really enjoying her balance between dependence and independence right now. For the first year of her life I couldn’t really leave her side for a second. That was draining. And then she went through this super independent stage that left me feeling like a combination of relieved and rejected. Now she’s something in the middle. She’ll play independently for a little while and then stop to give me a hug. It’s sort of perfect.

We’ve had a few unbelievably, ridiculously awesome sleep days lately. And no, I don’t mean she’s sleeping through the night. She’s just going down really easily at night and for naps. And sleeping for more than a half hour IN THE CRIB for those naps. She’ll actually point to the crib like that’s where she wants to go. I’ve been able to lay her down wide awake and she just gets to sleep on her own. I can’t even put into words how badly I want this stage to NOT BE A STAGE.

She loves playing chase. She still loves her vitamins, and now she loves brushing her teeth. So, naturally, she puts them all together. When I get out her vitamins or her toothbrush she runs around the house like it’s a game. When I catch her she giggles, giggles, giggles and latches onto her treat.

• Jason ran it.
• Both of my parents walked it.
• This little turkey rode it. In the stroller.
• Pushed by me.

It was really crowded. I plan to look for a different trot in the year 2013.

Finish Time: 32:37
Place: 73/279 AG, 1295/3538 Overall

Friends, this is not what happened.

When it comes to parenting, I am still very much insecure. I still have ANXIETY. I still get at least one plugged duct every few weeks.

But when it comes to running, I feel pretty freaking proud of myself. Let’s recap. I ran a full marathon – my first for all intents and purposes – nine months after giving birth.

A friend of mine complimented me the other day about running while still breastfeeding. I found myself saying something like, “Oh, it’s no big deal. Her feedings are spread out far enough now that I can pretty much do whatever I need to do. Really, the hard part was training for the marathon when she was younger and still nursing frequently… I don’t know what the hell I was thinking.”

Because, you guys, the logistics alone were sort of ridiculous. Imagine fitting 16 – 20 mile long runs in between nursing every 2 hours. (Hint: I couldn’t.) Nursing a baby that would only nap with a nipple in her mouth, I might add. Let’s just say Ruby never wanted for (ahem, dried) electrolytes.

So it’s no surprise that the time my sentiments most closely resembled those described in the first paragraph was when I was lined up behind the start line.

The sky was grey, the sun still rising. There was a bit of wind. And a torrential downpour. Of the 9300 registered marathoners, 6511 finished. And I’m going to bet that most of the other 2789 didn’t bother to start. Can you really blame them? This is what the road to the expo looked like the day before.

Yet I still made it. I pumped the bottles. I woke multiple times during the night to feed the baby and still rolled out of bed at 4:00 am with my alarm on more than one occasion. I completed the training. I showed up.

The determination among the crowd was palpable. Only the truly dedicated runners were willing to tackle the storm. And I was one of them. It was in those moments, the few moments squeezed in between the disposal of my Walmart sweats and the gun that I felt the most accomplished. I almost cried. And then we were off.

I have far less to say about the race itself. The weather wasn’t as bad as it was supposed to be. I mean, it was. My shoes were soaked through before I even started running. I ran with a trash bag over my rain jacket until mile 20. But it didn’t impact my race as much as I feared it would. The wind wasn’t horrible. And the temperature was actually pretty perfect.

My nutrition and hydration, on the other hand, were less than ideal. I had to pee way too early in the race, and cut back on my fluid intake in order to minimize the risk of a potty stop. That was stupid. I knew it was stupid at the time.

I was running at least a minute/mile faster than my training pace and knew I was feeling too tired too soon by about mile 16. But I kept pushing. And telling myself that I just had to make it to mile 20. Then it would only be a few more miles, and then I would be done.

Well, I made it to mile 20. And bonked. Sort of. Honestly, my splits hurt a lot less than I felt. I may have cried a little around mile 22 or 23. From pain. Not from anything poetic or meaningful.

I’m still not sure why I fell apart. Was it a mental block after focusing so much on the 20 mile goal? My pace? Poor hydration? The classic 20 mile wall? Who knows? Probably all of the above.

Can you spot me running into the finish? I promise I was there.

It doesn’t really matter anyway. I fell back on the one thing that gets me through every tough run, “Just keeping moving. Put one foot in front of the other, and keep moving.” Hey, maybe it was a metaphor for life and parenting after all. Not an especially romantic metaphor, but a metaphor none the less. So let’s go with it…

Just like life, the race was far from perfect. It was wet, and I didn’t really know what I was doing. But I worked really hard and reached my goal. In fact, I met all of them. So when people ask me how it went, I answer genuinely with, “Really well.”

Finish Time: 4:29:49
Place: 108/425 AG, 1073/3278 Overall

And I had the kind of reaction I had in college after drinking more than one glass of something and realizing that whatever boy wasn’t going to make me feel any less lonely. Only this time it isn’t a boy leaving me. It’s my therapist.

My therapist is leaving me. I’ve known this was coming for a couple months. Ever since her bulging belly popped out from under her scarf in that obvious sort of way. And I still have a few weeks left.

But I only have a few weeks left. And then she’ll be gone. Gone gone. And I’m not ready. The reality of this hit me the other night after that glass of perfect wine, and is hitting me again as I write this.

I really lucked out in finding her. Or rather, tripping accidentally into her. Our union is the sort of thing that makes me think there must be something almighty coordinating our affairs. She, herself, referred to the arrangement as “serendipitous.”

You see, I first went in under the label of “Crisis Management.” My therapist, who is trained in infant-parent psychotherapy, just happened to be there that day. And the on-call crisis therapist I saw just happened to think of her. That’s how it started.

According to the Kaiser model, I should have seen her for a month or two. Just long enough to get out of “crisis mode.” At that point, I should have graduated to group therapy. Or she should have referred me to someone on the “Adult” team. Instead, she squeezed me in.

I’ve been seeing her once a week or so for almost a year now. She knows me. She knows my story. She knows the DETAILS. She has experience counseling patients with EERILY similar DETAILS. I trust her. When I have a bad day or a bad week I look forward to seeing her. She supports me in a way my incredibly supportive husband, family and friends JUST CAN’T.

And she’s leaving me. For a BABY. Of all things.

So now I have, more or less, four options.

I could go back to group therapy. I say back because I did actually go for awhile. I went because it was something to do. An excuse to get out of the house and see people. I did not go because it did anything for me. It was always a small group, and the people were constantly changing. There wasn’t enough time to build the kind of trust that’s necessary to share the DETAILS. Somehow I mustered the guts and bared my soul the very first week I went. And some lady responded by saying the EXACT. ONE. WORST. thing she could have said.

Besides that, I wasn’t a fan of the format. The (I’m sure well meaning therapist) that led the group had us do yoga-for-the-sedentary for half the session and talk about our self-care plans for just about the other half. There was very little time left over to actually deal with any issues.

So that’s option one.

Alternatively, I could get that referral to the “Adult” team. Apparently therapists on this team have a very high case load. They aren’t able to see patients more than about once a month. My new therapist probably wouldn’t be trained to counsel women with PPMD. And because they’re constantly receiving new patients, there’s a chance they would try and push me in the group therapy direction anyway.

This does not sound appealing.

So then, I could venture outside of Kaiser. My therapist has volunteered the name of her mentor. The obvious downside of this option is that I would have to pay out of pocket. The less obvious, yet more daunting obstacle is starting over. I would have to start from the beginning and go through the DETAILS all over again. And that sounds painfully exhausting.

That leaves us with the fourth and final option. I could just give it a go on my own. Only problem is that feels lonely. The kind of lonely a single lady sometimes finds at the bottom of her wine glass.

It got pretty wild…

That’s right. Jason drank a beer. Ruby didn’t. After all, she was only turning…

Cakes made by fox & fawn bakehouse

But she did do a little streaking…

Right before she ate poked cake.

And spooned it onto her belly.

And then there were presents.

It was a good day.

Cakes made by fox & fawn bakehouse

This is the fourth and final Reflection on a Year. If you’re interested, here are the first, second and third.

1. At 12 1/2 months she weighed 19 lbs 4 oz (39th percentile).
2. She was 29 1/4 inches (45th percentile).
3. Her head circumference was 46.3 cm (81st percentile). The NP we saw noted that this was due to her large brain.
4. She has very petite feet. She’s wearing size 3 shoes (because that’s what we have), and they’re too big by a significant amount.
5. She’s still known for being, “So expressive!”
6. She really hams it up for her reflection.
7. She’s perfected her stink eye and will occasionally give it on request. 
8. Sometimes she’ll add an eye roll to the stink eye. Which is HILARIOUS. Wonder where she gets that look…
9. She never smiles at the receptionists in my therapist’s office. She’s actually known as “the baby that never smiles.”
10. She smiles plenty outside of therapy reception.
11. She has really taken to waving “bye bye,” and to a lesser extent “hi.”
12. She’s fairly outgoing. She’ll walk right up to strangers, especially babies and children. And stare at them.
13. She’s pretty independent in group settings like story time at the library, open gym and play dates. She would rather explore than sit with mom.
14. She’s not that independent at home.
15. She cries pretty much every time I go to the bathroom when it’s just the two of us.
16. She points at EVERYTHING. She’s ALWAYS POINTING. With that cute little pointer finger of hers.
17. It seems as if she understands quite a few words now. Dog, cat, pink bear, pink hippo, head, hair, stink eye, (regular) eyes, boobie, ball, book, light, more, adventure (i.e. going somewhere). I’m sure there’s more I’m forgetting.
    

    Here’s Ruby pointing out where the teeny, tiny dog is. Hint: It’s on the book binding.

18. Like train. She knows train. Whenever we say train we follow up with a, “Chug-a-chug-a, choo choo!” And she dances along by… I’m not sure how to describe the move. Jason tells me it’s, “What you do when you’re cruising down the street in your ’64, hitting the switches.” She knows this relationship so well now that she’ll bust out this move at the sight of a train (picture).
19. She also understands things. Like we put socks and shoes on before we “go on an adventure.” Or that we should always head towards the door after we put on socks and shoes.
20. She does not understand Mom and Dad. For example, if we ask her, “Where’s your Daddy?” She’ll point at Jason. And then we’ll say, “Where’s Mommy?” And she’ll point at Jason.
21. She LOVES animals. Particularly dogs and cats. When she sees a live one she says, “Dee dee dee dee!!” in a really high pitched voice.
22. She’s not saying any words. I’m freaking out about this.
23. Sometimes, when we ask her what sound a cow makes, she’ll say, “MMMMMM.”
24. She doesn’t give kisses… but sometimes she’ll put her open mouth on my face.
25. Her breath usually stinks.
26. She still only has her bottom two teeth.
27. She eats A LOT.
28. She also throws a lot of food on the floor.
29. She always wants her bowl and spoon, but she doesn’t know how to use them AT ALL. Sometimes I let her try, and I always regret it.
30. She really likes meat, cheese and black beans.
31. She’s figured out how to drink out of a sippy cup, but hasn’t mastered a straw.
32. She also has this cup. She loves it. She spills water all over herself, gets really surprised and kicks like crazy when she uses it.
33. She likes to sit on my lap and pick cereal out of my bowl while I eat breakfast. If we spill any milk she tries to pick it up with a pincer and put it back in the bowl.
34. It’s really obvious now when she wants to nurse. She’ll pull on my shirt, put her mouth on my boob or lead me over to the chair I always nurse her in.
35. She took her first steps on 1/10/13 and is now a rather proficient walker.
36. Grandma describes her walking and playing as “tooling around.” I guess that makes her a “tooler.” Maybe it goes baby-tooler-toddler. She’s too young to be a toddler.
37. She loves screens. Just like every other baby. And adult.
38. She has a little, pink, toy cellphone. It doesn’t have buttons or batteries. Just a piece of plastic with a sticker on it. And she loves it! She carries it around and presses the sticker with that cute little pointer finger of hers.
39. She likes playing with the remote controls and video game controllers. She knows (a little bit accidentally) how to turn the XBOX and the PlayStation on with the controllers.
40. We play music a lot and she dances. This basically means she bends and straightens her knees. Occasionally she’ll swing her arms or bob and tilt her head.
41. She likes to watch the washing machine and dryer while they’re running.
42. She likes watching us brush our teeth.
43. She enjoys things like taking all her books off the shelves or putting her toys in a box and then taking them out again.
44. She likes flipping through the pages of her books without necessarily looking at them.
45. She also likes looking at the pages, while seated with a book in her lap. It looks like she’s reading and it’s adorable.
46. She likes pointing out the same thing on each page of a book. For example, the RIDICULOUSLY small mouse in Good Night Moon. She’ll point out where it is on every page. (Side note – It’s surprising how many of these books have one thing like that that shows up on every page.)
47. She really likes playing on our bed. She likes bouncing on my stomach or falling back onto the pillows.
48. Sometimes she’ll walk up behind me and pat my back. I’ll try and sneak a peek at her and she tries to hide behind me. She thinks that’s really funny.
49. She thinks my hat falling off my head is really funny too.
50. She likes going outside and picking up these spiky, seedpods that I find disgusting and are EVERYWHERE.
51. She likes to swing.
52. Actually, she just likes getting out of the house.
53. She’s moderately attached to her little pink bear. The bear’s face is pretty funky because she’s always smooshing her face up in it and chewing on it’s nose.
54. She also has a big, pink hippo she likes to dive head first into.
55. She’s still taking two naps a day. They rarely last longer than a half hour in the crib. They’re usually closer to an hour on the boob or in the car (moving or parked in the garage).
56. She’s scratching the tantrum surface. Sometimes she bangs her head on the wall or the floor when she’s mad.
57. A friend of mine recently described her 16 month old as a “gentle soul.” And I can totally see it. I like to describe Ruby as “a little firecracker.”
58. Just like her mama!

This is the third Reflection on a Year. You can read the first two here and here.

Okay, you’ve been warned.

I need some advice on several completely unrelated topics:

1) Blog recommendations. A good childhood friend of mine is going through a difficult time… on many fronts. I am doing my best to support her and love her through it all. Although I can relate to her feelings, I can’t relate to her particular situation.

The blogging/social media circuit has been an incredible shoulder for me to lean on throughout my rendezvous with PPD and life in general. I just know there has to be a community out there that I can introduce her to. One that will make her feel less alone.

So I am looking for blogs (or Tweeters etc.) written by those recovering from drug and/or alcohol addiction.

2) Running app recommendations. I would like an app that tracks planned and actual runs. Something really simple is perfectly fine. I’d like to be able to see that I’m supposed to run, say, 2 miles on 3/1. And then that I actually ran zero… err, I mean 10 miles.

So probably something calendar-ish. It probably doesn’t even need to be a running app. I’m mostly interested in something like this for scheduling purposes. So I can look at my calendar and say, “Sure! My calendar’s wide open next Thursday! …Except for that 50* mile run I need to do! Phew! Good thing I installed that new app my bloggy friends told me about.”

3) Parenting advice. I’m having patience issues in two areas. The issue is that I have none. ZERO patience. And infinity amounts of guilt about my lack of patience.

First issue – Ruby throws a fit just about every time I try and change her diaper or clothes lately. Mostly what gets me is the kicking. Especially the kicking of me. In my boob. But I’m not really a fan of the rolling over, sitting up, knocking the white noise machine off the table either. How do I make this stop? (Besides trying to keep her entertained in a smiley way. Because, like I said, zero patience.)

Second issue - Throwing food on the floor. Aaaaahhh!!! Tips? Especially for the times she looks me right in the eye, slowly extends her arm and RELEASES.

4) Input on my hair. I’m getting bored. I need a new style. And I want something BOLD. I died my hair the bright red color seen here the morning of my wedding. (My hair stylist nearly had a nervous breakdown over that, by the way.) Well, I would like a hairSTYLE along those lines. Links to pics would be AWESOME. Anything short-short to medium length. And I am (you may want to have a seat Outlaw Mama) open to bangs.

5) Diaper bag recommendations. Just as soon as I decide to spend the money, I would like a diaper bag that looks like a real purse. It should be large and fabulous. Mostly I don’t want the exterior fabric looking too “wipeable.” You know what I mean.

Help please! Ready? GO!!!

*Of course I don’t have 50 mile runs on my training schedule. That’s ridiculous. I just needed a number that sounded big enough to fill up my entire day. Otherwise, you might think I should have just went ahead and made those plans I was considering. See?

Just recently I’ve been feeling like it’s time to move on. No, I do NOT mean ON to another baby. Ruby’s finally becoming a tiny bit independent. (Which, by the way, is AWESOME.)  And she’s become a pretty proficient walker. While still quite baby-ish in a lot of ways, the combination also makes her seem kind of like a little person doing her thing. And it just feels like the right time to put some of our baby ways to rest.

We’re finally moving naps from the boob to the crib. Mostly. Her naps are so much shorter in the crib, and she has a tendency to wake up tired and grouchy. So sometimes I nurse her again and we do round two on the boob. Sometimes getting her down for a nap in the crib is easy and sometimes there’s a lot of screaming (on my part… kidding… mostly) and crying (on her part). I hadn’t felt up to those difficult days until now. My readiness sort of snuck up on me. One day I thought I’d give it a shot and then I just up and decided that’s what we’d do. Twice a day. Every day.

So far I haven’t really missed the extra snuggle time. I think because I’m also feeling ready to breastfeed less. Neither Ruby nor I are interested in giving it up entirely. But a month ago I was still nursing every 2 hours during the day and 2-3 times during the night. And that just felt like too much. Since making the decision to mentor for Team Challenge, my calendar has filled up with baby-free activities. And, quite frankly, the idea of pumping and prepping all those bottles makes me a bit nauseous. I need some more freedom!

So I’ve been trying to steer things in that direction. Ruby’s been eating a ton, and can go for a good stretch in the middle of the day without nursing. Of course, she’s still nursing in the morning when she wakes up, around 9:00 am, and before her morning nap around 10:30 am. I’d really like to drop that 9:00 am feeding, but Ruby really doesn’t, and I’m having a hard time saying no.

I’ve also stopped nursing her between bedtime (7:00 pm) and 2:00 am. She usually wakes up around 11:00 pm. Sometimes she’s able to get herself back to sleep, sometimes she only needs a minute or two of parental consoling and other times she cries and flails, smacks my chest and cries some more.

My self-diagnosed over supply makes even this super gradual weaning feel like a dangerous endeavor. I’ve had three plugged ducts since we started (including the one that hurt so bad I couldn’t sleep last night), and I’m praying to Gods I don’t believe in that I don’t end up with another infection.

So that’s breastfeeding. I’ve also been feeling like it’s time to go back to work. I’ve always thought of myself as an introvert, but I’m beginning to think otherwise. A couple hours of social contact a few days a week at various play-date-like activities just isn’t enough. I’ve managed over the last year, sure. But I’ve reached my limit. Plus, I can tell the pressure I put on Jason to be ALL OF MY FRIENDS is starting to wear him down.

This is an original friends, and I am absolutely pleased. Let’s just pretend there are things in the room besides pea green drapes and Ruby has legs. Also let’s pretend I’m holding up that sign at an intersection that gets more traffic than Coffee Table and Window.

And since I can’t seem to convince Elsha to move into my neighborhood (There’s a house for sale, by the way.), I’m thinking I’ll just go back to work. Don’t worry. I have a few other reasons as well. I would like some organized space away from Ruby. I think I will better appreciate our time together, and I think this will make me a better mom. I’m also eager to regain some control over my productivity.

So I’m working on the work thing. It may be a little while still. Jason’s still working that crazy rotating shift schedule, and I don’t want to return to work while he’s doing that. Turns out I would like to see him occasionally. But the ball’s starting to roll, so to speak.

We’re growing up. Ruby and I. (Mostly me, but Ruby some too.) Growing up and moving on.

Note that this is my second reflection on a year. You can read my first reflection here.