COVID

 I have Covid.

I have co morbidities .

Asthma

Diabetes

Autoimmune disease.

I’m a triple threat, baby!

Keep your fingers crossed.

It’s getting hot in here….

 We are currently in the middle of FIRST SPRING. It’s 80 degrees one day and freezing the next. Ah, the signaling of tornado season. It’s my favorite, obviously. 

I’m listening to an audiobook and one of the female characters is called Trace. Other than myself, I’ve never heard anyone called that… Ok, Trace Adkins, I guess…. But not like this. I’ve been called Trace my whole life by nearly everyone I’ve ever known. I’ve never understood why, like, there is one more syllable to go. Just go big and finish it. I’ve always disliked it. I rarely tell that to anyone.  The thing that irritates me the most is that my name, Tracy, is ALREADY a nickname. It’s not my name. My name is Tracylynn. One word. My mother, to doped up on drugs after giving birth ( they knocked her out and I had to get my own damn self out) told them that that was my name. No middle name and I guess my father wasn’t that invested in the process to change it. 

My point being, FINALLY, is that hearing it over and over being read has made me realize that it’s really not that bad. I kind of… like it even. 

That was way too long. Sorry.

So, I’m a diabetic. My bio father’s whole side is a diabetes convention. It started when I was pregnant with the youngest kid as gestational diabetes and just decided to stick around. I finally decided to get the constant monitoring device that’s placed in your arm so you don’t have to prick your finger anymore. I always chose not to because, well, injecting a little computer into my arm every two weeks didn’t sound fun. Well, I’m loving it!! My fingers love it! My brain loves the feeling of being “ safe.” And I’m nearly off of insulin. Go me.

I have to go, but let me ask a question first… my husband wants a new cologne. I can only stand certain scents or I get migraines. It has to smell “clean” maybe a bit tobacco-ish but not much, while that it my favorite scent it’s hard to get right, so clean. Any recommendations??

Nice to see you happy with the girl child.

Night

Survival

 We survived the ICE STORM 2023. We stocked up on food and hunkered down for almost a week and it was glorious!!! No busted pipes! Everything on the Island was closed. Quiet. Gray. Shiny! Crazy cold but I was bundled up in all the warm and fuzzy things. 

People trying to drive was fun though. Hundreds of clips from people stuck on the freeway.  Semi’s backed up for 60 miles having to be towed up tiny hills by a local off road Jeep club. Good times! I need me to have some winter weather to lift away any depression and blow it away. My spirit feels good.

So a few blogs ago I wrote that the amnesia medicine was helping my brain to release memories long ago locked away in the box. For the most part it’s just dipping my toes into tiny little things that don’t hurt so much. Testing the waters I guess. Start small and see how things go?

I was talking to Robb and for whatever reason we were talking about being pregnant and feeling the baby move ( I did not enjoy that. Maybe the only woman in the world that didn’t.) but as I was telling him that detail a light came on. Memories. Suddenly I knew WHY I didn’t like it. I always thought that it must be because of feeling cramped in my own body but instantly it was clear to me….

When I was pregnant with the oldest boy I was never, ever touched. Not even one person felt my tummy when the baby moved. Never. I hated that I didn’t have anyone to share that with. That it shouldn’t have been happening in the first place. That I resented feeling like I couldn’t draw any attention to my expanding belly. In fact I NEVER looked at myself in a mirror. I have no memories of seeing myself showing. The only memory I have was when I was about five months pregnant, my brother and I were going to a river to swim. I put my swim suit on and looked in a mirror to see if it looked ok and saw it…. A small bump. Almost imperceptible if one didn’t know that I was pregnant. I was a tiny thing. 5ft 6in and 106 pounds. My stomach muscles resisting the spread they eventually have to do to make room for the uterus as it strains to allow a human being to grow inside its mother. I placed my hand on that tiny bump, hardly comprehending the changes coming. Then I put it in the box, wrapped a towel around my waist and walked into the role I was playing in my brain… you must ignore this just like everyone else is. 

It wasn’t until Christmas when I’d outgrown my maternity clothes and had to wear this tent dress thing that someone took a photo of me and I saw just how BIG I was. Tiny wisp of a thing due in two weeks and a belly that entered a room first! 

Nothing that I can do about that lost pregnancy experience. It just shined some light on how I viewed the feeling of a baby moving. Especially strange considering that being pregnant subsequently were the times in my life when I felt beautiful and powerful and magical. 

Gotta run.

Me