A New Life

Get ready folks, cause this is a long one.

 CW: gory details of surgery/childbirth, anatomical descriptions

Note: I originally wrote this back in like, June, but it took me a lot longer to get back to writing it and then I lost half my progress and had to start over. Hoping to have this done before 3rd month Bday but... who knows. anyway, back to the story.

Well, I made it. WE made it. As many of you already know, I successfully created life and now I am holding a wonderful baby in my arms. (well, actually she's wrapped up on my chest in a scarf so I can type, but whatever... details details). But how did we get here? That's a good question.

It all started on May 17th, at about 1am.

I had woken up from a brief sleep and felt... weird. I felt a slight... slipping sensation down in my groin. a few moments later, a significant amount of fluid came out too, but not as much as one would expect if it was water breaking. So I grabbed my phone and messaged my husband who was downstairs (he stays up later than I do cause insomnia and I also didn't want to yell), and just let him know that I feel like I was a little bit leaky. I couldn't really tell if it was bloody or not cause I had my husband grab me a black towel, but it was just enough liquid that I decided to call the doctor.

During one of my previous doctors appointments, they had discovered that my body has a bacteria called Strep B, which is totally common and harmless to adults, but to an infant it could cause sepsis or pneumonia, which is bad. All I would have to do for it was to come in a little earlier during the labor process and get some antibiotics. easy enough. Anyway, when I called the doctor, she suggested to go and get checked out by the hospital just in cause it was the start of real labor and I needed to start the antibiotics, so we did. My husband and I got our go-bag and a few other things ready and hopped in the car and drove the very short distance to the hospital.

I got admitted and went to go get checked out by the nurse, having a monitor placed on my belly to track my baby's heartbeat and another one to monitor if I was having contractions. It wasn't so bad, but it was a little unnerving trying to wait to see if it was really time or not. That, and my husband was fighting off both fatigue and anxiety, but mostly the former since the benadryl he takes every night was kicking in. The only thing worse than that was getting checked for dilation, which for any of you who don't know involves the nurse/doctor sticking their hands up inside to feel the cervix itself. When my doctor did it on the 7th at my last in person appointment, I was only .25cm dilated. Now, it was 1cm. mild improvement but not enough to stay in the hospital. That, and the fluid that came out of me was NOT amniotic fluid, so I wasn't starting labor. So now that I was nice and sore from them checking, they sent us back home and told us to just call back in anything major changes, like starting contractions, or if I bled a lot, or if it was suddenly super painful to lay down (which it was starting to be).

As soon as we got home, that's when the pain started.

Every 3 to 5 to 10 to 15 minutes, I was hit with a sudden and debilitating pain that was primarily located in my groin. When the doctor described to me what contractions were actually like, rather than the practice Braxton-Hicks ones, is a sweeping pain or cramping feeling that stemmed from the top of my stomach and radiated around and down to my back, as if the uterus was starting to squeeze from the top down. I was unsure that these were real or not, but my mother did tell me that when she gave birth to both me and my sister, she only felt the contractions in her lower belly, like I currently was. It was nearly impossible to sleep consistently, constantly reeling in the pain for several hours. We got home around 3am. I was like this for hours, and the amount of pain I was in was the most I had ever felt, or at least at that point (spoiler alert, there was more to come).

By 6 or 7am, I finally drug myself out of bed and crawled into the bathtub to hopefully ease my pain a little with some hot water. Aside from having the wonderful company of both Momo and Carmen, our resident water cats, the bath helped a little bit, but not enough to really do anything else. Eventually I crawled back out and tried to lie back down (which was extremely painful enough as it was) and get just a little more sleep. The entire time I had been awake I was in communication with my parents, letting them know that it was possibly time (?) but I would keep them posted. Once I had woken back up again, I was going to call the doctor back and let them know how things were going. Luckily, my husband was able to get some sleep during the night and I was able to be quiet enough in wincing as not to wake him too many times. Its not that he wasn't aware or apathetic, I was actively trying to let him sleep since I knew I would need him to be cognitive later.

I called the doctor back and told her what was going on again, about the severe pain I was in and also about the bits of blood I was seeing when I went to the bathroom now (though she said it was probably just from having my cervix checked). She said that if I was really concerned, I could go back and get re-admitted, so I decided to go back. Hopefully this time they wouldn't send me back home to sit and be in pain. Once again, my husband and I gathered our things, including a few things we missed the first time out, like antacid tablets for me (heartburn was a huge thing, thing was a hairy baby), hopped in the car, and left home by ourselves for the last time.

But first, we stopped for coffee. (though I actually got an Italian cream soda but whatever. details details).

Being at the hospital on a lovely Sunday morning was not unusal for me, since I had been working weekends there for the last several months anyway (minus the last one or so, not cause I had been unable to do my transporting job cause of the baby, but I had to refuse so many transports for patients who may or may not have covid and since I was the only transporter on... I wasn't really all that much help, so I let someone else take over). Once again we got escorted back upstairs to the OB floor and re-checked in, back in the blue backless hospital gown and back on the fetal monitors. And once again... here came the fun part, checking the cervix.

Here's where the TMI really kicks in, but for educational purposes and since none of you will ever be near this part of my body, I have no problem sharing with you these details. Especially since I am not the only one in the world who may or may not have this. #raisingawareness

The first nurse came up and got ready to check, which involves putting two fingers as far up the vagina as she could until she could feel the cervix, however she encountered a bit of a problem, and it wasn't just me being in such immense pain from that. Seriously, it hurt more than the contractions. She tried to find the cervix but had a little trouble, and decided to stop after seeing how bad it was, that and she felt what she described as an extra line of tissue which seemed to be in the way. She told me that she was going to get another nurse to check and that she was sorry she had to do it again. I told her it's fine, you have to check and I understood. So a few minutes later and someone with much gentler hands came in and slowly talked me through the process, instructing me when to breathe as she felt around.

Good news: I had progressed to 5cm dialed. Bad news: that long tissue was going to pose a problem.

They called the doctor to come in and said we were going to discuss some options, but she wouldn't be in until 10am. The nurses also told me that they probably wouldn't send me home, but they don't know what the time frame for that dilation was so... eh? They also mentioned something called a septum vagina, which is where the vagina itself has an extra tissue or tendon or something in it, which was most likely what I had and why it was so painful for me to have my cervix checked, and how it's stretching posed a problem with having a natural delivery, and the possibility of it tearing and or hemorrhaging, WHICH IS BAD. So, they left us to wait for another hour or so and in the meantime, my husband and I turned to google.

Now, if you want to know more details of what a septum vagina is, then you can go google it yourself. This is a personal blog post, not a research paper. However, knowing what we do now, so much of my personal experiences make a lot more sense given how my anatomy just is. I don't exactly have a whole lot of experiences with other people's genitalia outside of working as a caregiver, and that was solely professional and for hygienic purposes. Not to mention my own experience as an asexual, it's not something I really seek out (though I am sex-positive, clearly, otherwise how the hell do you think I ended up pregnant?) and that means the only other knowledge I had came from menstrual hygiene.

(Added Note: I went back into the doc for my 6 week postpartum checkup and my doc couldn't feel the septum. We speculated that it was something which may have showed more due to the added pressure of the baby. Either way, it's not something that I may need surgery to address or whether or not it will interfere with any other children I may have. But still, fun info. raise awareness).

My original birth plan was to be hardcore and go without any pain meds. I wanted to have the full experience, feeling the pain which so many of my ancestors felt. It's literally my birthright and I have embraced the suck. I know it's gonna hurt like hell but I want to feel it anyway while screaming my head off and going Super Saiyan 3 (go look up the transformation. I wanted to quote that scene as I pushed like a total badass and weeb). However, with having spent the last 6 hours in immense pain every handful of minutes, I was starting to reconsider. Now, I know that all of you would tell me that it's fine and there's nothing wrong about taking pain meds and no one would think less of me for doing it, but I didn't want to go back on my word with myself. It's my pride! My Saiyan Pride!! I wanted to do this for ME!!! But OOF let me tell you, I was really reconsidering it considering HOW MUCH and HOW LONG I was in pain. My husband was also becoming increasingly distraught seeing just how much pain I was in and not being able to do anything about it. He stayed by my side the whole time, which was more than enough for me though. (Seriously sweetie, you're wonderful).

Finally, 10am rolled around (and then some), and the doctor came to see me. She had been briefed on my condition and came in to tell me that she highly suggested a C-section. And by highly suggested I mean she really wasn't going to let me not. Now, I had come to terms with the concept of things not going as planned long before any of this. I had my plans, but if for whatever reason those were not able to come to fruition, I'd resign myself to being cut open, I just didn't want to be awake for it. I'm squeamish enough as it is for like, getting IV's or blood drawn (medical needles and tattoo needles are different, fight me), and the thought of surgery terrifies me. The idea of my insides being exposed and worked on weirds me out and I just wouldn't want to be awake and have to deal with my own anxiety. However, when I told my doctor about that previously, she told me that unfortunately I would HAVE to be awake for a C-section and of course, I whined but accepted that fact.

And so here we were. That back up plan was now my reality. The doctor said that she had to do another procedure first, and then I would be up next. In that time, anesthesia would come and talk to me, but I needed to stop drinking that cream soda asap. Luckily I hadn't eaten since the night before so all I had to do was stop drinking and wait 2 hours and then I would be ready for surgery. I would go in around 2:30, and by the end of it, I would have a baby in my arms.

My husband and I waited around for a while, sitting in anticipation and speculation. It was really happening, wasn't it. The thing we had talked about for months. The moment that every single person in my family (and now his, now being reconnected) had been waiting for since the beginning of the month. We talked with each other, checking in with how we were feeling and keeping each other calm as we faced this together. I had been terrified that because of covid, he wouldn't be able to be there with me, and the biggest relief I had was that he was still able to be by my side (and there was no where he'd rather be). My original plan involved my parents being there, as well as my godmother and anyone else who wanted to see (assuming the nurses were okay with it), but instead it was just us, and there was almost something comforting in the solitude. We have spent 9 years being each other's main support, we knew how to talk to each other, we knew how to calm another. This, at least, was the only part of the original plan we didn't have to change.

Since I still had to wait several hours, I went ahead and accepted the nurse's offer to take some pain meds, since I already had to get my IV started (still had to take that antibiotic), and it helped a little. made me feel really woozy and that made it hard to type and talk to people who were asking me 9000 questions. I send out my cryptic message like I wanted, letting everyone know ITS TIME in the most extra way I possibly could, and then waited some more. "Not much longer now," my husband kept telling me as the time passed. The nurses came in and went ahead and told him to take our belongings into a different room which we would be in after the procedure. Room 2011. We both laughed cause that was the year we got together. Funny coincidence.

The anesthesiologist came in right around 2:30, as promised and gave me a quick rundown of how they were going to numb me down from the ribs down (give or take) by sticking a needle in my spine, which... oh boy... more needles. I just tried not to think about it. I don't remember exactly what the whole process was, but once again, this isn't a research paper. Look it up yourself if you want to know. They gave my husband a sanitary suit to wear in the OR, and he changed into that while I went to the bathroom again (and proceeded to bleed everywhere after being checked twice. BTW it's about to get a little more gross). Now with my gown damp with blood, We walked back to the OR room. I gave my husband my phone and one more kiss before going in to start the procedure. (He had to wait outside while they gave me the anesthesia).

The only think I could think of as I entered the room and sat on the table was of The Killer's song "Spaceman."

It started with a low light
Next thing I knew, they ripped me from my bed
And then they took my blood type
It left a strange impression in my head
You know that I was hoping
That I could leave this star-crossed world behind
But when they cut me open
I guess that changed my mind

Singing that song in my head was the only thing keeping me calm as they stuck the needle in my back. Even with the topical numbing, it still hurt when the fluid went up the spinal cord (or whatever it was). I was hunched over as another nurse held me up, trying to breathe and focus, or really not focus on the needle. Gotta stay in the moment. It'll be alright. Then they laid me down on the table and brought my arms up to the side. They placed the protective shield guard thing on my belly, exposing the area where they were going to cut and pulling up the blue fabric to cover the view so neither me nor my husband could see the actual insides (which is a good thing). I kept wiggling my toes to test to see how much or how long it would take for me to stop feeling my lower half. They finally let my husband back in right as my nerves were starting to break, but having him back next to me and holding my hand was enough to calm me back down while they began to cut.

It didn't feel like much of anything. Everything was so numb that I could really only feel small sensations as the docs were moving around. It was wild, now that I think about it. I kept making small talk with my husband as they worked their magic. I just had to remember to slowly breathe and keep calm, it was all going to be okay. At one point, the doc turned to us and said "Okay, this is it." It was time for the baby to arrive. I felt some really strong tugging and pulling, my body being pushed side to side, and then, a cry.

My baby's cry.

It was the most unreal sound, finally getting to hear their voice. The doc's turned to my husband and said "Okay Dad, you can look." He stood up and took saw them for the first time, and then turned to me and said "She's beautiful."

I began to cry a little. I had a girl! I was so happy! 

The docs took the baby over to get cleaned up and my husband went with them. I could only watch from the table as they started to clean me up. I could hear my husband talk to my new baby girl, while she gave everyone else quite an earful. While they were over doing that, I felt a strange feeling in my chest and told then anesthesiologist, then started to puke a little. He told me that's a normal side effect of the medicine while holding a baggie to my face. 

After they got the baby all cleaned up, they brought her over to me to hold for just a little. It was difficult with the big blue tent still obscuring my lower half, but wow was she so soft and warm. The first glimpse I had of her she was still blue-ish, but now she was starting to get pinker. She was just so little, so small, so wonderful. I know it's cliche for parents to talk about how magical their first time holding their kid is, but it really was. For a brief moment, just me, my husband, and our baby all huddled together, the chaos of the room being drowned out, it was really something.

However it was brief, as they took daddy and baby off to our room while they had to sew my belly back together. It didn't take more than 20 minutes, so I said "see you soon" and watched them leave. Quietly, back with my thoughts, I waited. More than anything I was just eager to get back to the room. It was a quick procedure and once they were done, they slid me off the table and on to my bed, then rolled me back to the room to rejoin my family.

The first image I have from that point is my husband in one of his favorite dark blue sweaters, gently swaying back and forth with our baby all wrapped up in his arms. There are few times I've seen him so happy, so relieved. He smiled at me as I came in and showed me our daughter, all pink and smooshyfaced. The nurse was in there with us still too and it was time to weigh her. 

7 pounds 4.6 oz. 20 inches long.

Just a teeny little thing. 

Now, I don't remember if in my last blog post I had gone into the details of what we were planning for names, but if I did, just go read that one. Anyway, It was time to give her a name...

Valerie Fawkes Smith.

(Note, that almost 3 months later I'm still not used to calling her by her name, I usually call her Baby or Grump.)

Finally, it was my turn to hold her (and attempt to breastfeed her). I was so worried with how small and soft she was, I didn't want to hurt her. But with a little luck and her very first instinct, She began to suckle. Good job Kid. It was weird at first, and then began to hurt since my body wasn't used to it. The nipples got super sore and my back ached from having to hold her up. Those first few days were a nightmare trying to get in the rhythm of things, but we managed.

We got ourselves settled in, took our first pictures, talked to our families, and just were in awe over Valerie's little face. She had her eyes open quite a bit, they were this astounding slate blue. It was the most wonderful color, and though she couldn't see color or focus on us at all, we kept getting lost in her eyes, hoping that she'd come to recognize us. People always talked about the smell that new babies have, and no it's not a poopy smell, but its this intoxicating sweetness to them. It was just the most wonderful thing, and maybe it's pheromones or whatever but it was so strong. I know some baby shampoos try to emulate it and they get soooo close, but there's nothing better than the real stuff.

A few hours passed, we all kept cuddling and eventually it was time to eat. They brought us in a nice turkey dinner which I was so excited for. My husband, being a vegetarian, was less excited. We traded potatoes for meat so he at least had something substantial. She also was going through diapers quite often already. There was a point, maybe 3 hours or so after my anesthesia wore off and I could move my legs again, that I had scooted to the edge of my bed because I wanted to help my husband change her (as well as learn how to swaddle her). I carefully moved, making sure to keep all my wires and IV lines, and catheter where they needed to be in proximity to me (that is my job normally after all, so none of that was alien to me). I stood up, making sure to have the bed right behind me still just in case I was unsteady on my feet, and leaned over at my baby. We got he changed but then the nurse came in the room and asked;

"Are you standing?!"

My only response was "Am I in trouble?"

The answer was yes.

It wasn't that bad though, they just wanted to make sure that I wasn't going to agitate my incision or pull anything out or fall... though they got the feeling that if I was already standing that I was healing phenomenally well. No harm though. I suppose I could have just waited to learn how to swaddle the baby since I was gonna do it later anyway. I'm just impatient.

Our first night together was rather rough. Newborns wake up a lot and need food and a change about every 2 to 3 hours. I was still confined to my bed so it was Daddy who got to do all the hard stuff. We set Baby up next to my bed and made sure I could rest my hand in the bassinet to help comfort her (and keep the pacifier in). She cried and wiggled and eventually during the night I padded my bed with all the pillows in the known universe so there was no chance of her falling and just held her against me. She stayed cradled in my arms until morning, which worked out very well since she was infinitely less fussy. Turns out I spoiled her from the get go cause she refuses to sleep without a warm body next to her most nights (it's only sometimes a problem).

My memory gets a little fuzzy for our second day at the hospital. I remember she and I both had a lot of time with nurses and doctors and learning to feed better. Breastfeeding was starting to hurt since I wasn't used to it. I was SO SORE and she wasn't always latching good. I tensed my body every time she tried and eventually had a huge ache in my back from tensing so much. (It got better after the first week). I got cleared by the nurse and was able to stand and go to the bathroom on my own (though that was kinda difficult). I got my IV taken out, I was able to get a shower (oh it was nice. The tub in the hospital room was so deep I was so mad that I wasn't allowed baths for a good while cause of the incision).

Meanwhile, Baby got her first bath (sponge bath, really), and was... tolerant of it. (These days we just take baths with mommy and daddy and we love it). We dressed her up in a cute outfit of a dark green onsie with dinosaurs saying "hello there" (they were from the first batch of clothes we bought after finding out I was pregnant). Then we we spent the rest of the day on the phone (or video call, really) with everyone we possibly could. My Parents, my mother in law, all of the grandparents, friends and other extended family, you name it. I also saw two of my coworkers who came to see me during their shift and that was fun.  

That night was much more rough. Baby was super fussy and I was so tired I could barely keep my eyes open even as she screamed. Daddy was worried too and couldn't sleep either. Eventually, he found that Baby likes being rocked to sleep on his chest (something she still likes). It was stressful, and when we found out she was loosing a bit too much weight after birth we got worries (my milk wasn't really coming in yet so there's that). The nurses had some donor milk for that exact scenario so she got a teeny little bottle and was at least eating. We had to set up an appt with a pediatrician for the following day, so that was fun (but they told us what to do and everything turned out fine).

We had an outfit planned for her first time home, A cute grey onsie with a rainbow on it. Regardless of who our baby turned out to be, they were definitely going into that outfit. If pregnancy was a rainstorm, than they were the rainbow. Both Mommy and Baby were clear to go home Tuesday afternoon. We cleared out of our hospital room and piled into the car. She wasn't exactly thrilled to be strapped in a car seat, but rules is rules kid. The ride home was more tough on me though, just having surgery and all, but it was short, and we arrived home to be greeted by our loving friends/roommates, our confused and curious felines, and later, my parents. They had been so exited to meet their first (human) granbaby. They also cooked some amazing chicken fried steak for me, mashed potatoes and green beans too. It was the greatest thing I had eaten in days (not that the hospital food was bad).

The cats just kinda regarded the new baby, more interested in the stuff she came home in (like sleeping in the car seat, stroller, bassinet, etc...) and left baby to cuddle with gramma and grampa. She was so small and soft (and sleepy). She was still getting used to this whole "existing" thing. 

Also grampa put his sunglasses on Baby and we have funny pictures of it.

Eventually the sun went down and it was time for Mommy and Baby to go sleep (Daddy still stays up later). It was so nice to be back in our own bed (baby too cause she hated being put down, so once again crammed with all the pillows so no one falls). We settled in for a so-so restful night and began our new life together.

And since then, it's been a wonderful adventure, even though this is only the beginning.

oh yeah and we also kept the placenta and buried it in the backyard under a rose. 

Home Stretch

MAY IS UPON US

Well, as of tomorrow it is anyway, and that means there's less than 2 weeks left until my whole world is changed. But let't be real here, it's not like my life hasn't gradually changed over these last nine months anyway. Between work, personal projects, personal growth, and a fluctuating number of cats in my life, I'm used to the change (though I'm not even going to get into how the pandemic changed things, but all things considered, I lucked out).

I know I spent the last blog post ranting and complaining about what it feels like to be pregnant in this society, and perhaps I was a little too critical in some points (though I stand by what I said), I wanted to take this time to share all the positive things about this new journey I'm venturing on.

Let's be honest, I've always wanted kids. I always wanted to be able to experience this (pregnancy) and I love caring for other people (and animals). I loved working as a caregiver for all those years and when I left that job, all I really wanted was to be able to spend more time at home and be kind of a home maker (though I still want to work). I've always considered myself (and been considered to be) a certified "Mom Friend," making sure everyone has what they need (if I can) and yelling at people to stay hydrated. I know raising a tiny human is going to be very different, but I (and my editor) look forward so much to watching them learn and grow and discover the person they'll be. same goes for any kid we'll have in the future.

All things considered, I know I've had a relatively easy and painless pregnancy. Sure, the first part sucked and being sick and fatigued for months got old quick, but it did get better. I still don't recommend this to anyone unless they WANT to go through this mess, but I'm glad I got the chance to. I haven't had to go to the ER for anything, I'm not so sick and worn out that I can't still enjoy the things I used to, and I know I have been SPOILED by my work and the lovely techs who have let me take a peek at my baby via ultrasound every other week or so since new years. (seriously, I love y'all).

Since the new year, and with how much this baby has grown, I've learned to take comfort in feeling them move around (though it hurts sometimes). I used to struggle to feel anything or was unsure what it was supposed to feel like (best descriptor I had was really bad indigestion). But now I feel every wiggle and kick and when they've got to do their taebo routine. I've been able to actually watch them move around from the outside. It used to be I would SWEAR that I could see it with my shirt move or if I watched closely I could see the tiny thumps, but now I can clearly feel and see everything. My editor even noticed them moving around a bunch when I took a nap in the recliner last week. He was just sitting near my on the couch finishing homework as I dozed and noticed the blankets were experiencing an earthquake. No longer do I have to take his hand and place it on my belly for several minutes hoping he can feel something, now its within seconds (though the kid ALWAYS calms down whenever dad shows up which is just not fair).

More than anything, I'm just glad to have such a wonderful partner. I've said to him over and over and over how I'm glad it's him that I'm experiencing this all with, and he's repeated the same back to me. As many of you know, our lives have not been perfect and there are many times I would have been justified to leave, but there is not a day that goes by that I don't regret staying. I chose to stick with it even knowing the risks and I have been repaid tenfold by his dedication and love. I do with there were things that we could have done differently, and I do feel the repercussions for my actions, but I've taken a page from his book and learned to change and grow and become a better person than I was before every day I can. He's been reliable and caring and stood by my side during this whole journey, and aside from my mother, I don't think anyone is more excited for this baby's arrival. He's going to be a great father and I hope they take after his curiosity and desire to learn and explore. I'm also grateful that he gets to be by my side for the delivery, I can't imagine having to do it alone, and since I can't have any other family with me (thanks to the pandemic), I'm glad I can at least have him.

I do worry a lot about the cats and how they'll react to this new being. My herd is a needy bunch, and I know there are a few of them who I don't have to worry about with the baby. The roommate's cat, Momo, who mostly stays upstairs with us and is the most interactive cat I've met in years (though he does have a tendency to pee on the couch, it's a pain but he's worth all the mess). He's very gentle when he plays with us and I have confidence in him that he'll be good with the baby. My editor's big fluffy cat, Darwin (Winny for short), I think will also be a nice gentle mama. She's more aloof, but I have photographic proof that she and Momo do well with babies. My old friend from Japanese class came to visit last year and brought her (then) one year old and those two cats were FASCINATED by the tiny human, watching her move around the house and just kept an eye on her. Winny had almost guided her up the stairs, only climbing up one or two above the kid to watch her, her tail straight up with curiosity and interest (cat language is an easy thing to read once you know what to look for).

The others though... well... I think Winny's sister, Huxley (Bug) will be okay with the kid. She tends to be needier than her sister, but she's also more demanding when it comes to cuddles. We'll see how she does. Our other foster, Fenetre (an old tortie calico we've been watching for my friend who's been working in Japan on and off for the last few years), is absolutely OBSESSED with my editor (specifically his lap) and I can see her climbing into his arms OVER the baby to settle, then getting upset that his lap is occupied like she often does. I don't think she'll be hostile, just... pouty. Abbey (Moose), the absolute love of my life, I think she's gonna get jealous. She doesn't like the other cats at all and is very picky. She's not mean to people, she's just vocal when she's upset (makes little oinking noises and they are my favorite). Since he's been home so much (being non-essential and having online classes now), she's been getting really close to my editor and it's very sweet. says she asks him for cuddles a lot after I go to bed. I think she'll be a lot like Fenetre when it comes to the baby, minus the stepping over them to get to cuddles. Maybe. We'll see.

Carmen, the stray I took in last year, she'll be fine I think. she's not a cuddler or really invested in what we're doing, though she likes being around us. I do know that if we lay the baby on the floor or on the changing table, she'll probably come up and swatswatswat at them, but no worse than how she plays with me (and its limited claws so not painful). She's not as gentle as Momo, but she hasn't injured me since I was first trying to get her used to the house, and that was cause I was being the big dumb stupid ape and putting my hand out towards a scared and hostile cat. AND I even had to climb a tree to get her un-stuck last week.

(I'm not really going to guess how my roommate's other cat, Ammy, will react. She stays in the basement and is anxious around everyone that isn't her parents).

The one I worry the most about is our new tabby boi, Fluvi. He's absolutely TERRIFIED when new people come over, and goes into hiding every time my parents come by. It takes HOURS for him to relax and return to the rolly chirpy boi that he is normally. He's a giant (and I mean GIGANTIC as in size/weight) chicken, and doesn't know how to be gentle when it comes to bites and claws. He barely tolerates when my editor and I trim his claws and they grow back so quick. He's been such a wonderful part of this last year and I'm so happy to have him in my life, but I'm terrified how he's going to react to the baby. I don't think he'll be hostile, but I'm afraid he'll be too afraid to even come out and eat most days (and yeah he could use to lose a pound or two, but not like this). My editor reassures me that he'll eventually get used to the kid and I hope he's right, I just don't want to lose seeing the wonderful personality he has.

People had asked me if it's really a good idea to have so many cats AND a baby (even disregarding the old wives tales), and no, it's probably not. But I never found a new home for Carmen even though we tried (I'm not giving them to shelters), and all of the other people who we COULD give them to either are allergic, already have cats, or already live with me.

I know it's kind of silly that the thing I look forward to the most is just being able to be home with my baby and my family (human and feline), and I feel bad for spending half this post ranting about cats (you knew this about me when you clicked). But it's true. I'm a simple man with simple dreams.

Am I ready to be a mom? I mean I already am but, sure? Do I think I can do it? I don't know. I can only do my best.

One of my favorite cartoons from this last decade is Steven Universe, and in it (trying not to spoil anything here), there is a character, Rose Quartz, She is technically some kind of gem-lifeform alien and falls in love with the earth and how amazing it is, and loves humanity. She eventually falls in love with a musician named Greg Universe and they have a kid, Steven (but she has to give up her gem form to become Steven... it's a thing don't worry about it). Anyway, before she "conceives" Steven, there is an episode where she and Greg babysit for one of their friends and hi-jinks ensue. Rose has a moment on the beach where she talks about the difference between organic life and gem-kind. Gems come directly out of the ground fully formed and programmed with purpose, and they live (nearly) eternally with that function and nothing else, no room for deviation from the norm (hence why she defected from her home planet and fought for the earth (more plot stuff don't worry about it)). Humans, however, they come out as a blank slate and they learn and grow and become whatever they want, and it's one of my favorite of her scenes, because it sums up how I feel about parenthood. I can't wait to watch and see my child(ren) grow and learn and become whoever they are going to be. Later on in the timeline, after Rose turns to Steven, there's a little montage of Greg trying to care for newborn Steven. The song he sings over it is "I can never be ready," and the lyrics are just that, him expressing that even though he's already in this situation and is as ready as he'll ever be, he can never REALLY be ready for what parenthood brings him. He just has to face it one day at a time and my editor and I both take that message to heart.

We're just going to face each day as it comes and do our best. We will try to avoid the mistakes of our predecessors, and learn and grow from our own mistakes (and I know we'll make them).

I don't want to have any expectations for my child (or any kid I'll have). My biggest hope is for them to stay alive, be healthy, and I pray they aren't allergic to cats. The total lack of expectation also ties into why we didn't want to find out/don't care about their sex, (since we have very progressive views on sex and gender and I don't like the needlessly gendering of infants or their stuff). I want to give them the tools I had that helped shape me into the person I am, though if they find their own way that's cool too. (Just don't be a nazi, kid).

I hope I maintained the positive tone I wanted for this post, since I do want to convey how excited I am to give birth (thou it gonna huuuurt). I'm an optimist to a fault, and I'm gonna face this smiling.

Well, see you on the other side!

I got so much beef, I'm making burgers.

If you thought I was bad at keeping up an online blog, lemme tell you, I'm even worse at keeping a paper journal.

Many people suggested I do that to help sort my thoughts or for therapeutic reasons, and it was actually my hope to document my maternal journey that way. I always imagined that I would write detailed passages expressing my thoughts and feelings and the things I was doing during my pregnancy, but instead I'm several months behind and starting to forget just what happened along the way.

But hey, my journal has a bunch of bees on it, so that's something.

As I promised though, I wanted to make a post ranting about some of the more frustrating aspects of this process, specifically in the ways other people treat you. I know I am not the only one who is experienced these kinds of things, and I know I'm not the only one who is bothered by them. However, I do know that a lot of the things I'm about to complain about do come from people who mean well or are trying to be endearing, so don't take me as chastising these people too much.

I had speculated long before I found myself in this situation, that in the past, pregnancy used to be more about the mother's health and journey, not so much the baby's. Thanks to modern medicine and technology, and how it allows us to see the baby develop and whatnot, I thought that might have been what triggered this cultural shift to fixate on the baby's existence while completely neglecting the mother.

Now, I know that it's not ALWAYS the case, and that maybe I'm just reading into things, but this is my blog and I'll be wrong if I want to.

It seemed like from the moment people knew about my pregnancy, I was starting to be erased. I wanted to keep things on the downlow, more of a need to know basis until I was ready to be more open about it, especially since there is always that chance of the baby not surviving the first trimester. Eventually rumor spread and the news got around to a few more people and some did come up and talk to me about it. Of course, I always asked "who told you" first but never actually got an answer. (personally I always like seeing where information spreads from). Once everyone else knew (and I told them), I got less of "How are you?" and more of  "How's the baby?" (like I knew how something the size of a grape deep in my belly was!?!). Less "Good morning V," and more "Hey little Mama."

I was being reduced to what I WAS, rather than WHO I am. (even though I know that they are just trying to be sweet, It still bugs me.)

Even before all this started, stuff like that bugged me. (I don't remember if I wrote this before but I can't be bothered to check.) I have chronic stomach problems. Nothing like, serious or diagnosable, but enough that frequently I'm sitting here going "my tummy hurts" or some shit. Now, I HATE and I mean that with every single capitalized letter, when other people hear that (particularly older folk) and loudly assume "oH aRe YoU PreGnANt?!" like it's any of their business if I am or not. for Y E A R S I have had people ask that and it really grates on you, especially if you're not particularly comfortable with that word. (it always rubbed me the wrong way for some reason and its been a feat getting used to saying frequently, but that's not a problem with the concept as a while that's just me being weird). Not to mention those who may have struggles with pregnancy or trauma or just don't want to hear it. Seriously, don't make assumptions and don't say stuff like that. It's 2020, don't assume people's medical issues.

Going back to the erasure issue, it also seemed like I was becoming secondary to the tiny parasite living in my stomach (no I don't actually think they're a parasite, I've just been replaying Bioshock). Even simple things like me going to feed myself turned into "OH ArE yOU GetTiNG FOod FoR thE BaBY?!" as if I no longer needed to eat to keep myself alive. Or when the weather was bad and I was about to drive home, I was told "Drive safe! It's not just you in there!" as if my life was not as important as my baby. (Yes I'm reading into things way too much and Yes I am being very pedantic about it and YES I just realized I could use italics for emphasis. sue me). All these things stemmed from people trying to be sweet, I'm sure, but it still just rubs me the wrong way. Now with my belly showing way more, I get interrupted a lot just for people to gawk at it. Like, okay, you can be excited, I am too, but like LETMEFINISHMYDAMNSENTANCEFIRSTHOLYSHIT.

Which leads me to one more thing- people making everything in my life about pregnancy or the baby. Like I said before, I am very excited. I've wanted this for a long time and I look forward to seeing what kind of person my child is going to be, both me and my husband are. However, I still have other things going on in my life, things that literally are my life's work and my dreams. I'm still working towards them and I'm not going to suddenly give them up now that I am going to be a mother. I'm also not going to stop being me and start living vicariously through my child (not to mention how unhealthy that is for me and the kid. seriously, our goal is to NOT give them a childhood they need therapy from). The last thing I want from any conversation is to suddenly be really passonate about my work or my art and for it to turn back into someone else wanting to talk about the baby or how my baby will relate to it now. Or really any conversation. Like I can be having a regular conversation about politics or video games or whatever and someone being like "Well, you're pregnant... so..." and I'm not even talking about the ways people try to assume you're just overrating or being hormonal, as if that somehow changes how I feel about something (though it does amplify feelings, but no more than a period does I guess). That's been my biggest frustration as of late. It's like, I'm more than just pregnant. I'm still me, my own person with thoughts and feelings and I"m not going to stop being me just because I am a mom now. Also, my kid is going to be the same, their own person with their own thoughts and feelings. We aren't extensions of each other, even if we're alike (much like me and my own mother are, but no one assumes that my mom doesn't exist just cause she gave birth twice. She's actually said she experienced some of these things when we were babies and I can only feel terrible she had to go through it. ((I also nearly killed her when I was born so like... oops))

Long story short, Treat pregnant folks as if you would anyone else. They're still human. of course, still be courteous to them and be conscious with your actions around them, like smoking or letting them sit if they want or just like... don't be a jerk.

ALSO DON'T TOUCH THEIR BELLIES WITHOUT ASKING! SERIOUSLY WHAT IS WRONG WITH Y'ALL. Most don't mind or wont yell at you but like, ASK FIRST! ITS THE RIGHT THING TO DO.

ok. end rant. maybe it's not as bad as I make it out to be but I bet there are a million other mothers out there who have even worse stories and experiences than I do. (and I've even had it easy compared to most. seriously... how did humanity survive this long).

New Year New Me(s)

Well Well Well, here we are again.

As promised, I mentioned something in my "changing families" section of my last post, and well, I do have some news to share.

I'm going to be a mom.

Not like a cat mom, but like a real human mother with a real human baby.

So, yeah, back in September, I had started to feel like absolute shit. I lost all my energy and was just dead every day. It was a real problem. I had speculated what could be the cause but didn't want to think about the possibilities too much until I had a chance to talk to a Doctor (with my new health insurance thanks to my job!). Fast forward to the 25th when I had my appointment and I got my answer. I was telling the doc about family history and a few other things, and mentioned PCOS and how I also missed a period, and knew that could mean a handful of things. She left to tell the lab techs to test that and came back and kept talking with me. She went to check on the results and brought me back a stick being held by tissue paper. She held it up to my face and was smiling. I couldn't see anything (didn't have my glasses) and I didn't know how to read it anyway, so I was confused. I asked what it meant. She said "Congratulations."

"Oh thank god."

That's all I could say. I had be ready for news like that for a long time, and it was a huge relief to hear. Now it meant that I had a lot of work and preparation to do over the next few months.

First stop was telling my husband (my editor). He was a little shaken up at first, but quickly came around. Now he's been the absolute best to me in ways that I cannot thank him enough for. Seriously he's taken such good care of me and has been by my side this whole time. He's just as eager as I am during each appointment, and we both look forward to being parents.

Now, I probably wont keep going on and on about how each month has been in terms of the baby's development, I might give some updates as things go but for the most part, this is where the happy posts end.

I have so much to complain about regarding society and how they treat pregnancy and I am full of much rage. (my friends and family have all heard these rants and also have been wonderful to me and are exempt from my rage). There are also so many things that are happening to me that no one ever warned me of. Like, how I can't even brush my teeth without vomiting. WHY IS THIS A THING. It's inconvenient and just the worst way to start your day. 0/10

Before I go on to my big rants (probably in other posts), I will say that I'm doing much better now than I was in the beginning. I'm about halfway through and my baby is doing well as well (according to the doc). I don't know what they are going to be like or who they are going to be, but that's the part I'm most eager to find out as time goes. I feel like people put way too many expectations on their kids from the moment they are conceived and I don't want any of that. My only expectations for them are to stay alive, and also to hopefully be healthy. everything outside of that, we'll figure that out along the way.

Alright, that's enough for now. Also respect my privacy and keep this off of FB. (I'm going to share it to it, but don't post about it or tag me in baby stuff. if you want to talk to me about stuff, just message me. I'd love to rant.)

1, 2, 10 year retrospect

It's been more than a year and a half since my last post and don't get your hopes up, I'm still not going to be updating this often. Don't really feel inclined to. However, I do feel it's better to post big life updates here than, like... on FB. FB is for cat pictures and commie memes. Twitter isn't much better and Tumblr is dead.

So, what's left to say, it's been a HELL of a year. and yes, I mean literal hell. (am I being too pessimistic?)

Am I talking like an old man?

I looked back on the first year anniversary of this blog, 5 years ago, and saw how eager I was to be 23. to be honest a hardly feel more than 25 sometimes when I'm almost 30 (28.5 now but eh).

So, what have I been up to in the year and a half since my last post? Well aside from Rio still being dead and me still being Ace and Polyam, eh, actually a lot.

Personally, I've grown a lot. I still get sad when I remember losing Rio, as I do when I think of all those who I have lost, but those memories have a fondness to them. I have matured a lot and have learned much better ways to communicate, and how to set better boundaries for myself (through lots of trail and error but eh, who's counting). I've learned to assert myself and just exist as who I am because I want to (and I'm too tired to do anything else). I've learned to let go. I've learned to hold on to what matters most to me. I've learned how to be mad. But, in the end, I'm still me.

Now that the introspective piece is out of the way, how about some tangible changes?

Well, since I hated it so much, I finally fled the post office. It really wasn't a good fit for me. And after rear ending someone (very gently, no injuries) with a postal truck and having the whole thing just go nowhere, I couldn't do it anymore. Seeing the country side was nice, but I needed to be free. So I went back to driving rideshare for a while (until they kicked me off for the PO accident/points lost on my licence, but its fine cause I hated rideshare), and working at the hospital as much as I could, that kinda sums up what I was doing. I only NOW got full-time at the hospital back in July, and life has been great ever since. I really like this place, and the people here. I've started doing art commissions to help with bills here and there, but for the most part I've just been working on my personal art/writing. I can't say much but it's out there, and I'm working on the art as much as I can while still continuing the story. I feel very accomplished in that way. go me.

Well, how about family matters? how has that changed? well, for one, hold on until tomorrow and you'll find out the good stuff. Let's see... After losing Rio, things were quiet for a while. My mom's health had been struggling especially last year and at the start of this year she discovered she had breast cancer. She fought a valiant battle over the spring and summer and conquered it completely! It was stressful for a while but she never gave up. I'm glad she made it through. She also still has a lot of other health issues but we'll face those as they come. However, we did experience some tragedy during the summer. During one of the last sessions of chemo, her loyal friend and companion, a cat named Rabbit (India, technically) ended up having some ongoing heart problems and eventually had to be let go. However, Rabbit could not have picked a better time to say goodbye, since my sister had come in for a visit during that week. we all got a chance to be there for each other and it was really beautiful, as sad as that all is.

On the subject of cats, in the beginning of June, my mom and I went to go see the Elton John movie. we stopped at petco to pick up some things and ended up peeking over to the cats available for adoption. That's when I saw him. Looking back from the other side of the glass was a beautiful tabby boy, and of course, I wanted to cry. It hadn't even been a full year since we lost Rio and every little thing reminded me of him. Here was this baby (he was listed as 4 years old but he is a certified baby, trust me, I know), and I couldn't stop thinking about him. I sent a picture to my editor and he vetoed the idea of adopting the cat since we still had 6 others in the house. It's the responsible thing to do. However I asked him to think it over, and he did. He agreed to meet the boy in person and immediately caved. He still struggles with Rio's loss more than I do, and as painful as it was we felt relieved to see another tabby face again.
Then, there was a sign. When Rio would feel like the catboxes weren't cleaned to his standard, he would just poop right outside of them. he did that for years and we got used to it. Now, here was this little tabby boy trying to use the catbox in front of us, and failing miserably. He ended up going right out of the box and we just laughed. this baby was carrying on Rio's legacy, we HAD to get him. We got a chance to play with him out of the cage and it was all over from there. We applied for the adoption papers and waited a few days for them to respond. On Sunday, while we were at my mom's house (I forget why), I got the call. They asked me about all our cats and why we wanted another and I was honest. Then they said we were approved and we immediately went to go get him.The name the rescue group gave him was Dax, and while it's cute, it didn't have that DIGNITAS that we were looking for. To carry on Rio's legacy, we named him Fluvius, latin for river.
This poor baby wanted out of that cage SO BAD my goodness. It wasn't much better being crammed in a small box for the car ride home, so I let him peek his head out and hold on to me as we drove. I think it helped. Now, remember when I said I KNEW that he was baby? As SOON as we brought the box with Fluvi in, all the other cats were like "WTF is this?" but they didn't really seem to be bothered by him. All the girls just kind of regarded him and went about their day, while Momo (the roommate's cat) was VERY INTERESTED in this new friend. At first, Momo just hissed (something he usually doesn't do), then he spent the rest of the time lurking just out of view to keep an eye on him. Poor Fluvi was so scared, he was clearly overwhelmed by all the things and all the new faces. We didn't see the need to lock him in the bathroom for the night since the other cats didn't care about him, so I settled him right next to the bed in an emptied shelf  (I cleared out a cubby for Moose to sleep in after she had to get dental surgery in May, and THAT was it's own thing. She's doing great now), and settled the new baby right in. He woke me up a lot by hissing every time he saw Momo peeking at him from the foot of the bed but it was an easy night.
He was still shy of the other cats and of the big house, but seemed to be adjusting okay. I went to grab a burger for lunch and ended up sharing it with him. this was a mistake. Now every time ANY of us have food, Fluvi has to be there and wants some. I, of course, always give him some cause I like to spoil my babies. and it's any wonder that in the last 6 months he's doubled in size. Jumping back thou, it took a little time, but by the end of the second night, Momo and Fluvi were playing. They have been inseparable since. It also helped having another tabby around the house again. It really helped ease my pain by the time Rio's death anniversary came by, and of course, Fluvi isn't Rio. they are two different individuals, but Fluvi carries on Rio's legacy very well.

Well, now that I've ranted about cat's a bunch, you'd think I'd be done, right?

WRONG

SO... the day before we lost Rabbit, I went to go get another tattoo (one of Majin Buu on my left arm. it looks amazing). THAT NIGHT, I went out for karaoke with my roommate and my sister, and on the way home my roommate stopped by the gas station down a ways from our house. along the street I saw a little white cat who looked like they were looking for food. they had no collar and weighed practically nothing! I spent HOURS trying to hunt this baby down, and eventually gave up after I failed to get the cat into the roommate's car (she started the engine too soon and spooked the baby). Once I got home, I just couldn't feel okay with leaving that cat. So I went back out with a can of cat food and tried my luck again. However, I met another cat along the way and offered them some food, but in the end they weren't interested and just walked away. big cat. clearly well taken care of. However, this little thing peeked their head back out and was VERY interested in the food. after a struggle, I managed to capture the little white cat and take them home.
Now, here's the part I tell you that I fed her for a few days and then found her a good home, but that's not how this goes. None of my friends could take this little spicy baby. She (discovered she was a girl) was probably feral and did not like being cooped up or messed with. Once She got used to people and used to being fed, she started being less hostile. Still didn't like the other cats. however, Fluvi really liked her. after enough time we let her out to roam the house (got her shots too). She keeps to herself but hangs with the boys mostly. Now, we got her spayed and though we still need a good home for her, she is an accepted part of the household. She's really chilled out too. Likes headpats and kisses, and will tolerate being held for a maximum of 30 seconds. It's progress.

Let's see, what's left? I think I'm done talking about cats, but we'll see. The rest of the year was just that. Work, personal stuff, and cats. Sure, I did some cool things, like ride a train. I've had the privilege of having some wonderful friends who I've kept in touch with over the years. I know I'll make many more as time goes on too.

It's hard to think that it's been a full 10 years since I graduated high school. It's remarkable how much can change in a decade. I know I'll be saying the same thing in another 10 years, and so on. I'm not much of the sentimental type, but I do get lost in thought about it. Over all, I am hopeful. I can't help but be an optimist about things.

Well, see y'all next year.

Breaking Out

Ok, so more like Coming Out, but I can’t resist an opportunity to make a reference to Shock Treatment.

So let’s start this off right, and I’m sorry that it’s a huge jump from yesterday’s really mournful tone, but fuck it. It’s my Birthday.

In fact, because it’s my birthday I feel like today is the best day to say all this.

I am asexual.

Specifically demisexual, but I’ll explain that in a bit.

Many many many years ago, my editor and I had a roommate. They (that’s the singular they) were always queer, that’s just how we knew them. They were our first real look into queer culture outside of just homosexuality. They were pansexual, and polyamorous as well. They explained what that all meant very well. 

A few years later I discovered what Asexual meant, which in the context of human sexuality, is someone who does not experience sexual attraction. Now each experience is different for each person after that point, but when I learned about it I felt like I really understood something about myself. I have had many boyfriends in the past, and as an adult I have experienced intimacy with them as well, but it wasn’t like I felt physically drawn to them in that way, I like looking at people but I always pegged that to be more because I’m an artist. 

That’s when demisexuality came into play. Demisexuality is when someone doesn’t experience sexual attraction until a strong emotion bond is formed. And boy did that make sense to me. Because I do feel it, sometimes, but only with certain people. 

Over the last year I’ve slowly dropped the hint about it, and I think my family knows now. My editor was the first person to really know and he has given me so much love as support throughout this journey. 

Now speaking of my editor, let’s talk about gender expression shall we?

He and I have never really strongly identified with our assigned gender as much as most cis people do, but we also don’t identify as the opposite nor do we experience dysphoria. But there is a term for that: demigendered. He and I both identify as demi (I a demigirl and he a demiboy) which from the outside really doesn’t look all that different, and maybe it really isn’t, but it’s something that helped us become more comfortable with ourselves and each other as we learned these things about ourselves.

Now, to top off this queer cake, let’s talk about relationships.

Remember that roommate who was polyamorous? Well, we didn’t start dating them, but we learned a lot from them. Through a lot of heartbreak, my editor realized he had feelings for another person and the discussion about polyamory was on the table. I was always ok with the idea but I was too shy to really bring it up myself. That situation didn’t end up going anywhere, but we learned a lot. It helped open up our communication as a couple that much more and now we’re pretty much each other’s wing man. And let me tell you, this is really fun!

There is another friend of mine who reached out to me online after a concert two years ago and now she and I are the best of friends. She is also insanely beautiful. We always say we love each other and support and appreciate each other. She also is fond of my editor. I always liked the idea of adding her to our big gay home but through two separate events, she ended up in some kind of advanced friendship with both my editor and myself. I’ve decided to call ourselves “gal pals” (an Internet term for people misreading lesbians) and I honestly love it. Even if things don’t go anywhere with the more intimate parts of this relationship, she is a wonderful friend and I really do love her. 

So yeah.

I’m ace and I’m polyam. 

And I figured this was the best way to celebrate both my birthday and pride month.

If anyone has any questions, feel free to ask. I’m all about sharing the information!

Later, Buddy.

Today was a very hard day.

For the last few months, my editor and I had watched our beloved Rio shrink down. He was always a skinny boi, but this was different. We were able to combat it by feeding him kitten chow and spoiling him with cream and meat and literally whatever food he wanted cause he demanded it. It seemed to help.

I lost the past two month attempting to work as a mail carrier, which sucked all my time and energy from me (I had left my position as a caregiver in February). I was able to get more work at the hospital which gave me June back to spend more time at home, and I’m very glad I was able to, because Rio wasn’t doing so well. He lost a lot more weight and his behavior started to change.

This last week was really the worst. He hardly left the back of my editor’s chair in the office, he would lose his balance and fall off a lot. He wouldn’t eat or drink as much. He was really weak. I had enough experience with end of life care from working at the assisted living home, but this was because it was a, a cat, and b, much more personal. 

On Friday night, we managed to convince him to stay in the bedroom and sleep between us like he used to all the time, but when my editor was about to get up, we discovered Rio had a bit of an accident and wet the bed. (My roommate’ kitten (who is actually like 3) pees on the bed all the time so we’re used to the cleanup). He didn’t move as much after that. We got him settled back in the office (and had a few more incontinence incidents) and by Monday he hardly moved at all. I let him settle on a sheep skin my parents let me use as a cat bed and set him in the window. He really appreciated it. 

I left work early on Tuesday so I could spend more time with him (and also move our bed into the office since we are going to be getting another roommate soon). He slept all day in front of the window. Both my mom and my dad came by to see him, and I’m glad they did.

We settled him on the sheepskin in the middle of the bed last night and stayed by his side all night, occasionally waking up to check on him. When I left for work this morning he was still with us, breathing very slowly. I told him I loved him and that I would see him when I came home from work.

I waited until about noon when my editor usually wakes to hear any news about Rio, and when I called him he said that he had just set Rio back in the window so he could get some sun and fresh air. I drove home on my break to check on him, which was probably the best thing I could do.

We tried to make him comfortable, cleaning off his face and giving him a little water. All of a sudden he got restless. We figured out that his ear was itchy (which it often was) so I picked him up and used a cloth to help scratch it and calm him. Then he seemed like he was trying to stretch his legs. I held him gently and let him do whatever he was trying to do. He was trembling as we tended to him. All of a sudden, he relaxed. I wasn’t sure at first, so I gave him a kiss and laid him back on the sheepskin, then I noticed he wasn’t moving at all. I held his paw in my hand, unable to move. My editor noticed too.

He was gone.

We had spent the last few days crying on and off together, anticipating this moment. Rio gave me the greatest gift he could. He let me be with him in that last moment. He waited so I could be there to say goodbye. 

It was hard, but I took him in my arms again, then wrapped him in a towel. The other cats needed to know. We let them all sniff him, before putting him in a cool spot until it was time to bury him.

Unfortunately I still had to go back to work for a few more hours. So my editor went back in the backyard and went over to the last spot Rio had chosen to lay down in, underneath the tree in the northwest corner, and dug. I had altered my family and roommates, and we planned to gather in the evening.

My Mother brought along a lovely plant, a daylilly I believe, and we planted it above him. I look forward to seeing it’s beautiful yellow flowers when it blooms. 

My Father, who was the one who brought Rio into our lives 16 years ago after rescuing him from being a stray, said a few but true words. He was a Wiley boi. Wild and fun, full of love. 

My roommates were with us as well, my friend and her husband, who brought a small bouquet of roses fro, the front yard to lay with Rio. They had been very kind to us throughout this whole process. 

My editor and I laid Rio down and said our pieces, his in poetic Latin, and mine, well I couldn’t say much. I sent him off with a milk ring to give to Torden, our other family cat who passes away this time of year a few years ago, and permission to “bite the butt” when he sees Georgia, the calico who he grew up with. 

Every twenty minutes or so, I start crying again because I’ll see something that reminds me of him, whether it’s his old food bowls, a picture, the other tabby cat who looks so much like him, or the old scars on my arms from when he attacked another cat and I had to break it up. 

I am so grateful to have been able to have him in my life, and I will miss him.

Thank you Rio. You will always be my boi.