~ Unpublished Opinion

Birth Story: The Arrival of Miss M

The First Photo

Note: This post is really, really long. You may want to get a snack. The level of detail is high because I am afraid that I will forget all of this and I want to remember.

The background
Throughout my pregnancy, things had gone rather smoothly. Most of the appointments lasted just minutes, as I was found to be measuring perfectly and things were moving along as they should be. Other than my doctor’s (unfounded) paranoia that I was going to get pre-eclampsia due to my “white coat syndrome” induced higher blood pressure (it was always fine at the end of the appointment when I was more calm and less anxious) and a scare that had me on bed rest during week 13, there were no worries.

I had an ultrasound at 32 weeks to check on the baby’s growth and at that point she was estimated to be five pounds and in the 57th percentile. At that appointment, I also learned that she was breech (head up). In fact, she had been breech at every ultrasound I had, except for the one at 20 weeks. I was not worried, because there was plenty of time for her to turn. At the next appointment, I mentioned it to the doctor and was told that if she did not turn around by 37 weeks, we could try something called an external cephalic version. Basically it involves giving the mother pain medication and medication to make her uterus more relaxed and manually turning the baby from the outside. The procedure has risks, so much so that it has to be done in the labor/deliver wing of the hospital in case an emergency c-section becomes necessary due to stress on the baby, a cord incident, or a drop in heart rate.

For the next couple of weeks, I tried to do a few things that would supposedly cause a baby to turn on its own, but I continued to feel her head/shoulders pressed firmly into my ribcage. At the next doctor appointment, at 36 weeks, I saw the midwife and she felt the baby and said that she thought she was head down. The last time someone tried to determine that from the outside, I was given that same diagnosis, only to have it be proven wrong by the ultrasound, so I did not believe it to be true. For some reason the doctor was not there, even though that day was designated for me to get an ultrasound and talk more about the ECV. I had to come back in the afternoon to see the doctor. At that appointment, I asked more questions about the ECV and the ultrasound was done to double check that she was still breech (she was).

The doctor also measured my amniotic fluid level and said that it was on the lower side, at 8.8. Normal range was 5-20. He said that the lower fluid was a negative for having the ECV done, as was the fact that this was my first pregnancy, but he still thought it could work. I struggled with whether this was something that I should do. If I did not, and the baby did not turn on her own, I would have to have a c-section. Neither option was really pleasant, but something in my gut kept telling me not to do the ECV. I felt like the decision not to have it done was the first parental decision that I had to make and I just had to rely on my instincts. I called the doctor’s office the following Monday and told them that I did not want to schedule an ECV. I was told that at my next appointment (that Thursday) they would schedule me for a c-section, for sometime in my 39th week.

Surprise Birthday
That Thursday, October 27th, I went to my appointment, expecting to be in and out fairly quickly. I had my second non-stress test, where I was hooked up to a machine to monitor the baby, as well as any contractions (I had zero). I also had to push a button every time I felt the baby move. Toward the end of the 15 minutes, she got the hiccups, so I was constantly pressing the button and trying not to laugh, as it could upset the machine. The nurse practitioner came in and said that the baby looked great on the non-stress test and was about to send me home, when I asked about scheduling the c-section. She said that there was still time for her to turn on her own, but I told her I would like to schedule the surgery just in case, so that we could let our employers know when we would be gone. She said that the first possible date would be Friday the 11th, although that would be at the other hospital because the doctor did her scheduled surgeries there on Fridays. I was adamant about not wanting to have my baby at that hospital, for two main reasons: it was 25 minutes away, whereas the hospital I wanted is a two minute walk from my house and the other hospital had the possibility of having to share a room with another woman, her baby, and her husband. The idea of having to share a bathroom and living space with strangers (and their visitors), while trying to bond with my newborn and recover from a c-section was something that I was just not going to put up with.

The nurse practitioner said she would check with the doctor about possibly having it done at the hospital I wanted. She came back a moment later and said that the doctor wanted to do another ultrasound just to confirm the breech position before scheduling the c-section. We went into the ultrasound room and right away the doctor had a troubled look on her face (she has a bad poker face) and switched off the lights in the room to get a better view. She then said that she was not seeing any fluid around the baby. She asked if I had been leaking fluid and I said that I had not, aside from the normal discharge and occasional pee drip that pregnant women are accustomed to. For some reason I was not freaked out or scared or upset by what was happening and I really cannot explain why. I was very calm, even though the nurse practitioner looked worried as she said, “It’s nothing bad,” even as I was being ushered out of the room and the doctor was hurriedly calling down to the Maternal Fetal Medicine department to get me seen by a second doctor to confirm the fluid issue. The doctor told me that if I had not been 36 weeks, 6 days (one day short of the magic 37 weeks where babies were considered term), she would be sending me to labor and delivery to prep for surgery right away. Because I was one day shy, however, she needed a second doctor to confirm the diagnosis. (I always disagreed with her about my due date and always considered it to be a day earlier than what she did, because I based it on my cycle length, which had been on the shorter side, but we had to go by her date).

I headed down to get the ultrasound, calling E on the way, letting him know that he should be on stand-by. Part of me still thought that the second doctor would say all was okay and I would be going home. I had to wait awhile at the registration and later in the waiting area before getting the ultrasound and the fact that no one was rushing me in anywhere also calmed me and prevented me from freaking out that this was a really serious issue. After I was taken back for the second ultrasound, the tech started the scan and the doctor came in a few minutes later. The doctor was able to confirm that the fluid level was only 2.2 and that I would be having the baby that day. He told me that one of the risks of the lack of fluid was that the baby could be tangled in her own umbilical cord. He had the tech do extensive measuring to see if the baby was very small or if there were any other issues to be concerned about. He noted that the placenta looked aged far beyond 36 weeks and asked if anyone in my home smoked. Of course they do not, so he could not explain the condition of the placenta. The fact that it was wearing down already, however, was a sure sign that this baby was ready to be born. At the end of the ultrasound, the doctor confidently predicted that the baby would be around six pounds, ten ounces.

I called E again and told him that I was going to labor and delivery and he needed to come as soon as possible. The surgery was not going to be for several hours, as they wanted me to have an empty stomach and I had eaten breakfast that morning. He stayed at work long enough to complete a half day and then headed home to get our bags, which I had thankfully already packed. I had even repacked them the prior weekend to allow for a longer hospital stay because a c-section seemed so likely at that point. While I waited for him to arrive, I was given an IV and had to answer some questions. A monitor on my belly allowed me to hear the constant heartbeat of the baby, which was reassuring.

E arrived and we watched the People’s Court, expecting the surgery would be at 2pm. It got pushed back until 3pm because of another surgery that was more urgent that mine. I think that watching countless episodes of A Baby Story and other similar shows really prepared me well because I knew what to expect at each step of the process. I had to drink something to keep me from puking, E had to put on scrubs, and we both donned hairnets. I knew that I would be headed into the surgery room by myself and that E would come in later after the first incision. Knowing all this made me calmer. Had I not known this (it was not explained that day), I might have freaked out that he was going to miss it. Once I was in the surgery room, I was given the spinal, which did not hurt at all, and laid down on the table. I felt the numbing immediately, followed by a wave of nausea. I told the anesthesiologist that I felt nauseated and he told me that he had already started giving me medicine for that, as he noticed my blood pressure had gone down. It kicked in and I felt fine.

During this time, I heard two women counting equipment, like the number of scissors, etc. It was only when I heard them counting again at the end of the surgery that I realized that they were ensuring that the doctor did not leave any instruments in my body. For some reason that made me laugh.

The doctor said that she was starting the incision (I could not see anything, of course, as they put a large drape in front of me), and then I heard E come in the room and be directed to sit next to me. He held my hand and then what seems like immediately Miss M was born, at 3:34pm. She cried and was taken over immediately to be checked and warmed. E said, “already?” because it happened so fast. When the doctor had told us prior to surgery that it was going to take 20 minutes, he thought that meant until she was born, not the whole surgery. E was able to go over and take some pictures of her as the nurses did their checks on her. Someone remarked that she had a large head, something I had been hearing since the 32 week ultrasound. At 3:46pm, she was brought over to me and I had the chance to kiss her, rub her head, and let her know that I was her mama. I surprised myself by not crying at all, which was funny, because in the weeks leading up to her birth, I cried just thinking about the moment when we would meet.

E and the baby then went across the hall to the recovery room while I was getting stitched back up. The whole thing happened so fast and before I knew it my doctor was heading out the door. I thought it odd she didn’t say anything to me as she left, but she has never really been one for warmth or sentiment. I asked one of the nurses how much the baby weighed, but she did not know. I was then taken over to recovery and was in a bed next to Miss M, who was in a bassinet under the warming lights. Her breathing was a bit of a struggle, as it sounded like she was grunting as she breathed. The nurse kept monitoring her and checking her breathing with a stethoscope. I asked a nurse if she knew how much the baby weighed, not realizing it was the same nurse I had asked in the delivery room, who still did not know. Eventually we were told that she weighed 5 pounds, 11 ounces, a far cry from the 6 pounds, 10 ounces the doctor had estimated that morning.

Finally at 4:17pm, I finally got to hold my baby. She felt so small to me, as the previously smallest baby I had ever held was my niece at four days old, who had been 7 pounds when she was born. I did skin to skin contact with her, trying to help her feel better and regulate her breathing. Unfortunately it did not work any magic and when it was time for me to go to my room, Miss M had to go to the special care nursery for further monitoring. She stayed there until 9:00am the next morning (when she received a clean bill of health), except when they brought her in our room for feedings. I started pumping about three hours after her birth and was able to feed her the colostrum that I pumped. Unfortunately she also had to have formula the first two days, but I was so proud of the fact that by Saturday morning I was producing enough milk to be able to just feed her that via bottles.

When my doctor stopped by to check on me on Saturday, she said “it was fortunate you had your appointment when you did,” and her tone of voice made it pretty clear that we were beyond lucky that I had an ultrasound that day. I try not to dwell on what might have happened had the low fluid gone undetected and just count my lucky stars that I brought up scheduling the c-section that day (and complained about not wanting it done at the other hospital) or the ultrasound would not have happened until the following week, when it may well have been too late.

There is a lot that I could write about our hospital stay, but then this post would never end. Things I do want to remember: the fact that the nurses kept trying to convince me to take narcotic pain medication post-op when the Motrin was enough for me. One actually told me “don’t be a martyr,” as though I would willingly endure pain (I cannot imagine the terrible things they must say to women who are trying to labor without pain meds); the nurses were wildly inconsistent with the things they told us regarding baby care, hospital policies, and the like and we were presumed to know the hospital procedures, even though no one told us, which was very frustrating. Most of the nurses were perfectly nice, except for the one (who was not my assigned nurse, but the one that responded when I pressed my button), who made me cry at 3:00am (less than 12 hours after surgery, when I hadn’t slept and was stressed out by the fact that my baby was not with me and having breathing issues) by scolding me that I needed to put my colostrum in a different kind of bottle and couldn’t I really just take it to the nursery myself to be refrigerated? I informed her that I COULDN’T WALK YET, before bursting into tears. When she came back with the right bottle, she said nothing about my tears, even though I was still sobbing.

By Sunday we were more than ready to go home and thankfully we were both discharged and able to head home. We are still adjusting to being a family of seven, although the four feline members of the family are getting more and more accustomed to the tiny human.

Pregnancy and Cats

As I have written about before, Simba has always been very in tune with my emotions, needs, etc. For that reason, I always assumed that when I got pregnant, he would act differently around me. Thus far that has not been the case at all. Jiblets has not changed much, either, although he has been an overall more cuddly cat, toward both me and E, but I think that is from the fact that he feels better after having those painful teeth pulled last year.

What has really changed is the way that the two girl cats act around me. They think I’m their cat mama. Let me explain. Both of them try to knead milk from my breasts, even though there is nothing there yet. At night, when it is time for her (and me) to settle in and go to sleep, Paducah climbs onto my side and starts kneading me where ever she can, I think as a way to relax herself for bedtime. Now, this would be sweet, but she weighs at least 15 pounds and sometimes uses her claws when she kneads. For these reasons, I push her off of me and back onto the bed. She is very persistent, however, and sometimes it takes seven or eight tries to get her to stop. She will occasionally also do this in the middle of the night, perhaps because she needs comfort to get back to sleep and it is far more difficult for me to teach her not to, when I just want to keep sleeping.

I have been sleeping with a body pillow between my legs and curved around my belly and more nights than not (provided the fan is not blowing toward the bed), Eggy can be found sleeping on the body pillow, too, usually snuggled near my chest. It can be a minor difficulty trying to extricate her when I need to get up in the night to use the bathroom, especially when I also have to avoid kicking Paducah who usually ends up settled at my feet for the night after we do our kneading/push off/repeat game.

Eggy and I “sharing” my body pillow

While I will admit that I enjoy the extra cuddles and affection from the girl cats, I am pretty sure it won’t last long after the baby comes, especially when they realize I’m not giving them any breast milk.

Oh, and for the record, I have my money on Simba as being the one to clue me in when I am about to go into labor. I’ll keep you posted on that.

Ten Years with Simba Pumpkin Kitty

Ten years ago today, I adopted Simba Kitty. In some ways I cannot believe that it has been so long, but in other ways I cannot remember being without him.

My search for a cat took a long time. I had been to a few shelters, but remained kitty-less due to their strict rules, like you had to be 27 years old or have a full-time job. (I was 24 and in law school).

The shelter where Simba was at only had about four adult cats, all in one open room together. I spotted him high at the top of a shelf and he winked at me. I had the volunteer bring him down and I held him and petted him. Anyone who has met Simba knows that he doesn’t like to be held, so the fact that he let me hold him for several minutes shows that he already loved me. Either that or he was desperate to get out of there. Actually, it was probably due to the fact that he was not feeling well, due to a soon-to-be diagnosed upper respiratory infection. (that was also the cause of the winking, much to my dismay, given that I thought it was another sign that he already loved me).

I decided to take Simba home, without much deliberation. Simba was the name he was given by his prior owners and since he was 3.5 years old at that point, I figured I wouldn’t change it.

I took him home in a taxi, he laying comfortably in a cardboard carrier supplied by the shelter, me nervous with the anticipation of introducing him to his new home. Now that I think back on it, I still hadn’t heard him meow yet, which is funny because his loud, long meow is what he’s known for.

When we got into my studio apartment, I let him out near the litter box, so I could show him where it was, not knowing that the only issue we would have with the litter was months later when I decided to change to the eco-friendly wood chip litter, which caused him to poop in the bathtub in protest. Lesson learned.

I also poured him some food and water and showed him that. He was probably already eyeing the toilet bowl/giant water bowl that he would love for years, until he drank out of one three apartments later that had remnants of old bowl cleaner in it that made him sick, so we had to put a stop to that.

He then proceeded to sniff around the tiny apartment before jumping on my bed/futon. He promptly rolled onto his back, exposing his fluffy belly and stretching out – the ultimate cat sign of contentment. Luckily, he let me share the bed with him that night and nearly every night after until Prince E moved in, two apartments and 3.5 years later.

What I remember most about those early years was Simba’s ability to sense my mood and give me comfort when I needed it. And during those law school years, I needed it a lot. He would come and lay by me so I could pet him to relieve stress or lay on whatever was trying to read to encourage me to take a break and play with him. It’s funny, but the one thought I remember having the most when I was on a bus home out of downtown Chicago on the morning of 9/11 was wanting to get to Simba. Part of me wanted to make sure he was ok (obviously he was), but really I wanted to hug him and not be so scared.

Simba and I would move together to two more Chicago apartments and he adjusted quickly each time. The biggest adjustment (before we got all the other cats) was to Prince E, but even that was not a problem.

The first time that E came to my apartment was to help me carry up a chair I had bought from Ikea on our first date-like hang-out thing. The apartment I lived in at the time had a ledge all along the wide window where you could sit and look out over Lake Michigan. E sat down on the ledge and Simba jumped right up next to him, without hesitation. Simba walked behind E, pushing his body into him and brushing his tail up against him. He was either marking his territory or giving E a warm welcome. I like to think it was the latter. Because E loved cats and was willing to play with, brush, and (most importantly) give Simba treats, they bonded quickly.

Two years later, after we had gotten married and moved to the suburbs, we decided to get Simba a feline friend. We were sad to hear his cries everyday when we left — long sad meows — and thought that he wanted a playmate. Looking back, I am not sure that the young rambunctious kitten that was Jiblets was the best choice for a 7 year old cat, but at least the crying stopped. In part, because it was replaced by hissing, but also because it solved his loneliness issue. Who can be lonely when you have to escape from a kitten all day?

A year later Simba probably thought we had lost our minds when we added Eggy to the brood. He was eventually pleased, though, when he realized that this tiny sweet kitty was the perfect cuddle companion on a chilly night.

Another two years and one more move later, E and I rescued Paducah off the side of the road while on an anniversary trip. Since that time, Simba has escaped into the garage at least five times. I am trying to convince myself that these incidents are not related. He and Paducah play fight, but I think he genuinely likes her. Although they don’t cuddle often, he often sticks his nose in her rear end a lot, which has to mean something.

Simba is something of an odd cat. His favorite “toy” is a five inch wire that is really a broken off part of another toy. He loves for it to be held above his head so he can jump and try to get it. He will scratch around things that he doesn’t like the smell of (including the litter box; he’s not one to cover his waste). He meows in disapproval every time I feed him, even thing that food is the only kind he likes. Oh, well he also likes Cheerios, pop-tarts, and Natural Cheetos, but only once in awhile. And of course he loves his cat treats, his favorite part about Grandma’s visits. Except maybe all the extra brushing.

Simba and I have been through so much together. I am eager to see what the future holds and how he takes to the new baby. I’m not sure he’s ever met anyone who can cry louder than him, so he might be in for a surprise. I just hope he doesn’t find too much smell-related cause to scratch the area around her.

The Lovebirds

My husband tells me all the time that I am too nosy. Usually this comes when we are sitting at a restaurant and he catches me “eavesdropping” on the people at the next table. To me, though, it cannot be eavesdropping if you are talking so loudly that I can hear what you are saying far easier than anything the person at the table with me is saying. Most people annoy me, so I don’t know why I am compelled to listen to their conversations, but I just do.

Aside from listening to others, when I have to wait in line somewhere, I often look around at the other people and try to figure them out. This happens daily when I am at Starbucks to get my decaf soy latte. There is the woman with the limp who I think has an eating disorder and is addicted to pain pills based on her erratic behavior. There is the older man who is always getting a refill of his coffee cup when I am there and loves to flirt with the baristas and thinks that his drink order should come before mine, even when I was first. But most interesting of all are the lovebirds.

This couple has been at the Starbucks nearly everyday since at least last September or so. Everyday I watch them discreetly and try to figure out what their deal is exactly. It is baffling to me. Here are some details that I know about them. Maybe you can help me with some guesses as to what you think is going on with them.

* Man and woman, both in their early to mid 50s, look too young to be retired to me, usually in casual business attire.

* No wedding rings.

* Sit at a corner table.

* Completely engrossed in one another, they sit very close together, legs practically intertwined, often holding hands, or with him caressing her back and talking softly. They are often all smiles and are not distracted by their phones or the newspaper that often sits on the table, and I never actually see them sipping their coffees.

The Theories:
1) Affair: The first theory I had when I first saw them was maybe they were having an affair. They needed to sneak off to a Starbucks where they could cuddle one another and whisper sweet nothings. But neither of them have wedding rings, so that kind of stopped that theory, although I suppose they could take them off for their cuddle time. Also, though, you would think they would be a bit more discreet than going to the SAME Starbucks everyday for nearly a year.

2) New Love: I thought next that maybe they had recently started dating, such that they didn’t yet sleep over at each other’s homes, making a morning meetup cuddlefest a good idea. Of course as the weeks and months went on, that was likewise discounted. I keep expecting the goo-goo eyes to wear off and they just haven’t.

3) Pre-work cuddle: Then I thought maybe they just like to start their work day with each other, having a nice moment before heading off to the grind. Of course, if it was me, I would spend that extra 20-30 minutes (or however long it is) at home with my cuddle partner and not snuggling in public. Maybe they don’t own a coffee maker.

4) Daily amnesia: Have you ever heard of those people who have a head injury and then they relive everyday not knowing that the days since the injury have happened? It is actually pretty sad. I remember once reading about a woman who had the condition and had to be told everyday that her father was dead and she relived it like the first time each day. Anyway, I was thinking that maybe the man or the woman has this disorder and at the time of the accident their love was new and fresh and that is where their relationship is now stuck because they can never move forward. Hence the public cuddlings, rather than moving in together or getting married.

5) Lovebirds: The only theory that really makes sense is just that they are super duper lovey and like showing it off in public. It is weird, but plausible.

What do you think? Any other theories on this cuddling couple? Or am I just too nosy and should mind my own business?

101 in 1001 Over!

I just realized that the deadline for my 101 things in 1001 days passed two days ago! I just went through the list and discovered that I completed 64 out of the 101 things. I think that my interest waned after awhile and I stopped being as gun-ho as I was in the beginning. I am pretty impressed by some of the things that I did complete off the list, like skydiving, stopping biting my fingernails, and how far I have come with my cooking and baking.

Along those lines, what I am genuinely proud of myself for is exceeding a lot of the goals. For example, one of the goals was to learn to cook 10 new dishes and another was to try two new kinds of cuisine. With those jumping off points, I have really expanded what I eat and the types of food I am willing to try making. Of course I had a major change in my eating since this list started by going vegetarian (in May 2009, which wasn’t on the to-do list) and now being mostly vegan in my eating.

It is funny to look back and see that one of my goals was to “attend a professional hockey game,” something I had never done. Since I made the goal, I have gone to seven, travelling as far as Vancouver to do so. And although we didn’t make it to the Grand Canyon or Portland during this time, we did go to: New York City, New Orleans, Columbus, Nashville, Lousiville, St. Louis, Minneapolis, Vancouver, and Seattle.

I could write mulitple posts about how a lot of the things on my list were almost accomplished (had tickets to an opera, but couldn’t go because we found Paducah two days before and didn’t want to leave her sick and alone for an entire workday and a late night out; went to Navy Pier to ride their tethered air balloon, but it was grounded due to fog, etc), but I guess I won’t dwell on what wasn’t done.

One of the goals was to make another list of 101 things. I have not yet decided if I am going to do that or not, but I will definitely keep challenging myself to try new things.

Forever Memories

Life is filled with many details that we forget after awhile. Things that seemed important at the time, like where to eat dinner or annoyance at a high priced bill don’t really stand the test of time.

On the trips we take, I always try to plan extensively for things, but most often the things I remember most and treasure in my heart are things that are totally out of my control and unplanned. My trip to Vancouver this past weekend was no exception.

Without a doubt, the two things I will forever remember about this trip were:

(1) swimming in a heated outdoor pool overlooking the city to one side and the mountains to the other as the snow fell down around me

(2) belting out “O Canada” with 18,000 other people before the hockey game.
Click here to hear O Canada.

(You can hear me singing toward the end, after I moved the microphone up higher).

Kitty Holiday Cards

This post is written in conjunction with Shutterfly’s free holiday card promotion.

Those of you on my greeting card list know that last year I made Christmas photo cards using some cute pictures of Paducah playing with wrapping paper. I had a lot of fun photographing her as she tore through the paper and I added a cute saying to go along with the pictures.

Luckily for me, cats don’t get jealous if you don’t include all of them in the card so there were no hurt feelings that only the baby kitty made it onto the card. Still, I thought his year it might be fun to include a picture of all four cats.

Now, by “all four cats,” I certainly don’t mean one photo with all of them in it, because that would only happen if they were all under heavy sedation. Rather, I think that I will use one of the Shutterfly holiday cards that has the option of using four different photos as a collage. That way I can choose the best picture of each cat.

I used to send out just regular Christmas cards that you buy in the store, but I feel like they are much more impersonal and prefer the photo cards. Who knows, this year I might even add a family newsletter about the cats, the way people do about their children.

Canning Adventures

Yesterday I tried for the second time to can applesauce. The first time didn’t work out because the jars I bought were too big for the pot I was using to boil them in. This time I used small half pint jars and I had success! Only two jars didn’t “pop,” I think because I left too much headspace.

Here are some photos from my adventure. I first made the applesauce in a slow cooker. Just place peeled, cored, and cup up apples in crockpot on low for six hours with 1/2 cup water. Then use immersion blender or hand mixer to make sauce like.

Then I put the sauce in heated and sterilized jars and covered with sterilized lids and rings.

Then into the boiling water for 15 minutes and then set aside to rest and pop.

Memories in the Attic

This past weekend I traveled back in time, as I went into the attic of my childhood home and pulled down box after box of memories. I was reunited with my oldest Cabbage Patch doll, Sara, who will be 30 next year. I also found her younger brother, Mikey, who, at 28, should probably be weaned off that pacifier. I found several sticker books, posters of Kirk Cameron and lots of buttons, my favorite being from the Smurf club, dated 1983.

I had a fun time reading through some of my old diaries, chuckling at the angst I had over different boys and whether they liked me. Funny thing is that many of the names didn’t ring any bells. Boys who had been my sole preoccupation at one time are now just names on a piece of paper. I also read several of the short stories I wrote, many just for fun, and missed that carefree aspect of writing just for writing’s sake. I might post a few of those stories here at some point.

Not just my old memories came out of the attic, though, as my parents had me bring down their boxes, too — a box or two that my dad brought home from college more that 40 years ago, scores of letters that my dad wrote to my mom while they were dating, and some amusing booklets given to my mom when she was pregnant, which advised that pregnant women should try to cut back some on their drinking, in part because “drinking to the point of intoxication kills the aura of loveliness about a woman.”

It was a lot of fun going on this trip down memory lane, but I also feel like I learned a lot about my parents in their pre-married days and about myself and how far I have come from that shy child writing stories. And how much I am still her in many ways. In the end, I parted with the vast majority of my things, saving only the best of the best and when I returned home I had the odd privilege of introducing my husband to my 29 year old “daughter.”

All stuff from the attic. This doesn’t include the stuff that is on its way to Goodwill.

Am I antique?

Yesterday we went to some estate sales out of town and stopped by the Volo antique mall on our way home. This place is huge and includes three buildings and multiple floors. There is a wide variety of items, from the truly unique to those things I wouldn’t even put out for a garage sale.

My favorite part was coming across all of the toys that I played with as a child that were labeled “retro.” If only my mom would let up into her attic so that I could see all those cool toys again!

Here are a few of my favorites. (not pictured are Smurfs miniatures that were in a special case):

I have no idea if people are actually buying those things, of course, especially at the prices they were marked at. $22 for that bank? $75 for that gaggle of ponies? $22 for the trivia game? Crazy.

Although we didn’t buy anything there, we did have some good buys this weekend. I found this awesome sewing container at a garage sale next to an estate sale for $8. Twenty minutes later we saw a smaller one at the antique mall for $30!

E found a cool Mickey Mouse phone and a watch that we believe may be worth far above and beyond what he paid for it, provided it can be repaired.

Oh and I got a like new Lands End coat for $10. Actually $9, because there was $1 change in the pocket.

All it all it was quite a successful weekend of bargain hunting.