Better. Even Better.

Today I started testing again, and I did okay. This morning I had virtually no problem getting blood for the test (only took 2 tries), and then this afternoon it got tricky again. But I did it. Tonight was the same, but the reading was good. Progress. I had such a mad craving this morning for chocolate milk, and I indulged it without screwing anything up (so proud!) I hope this stays under control.

May 11 is the anniversary of my dad's death. Today is 30 years. That's just CRAZY! How can it be 30 years? Where does the time go? It really got me thinking last night....

I was 10 when he died. I was devastated. I was under the impression that my dad loved me. My mother set me straight on that about 10 years ago, so now the anniversary is a weird day for me, not a strictly depressing one, like it always had been, but more of a confusing and annoying day. I won't go all maudlin on you, but to make a long story short, my mother never liked me. Ever. I was a rhythm baby, and she had me at age 40 (how ironic!) and at the time, she had a 12 year old psycho, um, son, and a 9 year old daughter. She did not want another child, but was an idiot, um, Catholic. Heh heh. Nothing against Catholics, really, but for christ sake, use birth control, okay? So along comes this kid, and I had colic, so I'm sure that didn't thrill her either. But to her credit, she never pretended to like me. She did what she had to do, and that's pretty much it. It was my dad who would take me places and do things with me. He took me fishing, bike riding, to shows, to the circus and all kinds of stuff like that. We planted a garden together and collected rocks...I totally, totally loved him. When I lost him, it REALLY threw me. I even remember the day I came home from school and found out that he had died. My mother sat at the kitchen table with her son behind her. They didn't say a word to me. I don't think they even looked at me. I said hello, and I asked how my dad was (he was in the hospital). No one answered me. I asked again. And again. And then I knew. I began to cry, and my brother said "she's a big help, isn't she". I locked myself in the bathroom and cried and cried. I realized later that I had lost the only person who ever loved me. And that really got to me. I left home at 15 and thought about him often, and truly suffered.

For some reason, my mother decided to tell me that she was the one who asked my father to take me out and do all those things with me. He felt the same way about me that she did. It was crazy. I wanted to deny that, but it totally fit, and it made perfect sense. I was just too young at the time to realize it.

Here's my question - even if you don't like a kid, would you let them mourn someone who never cared for them? Wouldn't you tell them at some point that they were mistaken, and that the sadness was misplaced? That's the part that bugs me. She could have saved me from decades of pain. Sure, it would have pissed me off, but I would have been so much less miserable over time.

But it's all in the past, and as shitty as it was, it's over. And I get to carry this great little baby, and give birth, and be a mother myself with my husband who I know is going to be a GREAT father, and my sister who will be a GREAT aunt! Plus, my daughter has this cool family in Italy! She's going to be a lucky kid. And she has a major advantage over me already - she's so so so loved and wanted even in utero!!

Thanks for letting me vent - May 11 is usually a sucky day! But not so much this year. This might be the last time I even think about it! :)