allison gets super dark, round 2

A few nights ago, as Wade and I were snuggling Julian in his bed right before we turned out his lights, we started talking about Looney Tunes. How the characters always had crazy things happen, like boulders falling on them, but they'd get up and go back to whatever it is they were doing, that they couldn't be killed. And then Julian said, "I wish we were cartoons, so we'd never have to die." All three of us got really quiet, none of us really knowing what to say after that. It was like his words were the boulder falling on us, flattening us right out. So fucking heavy.

When I lie in bed at night, my mind goes to crazy places. I start thinking of things, and it spirals into such scary unknown that I can feel a panic attack starting in my chest, and the feeling that I'm falling backwards into a black hole. I have to make myself stop before it gets too scary and I'm a sobbing heap under the covers. I think about what it will be like when I die. How old will I be? How will I die? I try to imagine the very moment my heart stops beating. And then nothingness. And that's when the panic attack starts.

I've said before that I don't believe in Heaven or Hell anymore. I almost wish I did, because it made things so much easier. This agnosticism, bordering atheism, that I've found myself in feels really freeing sometimes. But when it comes to death, it's so scary. The idea that once you die, that is the very end of you. I've been reading a book that a good friend loaned to me called "The God Delusion" by Richard Dawkins. And I'm summarizing here, but he said something like, he knows that when his brain ceases to function and there are no electrical impulses going through his body anymore, that is the end. No Heaven. No spirit that gets reincarnated into someone or something else. The end.

When I think about dying, I always imagine it as something that happens to other people, never to me, or to the people I love. I won't die. My mind can't go there. But intellectually, I know I will die one day, along with the people I love. People I love have already died. My Gram is going to turn 96 in a few days. She is the person I know who seems nearest to death. It's so hard for me to acknowledge, even though I am aware of how very old she is and the inevitable. It's still too much for me to try and understand.

So I have been somewhat obsessing about this, despite really not wanting to. Is that all we are, just electrical impulses? Just blood, bones, tissue and electricity all in one package, and nothing else? Do we have souls? I used to say that I knew for sure that we did. Now I don't know. Because really, we don't know. I'm really not coming from a place of being a cynical asshole, even though I have definitely turned into a cynical asshole when it comes to religion. But it's more of a scientific place that these thoughts stem from. What proof do we have that there are souls? I'm not saying that a soul can't exist, because really, I would love for that to be the case. But what do we have that can prove this, besides just blind faith? I am a fan of faith. I think it's really important for all of us to have faith in something that can propel us forward. But believing in something just because people have said to, is something I can't do anymore. I have too many questions. Do we have souls? And if we do, what happens to those souls after we die? Or are we just pure energy, absorbed back into the Universe? What about weird ghosty things that happen? I have definitely had some strange paranormal experiences that I can't explain any other way than to say that something spiritual was happening outside my control.

I think what bothers me so much is that I have such intense love for my family and friends. The thought that we won't exist one day and won't be able to know each other crushes me. I really understand when people say they will find each other after they've died, because I want that. I want to find the people I love, and know them always.

As if this wasn't heavy enough, this song destroys me:

(The link to the actual video was disabled, so this is just the song.)

thankful

Know what I'm thankful for? That nothing in my life happened the way I planned.

When Julian was born, I was 22 years old. I turned 23 a month later. Wade and I got married when I was 4 months pregnant, and had only known each other a few months before that. The fact that I actually got married to someone I hardly knew, and then had a baby with him shortly after that is crazy. Lots of people told me to just have an abortion. Or that getting married so young would be a huge mistake. There were even people from my old church who found out about what was going on, and took the time to write me letters letting me know how disappointed they were in me, but that they were praying for me. Yeah.

But I didn't do what people told me to do. I got married. I had the baby. No, I didn't want to be a mom or a wife at 22. I had huge plans for myself. I was going to be a successful musician. I was supposed to be free, married to my art. I wasn't going to get married until I was at least 30. And maybe kids, if I had the time. That was the plan.

Deciding to commit to a marriage and to being a mother were the best choices I have ever made. I can't imagine my life without Julian or Wade. And in so many ways, Julian saved us. I have no doubt that we would have broken up if it hadn't been for him. If it weren't for Julian, there would be no Allison and Wade. And there would be no Audrey. Julian saved us and brought us together, and has helped define the person I am now. I am forever thankful to have him as my plan changer.

Broken plans have never been so awesome.

this conversation just happened

Julian: "If you think about it, I'm kind of married to Dad."
Me: "What? How?"
Julian: "Well, you were pregnant with me when you got married. So in a way, I got married to Dad too."
Me: "You sick bastard. I'm calling the cops. That kind of shit is illegal. And gross."

And then we died laughing.

I love that I can say things like that to him, and he totally gets it. He has the best sense of humor.

she's a lady

I painted Audrey's nails for the first time ever today. She grabbed my nail polish from the bathroom drawer and gestured to my painted nails, and then to her tiny fingers. So we sat down together in the bathroom and I squeeeeeeeed all over the place at having a girl* and being able to do this super precious thing with her. When we were done, she held her little hands out and said, "pitteh!" which is "pretty" in case you don't speak Audrey-talk.

This picture of her breastfeeding while holding my shirt with her little pink nails is the sweetest contrast to me. Baby and big girl, all in one.



*Not only girls paint their nails! Julian is a black fingernail aficionado.

cast, off

Julian's cast came off today! Three weeks is the length of time that he had to wear it, and he was so excited to finally have his arm back. No more showers with his arm bagged and taped up in a large plastic shopping bag! No more accidentally cracking his mom in the face with a hard exoskeleton arm when she tries to snuggle him! And no more skank smelling cast (that truthfully was a mix between rotting flesh and pickles). Freedom!

I took this picture of him just before we were called back to the "cast room" because I wanted him to have a picture of all the signatures. When he broke his arm the first time, we thought we would be able to save the cast, but they unwrapped it instead of sawing it off. They use this weird material now that reacts with the air once the package is opened and begins to harden immediately. No more plaster. So I figured we'd end up with an unwound pile of smelly black cast.



Still waiting.



No unwrapping here. These guys used a saw and it was very noisy, hence the ear protection. (I almost called them "ear goggles" because I'm effing exhausted from Audrey waking up at 4:00am for the last few days, that I have no grasp of the English language right now.)



Here he is after the cast came off, waiting to see the doctor. We all had completely forgotten that he had a temporary tattoo on his arm that said "Happy Halloween" and it survived being rubbed around the inside of his cast. His manly arm hair however, did not. It got rubbed completely off. Weird, right? Maybe I should cast my armpits and see what happens.




Also happening, but I am really slow posting about is that for the last two-ish weeks, Audrey has decided to potty train herself. I bought her this little potty thinking that it would be good to have around the house so she can see it and get used to the idea of potty training when she turned two. But right before she turned 20 months, she told me she had to peepee. Except that she calls it, "beepie!" She also calls poop, "boop." (I have laughed myself breathless over "boop" even though it's probably only super funny to me.) Every single day so far since that very first day a couple of weeks ago, she has consistently used the potty. Party on, Audrey! Or rather, potty on!


(Rest assured that her potty is not in the middle of the living room anymore, as this picture would lead you to believe. I'm not trying to raise a tiny Homer Simpson. This was taken the first day we bought the potty. And oh my god, how many times have I said "potty" in this post? Way too many.)