Stewie - A Retrospective of The Best Cat

Forward: This week I lost the best cat, and I've been having a really difficult time with the grieving process. I recently wrote a piece, "The Best Cat", describing the end of Stewie's life as a tribute. I worry that this overwhelming grief can be felt by my baby. I worry that this life event might somehow lead to a greater chance of a postpartum mood disorder. I have less than two months to go before I bring a new life into the world and become a mother for the first time, and I want to be happy about it. 

I've been spending the last few days so focused on the end of Stewie's life and being overwhelmed by grief, I think I really need to start trying to focus on all the joy he has brought me these past 13 years. 

So here I will put together the story of my life with Stewie. Here I will remember back to the beginning and middle of the life of Stewie (a work in progress):

When I first moved to Chicago over 13 years ago, I knew that I would be adopting a cat at some point. It took me a few months to figure out the whole "being an adult and living away from home" thing (spoiler: I didn't have the handle on it like I thought I did, and probably wouldn't for several years), but I quickly realized that one of the benefits of living in my own apartment with my own rules was that I could have a "pet" in the house - "Pet" is a term I would later decide to start calling "Companion". I started calling pets companions because the word "pet" seems to indicate some type of ownership versus the partnership that having an animal in your home really entails. They love you, they trust you; and you love and trust them. You don't own them. If anything, your cat owns you.

Growing up, I never had to think about adopting a companion because we lived in the rural outskirts of a small town and strays just seemed to find us. My mom, not being an animal person, somehow always managed to rid us of our adopted cats and dogs, however; either by forcing them to be outdoors (which means that they would eventually stray into the nearby woods and never return), or by forcing us to give them away in some capacity claiming that we weren't doing enough to take care of them. Now I know that when I adopt a companion, I go to a shelter of some sort. My second cat, Scout, was adopted from the local Humane Society. But Scout is no Stewie, so I digress.

So when it came time for me to consider adopting a cat, I started by looking at my company's want ads (sort of an internal company Craiglist if you will). I saw that someone's cat had recently had a litter of kittens and they were giving them away for free. Again, I know now that I would not go this route, but at the time when I was a little naive to the world, it made perfect sense.

I drove up to the Northern Chicago Burbs with a friend from work, stopping by the store to pick up a cat carrier and litter box. I knew I was going to meet a litter of kittens, and without even thinking about any other possibility, I knew that I would be bringing home a kitten that evening.

When I was greeted and brought into my co-worker's home, they immediately brought us to their litter of kittens and the momma kitty. They explained that they occasionally let their cat outside, and that they believed the father was a local "Tom Cat" that roamed their neighborhood - a friendly guy, that didn't appear to have an owner. Their cat, momma kitty, was your typical medium-haired tuxedo cat. She was lovely, although exhausted looking. She had a litter of mostly black cats, and one female tuxedo cat. As the kittens were set down, some laid there relaxed, and a couple of them scattered. For some reason, I picked up this tiny black ball of fluff that had just tried to book it away from me. As I held him, he defiantly meowed, and without hesitation, I said that I would like to bring him home. That meow was the first of many to come.

I put my precious and adorably new kitty into the new carrier I had just bought, and headed home (about a 40 mile trek to where I lived in the Southern inner ring burbs). As I drove, the kitten began to meow. His meows became louder; more and more desperate. I began to worry he wasn't feel well. I reached into the carrier to pet him, but his desperate meows continued. I tried to coo and soothe him with my voice to no avail. Finally, I picked him up out of the carrier, and set him on my lap. He immediately calmed down, settled into my lap, and began to purr (which I was not expecting). I think that was the first time Stewie and I bonded. From that moment forward, he and I belonged to one another, and he never stopped preferring me over everyone else.

(Stewie was always a very vocal cat from the time he was a little kitten, throughout his adult life. It used to drive me nuts, but now I miss the sound desperately.)

When I brought him home, my boyfriend at the time, John, was excited; however, we could not agree on a name. Stewie spent the first several months of his life being referred to as "Kitty".

The thing about kittens, particularly when you're living in a small one-bedroom Chicago apartment, is that they have more energy than you can ever imagine. When I first brought him home, he was so tiny, I could hold him in one open hand, which means he could fit into tiny places we couldn't reach. Stewie would dart around the apartment, going under our old metal radiators, emerging triumphantly later, completely covered in grime. I was not prepared for this level of energy. He would get into everything, and climb up furniture, only to jump off like he was practicing his ninja/ gymnastics skills. Everything in the apartment was his toy, and never having this experience with kittens, I hadn't had the foresight to buy toys (something I quickly remedied).

I was the first person in the apartment to wake up each morning (usually before the sun was up), so I had the habit of leaving the lights off as I made my way to the bathroom on the other side of the apartment so as not to disturb anyone. Stewie, being all black and therefore unseen in the dark, would often dart under my feet, causing me to trip. I was terrified I would accidentally step on him. I started cracking jokes that he was trying to murder me. And this is how Stewie got his name. The first season or two of the TV series "Family Guy" was one of my favorite shows at the time, and I started joking about how our "Kitty" reminded me of the character on the show. John finally agreed to this name since he also enjoyed the show as well. Secretly, I was also using that as an excuse to give Stewie a family name; Stewart (after my granddaddy Stewart who had passed away when I was 13).

"Stewie and Curtis" - We had a friend stay with us for a time in our apartment, Curtis. Curtis thought Stewie was hilarious, but he also had a bad habit of teasing Stewie. One day, Curtis was holding Stewie on Stewie's back, messing with Stewie's stomach, with his face WAY too close to Stewie's body. Stewie grabbed either side of Curtis's face with his front paws, and bit Curtis... on the eyeball. Curtis shrieked - "Your cat bit me on the fucking eye!" - his eye was totally fine by the way. From that point on, anytime the subject of Stewie came up in front of Curtis, he would always mention how Stewie bit him on the eye once. I always found this to be hilarious.

It took Stewie several attempts, and a couple of weeks, but Stewie quickly learned how to semi-jump, semi-climb, into our bed. And from that moment forward, I went to sleep with a kitty that would kneed and suckle the bed every night. John tried to break Stewie of the habit of suckling the bed, but Stewie always persisted, and I'm glad because that became Stewie's way of indicating to me that he wanted to be cuddled and petted in bed. Eventually, I even got Stewie to let me spoon him while he was kneading and suckling the bed; which became Stewie's favorite way to cuddle in the bed. The bed in general was always Stewie's favorite place to cuddle.

As Stewie got older and bigger, his energy continued. But his attachment to me (and mine to him) was growing. Our second floor apartment was on the back corner of the building, and faced the alleyway where I would park my car. Everyday when I came home, I would see Stewie up in the window facing the parking lot, and he would meow his head off through the window. As I would round the building, and come into the foyer, heading up the stairs; Stewie would continue to meow until I made my way into the apartment. It felt like I was being greeted everyday. Stewie greeted me most days this way for his entire life.

As with most kittens in their first couple of years, there was a bit of training with Stewie. There wasn't anything major, but I had to break Stewie from the habit of biting me or clawing me too hard when he would play. Stewie also did not like being picked up; however, I kept picking him up and snuggling him close anyways. I think it took a few years for him to finally give up and accept that it was okay for me at least to pick him up and give him a snuggle on occasion. He would even give me a few brief purrs from time to time, as long as I gave him chin scratches; which was his favorite. I think he would only accept me picking him up because I had a very specific way of holding him.

This is not Stewie as a kitten because unfortunately, I just don't have pictures of him during this time (this is before the cell phone era).

At some point when trying to "train" Stewie not to be such a mischievous kitty, I adopted what I call my "sweet voice" for him. I would call his name using this voice, and coo and say things like "Mr Stew, I love you, I do. I love you Mr Stew". I said that very phrase to him until the end. But when Stewie was doing something I didn't approve of, I would take a lower or sharper tone depending "STEW!" or "CAT!" I would exclaim as he chewed wires or for the brief period of time he tried to get on counters. I was always impressed how quickly he learned that it was not acceptable for him to be on the counters; however, this was something he had to re-learn every time I moved. It was as though he had to re-test all the boundaries we had set every time he was in a new space. Stewie also eventually learned to come to me when I called him with my sweet voice "Stewwwww. Come her Stewie. Mr Stew, come here." He would meow back and usually come for a snuggle.

When Stewie was about six months old we realized we may have waited too long to get him neutered. We caught him using the bathroom in the bathtub, which we took as a sign that we needed to get this taken care of because he could start spraying. It turns out, Stewie decided at some point that if his litter box wasn't as clean as he'd prefer, he would go to the bathroom in the bathtub because that would get cleaned immediately (he never gave up this habit). I was traveling that weekend, so John had taken him in to finally get Stewie neutered to get this done as quickly as possible. Unfortunately, the vet at the time pressured John into also getting Stewie's front claws removed. When I got home at the end of the weekend, we went and picked up Stewie the next day. It was horrible. Stewie's had such a hard time walking on his paws. He lost a lot of the strength in his paws, and couldn't hang from things the way he used to. After learning what declawing a cat actually entails, and seeing Stewie go through the trauma of having the procedure done, John and I agreed that neither of us would ever do that to a cat again. Even after he healed, Stewie would remain sensitive about anyone or anything touching his front paws.

Anytime both John and I visited Southern IL to see our families, we always brought Stewie with us. At the time, before we really considered safety, Stewie would meow in his carrier so much, that I would let him out and he would spend most of the four - five hour road trip comfortably and happy in my lap. Although as Stewie got older, he grew to hate the car more and more - probably because the last several years, I wouldn't let him out of his carrier to cuddle with me. I wish I could have, but this safety became more important to me (or maybe that's not a great way of phrasing it, I became more aware how unsafe it was to let him out of his carrier in the car).

When John and I broke up a couple of years later, he packed his car with everything that we decided was his that could fit, and he immediately returned to his mom's house in Southern IL. His mom, who I adore, offered to take Stewie, but I couldn't let Stewie go. While I'm certain she would have provided him a loving home (she had watched him often when we would come to visit), I couldn't part with Stewie. Even then, after a little over two years, I knew that I would always want Stewie in my life. What was sad is that for the first couple of weeks after John left, Stewie would roam the house meowing, looking for John. At the time, John was the main source of play time, and Stewie did love him dearly as well.

Living alone for another month, and then with roommates for  several months after that; I was incredibly lonely, but Stewie became less hyper and much more affectionate during that time. Stewie became my constant companion. I didn't have a lot of friends in the area, so I would spend most nights sitting around either watching TV, reading, or on my laptop; usually in my bedroom. Stewie would always lay beside me or on me, which I definitely needed. Even when I became less lonely, it was Stewie's preference to be on or near me when I was home, and it also became mine.

"Stewie vs. Mr Finch" - When I first moved in with my roommates in Chicago for that brief period, the roommate who had three cats, also had two birds. One weekend, she was traveling, I woke up early and felt something gross and slimy in my bed. I thought Stewie may have had an extra large hair-ball, and I jumped up and turned on the light. Laying in my bed was a dead little bird. Stewie was laying o my bed next to me, looking super proud, and then looked confused at my horror ("What, aren't you going to accept my gracious gift?"). At first I thought somehow a bird had gotten inside, but then I remembered my roommate had two birds. I ran into her room, and sure enough, the top cage was empty. It wasn't knocked over, but it was clear the bird wasn't there. The only thing I could think of us that Stewie lifted the bird's little cage door (it slid upwards), and managed to either reach in, or the bird got out at that point and Stewie got to him that way. Despite having no claws, any tiny furry creature that made their way into my apartments ongoing would die by Stewie's hand. I felt so awful. When my roommate returned, I told her what had happened through tears. She barely seemed phase and said she felt more badly that I felt so awful than for the loss of her aging finch. Apparently the finch had lived longer than his life expectancy anyways.

Stewie and my roommates cats did not get along. Stewie was so excited for new kitty friends and just wanted to sniff them initially, but two of them would hiss and freak out, and having their front claws, they would scratch his poor little face up. This is when Stewie learned to bite. We eventually had to keep them separated in different parts of the apartment because Stewie would chase them down, biting at their hind quarters while they hissed and flipped out. Fortunately, the back half of the apartment, where my bedroom and the kitchen were located, had a door to separate the cats from the front half, where my roommates bedroom was. I was a little afraid of what it would look like to have Stewie living with other cats, but this was truly his only bad experience.

As I was turning 26, and Stewie was turning 3, I made the decision to move to Minneapolis. I had friends in the area, and I found a good job relatively quickly. Unfortunately, I had to couch surf initially and I was unable to keep Stewie with me during that time; so my sister Timpani took Stewie with her to Southern IL. I can't remember exactly how long it took for me to be able to go back to Southern IL and pick up Stewie, but I do remember missing him terribly for those few months.

"Stewie's Adventure" - when Timpani first brought Stewie back to Southern IL with her, after using my mom's truck to help me move from Chicago to Minneapolis over the weekend, Timpani stopped by mom's house to drop off the truck. Somehow in transit, the door to Stewie's carrier had become unlatched, and being so accustomed to having free roam in car's before, he immediately jumped out of the carrier when Timpani opened the truck passenger side door. Well known fact about Stewie - he HATES being outside, and always has. Panicked, Stewie bolted, leaving Timpani in a state of shock before she realized he had completely disappeared from her vision. She thought she saw him in a neighbor's yard, and immediately ran after the cat she thought was him, but this other neighborhood cat quickly escaped her. She spent hours trying to find Stewie in my mom's rural neighborhood to no avail. She decided she would have to resume the search in the morning. The next day, my mom got in her car and headed to work, but before she got very far, she started hearing a horrible meowing sound coming from her engine. She stopped the car, called my step-dad, and he had to bring his reaching tool to pull a very frightened Stewie from her car engine. Fortunately, Stewie wasn't hurt, and was happy to be brought indoors to my mom's house. Timpani later came and got him and brought him home with her. She called me to let me know that she had both lost and found Stewie.

Stewie seemed to do alright at Timpani's house, and was very affectionate with her during his time away from me; however, once Stewie returned to me, anytime Timpani came up to Minneapolis to visit me, Stewie became very mean towards Timpani. This was his first grudge. They say cats do not have a long term memory, but Stewie has hated Timpani from that time on. Anytime she came to visit, he would hiss and growl at her (which he didn't do to anyone - he was cold to a lot of people, but he only actively hated her). Stewie did pick up another grudge later in life, but that is another story.

Once again, the moment Stewie was with me, we were immediately bonded and I spent most of my time at home cuddling or playing with my little buddy. My friend Jill would spend a lot of time at my house with us - she had always been a dog person before, but Stewie and she quickly warmed up to each other. Jill would watch Stewie when I traveled, and that was the beginning of the end for Jill because she is now 100% a cat person.

Living completely alone for an extended period for the first time was very difficult. I ended up letting friends from out of town stay with me here and there for periods of time because it made things a bit easier. But overall, what made things better was having Stewie with me at all times. Drama ensued, as it does for single people dating in the city, but after each heartbreak, and each awful life event, Stewie was always there with purrs, cuddles, meows, and companionship. No matter what was going on in my life, I always knew I had Stewie to come home to - to take care of.

Jill and I moved in together with a third roommate the 2nd year I lived in Minneapolis, and by the third year, we moved into our own apartment. She quickly adopted her own kitty, Saxon, from the Humane Society.

I was a little afraid when we brought Saxon home to our new apartment because when I lived in Chicago with roommates, Stewie and my roommates cats did not get along; however, Stewie and Saxon quickly became best friends. Saxon was an adorable and very relaxed kitten. He was not the hyperactive kitten that Stewie had been. They played, they cuddled, and Stewie quickly taught Saxon all of his tricks. They became partners in crime, in a constant quest to get into their food any way possible, and boy did they ever.

"Partners in Crime" - At first I had the food bag for Stewie and Saxon on the counter, but Stewie quickly learned he could eat through the bag. Then I put the food into a sliding door glass cabinet, but Stewie and Saxon figured out that together they could slide the door open and get at the food that way (keep in mind, this was a super old apartment, and those cabinets did not slide open easily). So then I bought a plastic container so that even if they got the cabinet open, they still couldn't chew through the bag. We would often come home to find one or both cats inside the cabinet trying to get into the food, and we would have to dig them out of the space. One day, Jill and I came home to food scattered everywhere, and Stewie had managed to get the lid to the food container stuck ON HIS HEAD! We laughed histarically. I mean, how could we be mad when Stewie had gone through so much trouble, only to get the lid stuck on his head?

October 2009

Saxon and Stewie used to take turns cuddling with me every morning in my bed in that apartment. Stewie would get his usual cuddles throughout the night (taking advantage of my frequent wakings), and a bit in the morning, and then when he would jump down, I would inevitably hear a tiny Saxon meow at my bedroom door, and I would invite him to come cuddle.

September 2009

When I moved out of that apartment and in with my boyfriend at the time, it was clear Stewie missed his little friend. I briefly considered adopting another kitty, but decided against it even after visiting the Humana Society. The next two years were difficult. I was not in a good relationship with the boyfriend I was with at the time, and Stewie seemed more vocal than ever; meowing throughout the night loudly, and waking me up often. I think somehow, Stewie knew that I wasn't happy, and he wasn't happy either. One thing that did seem to help his meowing a little bit is that I bought an auto-feeder. Stewie began to wait for the sound of the auto-feeder turning, and run to that for food instead of meowing all night for food. Stewie remained more vocal than ever, but at least he let me sleep more.

October 2011

After two years (and living in two places together), I finally gained the strength to move on from that relationship, and I moved into a tiny (they called it a one-bedroom, but it was really more of a studio) apartment. Stewie remained a very vocal cat, but he relaxed significantly when we moved to our new space. It's like we were both able to take one giant sigh of relief, and make the space our own.

Stewie and I weren't alone in the tiny apartment for very long when a friend in need (and her kitty and rabbit) started to stay with us. My friend's kitty, Sushi, was a sweet kitty to us, but she did not like Stewie; however, Stewie appeared to be in love with her. He was always trying to lay near her, and give her affection. She occasionally tolerated him laying near her, but that was about it. It was pretty adorable all in all.

After living in the tiny apartment for five months in 2012, I met the love of my life, Zach. Of course, I didn't know at the time that he was the love of my life, but Zach and I's relationship moved quickly. One thing that impressed me about Zach early on is that Stewie seemed to warm up to him immediately, which was out of character for Stewie. Early int our relationship, Zach was laying on my bed (keep in mind the bed was one of the few places to sit), and Stewie came up and laid on his back. I made sure to let Zach know how impressive it was that Stewie would be willing to do that. It might have helped that upon getting serious, Zach would offer to clean Stewie's litter box, and Stewie sure loved having a fresh and clean litter box all of the time. Zach even learned how to pick Stewie up in the way that Stewie was okay with.

This is a pic of Stewie on Zach's back another time, but this is what it looked like the first time:



By the end of my apartment lease, Zach and I were in love and decided to move in together. We found a pretty sizable two bedroom apartment that accepted cats. Sushi stayed with us initially while my friend figured out her own living situation. I could tell that Stewie really appreciated having the additional space. As always when I moved, it took Stewie a while to adjust to his new "world", but he warmed up quickly. Soon, Stewie was back to nightly and morning bed cuddles, only now instead of only being on my lap each night, he would take turns laying on Zach's tap too, or lay on the couch between us. He also learned that if he laid between us on the bed, he would get pets from both Zach and I, which Stew grew to love as well. Zach was so gentile and kind with Stewie; plus, Zach was much more free with the treats.

After a little over two years of living in the apartment (and getting married during that time), Zach and I moved into a quaint three bedroom house. Once again, the transition was difficult for Stewie, but he again quickly acclimated to the space. Stewie would sometimes meow in a different room as if confused, but then I would use my 'sweet' voice to call him to me where ever I was. He would run quickly, and come to me for cuddles.

After a time in our new house, Zach and I decided that we had more love to give, and wanted to adopt another cat. We went to the Humane Society, and found Scout, a beautiful and very affectionate long-haired cat. I'll save the details of Scout's specific story for another time.

"Stewie, Meet Scout" - As you do when introducing a new cat to your home when you have a now aging semi-cantankerous cat, you keep them separated initially. We kept Scout in the spare bedroom, allowing he and Stewie to sniff each other out for a few days. Stewie initially hissed a lot (I mean, I can't blame him, change is scary). When we first allowed them to have some face-to-face time (still between two separate rooms, but with the door cracked), Scout reached out with his paw and bopped Stewie on the head. Then Scout quickly ran away. Stewie looked up at us and seemed to express "WHAT THE FUCK WHAT THAT?!" It was an adorable and hilarious first meeting.

Stewie didn't adopt Scout the way he did Saxon, nor did he fall in love with him the way he did Sushi, but Stewie did tolerate Scout, and even began to play (well, sort of play, more like fight in a not too threatening way) with Scout. I don't know if they ever became best buds, but they were buddies nonetheless, which is still a considered a good case scenario when introducing two adult cats. Despite all of this, I still found them often sleeping next to one another in the same spaces (they agreed to share the bed); and even though it usually led to play, they would groom and show affection for another another.

At this very moment, I believe Scout is missing his friend, and doesn't fully understand the gravity of what has occurred in the past week.

For now, I think that this is where I will end my retrospective. We have lived in this house happy for the past two and a half years. Stewie was happy here. Again, this entry is not about the end, but a celebration of the beginning and the middle, and I do not want to use this space as a place to grieve, but to celebrate Stewie's life and time with me. I will continue to add more pictures and stories to this post until I have told everything that I can remember about The Best Cat - Stewie. Sifting through over a thousand pictures may prove difficult, but I hope to keep at least a few pictures documented here.

The Best Cat

Note: I originally posted this to Social Media, but it felt appropriate to share here too. 

Yesterday, I had to say goodbye to one of my dearest friends, my constant companion, my little buddy, a member of my family - Stewie (aka Stew, aka Mr. Stew, aka Mr. Stew Stew, aka StewGuy, aka Stewball, aka Stewart the cat). Stewie has been with me more than anyone else throughout my 20’s and 30’s. I can’t even begin to express with words how much I loved my cat. Yesterday spending time with him knowing it was his last day was so difficult, but being home alone without him today is so much harder. I miss him so terribly already.

I say “constant companion” because Stewie has literally been with me nonstop his entire life. Almost every night for the past 13 years, I have gone to sleep with his cuddles and purrs in the bed, and I have woken up to those same cuddles and purrs in the morning. When I’m either working from home, or just home in general (and since I’m kind of a homebody, let’s face it, that’s most of the time), Stewie has always been either on my lap or laying nearby for most of the day and night. When I would get up periodically, Stewie would follow me, usually meowing in his very vocal way. When I traveled, I would miss Stewie terribly because I always expect to sleep next to him most of the night. The world feels like a much lonelier place without his constant presence in my home.

Stewie and I have been through so much together in the past 13 years. Stewie was the first companion I decided to adopt when I first moved out of my mom’s house in Southern IL to Chicago (the only companion I’ve had until we adopted Scout a couple of years ago). He survived moving with me 10 times across 13 years. He was with me throughout numerous heartbreaks, and helped me survive so many things throughout my 20’s. He was always there to cuddle me when I was home, demanding lap time, or at least lying next to me. The last several months I lived in Chicago, and the first couple of years I lived in Minneapolis, I was an extremely lonely person. The only thing that kept me sane, was Stewie’s reassuring cuddles no matter what. And now that Stewie is gone, I feel this immense loneliness. I know last night was just the first night without him, and that things will get easier, but I woke up several times throughout the night expecting Stewie to come cuddle. I woke up this morning expecting cuddles before I started my day. I walk around the house expecting to see (or hear) Stewie in various places, and the silence and lack of his presence is utterly heartbreaking. I can’t stop crying or thinking about him. I can’t stop missing having him nearby.

I never wanted to imagine living in a world without Stewie. I would joke that he would live forever, but part of me actually believed it; or that since he’s always been so healthy, I would at least see him to a very old age. Losing him after 13 years just feels so unfair to me. I thought I had more time. I thought he would get to meet my daughter and be there for her first milestones, just like he has been with me throughout so many of my own milestones. Despite his recent illness, I foolishly thought that I would at least get to have him for one last Christmas. But as much as I wanted to selfishly keep Stewie with me, when he started to take another bad turn for the worse, I knew I had to let him go. It wasn’t fair to let him be in pain, or to keep dragging him out of the house (which he hated) to try to intervene with the various symptoms of his illness, knowing that he was terminal no matter what we did; knowing that I could possibly rob him of the comfort and dignity of passing away in our home versus on the operating table. This is by far the toughest decision I’ve ever had to make.


I’m so incredibly grateful to my husband Zach for being here with me and Stewie during this time; and for Zach’s love, support, and guidance as my partner in making these difficult decisions. Zach and Stewie have had such a great relationship the past five years; our little family unit. Zach has made my life and Stewie’s life so much better. Zach is one of the few people that Stewie warmed up to almost immediately. Stewie really loved Zach, and would often give him cuddles to show it.


What I am most grateful for throughout all of this is that Zach and I were able to spend the last week and a half spoiling Stewie, and that this time was spent over a long holiday weekend where we got extra time at home with him. After Stewie bounced back from his last procedure, we knew we were on borrowed time, so we made sure to make the most of it (albeit, I still thought I would have more than what I received). We treated Stewie to all of his favorite foods (wet food, tuna, and so many treats), let him eat string (we were always worried this would make him sick in the past), treated him to as much tap water as he wanted; we gave him extra cuddles, and extra attention. We put up our Christmas tree early this year, and Stewie got to lie under a real tree one last time. I spent the past week telling Stewie how much I loved him, and all the stories about his life that I could remember in those moments.


This is what I told Stewie his last day – I took time to thank him. I thanked him for all of the cuddles. I thanked him for being with me throughout all of my good times and bad times. I thanked him for being my constant companion. I thanked him for being such a good kitty. I let him know that he was the best cat (because he was). I told him I loved him more times than I can count. I kissed him. I told him stories about himself. I thanked him for giving me that extra week, even though it didn’t feel like nearly enough time and it passed so very quickly. I thanked him for the cuddles and love the night before since I did not know at the time that the following day would be my last day with him.


Stewie was in bad shape his last day, so understandably, he wasn’t much up for cuddles. I pet him, held him, and stayed near him near constantly anyways because I needed to do so. But right as we were about to begin the procedure, he went to the bedroom upstairs and went to my side of the bed. I laid next to him, and he began to purr and kneed the bed (like he’s always done in the past). He cuddled up next to me, allowing me to spoon and pet him, and love on him; one last time. This was such an incredibly precious gift. I’m so grateful I was able to have that one last happy and heart-felt cuddle at the very end. It’s like Stewie knew that I needed it.


In his final moments, as the sedative kicked in, I picked up Stewie, and held him in my arms, petting him on all of his favorite spots, and told him how much I loved him, and that I hope he felt loved. I told him that I would see him again someday. I told him that he was in good hands until then. I desperately hope that those things are true. As we moved to the next phase, I held him in my lap with his little head in my hand, and petting him until the very end because I needed him to know I was there for him; even if he could only vaguely sense me. Then, I carried him in a blanket to the vet’s car, and laid him down one last time, and kissed his little head one last time. I’m so grateful we were able to let him pass away with us in our home, even if being there for those moments was such a difficult thing to witness.


I love you Stewie, I hope you always felt loved. You were the best cat. You were my companion. I will always love you, and I will always miss you.

Pumping Iron

Pregnancy is a very strange experience in so many ways, but one revelation I had today is that examining your nutrition and what you should be eating is more complex than just a checklist of food groups and servings you should be eating. You really need to tally up the vitamins in each of the foods you are eating to make sure you are getting the vitamins, proteins, and fiber you need to have a balanced diet.

In case you aren't aware, pregnancy consists of receiving a series of contradictory information. When you become pregnant, you get a laundry list of food groups and servings of those foods you should be eating daily to meet nutrition requirements. But don't eat for two! But also this list is easily double the amount of food you would reasonably eat on a daily basis. But don't gain too much weight! But also, you better eat ALL THIS FOOD because you really only absorb so much from your prenatal vitamins.

But I digress. Since I've started my third trimester last week, there are a few things I need to focus on - specifically getting more protein and iron. Great, I thought, I've got this one - I've always focused on a well balanced diet which includes protein and iron-containing veggies and lean meats. But hey, just for funsies, let's see how much iron content is in the daily foods I'm consuming. The answer is, NOT NEARLY ENOUGH IRON!

Reading up on iron intake, it turns out that even before I was pregnant, I probably wasn't getting enough iron. I figured since I'm prone to anemia and I've made it my goal to eat a balanced diet of recommended food groups because of this, I was good. However, even things like lean ground beef and beans don't have as much iron as you would think. Apparently, around 80% of Americans aren't getting the iron they really need, and pregnant women are even more prone to getting less than they need since you should be getting at least 27 grams a day throughout your pregnancy (9 grams a day while - or if - you're breastfeeding).

So what is a up and coming momma to do? After reading several articles about iron-containing foods, and remembering that I still can't eat things like liver (not that I would because I hate liver, but anywho), I really need to refocus on grains; specifically grains I can eat like quinoa and oatmeal. And I need to eat more beans - I eat a fair amount of beans, but I really need to eat more chickpeas (which are good to focus on for the other vitamins that they contain anyways).

Something I may have neglected to mention previously is that I have Irritable Bowel Syndrome (IBS), and one of the very few ways I've found to control my IBS is by being on a gluten free (GF) diet. Side bar for those who think gluten intolerance is a hoax - Imagine you are having daily horrific digestive pain and inconsistent bowel issues even when you eat a healthy balanced diet, and the pain only gets worse the older you get. And also imagine after years and years of invasive tests, the only thing they can say conclusively is that you have IBS. Now imagine changing one thing about your diet and the pain goes away. Would you believe all the articles that say gluten intolerance doesn't exist, or would you continue eating in a way that prevents the horrific pain from coming back? Me, I prefer to live pain free. Fortunately, we live in a day and age in which being GF is easier than ever, and I thought I had added enough supplementary foods to my diet to balance out the lack of grains. Boy was I wrong!

Now, there is Iron in the GF cereal I eat; however, keep in mind that A) you don't absorb vitamins as well from foods in which those vitamins have been added and B) If you eat your cereal with calcium containing beverages like I do, you aren't absorbing as much iron because calcium prevents total iron absorption. Note: See edit below regarding additional information I found on this subject

Now, this last point is pretty controversial - a lot of people believe you can have your iron and calcium too without these repercussions, but again, life is all about contradictions; especially in pregnancy it seems, so I would rather be safe than sorry.

Isn't nutrition fun?!

So, what is the actual point of this blog entry? Nutrition is tricky. Unless you are already obsessed with nutrition like I am (and even with my obsession, I still missed my lack of iron intake), it's probably a good idea to consult with a nutritionist if you really want to get the most of the foods you eat - pregnant or not.

In case you prefer to learn these things on your own like I do, here's some helpful articles I ran across today:

• Here's a list of iron-rich foods that will help you in your pregnancy diet:: Iron in Your Pregnancy Diet
• Hate Baby Center? Here's a similar article on WebMD: Iron Rich Foods
• And here's another article from WebMD : Are You Getting Enough Iron
• Want to break down further the type of iron you need even if you aren't pregnant? Here's another nifty article I ran across today: Iron Dietary Supplement Fact Sheet
• Here's a little summary from this article in case you just want to know what I mean by type of Iron -- There are two types of iron in foods:

• Heme iron is the type your body absorbs best. You get heme iron in beef, chicken, turkey, and pork.
• Nonheme iron is the other type, which you can find in beans, spinach, tofu, and ready-to-eat-cereals that have added iron.

Edit: I found another article about boosting Iron absorbtion when eating cereal:
Breakfast Cereals High Iron

"Absorption Boost

The iron in breakfast cereal, whether it’s naturally occurring or added during processing, is not as readily available as the iron from animal sources. You can significantly boost the amount of iron you’re able to absorb from cereal by consuming it along with a glass of orange juice, some fresh strawberries or any other vitamin C-rich food. Just as vitamin C enhances iron absorption, however, other phytonutrients interfere with it -- drinking coffee or tea with your bowl of cereal will decrease the mineral’s availability."

So if you eat your cereal with a glass of OJ, you're much more likely to absorb the iron from Iron enriched cereal! This is great information for me. Now OJ gives me terrible heartburn; however, I'm going to try incorporating some other high Vitamin C fruit combination with my cereal is in order to better absorb the Iron.

Grateful

As typical as it sounds, I usually post on Social Media at least a couple of times in November each year about the things in my life in which I'm grateful. The last few years, it usually involves my husband, or the things in life that make me a stronger person, or maybe just something random that came to mind that day. But with Thanksgiving coming up and everyone posting their "grateful lists", I want to join in because I know that I have so much in my life to be grateful for. But once again, I feel hesitant to alienate my friends by posting about the baby. You see, I think the thing this year that I am most grateful for is the life growing inside of me. I'm so grateful that this baby will be with us in just under three months. It seems like it's taken so long for me to get to this point in my life; this point in my pregnancy. I'm so grateful to be where I am in my life right now.

I didn't always know that I wanted to be a mom. In typical teenager fashion, and perhaps because babysitting my cousin's small children may have scared me, I didn't think children were something I wanted for a long time. This in hindsight is kind of a silly thing because I was often in the position of being the group mom with my friends at that time, and well, I'm sure most teenagers have a hard time picturing children in their life. But as I grew up, things changed.

In my early 20's while I was in class, we were doing a meditation where we imagined our perfect futures. At the time I was an aspiring artist, so I pictured myself sitting in a sun-filled room in a house on a beach somewhere, painting on a large canvas. Even now, knowing that my art was never pursued on a professional (or even a personal level lately), that vision sounds amazing. In this dream-like state, as I was painting, I heard a giggle. I looked over, and standing beside me was a little girl, toddler aged; with short curls much like the ones I had as a toddler, and I realized in this meditative state that she was my little girl. As the teacher wrapped up the meditation, I opened my eyes, and I was crying. I wasn't sad, or even joyous; simply overcome with the emotion of what I had seen. This was when I first knew, I wanted to be a mom.

As my 20's progressed, I realized that while I wanted to be a mom, I didn't want to be a mom unless the circumstances where just so - again, in hindsight, this is a silly thought because there's never a perfect time for anything; much less children. But even though I leaned towards long-term relationships in my 20's; marriage, much less children, just didn't seem in the cards. As I left another failed long-term relationship when I was about to turn 31, I felt this great sadness because I thought that was it; children weren't going to happen for me. By the time I met someone new and built another relationship, it would be too late. I was happy to be out of the relationship, but I felt old and tired; like things were just final in a way.

Then something wonderful happened - I met the love of my life, and things moved quickly. We married two years after meeting (okay, maybe that's not quick for some, but it was for me), and then a little over two years after getting married, I got pregnant.

We had stopped try to avoid pregnancy about two years ago, and we started actually trying to conceive a year before I became pregnant. At the time, I was worried that it might not happen for us. What if I had waited too long to start trying to have kids - was I too old? Was I going to have to resolve with the idea that it just might not happen (again)? There was nothing medically wrong with us, so maybe it just wasn't in the cards.

On Mother's Day earlier this year, I was in a terrible mood. My birthday had just happened a couple of weeks earlier (a birthday in which I wasn't really up for celebrating), and I decided that maybe we needed to take a break from "trying". I could feel my period coming, and as it had every month passed that we didn't conceive, I felt like a failure. I had just turned 36, and it felt like were were running out of time. We took my husband's parents out to brunch that day, and when we got home, I broke down and cried. My heart felt so heavy. The week proceeding was even harder because my period just wasn't coming; I hated it when my period is late - especially while trying to conceive, late periods had become a norm (probably because I was stressing myself out over it), and it was heartbreaking every time because I was never pregnant.

Pro-tip because this was never explained to me - you can actually cramp early on in your pregnancy, especially when you would normally be on your period. I didn't know this. I was always told that when you're pregnant "you just know". I didn't "just know". I was so focused on the idea that it wasn't going to happen, it didn't occur to me at that very moment it was happening. Finally, days after my period should have started, I decided to take a pregnancy test. I couldn't believe my eyes. Unlike every month before, the second strip that indicates pregnancy was showing. But it was so faint, I was worried it was a fluke. I took two more tests; same results. I took a picture of the test results, and sent it to my sisters thinking the faintness of the results meant something. My oldest sister responded "You're pregnant, schedule a doctor's appointment." I immediately texted my husband with a picture of the results (which I then I had to explain because he had no idea how to interpret the test). That whole Mother's Day that I had been grief-stricken, I had actually been pregnant.

I spent the next few weeks worried out of my mind. I didn't want to get too excited. What if I lost the baby? I was so cautious about who we told at first. And it was so difficult. I wanted to shout from the rooftops, but I was too scared. Even after I reached the 12 and 16 weeks hurtles, I was too scared to buy baby things, or tell too many people - every little thing that could have potentially meant something was wrong signaled to me that I could not be completely comfortable.

Then we had the genetic testing (all clear), and later on the 2nd trimester ultrasound - on the monitor, there was my perfect (healthy) baby. I think that ultrasound is when it finally became "real". I finally accepted that the baby was growing inside of me, that everything could be alright. And what was more exciting is that we were having a girl (after being informed that my husband was the first son of the first son of the first son, I was sure that we were likely having a boy).

The past few weeks have been amazing because even as I become bigger and more exhausted, feeling the baby getting stronger and stronger, moving around more and more... she's there. She's active. She's healthy. I can feel her, I can count her kicks. I talk, and I know she can hear me. I sing to her. I giggle because sometimes her kicks tickle me. It's a wonderful feeling. My husband likes to put his hand on my belly and tell her that he loves her. When I feel her first thing in the morning, I tell her "Good Morning Baby!" and I tell her how grateful I am for her. My nightly prayers for her safety have morphed into prayers about how grateful I am for her (and yes, I still pray for her safety).

So this November, while I take stock in the things in my life in which I'm grateful, more than anything else, I'm so grateful for my baby girl. I'm so grateful that we've made it this far, and that she's healthy. I'm so grateful for the opportunity to carry her, and to feel the love inside of me grow for her each day. I love her so much already, and I'm so excited to meet her.

Hey Jealousy

Well, I discovered the toughest thing about being pregnant recently - missing out on live music (shows). I don't miss most things about not being pregnant. I don't really miss my old coffee habit - I get a little sad at the end of my first and only cup of coffee, but at least I can drink decaf if I really crave a second cup. I don't miss drinking alcohol. I don't even miss my old body that much because I am growing a human being, which is a beautiful experience (okay, after finding an old picture that I used to think I looked "fat" in, I recently told my 140 lb self that should I ever see her again, I'll never take it for granted again, but that's for another blog entry). I have become a home body the past few years, so I don't even miss going out that much most of the time.

However, I really miss seeing shows on occasion; especially when my favorite bands come around to my favorite venues. And mommy blogs and such say live music as long as it's not obscenely loud is probably ok. However, I don't like the word "probably" when it comes to a baby growing inside of me. I also don't really trust being around super drunk people. And you think, well seeing live music can't be all that rowdy, right? Well, unless your flavor of live music tends to be loud and rowdy punk rock, which is the case for me. Even if I sat in one of the few coveted seats in my favorite music venue, there would be the constant threat of jabs, broken bottles, and wayward moshing.

I accepted that I will just miss shows while pregnant because safety is important above all else. It was a personal choice, and I certainly wouldn't judge or begrudge any other punk rock momma who is going to shows still. It was something I discussed with my spouse, and we agreed - we're very paranoid parents already!

Unfortunately, what I did not anticipate is that my favorite music venue of choice has decided to close after being around for nearly 20 years... in my third trimester no less. Now businesses close down all the time, but this is especially brutal news. I have so many beautiful memories at this venue, and so does everyone I know. I'm a deeply nostalgic person. The first time I ever visited this town, I went to this venue. And this venue is also beloved by every band in our area - Now every band that doesn't already have a show booked there has been squeezing in last minute shows in the last month this wonderful venue is open. Including bands that don't play often, or awesome bands that aren't event together currently. Believe me when I say this - Everyone loves this venue. It's the best music venue because it is ran with love by the best people; because it's walls are imbued with the best memories; because it's jukebox is filled with the best music; because it has the greasiest, best food a punk rock club could ever ask for; and because even if you aren't as in love with it as I am, you can at least respect everything this place has done for the local punk rock scene.

So I am jealous of all the friends that will be at this venue for the next few weeks while I am at home, doing safe pregnancy things like going out to eat or watching TV. I'm SO JEALOUS. I feel emotional over it. Of course, while I'm certain that pregnancy hormones are playing their part, I think I would have cried at the news anyways.

Again, the beautiful daughter growing inside of me is well worth all of this... I just needed to get this off my chest. I also needed a moment to say thank you to the Triple Rock Social Club for being the best fucking punk rock venue this old ass punk could ever ask for. Thank you for the memories. Thank you for the wonderful music. Thank you for always treating me and my friends like family. Thank you for all the free bacon. Thank you for hangover biscuits and gravy. Thank you for way too strong drinks and and legitimate mosh pits. Thank you for everything.

Side note: I'm totally going there for brunch before they close. So at least I'll get to eat the best food while listening to the best jukebox one last time. <3

Good Grief

I faced a new challenge this week that I wasn't prepared for - grieving while pregnant. National tragedies will of course always get to me. But this one hit me harder than usual, triggered my anxiety at a level I hadn't felt in a long time, and made me worry much more than I could have ever imagined for the world in which I'm bringing my daughter into.

Yesterday, I cried, which while isn't an unusual response for most people to a national tragedy, it was an unusual response for me. You see, I'm not big into crying. It happens on a very rare occasion. I still have very few instances of crying under my belt in my life, even five months into my first pregnancy. And then, after the crying came an overwhelming sense of dread. Chest pain, making it difficult to breath followed. Then my vision blurred. I felt as though I was being crushed into an ever shrinking box. I was having a full blown anxiety attack.

It took me longer than it should have to realize that was what was happening, but there it was. And I felt terrified for the very first time that my anxiety could potentially hurt my baby. My lower stomach felt tight. Was I having a contraction? I'm not sure if I've never had a contraction before, so was this tightening it? Was the tightening squeezing my baby the way my chest felt squeezed? Was my trouble breathing restricting oxygen to my baby?

Do yourself a favor if you are pregnant and having your first full blown anxiety attack - DO NOT, I repeat, DO NOT go to Google for answers. If it becomes unbearable, call your doctor.

I didn't call my doctor. I didn't call or reach out to anyone. Another rookie mistake. After consulting with Google, I did the next last thing you shouldn't do when anxious in the aftermath of a national tragedy - I hopped on Social Media. The venom, the hatred, the arguments (not debates, make no mistake, those weren't debates), the blame... it was horrible, and it just made my anxiety worse.

I have very strong opinions when it comes to the gun control debate, but I couldn't articulate anything. All I felt and could think about was awful, horrifying, all-consuming grief. The only thing I could bear to say was "My thoughts and prayers are with you Vegas." And then I saw people saying hateful things about those remarks (not aimed directly at me, but generally aimed at the so-called "type" of people that post such a thing in the way of a tragedy). How thoughts and prayers will do nothing, and how the type of people that say those types of things are part of the problem. And sadly, I've probably thought or said that type of judgmental thing in the past too. I was so angry. I was so grief-stricken. I was so hurt.

That's when I remembered that it's less important for me to join a debate where well reasoned people are saying my feelings, but in much more articulated ways, than it was for me to practice some self-care. I really didn't need to be there. I didn't have any obligation whatsoever to being online in that moment. My obligation in that moment, and every moment that I carry this baby, is to this baby. I needed to take a step back. I needed to take care of myself. I needed to take care of my body and therefore my baby. So I did.

I don't owe it to anyone to be on Social Media ever, but especially not when I'm anxious. I don't owe my thoughts on any subject to anyone at any time. So I took a break. I stepped away. I said "FUCK THIS" and set down my laptop. Fortunately despite being logged into my office job, I was working from home yesterday, and I was due a break anyways.

I remembered that I have a tool-belt of mechanisms that I can and should be tapping into in that moment to manage my anxiety. I started to take deep breaths, I started counting out, I started slowing my breath down, and I just reminded myself that I needed to BREATH. I meditated, I reflected, I allowed myself to feel what I was feeling without judging myself for it.

After some time, the anxiety backed off - not fully - and I started to relax. I'm still anxious today. But nothing like I was yesterday. And despite the anxiety yesterday, and anxiety today, I never stopped feeling my baby moving around the way she normally does. And that was and is my greatest comfort.

I Sleep in a Pillow Fort

I've always had insomnia, but sleeping while pregnant has come with some additional challenges. If I don't get my set up just right, I wake up with horrible back pain (often in the middle of the night), and my hips often bug me (pinched sciatic nerve), as well as my knees.

I did buy one of those fancy pregnancy pillows, but unfortunately that was a waste of money for me. What most pregnant women find to be a godsend, I was even more uncomfortable, especially my shoulders and neck. I tried to supplement the thing with extra pillows or a rolled up small blanket under my neck, but no dice. I woke up each morning with terrible neck and shoulder pain on both sides, and the pillow kept getting more and more stretched out, which negated the benefits of preventing me from rolling over onto my back during the night. In case you don't know, back sleeping is a big no no in pregnancy; especially once your second trimester starts.

So now I sleep with 7 pillows. Yep, that's why it feels like I'm setting up a pillow fort each night when I get ready for bed. I sleep with a pillow in front of me, a pillow behind my back (tucked slightly under my back so that I don't roll onto my back completely), a pillow behind my legs, and a pillow in front of my legs. Laying on my left side, I tuck those two leg pillows so that my left leg always sits on top of a pillow rather than the bed, and if I roll over, my right leg would do the same. Then I tuck another pillow between my legs. Then I tuck a small flat pillow under my belly (I could use a towel instead, but the flat pillow works). Then I have a pillow under my head, and another behind my head. I also have my stuffed panda bear for hugging in addition to the pillow in front of me.

This set up (because you're supposed to sleep on your left side as much as possible), is about the only way I can presently sleep comfortably *most* of the night, and that is not a guarantee the entire night. Eventually, I have to roll over onto my right side because even with the extra cushioning, my left hip inevitably starts to hurt.

Sometimes, I create a pillow throne so I can "lay" on my back to start out the night when my hips are really bugging me (which is really sleeping in a semi-seated position). So the pillow behind my head gets tucked under my head pillow. The pillow that usually sits under my belly, goes behind my low back, the two pillows from either side of my legs get stacked under my knees, the two pillows on either side of my front/back are now arm rests, and the pillow that goes between my legs and my panda bear go on either side of my head so that when I inevitably fall asleep, my head isn't left at an odd angle.

I also listen to a 20 minute meditation on my phone every night which starts out with a breathing exercise, and I usually pass out about half way through it.

This blog isn't complaining. This is me laughing at the ridiculous lengths I go to get some fucking sleep each night. Maybe it'll help someone else find their 'trick'. Because everyone is different, and everyone has to figure out what works for them.

Reassurance

I know it seems silly, and maybe the product of my anxiety, but there's something incredibly reassuring about being able to feel the baby kick the first thing in the morning. I love the gentle reminder that she's still here with me.

Most mornings lately I feel her almost immediately after I wake up, but I was sitting here for a while before I began to feel her move today. I immediately felt more relaxed once she started squirming and kicking. As my pregnancy progresses, feeling her move might seem less special or even uncomfortable; but for now, the flutters and kicks leave me feeling incredibly grateful.

Blinders

Every morning I like to wake up by drinking a cup of coffee and reading my Social Media feed. I start with a list I've made called 'Close Friends' (guess who's on that list), and then I look at my Pages feed. In the past year, the Pages feed, which is comprised of anything from comic creators to news articles, has been incredibly stressful to read. Even if I unfollowed every news page, the other people I follow would likely keep me abreast of every political and disastrous thing going on in the world. And I worry. I worry about the world I'm bringing my daughter into. I worry about how the current political environment will not only impact me as a middle class American, but how it will impact those in less fortunate circumstances.

I'm kind of prone to worry (anxiety) anyways... okay, scratch that. Let's be honest here. I have a generalized anxiety disorder that I manage through meditation and sometimes I don't manage it well it at all. I don't begrudge anyone that goes the medication route. Hell, I tried that route for a period of time, and simply found that I didn't like the result. So personally, I try to manage it by checking in with myself daily, meditating, staying present, and the overall tenants I have learned in cognitive therapy. I haven't been to counseling in a few years, but I know that at some point in my life, I will be back. And I'm not afraid or ashamed of that. That, to put simply, is what it is (a phrase I say often).

So what do I do with all of this worry? People tell me it's unnecessary. People have told me, even before I became pregnant, that I should unfollow all these pages that are causing me to worry. People tell me now that I am pregnant, it is especially important that I unfollow all of these pages that are stressing me out and causing me to ask these questions. Admittedly, sometimes I do just keep scrolling when I see something truly horrific on my screen... but most often, I don't, especially when human suffering is involved.

But here's the thing - While I don't want my anxiety to get worse, or to worry about everything and everyone, or attempt to put the world on my shoulders; I don't want to put on blinders either. What kind of mother would I be if I didn't keep the world in my view and prepare my daughter for it? And if I did start blocking out everything, what if I missed those all too important moments of good in the world? If I had stopped reviewing my Pages feed, I would have missed some wonderful stories of human triumph this very morning. This very morning a comic creator I follow posted something wonderful, and I shared it, and maybe someone else will read it and they will feel inspired too. Or maybe not, but it was an awesome story I am so glad I read anyways.

I don't live in a world of absolutes. I live in a world of wonder and 'what ifs', and beauty; and sometimes that world is also a world of destruction and horror and suffering. Sometimes I can help; either by donating time or the little bit of money I afford myself to donate to what I feel are worthy causes. Sometimes I am helpless (which is by the way my least favorite thing in the world) aside from who I choose to vote for, or sharing these things - not to horrify others - but to keep others informed as well. I don't want to pass my anxiety or stress on, but I think it's important we all stay informed.

Life is a balance, so I will continue to maintain my own balance with blinders off... at least for as long as I am able.

Baby Feels

I've been feeling baby moving around for the past couple of weeks (although it was super hard to tell at first if that was her or just my body being strange), but I hadn't been able to feel her from the outside of my body. But last night, her movements felt more pronounced.

So I had my husband put his hand on my belly, and he got to feel her moving for the first time. We cuddled for a while with his hand on my belly feeling her little movements. It was probably my favorite moment so far of the entire pregnancy. I could tell it was my husband's favorite moment too. His eyes welled up a bit, and he had the best smile on his face.

Then when he got up, I put my hand on my belly, and I got to feel her kicking too.

All in all, last night was kind of the best.

Side note: I'm pretty sure she's presently using my cervix for soccer practice. She's going to go pro!

Random Thought For Today - Sleeveless Maternity Clothes

And today's random pregnancy thought is:

Sleeveless or "off shoulder" maternity wear confuses me. How could you possibly support your now HUGE knockers with a strapless bra? Maybe it’s just me, because my boobs have doubled in size, but at this stage I'm all about being comfortable over being fashionable.

Blogging Again: This Time About Pregnancy And Babies

Let's see, where to start... It's been a long time since I've blogged consistently. I haven't started this blog with the intention of people seeing or reading this (beyond maybe a couple of family members or friends); but it occurred to me recently that being pregnant for the first time, I'm probably going through the same things that every other woman has experienced. Although that might be the case, all of this is very new to me; making this unique to my personal experience.

At the same time, I also realized that posting on my current social media accounts about all of these experiences might be either alienating or redundant to some of my friends and family. I figure by creating a separate blog, people who want to know or read about my journey into pregnancy and motherhood can; and those who don't really want to know, can blissfully continue their Social Media experience free of reading things like how my boobs have doubled in size, or that my belly button is already disappearing.

Some of the blogs might be lengthy, and some might just be quick thoughts about how strange all of this is to me. In case you don't know me, I marked this blog as having "adult content". Why? Because I really enjoy cursing, and I'm probably going to talk about bodily functions. While I intend to put an end to my verbal cursing, at least around the baby (because I swear if my baby's first word is "FUCK", I will never forgive myself); I will be cursing online forever... or maybe until my kid obtains their own Social Media accounts... you know, when they're 18, or maybe 21, or 30? 30 seems like an appropriate age for them to have Social Media, right?

 OH, also, this blog will have a lot of sarcasm. For that reason, I am going to moderate comments (you know, if they should occur) in case someone takes things I intend as silly or sarcastic as something serious. Trust me, after reading several other blogs or Social Media page comments, this seems to happen ALL. THE. TIME.

So here goes. Read at your own risk. I'm 36 and pregnant for the first time. I'm almost 21 weeks into this pregnancy already. I am a Jill of all trades; in love with Fantasy and Science Fiction in particular. I fully intend to raise my kid on a healthy dose of Star Wars, Marvel, Disney Classics, and so many other awesome things.

 Lastly, I love coffee, and I will never give it up. Science says I can have up to 12 ounces a day, and I will keep enjoying that one cup forever.