A case of the blahhs and the rambles

I have lots to do---phone calls, buy paints, pay bills, file stuff, and yet, I don't.

After my rather manic post a few days ago, I relaxed a bit as I read your comments and realized that the whole reason I picked my hospital was because they are very good about respecting women and taking care of them during birth. Okay, they sucked back in 2003-04 when it came to miscarriage care before 20 weeks, but they have transferred all obstetrical care to one area of highly trained people, who are better at this, and really, every single hospital always sucks in this area. I wish someone in the system would figure out that there is no magical line, where women need good care when losing a baby after 20 weeks, but losing a baby is nothing and sort of like an appendectomy before 20 weeks.....there is no magical switch people. Really.

One thing about support groups is that you hear lots of stories about lots of different hospitals and how they act during the worst experience anyone can have. You get the good, the bad, and the ugly. And over time, it's important to remember that some can deteriorate, and some can improve. I know a couple of them did such a horrendous job with some patients that a wholesale change occurred throughout the hospital. People were told, policies were changed, and lots and lots of training occurred.

So there is hope, and maybe, just maybe, I'll get to have an experience like I did with Matthew, literally the perfect birth scenario, (except for the dead baby part).

Ba-dum-bum--bah

(dead baby joke, scuse me)

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I know I'll feel better after this painting and shifting furniture gets done, I already feel better about the officewhichisbecomingthebabyroom. My organizer came by and she and I emptied years worth of paper and crap and what-have-you. I'm not really sure I need to have 10 year old copies of Today's Parent or Mothering Magazine, and I know that so much has changed that keeping those is pointless. Plus, a lot of these parenting magazines make me feel kind of shitty, you know? I know what my kid needs, but they all seem premised on guilt. Useless.

But dudes, the funniest part is that I hardly go into that office, and really only Mr.Cotta does. And oh lord, the crap he had kept! Half eaten protein bars, old water bottles, empty boxes with disks and user guides from old phones we no longer own, boot disks for Win95, 98 & 2000, backup disks for ancient computers we don't have anymore, critical documents like ownership papers for the car stuffed into envelopes and stuck under other piles of crap, and cables and wires and plugs and earphones all unlabelled for electronics all over the house.

All I'm gonna say is... calling me disorganized and blaming my ADD for the inability to find stuff in this house is no longer fair game. If we can't find a scrap of paper or someone loses something, I am NOT THE ONLY ONE TO BLAME.

I have a filing system by the way. The organizer helped me set it up. I have a beautiful filing cabinet upstairs with all of our stuff in it, one drawer is this years bills and records, alphabetical, and the other drawer is permanent records, like mortgage papers for the house, and warranty documents for stuff. I also have a filing cabinet on the main floor, which is made of nice dark wood to blend into the rest of the furniture and has some temporary files in one drawer, like bills to pay, and in the other drawer has all my electronic stuff for my camera, my computer, etc. all nicely tucked away so no one has to stare at my junk. And my laptop can go in the drawer, or sit on top.

He thinks filing cabinets are nice, but never looks in there. Ever. He asked a question about the mortgage documents the other day, and I told him to look in the filing cabinet and he didn't for days until I pulled the file. I guess it was too hard to reach to his left, only one foot away, open the drawer, and pull out the file clearly labelled, "Mortgage Cotta house - ## Address".

le sigh....

I adore the man, I do. The way I write about him, I'm sure it sounds like I don't, but I figure, well, loving someone means loving them for their good sides and their faults. All of them, all the bits. Even the bits where there they are quite sure they are perfect and are unable to see that have feet of clay too.

Poor pseudo-ADD man. He thinks it's only me---oh yeah, whatever.