I clocked off work a bit earlier than usual that fateful Thursday; I had managed to drag my sorry self out of bed before my usual time, thus I had more time in my afternoon to enjoy the sudden rain storm. Holly and Emma were out at a swimming party, ironic that the heavens would open up to overflow our gutters and flood our streets with their thirst quenching rain. I opened a couple of windows, grabbed a fiction magazine I have been wanting to read and set my mind upon relaxing.

Intentions being what they are it won't do much good to declare I had many in regards to documenting the aspects of our lives these past three months. Three months in the life of a small child can very well be half of it! Life has been moving at either a break-neck pace or has become ensnared in the muck and mire of circumstances that are better left historical and thus forgotten. With Christmas nearly upon us and two holidays already passed with nary a word it is high time I write something, though I fear it shall not be in any great depth.

Holly went into labor this morning at 2:30AM. I won't argue with her when she says it's labor; I figure she's the better expert than I am, and she knows its different than a Braxton-Hicks. I had to get up around 4AM to answer the call of nature and she quietly told me, "I don't think you have to go to work today." It's funny how a few simple words barely whispered can shock a poor sleep-deprived man into sudden wakefulness; I couldn't go to sleep after that, and believe me, I tried.

I hope my autobiographer will be so kind as to gloss over the boring parts of my life, for I don't want to be remembered by the three people who will proof-read the book as a dull boy. Prefaced that way our last three-day weekend as unencumbered, childless, nearly-carefree middle-aged adults was far from thrilling, and hopefully not defining. It was a weekend filled with an exercise in building patience, stamina enriching events, a life-sized game of Tetris, some homemade pizza, and a wee bit of sloth.

Holly and I have been going non-stop for the past two months, doing our best to get our house and our lives ready for Emma's introduction into this world, and there's still more to be done. A part of me laughs at the nice sentiment of letting projects die that all the pregnancy books and birthing classes offer, because some of it is not even optional. The nursery is mostly done, but there still are some decorations to be attended to, a few pieces of trim to be tacked on, and some closet doors to be painted and installed.

Back in October things were looking grim. Things aren't looking so grim any longer; however, it is late, it is hot, I am tired, sticky, groggy, and maybe a bit cranky, so this will have to be short and we'll all have to hope for something more from me later.

Yesterday is still hanging around my neck like an albatross. The depression is dulled a bit, but the excitement is quite dead. Poor kid; I went from patting Holly's tummy all the time and talking to the little thing to completely ignoring it. I hope that will change.

There is one point I forgot to make last night, in our defense and by way of explanation of my reaction. We have been trying for months to get pregnant, and every month I would do a rough calculation to ensure that we were still ready; every calculation said it would be tight, but manageable. The funny thing about rough calculations is they are rough. Last night I did a more thorough job and found that it will be tight to the point of unreasonability. The only way to make things work is to drop health insurance, and the main reason we had it in the first place was to pay for the birth of our children; to drop the insurance means postponing our second child, possibly beyond our desires.

The baby is fine, as far as we know, growing in Holly's womb, ignorant of the turmoil just outside its cozy home, turmoil it serves as the catalyst to. All the joy and excitement of having a baby has been sucked away from me, quite possibly permanently. I would love to be a bit melodramatic, it's always a bit fun and has this great "pity me" feel to it, but it will serve no good end, thus I will be open, honest, and frank.

I re-calculated our budget, this time without Holly's income, and it is a bleak, desolate, depressing picture of despair. I want to run; I want to run, hide, disappear, and never look back nor be found again. The financial Hell-hole Holly and I only recently climbed out of looms again in our near future, only this time we cannot point to a sudden lay-off as the cause; this time we'll have to willingly jump into it . . . for an indefinite period of time. The worst part is I have not yet figured out how much the baby will cost us per month. I've heard estimates but I don't trust them. I have only figured out what our utilities, groceries, loan payments, and three "luxury" services will cost us, and this alone pushes the limit of my salary.

It's official and confirmed by the doctor's blood test: we are pregnant! Sometime in June we should bring home a little bundle of stress, worry, "innocence", and a tax-break. Am I excited? You bet! Am I nervous? You bet! Am I scared? You bet! Would I do it all over again? You bet!

More news to come as it develops. Eegads. I'm going to be a father!

The slow road to recovery includes a stops at the massage therapist. I had put off ever setting foot inside such a den of human comfort in part due to the money and in part due to my shape, which is to say round. The vertigo and headaches finally grew to be enough to make me go, and I'm glad I did. I've been twice now, two weeks apart, and I've got one more visit in a week, and it's done wonders. The chest pain I was feeling was in fact a knot in my pectoral muscles. My vertigo was exacerbated by tension in my neck and shoulders (if not entirely caused by it). The tension headaches, well, we all know where they come from: tension.