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.

Babies are vastly interesting. Their lives have so little personal history it is simply amazing to watch how they learn. People keep telling me kids grow up fast, in fact I've heard it my entire life. In some regards children do grow up fast, but only because at first there is so much to take in that each new development, each new discovery, is a milestone in their short historical record. And yet I find it hard to document the minutia of Emma's life for public consumption.

Next week is my last week at my current job. While I was on leave I have a job offer to work from home doing the same type of work I was already doing, and I'd make a little more money. Three weeks with Emma convinced me I want to have as much time as I can with my baby girl. She is quite the little bundle of preciousness.

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.

I'm perfectly healthy! But wait, I still feel crappy. What gives? The blood work, EKG, and “bladder sample” all came back good, so good that there seems to be no reason for why I feel so off. Then the doctor gave me one of the “follow my finger with your eyes” tests and pronounced that I have form of vertigo with the word “benign” in it. The best part is, he said it's most likely transitory and will go away on it's own; he indicated we won't do any treatment unless it develops into a chronic case.

So lucky me gets to deal with dizzy spells, lightheadedness, and the nausea that accompanies it. Let this serve as a warning why I don't eat much, act miserable, and possibly puke all over you. It's not that I don't like you, or your cooking. Really. (Honestly though, who makes asparagus pudding and then garnishes it with ketchup? With cooking like that it's no wonder I'd get sick.) This means I'm hoping and praying it'll go away on its own soon. I don't like driving when I feel dizzy. I don't like doing much of anything really.

I am getting older, for time now flies by and months fall off the calendar. I dare not think of what milestones await me around the next corner, but suffice it to say I'd love to find the pause button: I need to catch my breath. The last four months both crawled and flew by, proving that my perception of time is as firm as it has always been, which is to say, tenuous at best. Thanksgiving, Christmas, the New Year, Valentine's Day, and St. Patrick's Day have all come and gone, and not all of them left pleasant memories.

In short, I've been feeling quite sickly all this time. A good portion of it has to do with the upheaval commensurate with a new job. I've gone on at length on my other blog about change, but to sum up, change brings with it a tremendous amount of stress. There is but one other time in my life that I have been as stressed, and that was the year I served as the Interim Pastor. Stress of this magnitude and this duration always makes me sick to my stomach all the time. As you can now well imagine the holiday feasts were no joy to me, but a chore in not embarrassing myself by publicly displaying what was previously in my stomach. To those poor souls who supped with me, this is why I was nowhere near cheerful.