I could use a hero right now,

You could use someone to save.

Someone like me,

Someone who's not brave,
Someone who's not free.

Meet Me At My Window- Jack's Mannequin

And when I think things are starting to look up, I fall again.

2009

With each year that passes, I reflect on the changes I've made to my character. Though none of them are voluntary, I always like what I see when I reflect. Once, many years ago, when a year was winding down and I looked back on the changes from the first to the last day- I saw a girl who didn't know what she wanted. Well, truth be told, not much has changed about that. I still have no clue what I want out of life. But looking at that girl-- that lost soul of a person, I see an innocence and blindness to her. For this year has opened my eyes to many realities in this life. And that is one of the biggest changes.

On the first day of 2009, I started as a wife and a mother of one. Planning on keeping it that way, I was surprised when I found out we were expecting our second child. Surprised, yes, but utterly enthused about the prospect of loving another human being as much as I love my oldest son, Christian.

Not but seven days after finding out this news, I lost my husband. Not lost in the sense that I would never have him back, because three months later he was back in my arms. But lost in the sense that I could only hear his voice every so often, I could only know what he was thinking for sure when I got the stamped envelope that held all his secrets, I could only hold him in my arms every so often. And I thought that would be the worst of my year, but I was sadly mistaken.

After being discharged from the military, we packed our belongings and headed home for Alabama. Thrilled as I was to be coming back to the most familiar place of my existence, I was also deeply saddened by leaving the most independent chapter in my life behind. We paid our own bills, bought our own groceries. No family around for 800 miles, and it was just me, my husband, Christian, and the expectant baby.

But not a week after unpacking our suitcases, a doctor told us that our expecting son would not survive. Hadn't I been through enough? Hadn't I already given up this year? Within 12 hours of hearing the news, I was admitted into the hospital, and that alone broke my heart. I was giving up something that was so deeply routed in my values and morals. I was terminating my pregnancy. I wouldn't have done it if there were any way possible that my son would have lived, I wouldn't have done it even if there were just a 1 percent chance. But the chances of his survival were 0. Absolutely none. And so, I did what I had to do. I saved not only myself, but my son and family, from the pain of continuing the pregnancy.

That, I will always be sure of, was the hardest thing I ever had to do hands down. Even harder than planning my own mother's funeral exactly 2 months later. While I was grieving my son's death on July 22nd, 2009 [the 2 month mark], I was also finding out that my alcoholic mother was no longer in this world. She had died in her sleep. My first emotion was rage, and then I put up the wall that I knew so well already. The concrete barrier that prevented any emotions from seeping through whatsoever. That got me through the next several days.

This happened in the midst of my taking a course to get my Certification for my Nurse Assistant. Even on the day of her funeral, I went to class and took a test- which ended flawlessly, might I add. From there, I left to the funeral home and gave a speech to friends and family about her life. I hadn't known her the last year of her death because I was protecting my son. Protecting him from being around something so terminal and unhealthy. I didn't want him to struggle with his life like I had mine and I would preserve every bit of innocence that he had.

The only time he saw her was in her casket, and even then, he was far far to young to understand who it was and what this meant for his life.

By this point, I was in complete denial that my life had ended up in shambles. Even when my husband and I fought every day. Even when he moved out for 2 weeks. Even when we were beginning the process of of divorce, lawyers, and separate bank accounts. I was still in denial. Heavy therapy started, and by then the antidepressants started to kick in. Bud I didn't like the way I felt. I felt like my emotions were being blocked. Like I couldn't lift this wall and go through the grieving process the way normal people do. So I stopped taking my medicine.

And for the first time in months, I cried like a baby. For weeks, I was always on the verge of tears. By this point, just 2 months after my mom's death and 4 months after the baby's, I thought I was alright to get a job. Maybe I would have been if I hadn't had so many stresses in my life. One thing piled onto another, and eventually I snapped. I quit my job without ever calling them, I became depressed again. I never started back up the medication, but I did continue going to therapy.

My husband and I stated marriage counseling the same time I was working. So, in this, I was working as many hours as I could each week, going to school full time, taking care of my son- who sadly, wasn't getting enough of my attention at the time- eating little, living off caffeine, and smoking more than I ever had in my entire life.

It was a very unhealthy time in my life. And it's scary to think that it was just a few months ago that I was like this. Much has changed. My caffeine intake has slowed, as has my smoking. I'm not working- for the mere fact that daycare costs more than my income alone, and it's good for my mental well being at the moment- I'm focusing more on school and less on the negative.

I realized that I was beginning to feel the deep wounds heal and sting less when I forgot about the 6 month marker for my son. I simply overlooked the day, stopped marking it in my calendar. I gave a speech in one of my classes about my son's condition, and showed them his foot/hand prints and ashes. I trembled the entire time, but it was another marker that I overcame.

Looking back, I see a girl that struggled more than she should have had to. I see the beginning of a woman in progress. Yes, I'm still calling myself a girl because I know that I have much more to learn in this lifetime. I guess I could say that I'm proud of myself in the last year. I did stupid things in spite of everything I had been through, like drinking too much on 2 separate occasions after my mother and son's death. I'm not proud to admit this, and I don't like talking about it, but I have since made the deep rooted commitment to keep alcohol as far away from me as possible. I want to be a good mother to my son.

I could have been hospitalized for how badly I was depressed. I felt at times that I was on the verge of just that. But I didn't and I overcame. I guess everything is a little bittersweet. I still have so much to be thankful for like my son and family. For our health. FOR MY SUPPORTIVE FRIENDS THAT I WOULD BE LOST WITHOUT!!! For the food on our table each night. For being able to go back and fulfill a dream that I thought was dead-school. My future is changing each day. Yesterday I wanted to be a nurse, today I want to be an English major. Tomorrow who knows?

In 22 days I will have been married for 2 years. That's also something to be thankful for. The survival of my marriage thus far. I've taken up reading and writing much more now, and hopefully in the future I can be happy with each day, no matter what happens. That'll be my new years resolution.

And now you see how I've done it- reviewed my year and thought about it in the best light possible. I am one person, and I can not defeat all the bad that happens, but I can live with it in peace. My inner peace. Writing is the one place I can do that- sort things out in my head and learn to live with them.

Love,

Anna.

In a Funk

It's harder than I thought, blogging or journaling everyday. To me, they're both on the same level-- gushing honest facts and feelings that half the world could care less about. If I can find fifteen minutes in my day where I can do whatever I want, the last thing I want to do is journal/blog. I'd rather read or smoke a cigarette. Bringing out the emotions that I keep bottled up seems pointless, almost like I'm self inflicting pain on myself, reliving the emotions that I try to cover up.

Anyhow, with that said, I've been in a funk lately. Dazed and almost not caring about the outside world. I'd rather live my life through a fantasy of books and pages- imagining myself in a place where life is perfect, bills get paid, and there's food on the table. Okay, I have food on the table, but that's aside the point. I'd rather pay more attention to the characters problems than my own. Basically, I read too much.

That's not the reason for my funk though, I'm guessing. I just haven't been prioritizing time the way I should. I get my son 5 out of the 7 days in a week. The other two, he's in daycare. that's a lot of time to be entertaining a 14 month old baby, but I honestly can't remember what we did yesterday. It's like a fog is covering my brain and everything is mechanical. Like I'm just running through the steps to get through the day.

Anyhow, that's my little rant, and this is my blog for the day. Do I feel better? Eh, no. But at least I've done my part. Spent my fifteen minutes on words that will mean nothing to billions of people.

-The Mrs.

Global meltdown in my brain.

Give me a dollar and I'll give you a list of people I should have long ago dispersed of. Out of sight out of mind doesn't really apply here, because although some people that I've grown a distaste for live 13+ driving hours away, they're right here on the internet.

I think that computers are melting our brains and that one day we'll all be a big pile of mush. The government is probably plotting for control over all the U.S. citizens by some form of media brain meltdown thingy. I have no idea what I'm talking about, and putting this into words only makes it sound even sillier. But it sounds logical inside my head. Maybe that's where it should stay.

Maybe my safest bet is to just buy a villa in Tuscany, Italy, eat spaghetti, & pick sunflowers all day.

Attack of a killer Chipmunk

This is what I get for trying to be a good citizen and recycl all my coke cans and water bottles. This morning, I was taking the recycling bin to the curb for pick up and saw a chipmunk hiding behind it. The first thing that came to my mind was NOT Alvin and the Chipmunks singing Bad Day by Daniel Powter in their cute squeeky little voices. The first and ONLY thing I could think of was teeth. Sharp little teeth. Ow.

So, I threw the bag of cans into the bin from a distance. It didn't scare it away. Darn. I threw an empty coke can into the bin from a distance and it worked. It ran out and danced around my feet "squeek squeek squeek!!" I did my best bug dance and ran inside screaming. AHH!!!

Seriously. I hate hate hate anything smaller than me that lives outside. I don't mind it being within a 10 foot radius, but too close is too much. I hate bugs, fish, squirrels, birds, CHIPMUNKS. But mostly just the bugs.

My sister in law had to go outside and move the bin for me, seeing as I was thoroughly traumatized by that chipmunk. Makes you think twice about saving the environment, doesn't it?

Maybe I looked something like this:

I...what?!

Any normal morning for me begins with a trip to the gas station and a MEGA Monster Energy drink, and usually a pack of cigarettes (if I'm out). My normal diet consists of whatever junk food I can lay my hands on and sometimes skipping meals because I'm too busy to stop whatever I'm doing to eat.

Therapist Lady told me to cut out the caffine. NOW. What?! Okay, so apparently these anxiety attacks I'm having are being caused by the 100+ ounces of caffeine I'm consuming daily. The energy drinks are "HORRIBLE!" for me and it's hurting my body "in the long run".

Me: "Like smoking?"
Therapist Lady: "Okay, that's a totally different rant entirely, but yes. Quit"

She knew that it would be easier to get me to quit Pepsi's and energy drinks quicker than the nicotine. I, however, have still had a hard time adjusting to this. So, I'm proud to say that I have only had 1 caffeinated beverage today. A 20 ounce coke. I had it at the latter part of my day.

I love this picture (minus the bit about weed). It will suit me one day when I'm totally off caffeine and dying for a frappacino from Starbucks.

As far as my diet, or lack thereof, is concerned: We'll take baby steps.

Okay, I feel like a total dork. Apparently I got my first award and I had no idea what to do with it. After doing just a few minutes of quick research I quickly learned that I won an award from
this lovely lady right here

First I would like to say that I feel a willing obligation to offer my support when I know someone needs it. Especially when I can relate to the person in some way. A strong way. I may not be able to give the person so many encouraging words, but I can let them know they aren't alone. So, thank you Lizz for this. You are a strong (and talanted, might I add) blogger that I've been fortunate enough to share moments with.

10 days and counting.

Today I'm reminded that my "due date" will be in just a short 10 days. I'm working on doing what my therapist told me to do & letting down my emotional wall that I've built over the last couple of months.

An old friend [aka crazy ex bestie] got pregnant right after I did. Her daughter was born right before my oldest son. I see pictures of her bulging belly and am reminded that I'm supposed to be 2 months bigger than that. I'm very jealous and I hold a lot of resentment towards her.

I'm crossing my fingers that I can cry again. It's been a long time. Too long.

Missing the Military life

OORAH!

I have been fortunate enough to meet some of the strongest women I will ever have the opportunity of meeting. These girls are not only Marine Wives, they are also the backbone of their families, the best support system to fellow wives, and the most down to earth girls ever.

So when I left Camp Lejeune and separated from my friends, I felt like I was losing a huge part of my family. We not only shared with each other; we had our children together, we laughed, and cried together. Together we made one hell of a group. People wished they could have been part of us.

So, from the left to the right I will explain to you the history of my family (my girls). On the far left is Mrs. Shana Irwin, mother of Americus, wife of USMC vet. Cotty Irwin. Her daughter was born 2 months before Christian. She's currently pregnant with her second daughter and is expected to deliver sometime in December. & she now lives in Indiana with her family.

Second is Mrs. Ilene Gilmore, mother of Lilly, wife of USMC Corporal Josh Gilmore. Lilly was born 10 days before Christian. We were actually in the hospital at the same time, on different floors. She's my Twilight buddy, my gossiping pal. She's still at Camp Lejeune but in February 10 her family will be getting stationed in HAWAII! I'm very jealous about this. :)

The third beautiful lady is Mrs. Lindsay Otto, mother of Madison Otto, wife of USMC vet. Logan Otto. Madison was a premie and born 2 months early in August 2008. You'd never know it by her size now. She's a healthy chunky little girl. Her family is out of the MC as well and is now living with their family in North Carolina (just a different town).

Well, the girl on the farthest right is myself. You guys already know enough about me.


These are our beautiful children December 2008. My son, Christian, was only 3 months old. He's in the strips. Going clockwise there's the delightful Lilly, Ilene Gilmore's daughter. Then across from Christian is Americus, Shana Irwin's gorgeous daughter. On the left is Madison, Lindsay Otto's beautiful joy.

Our children grew together for the first months of their existance. It breaks my heart that they won't ever see each other again. But that's the Military for you.

We would primp for our husbands at the annual USMC Ball. Getting our hair done, having our husbands watch the babies, and getting a break for a whole day was something we didn't get often. But we took full advantage of it. Oh, I really just miss the military.

So, I told my husband that I wanted to join the Marine Corps since he's out & that was a BIG FAT NO! A girl could try anyway right?

I will never forget these girls. They are a huge chapter in the building of my life and character.

Insanity of the fish...

"Whenever someone sorrows, I do not say, "forget it," or "it will pass," or "it could be worse" -- all of which deny the integrity of the painful experience. But I say, to the contrary, "It is worse than you may allow yourself to think. Delve into the depth. Stay with the feeling. Think of it as a precious source of knowledge and guidance. Then and only then will you be ready to face it and be transformed in the process." Peter Kotestenbaum

First let me start by saying bad day. It's been one, alright, and I'm not sure how I'll turn this into a positive blog by the end. But I'd like to, so that I can go to bed with piece of mind

I'll go ahead and tell you now that I started a new blog. I call it my "Creative Therapy". My therapist told me to start a journal and I hate hand witting anything, so I just added another blog.

I went to see my therapist today. She's awesome and I would recommend her to anyone except for the fact that if everyone started going to her, I'd see her quite a bit less often. So thanks but no thanks. I'll leave her name undiscovered. I knew when I woke up that this would be a hard day for me.

Therapy for me is all about reliving the last several months, the feelings I've felt. Reliving the pain and suffering. The heartache and most of all, the loss. She would be happy to know that I'm feeling this way; except, I absolutely hate it.

I built a wall that I thought no one could penetrate. No one except a woman with a degree and words that will put you into a trance instantly. She'll relax you at the snap of her fingers. She's just that good. Then before you know it, you're spilling your guts out to her. Telling her all the rotten feelings you've got harbored deep down inside you. By the end of the session, you leave feeling worse than you did before you got there, which is ironic considering the whole point of cognitive therapy is to make you feel better about yourself.

Apparently, I'm living in denial. I'm refusing to go through the grieving process, which is okay with me since I don't have to cry. And according to her I'm throwing myself into work, school, and my son. I'm not giving my soul and heart enough time to heal. I'm running 2,000 miles an hour on empty. Eventually I'm going to break down. (All this is true and correct, but again... I'm really okay with that).

Therapist: "You need to get angry. Physically and mentally. You need to hit things, throw things, yell, scream."

She told me all the ways in which I could do these things without hurting anything or anyone. Hitting pillows, throwing ice in a tub, screaming in your car, running, etc. She also told me that I need to start eating more. Not that I wasn't eating before. I would skip the first two meals of the day and eat supper. I'm also a heavy caffeine addict and she wants me off of it because it's causing me anxiety attacks and is going to severely damage my functioning level if I don't stop now.

So, after my session-I went out and bought a big ice cold Pepsi. It was awesome. I didn't do it just to defy her. I don't know why I did it. It's really the same thing with smoking.

Mind: you need to quit.
Body: uh, no?!
Mind: You're only hurting yourself
Body: So what? I need the nicotine. I need the fix
Mind: Seriously? get over yourself
Body: ::cha-ching:: swipes card for a pack and an energy drink::

I think my bosses may think I'm slightly insane, though. Today I brought them my work excuse which had "Alabama Psychiatric Services" printed on the front with 3 more therapy dates within the next 2 months (they didn't know that they were for different reasons: Marriage Counseling, Therapy, Psychiatry). I was half tempted to say:
"Look, I'm not some bipolar schizophrenic working for you. I've just got issues, okay?"

But I figured I'd let it be and play the crazy card for a while to see how far it gets me. I'm pretty interested since they like to play practical jokes on ME and I'm curious to see what they would do if I just started acting loony on them one day.

So, today at work I was thinking about goldfish. Relating my life to them. Wondering how we're the same. Well I think we're as much the same as brother and sister (minus the gills and water)

I got two fish a couple weeks ago from the state fair. I knew they wouldn't live long. With my luck, NO fish live long... but these were Fair Fish and had an even less chance of surviving.

You live your life under a microscope getting watched by strangers. You feel trapped, obviously. Your life under constant scrutiny. You can't make a move without someone noticing.

Everyone expects you to fail because of your recent backgroudn (in this case, the fish has been traumatized by being moved from the fair to the glass bowl at a home. In my case, my mother and son died in 2 months time).

If you don't fail, you're a freak. If you do fail, you'll meet everyone's expectations. Can't the fish get a break? Can't you just let it be without watching it every second of the day?

People are constantly criticizing the way I act. I'm not grieving yet so I must be insane. I'm acting normal, it's fake okay? I'll put on a social facade all day every day for the rest of my life if I must, but until the therapy works, we'll just stick with the plea of insanity. As far as the fish is concerned, well... my fish died. Hopefully I won't any time soon. I'm pretty sure I can make it through this hump in my life with lots of time and effort.

That's all. This post is lame. I know. :)

Where are you, Mr. Mom?

Do you sometimes feel like everything is being pushed on you at once? I'm at my whits end- so it feels- and I've passed the "pulling out my hair" stage earlier this morning. What I don't understand is how people manage to remain so calm and collected while doing a million things at once.

Here I am running all obstacles of life at full speed. I wake up, get my son ready for daycare, drop him off, run back to the house and shower, go to work, work a 7 or 8 hour shift, then run straight to school for 3 or 4 hours of classes, depending on the night. When I get home at 9 pm, I do laundry, catch up on the huge mess I left behind that morning, study some, eat, then go to bed by 11.

On top off all this, I have NUMEROUS doctor's appointments to schedule, cancel, and show up for. This month, for example, I have 7 appointments currently scheduled. That's INSANE. Not to mention, paying the bills-- which is chaotic and stressful in itself. I hate bills which has in turn made me hate mail. No mail is GOOD mail.



So, I've come to the conclusion that I can't get everything done in one day. It'll just have to wait until tomorrow. But I go to bed thinking of lists of things to do for the next day- so a full nights rest is never something I can come by easily. ::deep breaths::

If there were anyway that I could have married Mr. Mom, life would be great. But really, what man wants to take care of all the chores, bills, and responsibility? "That's a woman's job" as my husband would say.


I'm going to bed now. I've got 2 appointments tomorrow, plus 8 hours of work, PLUS a class tomorrow evening.

One Child

This is the book that I'm currently captivated in. I generally take about 1 to 2 weeks to read a book due to everyday chaos. But when a book grabs me, it really GRABS me.

TRUE STORY: Written by Torey Hayden, a teacher, who has been both burdened and blessed with the job of working with mentally retarded and disturbed children. This story covers the journey of a 6 year old girl named Sheila. Sheila was sent to Torey's "special" classroom one January as a hopeless case who needed a place in a school while she waited for an opening at a mental hospital. This child was the most destructive and violent little girl that Torey had ever had the displeasure of meeting.

Since I've been reading, Torey has unlocked this little girl's heart and opened up a brilliant little girl who has been gifted with an imagination and scholastic mind. Now it's up to her to convince the outside world, who sees nothing but a six year old who caused nothing but destruction, that there is so much more that lies underneath.

I found this book at the local discount book store.

I find myself itching for 15 minute breaks at work just so I can get a couple pages in. I'm anxious to see what happens at the end of the book. I highly suggest it as great reading material to anyone who has some spare time. Not that I do, with a full time job, full time school load, and full time mommy duty. But I make due with the brief moments throughout the day that I get.

Just thought I'd share that.

Let's show the family some love

So, I sit here and tell you guys all about my family. The light of my life, my son, Christian. My husband, Matthew. My friends. Sadly, my files are very unorganized at the moment and I'm having a hard time finding pictures of all the people I want to show you guys. So, I'll give it my best shot.

Well, you all know who I am. This was taken a month after my son's death and just before my mom's. The boot is very real. I broke my foot walking out of a CVS with Christian in my arms. Thankfully I was smart enough to sit down once I realized my foot was broken, so no one was hurt.


This is my younger brother, Kolton and my son, Christian playing after church one Sunday. Kolton is 14 and if I'm not mistaken, Christian is about 11 months old in this picture.


I know I talk a lot about Christian being sick. There was a 2 month period where he was getting fevers every single day. When I say fever, I'm talking about 104+. He had to make several trips to the ER due to dehydration and us not being able to keep his temperature down. It was after J.P. died, so it was a scary time for me. I didn't want to lose him too.

These are my son's ashes. The Coke can is for proportion measurements only. John Parker was born and died on May 22nd, 2009. He was a victim of Spina Bifida and Anencephaly.


And this would be my husband, Matt. This is probably the absolute most recent picture we have together, and sad thing is... it's about 4 or 5 months old. We had just gotten out of the Marine Corps and moved back home to Alabama. I'm not sure if John Parker had passed away yet or not but I do know that this was within 1 or 2 weeks of that time period.

An older picture, Senior prom to be exact. April 2007.

These are my friends :) Mine AND Matt's friends, actually. I'm pretty sure Matt was still in North Carolina while Christian and I made a 1 month trip to AL for a visit. I WAS pregnant in this picture. 16 weeks to be exact. So, I think I was pretty much the only sober one there, which was okay with me.

On a lighter note.

Work at "R" Us is good, I suppose. Seeing all these pregnant women is difficult sometimes, but I've learned to adjust. I work with one girl. She seems to be African. She's got an accent. Anyhow, she's 9 months pregnant. I told her my story about John Parker Ennis and she almost started crying. But she could relate because she unwillingly lost her first pregnancy at age 25. She has a beautiful son now and is about to have her first daughter. She wished me the best of luck and told me that I would be a good mother to another lucky baby.

That same day, I was organizing stuffed animals. I was a little annoyed because they wouldn't sit the way I wanted them to. That's beside the point though. My Aunt Kathy came to visit me. She brought me a 3 pound bucket of chocolate covered almonds. It was the 4 month mark of J.P.'s passing and 2 month mark of my mom's death. She knew that I was having a rough day and she came to cheer me up. It defiantly worked. She brought me the same almonds when J.P. died and she knew I loved them. :)

October seems to be pretty booked so far.

Matt and I start marriage counseling on the 5th.
I go back for my next therapy apt the 1st.
Christian has surgery on the 2nd [if we can find the money].
Between the 16th and 18th, I'm watching Kolton and LeighAnn [my siblings]
I go to Montgomery to get my CNA certification on the 24th.
Alyssa's first birthday is on the 21st.

I need to get off my butt and take a shower now. I leave for work in 45 minutes.

Pet Peeves: My Psych Professor.

Quotes from my Psych professor:

"Generally speaking, 99% of miscarriages are the mother's fault"
"If you want forgiveness, get religion. That's why 'depressed' people get spiritual"
"It's stupid to take or prescribe antidepressants. They don't work. It's just your brain telling your body it's working. If you want to get better, cognitive therapy is the ONLY way to go"

I can sit through just about sit and listen to anything with an open mind. Maybe I'm going overboard. But I feel like the above quotations speak for themselves. I cannot stand my psych professor in the slightest bit whatsoever.

I can overlook the religious remarks made. I'm a firm believer in God, but I don't expect everyone to feel the same way. However; the other two quotations, and especially the first, are getting under my skin the most.

Let me tell you, Mister Psychology Professor, that neural tube defects, particularly spina bifida, is caused by a lack of fiber in the mother. It happens within the first 4 weeks of pregnancy and the mother doesn't know she's pregnant until or after then because the at home tests don't register the hormone levels until then. So the damage is already done. TELL ME NOW how it was my fault that my son died? Tell me how not planning for a baby, but finding it a surprise, and not taking the prenatal vitamins BECAUSE I wasn't planning for another baby- makes it my fauly? Maybe it's my fault that I didn't plan. But I don't want to plan. I like the surprise. Oh Lord, you just got me started.

And tell me now... after the death of my son-- something I DO feel is my fault because I chose to terminate the pregnancy since my son wouldn't live because he had anencephaly-- after falling into a deep depression, lying in bed for weeks, not taking care of my 1 year old, leaving it up to my husband to do all the work. Tell me how I wouldn't be prescribed an antidepressent. To at least get me OUT of the bed and into cognitive therapy. Then, not ONLY did my son die, but 2 months later to the date my mom dies too. So, tell me how I wouldn't try the anti depressents because I needed SOMETHING to keep me going until the therapy kicked in.

As far is religion is concerned, I won't even touch base on that one. But you will lead a very sad life after this one. I pitty you.

He likes to hear himself talk. I get the fact that college class lectures are supposed to be full of the instructor talking. But you'd have to sit there to understand what I mean. He thinks that because he's got Dr. infront of his name, that means that he's write about absolutely everything. He's not a M.D. and certainly can't sit there and tell me that anti depressents don't work and my son's death is my fault.

AH! And the only reason I'm sitting through this class and not withdrawing is because 1-I need this credit. 2- I'm not the one that paid for this semester, so I'm not going to throw the money out the door when I'm making perfectly acceptable grades. 3- I'm not going to let him run me off.

Oh, it's been a day...

Christian went to the ENT today. This week he's gotten his 6th or 7th ear infection in the last 10 months. So, we discussed putting tubes in his ears. It's a surgical procedure that will only take about 5 minutes. It will reduce the risk of ear infections over the next 2 years.

I went to set up the appointment. The lady told me that there was a 365 day waiting period before they would consider covering the surgery. And because we weren't on BCBS within 30 days of his birth [because we had Tricare], all of his ear infections prior are considered pre-existing conditions. Therefore, they won't pay. Unless we wait until next year.

The actual doctor is only going to charge about 600 dollars. The hospital, however, is going to charge thousands of dollars. I don't have that kind of money. Are you kidding me? I work at Babies "R" Us! I'm hardly making over minimum wage as it is. Cut me a break.

Uhm, anyway... I haven't had much sleep in the last week. Last night I had about 3 1/2 hours. Thanks to my son wanting to party at 4 am.

His birthday was last Saturday [the 12th]. A lot of people showed up and we all had a great time. The cake was amazing. I had a lot of help from Tiffanie and I'm thankful for that. We went up to the party site the night before to decorate some, and there were painters in the house painting. So, we ended up getting an upgraded area and it was much more accomodating.

Pictures will hopefully be up of that soon, but for now it's nap time.

Good afternoon,

So, you've read a little about who I am and what's going in my life, I'm assuming. Today I have been a very busy girl.

My son, Christian, has been sick for the last 2 months. Ear infections, viruses, you name it. We've been going to the doctor about twice a week since he first started getting sick. He's been called home from daycare a countless number of times. Finally, yesterday, I was absolutely fed up with him being so sick.

SO, today I have begun the sanitizing process. I made a diluted bleach solution this morning and every single [even the smallest] toy got soaked, rinsed, dried, etc. I'm in the process of doing all the laundry. All the germs WILL be gone from this house by the end of this weekend. Dust is now my enemy. I will kick it's butt!

After the um... 5th load of laundry, I decided to take a break and begin the blogging process again. Yep, here I am again...doing something I know I won't follow through on.

Yesterday I got a root canal. It totally kicked my butt. My jaw is still sore.

And I had NO clue how flippin expensive they were! Even after the discount, it was 850. My crown will cost 675. I'm about to have a stroke just thinking about it.

We're so excited about Christian's first birthday next Saturday! I'll pick up his cakes on the 11th from Decatur. I'm crossing my fingers that it looks as good as I imagine it will look. The invitations got in later that I wanted them to, so most of the people I had planned on inviting already have plans. ERGH. I dislike greatly the postal service. Well, it was really UPS's fault.

Anyhow, that's life for today. I've got to continue cleaning until 530, then I have math class. After that, I'm going to Sammy T's with Miss Kimberlee Riebe! Never been, but I figured I could try something new.

- Anna

Short Autobiography of the last 3 months.

-If you put everyone's problems in one big pile, you'd take yours back.

I can't pretend to be depressed over the last three month's events. Because really, I'm not. Everything that's happened is unfortunate. It really sucks. But I have a life to live and I've just got to move on. Plain and simple.

So, the last three months have been interesting? Difficult? One hell of a ride, to say the least. We got out of the Marine Corps, I lost a child, I lost my mother, I nearly lost my marriage, I started school. Well, I'm alive. I'm here. I'm strong.

My name is Anna. Well, to be technical, my father named me Anna Maria Katherine Davidson. But when I married my high school love, I dropped my maiden name & picked up Ennis. I also prefer just to be called Anna, because the rest is a mouthful.

I'm twenty and a half years old. I was bound in holy matrimony on December 26th, 2007 at age 18, to Luke Ennis- a Marine and high school love, also age 18. On January 17th, 2008 I found out I was pregnant with my first son, Christian [who is now 9 days shy of 1 year]. He was born on September 12th, 2008 in Camp Lejeune's Naval Hospital [North Carolina].

February 13th, 2009 I found out I was pregnant with our second son, John Parker Ennis. Twenty weeks into the pregnancy, I found out that he had Spina Bifida [incomplete fusion of the spinal cord] and Anencephaly [lack of a brain]. Ironically, it was less than one week after moving back to Alabama [after being discharged from the Marine Corps]. It was then decided that I would abort the pregnancy because there was an absolute zero percent chance of John Parker surviving. I was put into labor and delivered at Huntsville Hospital.

I never got a chance to see him, but one month after I lost him I was able to look at the pictures they took of him. His ashes sit on my bedside table. I often reflect on the pregnancy. His due date would have been October 2009.
Exactly two months after John Parker died, my mom died. We still don't know why, but my guess is from the Alcoholism. She never got to meet Christian. I was the one that made that decision, in order to protect my son. Planning her funeral was difficult, speaking at it was harder, but knowing how broken and hurt my sisters and brother were nearly killed me. I never cried though.

During that summer, I took a Nurse Assistant course at the American Red Cross. I did this knowing that I was going back to college to get my Associates in Nursing. I plan on working in the medical field while going to school to gain experience and knowledge.

BY THE WAY! I'm a big fan of Jesus. I wont hit you with my bible, but I will share my love for him with you, like I'm doing now. :)

So, moral of this short biography is-- I can't stop...can't slow down. I've got a life planned and not much time to do all I want to do. I'm motivated! Oorah.

- Anna