What's the hubbub, bub?

While I don't read many other online journals, I do read Rob's page. It seems that I caused quite a stir by my little entry the other day. Times like this make me appreciate my husband more than ever. While he doesn't always understand how bad the noise in my head is, he at least agrees with me that if I have told someone that I'm not doing all that well since the baby was born, they have to be a special kind of ass hole to then make snide comments about me having him in the first place or needing to get out of my house with him on occasion. I was surprised and touched by how rabid he was about the whole thing.

I'm about to let you in on my little secret. Something I've only told five people. I'm not doing all that great. Some days are better than others but none of them are what I'd call "good". For the past two months, I swear I've been doing all I can to hold everything together with twine and spit. Right now is a perfect example. The baby is screaming his lungs out in the floor next to me. I've tried feeding him, burping him (something only my mother can do, apparently) holding him, singing to him, offering him riches beyond belief but nothing will get him to be happy and stop crying. Maybe it is because I haven't slept in two months since he was born and didn't sleep for the two months before either. Maybe it is because I try to hide what I perceive to be imperfections in myself and not share my problem and therefore deny myself help. Maybe it is because I was mean to someone in a past life and this is karmic retribution. Whatever the reason, there it is. I'm not doing so great.

To top that off, my uncle just died. He finally gave in to a horrible form of cancer this past Monday. He and I were never close. He made a comment to me a decade and a half ago that stung my little pre-adolescent ego and I can hold a grudge like nobody's business. I never really gave myself a chance to get hurt by him again, a pattern that has followed me throughout my entire adult life (hurt me once, shame on you, hurt me again, well, you just aren't going to get the chance). This was my mother's brother and he had been fighting this for a few years now. To be honest, I was expecting it last summer. I even told my boss about it in case I had to be off work suddenly. He was a typical Leo, though, and fought to the very end. He was determined to win. When we found out late last week that things had taken a turn for the worst, my mom drove out to Brownwood to be a good little sister. I went out there Monday afternoon. I'm very glad that I did.

Most of his family was out there, all three of his kids and a few of his grandkids and the two remaining members of his original family. When the moment came there were tears but not the kind I really expected. I only saw one of his kids crying. The other two either have better poker faces or were just relieved that it was finally over. I'm betting on the latter. In situations like this, I don't understand the laws against assisted suicide. While not for mothers suffering from ppd, it seems the logical choice for someone in the final stages of a horrible disease.

My mom had been doing fine until she was about halfway through a much needed and deserved margarita. It was the first time she left the hospital since I'd gotten there. It seems he died about fifteen minutes after I touched him on his head and shoulder and mom and I left. Mom cried that cry that you can feel. The one that starts with a pain in the middle of your body and just rolls out of you from all directions. The cry that leaves you as devastated as being too near the epicenter of an earthquake. Then she said what I was afraid to hear. She said there was no safety net above her anymore. Her big brother was gone. There was no one left above her to take care of her. This isn't to say that he had taken care of her much in the most recent past, but that it was his role in life as her older brother.

I get it.

I love my husband, my children, my parents and my sister. But somewhere deep inside, down where I'm still a little girl needing a boost up to the water fountain, I'll always need my big brother too. And with that in mind, the world is a more cold and dangerous place now that one more big brother has left.

Now that I've gotten all that off my chest (and the baby is still screaming) here are some patiently awaited pictures. Enjoy.


How it all got started.


Where it all ended.


Testing, one two!  Testing!


Mrs. Austin and Grandpa Conroe


Mrs. Austin and Grandmama Conroe


Proof that Mr. Austin can get him to go to sleep but I can't.


I'll leave you with this.



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