100 Posts

I'm certainly not as prolific as other bloggers. Over one year of blogging and only 100 posts. Still, I will chalk it up as one of life's little accomplishments. This is where I am after one year and 100 posts.


I can handle anything. That's not to say that, off the bat, I will handle anything life deals me with grace and maturity and wisdom. Certainly, there will be times that I will scream and kick and moan and "why me". I'm pretty darn confident that I'll even act like a little shit at times. But I will end up in a place of grace, of acceptance and always good humor. Despite the tears. At some point when faced with the unparalleled unfairness of life, I will turn bitter cranberries into a darn good Cosmopolitan. I believe, despite everything, that this life has been a blessing and will continue to be.


I accept that people can be insensitive, self centered, clueless fools. That includes me. I used to spend countless minutes obsessing about the ridiculously imperceptive and tactless comments made by strangers and even close friends. The "you don't have children, so you don't know what I'm talking about" or the "don't you think you're taking this too far" or that I am somehow less of a human or a woman because I don't have children variety. I accept - now - that these comments and many others about a myriad other subjects will always be around for the "sharing." And other than the few minutes I will spend gleefully retelling the affronting comment(s) to my husband and others worthy of my skewering wit with attendant commentary about the unattractive physical attributes of the dummies who made the comments of course, I will go on my merry way. I continue to try like the dickens to avoid being such an obtuse human myself. (For example, telling a new mother that her child looked like a sweet little lizard. I actually said that. Jesus.)


I hope that I've learned to be kind. I don't mean milquetoast kind or pushover kind or honey dripping from your upturned lips kind. Just kind. Respectful of the differences of others. Mindful of how words can hurt.

As to my three days of notreallybedrest, bedrest....

Loved it. Loved it. Loved it. It could only have been better if Raoul my beach boy had flown his tan perky self in from the Islands to peel my grapes. (My darling husband tried very, very hard but his grape peeling skills are deficient.)

And I have POAS, but it looks like the trigger shot still isn't out of my system. I thought it was supposed to be gone in 10 days, but it's still showing positive on 11 days post trigger. Oy.