Internet strangers tend to know the most about me.

Okay; this isn't technically true.

For example, the internet at large is not necessarily aware that I snore, or have a love affair with dresses paired with leggings (found during my third trimester of my first pregnancy; they're comfortable, okay?).  The internet does not necessarily know that I am the kind of person who will buy red polka dot heels I will never wear, just to stare at them and wish I could be one of those girls that could dress fashionably and have style.  The internet does not know that I like to bite the bottom of my ice cream cone when most of the ice cream is gone and suck the liquid mess out of the bottom like a straw, which I've done since I was a child.  The internet does not know that I sometimes give my husband a dirty look when he just wants some affection or attention when I'm too busy being on the internet.

But there are strangers on the internet who know every detail of my pregnancy.  Who know that I'm pregnant, at all.  Who know my fears.  Who know if I have been spotting or not.  Who know if I'm in a grouchy mood, or a great one.  Who know what I'm craving... or eating for lunch that day.

My family doesn't know this about me.  Hell, they don't even know I'm pregnant.  The reason for this is simple; I don't want to have to explain about losing the baby.  We're waiting until after the first trimester to announce, which is pretty much the exact opposite of what we did with our first -- naive to the reality of life and how harshly it can punch you in the face.

So why, if I can't even fess up to my family -- the people who should be first on the list of people I would want to comfort me through a loss -- do I tell the internet, strangers who don't even know me?

Because it's easier to tell your story to strangers you don't have to face.  Who don't have to see your tears as you write out your story.  Who don't have to watch you explain a loss so intimate, so poignant, so personal.  It's almost a violation of my privacy to have to tell someone about something that hurts so deeply inside.  Nobody wants to go through that more than they have to.

But I can type it out.  I can put down words, write down raw emotion, but still hold something back.  I can hide how many tears it makes me shed.  I can hide my face.  I can hide my voice, which shivers and breaks.  I can hide my heart, that tiny little part of it that I don't want anyone to see.

Words are a window into my life.  My soul.  I write, and a part of me is there in my words, my stories.  But only as much as I let out.  It's a control that I don't have when I speak.

My husband is gently bemused at the fact that I can tell my "mom groups" -- small groups of women that I've become incredibly close to over the past few years -- and a huge group of over ten thousand strangers -- but I simply refuse to tell our family.  It's hard for him to understand, though he supports my decision.

But it's just different.  Honestly, I don't want my family to be the ones nursing me through the grieving process.  It is one thing to tell them it happened -- after the processing has occurred in my heart.  It is another for me to have to tell them, and have them think I want them around to help me get through it.  No matter how much I love them, they aren't who I want to be by my side.

My closest girlfriends?  Yes.  My husband?  Absolutely.  A group of internet strangers?  Oddly enough, yes.  Because that group of internet strangers has been going through what I am going through.  That group of internet strangers has been through it all.  And most importantly, I can get out my words in a healing way for myself, without giving up the privacy that I need during the process.

Thankfully, we are on track with a healthy pregnancy, which will -- in time -- render all these thoughts and precautions rather moot.

It is also amazing the amount of introspection that occurs after midnight.  I think it's time for a more lighthearted mood, don't you?

It's okay to let things go.

All over Facebook I see people saying, "Please ignore the mess!" when they post a cute picture of their children, or latest craft project, or their sleeping husband who has accidentally maliciously had his fingernails painted.  They feel like millions of judgmental eyes are poring over their picture to pick out every little thing wrong.  The dog hair on the cushion, the stain on the shirt, the spaghetti all over the walls.  If your house, clothes, hair, face, children, and pets aren't perfect, you're positive someone out there is judging you for not being perfect.

And they might be.

But should you really care?

I'm one of those people who will take an adorable photo and then say, "Oh, no.  Please don't judge me by the mess/the state of my child's hair/the fact that my dog looks like it rolled around in the mud!" when I want to share it, even with my closest friends.  I know they won't judge, but it's just ingrained habit.  And it's kind of silly.

I'm guilty of saying, "Please don't mind my son's dirty feet, I was just playing around with a camera."  And I was.  But I shouldn't have to have everything perfect just to document a little moment, or cute baby feet.  There's crumbs on the floor, and probably some dog fur (it's impossible to keep dog fur off the floor -- impossible!), and my son's feet have a coating of what I can only assume is dirt.  And that's okay.

Bottom line?

It's okay for your house to be a little dirty, for clutter to pile up on your table or counters, for your children to have grass in their hair, for your dog fur to show up on your shirt.  It's okay.  You don't have to be perfect to share your life with your friends and family.  Let some things go and just concentrate on what's important.

Concentrate on laughter, hugs, cuddles, kisses, wagging tails, delicious food, memories.

Concentrate on love, happiness, joy, amusement, and even maybe a little malicious intent mixed into your antics.

If your family is happy, healthy, and slightly less than hygienic -- you're doing pretty well in my book.

Math for the Pregnant Woman

This is math every pregnant woman needs.  It's also the math every pregnant woman does subconsciously.  It's really simple.  You just need 3 variables.

Want
Value:  1-10
10 - This needs to be mine. NOW.
1 - I suppose I could have it. Maybe.

Difficulty
Value:  1-10
10 - This is so easy. Like sleeping on a cloud.
1 - Climbing Mt. Everest

Lazy Factor
Value:  1-10
10 - Sloth
1 - Border collie.  Or toddler.

See?  Simple.  Now, we solve for Likelihood.

Likelihood has a fairly easy interpretation.
Value:  1-10
10 - This. Is. HAPPENING.  HALLELUJAH!
1 - You're fucked.

I'm a math genius.

For a little bit of positivity.

I am such a cranky pregnant woman.  My poor husband puts up with all of it with a smile and a hug because he knows I don't mean it (later... in the moment, I totally do).

So, I figured today I would do something different and focus on the positives.  I'm sure this will last for about 30 minutes, or until the first tantrum of the day.  Whichever comes first.

• I adore the fact that Toddler Cub will scramble into a recliner as soon as I get up.  He loves stealing someone else's chair; it makes him feel accomplished in life.  I envy that sort of simplistic view on life.
• Couches are an amazing invention.  I can lay down, feel like crap, and I still have plenty of room to snuggle my son when he crawls over for some affection.  Being an affectionate kid, this happens a lot.
• There's something about him making car noises when playing with trains that just warms my heart.
• I love throw blankets.  Winter gives me the opportunity to use the ones I've hoarded all year.
• I am really lucky that Toddler Cub doesn't need food as soon as he wakes up.  He would rather steal some chairs, cuddle, nurse, and run around a bit before settling down to pig out.  Or feed the dog.  Some mornings, it all goes to the dog.
• Toddler Cub is a very quiet child, so it's easy to just sit back and relax.  I'm sure this will be changing soon.
• My dog loves me with every fiber of her little doggy being, and man does that make me feel awesome.
• My cat loves me when she wants something.   She has me wrapped around her dainty cat paw because instead of being offended, I think aww, what a gooooooooood kitty, what a sweet widdle kitty caaaaaat, let me wub dose widdle kittay eeeeearssssss, wutagudkittyyyyyyyyyy.  I'm a wreck.
• I'm so glad I'm not hungry when I first get up, either.  I like being able to relax before making it into the kitchen.  Some people call this laziness.  I tend to agree with them.