...because Drew is outside working on the leaves by himself. The past two years, I would've been right out there with him, with my rake, or squealing because of my inability to control the leaf blower, then handing it back over to Drew for the comfort and familiarity of the good ole powerless rake.

But this summer we bought a used riding lawn tractor with a bagger to help pick up those leaves more quickly. To be honest, it was purchased just before we found out we'd lost LJ, so the real motivation behind the purchase, at the time, was so that doing to the leaves every autumn could be a one person job, as by now I would've been around my 30th week of pregnancy and not the most help with all that bending, back-aching work.

(So...ouch, that hurts. I haven't calculated out how far along I "would've been" for quite a while, and when I just did, a huge swell of emotion ran through me as the tears welled up in my eyes. And I'm sure even more of these realizations will hit me as LJ's would've-been-due-date approaches.)

Anyway. I'm sorry. I know I can barely write a post lately without talking about the pregnancy and subsequent miscarriage of this year. I set off to write a completely different post, and somehow Drew outside getting the leaves up leads me to feeling guilty, because I should be out helping without a legitimate excuse such as being quite pregnant. I know that, now that we have the tool/ability to enable the chore to only be a one-person job, I should just quit letting myself feel guilty. After all, there are other chores that I am "in charge of" without any help from Drew, right?

Yeah...so, that's what I'm feeling guilty about today. I think if I go switch out the loads of laundry, that will help lessen the guilt.

So, I'm off.

-Em

Today I finally sucked it up and went to get my hair done. The last time I went to a salon was in May, before my sister's wedding. "My girl" left the salon I frequent earlier this year, and I haven't had the heart to try on a new stylist for size (good ones are so hard to find). So, as I sat there and answered the small-talk questions so prevalent amongst the women in the beauty parlor, I tried to oblige this "new girl" as much as possible. The first bit of conversation we had surrounded the topic of why I hadn't been in for (gasp!) six months, and she clucked-clucked her disapproval while examining my damaged split ends and horrendous "roots." Instead of giving her the "real" answers to her questions, I just sort of shrugged and told her I've been busy and looking for a replacement for "my girl" Alayna. No good answer, really. I guess I am just lazy.

But, in my head, my real answer consisted of something resembling the following jumble of words:

"Well, soon after my last hair appointment in May, I got pregnant. And I was trying to stay away from dyeing my hair at that time, like a good pregnant woman should, until I miscarried in July, at which time I entered into a depression so deep that I could barely get myself out of bed in the morning, let alone think about maintaining any sort of hairstyle. After all, what the hell does it matter, in the overall scheme of things? I lost a child, but shoot, nevermind that, I better suck it up and get myself into the salon...a girl's gotta have her priorities? Right. And so, yeah, I'm just now, ya know, sort of getting back on my feet, realizing I have a body, mind, and soul for which only I am responsible. So...uh...yeah. Here I am, six months later. Capeesh?"

Too much? I have to smile to myself as I think of the possible blunt, truthful answer I could've given instead. I mean, what if I would've just spilled all of that out to the poor, unsuspecting, small-talking hairstylist? You have to admit, the look on her face would've been priceless.

I know. I'm so mean.

-Em