Thirteen years ago we had just gone through the hottest May on record, and June had not relented. Yesterday would have been a Saturday and I had finished work the day before, anticipating at least a week off before the baby I was carrying would be born. Saturday night I went into labor and Sunday morning at 7:46 Rebecca made her appearance, right on schedule on her due date. Which was the first and last time she’s ever been on time for anything.

There are now officially two teenagers in my household. When my daughters were very small and I'd talk with parents who had two or more teens, I'd make some offhand comment about how it must frequently be a trial to deal with what amount to very large toddlers. I'd also think about what an extravagent stretch of time I had in front of me before I was faced with that prospect. It's all just the blink of an eye, isn't it?

I’ve been taking an anti-depressant for the past 6 weeks or so (not in any way related to having two teenagers, though you might think so). As I’ve mentioned this in casual conversation to others, it turns out that about 80% of the people I talk to are also taking either an anti-depressant or an anti-anxiety medication. We compare effectiveness and dosages (Wellbutrin has strange side effects, Paxil works for a while and then wears off, Prozac creates feelings that are almost too good, Valium is an old workhorse but has the nasty habit of being addictive). My doctor is on an anti-depressant. So is my sister. So are several of my co-workers. The one I’m taking (Zoloft) seems to work well for me, although I’m noticing that I’ve been a little too happy lately. I’ve been seeing silver linings where there aren’t even clouds. This has started to become annoying. I am now in the position of being irritated because I am overly blissful because I am taking a brain-chemistry altering drug. Go figure.

Dreams: I bought my mother a small house. It was just a few rooms on a single floor. It was filled with the previous owner’s furniture and years of accumulated junk. I was concerned about how we were going to get rid of all of it. My mother was in a robe or housedress and was cooking in the kitchen. She kept her back turned to me, but I knew who she was. The house was staggeringly cluttered, with piles upon piles of stuff. (My mother died when I was in college, so getting even a small sense of her, even through a dreams, is pleasant.) One of the carpets was covered with grey fluff and I was concerned about how to get rid of it. At least my anxiety seems to be leached out through my dreams.