What a week. But today is better. I've already posted about some of this, but let's do a basic recap.

Last Friday: It looks like Rice got a contracting gig for a couple of months, but it's out of town to the point where he won't be here for a while. It'll be just me, the 3 year old and the baby. I'm okay with it, but he says he doesn't do well without me, so it could be quite difficult for him.

This weekend: My step-grandmother is very sick. She has to be put in a nursing home. Due to the care she needs, there's no other choice. Much stress and angst.

My eldest step-brother is really sick. (It's his liver.) He's sick to the point of trying to be close to his family, even his step-sister. (Which I don't mind, but it's a fairly new thing.)

I have some other family we're all worried about and there's nothing we can do.

Monday: Baby's still not gaining enough weight. Ordinarily we have a good pediatrician. I like him. He's been excellent in terms of working with the kids' eczema and our gluten-intolerance concerns and so on. (We already switched from another doc who wasn't as willing to work with us on this.) But Monday was so frustrating. I was trying to point out other things that indicate the child's health and nutritional status (which I am qualified to do, actually) instead of just focusing on the baby's growth chart. I admit, the growth chart looks bad, and one shouldn't just ignore the kid's weight, particularly when looking at his height to weight ratio, but I wanted him to look at the kid more holistically. Of course the doc sees I'm a SAHM (stay-at-home-mom), so even though I'm talking his language (theoretically) I probably don't know what I'm saying, right? *sigh* And then he brings up CF and my mommy heart freaks out just a little bit. A good portion of the time, my head stays on pretty straight, but when my kids might be seriously hurt or sick, all logic flies out the window.

Tuesday: The baby was up at 4 for two hours. Go back to sleep. Wake up late. Go to get the baby tested for CF. No one, not the doc nor the person who Rice made the appointment with, gave me enough preparatory information to know what to expect or how to prepare. Also, whoever took the appointment didn't write it down in their appointment book. I walked and walked to get from my parking place to the lab. I waited around forbloodyever to get the kid in to see how much salt is in his sweat. The lab tech tells me all the information that would have been nice to know previously. I try to get the kid to sweat and go through all the paperwork that needs to be done, go back through admissions (the doc said to go straight to the lab when I needed to go through admissions first), hang out waiting for LDd to sweat, which he doesn't do. Reschedule for Thursday.

Wednesday: Baby up again at 4 for a couple hours. Get up. Stuff happens. Most of which probably shouldn't be posted over here since a few people may read this and I'm not sure they should be aware of some of these things in the way that I would write about it. In any event, it sucked.

So by the evening I'm exhausted. I get a late crit for a recent story. This is the last straw. It's a positive crit, really, but it had aspects that frustrated me to death. I never include comments with a story when
I sub them for critting, but this time it was appropriate to make sure that what I achieved what I set out to do. The critiquer obviously didn't read my comments. This influenced the entire crit. Most of the crit was, "Sorry to say this, but...." or "I know this is harsh, but...". Usually this would be okay. But this time it did me no good. And then she wrote a section about how I was doing a disservice to the Native Americans by writing this story and was perpetuating stereotypes and that I misunderstood their religion, etc., etc., etc.; Native Americans don't believe in Christian themes. She said she doesn't really know any Native Americans, but still she knew that my story was skewed. Also, she thought it was a lot like Gaiman's American Gods. This wasn't a compliment.

Usually I could laugh this off and shake my head. The critiquer doesn't know my background, that my mom is a tribal member. She doesn't know what my educational and professional background is. Besides, personal taste is always an issue. But last night I just couldn't brush it aside.

I looked at all the people around me who I care about and saw that so many of them are having some really bad times. And maybe something is wrong with my baby. And maybe this lady is right and I can't write. I'm a crappy writer and why can't I write anything halfway decent? I tried to write, and I was blocked. Nothing would come. Not even crap.

And then I wished something good could happen. I sat down and read some Theodora Goss. I went to bed. Couldn't sleep. Talked to Rice for a bit. Went back to bed. The baby didn't wake up. Got a decent night's rest. Got up. Reevaluated the baby -- he looks healthy. He's developmentally ahead and on track. Took him to get tested. Hiked into the hospital. Waited for 1/2 an hour in admissions. Was late for the test due to the line at admissions. (But I can't complain. The other people either couldn't breath on their own, were missing limbs, were having CT scans or surgery.) Had the test. Baby didn't sweat. Well crumb. Oh well. Went to the store and bought some honey apples and cheddar for lunch.

Came home to my family.

Looked around. Told myself I have to get out of this funk. I'm tired, frustrated and worried about so many things. Most of which I can do absolutely nothing about. I hate feeling powerless. And I hate feeling stupid, but that's another post.

But honestly, my life is so good. What is there to complain about?