We Meant ‘Next’ Weekend

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Pony dear,  Papa and I need to work on our ‘believing’ skills because as you well know, you are not in our arms keeping us awake all night right now.  You are nestled comfortably in your little uterus studio apartment keeping it real in this heat.  Probably smart of you as it’s supposed to cool down this weekend anyways- much better time to meet and greet Los Angeles- I agree.  Damn you are smart Pony!  Just like your Dad- the absolute love of my life.

Hhere we are on Fourth of July at Elysian Park enjoying the grass, air, and mosquitos, which apparently only bite me.

I custom ordered this decal for your room and since it might be awhile until you can read it and we might have moved (fingers crossed) by then, I want to make sure you saw it.

And same goes for this magnificent 8-foot sunflower I planted not too long ago that is growing beautifully proving once and for all that I can indeed, grow things.  It’s a good sign for you and me, babe.
Lastly, I have noticed something really interesting lately, that it really is true “what you put your attention on is what you create.”
I have traded in one obsession for another,  I won’t go into what the previous one is because it’s stupid, but this one is serious, and plaguing me in rather humorous ways.  I have this really strange thing with sound.  Not all sound, some is good, really good, but the sound I don’t like, when I don’t want to hear it, coming from people I find even slightly annoying, DRIVES ME CRAZY.  I get this visceral physical response that my meditation teacher said is an actual Trauma Response.  She knows because she has it too- for different reasons and for different sounds- but nevertheless, her body also tenses up, she gets sweaty and wants to cry, scream or kill someone.  It’s crazy- but during the day our next door neighbor, a 20 something Latino kid who still lives at home, fancies himself a DJ, so he thinks he needs to practice “spinning his beats” once or twice a day. Now mind you, I love music, that I like-  NOT bad top forty hip-hop mixed in with reggae or new wave.  Cut into, savagely, is the only way to describe it.  I actually liked some of the new wave songs before he butchered them ruthlessly and without any talent. He hacks and hacks at full volume with a bass that beats against my skull and gets under my skin leaving me a frustrated angry bitter helpless crying puddle on the floor.  If we owned a firearm- it could get ugly.  But we don’t, thank God. Although our neighbor does, he told me.  Which makes me think twice about running over there and banging on his door.  Papa doesn’t get it.  He says it’s the daytime so people should be allowed to make noise, and maybe he’s right.  But he also doesn’t have a historical traumatic experience with noises you can’t control keeping you up at night when you are a child and what that does to you physically and mentally as an adult. So at this point I believe I have two options, as I see it:  I can buy him a bottle of vodka or a case of beer and a kick-ass set of headphones, begging him in the nicest way possible and for the love of God  to use the fucking things after the baby is born and I’m helpless and hopeless without sleep  OR  I can go through to get out.  Meaning, I can dive into what the traumatic reactions are physically, mentally, and emotionally with the meditation tools I’ve learned, threading each piece out and examining it before coming to peace with it- and then actually meditate at the height of my reaction and sit still with it until it changes and I have peace.  Obviously one is much cheaper and takes far more courage than the other.  And since I am one to never back down from a learning experience that requires courage (natural birth)  I think I’ll choose the latter.  It’s now or never, really.  I believe that if I don’t tackle this now it will follow me wherever I go.
Speaking of- my other pet peeve is people talking and texting during movies and seriously, the past 4 movies we’ve seen guess who has sat down right next to me EVERY SINGLE TIME?  Yup, you guessed it, THAT person.  The one who talks and texts the entire movie.  It’s becoming comical at this point.  To me, it’s only a definite sign from the universe to get over myself and my control issues and learn to just let people be the annoying assholes they want to be.  🙂
Here is a last look at your somewhat defeated and very ready to have you Momma.
That’s it for today.  I love you and want to meet you so badly!  Come out Pony, the water’s fine, we’re here to catch you.
Big mad crazy wonderful love

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