Due at the end of April.
9:39 a.m. - 2006-03-27

Yesterday I hosted a baby shower for my friend M.

Looking back over the previous entries here will find me alternately cursing her for being a crackhead (well, methhead, technically), worrying about her while she was in prison (yes, PRISON), and praising her for doing well.

She got pregnant about a month before I gave birth, and I was thrilled. She'd been such a constant, positive presence throughout my pregnancy, and I was sure that she'd treat herself and her unborn baby very well.

Needless to say, she hasn't. She quit smoking, but that's about ALL she quit.

I've done all I knew to do during these past eight and a half months, but drugs and her sorry ass husband have way more control over her than I do. I've spoken to her a million times, begged her to stop using, to take care of herself, to think of the promise that she made to God after her daughter was born beautiful and perfect and without problem. All that it's done is made her hide it from me even more, but I'm not stupid. It makes me so, so ANGRY to know what she's doing. Furious. Stressed out. Pissed off. I've thought more than once about telling her OB (she uses the same one I do), but I just don't feel right about it. I just hope that the baby is okay, though I know that appearance is far from everything, and the chance of him having severe mental problems later in life is enormous.

But, yeah, I still threw the damn baby shower, because she asked. And she was the major player in my own shower being so wonderful, and I felt like I owed her at least that much. I've hardly seen her at all the whole time she's been pregnant, even though she only lives minutes away.

And honestly, she looks really good. It's just really goddamn hard for me to look at that beautifully swollen belly and imagine her doing things to harm the baby inside. I hate that she's taken something so very, very precious for granted, something that so many women would give anything to experience. The rest of us are so careful about what we do when we're pregnant: we abstain from tuna and cheeses and rare steaks, for goddsake, and yet this woman is pumping lethal substances into her body. It's enough to make me hate her, just a little, even though I know that's not the "right" thing to do.

How is it that we can love someone so very much, and yet be so disgusted by them that it's hard to look them in the face?

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I am: so very many things. A mother, a wife, a dreamer, a lover of animals and babies, a friend. I've been called a bitch, but if that's what you call someone who stands up for what they believe in and refuses to settle, then I guess the title fits.

loves: my family, horses, a full night's sleep, puppy breath, my daughter's laughter, thunderstorms, bubble baths, makeup, soft sheets, David Sedaris and Augusten Burroughs, wine, massages, the written word, and sour straws.

dislikes: closed minds, depression, pimples, extreme heat, math, panic attacks, black licorice, doing laundry, white chocolate, gin, Bush.