I’ll spare you the details of the process. If you have to ask about it, I’m sure you won’t want to know.

My problem? I was barely able to keep myself from crying after I had it put in. Getting this makes it very real to me that I won’t be having another baby any time soon. I have had the “baby fever” for a couple years now. Had my life gone as planned. I’d have two kids by now, and possibly another one on the way (or at least anticipated). But my life hasn’t gone as planned.

Deep down, when I was in my early twenties, I had an inkling that I’d end up a single mother. I didn’t want to, it was just a feeling. Now I am one. And it’s not easy.

Every time that I’m around a baby, or see families that have a couple children (especially where one is a little girl) my insides knot up and I have to make an effort to keep from letting it effect me outwardly.

I know that my time will come. I know that I will eventually get the little girl I’ve always wanted. But it’s hard to keep that in mind when my heart aches. (An ache that is made worse every other weekend and once a week when my son is not at home with me.)

Hopefully, I’ll have a reason to have the IUD removed before the 5 years is up. That’s the comforting thought that I try to keep with me.

Yesterday, my step-father showed me the portion of the testimony that dealt with the grief counselor. Immediately, I fell in law-nerd-love with Jeff Ashton. “What a phenomenal prosecutor,” I thought to myself, and out loud, to anyone that I spoke to. Man, what had I been missing? Not that I’m going to go back and try to watch all six weeks worth of the trial. I don’t have enough time for that. However, I was rather excited about closing arguments today.

Closing arguments are my favorite part of the trial. It’s the only time that an attorney gets to argue (in front of the jury, at least). It’s my favorite part to do and my favorite part to watch. So, I sacrificed my entire Sunday to watching the Casey Anthony Trial Closing Arguments. Much to the chagrin of those of you who follow me on Twitter. (You know you wanted to follow my live tweets all day – my opinion is so entertaining.)

I am still in law-nerd-love with Jeff Ashton. I thought that was the best closing I’d ever seen. I have less than favorable opinions about Jose Baez, however. Didn’t like the arguments or the presentation. I was quite bummed that the State’s rebuttal argument got pushed to tomorrow morning. (Rest assured I will be watching and live tweeting again – I know you were concerned you’d be without my opinion all morning.)

I have heard this referred to as the Trial of the Century and it is being compared to the OJ Simpson trial. While we are in the 11th year of the century, I guess that is an accurate label. No doubt it will be eclipsed at some point. For those of you who have no idea what I am talking about, remove the rock from your cozy land of denial and Google “Casey Anthony.” Enlighten yourself.

Brief Synopsis: 22 year old mom is accused of killing her two year old daughter. Mom concocted elaborate lies for a whole month regarding the baby’s whereabouts before her “disappearance” was reported to law enforcement. Mom’s trunk smelled like death. Body found in the swamp. Mom was out partying and getting a highly inappropriate tattoo during the month that her daughter was “missing.”

Highly inappropriate tattoo: “La Bella Vita” (The Beautiful Life) is highly inappropriate because she got it after she killed her daughter (or, if you buy her story, during the period of time she was covering up the accidental death and deliberate disposal of her two year old daughter).

The trial was very sensationalized and the story was a great one. We talked about it in our office, among ourselves, and among the defense attorney that we worked closely with. For those of us that truly enjoy being trial lawyers, the whole country got to follow along with and see what we love about our jobs.

All that being said. The defense is complete bull shit. No completely innocent mother would behave the way that Casey Anthony did int hat month following the death of poor little Caylee. Bullshit. I call shenanigans on the whole defense. She is guilty. It’s completely obvious.

My prediction is that the jury will come back guilty, but of a lesser offense than 1st Degree Murder. My mind may change after the State’s rebuttal tomorrow morning, but right now I’m holding firm to that prediction.

I can’t possibly be the only person who does this.

That being said, I don’t ignore anything where it concerns my son. I keep an eye on him when he starts showing symptoms and I take him to the doctor when necessary.

It’s just me.

I suspect it’s a mom thing.

Take today, for example. Well, this weekend, really.

When I got home from work on Friday I felt pretty crappy. And by crappy, I mean that I sat down for a few minutes, and then had to spend 20 minutes rehabilitating myself with crackers and Gatorade so I could have sufficient energy to feed my dog. Then I had to rest up so I could take her out. Odd?Problematic? Nope, I was sure that it was a fluke thing.

On comes Saturday. I woke up & didn’t feel too great. Went in to work anyway (had trials to prepare for). By the end of a few hours at work I was feeling pretty weak. And my skin hurt. You know, that “every individual cell on my skin is sensitive and I can’t let anything touch it” kind of hurt. My thought, I must be starting to get a cold. By the time I went to bed I was practically shaking and my throat was getting sore.

I barely slept all night. It was awful.

Woke up on Sunday. Didn’t feel warm, but felt like I might have a fever. Took my temperature (with a Sponge Bob thermometer) and Sponge Bob told me I had a very low fever of 99.3. My normal temperature is around 97.6, and I rarely get a fever. Warning sign? Nah. Felt worse all day. Could barely swallow or talk. Fever went up to 99.5. Up, not down. Did I even consider going to a doctor? Nope.

My mom brought me some soup. She told me I should go to the doctor. I said no, I’ll be fine. I’ll just take medicine on Monday because I have work to do – juries to pick, cases to try. Very busy week.

Not too long after my mom left, I checked my temperature again. 100.1. Finally, warning bells went off in my head. If I have a fever of 100.1 at 4pm, what is it going to be like at 9pm, when I’m trying to sleep. So, I called my mom to pick me up and take me to a walk-in clinic.

The scale at the walk-in clinic was very wrong and evil.

I digress.

So the doctor comes in to see me. Stands about 3 feet away from me with arm holding throat looker-atter extended, to look in my throat. Orders a strep culture. Turns out, I have strep throat. Hence the fever and the super sore & swollen throat. Go figure. Doctor tells me that he will prescribe an antibiotic and that I needed to stay home a couple days. My response? Well, that’s not going to work.

I know how terrible strep throat can be. Littleman had it about a month and a half ago. He was super miserable. But I was ready to trudge on through work. I was still planning on getting up at an insane hour, go in to work and pick 3 juries if need be.

Finally, logic kicked in. I asked, “am I contagious?” Doctor, replied, “highly.” One of the women in my division is very pregnant. The only reason I even considered staying home, was to make sure that I didn’t spread this around to her.

My brain knows that I need to stay home and relax so that my body can heal and I can get better. But it’s hard to put the go-go-go part of my life on hold for something so simple as a fever.

One day I will learn to take care of myself when I am sick.

Maybe.

I miss my baby. The hardest thing about this (almost) divorce thing, is the time I spend when littleman is with his dad. A profound loneliness settles over me and I feel wretched. I don’t get this feeling when he stays overnight with a grandparent. It’s just when he’s at his “other” home.

I have no explanation for this. I am usually rather perceptive when it comes to analyzing the “why” of what I feel. I guess this feeling is so overwhelming that there is no room for analyzing.

All I know is that every other weekend, my heart aches because my little angel isn’t here for me to watch while he’s sleeping. Hoping that time will make it easier.

I come from divorced parents. However, their situation is much different than mine. For one, my parents hate each other, have hated each other, and will probably always hate each other. There was a major set of circumstances that lead to the end of their marriage. Mine, not so much. So, I am rather hesitant to ask my mom about how she felt & dealt with things. I’m very different from my mom and the way that I deal with life.

I have a few friends that are divorced, but none with kids. Not that I would talk about my situation or feelings with anyone anyway. I’m just going to deal with this like I deal with everything else, to the best of my ability and with as little outside input as possible.

Ok. Whining done.

Littleman was sick for 4 straight weeks. Not just a runny nose & a bit of a cough. Oh no. Fevers combined with weekly doctor visits, an ear infection, and three kinds of antibiotics. Why yes, that is how I spent my Christmas and New Years. Don’t envy me too much, your head might explode.

Four straight weeks of pitiful baby, thermometers, tylenol, motrin, and fighting about finishing his dinner (well, we always fight about that, but it’s worse when he’s sick).

fever baby

Anyway. I thought I was lucky. I went four straight weeks without picking up anything from him. What are the odds of that? I now know never to think that thought again. Yes, ladies and gentlemen, I am sick. This really goes without saying though, because all parents know, when your kids get sick, you get sick.

Why is that? Because the stinky little sneaks like to slip those germs in whenever and wherever they can. When you’re really close, all of a sudden they have a sneezing or coughing fit right in your face. Why yes, those fingers he just shoved in your mouth, they’ve been in his mouth for the past hour. Awesome, glad you’re all up in my face first thing in the morning breathing in my air.

Sick Mamma

I guess I can’t ever say he never gave me anything.

But that’s not what I’ve brought you here to talk about.

I never quite felt like I belonged in my family. I’m different from most of them. My values & likes & dislikes don’t fall in with my nearest relations. When I was in high school I formed a new family. I had more in common with some of my adolescent friends than I ever had with my relatives. To this day some of my old friends are more family to me than my actual family.

When I met my husband I formed a new family. Not just him and our son, but also the close friends that I made over the years. I have found people that I have only known for a few years that love me unconditionally (unlike some lifelong family members that will remain nameless – in this post, at least).

Now my life has been completely thrown for a loop. My wonderful little family is slightly broken, I’ve been back with my actual family & my beautiful extended family seems to be out of reach. I know they’re there, I just can’t seem to connect with them.

The more time I spend with la famiglia pazza, the more my tolerance ebbs. I miss the cozy little family I had created for myself.

The short story is that my husband and I have decided to temporarily separate. We are not on the road to divorce, we just made a decision to get off the road that was leading us to hate each other. We are getting along fine, which is what we want for Littleman. Littleman & I are staying with my dad, step-mom & step-sister right now, until I save up some money & find an apartment near Littleman’s new school.

The good news is that I recently got promoted at work. I am now a felony prosecutor. It’s also a considerable raise. The downside, a lot more work. I’m dealing with it, at least I’m trying to deal with it.

That brings me to my point.

Strength.

I’ve always dealt with stress well. Well, that’s not entirely true. I had absolutely no ability to deal with stress while I was in law school, but that’s besides the point. I’m dealing with all the stress in my life very well right now. I don’t think anyone would deny me that. I’m dealing with it because I have to. There is no one that I can depend on or even lean on at this point.

All of this I’m fine with. My problem is that I know I need to breakdown. Even if it’s just for an hour, but I can’t do that. I don’t have that luxury right now.

Where will that leave me? Will I just continue to deal with everything until it all just gets better? Or will it keep building until my body forces me to have a breakdown? If you all start taking bets on what will happen first, I want in on the proceeds.

This morning, as I was getting ready for work, I received a text message from one of my trial partners. An officer was shot and killed. Shockingly, I recognize the name. It was an officer that I had worked with before. I remember having cases with him when I was still assigned to juvenile. He was a good guy. I had recently run across his name again in misdemeanor. I remember seeing him on the witness lists of a few cases of mine. It is not often that officers are killed in the line of duty. This is only the second instance of a fatal shooting of an officer (two as it turns out on this occasion) since I have been a prosecutor. And I knew this one.

What makes it even worse. What brought tears to my eyes more than once today was the voicemail I had received from that very officer yesterday. I was in court most of the day on Monday selecting juries for the two cases that I had going this week. When I got back to my office yesterday afternoon, I checked my messages to make sure I dealt with all the pressing matters prior to leaving for the day. I had a message from a defense attorney that wanted to discuss his clients DWLS charge, another from a witness that needed more information about an evidence request I had made, and another that I have already forgotten about. One of the messages in the group was from that officer. I had subpoenaed him for a trial that was to take place in July. He was calling to ask me to get a continuance because he was going to be out for the entire month of July. You seem if wife was due to have their first baby and he was planning on staying home with her and the baby for the entire first month.

Today is Tuesday, June 29th. Thursday is July 1st. He would have started his month long paternity leave in two days.

As I pause to dry my tears and blow my nose I feel that I should explain something. This officer was not a dear friend of mine. He happened to be a very pleasant person that I had the pleasure of working with. When I heard his message yesterday, I was happy for him. He seemed excited on my voicemail. I didn’t want to believe it when I saw his name all over the news today.

I have heard rumors that his wife went into labor today. It’s not surprising that she would being that she was full term and this was clearly a stressful event. I think what is causing me the most grief is imagining what she must be going through. Giving birth to her first child should be the happiest moment of her life. And instead, she is now faced with having to go through it alone. While I don’t want to imagine her pain, I can’t help but think about her. I don’t know her. I have never met her. I haven’t been able to stop thinking about her all day. As I was getting my son ready for bed tonight, I thought about her. How she would look at her beautiful new baby and at once feel the joy of that new little life coupled with the crushing grief of the loss of her husbands life.

There was another officer that was shot and killed as well. I did not know this officer. I did not know until after the shooting that he had four small children of his own. I am in no way minimizing the loss of his life, but because I had no prior connection with him (as I had never tried a case with him) I feel sympathy, but not empathy. I feel sorry for his family’s loss, and the grief his wife must be going through. But that particular loss does not bring the flood of emotion and tears to my eyes that the other officer’s does.

At approximately 2:30am, the officers were engaged in a routine traffic stop. The vehicle that was stopped did not have a tag. When the officers ran the names of the occupants, they discovered that the passenger had an outstanding warrant out of another county for worthless checks. When they approached to arrest him for the warrant, he shot them both in the head. One died on scene, and one died about six hours later at the hospital. The police have located the driver of the vehicle. They are still searching for the shooter.

If found, charged and tried, the shooter will likely be facing the death penalty. That is, of course, if he makes it to arraignment. I don’t think that anyone is under any delusions that if the slain officers’ agency finds him, that he will not be brought in with at least one bullet hole in his body. I am a very liberal person. I believe that everyone has rights. That being said, I would not be opposed to this guy losing a couple limbs. Slowly. There is nothing that our legal system could do to him that is punishment enough. However, I could probably come up with a few very interesting and gratifying ideas.

But sometimes, just sometimes, I need to hear it.

Self-esteem, self-confidence, self-assurance. These are all things that I have. In abundance. Too much at times. Beauty. I have that too. While I could stand to lose 60 pounds, I know that I’m pretty. I know that I am attractive. I carry myself in a way that shows that.

I still want to hear it every now and again.

I think this is a woman thing. While I’m not about to speak for my gender as a whole, I can speak for myself and the observations I have made over my 29 years. Women are terribly insecure by nature. Just look at the thinnest, most attractive woman that you know. I’m willing to bet that she has several complaints about her thighs, breasts, hear, skin…you name it. And those complaints lessen her attractiveness in her own estimation. Does she focus on all the good things. Not likely. She may flaunt them when it counts (I’m totally guilty of that on occasion, I’m not even going to lie) but they’re not enough to keep the flaws and imperfections from ruining her opinion of herself.

I have learned to focus on the positive and put those flaws on the back burner. What do I have? I have beautiful, big eyes that change from blue to green to gray depending on what I’m wearing. I have great hair. It is very pretty when it is straight (see above), and it’s gorgeous when it is curly:

I have great skin. A nice figure. And I usually smell pretty good. And those are just the physical things that are great about me.

So what’s the problem? If I know that I’m so great, why do I need to be told? I don’t know the answer to that. Maybe it’s the same mechanism that makes my toddler need to be told his drawing is nice. People like compliments. Take job satisfaction for instance. People who are complimented by their employers when they do good stuff are likely to have higher job satisfaction than people who only get negative comments. (I’m pretty sure that during my time as a psych major I heard an actual statistic that sounded like that – so that’s what I’m basing my last comment on – that and common sense.) So, is it wrong that I want to be complimented on my appearance, especially when I put effort into it? My gut is telling me that’s not wrong. And I need to hear it. I’ve even stooped so low as to teach my two year old to say “Mommy’s a pretty girl.” In my defense, it is super cute when he says it.

And now a question to all you ladies out there, when is the last time someone told you that you were beautiful? Not, “that’s a beautiful dress,” or “your hair is beautiful today.” But simply, “You are beautiful.” I can’t remember the last time I was told that. And to add insult to injury. Not only do I want to hear it, but I want whoever says it to actually mean it. Now I may be asking too much.

“Who do you look up to and why?”

“Describe a person who has influenced you and how their influence affected your life.”

We’ve all seen these questions before. They’re on college applications and in job interviews and the like. I have never been able to answer these questions. Up until recently, I’ve never had a “hero” or “influential person” that I could write/talk about. I think it’s because I’ve always done my own thing. I’ve never quite had anyone that I wanted to emulate or “grow up to be.”

Does that make me self-centered. You may think so, but I don’t. It’s never been an “I’m better than everyone” thing for me. I’ve seen people’s accomplishments and thought, “good for them.” There’s just never been a “I want to be just like her” or “meeting this person made me want to do this with my life.” I just never had it.

I’ve generally just gone with the flow of things. I graduated high school and went to college, because that’s what I was going to do. I majored in psychology, because it seemed interesting. I decided to go to law school because I didn’t want to go to grad school for psychology. Ok. Decided to work for the state as a prosecutor because I am passionate about it. Fine. Got married, had a kid. It was the right time for me.

Me. Me, Me. Ok, so maybe a little self-centered. But all through my educational years, I never encountered someone that I looked up to as a hero, etc. Well, I had actually, but I didn’t realize it until later.

Now, married, a toddler running around, and working for over a year and a half, I can honestly say that there are two women who I look up two. The first is a judge I had the pleasure of appearing before. She had two young children and was able to run her courtroom in such a way that she didn’t have to miss any of their important events. She had the support of fellow judges in that she could find coverage if she had a family emergency or a doctors appointment to attend. Brava. It is possible to be in my line of work and be present for your children. That is a goal of mine. I want to be around. I am happy to have had that influence in my life to keep me going and to know that, yes, I can have a family and my chosen career.

The second woman is someone that I knew from birth. My Nana (maternal grandmother). This is interesting for me. She and I used to butt heads. She was a very strong willed woman. Small, and dark, like you’d picture most Sicilian women, she had a fiery temper and vivacious personality to match. It wasn’t until I was older, married, a mother, and working until I realized exactly what kind of influence she was.

My nana could do everything and anything. Give her a sewing machine and she could whip out a formal gown. Not kidding. She made my mom’s prom dress. A dress that was so beautiful in it’s simplistic design, and so well made that I was able to wear the same exact dress to my senior year homecoming dance. She made Halloween costumes for my sisters and I for years. She even made clothes for our Barbie dolls when we got bored of what we had.

Put her in a kitchen and she could feed an army with the most delicious food you’d ever tasted. She was a natural in the kitchen. Cooking and baking. It was so easy for me. I used to watch her in the kitchen and not think anything of it. It’s what she did. I was fortunate enough to pick up some things from her in the kitchen, but I didn’t get the full education I now wish I could have.

That woman did everything in the house. Her level of functioning was unbelievable. When I started undergrad, my school was only about 15 minutes from her house. I used to go over there all the time. I even spent the night a few times. I remember one time I spent the night, I got up at 9 or 10 (the normal time for college freshman) and she had already washed the clothes I had worn the night before, washed both cars, made breakfast for her and my nano, left some for me, cleaned the kitchen and god only knows what else. It totally blew my mind.

It’s not that I never appreciated her when I was younger. It’s just that my perspective changed after I had a family of my own to look after. I know that I will never be able to be like her. There is no way that I can do all of the things that she could do. But now, I strive for that. I have an idea in my head of what I want to be like. For the first time in my life.