What's a best friend?

A best friend means something different for everyone. What does it mean for me?

A best friend is someone who never judges you unfairly but when you try on some godawful dress, she will tell you the honest truth.

A best friend is someone who, when you both go your separate ways with beyond shitty boyfriends, you don't talk the other out of it knowing they won't listen, and yet you know if something happened you'd be there to pick up the pieces in seconds flat.

a best friend still says she agrees with "cutie pie" for this
omg, 15 year old photo where you look super cheesy

A best friend is someone who you sometimes struggle without, for whatever stupid reason, but you never toss them out of your life.

A best friend is some one who you can ignore (due to a busy life) but when you call them on the phone, it is like you just talked yesterday.

A best friend is some one who is the sister and sibling you never had, who "gets" your strange parents and most of all, "gets" you, maybe even more than your own parents or spouse.

A best friend is some one who loses their father and you feel like there is nothing you can do to fix your friend, so you let her know you are there, whenever, she is more than a friend she is family...and you can't say or type this without bawling your eyes out.

A best friend will follow you as you sled of cliffs, climb the highest tree, fall off a home-made zip like, hide in the closet with you to avoid fighting parents, and will share her stolen food stamps to buy an ice cream to share. She will talk to the boy you like to see if he likes you, she will defend you against bullies, she will run through the school halls playing 007 and shot angry looks at people that give you that "what a freak" look. She will croon out Metallica or Madonna lyrics with you, lyrics that mean so much at the moment.

She will thank you at graduation, for never ever judging her and loving her in the worst of times.

A best friend laughs about saggy boobs and stretch marks, failing vegetable gardens, home repair, and all those things that make us feel too old.

A best friend of 24 years and counting will love you no matter what, even when you feel like some how she doesn't know how much she means to you.

A best friend will always be just a phone call away. As the kids grow, wrinkles form, and health fails us, we will still have inside jokes and memories, and time together will go by faster than a jet plane, and just being together, shooting the breeze, will feel right, and like yesterday, today, and tomorrow have joined in timeless happiness.

Viva Las Pregas

Vegas. 34 weeks pregnant. It's an experience.

 Ok to preface things, I'm not a Vegas fan to start with. I "get" why people love Vegas but it just isn't for me. I don't gamble, barely drink, have no interest in "shows", hate the heat, crowds, indoors, annoying drunk people, overly pretty people, fake things (fake boobs, fake Paris, fake everything), loud noises, bright lights.... yeah...pretty muchly all of Vegas.

 Give me a chalet in a meadow with a botanical garden and unoccupied beach with fresh coconut and an art museum or some weird conglomeration of things I like and I'm there.

Being pregnant in Vegas is even  more Vegas-vengeful. I have passed by thousands of people and seen no other pregnant woman- somehow there must be a Welcome To Vegas Preggos Not Welcome sign or law or something I missed on my way here. Probably cause it was blinky and loud so I ignored it.

Every person seems to gawk at my big old pregnant belly and I attract more attention than the nudey cards, mimes, or jingling slot machines. I'm surprised I've not been photographed as the endangered wonder of Vegas, the pregnant chick.

Why the heck did I come, you ask? Every few years I have to go to Vegas to remind myself I hate it and would rather have stayed home. My wanderlust gets the best of me and Vegas is a quick cheap travel destination so I'm like, sure let's go!  Plus this time around, my baby has dropped and I'm rendered pretty useless, so I figured being half handicapped in a hotel room with a toddler meant, unlike home, I didn't have to cook or clean, and there was less room for my toddler to destroy, less room for me to chase after him.

So here I am on my last day (thank God) and I have to piss and moan. Why does Vegas suck especially when pregnant? Let's make a list shall we?

1. You feel like an alien because no one else is pregnant. I already talked about this so let's move on.

2. With a hormonal cocktail swirling inside, the little things piss you off. This kinda applies to my entire list here.

3. If you are "lucky" like me, with food allergies, you look around and everything is freaking sandwiches (I can't have wheat) and monosodium glutamate. I really don't feel like pooping blood or having a migraine so sad I vomit from the pain. So it leaves me to eat a $9, 300 calorie pathetic salad, or $3 snickers bar (seriously where's the cheap Vegas?) for 3 days straight. I AM HUNGRY DAMMIT. I am trying to FEED TWO here folks and candy and salad don't cut it. And no way in hell am I paying $36 for a grilled 4oz filet of salmon over rice.

4. Walking. I love walking, really I do. I'd walk a few miles a day if I could. That is, until someone inside you decides your lady bits are a great trampoline and head butting target. When suddenly it feels like you are carrying a spikey bowling ball, it makes walking long distances a bitch.

5. Breathing and smelling. Breathing abilities diminish in pregnancy and smelling abilities increase. So a smokey casino is 5x as smokey smelling and 5x as gasp I need air suffocating. Add in old lady perfume, greasy food, the farty sulfer-sewage smells, sticky rotting alcohol spills, and so much "inside" that fresh air is miles away....it is no fun.

6. People who need to be punched. The person who was so drunk at 10am I could smell him 100 feet away who lurched towards me and spit on me (tuberculosis tequila anyone?) something that sounded like greee uuush baby haha wooo ogh loos" before I ducked and covered to protect myself and my brood. The super tanned slim sexy model-rific model types that prance around in next to nothing, in swarms, as if to say "haha pasty white pregnant chick we are young and sexy, you reproducer , you". The "woo" girls who "woo" at everything like cheerleaders, except that high school was so ten years ago. The swarms of Asian tourists that travel in flocks, cameras clicking, and literally push my son and I into a corner. The people, as aforementioned, that gawk at the pregnant lady. The creepy hobos trying to solicit money- I have sympathhy, I really do, but how do I know you wont jump me and murder me, the innocent pregnant lady with the kid? The people that try to sell me call girls, gambling cards, helicopter tours, and 5 more days in this Sodom and Gomorrah of America.

7. Adult beverages. I don't drink much but I will be the first to admit a tall glass of chianti would have been the piece de la resistance to my beef, rosemary, balsamic risotto last night. And seeing everyone everywhere drinking alcohol, every other establishment being some trendy bar beckoning customers, reminds me I'm pregnant and can't have that. It's like when your mom takes you to the "don't touch" glass and antiques store, or when she says you can't go get an ice cream from the ice cream truck, on a blistering hot day. I want some sickeningly sweet and intoxicating, barf inducing concoction I will probably take one sip of and wonder why I p;aid $15 for. Just because I can't do that.

8. Fakeness. The architecture and engineering on such a grand scale in Vegas does actually amaze me. But at the same time I don't like the manufactured carbon copy world. Venice and Caesar's palace pretend to be outdoors but aren't. The canal is just chlorinated water. The people dressed as clowns or Parisians or whatever are just that- in costume. The replicas of this and that are just that, replicas. They lack soul, history, meaning.

9. The emptiness. Maybe i'm an empath or soul wolf child or whatever they call people with supernatural powers but I can "feel" a place and all I feel in Vegas is a  sick and sad emptiness that drains me. And being pregnant, I'm already drained of energy dammit!

10. I don't have a #10 but a list looks "off" if it s just 1-9 since we use a base ten number system. I guess I could mention, for the sake of having an actual #10, that it is impossible to find any clothing for a pregnant woman in Vegas.

So there you have it . Viva Las Pregas sucks. I'm happy to go home soon. Even if that means finding a way to motivate myself to clean up the dust bunnies off the floor that I have to do acrobatics and yelping to get to.

Exploring language

The numbers swirl in my head, 24, 30, 200, 350, 400.... Words like sentences, questions, plurals, articles, language explosion, understandable by strangers...and my heart beat quickens.

No! I tell myself, breathe in and out, think positive!

My son has a speech delay or disorder or something. Figures vary but 5-20% of toddlers do, so it's not too abnormal, but it deserves attention.

I panicked yesterday because my son, at 30 months, doesn't know the 200-400 words he should. He has yet to have a "language explosion". He doesn't show signs of autism or cognitive disorder, but there is a speech issue nevertheless. Those numbers and milestones send me into a panic and I have to tell myself, breathe. Focus on what he does know and can do.

My son has been in Early Intervention for two months now, with a weekly group speech class using play to encourage language development (but class is cancelled for all of June-August). He has no formal diagnosis as the school district "doesn't do that especially for under age 3" and his speech instruction isn't targeted, more wholistic and developmental (stack some blocks, match some shapes) because, again, they don't "do that" yet, but it is something. I keep telling myself that, anyways, while struggling to navigate the red tape of pediatricians, referrals, insurance, overly busy regional developmental centers, phone calls, voice mails, and lots of waiting.

Research proves early intervention and targeted speech instruction, maybe even evaluation of tongue movements and the like, work. The sooner and more intense, the better. But actually getting that? Nearly impossible.

Meanwhile, I do exactly what I should- read books to him, sing rhymes, repeat things, used sign language, praise any attempts....

I learn to decipher his babble, but I have a feeling most of his babble does mean something, just no one understands it.

The tantrums have become epic. I can't take him anywhere or do anything without a blood curdling scream, kicking, thrashing,biting.... I think the poor guy realizes he isn't understood and is getting overly frustrated.

He does try and communicate and it is a learning experience for us both. Dee means drink, dog, train, Gypsy (our cat), three. Ba is baa (sheep), ball, bird. Oosh means choo choo and shoe. Appa means up and grandpa. There's no such thing as sentences or plurals, articles or anything else "normal".

But guess what? It will be okay. I'm working on getting all the help I can and I'm weathering the tantrum storms and frustrations. We will get through this, and love conquers all.