It seems as if I had the urge to write on this blog only once a year. Not true, I just never get the courage to sit and sift through all the mental notes I take every day.
A lot has happened this year, to much to keep to myself.


I bought a house
Better said, Matthias and I bought a house. Houston is without a doubt our home. Here is where we wrote our story, and where we will continue writing it. Why not just make it official and stay for good? I like this city and I want my roots to grow.
We found our house in the heights and despite price reservations and fear that the neighborhood is still a little to Mexican still, we went for it. Back when we first moved to Texas, and I had the ridiculous commute from atascocita to the energy corridor and back, I used to burn time driving around town. My favorite neighborhood was always the heights with its colorful houses, the tiny hill that is as close as you will ever get in Houston and the narrow streets that are better suited for walking than four driving. I never thought I would ever be able to live here. First, the plan was to stay in Houston only a couple of years; six years later, we know we are here for the long haul. Second, the heights has always been pricier than other areas, specially the suburbs. But then again, Matthias and I are clear that we don't like the burbs. Third, I had always been so reluctant about investing in a house, I never thought we'd take the keep. But we did, and so far, there are no complains

I hosted a party
Anyone who knows me, knows that as much as I can go into a room and talk to anybody, or stand before of a crowd and make a total fool of myself with no problem, I am terrified of people coming over to my place. I am a horrible host, and get panic attacks when I'm faced with the possibility of entertaining more than one or two people at a time. I cry. I get so nervous my hands hurt. I want to cancel things at the last minute to avoid the awkwardness.
Yet, as new homeowners, it is customary and expected that a house warming party must be organized. Matthias was more than excited about the prospect of having 40 of our closest friends come over to our new house, enjoy a few beers, fire up the grill and celebrate home ownership. Me on the other hand, had to whip out the excel spread sheets, cooking recipes and all the courage in the world to prepare myself for that. I kept telling myself that after all the sacrifices Matthias has done for me in the least I could do was to pull through this one and hope it wasn't a total disaster. It really did not stuck at all. Now I want to entertain.... Scary. My hands still hurt from fear though.

I got pregnant

I had never been much for a motherly type. I like babies and took care of a good number of little ones, but honestly I never really felt the strong call of motherhood. But I got married to a wonderful man six wonderful years ago, and when I found out I was pregnant, a light lit up in me. I was going to be a mom. I would teach the little one the numbers, the colors, my favorite songs, I would show him or her the world. I discovered I had it in me, the desire to build a family. I enjoyed the tiredness, the sore breasts, the feeling of being whole and the miracles (oh yeah, I said miracles) of my changing body. But then...


 I lost the baby

It happened fast. It was painful, but it was fast. It started on a Thursday evening after a big lunch, where I felt some cramping. Checked every baby blog available, and apparently that's normal during week 7; no biggie. Then Friday some more cramping, and a little bleeding, so little I wasn't even sure it was there. Then a little more, and more cramping. And panic... I had no clue at this point whether I was freaking out over nothing or really the worst thing I could have imagined was actually happening.
By Saturday things were more painful, and in the afternoon I was in the er hearing from a doctor that there was no baby. There was a baby sack and pregnancy hormones and lots of other magical things in me but no baby. That my body had felt there was something wrong with an empty baby sack and had miscarried. At 7 weeks this kind of things happen, and the more I read our talk about it, the more common it appears to be, but still, that was some horrible weekend. Week. Month. I went from being full of life and miracles (yes, again, the m word) to be full of pointless hormones and drugs to help my uterus get rid of everything that needed to be gone.
I cried, long and hard , for hours. I wanted to stop thinking, because no matter how normal a miscarriage is at seven weeks, all I could think about was every joke I had ever made regarding being a mother and how much I had fretted being pregnant. And I kept thinking how all those thoughts had probably told my body "nope, she's not ready yet, abort! Abort!".

At this point, what I think is the following: my body is a lean, mean machine, that knows when things are not going right and prefers to reboot, restart, regroup and try better when conditions are optimal. I am holding on to that thought. And to the green onesie I had bought with my mom when I thought I was going to be a Mommy soon.