Changes.

Last night, I had my second sleep study. They woke me up at 6 a.m. and I was back home by 7. Instead of going back to sleep, I decided to stay up. Instead of doing what I usually do with free time (which is screwing around on the Internet or watching TV), I decided to do something constructive.

I finally called the bank about my student loans. I didn't really make any progress with them, but I did find out what needed to be done to rehabilitate the loans. Because Matt and I filed our taxes jointly, they are using his income to calculate the monthly payment, and it is far beyond what we can afford. Then, I called to see if we can re-file our 2014 taxes as Married but Separate. If we're successful, the loan company will use only my income, and the payment will be reduced from $300-400 monthly to $50-100 monthly.

I also called about my past-due credit card account and made arrangements to make payments. I didn't do any of this stuff before because I just couldn't handle it. I hid from it, and ignored all the collections calls. I couldn't deal with the idea of Matt paying for stuff I got myself into before we were married, or under the assumption that I would be working, when I am obviously not bringing in any money. I guess I finally realized that it's okay for him to help me, because we're married, and I would do the same for him if the situation were reversed. That's the kind of couple we are. We take care of each other.

Last week, I went to order a new pair of glasses. I started talking to the optician about how I used to be an optician, myself. Long story short, he asked if I would fill out an application. I was upfront about my disability and the fact that my last job in the industry ended badly. He seemed to appreciate that. I'm confident that if I can get an interview with the manager, I can get him to give me a chance. If he gives me a chance, I can start to rebuild my resume in an industry I already know and am passionate about. It would be an enormous step forward.

When I dropped off my resume, I decided to get my hair done. I cut it extremely short in the back and had it dyed bright red on top, burgundy underneath. The new haircut makes me feel sharp and sexy instead of old and frumpy. I think the dye has gone to my head, because something is changing, or already has changed. It isn't just that I'm suddenly taking an interest in making up for past mistakes. I'm starting to think of myself as a capable adult who can handle more than I ever gave myself credit for, and that is leading to some interesting thought processes.

I was talking to an old friend last night, someone I used to live with. She was telling me about my ex-boyfriend, his girlfriend and their baby. The baby was born 10 weeks premature, but survived and is healthy. Unfortunately, my ex isn't doing very well as a father, apparently, screaming and yelling at her when all she wants to do is be picked up, ditching her with my friend to babysit all the time. I almost had a child with this man. It was one of my miscarriages. I'm so glad it didn't happen, then. It would have been wrong. I'd have ended up a single mother, and I would not have been able to deal with it back then. I still don't think I could make it as a single mom, but I looked at Matt, and thought, "Wow. I'm not alone. And Matt would make a wonderful father, even if he doesn't think so. And my period is four days late, and my pants don't fit, and ... shit. Am I pregnant?"

We went to the dollar store today to get a couple of tests. Far from the feeling of dread I have experienced every other time I've had a pregnancy scare, I was almost giddy. I was almost hoping it would be positive. No. Not almost. Suddenly, the thought of carrying this wonderful man's child in my body made me feel wonderful. Maybe it's just the spring, or my new meds, or something. When the test was negative, I was actually more disappointed than relieved. So it's just as well that my sterilization surgery has continued to be delayed. I don't want it anymore. At least, not yet. I made an appointment with my gynecologist to discuss the risks of pregnancy in my current state of health. I went on some online message boards to find out if other women had given birth to healthy children while still taking their psychiatric meds. What I found was that, yes, it is absolutely possible to have a healthy pregnancy while taking the psychiatric drugs I am on. In my case, the risks of stopping the medication would certainly be greater than any possible risk to the baby.

Until now, I have only been thinking about all the terrible things I didn't want to pass on to the child. From Matt's side, there is the possibility of Ehlers-Danlos syndrome and depression. From my side, there is mental illness, bad joints, allergies, asthma and issues with substance abuse (My only issue is nicotine, but that wasn't the case for my father.) Both of us are obese, and our theoretical child may well have problems with his or her weight. I'm quite aware of these risks, but I hadn't thought of all the good things we could pass on, too. Strength of character. Self-awareness. Resilience. Intelligence. Creativity. Gorgeous eyes. The love Matt and I share for each other. Any kid of ours would be loved and accepted for whoever they turned out to be. We would nurture their imagination and encourage them to pursue what they love. Our kid would have a better childhood than we did, and we both know it.

But, wait! I hate babies! Babies are disgusting and stinky and loud and annoying. Toddlers are even worse. They screech at pitches capable of shattering windows. I really don't want one of those, do I? They're gross. And the world doesn't need any more kids, especially ones with problems. Or is this all sour grapes, denial spewed by someone who has secretly wants to be a parent, but never believed they could, because she hadn't grown up, herself, and children aren't capable of being good parents? It is enough food for thought for me to reconsider getting a tubal ligation. I've cancelled it, indefinitely.

Maybe I'm just manic. Maybe I'm letting my usually-hidden idealism get in the way of my better judgment. Whatever it is, it's kind of awesome, and I don't want it to stop. Maybe being an adult isn't so bad. As an adult, I'm not afraid of being a parent (any more than anyone else is.) I'm not even afraid of money or work, at least, in concept. The actual application of these things is another matter, but I won't know if I don't try. Stay tuned, true believers.