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Don’t get me wrong. New York has been great, in many ways, most of them documented here and at my old website. I will miss many things about it; the pretty people, the energy, the amusing food snobbery, the accents. My job, most of all…god, I will miss my job.

But. I never fell in love with this place, the way you have to to make it your home. The way you have to, especially in New York, to overlook all the ways it is essentially a giant pain in the ass to live here. Carlessness is a pain, owning a car and trying to park it somewhere, an equal pain. Never having any space. Almost never having any privacy outside your own apartment (something that comes home when you’re walking down the street and have a sudden urge to scratch somewhere unacceptable. There is no spot on the sidewalk where you will not be observed doing so by someone). No storage. No yard. Noise and dirt, the bleakness of graffiti’d walls in the poor sections, the cold snobbery of the nice parts of town. Finding a bathroom. Every store being tiny and crowded and understocked because it’s tiny.

I don’t include the cold and snow here because actually, that annoys me less than the rest. Nature I can adjust to; the claustrophobia of the city, I guess I can’t.

When I brought Nathan home from his Mamaw’s in Texas, it was the first time I’d been away for so long from our apartment. And it’s not a bad apartment, not a bad part of town, certainly not for the rent we pay. No roaches, no rats, fairly quiet neighbors. And yet as I walked in, I realized…it’s a sad little place. It’s dark. The linoleum floor is cracking. There are no plugs in one of the bedrooms, so extension cords run along the living room walls to the kitchen. The stove is ancient and probably dangerous. The cabinets are cheap and metal and sound like the gates of Hell when you open and close them (and one doesn’t really close). The light fixtures are cheap and either too bright or too dim, and the whole place lacks anything you could call personality. And like I said…here, it’s considered a very good deal, which is partly why our landlord has no incentive to make it nicer.

And I don’t want to whine, but, the last apartment I owned in Texas was tiny, and had ugly white walls also, but it also had a little balcony, a laundromat on site, a fireplace. A washer dryer hookup. A garbage disposal, wooden cabinets, wallpaper in the breakfast nook, appliances that were less than 40 years old. A parking lot for your car, and 24-hour grocery stores in driving distance. Yes it was Texas, the hated Red state; yes, I had some redneck neighbors and there could and should have been more stores in walking distance, and sidewalks to get there.

But I miss that apartment, though it would be too small for my family now. I miss that it was possible to keep it clean and have it feel clean. Do you know what I’m talking about? In buildings this old, which would be almost anywhere I could afford to live in New York, you never get anything truly clean; you can put up your clutter and wash and mop, but the old linoleum keeps its stains, the rooms stay dark and cramped, you can’t use the spaces around the radiators or heating pipes or a/c window units, and there is nowhere to put things away to. You must either learn to live in squalor or become a complete minimalist and own very little, and I find myself unable to do either.

I don’t love everything about Texas, but it does have lots of space, and space is what I need. Space, and quiet, and an occasional car ride so I can sing along to the radio. A yard, and probably when Nathan is older, a dog to go in it. A house that can be clean at least once in a while, that can store my old photos and out of season clothes and my books and leave me room for my own study, something I’ve never had but always wanted. A room for Nathan to close his door and be alone and dream or read or play or whatever he wants to do. These are not horrible or selfish things to want, I think. I do care about how much energy and resources we use here in America, but the answer is not for us to pack ourselves into efficient sardine-like conditions. We want our cars and our yards and our closet space, and we’re just going to have to find a way to have them without killing off the planet.

When I left Texas, I needed to leave it, and I needed to come here, and I’m glad that I did. I’m even glad Nathan was born here, because I think it’s kind of cool, and will always give him a conversation-prompter. And while I won’t miss living here, I will miss this place, if that makes any sense; I’ll miss the adventure of it. But I’ll enjoy being nostalgic about it while sitting comfortably in my dining room in Austin, drinking a cold Shiner Bock and watching Nathan chase the dog around the yard.

(didja notice I finally linked to my old website? Yep, up there on the right, if you want to read some really old crap of mine. Ignore the stuff about the notify list, I’ll delete that eventually, I’m not doing that anymore, because I am lazy.)

I haven’t wept in two whole days now; that’s gotta be a good sign. I can feel myself relaxing in a mental way, letting go of that tense, deer-in-the-headlights feeling that I had about Nathan. That sheer, gut-clenching panic that I was completely unqualified to raise a child. That I didn’t have a clue about how to stimulate his little mind, ensuring that he was never going to reach his full potential and it would be my fault. Or the simpler panic that night after night of little sleep would mean I’d keel over and drop him, or have a nervous breakdown and leave him somewhere eventually, exposing my unfitness to parent.

The sleep thing still sucks. It’s 1:30 am and Nathan just went down; I should be sleeping right now. Matt had a rough night last night, our first night back, because Nathan decided that 1-4 am was Time to Party Wakefully. Me being tired from the trip, he let me sleep until 9 or so, when I took over the morning shifts. We were both still groggy though, and could have used about 3 more hours apiece, which wasn’t an option if we wanted to do anything whatsoever today. So yeah; sucking.

But as I was telling Matt today, while it’s easy to panic when you think about Being a Parent in the abstract, which just seems impossible, when we’re actually with Nathan, it’s just fine. He’s a sweet-natured baby so far, and we’re doing fine at feeding him and taking care of him. We’re groggy, but alive. He’s fat and happy most of the time. He seems to like us despite our complete unfitness for the job. He’s not worried at all. Eventually, we tell ourselves, we’ll adjust and his sleep schedule will improve. But that “eventually” still seems too far away to hope for just yet, like summer vacation when you’ve just started the school year.

In my time at my mom’s, I managed to build up a tiny bit of confidence, mostly because I went two weeks without any major fuckups, and also because you can only stay on edge so long. Routine has a way of driving out the panic. Now I have to transmit that to Matt, until it’s all routine to him too. It might have happened already if it hadn’t been for all the physical and mental drama of the birth and afterwards, but now maybe it will have a chance to settle in. At least we can all be home together now.

I’ve horrified everyone with my story of the traumatic, hurtful parts of Nathan’s birth, and those things remain true. But there are good things that are part of those memories, and I feel like I should get them down too.

First of all, my pregnancy was a pretty good one, right until the end. I think whatever prevented him from being born, his head or his size or some pelvic shape issues of mine threw everything off, but it probably wasn’t something that I had control over. I agonized a bit over whether I ate too much and made him too big, but to be honest, I didn’t really overeat–I really couldn’t handle a lot of sugar, actually. I may have eaten too many carbs, but protein made me sick, and I tried very hard to get all the vegetables in. If I had been on a diabetic diet, I’m not sure my calorie intake would have been all that different. I could have just undereaten and been hungry to try and keep him small, but that’s a pretty risky strategy–malnourishment is hardly a good idea. I didn’t gain a huge amount of weight, I never had gestational diabetes, and my blood pressure was exemplary.

I think if he hadn’t been prevented by whatever it was, he would have been born on time or early, which is what everyone expected. And I think I would have been able to get him out at that size. My body did everything it knew how to do, but his head just never descended far enough.

I know that I was very strong in my labor. Up till nearly the very end, I know that I was brave through some incredible pain–I would say the last two hours before I gave in to the epidural were probably beyond anything that I would have felt in a successful vaginal birth for more than a short time. Basically, I was in transition level pain or higher for longer than anyone should be, and I held out for longer than a lot of people would. I wish I hadn’t had to, you understand, but I think I deserve to take pride in the fact that I did. And even through the c-section and recovery, I called on all the bravery I had. I made jokes because making other people laugh made me feel better. I pulled myself out of bed to breastfeed Nathan and hold him. I made myself eat horrible hospital food to keep my strength up, and I dragged myself, pulling Nathan in his bassinet, down the hospital hall in my ugly-ass layers of hospital gowns to sit through a lactation demonstration at which I learned nothing I didn’t know already.

When I got the epidural during my labor, I had been on my feet for several hours, denied any real pain-relief methods or anything to eat but ice chips. And when I did get the epidural, I didn’t feel one iota of guilt. I still don’t. I knew I was at the end of my strength; I knew I would faint from fatigue and pain if I didn’t get relief. I was angry, I remember telling the midwife, not at myself, but at the fact that I didn’t seem to have any good choices.

And that’s what I’m still angry about. I did the best I could with the choices I had, but they, frankly, sucked. It’s ridiculous that our knowledge of birth and how to enable it is still so limited and primitive. It’s ridiculous that you can need major surgery and yet not really know why you needed it, or if there’s any way to avoid needing it again. I blame the sexism of a medical profession that until recently didn’t even include female models as part of the standard anatomy books, that still doesn’t effectively test new drugs on women as well as men. There is hardly any human medical event more common and more necessary than birth, and yet these huge gaps in our knowledge remain. It’s shameful, really.

Anyway, I have spent time being angry at my body, but I’m going to try to be through with that now. For one thing, I still have some concerns; I think I am still bleeding more than I should be at this stage, and I want to get examined by my own doctor when I get back. I still need to be sure that asshole surgeon didn’t damage me, or that something else didn’t go wrong. Until I know that, I won’t know if having another child is even an option for me. Even if it is, it will take a tremendous amount of courage for me to consider it…or blind stubborness.

And I’m torn between the desire to try again and prove myself (which isn’t really the healthiest reason to have a child, is it?) and never wanting to risk the fear and pain I felt this time. I would like to make that decision based on something besides fear or wounded vanity. But I’m not in a place to do that yet, so I’m not.

I sound very collected and together here, and sometimes I am, but I am still not entirely healed from all that happened. I am weaker and more broken than I have ever been, though I’m pretty sure it’s not permanent; I’m not afraid any more that I’ve lost myself. I have scars that I’d rather not have, but it’s still the same person in the mirror.

Dear Nathan;

I’m six days early, but what the heck. We’ve already had a year’s worth of drama since you’ve been born, anyway.

Well, it’s been a heckuva month for both of us, hasn’t it? Your stubborn refusal to be born on time (my mother in law’s opinion; your head is kind of oval-ish and may just never have been able to fit through the old pelvis bones properly, more than you just being huge. But honestly, we might never know). Your birth, more about which later. Your first days, and my nervous breakdown. Our fleeing to Texas on Thanksgiving, your hairy back, and my surprise hemorrhage and hospital stay. The beginning and end of breastfeeding for both of us.

But right now, peacefulness. You’re asleep on the bed with your left arm above your head, after yet another bottle. Stretched out long enough to see that you won’t fit into your Mamaw’s Moses basket by the time we get back to Texas again. You’re making your little sighs and snorts in your sleep that I’ve slowly gotten used to; you might wake up any second, or sleep for 2 more hours. We’re going home in a few days to see your daddy and try to get our lives all going along together, get our rhythms matched to yours, and hopefully it won’t be too hard to do. You’ve been away from him longer than you’ve been with him. We need to change that.

You’re getting a personality, I think. You know me, at least. Right now you’re quiet and observant for the most part, and serious; smiles come and go, but quickly. You don’t know how to laugh yet. Yesterday I saw a tear in your eye for the first time. You wave your arms and legs frantically, and it’s a struggle to keep you from bopping yourself in the face, and to keep your nails short enough that you don’t scratch yourself. You keep your hands balled up in fists unless you’re eating, then they open and close slowly, each hand with its own rhythm. You grumble and squeak to yourself when you haven’t quite woken up yet, reluctant to cry; even when you do cry, it’s a quick , irritated “Naaaah!” in one loud burst, and then you build up to a series of “aaahhh-Laaaah’s!” if you are really angry, which hasn’t happened often…yet.

You like being sung to, and you prefer lower pitches, at least for now. I’m having to struggle to remember the words to “Little Bunny Foo Foo” or any other children’s songs I once knew. Time to buy some CDs and DVDs and refresh my memory, obviously. It makes me happy that you seem to like music, because I know it will make your daddy happy. The same way that I’m happy you’ve inherited his pretty blue eyes and long eyelashes. That was one wish for you that I’ve been granted. You couldn’t do much better than to be as much like him as possible, although I know you will want to be your own person.

I’m trying hard not to put any expectations on you yet. You’re only three weeks old and change; it’s too soon to be able to tell much about what you’re really like. I’m trying not to assume anything where you’re concerned, because I don’t want to miss finding out who you are. I’m impatient for you to grow up and talk to me, but trying to remind myself that this time is precious too, and I’ll never have it again, so not to waste it. That’s what this part of the blog is about, actually; so much is happening so fast, and I don’t want to forget, especially the good parts, the parts to do with you.

Here’s to the next month, which will be busy and probably stressful, but better for both of us, I hope. Whatever it’s like, I’ll do my best to get it all down, and save it for the day you’re ready to read it.

Love, Mom

Our childbirth educator once told us the story of a zoo gorilla, raised in captivity with no other gorillas around. When she was bred, and had a baby, she didn’t know how to breastfeed or care for it; she would just set it down and walk away. It eventually died.

The next time she was bred, the zoo brought in a bunch of breastfeeding women to sit around outside her cage and feed and play with their babies. She watched very intently, and imitated them, and her new baby thrived.*

And there is an awful lot I find myself learning from other mamas whenever I’m around them. Today I found myself holding Nathan tight with his pacifier in his mouth, rocking back and forth to soothe him and make him wait a bit before his next feeding. I had watched my mother in law do just that for him the night before, and it stuck. I keep straining to remember how my sister handled her babies, how she talked to them, when they were small. I watch my mom for more effective ways to pat his little back and get him to burp. I make up my own stuff, too, but it is definitely easier to steal other mamas’ tricks.

Really, the isolated nuclear family, all alone in its little castle, can make things harder for new parents. Much as I prefer to be a hermit, I really miss the fact right now that I don’t live in village or enclave with a bunch of other mothers, who can teach me whatever they know. All the Dr. Spock books in the world can’t make up for finding someone who has mastered the art of changing a baby boy without getting peed on. We have lost a lot of collective wisdom by living as we do. We do our best to connect through playgroups and online, but it’s not the same as just casually spending time watching someone else interact with their kids.

This goes for dads, too, by the way. Except for nursing, they have to learn the exact same skills, and no doubt feel just as frustrated sometimes. We have tons of experts, but not many useful teachers.

I don’t know that we can go back to anything resembling a village, though; the commune movement doesn’t seem due for a resurgence, and people get very attached to their private domains. Collective living is hard to put up with when survival doesn’t dictate it anymore. It looks like we’ll just have to keep making do with books and videos and classes at the Y, and frantic midnight posts to parenting bulletin boards. Not very efficient, but it’s all we’ve got.

*I can’t verify this story, by the way. It might be complete breastfeeding propaganda.

Yup, finally took the big jump and bought a 2006 Corolla CE. It’s pretty plain, no sports package or fancy doodads, white with a beige interior. I wanted blue, frankly, but I feel virtuous about every 100.00 I saved by going low budget. And the car drives the same no matter what color it is.

I have never owned a new car before. It feels pretty good to drive something off the lot that only has 66 miles on it, and all its parts, no dings, and full warranties. Pretty damn good.

Like any new buyer, I can’t get rid of the sneaking suspicion that I paid too much, but I know I didn’t pay as much as I could have. Plus, I clicked with my saleslady, sort of. She was a trip; in the first hour, I knew all about her abusive doctor ex husband who took all her money, made her run away with her kids, and left her homeless while harassing her with lawsuits. I heard about her hateful sisters and why she dropped out of med school, and how she got her job at the dealership without knowing a thing about cars. About her 17 year old daughter already in college, and her son following right behind.

And it was interesting and all, but I was there to buy a car, not be a surrogate therapist. Although maybe my sympathetic remarks helped me get a better deal, who knows.

What I liked about her was that she took the time to sell me the car, which, surprisingly, none of the other salesman I’d talked to did. She actually walked me through all the options, the package, the warranties, explained what all the buttons did, talked things up, and didn’t give me shit about not wanting the expensive stuff. I don’t know if I was snubbed because I didn’t want to help them unload all their overpriced SUVs or what, but gee fellas, money is money, and here I am willing to spend some. Maybe you should try making it worth my while.

Got home to a sleeping Nathan, who promptly woke up and wanted my attention. I think he smelled me, because I didn’t make any noise to wake him. He pays a lot more attention to where I am now. It’s kind of flattering, though I know it will be a problem if he’s super-attached to only me. Which is why I need to get him back to Brooklyn to bond with Dad as soon as possible. He needs to know That Bearded Guy also brings food and comfort.

(props to Monty Python geeks who got the “fraudulin” reference)

My mother in law was sympathetic to my difficulties falling asleep, even when, as she did last night, I have someone else to watch Nathan. She bought me some melatonin to take tonight, which I just did, though I am doubtful of its powers, like all herbal remedies. I dutifully took my raspberry tea during pregnancy and fenugreek when I was trying to nurse, with no noticeable effect, so I’m kinda “meh” on the whole herbal supplement thing. But I do want to sleep w/out being knocked out by sleeping pills, so what the hell. Herbs are cheap.

Nathan, likewise, defies holistic wisdom and finds his evening baths more a wake-me-up than a bedtime ritual. I’m going to save them for daytime from now on. I’m kind of a crappy bath-giver, anyway; we have no baby tub at present, and the sink is just not that comfortable even with a towel in the bottom. I would just take a bath with him, but I have Bath Issues, in that I think it’s kinda gross to stew in your own skin debris. Having a pee-prone baby in there with me isn’t appealing.

Confirming my decision is the fact that he pooped during this last bath, and while I’m glad he was relaxed, ew. I ‘m having a hard time judging how long to let him finish his poops, actually; I keep taking off his diaper before he’s done, and since he also pees at the same time, I have narrowly avoided unholy baptisms twice today. I hate to let him be uncomfortable in his diaper, but I hate getting baby crap on me more. Since we laugh ourselves silly at the idea of using Elimination Communication for him, I will have to get better at discerning between “I’m still going” grunts and “all done Mom” grunts.

He’s so much more vocal this week; he makes his little eating and sleeping noises more, and now also an urgent “urrr-urrr-urrr” while gnawing his fist when he’s hungry. Usually with his brow furrowed. It’s hilarious. At least to someone who hasn’t been out to the movies in 2 months. He takes a long time to work up an actual cry, and instead goes through a series of little squeals and grumbles, and a sort of machine-gun “aaah-aaah-aaah-aaah” pseudo-cry first. Everyone tells me “be glad he’s not a screamer” and I tell them to shut up before they jinx me.

Back to try the bed; shall I sleep or shall I stare at the ceiling in frustration? And will melatonin do fuck-all to help? We’ll see.

I find it almost impossible to let a day go by without a post, which has never been my modus operandi in the past. Obviously, I’m doing it for me, since there are only so many of you fascinated by my insomnia, birth trauma, and my baby’s hairy back.

I wish I had more to give ya’ll. My day consisted of short naps and feeling like the dog’s breakfast due to lack of sleep, making bottle after bottle of formula (this child eats, sweet Jesus, he eats), watching Flip This House on TLC and critiquing their choice of kitchen tile, and entertaining the baby by singing along with “That’s Amore” as we watched Moonstruck. He actually enjoyed my singing, or was at least intrigued enough not to wince at my missed notes. I can’t wait to get back to Brooklyn and let Matt mess up his little mind by playing him Dark Side of the Moon and some obscure Genesis albums. When he’s with me, though, there will be Abba playing at some point, and there is nothing his daddy can do about it.

It would be nice if Nathan inherited some of Matt’s musical talent, but who knows. There are plenty of talents that neither Matt or I have (like being good at advanced mathematics, or physical coordination) that he could benefit from.

Actually, despite my grogginess Nathan was a dream today, cute as a bug and awake much more of the time. Occasional smiles in his sleep or while eating. He’s a fat little thing, and gets more Buddha-like each day; he’s outgrown 3 of his 0-3 months outfits. I fully expect he’ll be taller than me by junior high. He’s asleep now, after, I don’t know, his seventh bottle of the day? At 2-4 oz each feeding, that’s..a lot. I have occasional fears he will end up one of those Obese Toddler Freak Babies you see on Jerry Springer, but I’m pretty sure that won’t happen unless I start giving him bottles of Kool-Aid. And he is genuinely hungry. I don’t wake him up to feed anymore, because there’s no chance he’s going to let me not feed him enough. He is very vocal on the subject.

He still casts longing glances at the boobs, on occasion, but doesn’t lunge for them. It’s been almost a week since he was breast fed, and my body has pretty much shut down what pitiful production it had. It does make me sad not to be able to have that bond, but we gave it a good run and he certainly isn’t suffering.

Going to give sleep a try now, ha. Tomorrow it’s off to the Other Grandparents for a visit, so I will have less internet access and may not post. I hope ya’ll can stand the suspense.

First; new baby pictures.

I feel more and more myself these days, with bad moments; whereas before it was Mostly Bad with occasional good moments. This is to be preferred.

It’s a Friday night, which my brain takes as permission to let me not stress out about sleeping or not, so I’m awake at near-midnight while Nathan takes his first nap of the evening. When he wakes we’ll go watch some bad cable tv in the huge recliner in the living room and have a bottle.

I love the way he sleeps with his arms flung above his head, an anti-swaddling activist from the getgo. I love his little sighs in his sleep, that sound like soft wordless questions: “aaah? aaah? huh? ahh.” Of course on bad nights, those little sighs make me even more wakeful. But that’s not his fault. He makes the same sounds when he eats, and I like to think they mean he’s happy. It’s as close as he gets to talking yet. I can’t wait till he’s talking. I am so eager to see him develop his personality. I want him to be old enough to get stories read to him and be able to enjoy it. I want to walk down the sidewalk while he holds my hand.

Like I said, I still have Bad moments. I still have panics where I think of running away. And yeah, if it gets dark enough, I start to understand a little too much about why people end it all. If you believe those kinds of feelings might stay with you forever, and never leave, death starts to look like an escape. I don’t follow that path, even on my worst days, you understand, but I can sometimes see why others do.

I am better, in all the practical senses of the word, physically and mentally. I am not the same, though. I know birth always transforms you; it was, ironically, one of the things that made me want to give birth and raise a child. It just didn’t occur to me that that transformation would be such an ordeal. What pain I have left mostly comes from that knowledge, that Nathan’s birth was also a death in many ways of parts of myself, or of how I saw myself. It’s a little as if he had been a twin, and the other twin died. Maybe. I’m not sure if that’s a good analogy. But as much as I celebrate him, and know his entry into the world is a good thing, there’s all this grief associated with it too, and I regret that. I’d rather just feel the happiness of having him without all the sorrow. I would like to be able to tell him his birth story without having to tell him why it makes me sad, but that isn’t possible. I will have to tell him how wanted and loved he is, but also that some sad and scary things happened when he was born that weren’t his fault.

It’s hard to hold those two emotions together inside; the joy and the sadness. They are so close together when I think about him that one segues into the other.

I sometimes wonder if that’s why he has such a serious expression so often, if he doesn’t sense some of what I feel when I hold him. He looks at me so intently with his dark blue eyes. I hope I’m not worrying him. He’s too young to do much smiling yet; I want him to do a lot of smiling in his life, no matter what my memories may be. I’m grateful they aren’t his memories too.

No luck finding a Matrix, apparently just aren’t that many available, at least not the basic models. Looks like we’ll be going with a Corolla, which is the same basic car w/out the hatchback. But the last of the 3 dealerships told me, wait until the new rebates are announced on Tuesday. Here’s hoping there’s some good ones. Me, I’m tempted by the Kias at 200/month being advertised, but I don’t know much about them and I don’t want to get one if it’ll just start crapping out in a year. A Toyota will go 200,000 miles if you take good care of it; I’m pretty sure a Kia won’t.

I’m worried about Nathan; he seems crankier and gassier, and to be sleeping less, since we switched to powdered formula. Mom tells me Costco will take it back even if it’s opened if it doesn’t agree with him. I’m not sure if that’s the cause or if it’s just normal baby gas. Tomorrow I’m going to go snag a little of the stuff we started him on (the already-made) and see if he reacts differently to it. I will be annoyed if the cheap stuff doesn’t work, but whatever it takes to get him fed I’ll do. Cranky gassy nonsleeping babies are not a good thing. And the powdered stuff is a real pain in the ass to make, I might add. Also, I can hardly find any kind of formula without added iron, which is irritating.

I’d go now, but there are no 24-hour stores around here for some reason, so if Nathan truly can’t sleep at all tonight, I’ll have to wake my mom up to borrow her keys to get to the nearest all night grocery store. Which is only about 6 miles from here, but still. I wish I had been able to buy a car, I could indulge my mom-worry and go get the formula whenever I want without disturbing anyone. My mom’s husband is especially reluctant to give me the keys, he’s likely to insist on going instead, which thanks, but you’ve been up since 5 am and I don’t need the guilt. Just loan me the keys, man.

Nathan just finished a bottle and is lying on the bed behind me, wide awake, not gassy for the moment, but not sleepy as he normally would be after his bottle. I don’t know what that bodes. He slept pretty hard last night. I’m trepidatious. We haven’t had any sleep troubles from him to speak of all along, it would suck if we’re going to now.