You know, the worst part about living with Stephen's grandma is the moral dilemma I have every time I want to get out and go somewhere. On the one hand, she is a fall risk, so even though she has a button to push when she falls to call an ambulance, and lives totally independent of us, it kind of makes sense for us to let her know if we are going to be out of the house for a while.

On the other hand, getting out of the house with a baby is a big ordeal and always takes loads of courage to get myself to do it, and if I tell somebody I am going to be out of the house and then chicken out, I feel completely humiliated when they ask me how my trip was and I say, "I didn't go anywhere."

So on the one hand, practicality. On the other hand, humiliation.

One of the hardest parts of living with Grandma is she is the only person who adamantly argues that she doesn't think she needs anybody looking after her. I don't know who is right. So between that and my fear of humiliating myself by being a chicken, every time I impulsively decide I need to get out of the house, it turns in to a moral dilemma that just turns me into a ball of rage on the inside because in the end I know I'm just a big, fat coward.

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