The Last Before the Next

It hit me hard sometime today that we are in the repeating times with not-so-anticipated results. On this day, one year ago, I took a pregnancy test that came back positive. We had a new year's eve get-together and N&A came over and were promptly told the good news by the husband. This year, we're spending new year's with N&A (they were nice enough to invite us over). So not too much has changed. But that one little thing.

Last year at this time I had no concept of pregnancies that didn't end in babies. No idea how much a miscarriage costs without insurance. I didn't know I could cry so much or so often about one life changing event. I was under the impression that I could fix whatever was broken with more books, more blogs, and more dr's office visit copays. I was naive and now we're here.

I'm to the point now where I've lost faith and hope - C has to carry that for the both of us. Somehow, I still manage to be proactive about the situation and willing to try about anything that anyone will tell us will help. Guess that means I'm packing a sick desperation. It's sort of like hope, right? Quite frankly, I'm more afraid to be pregnant than to not be pregnant. The not pregnant thing is something that I've been forced, over the last year, to become very familiar with. We know each other. Me and pregnant? We didn't make such beautiful music last time. I walked out of the bathroom on this day last year crying and excited - C asked how I was doing and I told him that I was terrified. I know that I was, but if possible, I'm even more scared now. I'm aware of what can go wrong; painfully aware. I have no desire to make myself hurt that much again - much less C or our friends or family.

I want this next year what I've always wanted: life to come easy. Doesn't work that way. Do I make wishes on new year's? I wish for a happy year. I wish for healthy everything (dammit): family, friends, crops, pets, marriages, jobs, coping mechanisms, and last, but certainly not least, babies. For me or whoever else decides to have them.

After a year, I can understand miscarriage. What it is, why it happens, the effect on mother and baby's bodies, the reasons. It's biological and medical. Perhaps a god thing, but I don't feel like giving him the credit at this moment. What I still don't understand is the year (plus however long it takes) that god/biology/whatever decided to give me to think about it. Just sit here and write about it, read about it, cry over it, fixate, obsess, push people away over it and pull them closer. I still don't understand the year. The long painful year that has failed to be fruitful in so many ways.

The beautiful things I cannot overlook remind me: that husband guy that has stood by me through it all (pain, bleeding, crying, obsession, kitchen remodel, more crying), that N finally married A and they are happy, that AM&R have forgiving hearts much bigger than mine, Boris and Bella are the entertaining children that I haven't yet had, and a hundred other things. I've got to find a silver lining to make this all seem worth it. Still doesn't seem worth it and I seem the wrong person to carry the message or the burden, but so be it. Enough rambling, thanks for reading. Should I put this last year into a book and wipe it all clean? Perhaps what we carry with us does not only weigh us down, but also has the capacity to uplift. Not always, but perhaps sometimes.

The Deal with Christmas

Here's the deal, in case I am not making myself clear:

Christmas this year is not so great. Why? Ahhh, there is someone missing. Something, if you'd like to get abstract about it. Maybe I should include that in my Christmas card. Maybe I should include the damn tag "There is no way in hell that you understand this (despite your best intentions) unless you have experienced it." Quickly followed with "And I hope that you never have to fully understand." You have no freaking clue what runs through my head. The murderous rage that flashes in a red hot second when yet another friend, acquaintance, innocent bystander announces her pregnancy. The ripping, physical pain that announcements such as these ravage on my heart and mind. How much the phrase "knocked-up" tears at me because it invokes the careless ease with which pregnancy was achieved. I don't even understand how I manage to smile and ask warm, thoughtful questions at these times.

My child, my little boy, would be almost 4 months old right now. Do you understand how the truth of that colors the way I cope with my life now? I don't repeat it over and over again, but it's there - a very real fact. Everyone EVERYONE is waiting WAITING for our OUR announcement. I don't have a fucking announcement to make, so stop looking at me. I need a reason to be happy just as much as everyone else does. I need the benefit of another wonderful miracle to take the edge off of this god-awful pain.

Yes, I might be obsessive, but I am trying, DAMNIT, I am being proactive. I am trying so very hard to achieve what it takes so many women one night to attain. Or a broken condom. Or ineffective birthcontrol. Or a few months at most. We're up to a year and a half here. Waiting. Trying. If you don't know what that entails, don't presume. It's not a state of being that you even want a window into. I feel guilty about what I've burdened welcome ears with.

Here's the Christmas Letter:

2007 ~ Family's good, house is good, jobs are good, school's good, dogs are good, baby died. Have a great holiday season.

Do you want that to come to you in the mail? I wouldn't. But if one did, I'd know there was another person out there hurting like me.

Another Round of Waiting (because the first didn't take)

I spent the evening listening to "gangsta rap" per the professor's instructions. Then I wrote a paper about it. To kill off the desire to "shank" the misogynist bastards that sing (rap?) such songs, I think I listened to Taylor Swift's "Our Song," which I dearly love. For this moment.

It would take too much to catch anyone up, so Thanksgiving was nice. My family came out to the in-laws and there were boyfriends and girlfriends and Grandpa and a Brian. I made THREE apple pies, but decided to do a taste test with them. After racing ahead in the polls, the granny smith pie came in second behind the honeycrisp, and in a lowly third, jonathan. I'm assuming the pumpkin pies were good because they were not made by me, with whole cloves. Yeah, I'm that girl. I spent time with the brothers (one who had a fascination with "curling" me?). I saw AM for a desperate moment that was all too brief. We'll have more time after the holidays, okay? I finally met up with miss A and just talked and talked and talked. I don't think we even got through high school, but I do know that I can't WAIT to visit her! And you know, catch a show, because DUDE, you live in Nashville!

As for me and my inside thoughts, I'm still waiting. Six weeks to be exact. To put into motion the plan that may save everything, or perhaps not. God is teaching me some sick twisted version of patience with a large stick. Or he forgot me. Probably that, since I am still angry with him. Does that mean he's punishing me?

The holidays bother me because I keep thinking that everyone is just waiting for the announcement that will let them (us) move on with our lives. I can't give myself that release, much less the all of them and it hurts. I asked one of them about this and she responded with yes, we're all waiting! which wasn't the response that I was looking for. Right now marks a year to the last time I ended up with child. What do I do with that information? A year! Do you understand that? I've been torturing myself for a year. Thank the Lord that forgot me that I'm low on time to obsess. Since I'm running out of time and the energy to sit upright, that is all. Not much, but it's what I have to offer.

Sunday Times

I took a job that keeps me busy and allows no real access to the internet. This change we can mark as healthy. The only time I have for you now is squeezed between working overtime, quality time with the husband, talk time with the too far away friends, doctor's appointments, and class. There isn't a lot left for a colorful blog. Which I'm kind of happy about. My intentions in creating this blog were wonderful: to share the joys of pregnancy and then motherhood with my friends a family. That, unfortunately, did not happen. Which twisted what this blog is about all around into what it feels like from the depth of my being to miscarry and then have trouble getting pregnant again. I gravitated towards blogs similar to mine and sometimes much worse in term of what those bloggers had been through. All the while, I thought that they were helping me. And while they were a bolster, supporting me, reading things like that have not allowed me to move on. I've come to the point where I desperately need to move on. So while this blog will continue to have infrequent posts straight from my thoughts and feelings, I'm hoping that anyone who still reads it will see a change and that I will see a change when I read back. Feeding myself with words and thoughts that play to my obsessiveness in this area is something of the past, I hope. That said, on with the circus.

The new job is going as well as can be expected. I'm slowly figuring out the expectations, duties, and personalities of those around me. A lot of the PT/OTs are close to my age and circumstance: young, newlyish married, either babies or trying. I'm trying to forge some friendships there, but it's already so nice to work with people that seem to care and have the smallest bit in common with me. Typical duties are as always: answering phones, scheduling/cancelling appointments, double checking insurance and information. We also track everything we do in spreadsheets, which feeds my slight obsession with lists, so I am completely on board with that task. The powers that be recently added on to our job description, so at the end of the day we collect all the linens and wipe down the treatment rooms and equipment. This seems a little housekeeping-esque, but it gives me a bit more satisfaction and lets me get away from my desk and stretch around for about 45 minutes. I'm thinking that I will work out a system and enjoy it. Probably because of that, we aren't required to wear really nice clothes or shoes, so I am at home with the dress code. Relaxed business casual is a good description. I haven't messed anything up yet, so onto the next week.

C finally is showing signs of improving from his monster cold. We had virtually no communication from Wednesday of last week to Thursday of this week between schedules, appointments, and his general unconsciousness due to the cold bug. He's been running fevers, coughing, congested head, and sore throats for about a week. Dr couldn't even do much for him on account of whatever it was being a virus. NyQuil and DayQuil to the rescue. This morning he left me bright and early to go with his boss to a town three hours away to look at a Firebird. I think he's feeling better, but I wish he'd get his voice back.

I did have a dr's appointment on Wednesday. I wanted to hear the dr tell me what she thought, my test results, and what we could do. She did, and I've been thinking about it ever since (but conveniently not obsessing about it because I don't have the time to). Finally had a chance to discuss it with C on Friday and he's all for trying it a few times. I'm concerned about the cost, side effects, and where this leaves us if this course of treatment doesn't work. What has me seriously calmed down are two very encouraging, supportive conversations I had with AM and miss A on Wednesday. Both assured me that this wasn't the end of the world and it could only help things and not hurt our chances. Can't really thank them enough, but THANK YOU!

Something I forgot, I'm sure, but no idea what that is, so until next time (or whenever I figure out how to post from my new PDA)!

Random Update

First Day of Work:
Orientation was long. All day long. Tomorrow I begin training at a clinic that I haven't visited before. Should be stressful and fun. I learned all about OSHA, ergonomics, health insurance, and swipe badges. Fun stuff. Need to keep my head above water.

This Weekend:
Mostly dramatic inside my head. Missed communication with C. The TA is back with a vengeance and I'm already sick of them. C wants to know why I'm upset and why am I upset? Mom met me half way Sunday to do some retail therapy. Heavy on the therapy, not so light on the retail either. What was the diagnosis? I'm still so angry that it simmers under the surface of everything I do, think, want. Doesn't really surprise me. Maybe I'm almost ready to get rid of my constant bedfellow. Maybe the anger will eat me alive.

The News:
Dr's office called with test results. I meet with the dr on Wednesday to discuss the medicine that I didn't think I would need. I really thought everything was going to work out and be okay. Now we're in the realm of medical intervention. Officially. I don't know what I think about that.

First Next Last Days

Today is:
a. the last day of this Wonderful Thing
b. the first day I've seen the sun
c. my grandmother's birthday
d. my last day of work at this particular job

I'm not sure when my grandma's birthday is, but I know it's on my calendar. I have eyes and have been alive for almost a quarter of a century, so I have previously seen the sun. And I like blogging way too much to give it up. Which leaves: d. What did I get myself into?

Talked to friendly J last night and am reminded how sweet she is. Hoping that her life goes according to what she wants and works for. I'm tired and my stomach hurts. Should not have left artichoke feta lemon fritters in the Jeep overnight. Bad idea (no, I didn't eat them - I smelled them this morning). Oh, and I received a text picture from miss A and am so very upset. It's obvious: she can knit and I cannot. I take everything back - NONE of you are getting scarves for Christmas, instead, I will be doling out the yarn I cannot knit, the patterns I cannot sew, and the cookbooks I have that suck. Merry Christmas. {I might be in a bit of a mood today.} {Maybe.}

Winter Be Good to Me

For the first ten minutes of my drive into work, I was looking at the frost on the grass, trees and vehicles. I was thinking about how much I love winter. C told me last night that "Our season is upon us." While we were dating I began thinking about the lack of things, ideas, general nonsense that we have in common and he merely said "But dear, we'll always have winter," as if he was starring in some black and white movie. The joke goes that winter as our favorite season is the only thing we have in common. Maybe because of that, we have made it our season: we were married in January, conceived a baby in December, and love Christmas (even though the Fourth of July allows more opportunity for blowing things up). When I see the frost on all available surfaces, it makes me think that perhaps this winter season will be good to us too. I can hope, right?

**The remaining time was spent in a parking lot on interstate. This journey into work is one that I only have to make for two more mornings and for that I'm grateful. My new job is ten miles, three stoplights, and no interstates away.
**In preparation for my class tonight, I finally wrote my instructor an email. He called me this morning and I haven't listened to his voicemail, so I'm a little anxious. I forwarded my email to Mom and she said it was very direct and well-thought out, so I hope he agrees. Me and confrontations don't go well together. Surely I can stand up for myself and what I believe in.
**In my head, as I write this, Sister Hazel's Your Winter is playing. I think it was in the movie 10 Things I Hate About You - one of my secret favorites - shhh!

Pregnant? Nope, Quitting

When I told her that I needed to talk to her, she took me into the back office for "privacy" and we sat down. She asked me if I was pregnant with an almost hopeful look. I said that I wished I was and no, that I took another job. It didn't register at the time, but it does now and I'm left trying to puzzle it out (obviously making a bigger deal of it than I should). Maybe they aren't as unsympathetic at this job as I thought. Maybe I'm not as good at keeping what I really want as quiet as I thought. Maybe, they too, think that nine months creeping towards a year is more than long enough to grieve and maybe I should light a blackcat under the stork's ass if I can find the damn bird. Possibly.

Pictures of Me

This is the awesome '50s hair I rocked for Halloween. Silk scarf courtesy of AM.

The whole shebang. I was a "creative spirit" for Halloween.

My short "boy" hair and mister Boris. He acts like my love is overwhelming.

Rape Scenes

Don't show me a movie with four rape scenes in it. Don't do it. Don't warn me that there is one prison rape in the movie and some sexuality and some violence. Because, by the end of said movie, I was ready to shank you. I'd seen it done enough in the previous two hours that I think I've got it down: quick, urgent, repetitive jabs to the stomach or chest area. Anyone seen American Me? Apparently, it's an accurate portrayal of how gangs work, which is somehow directly relevant to my class on gangs. That didn't say it was about gangs in the little blurb I read in the course catalog to choose the class.

I don't process rape well and if you do, well kudos and congratulations. I can't watch it on tv or in movies. I now know what I've seen before is the watered down, Disney version in CSI, Law & Order SVU and the like. I don't have a photographic memory (or do I?), but the images and sounds haunt me. Sometimes I have nightmares, but mostly I have what I call daymares: I can see repeats of these scenes. Mostly when I'm alone and not thinking about something else. My memory stores these someplace where they are able to pop up and shatter me at random times. As a woman, these constant reminders of rape and sexual violence leave me feeling helpless and violated. I don't willingly watch, read or listen to this stuff. Gauging reactions, it seems that this type of scene does not affect many other people the same way. I'm not being a dramatic reactionary, I'm stating that this stuff disturbs me.

My conclusion? I will be contacting my professor to let him (him, imagine that) know I will not be watching any more movies with rape scenes or sexual violence. If there is another one on the syllabus, I will opt out and offer to read a book and/or write a paper. If this can't be agreed upon, I will withdraw from the class and let them keep my damn money. I will not push those type of images into my head to be repeated in such a way as to cause me harm. No way.

None of this is to say that I don't want to help those who have been victims of rape and sexual assault. I have done nothing but support those causes. But while their stories haunt me, at least I know that they are true and honest recreation of events and not the Hollywood version. Why do you watch rape scenes in movies? Are you completely desensitized or do you think I'm overly sensitive?

I just know that you DON'T make me watch a movie with ANY rape scenes in a class. If I would have been braver, I would have walked out. Was everyone else really that NUMB? Does it say anything that those scenes are the ONLY ones I can recall from a 2+ hour movie? What the hell?

The Upheaval & the Quiet

They offered me the job Thursday evening for more money than I make now. I accepted their offer on Friday (as I was driving back to the hometown because I did take the day off). That means I have a new job. I resigned from the current job yesterday and that went a lot better than the scenarios in my mind. Last day is the 9th, first day is the 12th. I believe that I did this last November too. Hope it's not a yearly thing.

The weekend trip was much needed, but as always, I'm not sure it put me in a better mood in general. Sweet A cut off all of my hair (okay, I'm not bald, but . . .) and I'm trying to figure out what to do with it even if I did ask her to do that. I get to see her again in November and possibly December when she comes over to Christmas shop! I spent time with AM and little E, both at the park and the zoo - how fun is it to go those places when you have kids? I caught up with L, my best friend since we were about 8, and she's doing well. The best part was spending time with my parents. I'll have to write about them sometime, but the short version is that they are wonderful people and really good parents and we've almost come full circle in that relationship. I had supper on Friday with my dad, which was so great, and Saturday morning I got up and went on errands with Mom for a few hours. I miss them and am often curious about how exactly the parent-child transition is supposed to work. You live with these people for 18ish years and then they aren't there anymore. Not in the physical sense anyway. Once, I was completely ungrateful towards them and then I came to realize that they kept loving me and that I owe so much of who I am and what I have to them. It was really great to spend that time with them.

What else? After some thought, I decided this would be a quiet month for us. With all the change, and yes, upheaval, we need to take a little break and focus on us. Just A and C. So while quiet might not be the right word, I'm saying that I'm tired, exhausted by all that is going on both externally and internally. I need a brief respite during which I don't need to worry about things I cannot change because I need that energy to focus on wrapping up the old job, starting the new job, and doing well in class; in short, the things I can change (anyone else hear the serenity prayer in that sentence?). I think this will be good for us, but as always, I could be wrong.

The Change that Becomes Us

The job stuff is getting crazy. I let the supervisor know that I am seriously interested in the position this morning and she just called me back to let me know the ball is firmly in HR's court and that I should hear from them and they will be in charge of making me an offer and going over benefits and such. Yes, less money, but we can technically afford the pay cut because I won't be driving 50 miles round trip every day. See how that works out? C whipped out a calculator and figured up that I spend 13% of my paychecks on gasoline. Ughh. And we know that the drive seriously stresses me out. Those are his big PROS for this position. Besides that, this company has a lot of benefits that I can utilize AND I can transfer within the company after 18 months. The position I hold now has zero upward mobility and there is a definite ceiling on the pay scale. It may read like a lateral move, but I think that it's not what it seems.

Right after I called the supervisor lady, I received a call from the larger entity that governs that position. Thinking it was the supervisor, I answered and it was another department extending an interview to me for a different position. See, when I went online to apply again for the position I had previously applied for in February, there was a different position in the financial sector and since I had already filled out the online application, and I very much enjoy the financial part of things, I applied for that one too. I have an interview with them next Tuesday. Last time I applied for 5-6 jobs at this giant entity and only one called back and it was almost two months later - I filled out this application Sunday evening. Interesting. I did let her know that I was waiting on another job and if anything came of that, I would give her a call. I figure that I shouldn't limit my opportunities, right? Hope that all made sense.

It's all making me a little anxious and I'm considering taking tomorrow off and driving home for a relaxing weekend with the friends and family. I don't get to see too many people when C, me, and both dogs roll into town with the huge truck and trailer, so me and the Jeep might do some visiting. Anyone want to see me?

I started my new class last night and it's all about gangs. Only one male in the class and the rest seem to be teachers or sorostitues. Should be interesting and perhaps a little depressing. I started thinking on the way home about the questions that AD wrote me in an email about how much growing up has to do with actually changing. Or, rather than center my entire change around a miscarriage, what the result of that is. It's a cliche answer, but one that I've thought about and fully believe. When I was a child, adolescent, young adult, I'd never had something happen to me that was so outside of my control that it couldn't be fixed or forgotten. Everything that I thought would absolutely devastate me in that teenage way of thinking, didn't. I remember some of it and it may or may not of caused small issues or quirks here or there, but they weren't life changing, and I figure that's because they never got to my heart.

I now suffer from a damaged heart. This wonderful life contains a heart that beats away and pumps the blood, but it's damaged in a way that could possibly heal, but if so, will leave the deepest scars. I thought my heart was broken when the boy before C decided we weren't meant to be together, but it and I were not broken. I was hurt and my pride took a beating, but there was no more than surface bruising to my heart, which was healed as a friendship resumed and grew. Many of the other things that I might have said broke my heart really only screwed with my psyche in cruel ways. When I alienated a close friend, pieces of my heart began to chip off. But anger and rage walled up a defense around it so that the hurt couldn't penetrate as well. Thankfully, that was restored by her grace and understanding.

But this, this damaged my heart. There is some healing, but again, always a wicked scar. Not even a very good scar, as the wound is reopened at the most random things. I lost something I had expected to keep and I ran headfirst into grief that I have never felt before. This is why I am not the same. My heart is a little broken and at times I am still scrambling to keep it all together and intact. I didn't have to scramble before. I didn't have to inventory my feelings to aid the healing process. I didn't have to change the bandages on a wound that still seeps a little bit. Maybe this is a little more removed. I don't say that losing my baby changed everything, I say that it affected me in such a way as to change ME. What I carry around now, inside of me, is not the same heart that I used to love and forgive and celebrate with, it is changed and so am I.

No More Work, Please

I didn't want to come to work today. I kept thinking of how I could call in sick. Good thing I didn't because no one was here when I arrived. Or twenty minutes later. Apparently, everyone had appointments or errands this morning, despite there being a big meeting at 9am. Okay, so I made the right decision. On to another decision.

I "interviewed" for the same job I interviewed for three times back in May. The supervisor called me about a week ago, hoping I remembered her, and said she wanted to talk to me about a position that opened up. Turns out, she wants to know if I'll be a good fit because she knows I can do the job. She doesn't want to make calls, look over applications, or do interviews, she just wants to know if I think that I'm seriously interested in working there. I've thought about it, talked to her, spent some time watching my potential future coworkers go about their tasks. I've discussed the opportunity with Mom, C, and AM. I think that I'll tell her yes, I believe this will work for me, for the department. See how much money they offer, knowing it will be less than I make now. Appreciating already that they've looked into arranging schedules so that I could continue with my master's program. What I told Mom and AM is that I can handle change all right, it's upheaval that gets me. We'll see, maybe they'll make it easy for me and reject me outright again.

I met our new neighbor last night. She seems really sweet and young (it was her birthday and she was turning 20). I'm sure that we'll find some common ground soon enough. Otherwise, class starts tonight and I'm a little anxious, but mostly because I am tired. If skipping all the pills I take for two days is the reason for being tired, it looks like I'm near dependent on a cocktail of vitamins. Wish I had something better to blog about - there is a post rattling around in my head, I'm just not sure I want to make those statements or declarations yet.

Weekend Through Pictures

Oh, look everyone! Anne found her camera and knows how to use it (sort of) . . .

Told you all that I taught myself to knit. This might be the beginning of a terribly wide and short scarf. Perhaps. Knitting is a little tedious and stressful for me right now, so I knit in moderation. For those that care, the yarn is varying degrees of thickness (as to hide my many mistakes and dropped stitches) and a wonderful creamy color with a shot of sparkle. Knitted on 15 bamboo needles.

This is the remaining Pumpkin-Oatmeal Cookie from two dozen Friday night. I think that I just got lucky that little E liked them. And that his mom, dad, and my husband liked them. I apologize if my camera work doesn't make it look appetizing, because it really is.

This is the wonderful reddish burnt orange leather purse I picked up while shopping with AM and little E on Saturday. My mom found out after the fact that she bought it for me for my birthday. Picture doesn't do the color justice, but the leather looks very pretty.

I very quickly made little pocket pouches for my new purse because I think my old one clashes a bit. Perhaps it doesn't. While lovely in blue, these pouches don't function quite as well as the previous one. Can't compete with Maruca, I guess.

Bad picture. A wrap shirt made out of linen scraps in great colors. Unfinished because the arm holes and arms themselves seem like they're going to sew up WAY too small and by then, it will be far too late. Any suggestions? A wordier post is probably on it's way, but I wanted to get pictures up since I went through all the effort of taking them. I had a wonderful weekend.

Ears

This is the normal plug with black o-rings. I hate these because I've had at least three sizes where all I could find were clear, black, and PINK plugs and I am not a fan. The o-rings make the earring look bigger. These pictures are from last night and I'm at an 8 gauge. This is the stretched out earring hole - you can almost see through it, but it doesn't look all that big. I'd also say that it's almost completely healed, yet still a little pink.
My super cool star bone spirals from Garuda. Love these and they are so comfortable - I can sleep in them, but they have to come out for shower time (so they aren't as convenient as the acrylic plugs). With the heat and moisture from the shower, healing piercings can ooze and expand - if you have an organic earring in, the healing stuff can seep into the earring and make it hard to disconnect it from the ear - big ouch. Or something like that. You shouldn't use organics for stretching anyway.
It's such a small ear.

(for Dru)

Because I Have Nothing Better to Post

What were you doing ten years ago?
I was beginning the most miserable school year ever. Ninth grade in my hometown sucked badly. That year was the reason I switched schools (and met the girl that would introduce me to the boy who is C). I was also hating all of the baseball players in my advanced English class, especially the teacher's son, who (I found out later) she always sat next to me hoping that some intelligence would rub off. There was no rubbing, thanks.

What were you doing five years ago?
I have a very good idea, but don't want to admit to it. C and I had been "dating officially" for about a year and we'd been engaged for almost 5 months. I moved in with a girl I knew and her sister and life was good, but slowly became miserable (have I mentioned that I don't get along well with girls?). It was sophomore year, but I don't remember a lot about that - school wasn't my focus.

What were you doing one year ago?
We were driving to Minnesota with the inlaws and a smelly Beagle. We got the call that they accepted our offer on the house, so we realized that we'd be moving. It was a big weekend. There was some four-wheeling through the swampy areas too.

Five snacks you enjoy:
Craisins
Yogurt with Granola
Apples (HoneyCrisp + Yellow)
Tortilla Chips and Anything
Pita and Hummus

Five things you would do if you were a millionaire:
**Note: a million dollars doesn't go very far, but if I were a hundred millionaire:
Invest so that we could live off the interest
Pay off all our debts (possibly all of the families' too)
Donate some to libraries, women's shelters, and animal shelters
Quit my job and start a business that has something to do with books, organizing, or writing
Build the house out on M Creek Road and move home

Five bad habits:
I've written this one to death . . .

Five things you like doing:
C
Petting Bella & playing with Boris
Playing in the creek (if it's frozen, then playing in the snow)
Reading an engrossing book
Camping at the inlaws

Five things you’d never wear again:
Jeans with zippers up the back that ended at denim bows
Over-sized tee shirts and matching legging combos
That baby blue, tea length, strapless, white polka-dotted bridesmaids dress
Birkenstock-like sandals with white tube socks
Skirts short enough that shorts were already sewn in

Five favorite toys:
My Jeep
Giant butcher block
My books
My jewelry
Fabric

Boris to Lose His Balls?

Proof that how you spend your time affects everything:

C: So it will be about $130 to get Boris fixed.
A: Oh, did you call the vet today?
C: I was interested, so I called a few days ago.
A: You've given up on studding him out?
C: Well, they would pay us in puppies and we don't need puppies.
A: He's not really that badly behaved, should we wait awhile? I mean, is this his most fertile time or does he become more or less fertile with age?
C: (gives A a very puzzled look while cocking his head much like Boris) I think he's always able to . . .
A: If I'm concerned about the quality of our dog's sperm, I've been spending too much time reading infertility blogs, huh?
C: Yeah, I think so.

The Future Adornment

I've been drooling over earrings all day (really, all day). These are my favorite. Custom wood concave plugs from www.omericaorganic.com. It's not such shock that I enjoy all of this ear gauging when you consider the amount of control it gives me. I may not be able to plan a pregnancy, but I can stretch my ears as I see fit. I can cause more pain or let it be a minimal pain process. I choose what earrings I buy and wear. I can let them close up or I can make them bigger.

I can adorn myself with beautiful things.

The Me I Used To Be

I blame the lack of words on my quiet period.

I used to be an attention stealer. I love attention, but can't handle when the attention is supposed to be on me. Speeches, presentations, and interviews are all painful, unless I'm interrupting them and becoming the new center of attention. I remember doing about anything for a laugh or smile. I played the willing clown throughout school.

I've had to work at fixing this because I figured out that it might get kind of annoying to my friends. They were conditioned to expect that erratic, over-the-top behavior from me, so now, when I sit here and am quiet, serious, or reflective - I think it kind of spooks them. In the smallest way, their pauses alert me that they are waiting for the next scene, the next larger-than-life demonstration or announcement (they wouldn't admit it, but I know they are wondering every time I call and want to get together if I'll be making that announcement or sharing that secret). I was the clown and I was good at it.

Now, I obsess, worry, think things over, and am quieter than I have ever been. There have been efforts made on my parts to bring to a halt the idiotic comments and verbal discharge. I kind of miss that girl - the freedom she felt to expose herself to ridicule. She was willing to say and do things just to make people smile and she didn't care what they thought. I'm definitely not as fun as I used to be.

I've thought a little about where that girl went away to and when this happened. I think she eroded bit by bit - some larger, some smaller bits. First semester at college kicked the crap out of me and I came home very apologetic towards everything and everyone. My serious boyfriend (and good friend) dumped me at the same time. I pepped up a little through college because I was having fun with C and company. I was even a little crazy, fun, and off-the-wall. Real life with houses and jobs and husbands hit me pretty hard. I instigated a terrible breakup with AM around June of 06 and that tore me to pieces. Devastation is not too severe a word to describe those feelings. Add a miscarriage on for good measure (loss of everything wanted and hoped for) and everything has led to a much more quiet and reserved version of me.

Sometimes the clown version pops up, but it's more occasional now than frequent. I used to have big issues about understanding consequences and the importance of maturity, but I've grown up. In growing up, I've lost parts of me and I'm not sure whether to mourn or be thankful. I sometimes wonder if C misses the girl he met and fell in love with. Then again, he's not the same person that I met six years ago either. We've grown up and evolved, but that doesn't make me miss the me I used to be any less. She was a lot of fun when she wasn't annoying.

I can't help but think she might return in a gentler version upon the birth of her first child. I have always had a strong love of anything "play" related (have you met my mom? - it's genetic). I want so much to play with my children. I think that I could find myself again in a little role called motherhood. Because, AM, I think you are doing the most wonderful, intelligent, and giving thing possible: raising your little E with love and knowledge. I don't question that it's hard and sometimes unrewarding, that there are struggles and compromises that I can't imagine. You have become a better version of yourself by being a mom to little E - no doubt. Enjoy your playtime today and I'll enjoy mine someday.

I Think I Lost My Thoughts on Interstate

I've been running my tail off assembling menus for the last six hours and while it's been a blast, my heart is not in it. What keeps you going, Anne? Good question.

I have things to do, that's what keeps me going. In case "things" sounds too vague and unstructured (you shouldn't have said that), here are the things:

I owe miss A, AM, and M letters, emails and phone calls. I miss them all terribly. I've missed M for, oh, about 14 years now and I'm so grateful that we both make the effort and still have many things in common. I've missed AM for a year and a half because that is when I became destructive and partially because of that decided to move away. Then again, I'm grateful for her grace and forgiveness and complete willingness to take me in again. I miss (miss) A because she was so much fun and she's way far away now, but I'm grateful that we have this chance to connect.

I still want to learn to knit. I found on online tutorial and I've got a gift certificate to JoAnn's in my pocket. I will be buying needles and yarn this week and making a go of it. Maybe you'll all get scarves, maybe you'll get the tiniest felted coin purses (they tell me that if you felt the knitted wool that you terribly messed up on - no one can tell).

Even if they are sad and dark and depressing, I have stories in me. Some of them may have the capacity to help others. Some of them may have the words to help me. Must find a way to let them go.

There are books to read and hopefully fancy Valentine's Day Anniversary parties to wear fabulous dresses to (that was supposed to be a pleasant nudge in the right direction, AM). Kitchens to keep somewhat sanitary and eventually remodel. Dogs to love on and raise up. Laundry to wash, fold, and put away. Dishes to cook. Friends to catch up with.

Friends were aplenty this weekend. I spoke with T&K on Friday evening and I adore them. I can't wait until they move up here and we can hang out and do dinner. Miss J called to catch up and sure enough, she left this state that wasn't the place for her and relocated. She's happy and that of course makes me happy. Lunch on Sunday with N&A was so much fun. They make me laugh and time flies in their company.

Food was aplenty this weekend. I did a little recipe email thing and decided to cook the easiest ones. Along with the rest of the apple crisp, there's a little Southwest Soup, Pineapple Chicken and Sweet Potatoes, and Cheesey Hashbrown Awesomeness in the fridge. The CHA will be gone as soon as C gets home, I'm sure. For this week, I'll be making Butternut Squash Soup (that's what I bought instead, AM) and Chicken Cheese Rice Wraps. Maybe Three Bean Chili.

Big question, was this enough to distract you, Anne? No, it was not. And while they say that you should do everything that you can before you get pregnant because it will be awhile before you'll be able to do it again - that's great. I've been sleeping on my stomach (good for digestion and terrible for the spine). There is nothing else. I don't enjoy alcohol, cigarettes, or caffeine much. Sushi is not on my radar, what are soft cheeses, and deli meat is gone with summer. I guess that I'll enjoy my hot showers when the weather gets colder. Any other ideas?

My Last Name

I never was okay with giving up my last name. That sounds resentful and I'm not. Not towards C or his family anyway - perhaps a little bit towards societal norms. I even like the sound and history behind his name better. By being married, I have the word BASH in my name and I think that's cool. Upon entering the social security office four months after we were married, I wasn't happy, but I had a plan. I was going to be Anne [middle name] + [current last name] + [C's last name]. There weren't blanks for that and I didn't ask or fight I just filled in Anne [middle name] [C's last name] and I lost my own last name. I've decided that I want it back. Not in a my-family-totally-rocks-more-than-your-family way, but because it is MY name.

I have made small stands since. Despite getting married a semester before I graduated from college, I insisted that my maiden name be on my diploma. Because {gosh darn it} I worked for three and a half years for this degree as a [insert maiden name] and I'll be damned if I'll graduate a [insert C's last name]. Any books I eventually write will be under my maiden name, or an alias if I'm not super proud of them. But I think that I need to reclaim my last name. One of these days I'll head back to the social security office and become Anne [maiden name] + [C's last name]. No hyphen, no mess. The children will not have hyphenated names either, they will be little bashes. I'm still considering using my maiden name as their middle names though; that is what C's mom did with her three boys. However, her maiden name was already a common boy's name and mine is not, so that is something to consider.

Sister B and I are/were the last ones with said name. Dad's father (Grandpa) had a daughter and a son and his son married my mom and had two girls. See the problem there? This is the discussion that I almost alienated my classmate over. He was arguing for the tradition that a woman in this society usually takes her husband's name. I don't necessarily disagree with that, as I myself did that very thing. I argue that his lineage potentially ending and him feeling he needs to keep it alive by passing his name to children is any more significant than my lineage ending and the same thing happening. I also argue the stereotypes that go along with a married woman who does not take her husband's name and the societal feeling in general that she just should. Why should my last name mean any less to me than a man's does to him? And why can't the majority of men understand that it has nothing to do with penis envy and everything to do with family and history, which we have just as much of as they do?

The rest of the world is just getting to me right now. I don't want to do this paper/presentation tonight for class because I've taken on a little more than I can handle. Work's been stressful and unrewarding. The results make me want to ask the sky what else can I do? I don't know where I'm at in the scheme of things and nothing is providing enough of a distraction. Living side by side with this thing is getting harder, but putting it before me is what I had been doing that created so much stress, and putting it behind me is akin to giving up.

The Results Are In

Well, that unknown number on the phone was the dr's office. Everything looks good. My body is doing exactly what it is supposed to. Which is good. Unless.

Was I stressing out to the point that it affected my body? Is this all still my fault? Because I gave up all forms of tracking everything, I'm stuck in this place where I don't know anything, and that allows hope in, just a little. I don't like that. Hope is the gateway drug to disappointment, which leads to utter despair. But I'm being melodramatic.

A small, real part of me wishes that any one of the tests would have been slightly off. Then I could be treated for something that might have hindered this process. Instead, it all looks good and I'm fine and we have to just keep trying. How utterly boring.

Obviously, I'm saying a lot less than I could say and we'll leave it that way for now. I'll keep working on the Hawaiian Cream Pie recipe. It's a good one if anyone would like it.

So Long and Short

It seems like I've been stuck at 167 posts forever. It is the number that strikes poses on my mind's catwalk (wait, hold that pose, pout those lips, NO! one-sixty-seven we aren't going for tramp here! you can eat later, shut up, hold that pose, don't look so fat, suck it in!).

As told to miss A, I don't care for short grain California rice anymore. Does that mean I'm predisposed to hate sushi?

C is cooking dinner tonight. That is what I'm telling him. I'm thinking that it's probably okay that we don't use the dining room table to eat at. It functions much better as a sewing table anyway.

That must be all because it's time to leave work.

Because I Don't Want the Last Post Hanging Over My Blog

It was a relaxing weekend, I guess, although there still isn't enough sleep found in one of those. Somehow, C still found 14 hours of the zzzzzz-laden stuff on Friday after a day of golfing. Me? I cleaned the bathroom from top to bottom and picked up the kitchen. Spent some time with C and some time with the tv and more time avoiding thoughts of my final project/presentation on Thursday. It was funny, C told me that I was doing a fantastic job of not stressing out and I remained silent. "Aren't you? You aren't stressing out, are you?" is what he had to say to that. I'm doing a better job probably.

When cleaning out the cabinet in the bathroom, I pushed all of the prenatal crap to the back and threw out the rest of my prenatal vitamins. That's destressing for you.

Oh, and I made a beautiful apple crisp that tastes divine + biscuits and gravy + plans for amazing crockpot dinners this week. I could go for some rice and veggies about now . . .

Bad Habit & the Standard of Care

Ahhh, don't think I'm not scared. I am terrified, only this time, knowingly because I am very aware what could happen. But fear never stopped the good girls in the 50s from getting knocked up, so it shouldn't work here. I keep thinking about my subconscious sabotaging our best efforts, but I think that's nearly impossible. I was terrified the first time and the second time, whenever that is, will be no different. But I'm tired of thinking about all of this. I need to be grateful that I have the luxury of time.

Anyway, I exhibit a few very telling habits when I'm anxious (we're now avoiding the use of the word "stress"). I've never bitten my nails, but I will bite, pull, tear and scratch at my hangnails. I will create hangnails just for those purposes. My fingers are usually in some state of disrepair and I've torn off the skin around my thumbs more times than I can count. It's become such a habit that I won't realize I'm doing it until C slaps my hands or it starts to hurt. Then I become responsible and go cut the hangnails and bandage my fingers. I'm surprised by how fast the area around my thumb heals (and how many times).

C has tried to tell me that it is self-mutilation, but I think that is just him assigning an alarming word to a bad habit. Sometimes I pick at my fingers because I'm bored or tired, so it doesn't represent some underlying issue to me. He even says that that's why Bella chews at her feet - because she sees her mom pick. Right, C. The escalation of this habit is what bothers me. And we don't need to talk about that right now.

Class was interesting last night. I probably embarrassed myself. The book we read dealt in part with a mother who had twins and her husband, the doctor that delivered them, told her that the baby girl was stillborn (The Memory Keeper's Daughter by Kim Edwards). The baby girl had the markers for Down's and he sent her with his nurse to a home and instead the nurse raised her. So, in a nutshell, even though we know the little girl is alive and the doctor dad knows, the wife is essentially dealing with the loss of her child for the next 25 years (until she finds out). I am a little sensitive about miscarriage/stillborn issues (I am also aware that they are different, but for my arguments in class, loss is loss).

I started talking about the lack of a standard of care for miscarriages and stillbirths. It resonates because I had a conversation with a coworker recently. She had a miscarriage in the mid-80s and they knew it was going to happen due to an early sonogram. She kept the tissue that she identified as the baby and her doctor asked her if she would put it in a jar and bring it in. She said that she did it with no questions asked and she trusted the doctor to do the right thing with it. She later spoke with her sister-in-law, who had a stillborn baby in the early 70s. What is haunting that woman now is that she never saw the baby and she has no idea what they did with it. I've heard stories and I'm under the impression that unless alternate arrangements are made and vocalized, miscarriages are treated like abortions (that's what they call them) and either incinerated or disposed of as medical waste. I'm sure they used to do the same with stillborns, but I am sitting here hoping to god that most hospitals now have policies in place that give these children some sort of respect. Before either of those stories came to me, I had begun to wonder what the tiny baby they took from me looked like. I want to read the report for details and clues. I really want to not think about my baby, the child we rested our hopes and dreams on for a few short weeks, being treated like trash. But who is thinking about that as their entire frame of reference tilts 180 degrees?

Some hospitals and doctors are working on a standard offering of care in these cases. The clinic I used to work for has a very important policy that bleeding obstetric patients are our primary concern. Always. If I still lived in that town and called in bleeding that morning, they would have had me in the office for an ultrasound in less than 4 hours. I don't think that would have ultimately changed anything, but the fact that they were concerned and ready to do anything to help me would have let me know they cared about me and the baby. And without a whole strategic outline, that's what the medical profession needs to adopt as a standard of care: a caring attitude towards the hurting, lost, disgraced and grieving. Maybe throw some empathy and grace in for good measure, but with those, I'm probably asking for too much.

Silent Man's Control

I've been trying really hard lately to de-stress my life. Knowing that the boys agree that I'm a little "intense." C mentioning that I haven't always been that way. It got me thinking.

A comment my very first boyfriend made has stuck with me for a few years. It was an awkward, but fun relationship when I was 15 and he was 17. I still don't know what he meant by it. He told me that if I was his daughter, he'd never let me date. I'm even more confused now and at the time I was offended and probably hit him. I hit him a lot. It was a way to be physical without actually being the "bad" type of physical. I broke up with him a few months later and any friendship we had deteriorated into this hostile silent period. I later thought that it was something akin to psychological abuse, but he reiterated that the silence was merely the way he dealt with something that hurt that badly. In our next year of school we had at least 4 of our 8 classes together and he ignored me. When he wasn't doing that, we made the area around us very uncomfortable for our friends. The second thing I didn't quite understand was for our version of prom that year (Banquet) he was the one that gave me my gift (seniors gave funny presents to the juniors and vice versa). A straitjacket. Not a real one, but that was the intention. So, was I out of control then? I was embarrassed because I thought it reflected on how I conducted myself and we all know that image in high school is everything. It was also another barb from him.

I'm left wondering if I had the tendency before all of this to be so single minded and sole purposed. Driven, perhaps? What was I saying to AM this weekend? Misguided dedication? I've reined in so much selfish and destructive behavior, but maybe I've only redirected the feelings behind it into other outlets. I've always been the girl with buttons and if you push them, stand back for your own personal safety. I run my mouth and sacrifice my body for issues and causes that are important to me. I want to change your attitude and your complete way of thinking.

Maybe what I'm getting at is that all of the rituals and routines that made me feel like I was doing something, helping everything along, were harder to give up than I thought. I sat on the edge of the bed last night and stared at the folder that holds all previous documentation. It'd be good to write it all down again, but then I'd revert to my obsessive compulsions and those were not helpful or healthy. So I left it there, untouched. One of these days, I'll put it away along with the Intro to Crack Cocaine book (alternatively known as TCOYF). It's not taunting me yet, or my do-nothing de-stressing dreams, but I am being given the occasional glassy stare of abandonment. Because I am better off this way, right? Less out-of-control? Less intense and obsessed? Perhaps healthier? Whatever, we each do what we can to help our own situations. That's possibly all we can ask of ourselves. And not to take those pills - you can always ask yourself to not take the blue ones.

Not Much Drama

I enjoy looking out the sliver of window available to me. There is almost an atrium between these two buildings and the foliage is so green and, at the moment because of the rain, shiny. I can see a tall tree in the middle with ivy up the side. Sometimes we see the squirrels build their nests and Chip (the chipmunk) comes out to gather winter provisions. It's not a bad view from the office window.

So is this life really about perspective? Last night was a lazy night and I mostly read my book for class (The Memory Keeper's Daughter) and watched whatever was on. C spent most of the evening in the back room (brilliant idea letting him install a tv right above the computer monitor on his desk). I wasn't at all offended because I had things to do, i.e. homework. And I was super lazy and made us mac&cheese for an early dinner.

Brain's been kind of fuzzy lately and maybe that's a good thing. It could mean that I'm letting go of the things I can't control. Or that I'm finding a less stressful version of my life. Possibly, I have an inoperable brain tumor resting on some significant portion of my brain. Or this is what happens when I don't take all of my supplements and vitamins for two days. I have definitely had more headaches (brain tumor again?). Either way, it seems there is less to write about when I'm not in the throes of my inner monologue's drama.

Chronological Updates

It seems like all it takes is a few days and either nothing has happened or lots has happened. I am tired, which could mean that a lot happened, I forgot to refill my vitamin D prescription, or both. If I start at the beginning:

Went home Friday and C's parents's blue heeler, Loci, is really trying to walk. She's up to 10 feet all in this weekend. What happened is that a month and a half ago she was stuck for an unknown number of hours in the mud. When this happens to cattle or horses, they usually struggle so much that they break a leg(s) and have to be put down. She merely strained about every muscle in her body and has severe nerve damage (all per the vet). This means that she didn't walk. At all. And lost a whole lot of muscle tone. C's parents have been working with her via some water therapy and a walker/sling and she sat up right before we arrived on Friday. I think she was so happy to see C, maybe me, that she wanted to show us she was trying to get better. She is a fighter and a really strong spirited dog, but I was concerned about how much she would even try at 11 years old. There's another point for the blue heeler breed. I now have no doubt that she'll make a full recovery - thanks in no small part to C's parents and their unwavering dedication.

C and I got to meet his youngest brother's (brother D) girlfriend at dinner Saturday night. She got to meet a whole lot of the family at dinner. I would be intimidated, but she seemed very collected and sweet. I hope to spend more time getting to know her when she's back for Thanksgiving.

Sometime on Saturday, C and R decided to drive out to the adjacent state and pick up a Volvo to repair the one R&AM already have. They left for the 14+ hour trip at midnight on Saturday and returned to us (me and AM) late Sunday evening hopped up on energy drinks and with a beautiful blue Volvo. I really hope that this results in a well-equipped Volvo for AM because she loves that station wagon. I'm partial to the road trip we took to San Antonio with the Volvo. And the sunroof and comfy seats. Especially the muscle building lack of power steering.

I spent a lot of time with AM and little E this weekend. He's shaping up into a little human being and it's fantastic to watch. Oh, and Ugly Betty on DVD isn't bad. Made better when little V is asleep on you.

A friend was in a vehicle accident and my heart goes out to him and his family. I think everything will be okay, but that's only based on what I know. Fires are never good in those situations. Another friend has some wonderful news that she's almost ready to share. The end result will be beautiful, I'm sure. Ups and downs and so ends another weekend, plunging us into the dreary work week, only to be followed by another weekend.

My October

A house that I know we built. Cream colored, a spacious overhang for rainy days. The leaves have turned red brown orange yellow and create a carpet at my feet that crunches as I walk. Mid-October, wearing jeans, black zip-up jacket. The air is crisp, but not cold enough to hurt my lungs. The sun is setting at the edge of the field behind the trees. It is huge golden orange and looks ready to burst. The light that remains is bright and coming in at an angle. I hear voices coming from around the corner of the house: a deep teasing voice and a little girl's shriek. Turning the corner I see C, older, wiser and hanging our little girl up by her foot. No wonder she's screaming. He's still in his dirty work clothes, but she obviously didn't care when she started attacking him. I hear him tell her about the goblins that eat little girls who don't do exactly what their daddies say.

There's more, but my words aren't painting the picture I'd rather photograph. Ever get that feeling? I was asked in class last night what I do with my creativity when not unleashing it on the innocent class (which has been so good for me in so very many ways) and I said that I use it to annoy C. That's pretty accurate. I also do this. I wonder. I ponder. I love. I think. I write. I capture moments and treasure them. I have occasional dreams about twins and freakishly long hairs. I try to be nice, useful, and supportive. You know, I live my life, which is what I intend to keep doing whether I achieve all of my goals or not. There is something to be said for moving forward while remembering the past. You are constantly determining who you will become by making choices right now, for the results of your past decisions have formed who you are now.

Here I go again. Not in an up or down mood, but a reflective one full of unspoken words, unseen pictures, and a desire to see what is right around the bend. We're going home this weekend and I'm going to keep looking for the parts of life I want and decide how to gather them to me. Does anyone want to teach me how to knit?

I Wish For Another Beginning

I'm jealous of the beginning because I loved that part. The middle was fun and the end I wouldn't wish on anyone:

Beginning. Mentioning to your husband that you're 6 days late. Trying to spare his feelings in case you're wrong, but still wanting to involve him by suggesting that you pick up a very cheap pregnancy test just to make sure. Taking a home pregnancy test with some amount of certainty that it could be positive. Watching the second line appear. Emerging from the bathroom to his "So?" and only being able to nod your head up and down. Him asking if you're okay and you burst out crying and tell him that you are terrified. The smile on his face and the joy in his eyes. Experiencing your own disbelief, but knowing deep down that this is it. An actual reason for your hand to stray near your stomach.


Middle. 6-11 weeks.


End. Rising early (even on the weekend) to head down the hall to the bathroom, as it has become habit for you. You see the smallest amount of spotting. You try to calm yourself down and remain positive, but you knowknowknow that it's over. Talking, more words, attempts not to worry, and no crying, but you don't remember what you should do. You do not wake the husband because there is no point in both of you worrying, but you do call the doctor on call from your clinic. What do you do? What do you do? You wake her up she says stay off your feet, go to the ER if this this and this happens. You wait. You can't handle waiting, so you wake up the husband by telling him that he shouldn't worry, but . . . He worries, you worry. All day there is bleeding and he's asking questions. Go to the ER or don't go? More bleeding and it's beginning to scare you. Not worried, scaredscaredscared. You call out to your husband and tell him that it's time you head towards the ER. You knew and it's over. Now you only have to wait for them to tell you a couple dozen times. It's the end.

Would it Have Mattered?

I made dinner last night. It didn't taste very good. The rice was undercooked and the vegetables were a little too spicy. We still ate it and I burnt my tongue. I didn't enjoy The Catcher in the Rye. We read that for class this week and four hours of discussion tonight are not what I'm looking forward to; instead, I'd like to go to bed and increase my sleep quality which has been seriously sub par lately.

I just remembered something today as I was reading about 5 and 6 week ultrasounds to detect viable pregnancies. I went back to the obgyn clinic where I used to work for my blood test in January. I had decided to give the pregnancy time to fester and grow a bit so that I was sure that I'd get a positive result at 6 weeks. I went into the clinic and said my hellos to everyone in the back hallway. I ran into our sonographer and we exchanged the hellos, hows it goings, and when I told her I was there for a pregnancy test, she asked if I wanted a sonogram. For those of you that don't know, at 5 and 6 weeks, you don't get an over the belly sonogram, you get what is lovingly referred to as the dildocam put in a place, ah, a little closer to the uterus and contents. I said no, didn't want to interrupt her schedule, be a bother, see anything without C there. She offered again. What if I would have? Would we have seen anything, or would it be an obvious nonviable pregnancy? Since I've left, I have often wondered what she says to the couples who are in that position. What would she have said to me? I didn't remember her offer until just now and I have no idea if it would have made a difference.

I've been back twice since then, the first time with C for my NOB appointment at 9 or 10 weeks and then again for a post-op after the miscarriage. Ironically, that last appointment was already scheduled as my first appointment to see the dr and listen to the heartbeat, but when I called, I know they just changed the reason in the computer from NOB (new obstetric) to POP (post-op). What I find strange, is that after working in the clinic for a year and a half, walking up and down the main hall, all I can remember is standing at the back counter talking to people on the day I came in for lab work and the NOB appointment. They mesh together and create one scene and that's all there is from a year's worth of memories of being there.

Now I'm going to stop thinking about it and go deal with the insurance company. It was a bump, surely they can figure that out. That's why I pay far too much for insurance - for THEM to take care of these things. So they better.

Frugal Love

The last one has been born and it has taken a little bit of this weight off of me. I don't mean that in a cruel way at all. I am very excited for the new little humans on the planet and their parents, some of whom are doing this parental thing for the first time and others who are welcoming their second bundle of joy. I know that it might be uncomfortable to see these children in person, because they are the age that mine would have been, but I can deal with that. There were three friends, ranging from close to friends of friends that all had little ones due this month. Two baby girls and a tiny boy are now here. None of them are mine, but they all belong to the best parents possible. I didn't realize that I was waiting and holding my breath until the last one got here, but now that I've let out the air I was holding, I feel much better. Wishing them happiness and loads of good health.

That's not really what's on my mind today. While it is what has flitted through occasionally, I've been very encouraged by a (virtual) conversation with miss A and felt lots of (virtual) hugs and pings (whatever those are) from AM. Thank you to the both of yous, whatever small impact you think you have on my frame of mind, multiply that by a dozen or so. I usually go home and tell C all about how much whatever you did meant to me. I'm a sap like that.

Anyway, what I've really been doing all day (while not talking to miss A) is figuring out where all of our money goes. I can be, uh, a bit anal about the numbers and locations and who exactly is at fault for spending that $6.21 last Tuesday, so pray for dear C's soul, and more specifically, his soon to be empty empty wallet. We have one of those set ups where the money is mine all mine, I mean, under my control. I make sure that the bills are paid on time and that any debts are paid faster, quicker, and more efficiently. It works most of the time, but since C hasn't taken a look at our account for almost a year, he's got no idea what we have, where it goes, or what we spend. Simply put, he always assumes there is money in the account to spend, and while that may be true, he doesn't realize what finagling I do to ensure that money is always there. So I've been working on a budget for two reasons: wanting to know where the money goes and decreasing the junk brought home while increasing the amount of money saved/to spend on needed things. This process of counting and categorizing (casting blame?) has been enlightening and things are going to change. We are going to be relatively frugal and have set amount of money to spend on what is necessary. Give us two weeks and we'll figure out how well it all works. I'm betting it goes badly, but I am determined to pay off some things and not let Christmas hit us so hard this year. Note to loved ones reading this: if I learn to knit before Christmas, you're all getting a scarf. Or a pot holder. Maybe two. With love.

What Not to Do

Don't rear-end the gal in front of you when she stops in the merging lane with a yield. It's bad form. You might make her cry or call her dad or call the police or pull over on NO SHOULDER in very busy traffic so that you have to risk your life in getting out of your Jeep to tell her you'll follow her to the next parking lot. Where you wait for the cop she called. Because she is scared and young.

I feel bad for hitting her and scaring her, but I feel good about giving her a positive accident experience. If you had to be in an accident at all, you'd want to be in this one. I bumped her bumper, resulting in the underside of my bumper scraping some paint off the top of her little Honda's bumper. Very cosmetic. And I apologized sincerely. With driver's license and insurance in hand. Couldn't have been more civil and pleasant, really. The police (a very nice lady cop) said we did everything right and to go call our insurance agents. Which I did as soon as I was at work. Filed the claim and everything is taken care of on my end.

What irritates me is that something like this was inevitable. I'm not excusing my selective road rage or occasional driving errors (neither being the cause of this accident), but the journey I take to work and back home everyday is like being stuck in the bad luck lottery. This city is known for it's rude and untalented drivers and amidst them, I was bound to get into an accident. Succinctly, my drive to work is dangerous. I've never been in traffic stopped on interstate highways before and I've certainly never been required to go 15 mph over the speed limit so I don't get run down. And in that light, even though I caused the accident, I'm glad that any damage done was very minimal. Besides, the girl had hugely stretched out ears and when I asked, she gave me the name and location of her piercer and two other places to get gauges/plugs and/or flesh tunnels (don't think I'm going that big). Who said that good things can't come from bad? Although, you will hear me whine and complain if my insurance goes up; I don't think it should if I've never been in an accident that was my fault and my last speeding ticket was two years ago. We'll see.

Another Weekend Down. 13 To Go.

Official diagnosis: I'm stressed out. Unofficial diagnosis: I'm "high-strung."

I'm worn out from the weekend and we didn't even do anything strenuous. We've been walking the dogs every day since Friday (I think C thinks that he's walking me too - for my own good) and it's a nice routine. Call across the house, "Are we taking the d-o-g-s for a w-a-l-k?" Find the shoes and put some socks on. Trick C into putting the harnesses on both dogs, plus Bella's head harness/muzzle thing. Grab 2 -3 poop bags, wintergreen scent. Bella's our pooper. Boris won't go on a walk, but Bella will choose the nicest yard and go at it. Usually twice, but sometimes we're caught off-guard by the third time. Anyway, walking them has become a lot easier with Bella's head harness thing - she can't pull, she doesn't bark at other dogs, and the lunging is kept to a minimum with chances of being banished all together. Now, if some one could tell me why I still walk the 90lb dog and C walks the 50lb dog, when C has 60-70lbs on me, I would understand this whole thing. I probably get to walk Bella because I make a big deal about her being MY big puppy. She came along before the marriage and the only time I'm not indulging her is when she demonstrates her awful behavior towards other dogs. We're working on that. Those three (so far) leisurely walks must be the reason I feel like a boa constrictor has been playing with me at night. Must walk more. Cannot feel prematurely 80.

When not going on walks, I cleaned out the beds around the house to help C out with the yard, I did dishes, some laundry, bathed Miss Bella, and kept the peace between sister B and the parents who brought more of her stuff up and offered to help her set up house (involving a very pricey trip to Target). I'm sore and a little exhausted, but in good news, not nearly as exhausted as I might have been a month ago. I'm hoping that this is the difference all of the vitamins and pill are supposed to make (although they are getting harder to swallow).

I've gotten feedback over the past few days that I needed to sort through, but what it boils down to is that I need to calm down. I have been told that I am stressing myself out (which I believe, but am a little less sure on how to stop) and that I can be high strung about certain things. C completely agrees with all of the above. Whether or not I agree with it isn't the point, so much as me figuring out what I can do to calm down. This weekend I rid myself of some of the routines and rituals that stress me out (per the dr and C) and I will keep doing that until I am okay. Breathing in and breathing out and thinking about the things I can change and control while ignoring everything I cannot. I think that's paraphrasing the serenity prayer.

I'm working on my final project for contemporary literature class with The Handmaiden's Tale, but I didn't calculate how the story was going to hit me this time around. The first time I read it, I was going to college, working in the bookstore, and engaged to C (but probably not planning the wedding and definitely not thinking about kids). The handmaiden process seemed cruel. Now it seems sadistic. We'll see how it goes. If it stresses me out, I'll change to another Atwood novel (Cat's Eye?) and continue the project.

I Need a Plan. One I can Conceptualize. Get it?

I'm scared about my doctor's appointment today. Specifically, that she won't take me seriously. I need her to take me and all of my issues seriously. I'm assuming she will because she invited me back in six months (I'm one month early, but armed with data), but I am scared that she won't. So I need to sit here and breathe.

If one stressful thing today wasn't enough, I'm going to try and get my tags and taxes done right before the appointment. I'll probably be shaking by the time I get to the medical center (REMINDER: eat!). I'm not asking the doctor for drastic measures, I'm asking her to look at all of the data I charted, to listen to me talk, and to figure something out. I want a plan. Whether that is testing or try a few more months and come back for testing. I want a plan that I can dedicate myself to and one that will reassure me that if plan A doesn't work, there is a plan B, and perhaps even a plan C. As AM said (a voice outside of my head is ever so useful), I've done all I can with the information I have and now, I need a plan. If this doctor won't give me a plan, I'll find a new doctor.

What worries me more is that I had a wonderful dream last night where we met with the doctor and she was very understanding and gave us a definite plan to follow that encompassed a lot of the what ifs. I don't remember the interaction exactly, but I remember that we went to the mall afterward and both of us were happy and very comfortable with whatever had been decided at the appointment. So, worse case scenario, none of that will happen. I might talk to the doctor about anxiety too - I can see it in my words even.

Gauged Out Update: I pushed 8s into my ears last night and it stung a little, but no real pain. A little sensitive to sleep on, but today the ears are doing great. I think that around 6s or 4s, C will start talking about me not gauging them much further (will I listen?) because I'll begin to not look like the person he sees. He might surprise me and decide that he really likes them; especially when I get the mother of pearl earrings. Better pick up some 6s for Christmastime with as slow as I gauge.

Barren Bitches Book Tour

These are the questions I chose to answer about the book, Love and Other Impossible Pursuits, by Ayelet Waldman. I read it with a bunch of other ladies who all responded to various questions on their blogs, so if you're interested, check out the link at the bottom for the complete list and details about the book tour.

**There seems to be a natural urge to rank our pain against that of others. Emilia separates herself from Mindy (p65) by saying, rather graphically, that a miscarriage loss is nothing compared to baby loss. Later at the Walk To Remember (p256), Emilia again feels disgusted to find that a woman has named her miscarried children. How did this strike you in light of your own situation? Do you (consciously or subconsciously) rank the pains of (a) not being able to conceive; (b) not being able to carry a baby to term; and (c) the death of a baby/child? Did you choose your own pain as the worst?

This concept of ranking pain has been embedded in my mind since the day I began miscarrying. I think that it represents the subvert way that women compete versus the overt way that men compete. On that day, I kept repeating to myself that I was "almost there." I started bleeding on the day that I would have been 11 weeks along and when I went into the ER that night, one of the nurses even said that I was "almost there." We were both referring to me being so close to the "safe zone" of 12 weeks. It hurt to hear out loud what I was thinking, but it reinforced my pain and that my pain was worse than someone who miscarried a lot earlier. Maybe I thought that they didn't have as much time to get attached or something. My only other experiences with miscarriage was through the clinic I worked at, where I could see how devastated the women were, and my friend sweet J, who miscarried at 12 weeks, so her pain was obviously worse than mine.

I've read a whole lot more about different experiences since then and I've come to realize that there is an intense hurting that comes after hope is let in and then ruthlessly dashed. That can be a 4 week pregnancy, a late period, a still born, anything. I'm not saying that I think the pain is the same, but the one thing that binds is the loss of hope in addition to everything else we lost. I feel awful for anyone that suffered like me, or presumably worse than me. I realize that I would have been devastated far worse by losing a pregnancy later, going through a still birth, or losing a beloved child to SIDS. After reading everything, I can't rank my pain as the worse and I try to steer clear of ranking other's pain as well. It seems to be enough to realize that we're all hurting in some form or another and offer comfort where I can.

**Emilia states her belief on page 332 that those who are powerless in the face of fate are also blameless. Do you agree with this belief—that if something is destined to happen and it does, that you are blameless for its damage?

I think that Emilia's belief is a cop out used to excuse her actions in the initial affair with Jack and helping to destroy his family unit. Even Emilia herself says at the beginning of the very same paragraph that, "I mystified and mysticized our love to excuse the damage we did," (332). She was aware that what she had done was not necessarily in Jack's best interest and it certainly wasn't in William (his son) or Carolyn's (wife) best interest, but she went forward with the love affair anyway. Despite "winning" Jack, marrying him, getting pregnant with his child, she still feels guilt, evidenced by her need to rationalize it away by declaring their love destiny and therefore, she is not accountable for the damage it wrought in Jack, his family, or anyone else involved. It seems like reasoning for someone far younger than Emilia, but is does fit someone as desperate in love as the author characterized her.

**Emilia tries to get the restaurant to begin carrying a pink cupcake for William, admitting, "He will be overcome by the bliss of a strawberry cupcake and he will forget the rage in his mother's face when she looked at me. I wish there was a cupcake that delicious. What will it take for me to forget, I wonder?" Is that level of distraction only capable by children? What do you use to distract yourself when you're trying to forget something painful?

"What will it take for me to forget?" Distractions are useful, but at the end, futile. This single-mindedness is an obsession that creeps into undusted corners, lost paperwork, and certainly the pores of being. It changes over time, what I'm trying to distract myself from: my loss and why it happened (convincing myself that it's not my fault), hurdles in getting pregnant again, a friend's pregnancy, maternity clothes, baby objects . . . But there is always something to remind me, if not dates (due date, loss date) then the hospital bills and the months/cycles ticking by. I've asked what it would take to make this all fade into a distant memory, but I don't know that it ever can or will. Some things we have to live side by side with when we can't put them before us or behind us.

Hop along to another stop on this blog tour by visiting the main list at http://stirrup-queens.blogspot.com/. You can also sign up for the next book on this online book club: Happiness Sold Separately by Lolly Winston (with author participation!).

Today We're Reading into Everything

In reverse order. I have the most vivid dreams in the world between asleep and awake when I'm dozing after the alarm has gone off a few times. Sometimes I wake myself up and remember what was so graphic and horrible and sometimes these dreams come back and sneak into my mind in the middle of the day. A few times, they've been so real that they reappear as a lost memory and I have to convince myself that whatever it was didn't really happen. They are, as a whole, so very random that I can't read into them too much because there is no sense to be made. I enjoyed the one where I had girl/boy twins that I called Clarity and Pacer. Life was hectic in that dream. This morning's dream was of a girl's face, not unlike my own, and she was looking in a mirror (I guess I was behind her eyes, but she wasn't me). She was using her index finger to wipe the "sleep" (normal people call it eye goobers) out of the corners of her eyes, when the gunk from her right eye kept coming out. When she thought she had gotten it all, there appeared to be a bit of black there and she reached for it. It was a skinny worm or a tiny snake that began to crawl out of the corner of her eye, down her cheek, and out towards the mirror. From where I was watching, totally creeped out, I wanted to grab the snake/worm thing and yank it out so it was gone, but I couldn't do anything through the girl. She was just watching, but I could feel it sliding through the corner and then the weight in her (my?) cheek. The dream ended abruptly. Probably because I was waking myself up by scratching my face. I even told C about it before he left - he said eww.

In analyzation, the dream, at least towards the end, had something to do with me feeling powerless and not in control of something. Big prize to whoever correctly guesses what. And I agree with that - it doesn't surprise me at all that I would have dreams where I am not in control and fighting that. But c'mon, a black worm slithering out of the corner of an eye? What is that supposed to represent? And if you're leaning towards super creepy, I totally agree with you.

Working our way backwards, I feel the need to address something (don't I always). I would have let it go, but something similar was said twice. I felt less water-off-a-duck's-back when it happened the second time. Maybe I just don't know how to take a compliment or what to think. Miss N said (very privately in the kitchen) that she was proud of me or that I was brave for attending little E's first birthday. My first thought was, why wouldn't I? and then I remembered the conversation we'd just had in the living room that revolved around the, so when are you guys going to have kids? question and the appropriateness of it being asked at all. Which meant that it was asked of us - probably for the first time (I genuinely believe that we've been lucky in that arena with a bubble shield placed around us to protect from the awfulness that is disguised as sincerity). My mouth fell open (a rarity, I assure you) and I just stared at C to answer. No idea what I would have said had I been alone, but I can guarantee some awkward silence. He just said that we were trying. I may have discreetly added that it wasn't going so hot. Meanwhile, AM was adamantly arguing that it is highly inappropriate to ask someone when they are planning to have children. I, of course, agreed for the very reason of the discomfort it had caused just prior.

But why wouldn't I attend two of my better friends's child's first birthday? The fact that they had a baby has nothing to do with me not having a baby. He is a beautiful delight and he's made both of his parents into better versions of themselves. He's started to recognize me (or please let me think that, AM) and smile. I love spending time with him and AM. Hanging out with little E reinforces C and my dedication to making this baby thing happen for us, because at its very least, it means a cousin of sorts for little E. We know that the scene we saw at the birthday party is what we want to achieve. As for the other comment utilizing the word strong (as much as I am thankful that perhaps I don't come across pitiful and whiny), I was surprised by that one last night. My reply was that I am not strong, but I am genetically stubborn and stubbornness can carry people through quite a lot. Including whatever it is that we're going through now.