Tom and I are participating in a corporate fitness challenge through his work. It's very cool--we're split up into teams, and work our asses off for 12 weeks. Yesterday we met with the personal trainer for our assessments. Even though I had already been doing Weight Watchers for 6 weeks and going to the gym for an hour six days a week (mostly to help with depression), I was still really nervous to meet with this guy. I knew that he was going to measure my body fat, which meant calipers, which meant that I was going to have to lift up my shirt. Under that shirt was going to be a belly covered in stretch marks, a long vertical purple scar that extends almost to my belly button and saggy, wrinkled skin. I was hoping that whoever this person was, he wouldn't say anything and that I wouldn't open my big mouth and say anything about having been pregnant. I had done that before when I was shopping for running shoes a few weeks ago. I felt like I had to explain to the superfit sales woman why I was in such horrible shape. "I just had a baby." She didn't leave it at "congrats", she wanted to know--boy or girl? What's his name? Are you getting lots of sleep? Are you nursing? I had to stand there and lie so that she wouldn't feel bad, even though I wanted to run screaming back to my car. It's a boy. Nathaniel. Yes, I'm sleeping very well. (not a lie--thanks to vistaril) Yes, I'm nursing. (Well, I would have and I bet that I would have been good at it!) I promised myself that that was going to be the first and last time I said anything to a stranger.
It turned out that the trainer wasn't really a stranger. We had met him at the company Halloween party in October. He saw us and said, "Kevin and Britney!" (Yup, I went as a trashy, pregnant Britney Spears--I even had a MILF in Training tank top. Tom looked extra sleezy as Kevin Federline.) When we got into his office we chatted for a bit, and then he said it: "You guys were pregnant, how's the kid?" Oh Shit. Tom and I start laughing nervously and looking at each other. "Well, he died," we say. And then immediately start scrambling to try and make him feel better about asking that question. He felt terrible, you could tell. This is the second time that this has happened to me--when someone that we knew hadn't heard about our loss--and I really feel worse for them having asked that question and getting my answer than I do for me having to answer it. It goes to show that MOST babies live and are fine. Otherwise, people would ask if your baby survived in the first place.
Okay, as it turns out I am mostly fat. It's a wonder I can even stand. Ugh. My 12 week goal is to lose 32 pounds--that's 2.7 pounds a week. Holy Crap. On the bright side, it's an absolutely beautiful day. Everything is blooming and the smell of grass is wafting through my open window. Oh, and all of my herbs are planted. Yay! I see pesto in my future!
Friday, March 31, 2006
Thursday, March 30, 2006
Beverly
My husband is really not much of an animal lover. I, on the other hand, couldn't imagine living without some kind of animal in the house. I brought a ten year old dog to the marriage--a beagle mix named Henry who is da bomb. He is the coolest dog ever. Because he loves me, Tom lets Henry sleep in our bedroom and on our furniture, and doesn't complain about me buying copious amounts of bones and collars and shit. I love my husband and I love my dog.
Last week, I decided that I wanted a cat. To my surprise, Tom agreed! (As long as I cleaned out the cat box in my non-pregnant state-- No Problem!) I wanted a kitten, but after visiting nearly every shelter in town we discovered that it was not "kitten season"--I didn't know that there was such a thing. But I really, really wanted a cat and I wanted it THAT DAY. I didn't want to wait until kitten season. I was starting to feel like a five year old.
We decided to try one more place--the humane society on the north side of town. That place makes me so sad, I just want to take every animal in the place home with me to save them from euthanization. Tom and I went in where we were greeted by the Keeper of the Cat House. She was in her sixties, about five feet tall and all boobs. I thought that she might tip over. She also had a very creative hairstyle composed mostly of buns. And she really, really liked cats. Really. Cat Lady said that she at one time had 22 cats at home. What the hell?! Would you eat at her house? Jeebus.
I browsed around and found a little gray kitty with a weird looking face named Juliet. That was the one that I wanted. But Cat Lady said, "You should take a look at my little Garfield." Who names a cat Garfield anymore?
"She doesn't have much time left, she's been here for a long time." Well, that's all I needed to hear. I went straight to Garfield's cage. She had her back to us and was looking pretty defeated as I opened her cage to pick her up. Immediately she starts purring and wraps herself around my head. This was what I needed, and I think that maybe she needed us, too.
So Garfield went home with us and I re-named her Beverly. We took off the horrible paper collar and got her a new spiffy purple one with a bell and a nametag. She and Henry terrorized each other for a few days, but now all is peaceful. She thanks us every day for rescuing her by plopping in our lap every time we sit down. And I think that I figured out why I was so desperate to get a cat, young or old, that day. I had to have something new in the house. We were supposed to bring Nate home with us--he was going to be our someting new. Unfortunately that wasn't going to happen. The baby's room is now Beverly's room, but I just know that we will have another nursery in our house. Someday. I know that there is no way a cat could replace a baby, but Beverly's pretty cool in the meantime.
In other news....
I'm meeting with a personal trainer this afternoon. This should be interesting; I'll let you know how it goes.
Last week, I decided that I wanted a cat. To my surprise, Tom agreed! (As long as I cleaned out the cat box in my non-pregnant state-- No Problem!) I wanted a kitten, but after visiting nearly every shelter in town we discovered that it was not "kitten season"--I didn't know that there was such a thing. But I really, really wanted a cat and I wanted it THAT DAY. I didn't want to wait until kitten season. I was starting to feel like a five year old.
We decided to try one more place--the humane society on the north side of town. That place makes me so sad, I just want to take every animal in the place home with me to save them from euthanization. Tom and I went in where we were greeted by the Keeper of the Cat House. She was in her sixties, about five feet tall and all boobs. I thought that she might tip over. She also had a very creative hairstyle composed mostly of buns. And she really, really liked cats. Really. Cat Lady said that she at one time had 22 cats at home. What the hell?! Would you eat at her house? Jeebus.
I browsed around and found a little gray kitty with a weird looking face named Juliet. That was the one that I wanted. But Cat Lady said, "You should take a look at my little Garfield." Who names a cat Garfield anymore?
"She doesn't have much time left, she's been here for a long time." Well, that's all I needed to hear. I went straight to Garfield's cage. She had her back to us and was looking pretty defeated as I opened her cage to pick her up. Immediately she starts purring and wraps herself around my head. This was what I needed, and I think that maybe she needed us, too.
So Garfield went home with us and I re-named her Beverly. We took off the horrible paper collar and got her a new spiffy purple one with a bell and a nametag. She and Henry terrorized each other for a few days, but now all is peaceful. She thanks us every day for rescuing her by plopping in our lap every time we sit down. And I think that I figured out why I was so desperate to get a cat, young or old, that day. I had to have something new in the house. We were supposed to bring Nate home with us--he was going to be our someting new. Unfortunately that wasn't going to happen. The baby's room is now Beverly's room, but I just know that we will have another nursery in our house. Someday. I know that there is no way a cat could replace a baby, but Beverly's pretty cool in the meantime.
In other news....
I'm meeting with a personal trainer this afternoon. This should be interesting; I'll let you know how it goes.
Monday, March 27, 2006
Thanks Saint Theresa, I needed that.
Here is something lovely that I received today. Saint Theresa is the Saint of Little Ways. She believed in doing the little things in life well and with great love. She is also the patron saint of flower growers and florists and is represented by roses.
Saint Theresa's Prayer
May today there be peace within. May you trust God that you are exactly where you are meant to be. May you not forget the infinite possibilities that are born of faith. May you use those gifts that you have received, and pass on the love that has been given to you. May you be content knowing you are a child of God. Let this presence settle into your bones and allow your soul the freedom to sing, dance, praise and love.
I know that God didn't cause what happened to my little family, and I know that it wasn't his "will" or whatever. The God that I subscribe to doesn't cause things like that. He doesn't go around smiting people and certainly not little babies. I know that He was with my husband and I when it happened and he's with us right now. And I know that he's got something good in store for us. He's got to.
Meanwhile, Saint Theresa,
May I have a lucky trip to Wal-Mart today to buy the fixin's for an herb garden so that I might enjoy fresh basil on pizza.
Love, Laura
Okay, Here I Go...
So I'm blogging. I've always thought that bloggers were super clever people, who had thoughts so profound that everyone wants to read them. Are my thoughts blog-worthy? I don't know, but whether or not anyone wants to read them, I need to get them sorted out. My brain won't shut up. Damn, that sounds crazy. Lately I've been walking around, talking to myself and bursting into tears at random and usually inappropriate moments -- still sounds crazy. There is nothing organically wrong with me, though. My baby died. He died. My sweet Nate.
So this is what mourning is like. Really mourning to the depths of your soul. And what sucks is that I've only just started this shitty journey--I lost my son seven weeks ago. So I have seven weeks of thoughts that I need to get organized. I'll probably start a lot of posts with, "The other day blah, blah, blah...." And hopefully, all my posts won't be about sad baby stuff. There is good stuff, too. I'm thankful that I am able to appreciate the funny and the silly and the beautiful, because those things are still happening in my life. And someday I'm going to tell you about my sweet son. He was definately a good thing and I'm so thankful for the time that we had him, however brief it was.
So this is what mourning is like. Really mourning to the depths of your soul. And what sucks is that I've only just started this shitty journey--I lost my son seven weeks ago. So I have seven weeks of thoughts that I need to get organized. I'll probably start a lot of posts with, "The other day blah, blah, blah...." And hopefully, all my posts won't be about sad baby stuff. There is good stuff, too. I'm thankful that I am able to appreciate the funny and the silly and the beautiful, because those things are still happening in my life. And someday I'm going to tell you about my sweet son. He was definately a good thing and I'm so thankful for the time that we had him, however brief it was.
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