We were in St. Augustine, I forgot to mention. It's a pretty cool town and it actually reminded me a lot of a town in Spain that we had visited last summer-Cadiz. Parts of it anyway. Other parts were really touristy. We didn't stay in town, actually. We stayed in Tom's boss' brother's condo (Did you follow that one?) about 30 minutes outside of the city.
On this day, the girls went shopping and the boys went to play golf. However, Tom hates golf (we sold his clubs in our garage sale) and I have a feeling that he just drove the cart. He also texted me a lot that day, which meant he was bored as hell. I was excited to go into St. Augustine and explore a little bit. It's the oldest city in the United States, you know. I was hoping to find some cool shops with local artists or something, but I guess that we started in the wrong part of town and it was too damn hot to wander around trying to find what we were looking for. Damn hot, yikes. So we ended up at the outlet mall.
This is actually a boring part of my story, but I'm only telling you this so I can tell you that I did something that I'm kind of proud of. (Other than being proud of not bitching and moaning about the heat, and my back, and my big sweaty boobs--I bitched on the inside.) I bought some baby stuff. I really did. Through this pregnancy, I've bought tons of maternity clothes because that's all that I could deal with. I'm pregnant right now, and I need clothes. I couldn't think much past that. But on this day, I couldn't resist the Little Me store. So I bought 3 sleeper outfits in newborn size. And then do you know what I did? I marched straight into an overpriced purse store of a certain brand and bought a ridiculously priced, outrageous, big ol' diaper bag that my husband would sooner die than carry. I figure that if the boy and I get through this in one piece, than I deserve to carry this bag. Actually, it was also peer pressure that made me buy it--if I was by myself, I probably wouldn't have done it. I'm pretty thrifty. I guess it comes from being married to an accountant.
That night we walked along the beach and it was gorgeous. The sun was setting and Tom and I walked along in our bare feet, picking up shells and looking for shark teeth. Ah, the romance, blah, blah, blah. I stood there looking out at the ocean and the thought came to me about how much Nate would enjoy this. Squishing the wet sand between his toes. I could almost hear his happy little squeals as the water washed over his feet. Helping mama find pretty shells, daddy holding his hand so the tide wouldn't knock him over. I felt so empty, so aware of who was missing and what we were missing out on. Sometimes his absence is so overwhelming that it takes the breath out of me. He'd be 17 months old now. Jesus.
Fortunately by the time we got back to the car, it was dark and the others couldn't see that I had been crying. On the way back, my chest was burning from holding in sobs and I was trying so hard not to let on how upset I was. When we arrived back at the house, I made the excuse that I was tired and Tom and I went back to our room while the others watched a movie downstairs. I was very, very tired and my belly was uncomfortable and hard after all that walking. I just wanted to lay down and do what I usually do when I get like that--read or watch something mindless on tv until I calmed down. So Tom and I watched that show with the hot British guy that does that insane survival show. Although that night, he was stranded in Norway and ate the eyeball of a frozen sheep that he had found. That was a little much, I have to say. It did get my occupy my mind enough so that I could have some much needed sleep that night. Although the eyeball thing was some good, old-fashioned nightmare fuel.
That's about it. After getting to break in my new and ridiculous looking maternity swim suit in the pool, bobbing around like a no-wake buoy, we had a uneventful flight back. I was thrilled to get home and do laundry. I'm serious. I had such a great time, but I still get a little anxious and weird about leaving my comfort zone. I didn't used to be like that, but you know, honestly, I think I was just so worried about the baby the entire time and I wanted to be close to my doctor.
I actually wrote most of this post a while ago, but I'm just now finishing it, so if the date is from days ago, that's why. In other news, I don't have to teach today, so I think that I might go see a movie today. I think I'll go see Rat.at.ouille --Tom's not interested in that one.
Thursday, June 28, 2007
Wednesday, June 27, 2007
Do You Want to Hear About My Vacation?
I just got back from Florida. You might say, "Oh, so that's why you haven't updated your blog in almost a month. What a long trip you took." Nah....it was just a long weekend trip. I've just been tongue-tied like I am quite often.
We flew and I was a nervous wreck the entire time. I had flown pregnant before (on my honeymoon), but I was only 10 weeks pregnant and that was back in the day when I thought dead babies happened to other people. My doctor told me that now was a fine time to travel, but I couldn't help but remember that he also said that if something went wrong, I could always have more babies! My big worry on the flight was that the cabin pressure would make me abrupt again. Writing that, it seems completely silly. But I spend most of my time worrying that I'll abrupt if I sneeze too hard or pick up something heavier than the cat. So that's fun.
This was kind of a business trip for Tom and we went with two other couples from his office, one of them being his boss and his girlfriend. Most of the weekend was spent with the boys going off and doing something manly and girls going off and doing something pink and fluffy. The first night, though, we all went out to a fancy Hawaiian fusion restaurant. This is where I discovered the beauty of virgin big fruity drinks. I also discovered that I didn't know what in the hell I was going to eat in Florida, wracking my brain trying to remember what seafood I could or couldn't eat. They eat a lot of fish down there, you know. I managed to find stuff-- I have no idea how much weight I gained this weekend. Oh, who cares. I'll worry about that later.
The next day, we all embarked on the aforementioned manly/pink and fluffy outings. The boys went deep sea fishing and the girls went to a day at the spa. The spa was huge and very fancy. We spent the day in white bathrobes and white flip-flops, quietly flip-flopping around the place with other spa-goers in white bathrobes. It reminded me of a cult. Or maybe monks at a beauty monastery. We had massages, manicures and pedicures, and a frou-frou lunch of shrimp salad and tabbouleh. Stuff that I would I have liked if I wasn't pregnant, but it looked yucky to me so I had two pieces of pie for lunch: pecan and key lime. That's a spa lunch to me. I want to tell you about my massage, though.
I had only had a couple of massages before. Never a maternity massage, though and I was worried about it. I was afraid to lay on my belly, even though I'd be laying over a belly hole. Although I was distracted by the spa surroundings for the most part, I was still zeroed in on what was going on inside. I was worried about what the flight did, and I was desperately waiting for this baby that usually moves constantly, to give me some kind of reassuring thump. The masseuse came out to the lounge to get me. She had the longest arms that I'd ever seen on a woman and they were covered in the big, raised veins of a bodybuilder. Oh jesus. Does anyone want to trade? But I went with her. In the (what is it called?) massage room, she asked, "Is this your first?" I hesitated for a minute like I always do. Do I want to lay here for a half hour while she talks about how great first babies are? I said, "My first baby passed away." And went back to filling out my information sheet. "Mine did too," she said.
And so for the next half hour, instead of talking in a hypothetical way about how great first babies are, we talked about how great our first babies were. She had a little boy, too, and she lost him almost 32 years ago. His name was Christian and he lived for two hours. I wondered how she was able to work with so many pregnant woman, but maybe 32 years later you lose that anger and animosity towards them. I hope so, but I hope that it doesn't take 32 years. During our chat she said, "Oh, the funeral." I said, "I know. It was terrible, wasn't it? You don't spend that time being pregnant even dreaming that you'd have to plan a funeral." It was nice to talk to someone about these things. I'm not sure how relaxing it was, though. I thought that I wanted to feel normal by having one of these massages, but I think that it helped my heart to talk about it. Maybe it helped her heart, too. She never had any more children-she was too scared. She even tried to adopt and when a baby was made available for her, fear made her turn that down, too. Now she has dogs. They're easier, she said. I wish she had tried again. But I know how scary it is. And I haven't even gotten to the really scary part yet--the last few weeks. I was glad that I met her and I felt bad that I was a little scared of her.
We flew and I was a nervous wreck the entire time. I had flown pregnant before (on my honeymoon), but I was only 10 weeks pregnant and that was back in the day when I thought dead babies happened to other people. My doctor told me that now was a fine time to travel, but I couldn't help but remember that he also said that if something went wrong, I could always have more babies! My big worry on the flight was that the cabin pressure would make me abrupt again. Writing that, it seems completely silly. But I spend most of my time worrying that I'll abrupt if I sneeze too hard or pick up something heavier than the cat. So that's fun.
This was kind of a business trip for Tom and we went with two other couples from his office, one of them being his boss and his girlfriend. Most of the weekend was spent with the boys going off and doing something manly and girls going off and doing something pink and fluffy. The first night, though, we all went out to a fancy Hawaiian fusion restaurant. This is where I discovered the beauty of virgin big fruity drinks. I also discovered that I didn't know what in the hell I was going to eat in Florida, wracking my brain trying to remember what seafood I could or couldn't eat. They eat a lot of fish down there, you know. I managed to find stuff-- I have no idea how much weight I gained this weekend. Oh, who cares. I'll worry about that later.
The next day, we all embarked on the aforementioned manly/pink and fluffy outings. The boys went deep sea fishing and the girls went to a day at the spa. The spa was huge and very fancy. We spent the day in white bathrobes and white flip-flops, quietly flip-flopping around the place with other spa-goers in white bathrobes. It reminded me of a cult. Or maybe monks at a beauty monastery. We had massages, manicures and pedicures, and a frou-frou lunch of shrimp salad and tabbouleh. Stuff that I would I have liked if I wasn't pregnant, but it looked yucky to me so I had two pieces of pie for lunch: pecan and key lime. That's a spa lunch to me. I want to tell you about my massage, though.
I had only had a couple of massages before. Never a maternity massage, though and I was worried about it. I was afraid to lay on my belly, even though I'd be laying over a belly hole. Although I was distracted by the spa surroundings for the most part, I was still zeroed in on what was going on inside. I was worried about what the flight did, and I was desperately waiting for this baby that usually moves constantly, to give me some kind of reassuring thump. The masseuse came out to the lounge to get me. She had the longest arms that I'd ever seen on a woman and they were covered in the big, raised veins of a bodybuilder. Oh jesus. Does anyone want to trade? But I went with her. In the (what is it called?) massage room, she asked, "Is this your first?" I hesitated for a minute like I always do. Do I want to lay here for a half hour while she talks about how great first babies are? I said, "My first baby passed away." And went back to filling out my information sheet. "Mine did too," she said.
And so for the next half hour, instead of talking in a hypothetical way about how great first babies are, we talked about how great our first babies were. She had a little boy, too, and she lost him almost 32 years ago. His name was Christian and he lived for two hours. I wondered how she was able to work with so many pregnant woman, but maybe 32 years later you lose that anger and animosity towards them. I hope so, but I hope that it doesn't take 32 years. During our chat she said, "Oh, the funeral." I said, "I know. It was terrible, wasn't it? You don't spend that time being pregnant even dreaming that you'd have to plan a funeral." It was nice to talk to someone about these things. I'm not sure how relaxing it was, though. I thought that I wanted to feel normal by having one of these massages, but I think that it helped my heart to talk about it. Maybe it helped her heart, too. She never had any more children-she was too scared. She even tried to adopt and when a baby was made available for her, fear made her turn that down, too. Now she has dogs. They're easier, she said. I wish she had tried again. But I know how scary it is. And I haven't even gotten to the really scary part yet--the last few weeks. I was glad that I met her and I felt bad that I was a little scared of her.
This is getting long and my butt is starting to hurt. I've got more to tell you, but I'll do it later, I promise.
p.s. Tom caught lots of fish, didn't puke from sea sickness once and got a comedy sunburn on his legs that looks like he's wearing red tights. He had a good day. So did I.
End Part One
Monday, June 04, 2007
About the Appointment
When Nate died, I thought that I would never again be in the ultrasound room, looking at a healthy baby on that monitor. It seemed impossible. And then the miscarriage--it seemed even more impossible. But on Thursday, I was there. And it was as beautiful and amazing as I remembered.
I was there with Tom and our moms. There is no way that we could have gotten through Nate's death without them and we wanted them to be in on this one from the beginning. When the tech put the wand on my belly, she exclaimed, "Whoa, we've got a wiggler!" Ha, ha! I knew it wasn't gas. And then, "Look at those long, skinny, big feet!" And at that point, I started to wonder if this baby really was a girl, as I was suspecting. Nate had big ol' feet. She moved the wand around, checking measurements--leg bones, head circumference, then, "We've got some hangy down parts. It's a boy! And his hand is already down there, so you guys better watch out!" (Tom and I thought after the appointment that she must have some boys at home.) After hearing "It's a boy!" I started crying. And laughing. Tom squeezed my hand, and I knew that he was happy too. Moms were crying and laughing. Later he said, "You know why we got a boy?" I was expecting him to say, "Listening to AC/DC" like he had when we found out Nate was a boy. He said, "Because I was wearing my lucky boxer shorts." He's so cute.
More measurements and we listened to the heartbeat. The whole thing was finished in about five minutes. We got some pictures that for the most part, we can't figure out what they are. Especially the "boy part" picture. Although we do have a good face shot, which is a little scary. ("This is my son, Skeletor.")
Later, we went in to see the OB, who managed not to stick his foot in his mouth this time, thankfully. I was still very nervous, because I knew that the ultrasound tech couldn't tell me anything, even if she saw that something was wrong. But Dr. W said, "Everything looks great!" And I said, "Okay, I want to see why everything looks great. Show me what you're looking at." And he did. He went over everything in great detail with Tom and I, what could be wrong and why this one was alright. I felt better, but of course I'm still not great and I won't be until he's out of me, which I don't consider to be a very safe place for my child. I feel like he's standing on the edge of traffic, and all I can do is hope that a car doesn't swerve to hit him.
So, here we are. Things seem to be fine and I'm left with my thoughts on having a boy--a second son. I was so convinced that I was having a girl, and I was cool with that. I just want a healthy, take-home baby. I was excited about the prospect of having a girl, buying those big bows and making her head look like a little gift-wrapped bowling ball. I was just convinced! I had told my sister that I would be so incredibly shocked to see a boy on that ultrasound, because it was going to be a girl. Actually, I think my exact words were, "I'm gonna be shocked to shit if I see a little wiener on that ultrasound!" Because I'm that kind of classy. I was excited about having a girl, but deep down I wondered if I would ever get a chance to be a mom to a living boy. And the thought of all of Nate's things packed up in the attic, waiting to be used by a brother made me sad. All these things that a little brother would use even if Nate had lived. I think that deep down, I really wanted another boy. And I think that Tom did, too. And not to replace Nate, but...you know.
I was there with Tom and our moms. There is no way that we could have gotten through Nate's death without them and we wanted them to be in on this one from the beginning. When the tech put the wand on my belly, she exclaimed, "Whoa, we've got a wiggler!" Ha, ha! I knew it wasn't gas. And then, "Look at those long, skinny, big feet!" And at that point, I started to wonder if this baby really was a girl, as I was suspecting. Nate had big ol' feet. She moved the wand around, checking measurements--leg bones, head circumference, then, "We've got some hangy down parts. It's a boy! And his hand is already down there, so you guys better watch out!" (Tom and I thought after the appointment that she must have some boys at home.) After hearing "It's a boy!" I started crying. And laughing. Tom squeezed my hand, and I knew that he was happy too. Moms were crying and laughing. Later he said, "You know why we got a boy?" I was expecting him to say, "Listening to AC/DC" like he had when we found out Nate was a boy. He said, "Because I was wearing my lucky boxer shorts." He's so cute.
More measurements and we listened to the heartbeat. The whole thing was finished in about five minutes. We got some pictures that for the most part, we can't figure out what they are. Especially the "boy part" picture. Although we do have a good face shot, which is a little scary. ("This is my son, Skeletor.")
Later, we went in to see the OB, who managed not to stick his foot in his mouth this time, thankfully. I was still very nervous, because I knew that the ultrasound tech couldn't tell me anything, even if she saw that something was wrong. But Dr. W said, "Everything looks great!" And I said, "Okay, I want to see why everything looks great. Show me what you're looking at." And he did. He went over everything in great detail with Tom and I, what could be wrong and why this one was alright. I felt better, but of course I'm still not great and I won't be until he's out of me, which I don't consider to be a very safe place for my child. I feel like he's standing on the edge of traffic, and all I can do is hope that a car doesn't swerve to hit him.
So, here we are. Things seem to be fine and I'm left with my thoughts on having a boy--a second son. I was so convinced that I was having a girl, and I was cool with that. I just want a healthy, take-home baby. I was excited about the prospect of having a girl, buying those big bows and making her head look like a little gift-wrapped bowling ball. I was just convinced! I had told my sister that I would be so incredibly shocked to see a boy on that ultrasound, because it was going to be a girl. Actually, I think my exact words were, "I'm gonna be shocked to shit if I see a little wiener on that ultrasound!" Because I'm that kind of classy. I was excited about having a girl, but deep down I wondered if I would ever get a chance to be a mom to a living boy. And the thought of all of Nate's things packed up in the attic, waiting to be used by a brother made me sad. All these things that a little brother would use even if Nate had lived. I think that deep down, I really wanted another boy. And I think that Tom did, too. And not to replace Nate, but...you know.
Thursday, May 31, 2007
So...
Well, I guess that I won't have to do much shopping because it's a....
Very wiggly BOY with great BIG FEET!!
And everything else looks good :) More later...
Wednesday, May 30, 2007
Yikes.
Oh man, oh man, oh man. I'm really nervous about this ultrasound tomorrow. I'm also excited, though. Like a little-kid-birthday-Christmas excited. Oh, but I'm nervous. I didn't have any tests early on--I'm completely dumb to what is going on in there, except that this kid moves a lot. I don't think that I'm going to be able to sleep tonight. Oh God, I hope that everything is okay.
Tuesday, May 29, 2007
Visiting Nate
I'm writing from my new/old laptop! This is the laptop that I couldn't touch when my husband first got it. Okay, not really, but I had to touch it very carefully. (Did that sound dirty?) That's a cool thing about having a husband who's works in internet stuff--I get his neeto hand-me-downs.
Yesterday was Memorial Day and we went to see Nate and Tom's dad, buried in the same cemetery, a few spaces apart. I've said before that they're in the Missouri Veterans Cemetery, so yesterday was a madhouse. But it was neat. They had the flags out on each grave, flags on flag poles everywhere. Family had already been to both graves, and we were the last ones there, probably. I hadn't been there since his birthday and God, I hate that so much. I hate that I can only go there every few months. Makes me feel like a shitty mom. I cried the whole way there, I cried there, I cried on the way home. It's like I spend my days with my head in the sand, but thinking of him at least every other minute, working on his garden, talking to him. And I'm okay with this. I'm just not used to seeing his headstone yet. It is the ultimate reminder. He's not missing. He's not coming back. Someday I might bring other children here and this is how they will know him. On a Memorial Day a zillion years from now, I'll be an old lady taking flowers to my baby that I can't even remember anymore. He's not coming back. I can't go there and just be sad and miss him. I'm overwhelmed by this new life, which at this moment seems entirely too long, one that I didn't ask for. It's panicking. And that's why I hate going to the cemetery. But maybe if I went more often, it wouldn't be so hard.
______________________________
Yesterday was Memorial Day and we went to see Nate and Tom's dad, buried in the same cemetery, a few spaces apart. I've said before that they're in the Missouri Veterans Cemetery, so yesterday was a madhouse. But it was neat. They had the flags out on each grave, flags on flag poles everywhere. Family had already been to both graves, and we were the last ones there, probably. I hadn't been there since his birthday and God, I hate that so much. I hate that I can only go there every few months. Makes me feel like a shitty mom. I cried the whole way there, I cried there, I cried on the way home. It's like I spend my days with my head in the sand, but thinking of him at least every other minute, working on his garden, talking to him. And I'm okay with this. I'm just not used to seeing his headstone yet. It is the ultimate reminder. He's not missing. He's not coming back. Someday I might bring other children here and this is how they will know him. On a Memorial Day a zillion years from now, I'll be an old lady taking flowers to my baby that I can't even remember anymore. He's not coming back. I can't go there and just be sad and miss him. I'm overwhelmed by this new life, which at this moment seems entirely too long, one that I didn't ask for. It's panicking. And that's why I hate going to the cemetery. But maybe if I went more often, it wouldn't be so hard.
_______________________________
Here's a weird thought that I've been having. I've been pregnant for the last 17 out of 24 months. I like being pregnant (good thing), but I'm having an impossible time imagining what it will be like to actually bring home a baby. I'm only able to think in the moment, but I can't think of the end. It doesn't make me freak out or anything, in fact I'm kind of neutral about it. I mean, I'm not thinking about losing another baby--my head won't let me go there and I'm not pushing it. But it won't let me think about bringing a baby home, either. It's like, "You're pregnant right now, and that's all you need to know." Well, in my head it seems weird. Writing it out, it seems like a self-preservation mechanism. What do you think? For those with sub. babies, was there a point where you could think past being pregnant?
p.s.--thank you so, so much for your advice about the doppler. I am taking it to heart, for sure.
Wednesday, May 23, 2007
What's Up.
I have been around, honestly. I read everyday--I've just been having trouble signing in lately, so I haven't been posting or leaving many comments. I also feel like a wrung out sponge, physically and emotionally. It's been hard to think of things to say, even though I think a lot about all of you. Anyway...
I went to the doctor on Friday. This was my first four-week-wait between appointments and it was way too stinkin' long a wait. And my doctor won't let me get a Doppler. Unless I really, really want one. He says that it's like trying to monitor your own blood pressure, but it seems to me like everyone I read about that has one doesn't have a problem finding the heartbeat. I guess that he doesn't want me to freak out needlessly, but I've been freaking out for 17 weeks so what's a little more freakiness? I don't know, I may still work on this one.
So, back to the appointment....
We had an extra long wait this time and Tom had to leave before the doctor came in to talk to me. Fortunately, the nurse came to do the Doppler before he left, so he got to hear the heartbeat which was 165 bpm. (Nate always had a faster heart rate, so I guess there's no telling if it's a girl or a boy at this point. I've been thinking "boy" pretty strongly, but I had very vivid "girl" dreams last night--so we'll see.) It took the nurse longer than normal to find the heartbeat, which of course made me cry and Tom said, "That's why you don't need a Doppler." Whatever. Anyway, blood pressure is still good (which is something I'm going to worry about through this pregnancy) and I've only gained four pounds so far, go me !
Any time I have to go to an appointment alone or Tom has to leave early, I always cry and feel like I'm going to climb the walls. That place completely freaks me out. I was in the middle of pulling myself together and blowing my nose when the doctor walked in and made a huge deal about me having allergies and what I could take. I just went along with it. "Oh yeah, my allergies are terrible." (I don't really want to jump, screaming out of the window. I'm totally calm.)
He measured my fundus height for the first time with the tape measure and I'm measuring two weeks ahead of schedule. He said that's normal for a subsequent pregnancy and that it's a good thing. My only question for him was, "Can I fly at 22 weeks?" because we're going to Florida in June. He told me that it's a fine time to travel and said that it's later in the pregnancy when it's not advised. "Anyway," he said, "if something goes wrong, there's not much that can be done at that stage. And there will always be other pregnancies." His last sentence just hung there--I was so shocked that he, being a high-risk OB, would say something like that. My first thought was, Oh shit I thought you were cool. Yes, there could be other pregnancies, I'm evidence of that, sitting there pregnant after losing two babies. But it's also another funeral. It's another who-knows-how-many months of me hating my body, hating God, hating everyone and forever missing another child. It's not just, "Oh well, I guess I'll just pull up my big girl panties and try again." I should have said something to him. I always say that and I never say anything to anybody.
I feel like I've been so hyper-sensitive lately, like I'm regressing. Everything that is remotely baby related makes me uncomfortable or makes me cry. Things people say that I would normally shrug off, are really upsetting me. For example, at a neighbor's party this weekend the hostess came up to me and said, "Hey Laura! Still pregnant?" To which I replied, "Yeah, I seem to be." I know that I'm being sensitive, maybe it's hormones, but I don't think that you should say something like that when you know that the person has had a loss or losses. I so much don't want to be one of those women that people are afraid to say anything to for fear of setting me off or making me cry. I don't know.
I need to write more. I'm out of practice and my writing is sucky and disjointed, and I'm trying to fit way too much stuff into one post. Oh yeah--my "big" ultrasound is one week from tomorrow! Stay tuned!
I went to the doctor on Friday. This was my first four-week-wait between appointments and it was way too stinkin' long a wait. And my doctor won't let me get a Doppler. Unless I really, really want one. He says that it's like trying to monitor your own blood pressure, but it seems to me like everyone I read about that has one doesn't have a problem finding the heartbeat. I guess that he doesn't want me to freak out needlessly, but I've been freaking out for 17 weeks so what's a little more freakiness? I don't know, I may still work on this one.
So, back to the appointment....
We had an extra long wait this time and Tom had to leave before the doctor came in to talk to me. Fortunately, the nurse came to do the Doppler before he left, so he got to hear the heartbeat which was 165 bpm. (Nate always had a faster heart rate, so I guess there's no telling if it's a girl or a boy at this point. I've been thinking "boy" pretty strongly, but I had very vivid "girl" dreams last night--so we'll see.) It took the nurse longer than normal to find the heartbeat, which of course made me cry and Tom said, "That's why you don't need a Doppler." Whatever. Anyway, blood pressure is still good (which is something I'm going to worry about through this pregnancy) and I've only gained four pounds so far, go me !
Any time I have to go to an appointment alone or Tom has to leave early, I always cry and feel like I'm going to climb the walls. That place completely freaks me out. I was in the middle of pulling myself together and blowing my nose when the doctor walked in and made a huge deal about me having allergies and what I could take. I just went along with it. "Oh yeah, my allergies are terrible." (I don't really want to jump, screaming out of the window. I'm totally calm.)
He measured my fundus height for the first time with the tape measure and I'm measuring two weeks ahead of schedule. He said that's normal for a subsequent pregnancy and that it's a good thing. My only question for him was, "Can I fly at 22 weeks?" because we're going to Florida in June. He told me that it's a fine time to travel and said that it's later in the pregnancy when it's not advised. "Anyway," he said, "if something goes wrong, there's not much that can be done at that stage. And there will always be other pregnancies." His last sentence just hung there--I was so shocked that he, being a high-risk OB, would say something like that. My first thought was, Oh shit I thought you were cool. Yes, there could be other pregnancies, I'm evidence of that, sitting there pregnant after losing two babies. But it's also another funeral. It's another who-knows-how-many months of me hating my body, hating God, hating everyone and forever missing another child. It's not just, "Oh well, I guess I'll just pull up my big girl panties and try again." I should have said something to him. I always say that and I never say anything to anybody.
I feel like I've been so hyper-sensitive lately, like I'm regressing. Everything that is remotely baby related makes me uncomfortable or makes me cry. Things people say that I would normally shrug off, are really upsetting me. For example, at a neighbor's party this weekend the hostess came up to me and said, "Hey Laura! Still pregnant?" To which I replied, "Yeah, I seem to be." I know that I'm being sensitive, maybe it's hormones, but I don't think that you should say something like that when you know that the person has had a loss or losses. I so much don't want to be one of those women that people are afraid to say anything to for fear of setting me off or making me cry. I don't know.
I need to write more. I'm out of practice and my writing is sucky and disjointed, and I'm trying to fit way too much stuff into one post. Oh yeah--my "big" ultrasound is one week from tomorrow! Stay tuned!
Sunday, May 13, 2007
Thursday, May 10, 2007
Poke-Poke
The little dude or dudette is moving around in there! And don't tell me that it's gas, people. I know gas. I've been feeling it pretty often, especially for this stage, which makes me wonder if this kid just moves around like crazy or it just my big, saggin', baggin' uterus that makes it easier for me to feel. I felt Nate at about 16 weeks and he was very sweet and considerate the whole time. No kicks to the kidneys or anything. Hmmm, I wonder what this one will be like. It makes me sad and excited at the same time. ((sigh)))
Tuesday, May 01, 2007
Like I Was Saying....
Today I was running some errands and thinking that I should go out to the cemetery and see Nate. I haven't been since his birthday and I really should go and make sure that there aren't any old, gnarly arrangements left there. And then, like always, I become sad and angry that I even have to go to the cemetery. I didn't go.
When I got home, I checked the mail and along with the Compassionate Friends newsletter there was a mailing from Huggies proclaiming, "Play it Up! Your baby is 15 months old!" Fuck you, Huggies. Irony is such a heaving bitch.
______________________________________________
This blog sucks. I haven't been writing not because I'm pregnant and I've moved on or whatever. I'm just really having a terrible time. I made it past that 12 week mark and into the second trimester (either yesterday or two weeks ago, depending on who you talk to), and I'm so excited about that. But now I'm already dreading the third trimester. I feel like there is a bomb strapped to my belly. I'm going to be tiptoeing through this entire pregnancy, however long it lasts. And that's the scary part.
Being pregnant makes me feel closer to Nate, but miss him more at the same time. If this baby gets here, I wonder if that will continue? And that makes me wonder if I'll ever be happy again? Is everything always, always going to be bittersweet? Will there ever be a time when I can say, "You know, I'm just completely happy right now" even if it's just for a moment? What a way to live.
Lately, I've been inundated with the "Is this your first?" question. Probably ten times already. I always say "no, it's my second." I don't volunteer any more information than that, if it stops there, fine. I usually doesn't though. "How old is your first?" they ask. "He would have been one in January. He died a few days after he was born." Then I watch the blood drain from their faces. I don't care. Honestly, it would make me feel a whole hellava lot worse for a long time to not acknowledge Nate just to spare their feelings for a few minutes. My very favorite response to this is, "Oh. It was meant to be." (Pat, pat on my arm.) We've all heard that a million times and I just don't understand this ham-fisted attempt at comfort. Why wasn't it meant to be? Was God sparing the world from something horrible? Was Nate going to be a serial killer? An evil scientist that developed some Ebola-like virus and would have killed scores of people? Was he saving Nate from a violent and painful death at some point in the future? Why wasn't it meant to be? That's crap. Utter crap. Keep your crap to yourself.
Other than being a complete nut, things are going well. My doctor has taken me off of the two week appointments and now I'm going to go every four. I go back on the 18th and then he's going to slip me back in two weeks later for the "big ultrasound" at 18 weeks. The plan is to do an amnio and c-section at 37 weeks. He seems extremely optimistic that the abruption was just the worst luck imaginable and it won't happen again. Lately, though, I've become convinced that something was overlooked in my pregnancy with Nate and no one is telling me. But that they are going to keep an eye out for this mystery thing and catch it before it happens again. I think that I had preeclampsia. I really do.
I've got a couple of posts swirling around in my head, so let's see if they actually make it on this blog anytime soon. I'm not trusting my track record lately.
When I got home, I checked the mail and along with the Compassionate Friends newsletter there was a mailing from Huggies proclaiming, "Play it Up! Your baby is 15 months old!" Fuck you, Huggies. Irony is such a heaving bitch.
______________________________________________
This blog sucks. I haven't been writing not because I'm pregnant and I've moved on or whatever. I'm just really having a terrible time. I made it past that 12 week mark and into the second trimester (either yesterday or two weeks ago, depending on who you talk to), and I'm so excited about that. But now I'm already dreading the third trimester. I feel like there is a bomb strapped to my belly. I'm going to be tiptoeing through this entire pregnancy, however long it lasts. And that's the scary part.
Being pregnant makes me feel closer to Nate, but miss him more at the same time. If this baby gets here, I wonder if that will continue? And that makes me wonder if I'll ever be happy again? Is everything always, always going to be bittersweet? Will there ever be a time when I can say, "You know, I'm just completely happy right now" even if it's just for a moment? What a way to live.
Lately, I've been inundated with the "Is this your first?" question. Probably ten times already. I always say "no, it's my second." I don't volunteer any more information than that, if it stops there, fine. I usually doesn't though. "How old is your first?" they ask. "He would have been one in January. He died a few days after he was born." Then I watch the blood drain from their faces. I don't care. Honestly, it would make me feel a whole hellava lot worse for a long time to not acknowledge Nate just to spare their feelings for a few minutes. My very favorite response to this is, "Oh. It was meant to be." (Pat, pat on my arm.) We've all heard that a million times and I just don't understand this ham-fisted attempt at comfort. Why wasn't it meant to be? Was God sparing the world from something horrible? Was Nate going to be a serial killer? An evil scientist that developed some Ebola-like virus and would have killed scores of people? Was he saving Nate from a violent and painful death at some point in the future? Why wasn't it meant to be? That's crap. Utter crap. Keep your crap to yourself.
Other than being a complete nut, things are going well. My doctor has taken me off of the two week appointments and now I'm going to go every four. I go back on the 18th and then he's going to slip me back in two weeks later for the "big ultrasound" at 18 weeks. The plan is to do an amnio and c-section at 37 weeks. He seems extremely optimistic that the abruption was just the worst luck imaginable and it won't happen again. Lately, though, I've become convinced that something was overlooked in my pregnancy with Nate and no one is telling me. But that they are going to keep an eye out for this mystery thing and catch it before it happens again. I think that I had preeclampsia. I really do.
I've got a couple of posts swirling around in my head, so let's see if they actually make it on this blog anytime soon. I'm not trusting my track record lately.
Tuesday, April 24, 2007
Shopping
On Sunday, I ventured to the mall. I hate the mall and I never go, but right on schedule my face has turned into hamburger with angry red zits all over my chin and those horrible, big, giant ones that hurt to touch. I am one ugly pregnant woman--I don't know where all this glowing business comes from. Not from me, that's for sure. So, anyway, I needed to hit the Proactiv kiosk and drop 50 bucks on face soap. Yikes, but it works, so what are you gonna do?
On my way out of the mall I walked by the Motherhood store, and just stood there for a minute and debated whether to go in or not. Nate was a winter baby, so all of my maternity clothes are jeans and wooly things. It's already 80 degrees here and the lure of cute, short-sleeved tops took me into the store. I picked out a top and some khaki capris and went to checkout. Which went like this:
Girl at the Counter: "Have you been here before?"
Me: "Yeah." And I give her my name after she asks.
Girl: "When is your due date?" Her fingers were poised over the keyboard, ready to imput this information.
Me: I don't tell her. "Umm, am I going to be getting any mailings or anything like that?"
Girl: "Well, yes. Don't you want any?"
Me: "No, I don't." And I could have stopped there, but I didn't.
Me: "I don't want any because they are extremely upsetting when something goes wrong."
Girl: "Oh, absolutely, I'm sorry."
And here again, could have stopped, didn't.
Me: "You know, getting Pampers coupons that say 'Valuble Coupons for your 12 month old!!' is just pretty crushing, really." (As far as Pampers is concerned, my son is happily toddling around soiling diapers with wild abandon. I'm using cloth diapers next time. Any company that makes me cry isn't getting my business. And they've all made me cry over the past year.)
The girl makes some hasty strikes at her keyboard. "Okay,"she says, "you shouldn't be receiving any more mailings." She hands me my bag with a sympathetic smile. I'm red in the face and embarassed over what I had just said, and I knew that other customers heard my rant. "Sorry I was so neurotic about that," I said as I took my purchases from her. I walked out of the store with my head down, realizing at that point that I really should just do my shopping off the internet. Either things aren't easy like they used to be, or I'm just making things hard for myself. I'm inclined to think it's the latter.
On my way out of the mall I walked by the Motherhood store, and just stood there for a minute and debated whether to go in or not. Nate was a winter baby, so all of my maternity clothes are jeans and wooly things. It's already 80 degrees here and the lure of cute, short-sleeved tops took me into the store. I picked out a top and some khaki capris and went to checkout. Which went like this:
Girl at the Counter: "Have you been here before?"
Me: "Yeah." And I give her my name after she asks.
Girl: "When is your due date?" Her fingers were poised over the keyboard, ready to imput this information.
Me: I don't tell her. "Umm, am I going to be getting any mailings or anything like that?"
Girl: "Well, yes. Don't you want any?"
Me: "No, I don't." And I could have stopped there, but I didn't.
Me: "I don't want any because they are extremely upsetting when something goes wrong."
Girl: "Oh, absolutely, I'm sorry."
And here again, could have stopped, didn't.
Me: "You know, getting Pampers coupons that say 'Valuble Coupons for your 12 month old!!' is just pretty crushing, really." (As far as Pampers is concerned, my son is happily toddling around soiling diapers with wild abandon. I'm using cloth diapers next time. Any company that makes me cry isn't getting my business. And they've all made me cry over the past year.)
The girl makes some hasty strikes at her keyboard. "Okay,"she says, "you shouldn't be receiving any more mailings." She hands me my bag with a sympathetic smile. I'm red in the face and embarassed over what I had just said, and I knew that other customers heard my rant. "Sorry I was so neurotic about that," I said as I took my purchases from her. I walked out of the store with my head down, realizing at that point that I really should just do my shopping off the internet. Either things aren't easy like they used to be, or I'm just making things hard for myself. I'm inclined to think it's the latter.
Saturday, April 21, 2007
Yikes, it's been awhile since I've written anything and I hate posting links to stuff when I haven't been writing. It makes me feel lazy. But I read this article in my town's paper this morning and I thought that I'd share it with you.
Mourning Reproductive Loss
I'll write a real post soon. I've got a lot to talk about and nothing to talk about at the same time, so that's been my conundrum.
Mourning Reproductive Loss
I'll write a real post soon. I've got a lot to talk about and nothing to talk about at the same time, so that's been my conundrum.
Wednesday, April 11, 2007
Wow, and all before 9 am.
Do you think that there might be days where the universe just screws with you? Like it's thinking, "Hey, let's have some fun with Laura today." Leave the house, stay in the house--you're still going to be blindsided no matter what you do.
I was straightening up the family room this morning after Tom left for work--there just seemed to be stacks of crap everywhere. I grabbed the copy of What to Expect to put back on the bookshelf and two pieces of paper fluttered to the floor. One was the warranty registration for Nate's stroller and the other was the list of names I had made when we found out we were having a boy. Back when things were completely, totally normal. The list was written in blue pin and beside about ten of the names was my husband's check mark in pencil to mark his favorites. I had written the name and then in parentheses I wrote what we'd actually call him (unless he was in trouble, that's when we'd use the whole name.)
The three at the top were:
Samuel (Sam)
Gabriel (Gabe)
Nathaniel (Nate)
All three had my husband's check mark.
I just sat there this morning and stared at that list. I hadn't seen it since I stuck it between those pages, which was probably quite awhile before Nate was even born. I'm sure that I just stuck it there and forgot about it. But here it was again. A list of names that every pregnant woman in the universe writes out with so much love for that baby inside and so much hope for his future. This is a very important task--he will have that name for his whole life long and someday, years and years from now, it will be carved on his headstone. When we named Nathaniel, I felt confident that he would have a name that would carry him through his life--it was a name that he could run for president with. My little boy with the big boy name.
I was straightening up the family room this morning after Tom left for work--there just seemed to be stacks of crap everywhere. I grabbed the copy of What to Expect to put back on the bookshelf and two pieces of paper fluttered to the floor. One was the warranty registration for Nate's stroller and the other was the list of names I had made when we found out we were having a boy. Back when things were completely, totally normal. The list was written in blue pin and beside about ten of the names was my husband's check mark in pencil to mark his favorites. I had written the name and then in parentheses I wrote what we'd actually call him (unless he was in trouble, that's when we'd use the whole name.)
The three at the top were:
Samuel (Sam)
Gabriel (Gabe)
Nathaniel (Nate)
All three had my husband's check mark.
I just sat there this morning and stared at that list. I hadn't seen it since I stuck it between those pages, which was probably quite awhile before Nate was even born. I'm sure that I just stuck it there and forgot about it. But here it was again. A list of names that every pregnant woman in the universe writes out with so much love for that baby inside and so much hope for his future. This is a very important task--he will have that name for his whole life long and someday, years and years from now, it will be carved on his headstone. When we named Nathaniel, I felt confident that he would have a name that would carry him through his life--it was a name that he could run for president with. My little boy with the big boy name.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
And so, after crying in the fetal position in the recliner for twenty minutes, I got dressed and went downtown to pick up a copy of Nate's birth certificate for this year's taxes, because you know, I was in great shape to do something like today. But I had to go do it--taxes are due-what?-next week or something and I've been putting this off for a long time. I'm thankful that I'm able to have one for Nate, but I knew that it was going to be very difficult to go and get it. That's why I hadn't done it yet. When I received the certificate, it looked totally normal, just like any one I've ever seen and I was glad for that. His certificate looked just like any baby's--but then I looked in the upper right hand corner where the word DECEASED was written in block capitals. Oh.
I'm sobbing again as I walk through the lobby to the parking lot and to my car. Oh shit. I had just calmed down from the last incident and here I go again. When I reach the door to my car, I look into the passenger seat of the car parked next to me and on the seat lay a newborn diaper and a picture of a very pregnant, very young woman smiling broadly, her arms wrapped around her belly. Really. Why both of those things? I guess I could see having a diaper there, but why a picture of your pregnant self? I guess that will teach me not to look in other people's cars.
Now I'm going to go to the grocery store and pray that I don't run into anyone from my childbirth class.
Thursday, March 29, 2007
Chip should have been born this week.
I'm so conflicted on how I should feel about this. I'm certainly sad. I certainly haven't forgotten about him (or her)--but it's almost like I knew from the very beginning that the little beaner wasn't going to make it. But there was hope, for sure. But hope and hope lost, again. I never pictured myself making it all the way to 38 weeks, preparing the nursery, folding little onsies again. But maybe I just wouldn't let myself picture those things. It's hard for me to picture them with this one, too, even though this is a completely different kind of pregnancy. It's a more pregnant kind of pregnancy, which I'm thankful for. But am I able to imagine October? Not really.
To think about how different things would be right now, this week, is difficult. I think about that nearly empty bedroom we call "the nursery" when no one else is around. The one that only holds a few plants, a garage sale glider rocker and Nate's chest of drawers. How different it should look today.
I'm sorry, little one. I'm sorry that you never got a chance. You're not forgotten.
I'm so conflicted on how I should feel about this. I'm certainly sad. I certainly haven't forgotten about him (or her)--but it's almost like I knew from the very beginning that the little beaner wasn't going to make it. But there was hope, for sure. But hope and hope lost, again. I never pictured myself making it all the way to 38 weeks, preparing the nursery, folding little onsies again. But maybe I just wouldn't let myself picture those things. It's hard for me to picture them with this one, too, even though this is a completely different kind of pregnancy. It's a more pregnant kind of pregnancy, which I'm thankful for. But am I able to imagine October? Not really.
To think about how different things would be right now, this week, is difficult. I think about that nearly empty bedroom we call "the nursery" when no one else is around. The one that only holds a few plants, a garage sale glider rocker and Nate's chest of drawers. How different it should look today.
I'm sorry, little one. I'm sorry that you never got a chance. You're not forgotten.
Wednesday, March 28, 2007
Ewwww.....
Guess who I ran into this weekend? My ex-boyfriend. I had neither seen nor talked to him since we broke up, let's see, three years ago? We were together for six years. Six! I totally wasted my twenties on this guy. Actually, for a long time we had a lot of fun. He was in a cool band. He knew lots of cool people. He was a DJ on a cool radio station here in town. So, you know, he was pretty fun to begin with. Then he started running. A lot. And not just 5Ks. He did marathons, 32 mile ultramax races, adventure races, Ironman stuff. He spent all of his money on bike gear and nipple guards and I'd end up with crap presents for my birthday like a computer generated coupon for a backrub or some such shit. Also, with all of this activity, I was eating more than he was and I was on Weight Watchers most of the time. He got so thin and began acting like an asshole constantly. I think that his brain was being eaten by his body.
So he sounds like a real catch, eh? I still started bugging him about getting married around four years into the thing. I was watching all, and I do mean ALL of my friends get married and started to panic. Finally, we ended up in therapy. Just one session, though. That's all it took for me to realize that I was being a complete needy idiot. He had no intention of ever marrying me and I wasn't going to waste one more day on this guy. The end.
So, three years later (last Saturday, specifically), standing in the bagel shop, I hear:
"Laura?"
I turn around and see a even thinner John, standing there looking like a scarecrow and I almost throw up on the floor. (Which I was going to anyway, if I didn't get my bagel soon.)
"Oh, hey!", I say fakely and give him a fake hug.
(small talk, small talk)
He looks at mid-section that I'm trying to disguise with a baggy Riverdance t-shirt.
"Are you having a baby?"
I guess by my third go at this, I'm looking more pregnant than I really am. I look down at my belly and say, "Oh yeah. I am. But I'm pregnant a lot, so we'll see. Heh, heh." Ack! Who says stuff like that? Way to be morbid, Laura. And then 'heh, heh?' I should have just told him, "No I am not pregnant. I am fat. You asshole."
"Oh, I heard about what happened last year. I'm sure sorry," he said.
"Thanks. It's been really hard."
And then more small talk where I discover that he's still doing the same boring, self-centered stuff that he's done forever and will probably be a very lonely old man, doing the same thing. I've known from the very beginning how lucky I am to have found Tom. I know that I griped about him a bit yesterday, but honestly I could fill volumes with testimonies on how wonderful he is. And when it comes to gift-giving, you could say that a coupon for free hugs is romantic and sweet and it's the thought that counts. But a Tiffany bracelet for Christmas is a whole hell of a lot better. Call me petty.
So he sounds like a real catch, eh? I still started bugging him about getting married around four years into the thing. I was watching all, and I do mean ALL of my friends get married and started to panic. Finally, we ended up in therapy. Just one session, though. That's all it took for me to realize that I was being a complete needy idiot. He had no intention of ever marrying me and I wasn't going to waste one more day on this guy. The end.
So, three years later (last Saturday, specifically), standing in the bagel shop, I hear:
"Laura?"
I turn around and see a even thinner John, standing there looking like a scarecrow and I almost throw up on the floor. (Which I was going to anyway, if I didn't get my bagel soon.)
"Oh, hey!", I say fakely and give him a fake hug.
(small talk, small talk)
He looks at mid-section that I'm trying to disguise with a baggy Riverdance t-shirt.
"Are you having a baby?"
I guess by my third go at this, I'm looking more pregnant than I really am. I look down at my belly and say, "Oh yeah. I am. But I'm pregnant a lot, so we'll see. Heh, heh." Ack! Who says stuff like that? Way to be morbid, Laura. And then 'heh, heh?' I should have just told him, "No I am not pregnant. I am fat. You asshole."
"Oh, I heard about what happened last year. I'm sure sorry," he said.
"Thanks. It's been really hard."
And then more small talk where I discover that he's still doing the same boring, self-centered stuff that he's done forever and will probably be a very lonely old man, doing the same thing. I've known from the very beginning how lucky I am to have found Tom. I know that I griped about him a bit yesterday, but honestly I could fill volumes with testimonies on how wonderful he is. And when it comes to gift-giving, you could say that a coupon for free hugs is romantic and sweet and it's the thought that counts. But a Tiffany bracelet for Christmas is a whole hell of a lot better. Call me petty.
Tuesday, March 27, 2007
Thank you for all of the happy, happy comments! Things are fine here. Still pregnant, no spotting (which by this point I was spotting daily with Chip), taking two naps a day and the only things that I want to eat are pop tarts, waffles and Life cereal. It's the breakfast, lunch and dinner of champions. Pretty much everything is grossing me out--in fact, there's some cat puke in my laundry room that's been there for an hour and a half. I need to put in a load of undies soon, and there's only so many times that I can step over that stuff. So, I'll get right on that.
I feel bad for my husband, he's hungry. But I think that in the past couple of days he's figured out that if he wants to eat something other than the previously listed items, he's gonna have to cook it himself. Also, my house is dirty. We had a huge fight about this on Sunday--but I think that it had something to do with the fact that we'd been watching How Clean is Your House on BBC and he likened our fridge to one on the show. This makes him sound like a total caveman, but I mean, shit, I'm home all day. My house should at least be clean. I'm tired though. I think after the Big Argument, he's understanding where I'm coming from a lot more. (Now, he reads this blog, so don't say anything mean.)
So, I've been kicked in the arse by Beth to write more, so I'm going to. I doubt very seriously that I'm going to talk about being pregnant much, at least for awhile. I'm tired, sick and I've got wicked gas--not much good reading there. I do have a couple of meme type posts to get caught up on, and I've got some other posts that have been kicking around in my head in the early morning hours. So, I'm going to try very hard to get back in the habit of writing. My problem is that I'm such a lurker. I never thought that I had anything very interesting to say.
I've got a worry that has been really bothering me, other than just the obvious worry of getting through the first trimester. Some of my family members and very good friends found out about this pregnancy through this blog. I feel bad about it. This time was just so weird though. I just couldn't bring myself to pick up the phone this time. I was happy to find out that I was pregnant again, but I'd say that excited wouldn't be the word for it. I just knew that as soon as I told people, I'd be calling them right back to tell them that I lost another one. I don't know. I'm so afraid that I've done irreversible damage to my friendships this past year. I've just been dealing with this the best way I know how, and obviously that's to pull away from everyone. I love my friends and I miss them. I just wanted to say that.
I feel bad for my husband, he's hungry. But I think that in the past couple of days he's figured out that if he wants to eat something other than the previously listed items, he's gonna have to cook it himself. Also, my house is dirty. We had a huge fight about this on Sunday--but I think that it had something to do with the fact that we'd been watching How Clean is Your House on BBC and he likened our fridge to one on the show. This makes him sound like a total caveman, but I mean, shit, I'm home all day. My house should at least be clean. I'm tired though. I think after the Big Argument, he's understanding where I'm coming from a lot more. (Now, he reads this blog, so don't say anything mean.)
So, I've been kicked in the arse by Beth to write more, so I'm going to. I doubt very seriously that I'm going to talk about being pregnant much, at least for awhile. I'm tired, sick and I've got wicked gas--not much good reading there. I do have a couple of meme type posts to get caught up on, and I've got some other posts that have been kicking around in my head in the early morning hours. So, I'm going to try very hard to get back in the habit of writing. My problem is that I'm such a lurker. I never thought that I had anything very interesting to say.
I've got a worry that has been really bothering me, other than just the obvious worry of getting through the first trimester. Some of my family members and very good friends found out about this pregnancy through this blog. I feel bad about it. This time was just so weird though. I just couldn't bring myself to pick up the phone this time. I was happy to find out that I was pregnant again, but I'd say that excited wouldn't be the word for it. I just knew that as soon as I told people, I'd be calling them right back to tell them that I lost another one. I don't know. I'm so afraid that I've done irreversible damage to my friendships this past year. I've just been dealing with this the best way I know how, and obviously that's to pull away from everyone. I love my friends and I miss them. I just wanted to say that.
Wednesday, March 21, 2007
Okay, Okay, Okay. Geez.
I really was working on a good post, but then I got sidetracked when I decided that I just HAD to decorate my house for Easter. Good Christ, I had daffodills coming up but no bunnies in my house. What, what? Yeah, that's a lousy excuse. Anyway, after a really good OB appointment here is my news...
Third Time's the Charm??
Third Time's the Charm?? It measured today at 8w2d with a heartbeat of 175. I'm sleeping or just gorked out in the recliner all the time, which may account for my lack of posts. Also, last week I puked!! Hooray, I feel like shit! I'm serious, this is good news. Remember last time, I was so freaked because I wasn't sick? Yeah.
I haven't said anything, because I didn't want to jinx myself. This time is really different--it's much scarier now. I had late pregnancy to worry about, and now I'm terrifed of this early part, too. I hold my breath everytime I go to the bathroom. BUT...I had a great appointment this morning and I get to have another ultrasound in two weeks. Hanging on to the positive!!
So there's my news. Ta da!
Thursday, March 15, 2007
Holy Crap, I Suck
Oh man, I haven't written a word since last month. That is just inexcusable.
I just wanted to say hello to the nice people who are still checking in! And I promise that I'll write something good (or maybe not good, but something) tomorrow. I just don't know about what, though. It might be about pie or flowers or my weenie dog. Wow, I'm so uninspired lately. I've got major writer's block. Major, major, major.
Ummm.....I do have something to talk about, actually, but I'm going to sit on it for awhile longer. How's that for a tasty teaser?
Talk to you tomorrow....
I just wanted to say hello to the nice people who are still checking in! And I promise that I'll write something good (or maybe not good, but something) tomorrow. I just don't know about what, though. It might be about pie or flowers or my weenie dog. Wow, I'm so uninspired lately. I've got major writer's block. Major, major, major.
Ummm.....I do have something to talk about, actually, but I'm going to sit on it for awhile longer. How's that for a tasty teaser?
Talk to you tomorrow....
Monday, February 26, 2007
Hi
Okay, well. Hmmm.
I seem to have been at a loss for words the past couple of weeks. I did this after my miscarriage, too, so I guess that it's something weird that I do. I just haven't known what to say about....anything. I told a bloggy friend this morning, I'm just feeling extremely "blah". No joie de vivre, as they say.
I'm not sure what I'm supposed to be doing now. It's like I've given myself that year to do whatever I needed to do...hole myself up, scream and cry, lose 50 pounds, gain a ton back, learn to sew, plant things, scream and cry, pull my hair, scan the obits for dead babies, have a pathological fear of Target and their fucking Lullaby Club, don't return phone calls, don't return emails, bitch at my husband, cry myself to sleep, cry myself awake and then wonder why I'm so goddamned lonely all the time. It boggles my mind that it's been a year. I've been crying for a year. I must be chronically dehydrated.
I've been thinking a lot since his birthday about this time last year. When we finally did go back to our place (we'd stayed with my mom for a few days) I sat at the kitchen table for like, a week. Hours and hours upon end. I am serious. I just sat there listening to the radio and knitting lace pillowcase inserts. Or I would just lay my head down on the table and bawl and scream uncontrollably. But I stayed in the kitchen. The mental pain was so mind numbingly horrible that it even overshadowed the physical pain of my c-section. I remember thinking, "What was everyone's problem with this? It doesn't hurt that bad."
So that's my thing right now. I don't know what to do with myself. All the "firsts" are gone and now every year is just going to blur into each other. His 2nd birthday and his 32nd birthday. Now what? I've turned into a very boring person. Hey, did I tell you that I saw the guy who does the weather on tv at the grocery store this morning? Yeah, that's all I got. I know that it is stupid to say, "Okay, it's been a year. Pull up your big girl panties and get on with things." That's what clueless people say. I guess that I'm afraid that it's been a year and I'm still having trouble functioning on a halfway decent level. When do I get excited about things again?
I seem to have been at a loss for words the past couple of weeks. I did this after my miscarriage, too, so I guess that it's something weird that I do. I just haven't known what to say about....anything. I told a bloggy friend this morning, I'm just feeling extremely "blah". No joie de vivre, as they say.
I'm not sure what I'm supposed to be doing now. It's like I've given myself that year to do whatever I needed to do...hole myself up, scream and cry, lose 50 pounds, gain a ton back, learn to sew, plant things, scream and cry, pull my hair, scan the obits for dead babies, have a pathological fear of Target and their fucking Lullaby Club, don't return phone calls, don't return emails, bitch at my husband, cry myself to sleep, cry myself awake and then wonder why I'm so goddamned lonely all the time. It boggles my mind that it's been a year. I've been crying for a year. I must be chronically dehydrated.
I've been thinking a lot since his birthday about this time last year. When we finally did go back to our place (we'd stayed with my mom for a few days) I sat at the kitchen table for like, a week. Hours and hours upon end. I am serious. I just sat there listening to the radio and knitting lace pillowcase inserts. Or I would just lay my head down on the table and bawl and scream uncontrollably. But I stayed in the kitchen. The mental pain was so mind numbingly horrible that it even overshadowed the physical pain of my c-section. I remember thinking, "What was everyone's problem with this? It doesn't hurt that bad."
So that's my thing right now. I don't know what to do with myself. All the "firsts" are gone and now every year is just going to blur into each other. His 2nd birthday and his 32nd birthday. Now what? I've turned into a very boring person. Hey, did I tell you that I saw the guy who does the weather on tv at the grocery store this morning? Yeah, that's all I got. I know that it is stupid to say, "Okay, it's been a year. Pull up your big girl panties and get on with things." That's what clueless people say. I guess that I'm afraid that it's been a year and I'm still having trouble functioning on a halfway decent level. When do I get excited about things again?
Monday, February 05, 2007
Nate's Portrait
Here is the portrait of Nate that my sister, Jessica, drew for us.
And here's a close-up so that you can see the detail.
I should have taken it out from behind the glass before I took the picture, so there's a reflection in the way a little bit. What do you think? Isn't it great? I have it up on the mantel and just can't stop looking at it. I love it so much, and particularly thankful for it after that Dear Abby letter today.
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