I kind of got blind sided last week.
Last Monday was the beginning of spring break for Hazelle. As she and Isla cuddled in bed with me to watch "Martha Speaks" I whispered, "Hazelle, do you know what today is? Today is the first day of SPRING BREAK! We don't have to rush to get you ready for school! We can just lay here and lounge around this morning!" I was really excited about this... seriously, no fights! I wasn't sure what type of response I was going to get from her. You never really know with a 4-year old. Either she could have started jumping for joy or bawling because she wouldn't see her friends for a week. On this particular morning she looked at me wide-eyed and said, "Yay! Does that mean the new baby is coming out this week?"
It threw me off for a second before it dawned on me. The day before I found out our last pregnancy hadn't survived, I had a feeling of confidence. I was 12 weeks and really sick and Hazelle asked me why I had to go to the doctor's the next day (for my routine 12-week visit and ultrasound). I smiled at her and told her that she was going to have a new brother or sister and the doctor just needed to make sure everything was alright. "Now?" she asked. "No honey, when you go on spring break, that will be when the new baby will come out".
And there it was. A conversation I had on September 10th and then just neglected to explain more to an excited 3 year old as I grieved for the baby we lost. I can't believe she freaking remembered that ONE ever-so-brief conversation we had after school one day. She never asked about that baby. It took my husband and I a long time to tell her about this one. Most people said it wasn't worth explaining, that she would never know. But now she had remembered something I had forgot, that upcoming week, today actually, was my due date.
In all the hurriedness with trying to get the house ready to show, this had slipped past us. I felt... well, mostly guilty. It should have dawned on me, what kind of mother forgets this?
As we walked out to the van that afternoon, Hazelle ran to the yellow daffodils that were starting to bloom. Walking around to get her something caught my eye. Last fall, I planted what I referred to as my 'memorial garden'. It had the little birdbath I purchased after my first miscarriage, in between 2 beautiful plants, Lenten Roses, which I had planted late last fall. It was my little homage to the little souls who would never see this world. This day I looked at those dead plants and saw new green leaves, and 3 beautiful pink flowers on each.
Now I could look at this two different ways. 1. They are called 'Lenten Roses'... and this is well, Lent. It could reasonably be expected that these flowers bloom during this season. or 2. This was a little reminder, a forget-me-not wink from heaven that on this particular day a sad remembrance turned into a little beautiful moment with the bloom of those flowers. To see something dead or dormant come alive has been a full-circle moment for which they were planted. Call it what you want but it made me feel a little warm and fuzzy, a little less sad and a lot more healed.
Thursday, March 25, 2010
Sunday, March 21, 2010
Super Sunday Bikini Contest
Last December while talking to a friend of mine, she mentioned that existing home owners could get $6500 if they sold an existing and bought a new home. That little chunk of money dangled like a carrot in front of my husband and I. Shortly before I found out I was pregnant again, we decided to go for it and put it on the market. VERY loving family has been helping us ever since to get this thing ready to show. No small feat, just ask my mom who has been telling me how much our house has needed cleaned for the last 6 years.
After 3 months, 3 snowstorms, 3 trips to donate crap (including 3 contractor grade garbage bags of my clothes from 10 years ago) and a very uneventful first trimester we did it! I have never been to therapy, but I think achieving this has been damn near an epiphany.
On Facebook I described selling our house as feeling like you're "standing outside in a bathing suit." Now this might seem a little strange, but you have no idea how much anxiety it gives me to put on a bathing suit, let alone go out in public. In fact, I took my kids swimming last year at the YMCA twice. A near miracle considering I hadn't been in a bathing suit since spring break 1997. Seriously. 1997... and that was a good 65 lbs ago. And I tried to stay drunk the whole time so I didn't have to be aware of the fact that I was actually in a bathing suit.
And so really, that's how I feel about selling this house. It's me. It's all my decisions for the last 6.5 years put in 18 pictures and a brief description. You wonder what people think, but really don't want to know. You know you don't look as good as a lot of other people, but you hope some odd person some how looks past the dimpled ass and varicose veins and thinks, "whoa dude, she's hot. I want to make an offer." (And please let that offer be about within $5,000 of our asking price.)
Last Sunday was "Super Sunday", a superbowl for realtors trying to convince those who don't own homes they should do so NOW. Over 3,000 homes for sale in Cincinnati were open for public viewings, hoping to catch a piece of that tax credit pie. Ours was one of those.
I put on that "Open House" bathing suit and tried to flaunt my ass off (new air freshners, fresh flowers and the cleanest this house has ever been!). But... much prettier girls were shaking their booty and no one wanted the fat chick (and by no one, I mean no one showed up for 2 hours). Oh well, at least I put on the suit. And if you know of anyone who wants the most space efficient 4 bed, 2 bath house this side of 75, please send them my way. It's getting really cold standing out here.
After 3 months, 3 snowstorms, 3 trips to donate crap (including 3 contractor grade garbage bags of my clothes from 10 years ago) and a very uneventful first trimester we did it! I have never been to therapy, but I think achieving this has been damn near an epiphany.
On Facebook I described selling our house as feeling like you're "standing outside in a bathing suit." Now this might seem a little strange, but you have no idea how much anxiety it gives me to put on a bathing suit, let alone go out in public. In fact, I took my kids swimming last year at the YMCA twice. A near miracle considering I hadn't been in a bathing suit since spring break 1997. Seriously. 1997... and that was a good 65 lbs ago. And I tried to stay drunk the whole time so I didn't have to be aware of the fact that I was actually in a bathing suit.
And so really, that's how I feel about selling this house. It's me. It's all my decisions for the last 6.5 years put in 18 pictures and a brief description. You wonder what people think, but really don't want to know. You know you don't look as good as a lot of other people, but you hope some odd person some how looks past the dimpled ass and varicose veins and thinks, "whoa dude, she's hot. I want to make an offer." (And please let that offer be about within $5,000 of our asking price.)
Last Sunday was "Super Sunday", a superbowl for realtors trying to convince those who don't own homes they should do so NOW. Over 3,000 homes for sale in Cincinnati were open for public viewings, hoping to catch a piece of that tax credit pie. Ours was one of those.
I put on that "Open House" bathing suit and tried to flaunt my ass off (new air freshners, fresh flowers and the cleanest this house has ever been!). But... much prettier girls were shaking their booty and no one wanted the fat chick (and by no one, I mean no one showed up for 2 hours). Oh well, at least I put on the suit. And if you know of anyone who wants the most space efficient 4 bed, 2 bath house this side of 75, please send them my way. It's getting really cold standing out here.
Thursday, March 4, 2010
I'm Coming Out.
Yes, you read correctly. I am coming out of the closet. This has taken me a long time to write, but I think it's about time. I owe it to my husband and children, all those close to me who already know and have been keeping it a secret (or not so much, like my mom). Ok, here goes...
I am pregnant.
K to the N to the O-C-K-E-D up... again. Yes, for the 5th time in as many years. I am pregnant again. 15 weeks today. So if you look back at my previous posts it might make a little sense while I raged in one and contemplated life and loss in another. So goes the wonderful roller coaster that is gestation.
And why the dramatics? Well, for those of you who do not have children, but plan to one day, take this piece of advice. Enjoy every second of telling people about your first pregnancy. You will get hugs, tears, laughing, eye winks, presents, cards and flowers. People will carry your groceries, open doors for you and ask how you are feeling. Every old woman within a block of you will get a twinkle in her eye, feel your belly and tell you to relish every second because it goes so fast, she should know, her baby is now 60.
And then your second pregnancy? Well, it's alright. You get people saying 'Congratulations', 'Good luck!', 'It's twice the work'. You even get the occasional 'STOP NOW WHILE YOU CAN!' (I thank my sister, who has 4 children, for that little number)
Thus brings us to pregnancy number three. You are lucky to get a, "Hey lady, you knew what you were signing up for." All this while apologizing profusely and dragging along a screaming toddler and grumpy preschooler who both want a new pony and a sippy cup o' juice.
I've only had a few people close enough to me make the daring announcement to family and friends they are expecting a FOURTH, the audacity! One of those being my sister who announced she was expecting her last child, while holding a crying 10 month-old as her 5 year-old 2-1/2 year-old ran around the table terrorizing any relative who looked at them cross-eyed (which was all of them of course). From how it was recalled by my mother, the entire table fell silent, mouths fell open, forks fell onto their plates and everyone held their breath. Until my uncle started laughing, which started everyone else laughing, because, they all thought she was telling a really bad joke.... which she wasn't. Needless to say I don't think it was the reaction my sister and her husband were going for.
So 4 people, I'm outed. Still a little worried here and there but guess it's time to strart spreading the news. The due date is August 28th. Dead heat of the summer (yay!). Feel free, go ahead and say it, "Hey lady, you knew what you were signing up for."
I am pregnant.
K to the N to the O-C-K-E-D up... again. Yes, for the 5th time in as many years. I am pregnant again. 15 weeks today. So if you look back at my previous posts it might make a little sense while I raged in one and contemplated life and loss in another. So goes the wonderful roller coaster that is gestation.
And why the dramatics? Well, for those of you who do not have children, but plan to one day, take this piece of advice. Enjoy every second of telling people about your first pregnancy. You will get hugs, tears, laughing, eye winks, presents, cards and flowers. People will carry your groceries, open doors for you and ask how you are feeling. Every old woman within a block of you will get a twinkle in her eye, feel your belly and tell you to relish every second because it goes so fast, she should know, her baby is now 60.
And then your second pregnancy? Well, it's alright. You get people saying 'Congratulations', 'Good luck!', 'It's twice the work'. You even get the occasional 'STOP NOW WHILE YOU CAN!' (I thank my sister, who has 4 children, for that little number)
Thus brings us to pregnancy number three. You are lucky to get a, "Hey lady, you knew what you were signing up for." All this while apologizing profusely and dragging along a screaming toddler and grumpy preschooler who both want a new pony and a sippy cup o' juice.
I've only had a few people close enough to me make the daring announcement to family and friends they are expecting a FOURTH, the audacity! One of those being my sister who announced she was expecting her last child, while holding a crying 10 month-old as her 5 year-old 2-1/2 year-old ran around the table terrorizing any relative who looked at them cross-eyed (which was all of them of course). From how it was recalled by my mother, the entire table fell silent, mouths fell open, forks fell onto their plates and everyone held their breath. Until my uncle started laughing, which started everyone else laughing, because, they all thought she was telling a really bad joke.... which she wasn't. Needless to say I don't think it was the reaction my sister and her husband were going for.
So 4 people, I'm outed. Still a little worried here and there but guess it's time to strart spreading the news. The due date is August 28th. Dead heat of the summer (yay!). Feel free, go ahead and say it, "Hey lady, you knew what you were signing up for."
Tuesday, February 23, 2010
Perspective
Ever sail along in life so engrossed in what you are doing that you fail to see things in order of importance? Life has been hectic the last few months, to say the least, looking ahead to things to come this year. I had some time yesterday though to reflect on the day's events while riding along a desolate country road, staring out into flat solid snow covered fields with a fog so thick you couldn't tell where the ground ended and the sky began. We estimated the visibility to be about 1/8 mile. We drove a steady 35 miles an hour, following the line of cars in front of us with same 'FUNERAL' flag waiving from the driver's side window. Every car coming the opposite way pulled over in respect for the large caravan, something you don't typically see in the city. Somber, ethereal, somewhat like time was standing still for this grieving family.
The words the preacher had said during his sermon repeated in my mind as we drove. He said, "Three years ago, absolutely no one would have thought we would be gathered here today." He was referring to the celebration of life for a 43 year-old wife and mother of three kids (ages 8, 6 & 5) who bravely fought and finally succumbed to the horrid disease that is pancreatic cancer. Sadly the same rare cancer her widower's, my husband's first cousin, father had died of 6 years ago. Both families were so unfortunately familiar with how things could go, but hope still abounded through treatments & surgeries. Bright spots shone before the darkness reared it ugly head and the doctors sent her home after Thanksgiving to spend her remaining time with her family.
Just 2 years ago she had her life planned out. Watching her kids grow up, growing old with her husband. But one phone call from a surgeon with a diagnosis jolted those plans to a screeching halt. It reminded me of what I saw outside. Every other time I had been on that same stretch of road, I could see the path ahead me, clear and unimpeded. Numb to the fact of where I was, just focused on where I was going. Today though, the reality is that the path could only be seen where we were, very little ahead. What existed beyond that fog, although I knew once to be an engraved tangible landscape, is now hazy and unfamiliar.
Ironically his foggy haze put things in a clearer perspective for me. Patti had her road map, how her life was to unfold yet no one saw this end. This was a subtle reminder to, of course, know the road I'm on, but more importantly enjoy the scenery where I'm at. As we experienced through some one else's pain, you never know what lays beyond the fog.
And so ends my existential, Debbie-Downer thought of the day.
P.S. Hug your kids tonight :)
The words the preacher had said during his sermon repeated in my mind as we drove. He said, "Three years ago, absolutely no one would have thought we would be gathered here today." He was referring to the celebration of life for a 43 year-old wife and mother of three kids (ages 8, 6 & 5) who bravely fought and finally succumbed to the horrid disease that is pancreatic cancer. Sadly the same rare cancer her widower's, my husband's first cousin, father had died of 6 years ago. Both families were so unfortunately familiar with how things could go, but hope still abounded through treatments & surgeries. Bright spots shone before the darkness reared it ugly head and the doctors sent her home after Thanksgiving to spend her remaining time with her family.
Just 2 years ago she had her life planned out. Watching her kids grow up, growing old with her husband. But one phone call from a surgeon with a diagnosis jolted those plans to a screeching halt. It reminded me of what I saw outside. Every other time I had been on that same stretch of road, I could see the path ahead me, clear and unimpeded. Numb to the fact of where I was, just focused on where I was going. Today though, the reality is that the path could only be seen where we were, very little ahead. What existed beyond that fog, although I knew once to be an engraved tangible landscape, is now hazy and unfamiliar.
Ironically his foggy haze put things in a clearer perspective for me. Patti had her road map, how her life was to unfold yet no one saw this end. This was a subtle reminder to, of course, know the road I'm on, but more importantly enjoy the scenery where I'm at. As we experienced through some one else's pain, you never know what lays beyond the fog.
And so ends my existential, Debbie-Downer thought of the day.
P.S. Hug your kids tonight :)
Tuesday, January 26, 2010
I. Hate. Winter.
Hello 4 people who added me to the reading list. It's been nearly 3 months since my last post. I'm sure you missed me. If you didn't, I'm still going to pretend you did because I need the self esteem right now. (insert deep cleansing breath here)
Holy crap. Yes, I'm having a day, a moment, a month, a season, just a BAD TIME OF YEAR! Which really is disheartening because I used to love the winter months. Probably because I was inexplicably lazy. During winter, I had an excuse as to why I didn't to go outside. There were new TV shows every night. It stays dark longer and I could stay in bed all day, or lounge on the couch on the weekends. Nothing got done, but nothing got messy. I used to just exist from January until March. And I loved it.
I don't even have to tell you now why these beloved hibernation days are over. They are 1 and 4 and blond and evil. Well, today they are evil. I'm hiding on the computer as they climb the walls and destroy the little bit of housecleaning I was able to get done today. Seriously, I just looked at the living room and I'm pretty sure the girl from the Exorcist popped out of the toy chest and threw up primary color bits to every corner of the house.
I feel dangerously close to Clark Griswold's rant after he found out he wasn't getting a Christmas bonus on Christmas Vacation. I can't repeat it word for word, but I know there's a lot of bad words followed by a shot of eggnog. Too bad I hate eggnog cause I think it made him feel better.
Now I've successfully escaped for a few minutes I feel tick in my eye starting to ease. Love my kids, hate the cold inescapable winter that turns them into gremlins. Gremlins who like apples and poop every 5 minutes.
My husband just arrived home.
"Hallelujah. Holy S**t. Where's the Tylenol?"
Holy crap. Yes, I'm having a day, a moment, a month, a season, just a BAD TIME OF YEAR! Which really is disheartening because I used to love the winter months. Probably because I was inexplicably lazy. During winter, I had an excuse as to why I didn't to go outside. There were new TV shows every night. It stays dark longer and I could stay in bed all day, or lounge on the couch on the weekends. Nothing got done, but nothing got messy. I used to just exist from January until March. And I loved it.
I don't even have to tell you now why these beloved hibernation days are over. They are 1 and 4 and blond and evil. Well, today they are evil. I'm hiding on the computer as they climb the walls and destroy the little bit of housecleaning I was able to get done today. Seriously, I just looked at the living room and I'm pretty sure the girl from the Exorcist popped out of the toy chest and threw up primary color bits to every corner of the house.
I feel dangerously close to Clark Griswold's rant after he found out he wasn't getting a Christmas bonus on Christmas Vacation. I can't repeat it word for word, but I know there's a lot of bad words followed by a shot of eggnog. Too bad I hate eggnog cause I think it made him feel better.
Now I've successfully escaped for a few minutes I feel tick in my eye starting to ease. Love my kids, hate the cold inescapable winter that turns them into gremlins. Gremlins who like apples and poop every 5 minutes.
My husband just arrived home.
"Hallelujah. Holy S**t. Where's the Tylenol?"
Friday, November 6, 2009
A Green Van?
The other day Ben had all our vehicles lined up in a row checking the fluids in each. First in line was the green VW Beetle, beside it the gray Ford Escape and finally was the silver Chrysler Town & Country minivan. I called Ben back to see what I saw. Essentially, it was the evolution of our lives... on wheels. It tragically illustrated the slow course of death of my now long-gone youth.
I bought the Beetle from my sister January of 2005, a week after I found out I was pregnant. No stinking family car for me!!! Children would fit into my life, I would not succumb to the mini-van or big SUV most people run to when expecting. No, I have something to prove. My life is a kiwi-colored Beetle, and I intend to keep it that way.(!)
Hmm, yeah. Then I gave birth. (experienced mothers snicker now)
I maintained my green Beetle life though, sort of. Teetering between this new motherhood thing and who I was before motherhood. I could elaborate more but I barely remember that first year and a half because I was EXHAUSTED. Teetering is very hard work you know.
When I was very pregnant with my second child, it became apparent I needed to switch cars. No longer did my GINORMOUS midsection allow me to climb in the backseat to buckle my toddler. Begrudgingly, my husband and I switched cars. (Yet another side note, if you see a man driving a kiwi-green Beetle, don't assume he might be playing for the other team. He could have just been forced to give up his manhood so his wife's ginormous butt wouldn't get stuck in the backseat of her car at 8 months pregnant. THAT, my friends, is love.)
So I drove the Escape, which was fine. It had a little spunk in it, a little attitude. I didn't feel like it was really 'me', but I could see my life was changing, and the car had to change with it. It would do. Cause that's what you do when you have kids.... you make do... at least until you can get your life back. Right?
Fast forward to earlier this year. My parents offered to sell me their minivan. It was nice, sure. It had been well-taken care of and was 'top of the line' when my sister purchased it new 10 years ago. BUT IT WAS A SILVER FREAKING MINI-VAN! The same van that seems to have cloned itself in every Target parking lot, rows upon rows of SILVER VANS! NO, NO, NO! This was NOT supposed to be me! I am a GREEN BEETLE! BUT.... But.... now I have 2 kids. And we are planning on getting pregnant sometime this year. And Hazelle is starting preschool in the fall and we'll need to have an extra carseat for carpooling. CARPOOLING? When did this start?! What happened?
Well... I became a mom. A hard-core, stay-at-home, three plus-carseat wielding mom with a tad bit of resentment, I mean road rage. (Big sigh).
Ok, I'm here. And believe it or not actually pretty happy. I still get to drive the Beetle every once in awhile and relive my kiwi-green days when I was working, traveling and could play music with cuss words as loud as I wanted. I'm hoping that one day I can be kiwi-green again, or a least some shade of green. Maybe I should put a request in to VW they make a special edition of the Routan, their family van (I have been salivating over it since it's release). Instead of the typical white, silver, navy blue and black (that apparently all 30-something moms are clamoring over)... maybe they could make a special 'reliving youth edition', it would be perfect in a nice shade of green*.
*Hunter green excluded please.
I bought the Beetle from my sister January of 2005, a week after I found out I was pregnant. No stinking family car for me!!! Children would fit into my life, I would not succumb to the mini-van or big SUV most people run to when expecting. No, I have something to prove. My life is a kiwi-colored Beetle, and I intend to keep it that way.(!)
Hmm, yeah. Then I gave birth. (experienced mothers snicker now)
I maintained my green Beetle life though, sort of. Teetering between this new motherhood thing and who I was before motherhood. I could elaborate more but I barely remember that first year and a half because I was EXHAUSTED. Teetering is very hard work you know.
When I was very pregnant with my second child, it became apparent I needed to switch cars. No longer did my GINORMOUS midsection allow me to climb in the backseat to buckle my toddler. Begrudgingly, my husband and I switched cars. (Yet another side note, if you see a man driving a kiwi-green Beetle, don't assume he might be playing for the other team. He could have just been forced to give up his manhood so his wife's ginormous butt wouldn't get stuck in the backseat of her car at 8 months pregnant. THAT, my friends, is love.)
So I drove the Escape, which was fine. It had a little spunk in it, a little attitude. I didn't feel like it was really 'me', but I could see my life was changing, and the car had to change with it. It would do. Cause that's what you do when you have kids.... you make do... at least until you can get your life back. Right?
Fast forward to earlier this year. My parents offered to sell me their minivan. It was nice, sure. It had been well-taken care of and was 'top of the line' when my sister purchased it new 10 years ago. BUT IT WAS A SILVER FREAKING MINI-VAN! The same van that seems to have cloned itself in every Target parking lot, rows upon rows of SILVER VANS! NO, NO, NO! This was NOT supposed to be me! I am a GREEN BEETLE! BUT.... But.... now I have 2 kids. And we are planning on getting pregnant sometime this year. And Hazelle is starting preschool in the fall and we'll need to have an extra carseat for carpooling. CARPOOLING? When did this start?! What happened?
Well... I became a mom. A hard-core, stay-at-home, three plus-carseat wielding mom with a tad bit of resentment, I mean road rage. (Big sigh).
Ok, I'm here. And believe it or not actually pretty happy. I still get to drive the Beetle every once in awhile and relive my kiwi-green days when I was working, traveling and could play music with cuss words as loud as I wanted. I'm hoping that one day I can be kiwi-green again, or a least some shade of green. Maybe I should put a request in to VW they make a special edition of the Routan, their family van (I have been salivating over it since it's release). Instead of the typical white, silver, navy blue and black (that apparently all 30-something moms are clamoring over)... maybe they could make a special 'reliving youth edition', it would be perfect in a nice shade of green*.
*Hunter green excluded please.
Saturday, October 31, 2009
'20'
Happy November everyone! I'm glad it's here. It's relatively empty compared to October, thank goodness. I ripped the October page off tonight and smiled at all the white space. Gosh I love white space. That is, until I saw the number '20', circled in red at the bottom of November 10th. That people.... was a reminder. A now sickening and saddening reminder that I would have been 20 weeks pregnant on that day. A half-way milestone to what would have been our third child.
I think most of you know that on September 11th we went in for a routine ultrasound at 11-1/2 weeks. A welcome plateau to a very hard pregnancy. I had been sick. Like SOOO sick, at one point I was pretty sure I was dying... seriously, not to sound too dramatic or anything. I remember sitting there, excited, but so very nervous before going in. We watched another couple go in before us and exit with these images. You could not wipe the grin off that guy's face. 'First timers', we thought, and smiled at thought of how much they were going to encounter to get to the point we were at.
I still felt nervous though. After you have experienced one miscarriage (we lost a baby before Hazelle), the first trimester is never the same. You always have it in your head that its a crap shoot, 50/50, nothing is for certain. I definently had it on my mind that this baby might not be alive. But I had been sick and that made me feel better, mentally at least, that my body was doing it's job and I had a little kid trying to get big enough to kick my bladder constantly. I could go on, but the gist is when the ultrasound tech saw the baby, it wasn't moving, there was no blood flow, and it was only measuring 8-1/2 weeks. She got all her images she needed before telling us. I knew already though.
We were ushered back to room immediately, a standard protocol so women don't have to go out in the waiting room and hold it in until they are in private. My ob/gyn smiled at me on the way back, not having seen the results yet. I was glad though. I wasn't looking forward to the sad head nod I knew was coming and all the 'Next time...''s we'd talk about. We didn't cry, either one of us. It was more shock, a familiar, sickening shock.
I had a D&C a few days later and have been trying to get back to normal ever since. I feel pretty good now, but every once in awhile, something will hit, like tonight and that stupid red number '20' circled on my calendar, as to what I'm missing. The first time I miscarried 4-1/2 years ago, I had marked every week on my calendar in red ink. I spent over an hour after that miscarriage taking whiteout to the remaining 30 numbered weeks. For the next 6 months, all the stupid whited-out pages in that calendar stuck together. Lesson learned. Never mark dates again... at least all of them. '20' is an all-important half-way milestone though, one of only a few to get inked. Unfortunately this '20' no longer serves as a reminder our baby's due date is half way here, but as a reminder our baby will never be.
I think most of you know that on September 11th we went in for a routine ultrasound at 11-1/2 weeks. A welcome plateau to a very hard pregnancy. I had been sick. Like SOOO sick, at one point I was pretty sure I was dying... seriously, not to sound too dramatic or anything. I remember sitting there, excited, but so very nervous before going in. We watched another couple go in before us and exit with these images. You could not wipe the grin off that guy's face. 'First timers', we thought, and smiled at thought of how much they were going to encounter to get to the point we were at.
I still felt nervous though. After you have experienced one miscarriage (we lost a baby before Hazelle), the first trimester is never the same. You always have it in your head that its a crap shoot, 50/50, nothing is for certain. I definently had it on my mind that this baby might not be alive. But I had been sick and that made me feel better, mentally at least, that my body was doing it's job and I had a little kid trying to get big enough to kick my bladder constantly. I could go on, but the gist is when the ultrasound tech saw the baby, it wasn't moving, there was no blood flow, and it was only measuring 8-1/2 weeks. She got all her images she needed before telling us. I knew already though.
We were ushered back to room immediately, a standard protocol so women don't have to go out in the waiting room and hold it in until they are in private. My ob/gyn smiled at me on the way back, not having seen the results yet. I was glad though. I wasn't looking forward to the sad head nod I knew was coming and all the 'Next time...''s we'd talk about. We didn't cry, either one of us. It was more shock, a familiar, sickening shock.
I had a D&C a few days later and have been trying to get back to normal ever since. I feel pretty good now, but every once in awhile, something will hit, like tonight and that stupid red number '20' circled on my calendar, as to what I'm missing. The first time I miscarried 4-1/2 years ago, I had marked every week on my calendar in red ink. I spent over an hour after that miscarriage taking whiteout to the remaining 30 numbered weeks. For the next 6 months, all the stupid whited-out pages in that calendar stuck together. Lesson learned. Never mark dates again... at least all of them. '20' is an all-important half-way milestone though, one of only a few to get inked. Unfortunately this '20' no longer serves as a reminder our baby's due date is half way here, but as a reminder our baby will never be.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
