Weaning: The End of an Era

It's been over 48 hours, and I'm calling it: after 1,367 days, my milkies are officially retired. 

I was afraid we wouldn't make it past the first 3 weeks, but we survived thrush, teething, night feedings...  And then there was a new baby - learning to nurse a newborn while in the same room with her still-nursing sister.  Learning why God gave us two? 

3 years 8 months and 26 days of interrupted nights so I could nourish and comfort and bond with my babies.  Countless sour looks and tilted heads when I answered "Yes, we're still nursing" as the weeks and months and years ticked by...as if I were doing something wrong, something unnatural.  The early days when it was ridiculous for me to not be giving them bottles full of rice cereal at 3 months, completely wrong for me to not feed them purees from jars at 4 months, just weird for me to give them whole pieces of banana and avocado at 6 months...I've been feeding them all wrong from the get go.  "Just give them a bottle, it'll be easier."  "They'll sleep better if you'll stop breastfeeding and give them a bottle with cereal."  "They're too old to still be nursing, Natalie." 

I did what I thought was the best.  I do every day.  I wake up every day and make the best choices I can in the hopes that I'm making a good start, a good life for them.  It's been time to end this, but I needed, for myself and for Cora, to make it to Cora's second birthday.  I also had to find a way to cut them off near that date without it becoming "Cora turned 2 and the milkies went away," because Geneva is serious about her milkies and I could honestly see that becoming a therapy talking-point in her later years if I screwed this up.  We've been talking for a few months about how milkies are only for little babies, and when babies grow bigger, the milkies dry up and go way. So when we were driving home Wednesday evening, and I told them that the milkies were almost all gone, they didn't freak out.  That night, we nursed before bed as usual, and I told them that was the last time.  The next morning, they asked, but didn't fight me when I gently told them no and redirected them.  Same at bedtime last night, and again this morning.  I was out tonight when they went to bed, but G was still awake when I got home - she asked me to lay with her, but didn't ask for milkies.  This is a huge positive and it makes my heart so happy - I've dreaded and delayed this because of my fear of how the transition would go.  Once again, my kids are better than I give them credit for - they understand when we talk to them, and if we don't give them room for argument, they don't argue.  Well.  Sometimes. 

This has been such a huge part of my life for so long; I'm sad that it's over, but only because it's always sad for me when chapters close.  It's exciting too - maybe now the girls will start sleeping through the night and we can get some actual sleep and not be zombies all the time!  But also, the girls are growing up, and that's so exciting - they're such neat little people, and I just love watching them turn into the awesome people they're going to be.  And I'll always be so grateful and proud of my amazing body - I didn't just grow them inside me and bring them into this world, I nourished them and kept them alive, too.  That's miraculous.  I got to be an active part in two miracles.  That's a pretty good feeling. 

She's here.

Adriana Rose Medley joined us tonight at 7:57 p.m., weighing in at 6 pounds 11 ounces, measuring at 19 1/2 inches long.  Grandma Pam at first said her head measured 33 inches, and then my Momma offered that 33 inches is the size of her waist, so perhaps Pam meant centimeters?  Oh yes, of course!  :)

I've not seen the little Princess yet, so I have no pictures to offer at this time.  Immediately after birth, Stacy and Jessie were given an hour of mommy/daddy/baby time before they were going to move rooms or some such thing.  Near 9:30, I looked around and realized that there were way more immediate relations present than my humble little "first cousin of the mom" title - Jessie's parents and sisters and nieces and nephews, Stacy's Mom and Dad - and that my turn getting in to see the baby was going to be a long time coming.  Stacy was awake since before 5 a.m., spent her day laboring,  and birthed a child, all without food since 11 o'clock last night.  I imagine she's not much interested in entertaining till midnight.  I'll meet my niece-cousin tomorrow, and I promise pictures will follow.

I did get a glimpse of her, briefly.  Pam snapped a picture of the new family with her small point-and-shoot:  Stacy laughing and crying holding her newborn, her face radiant but pale; Jessie standing at the edge of the bed, looking down at his daughter with love written all over his tear-stained face; little Addy Rose with her mouth open in a scream, her little red face scrunched up, her dark wisps of hair just visible under a little pink cap.  Pam queued up the photo and passed the camera to my mom, who shared with me, then Pam passed the camera to Stacy's dad, who couldn't make out the details well.  Momma says, "Rick, zoom in on it", and he pushes the trash can button.  "Rick," I say, "you're about to delete that, careful."  He moves the cursor up and down - and deletes the picture.  "You just deleted that, Rick."  He was crestfallen.  "Why did you ever give the engineer the camera?!" he exclaimed.  And thus the first piece of folklore involving our sweet Adriana Rose was created - I assured the new grandpa that we'll be re-telling this story for the next thirty years, about how Rick deleted the first photo of his daughter holding his granddaughter.

Congratulations, Stacy and Jessie.  Welcome to the world, Miss Adriana.  I love you all so very, very much.

pretend this is my first post of 2012

GAH!

i just don't have any words, i guess.  got nothing to say.  not a thing.

i get locked up.  i have all these thoughts inside my head, but when it comes to putting them here, in words, i get stuck.  i can't say anything, and everything i try to say comes out all wrong and dumb and so i delete it or just flip back to facebook and pretend i didn't have anything i wanted to blog about anyhow.

which i don't, or i'd do it.  i think.

i'm four days late and not pregnant.  there's no way i can possibly convey how thoroughly this is fucking with my head.  i thought i might have been, for a second.  thought maybe our timing was right.  maybe i'd be huge this summer.  i had a dream, you see - there was a little fat baby boy in my living room under my love tree and in front of my fireplace at christmastime, and i was confused, because, of course, there's no baby.  but then i turned (still dreaming), and i was facing myself in the mirror, and i had a realization:  i'm pregnant, it's a boy, and his name is braden.  it seemed crazy when i woke up (i'd never name my boy braden, unless i had turned out to be knocked up, in which case it would've seemed dangerous to name him something else), but it also gave me a niggling hope in the back of my mind.  false hope, turns out, which is typical, but this four days late thing is mean and i hate it and i just want to get the fucking thing over with already.

and today my boss fired the dude who replaced the last guy who left - remember a few months ago when i was all "yay!  opportunity!"?  well, it's turned into a lot of extra work that's resulted in me feeling, again, like i suck at my job because i don't have enough time in a day to get it all done.  i had these awesome plans to take us on an awesome vacation when i get my bonus this year, but i didn't accomplish any of my goals for the year, well maybe one, so the bonus i was counting on is right out the window and so's that awesome vacation.  and what's the point anyhow, because when i'm on vacation, i still have to check emails and take phone calls and go into the office to do billing, so what's the fucking point?  may as well just go to work.  and now he's fired the guy who was taking up at least a little of the slack over there and joked "ready to do some more work?"  ha ha.  hi-fucking-larious.  i'm terrified i'm going to end up laughing my way to the poor house when i quit or the nut hatch because i stay - actually, i've got insurance that covers mental breakdowns - and if it was work-induced, that'd be a worker's comp thing, right?  hmm...

i shouldn't joke about mental illness, but i was feeling pretty good until i started writing all this shit that's been bothering me, and now i'm crying again.  i think i've got the winter blues bad.  i don't even have a real reason to be sad - boo hoo, poor me, i have this job with lots of responsibility and a steady income that i can spend however i wish because i don't have any kids that have to be diapered and put into daycare.

i am crazy, aren't i?  fuck.

may as well throw it all out there - part of my dive into the sads was in part due to the fact that there was no proposal this past holiday season.  i had that hope in the back of my head too, like the baby thing, whispering at me from the dark hidden corners of my mind where i force shit like that to go and live.  i asked for a will for christmas, one that protects my interest in our home if he dies.  i told him it was the only thing i wanted.  when i learned it wasn't going to be under the tree, i allowed my dumbass to think, for a moment, that maybe he had something better planned?  nope.  he just didn't get around to getting a will made.  fuck.  he's not the type to disappoint me, but i was disappointed, and hurt, and very deeply sad.

this is getting borderline too personal, and for me to recognize that probably means i should stop writing about it.

so yeah.  that's where my head has lived for the past week or so.  while i was sick.  at home.  on "vacation", with no computer.

mostly.  that's mostly where my head has lived.  there's been good, too.  like, i've taken finn for a walk every day this year, except monday because it was bitterly windy and cold and i just couldn't bring myself to do it.  i haven't smoked since monday, either, which is awesome and GO ME!  and i got on the scale the this morning and i'm down to 169 - that's the lowest number i've seen on a scale in, oh, i don't know, like 8 years?  GO ME!  i'm encouraged and feel like losing another 25 lbs maybe isn't impossible...i lost that much in 2011, i could do it again in 2012, right?  and i know he loves me; he shows me every single day, in a hundred little and huge ways.  and we spent new year's eve with angie at the chinese restaurant featuring a mix of mad men and jersey shore clientele and then shot off six bottle rockets in the front yard at midnight, and we spent new year's day with my momma at the flea market.  and my house is pretty clean.  and we did get the computer back.  and i've got like 6 bottles of wine from trader joe's, and i can drink it all if i want because i ain't preggo.  (but i won't, because i really do see a correlation between teh booze and teh fat.  i lose more weight when i don't drink an extra 600 calories each night.  duh.)

life is good.  it is.  it gets hard sometimes, and then i get sad, and then i come here to bitch and cry and whine and moan, and then i remember how good it is, even when it's hard.

happy new year, people who are awesome.

For crying out loud...

One of these days, I won't have to lock myself in the bathroom and have a little cry when I learn a friend is expecting.

Right?

It's not all about YOU, Natalie.

The last time Jimi and I had a come-to-Jesus about fertility and pregnancy and potential parenthood, I explained my feelings toward Stacy these days - "I watch her rub her little baby bump and I'm so happy for her, I'm so glad they finally are getting the one thing they wanted so badly, but at the same time, I'm so jealous I can hardly see straight."  It's true.

A few months back, a friend sent me a very kind message in response to one of my "omg what if i never get pregnant" posts and confessed she and her husband were trying to conceive, and that she was scared because nothing had happened yet.  I was touched that she reached out to me on this very personal matter, (and flattered, as I always am, that someone is reading my blog - especially someone I know in real life!), and I offered her the sincerest words of encouragement.  Today, she announced her pregnancy on Facebook.  I gasped, "Ellen's pregnant" and Kim was all OMG until she realized I was talking about someone we know, not ELLEN.  I'm so happy for my friend, I really am.  I got a little teary-eyed, remembering our conversation, and how I'd just been thinking about her yesterday and wondering if they'd had any luck yet.

And then I got sad for myself and had to go to the bathroom and have a little cry.  And then I felt like a complete asshole, because IT'S NOT ALL ABOUT YOU, NATALIE.

Her happiness has nothing to do with me.

I hate that I made getting pregnant a New Year's resolution.  I hate it so fucking hard.

I hate that I'm only saying that because it didn't happen for us this year.

I hate that I don't know if it'll ever happen.  I hate that this shit makes me all sad and cry-y.

I don't want to care.  I want to be completely fine if I never have a child.  I want it to be okay.

I know it will be okay, no matter what, but I don't want to be so fucking scared of it.

I'm thrilled for my friend, I am.

But right this second, for reasons I can't explain or justify, I'm sad for me.  I can't help it.

It's just a bottle of pills.

I bought a bottle of prenatal vitamins about a year ago, the day I peed on a stick and it showed two lines.  I was so excited.  I bought a pregnancy book, too, which promptly scared the shit out of me and was banished to my bookcase.  (Who knew ham was bad?  Holy crap!)

My surprise only stuck around for a week, and then a week after that it was all over; my life was back to "normal".

I banished the prenatals for a couple months, then my hormones went into overdrive and I could think of nothing but getting pregnant again; I dug them out of the closet and started taking them nightly, so I would be prepared, covered, all set when the next set of double lines appeared.  

It's been almost a year; the vitamin bottle is empty, the book has been passed to my pregnant sister/cousin, and if peed on a stick right now, there would only be one line.

I think I'm okay with it all, with the way everything has played out.  I'd say "no big deal", but then I'd have to ascribe another cause to these tears welling up.

I thought I'd be a mom by now.  I really did.  I thought for sure nothing would go wrong and everything would be perfect.  When things went wrong, I was shocked.  How cruel reality can be.

Then I was going to be pregnant by Christmas.  When that didn't happen, I thought, "Surely by summer."  It's September.

I'm accepting that maybe "parents" isn't a title we're destined to claim.  As I type those words, I'm thinking in the back of my mind, "but I'm only 31.  Lots of women have babies at 32, 33, 34..."

Getting pregnant is something I always thought I'd be able to do whenever I decided I was ready to do it.  Even now, I still hold this little thought that says, "If I bought some of those ovulation predictor things, or charted my temperature; if I really TRIED, I'd be successful."  Maybe it's true.  The fear that maybe it's not is what keeps me from taking those steps.

I thought we'd be parents by now.  I thought for sure it was our reality.

I believe things come to you when you're ready for them; that the universe has a way of putting people, places, things in your life at precisely the right moments, just when you need them, or maybe not until you're able to cope with them.  I hope it's just not our turn yet, not our time.  I fear it may never be our turn, but maybe there's something different, better out there for us.  The not knowing is the hardest part; I feel like I could accept the answer either way, if only I could just know what it is.

The crazy, I has it. Bad. Well, not SO bad...

I'm proud of myself and feeling a little less crazy today - I've managed, for the first time in 9 months, to go through an entire cycle without over-analyzing everything my body's doing and wondering "Am I Pregnant?!"  I didn't even pee on a stick this month, guys.  That's sort of a big deal.  Maybe my hormones are back to normal? Maybe I'm starting to not be quite so obsessive?  Maybe I'm not quite so crazy?

I still think about having a baby and getting pregnant every single day, but now the thoughts lean more toward "It's probably better if we don't have children" and "Think about all the fun things we can do now that we wouldn't be able to do if we did have a baby..." and "If we saved up for the next year what we would've spent in daycare costs, we could go on the most awesome European adventure next summer!"  These thoughts feel more hopeful and optimistic, and not so narrow and focused and do-or-die as the "MUST HAVE A BABY" thoughts from just a few short months back.  These thoughts feel wide open with endless possibilities - those thoughts felt obsessive and all-encompassing and so fixed, set, unmoving.  Then, there was only one option for happily ever after - now, I'm remembering that I'm right in the fucking middle of my happily ever after and I should enjoy it and not waste it away wishing for something more.  

Yes, of course I realize I'm totally faking myself out.  Kinda.  I guess.  Am I?  I'm starting to wonder.  I always wanted to be a mom because, well, that's what girls do, isn't it?  We grow up, we get married, we have babies...right?  What if I'm realizing that maybe I don't think cleaning up after someone else's messes and losing sleep and worrying constantly sounds like it fits with my definition of awesome?  And life right now?  It's pretty awesome.  

God.  Whatever.  No one cares.  I don't even care.  It's not even worth writing about.  It's just the crazy that is in my head all the time, trying to justify my choice either way, assuming, of course, as always, that it is a choice I actually have.  

Kimmie got her treadmill last night, so tonight begins our "walk 30 minutes a day" challenge.  I'm not sure how we're going to make this work beyond pure guilt and competition, but whatever, I need motivation however I can get it.  And I'm feeling particularly fat today, so it couldn't happen at a better time.  

Oh, and I've managed to keep the kitchen clean for two whole days.  I even cooked in there and everything!  I'll keep you updated on my progress.  (Let's not discuss the state of the laundry, the litterbox, or the vacuuming.)  

Back to work. 

The crazy, I has it.

If I'm not pregnant, I'm going to be so fucking disappointed.


My boobs have that heavy, sore, full feeling.  I remember it.  It's not the same as "my nipples are tender because I'm about to start my period".


The dreams.  The lack of sleep.


That's really all.  I'm so not pregnant.  I tell myself I don't want to be, but I want to be.  Oh, I want to be.


I took a test at lunch today; negative, of course, but I imagined I could almost see a line there.  Almost.  Not quite, but almost.


But I'm not.  I'm not.  No way.


Probably not.


Right?

*****************

That was Monday night.  Last night, my questions were answered in the form of cramps that were so severe I thought I'd throw up from the pain.  Advil, heating pad, home remedies - nothing touched it.  (That's not normal, thank goodness, and they are back to only mildly annoying this morning.)

I need you to tell me I'm not going to do this shit every month.  I need you to tell me that one of these days my period will approach without me comparing every symptom to the way my body felt for that week 8 months ago when I, for a moment, experienced something new.  Even when I know our timing wasn't such that would've lead to a baby, my brain still takes over in the last days of each cycle, causing me to analyze every twinge or cramp.  I want to feel my body getting ready for menstruation and know that's what it is - not spend days comparing this to that and falsely convincing  myself that I'm knocked up again.  

I don't want this.  I want that, but I don't want this.  I don't want to buy stock in dollar store pregnancy tests, but the longer this goes on, the more I think of how much money it'd save.  

I just want life to be back to normal.  I want to not be crazy.  I want to not feel foolish...but that's how I feel when I write shit like I wrote up there.  (No, it's not the first time.)  

I wish I could fully accept the idea of never having children.  If I could convince myself 100% that would be okay, I think things would be easier.  That fear of not having a choice - it's permeating everything.  

15 minutes of free-writing - again

I've done it before, but I'm not going to take the time to find it now.  I've been reading blogs for days, weeks, months - forever.  Fertility/infertility/parenting - it's everywhere.  I think I need to take a break from it all.  Maybe vacation is coming at the perfect time.  I can't wait.  I'm dreading the next two days at work, the fullness of them, but I can't wait to have so many days off in a row, to be away and doing things that aren't work.  With my favorite person by my side.

We moved our bedroom into the front room, the fire room, today.  The room that was our bedroom until about 7 o'clock tonight, we were going to turn it into a nursery there for about a week - now it'll be a big-ass walk-in closet.  I'm cool with this.  It's cheaper, for one.

I like this moving, upheaval thing we've been doing.  i like the change of it, the newness, the freshness.  And the fact that we're vacuuming each room as we go.  My sinuses are forever grateful.

I shaved my legs this weekend.  I don't think I had since the last time I blogged about it.  I'm not looking up how long ago that was, either.  It was too long.  Kimmie said I looked like a teenage boy - I let that marinate for a week or two and finally decided I was shamed enough to do something about it.  I always have the best of intentions - Kat used to shave every day.  Why can't I be more like that?  When the hairs are only a day old, it's easy to run a razor over your legs real fast while you're in the shower.  But I skip a day, then two, then a week, then four...and then you're hiking up your pantleg to show your co-worker/friend your shamefully long leghairs and for some reason it jars you when she says "you look like a twelve-year-old boy".

What the fuck am I talking about?

Let's talk about you - you there, reading this.  I love you.  I do.  You make me feel special.  Less than a month ago I had fewer than 45 people subscribed to this here life-expose'; now there are 90.  Whoa.  Really?  90 of you think I'm saying things here that are worth checking in on regularly?  I'm flattered.

And I love reading the things you all have to say.  I find so much comfort in the day-to-day of your lives, the struggles we share, the thoughts you have that I recognize as ones that I thought were only mine.  I had no idea this is what blogging could bring to my world, and I'm grateful to have found, or been found by, each of you.

And now Jimi's yammering something about something making fun of something on TV and this is my life and I wonder how in the world I got so lucky to be here, in this place, right now, at this time.  There is nothing I would change.  There is nothing I'd exchange or trade or switch.  This is my life, and my life is so good.

ICLW - ...wha...?

If you've found me from there, I feel like I should apologize.

Wait.  Don't go away just yet - let me tell you why.

Okay, I found Sparkles and Fairy Tales via Single Infertile Female a few months back.  The other day, Sparkles mentioned this here ICLW.

This is the part where I'm going to start to sound like a jackass, if you're from there.

I read her post.  It (ICLW) sounded cool.

I found the link, I read the post with directions and instructions, and it was 3/21 - last day to link up!!

Quick, hurry!! Sounds awesome!

So I did.

And it asked for three words that described my blog.  Hmm.  I've never answered this question before.  No, really.  I click the x at the top of the page when things ask this question.  Three words?  Really?  I'm bad at brevity.

But I thought about it for a minute.  "Life, Love, Happy"

Cool.  That's pretty good.  Yeah.  That'll work.

Here's the thing - I didn't read anything about any of the other blogs entered before I linked up.  I didn't pay any attention to much of anything beyond the post content - the rules and regulations of participation.

Okay, my next goal was to find 6 blogs to comment on for day 1 of the "hop".

I started noticing a trend.  Each of the blogs was following a similar theme - 2 of the first four were announcing BFPs.

I went back to the link-up page.  The three words describing each blog?  They were appearing there at the right of the blog titles, in parenthesis - ttc, miscarriage, IVF, multiple loss, infertility, adoption.

"Oh shit," I thought.  "I don't belong here - how do I take back my link?"  I looked - nope, no button for that.

I don't mean to intrude, if that's what I'm doing.  As I told Jimi tonight when I tried to explain this particular situation, I feel like I've got the tip of my big toe in your pool, but I'm not really part of your group.

Does that make sense?  God, I hope you don't take that the wrong way.  Here's what I mean:

The idea that I might be infertile scares the holy fuck out of me.  I've had a miscarriage - my one and only pregnancy.  But I was 30 before I got pregnant for that first time.  And we've not used birth control for the last three years.  According to my gyno (whom I've met once, when I was mid-miscarriage), that qualifies me for the title Infertile.

Holy fuck.  That's an awfully big word.

I don't want to be part of the infertility world.  I'm not strong enough to deserve that title.  I'd rather be the one sitting over on the side, saying "Eh, if it happens, it'll happen" and then, if it doesn't, "it just wasn't meant to be for us".  I can't fight that battle; I don't have that sort of strength.

Somehow, I've found my way to the world of infertility blogs.  In a bizarre, fucked up way, I'm jealous of these women, who KNOW what they want, and they're willing to risk so much - emotionally, financially, physically - to have a child, to be a mother.  I'm not selfless enough to fully convince myself that I'm ready for all that.

I'm screwing this all up.

I want to have children.  I knew that before I had my miscarriage.  But all of a sudden, I'm 31 (in like 3 weeks - may as well accept the inevitable), no kids, one pregnancy that ended in a horribly emotional miscarriage (as I imagine they all must)...and suddenly my hormones are insane, suddenly I MUST HAVE A BABY...

...except, I'm still pretty selfish, and OMG, what if I can't get pregnant, or what if Jimi's sperm count is like way low, or what if my womb is just an inhospitable wasteland, or what if or what if or what if...

And each and every month I've not gotten pregnant since, when, December?  I think that was the first month we were cleared to "try" (like somehow that green light would magically make it automatically happen, is what my head thought, I believe) - each month, when my Aunt Flow showed her ugly face on that swipe of TP, I've felt defeated.

And relieved.

And none of it makes any sense.  I'm very confused.

It felt like, as I scanned the list of bloggers on that ICLW list, I didn't belong.  I don't know that I do.  Compared to the struggles of the women whose blogs I've found so far?  I need to STFU.  My challenges are nothing compared to what these women have experienced.

But then I think - was my desire to carry my pregnancy to term any less than the desire of any of these other women to carry theirs?

No.  I don't know all of you, but I'm certain I know the answer to that question is no.

There's no litmus test, I guess, to determining who belongs to this world and who doesn't - there's not a "you must go this many years trying" or "you must suffer this many losses" before you're accepted as part of the crowd.  No offense intended, I don't want to be part of the world of infertility - but then again, I'm guessing there's not a person who's reading this who'd choose that path.

I've not experienced much of what many of you live as day to day reality, but I love you and hope the best things for you just the same.  I want you to find your happy, to find a way that brings you a child of your very own, no matter what path brings you there.

And if it works out for me too, well, that'd be cool.

I don't know what you call it.

I stormed out of the office, so angry I was shaking.  No one person, thing, or event inspired the rage - just a perfect storm of everything, as always; just another Fourth Monday.  (Or Thursday, as you probably know it.)

I was going to come home and rage and pound on my keyboard until all the anger was gone.  I was going to bitch about the incompetent motherfucker who promises the moon and then does NOTHING to make sure his promises are actually possible.  I was going to rant about the stupid effing Outlook that can't do a simple query without locking up and requiring a restart.  I was going to complain about the asshole who milked us for medical leave while he tried to find a job that would allow him to break DOT rules, then filed for unemployment on the basis of hostile environment because we wouldn't let him work a schedule he set.

I'm not going to do that, though.  That won't fix anything.  I'm going to be glad that I have a job.  I'm going to be glad I've got a computer to assist me in doing my job, even if it makes me get violent every 45 minutes or so.  I'm going to be glad I've got a folder of documentation that will easily dismiss the unemployment claim.

Problems all solved.  My dog was waiting for me at the door, so excited to see me.  Jimi put the leftover pasta from dinner into the fridge last night, instead of leaving it on the stove as I would've done, so I've got that for lunch now.  Finn was happy to cuddle up on the JaxxSac with me, licking my arm while I rubbed his belly; I like to smell his sweet puppy head.  It's hard to be mad when you're petting a puppy.

And what's the point?  It doesn't solve anything.  All my anger accomplishes is getting my blood pressure up.

As I sat at the light at 4th and Central, waiting for mine to turn green, a little old lady started to cross the intersection on the opposite side.  I glanced up to my right; the cross-light was yellow now - back to the old lady - yep, she'll be almost to my lane right as the light turns green.  "Fuck!", I think, pissed off that this little old lady is going to hold me up for 15 seconds.  I felt the rising up of the madness, the injustice of it all - that insanity rushing up through me like a wave - then I noticed how her long coat was whipping around her sweat-pant-clad legs, and how her hair was all messed up - it's windy and cold and rainy here today, just a real yucky day to be walking outside.  And this little old lady, who's probably cold as hell all the time anyhow, she's out in this nastiness, having to walk to the grocery or the bank or the pharmacy from God-only-knows-where, under God-only-knows-what circumstances - and I've got the gall to be pissed off that she's "inconveniencing" me for a quarter of a minute?

What the fuck is wrong with me?

I get so wrapped up in me.  My life, my head, my wants, needs, desires.  It's all about me.  What's easiest for me, what's best for me, what's most convenient for me.  Forget everyone else, so long as I'm comfortable and content.

You know what, I wasn't going to write about this because it's so personal and hard to talk about without worrying that I sound like a crazy person, but I keep trying to think of everything BUT this and I just found myself crying instead and that's just not okay.  I'm not pregnant, and it bothers the fuck out of me.  I know, I know, I KNOW - there's time, it'll happen when it happens, if it's meant to be it will be, it's just not my turn yet - I KNOW.  I get it.  I do.  I swear.  And you know what?  Maybe it'll never be my turn and maybe that's for the best and that's all well and good, but goddammit would someone please tell my fucking heart and brain?  It's the first thing I think when I wake up in the mornings - "Am I pregnant?" - until I start bleeding, again, and then it becomes this quagmire of "maybe it'll never be your turn, Natalie.  Maybe you're not meant to be a mother.  You'd probably be horrible at it anyhow.  And you know Jimi doesn't really want to make a baby with you.  Look at you - who would?  Besides, you're too much of a quitter and a fuckup and far too selfish to ever be able to raise a productive member of society - it's for the best that you don't contribute one more screwed up person to the world."

I don't want to think about this anymore.  I want to be able to say I'm going to live my life and see what happens and not worry about it and mean it.  I want to not go into a depression every time I start my period.  I don't want to feel a panic set in when I'm mid-cycle, thinking "OMG gotta have sex NOW!"  How romantic.  I don't want to be this person.  I don't like her and I think she's more crazy than I'm comfortable with.

But damn I want to have a baby.  I'll be 31 next month; Jimi will be 40 in December.  My biological clock is SO FUCKING LOUD.

I wish I'd never gotten pregnant.  I wish I'd never known.  I wish I'd not paid attention to my cycle enough that I'd not even noticed that I was late. I wish I'd never seen that second line.  I wish I'd never gotten excited.  I wish I'd never experienced any of it - I wouldn't be this person now if that little cluster of cells had never existed.

I've said many times that my life is nothing like I'd planned; I was going to go to college, get married, have a few babies before 30, and live happily ever after.  What if life is REALLY like nothing I'd planned - what if babies never factor in?

Dear Natalie Of The Future:

If they've invented time machines, now would be a great time to find a way to send me some sort of sign 

- do I get to be a Momma or not? 

 I think I can handle it either way, it's this waiting and wondering shit that blows goats.  

Thanks for your help,

Crazy 

Non-Momma 

Still-Mourning-For-The-One-We-Almost-Had-Even-Though-I-Try-To-Pretend-I'm-Over-It 

Natalie

So maybe it's not my job that's the problem.

Holy Smokes!

20 new followers in five days?

Is it lame to blog about this?

I can't help it.  I'm excited.  I'm flattered.  I'm thrilled.

Thank you, For The Love Of Blogs.  Thank you, New Friends.

If you're ever in the Louisville, KY area, hit me up - I've got an air-mattress and an upstairs.


Oh.  And I took a 2.5 hour nap this afternoon.  And I ate pizza.  And played pool - REALLY poorly.  And Jimi was sweet as pie...and I'd really like to eat some pie.  Is there cake?  Cake would be nice.  I'm probably not sober.  Jimi drove us home, just in case.  Good choice.  Drinkinganddrivingisbadm'kay?

This week has been awesome.  It could only get better if I could take a pregnancy test and it would be all "YOU'REGONNAHAVEABABYANDIT'LLBEPERFECTANDWINTHENOBELPEACEPRIZE!!!
"

What're the odds?

So. Many. Words.

I logged onto my retirement account last night and learned that I've made $1600 in the last 3 months.  Woot!  For the entire first year I'd been contributing to my 401k, my funds were stagnant in the general trust account - the plan administrator had never allocated the money into the stocks and funds I'd selected upon enrollment.  It wasn't until I received my 4th quarterly statement with no real change that I realized my money was not working for me.  I did some digging, learned of the error, and immediately got online to move some shit around.  Looks like I've done good - I wish I'd paid more attention sooner.

We've had a good weekend, full of happy and love and relaxation.  Friday night we split tacos and chicken nachos at the Mexican joint up the road, then, in an unusual burst of trying-to-be-a-good-girlfriend-ness, we spent an hour walking around Big Lots.  (Jimi loves to shop.  I love to sit on my ass - which is why this counts as a random act of kindness.) Baby bought me a Wahl personal trimmer.  I'm the one that picked it up and said I'd like to have it, but I still feel like his insistence that he pay for it means he thinks I need it. And I do, but still - I don't want him to imply it.  You know what I mean, don't you?  This is why men say we're crazy.

Last night we had dinner and a ridiculous amount of dessert at Stacy & Jessie's.  Stacy made an amazing dinner of filets with an onion/garlic/cream/wine pan sauce, and then followed it up with chocolate and white chocolate dipped strawberries, bananas, oranges, apples...it was out of this world.  Jimi and I had taken the fixings for marshmallow treats made with Chocolate Cheerios...which we topped with the chocolate left over after all the fruit had been dipped.  We didn't head for home until after 1 a.m. - and considering all the chocolate we ate, it's no wonder we didn't make it to bed until after 3.

It's been a weekend of good breakfasts.  I made biscuits, bacon, and fried apples with butter and cinnamon this morning.  Yesterday, Jimi broke in our new waffle iron with a from-scratch recipe that required beating egg whites into stiff peaks before they were folded into the batter - I guess to make the waffles fluffy and light.  Jimi, it seems, had never before beaten egg whites into stiff peaks, and thus did not understand that using a mixing bowl and a fork was not the preferred method - but not until he'd been beating the egg whites with a fork for seven or so minutes.  And thought his shoulder was maybe going to fall off.  My first reaction to his request that I take over was "Baby what are you doing?  That's why God made immersion blenders!" and then I took over the mixing bowl and fork until I thought maybe my shoulder was going to fall off and we said "good enough" and folded the nearly-stiff peaks into the batter.  The results were delicious:

Now Jimi's in there making some sort of awesome stew/pot roast thing with onions and garlic and butter and tomatoes and a rump roast his sister gave us - it'll be delicious.  Oh!  And somehow I'd forgotten, but we made cherry-rum-vanilla ice cream yesterday.  That will be a nice follow-up to the meat.  

I sure do talk about food a lot.  

Something I think about almost as often as I think about food is babies, and what fate has in store for me, and my desire to have one.  And I've also been thinking a lot about things that I wasn't thinking about so much a month ago - things like money, and how much babies cost, and how much I don't have.  I admit, I lost site of that fact there for a minute or month or so.  And I'm still the most selfish person I know.  And I'm not completely sure I want to give that up 100%.  I'm such a flake.  

I want a baby, I do.  I want an amazing, beautiful, perfect little miracle made with love that has Jimi's kindness and spirit and my optimism and lightheartedness.  I want to grow and nurture that baby into a curious, imaginative child full of questions and a new view of the world.  I want to teach and watch our child grow to be a good person, a responsible person.  But, honestly, I don't want to try.  I don't want to chart my ovulation or temperature every month.  I don't want to take the spontaneity and fun out of sex - I don't want to feel like our romantic gestures need to center around a certain date on the calendar.  I don't want to feel anxious if we're too tired or guilty if we both feel sexiest a few days too early or too late to hit that little target.  I don't want to set myself up for failure - I said it before and I'll say it again - I'm not emotionally strong enough to try for months and months and months and have no success and then to follow that road to a point where I'd have a new adjective to add to my blog title and labels.  I can't face infertility right now, and if it is in fact my reality, I'd rather ignore it and just not know.  

And I keep reminding myself that one miscarriage does not mean I'm infertile.  Hell, if nothing else, it should assure me that I can, at the very least, get knocked up.  But I fear the worst, and so my mind goes to the worst place immediately, and living with that fear in my heart, day after day, is something I just can't do.  It's too hard, it's too scary, it's too sad.  

So here's what we're going to do:  We, Jimi and I, are going to live our lives the way we lived our lives before September 2010; before the positive pregnancy test, before the miscarriage, before my hormones sent me into a biological clock tailspin.  We're going to fuck when we're feeling frisky, calendars and ovulation calculators and luteal phases be damned.  And yeah, maybe I'll pay a little more attention in the middle of my cycle to try to make sure my legs are smooth and my personal trimmer has been put to good use and that I'm extra nice to my man, and that I remind him of how sexy I think he is.  And if a baby is something we're meant to have, eventually, we will.  And if we don't, I'll stay focused on all the things I love about my life, without a baby, and remind myself every now and again that I already have so much happy in my life.

And I'm sorry I lured you in with talk of food and then threw that on ya.  My bad.  

I need you to tell me this isn't true.

Hel, over at Dal, Hel & Bel, posted this.  


Tell me this is a horrible exaggeration.  It is, right?  

11 Step Program for those thinking of having kids...

Lesson 1

1. Go to the grocery store.

2. Arrange to have your salary paid directly to their head office.

3. Go home.

4. Pick up the paper.

5. Read it for the last time.

Lesson 2

Before you finally go ahead and have children, find a couple who already are parents and berate them about their...

1. Methods of discipline.

2. Lack of patience.

3. Appallingly low tolerance levels.

4. Allowing their children to run wild.

5. Suggest ways in which they might improve their child's breastfeeding, sleep habits, toilet training, table manners, and overall behavior.

Enjoy it because it will be the last time in your life you will have all the answers.

Lesson 3

A really good way to discover how the nights might feel...

1. Get home from work and immediately begin walking around the living room from 5PM to 10PM carrying a wet bag weighing approximately 8-12 pounds, with a radio turned to static (or some other obnoxious sound) playing loudly. (Eat cold food with one hand for dinner)

2. At 10PM, put the bag gently down, set the alarm for midnight, and go to sleep.

3. Get up at 12 and walk around the living room again, with the bag, until 1AM.

4. Set the alarm for 3AM.

5. As you can't get back to sleep, get up at 2AM and make a drink and watch an infomercial.

6. Go to bed at 2:45AM.

7. Get up at 3AM when the alarm goes off.

8. Sing songs quietly in the dark until 4AM.

9. Get up. Make breakfast. Get ready for work and go to work (work hard and be productive)

Repeat steps 1-9 each night. Keep this up for 3-5 years. Look cheerful and together.

Lesson 4

Can you stand the mess children make? T o find out...

1. Smear peanut butter onto the sofa and jam onto the curtains.

2. Hide a piece of raw chicken behind the stereo and leave it there all summer.

3. Stick your fingers in the flower bed.

4. Then rub them on the clean walls.

5. Take your favorite book, photo album, etc. Wreck it.

6. Spill milk on your new pillows. Cover the stains with crayons. How does that look?

Lesson 5

Dressing small children is not as easy as it seems.

1. Buy an octopus and a small bag made out of loose mesh.

2. Attempt to put the octopus into the bag so that none of the arms hang out.

Time allowed for this - all morning.

Lesson 6

Forget the BMW and buy a mini-van. And don't think that you can leave it out in the driveway spotless and shining. Family cars don't look like that.

1. Buy a chocolate ice cream cone and put it in the glove compartment.

Leave it there.

2. Get a dime. Stick it in the CD player.

3. Take a family size package of chocolate cookies. Mash them into the back seat. Sprinkle cheerios all over the floor, then smash them with your foot.

4. Run a garden rake along both sides of the car.

Lesson 7

Go to the local grocery store. Take with you the closest thing you can find to a pre-school child. (A full-grown goat is an excellent choice). If you intend to have more than one child, then definitely take more than one goat. Buy your week's groceries without letting the goats out of your sight. Pay for everything the goat eats or destroys. Until you can easily accomplish this, do not even contemplate having children.

Lesson 8

1. Hollow out a melon.

2. Make a small hole in the side.

3. Suspend it from the ceiling and swing it from side to side.

4. Now get a bowl of soggy Cheerios and attempt to spoon them into the swaying melon by pretending to be an airplane.

5. Continue until half the Cheerios are gone.

6. Tip half into your lap. The other half, just throw up in the air.

You are now ready to feed a nine- month-old baby.

Lesson 9

Learn the names of every character from Sesame Street , Barney, Disney, the Teletubbies, and Pokemon. Watch nothing else on TV but PBS, the Disney channel or Noggin for at least five years. (I know, you're thinking What's 'Noggin'?) Exactly the point.

Lesson 10

Make a recording of Fran Drescher saying 'mommy' repeatedly. (Important: no more than a four second delay between each 'mommy'; occasional crescendo to the level of a supersonic jet is required). Play this tape in your car everywhere you go for the next four years. You are now ready to take a long trip with a toddler.

Lesson 11

Start talking to an adult of your choice. Have someone else continually tug on your skirt hem, shirt- sleeve, or elbow while playing the 'mommy' tape made from Lesson 10 above. You are now ready to have a conversation with an adult while there is a child in the room.

I don't mean to be such a downer.

I guess I'm a little blue.  The holidays do that to me sometimes.  I start missing Granny, and Papaw, and childhood, and the magic of the season when I was little.  And I want it all to be perfect but I know I can't make it perfect and I get so overwhelmed and so I start to think "why bother".

Oh, wait, but here comes Jimi-claus.  Who answers my off-the-cuff inquiry ("wanna start trying to get pregnant this month?") with a "huh? i thought we had some things we wanted to work on first before we did that?, and you said you didn't want to be pregnant through the summer."  "I don't care about any of that," I reply.  Maybe there was a hint of begging in my voice; or maybe that was just in my head.  "Okay" he says, like it's nothing.  I blink.  "Yeah?"  Like maybe he's going to say he's just kidding.  I tell him I can't stop thinking about it; I want a baby.  He tells me he doesn't have that drive that I do, but he gets it, he knows where I'm coming from, he understands, he's cool with it; he loves me, even if I have crazy biological-clock-hormones raging through my body.

I feel calmer.  I feel adored.  I feel blessed.

I'm a bitch.

It's not easy to write about being a bitch.  I want to have this thing as a place I can record all my crazy, even the sort that puts me in a not-so-good light, but it's not easy to write things that I know make me ugly.

Our good friend and former roommate called with news Friday night.  She's 28 weeks pregnant.  Allow me to take this moment to remind you that she just found out she's pregnant like 2 weeks ago; we'd thought she was maybe 20 weeks.  PANIC.  7 months without prenatal care, 7 months without vitamins, 7 months without watching her diet, 7 months without abstaining from all those poisons we put in our bodies - be it alcohol or Ibuprofen.

But her baby, thank goodness, is healthy and right on track to make an appearance in late February.  And it's a Girl!

And I am jealous as hell, and I can't make it stop.

I'm happy for her, please don't misunderstand that.  I'm scared for her and excited for her and hopeful for her.

But I want what she has and it makes my heart hurt if I think about it too much.

I keep telling myself that it will come to us, all in good time.  I remind myself that I don't want to experience a third trimester in the humid, sweltering, Ohio Valley summer (which is what would happen if I got pregnant now).  I say, "Well, I want to be able to canoe in May, and I can't do that if I'm pregnant."  I list all my blessings (see: previous entry re: my ridiculous jealousy), I remind myself that I already have so much, I remember that I don't need anything more in my life to be happy.

Oh, but I want, I want, I want.

I've got to get over this.  I've got to stop coveting things that aren't mine.  I've got to stop feeling as though I've been cheated by the Universe.  I've got to accept that life goes on, and that the pregnancies of others are not a direct attack on me or the Universe's way of punishing me; they have nothing to do with me.  Successful, happy pregnancies are the way it's supposed to be, and one day it will be my turn too.

I think the biggest contributing factor to my insanity is the fear that something will be wrong; I'll have scarred tubes or Jimi's sperm count will be low or my womb will turn out to be an inhospitable wasteland.  If I could just have some reassurance that yes, one day it WILL be our turn, then maybe I'd not freak out so much and turn quite so green every time someone announces a pregnancy or birth or first birthday party.  It's the fear that that one pregnancy was a one-time fluke that never should've happened; that we'll fall into the world of infertility...and, well, that scares the shit out of me.

I hate the way I sound.  I hate complaining and whining and bitching.  I had one miscarriage, after an unplanned, unexpected pregnancy, and now it feels like my desire to have a baby is consuming me.  I can't write this without feeling like an asshole; I read blogs every day written by women who have lived my worse fears - learning they'll never carry a pregnancy to term, or having miscarriage after miscarriage, or trying for months and months and months with no results and no financial means to seek medical advice.  I know this shouldn't invalidate my feelings or my concerns, but it certainly makes me feel a little melodramatic.

But I can't help the way I feel.  And until I get pregnant again, until I hear that baby's heartbeat, until I see its image on the ultrasound screen, until I give birth to a perfect little blend of me and Jimi, I'm probably going to keep feeling this way every time someone announces a pregnancy, a birth, a first birthday.  But I promise, I'm trying to get better at hiding it.  I'm trying so hard.

I'm a green-eyed jealous monster.

Back in August, a friend of ours needed a place to stay for a while and so we moved her into our upstairs - a comfortable space with two bedrooms, lots of closets, and a half bath.  A couple of weeks later, I found out I was pregnant.  A week after that, I miscarried.  Our friend lived with us into early October, then her parents drove up from their Southern home and scooped her up to go be with her family while she figured out what her next steps in the world were going to be. 

She called last night to tell us she's pregnant.  That apparently, she got pregnant about the same time I did, or very shortly thereafter.  She was pregnant when she was in our home.  Must've been something in the water that month.

I won't lie, my first reaction to her news was pure, unadulterated jealousy and envy.  I smiled for her and told her congratulations, but my body tensed up and I felt on the verge of tears.  I had thoughts I'm too ashamed to write here; I listed all the reasons in my mind why I was more deserving of my child than she was of hers.  I'm a horrible, awful, terrible person. 

I passed the phone to Jimi, bundled up in two jackets, and went out on the front porch to have a smoke and try to stop thinking such bitchy things.  I did breathing exercises, focusing on each muscle group in my body and willing them to relax - I felt like I was bound from the inside.

I listed all my blessings; a man who loves me unconditionally and without end, a home that is warm and safe and filled with all of my favorite things, a job that pays me a living wage and provides me with insurance so I can receive top-notch medical care whenever I need it, a network of family and friends who guarantee I'll never spend a night on the streets or a day without a meal, a reliable vehicle that will carry me as far as I want to go; and then shame washed over me in waves.  I was ashamed that I would think anything other than happy thoughts for my friend, and for the new life she's growing inside of her.  I have so much already; how could I even for a moment feel as though I was more entitled than someone else, as if I were somehow more deserving?  Disgraceful.

Our friend will be a wonderful mother.  She's intelligent and beautiful and patient and kind and generous and loving and warm and she knows how to dream big and follow her dreams.  She has a loving and supportive family who will help her through the struggles and challenges that motherhood will bring.  Becoming a single mother in these times of economic hardships certainly wasn't something she planned for herself, but she will make the right choices for herself and her child and she will overcome any obstacles that come her way using her genuine southern charm and her brilliant creativity.  She's going to be a wonderful mother, and once my body had relaxed and the tension was gone, I saw this, and I was happy for her.  Really happy, not fake jealous-happy. 

And so I started worrying.  About the father's about-face, and how unfair it was and how hurtful it must've been for our friend.  And her sisters' not-so-joyous reactions; they'll come around, but Momma-to-be doesn't need the stress of the cold shoulder right now.  And her hip, and money, and medical care...and that's just before the baby arrives!  So many things to worry about.

But she'll be fine.  She'll make the choices that are best for her and she'll make due and she'll take it one day at a time and she'll have a beautiful little creative genius in her arms in a few short months and we'll be heading down south to snuggle that sweet bundle of love. 

I'm going to try hard not to be jealous; I'm going to try hard to not think of what might have been when I see pictures of her pregnant belly; I'm not going to think about how far along I'd be compared to her when I read her updates; I'm not going to wonder why her and not me.  I'm going to sit over here and remember how much I have and remind myself that I already have more than I ever could've dreamed or hoped for.  I'm going to remember that anything else that comes my way in this world is icing on the cake.  I'm going to keep in perspective the fact that I did not have baby fever 3 months ago.  I'm going to remind myself that if it's meant to be for Jimi and I to have a child, it'll happen in its own time; rushing it and being impatient will only get me frustrated.  And I'm going to remember that even if we don't have a child, we still have each other.

I may be a little obsessive.

I read a lot of blogs.  Like, dozens.  And then I come to work and I tell Kim about them.  She's started to notice a pattern - most of the blogs I read are written by women with children.  I explain this away by saying, "Well, that's who blogs - women with children do all the blogging."  She just nods and says "oh, okay."

But maybe that's not completely true.  I read blogs written by gay Mormon men (MoHo's - who doesn't want to read a blog written by someone who describes themselves as a "MoHo"?!).  I read blogs written by women whose husbands are in the military, deployed overseas, and several written by women whose husbands were injured overseas or killed in action.  I read blogs written by people who have left the Mormon church; I read blogs written by people who adore the Mormon church.

But the blogs I read most often, the ones I'm the most invested in, the ones I log onto the internet to check if there's been an update posted - those are mostly written by moms, pregnant women, and infertile women trying to get pregnant.

And I realized last night that at least 5 of the blogs I'm following right now are written by women who found out they're expecting right about the same time I found out I was expecting.  Except I'm not expecting anymore and they still are.  And watching their progress?  It kinda sucks.  It sorta hurts my heart. 

I hate their baby tickers.  I hate their "bump" pics. 

I keep reading though, because I'm invested and I'm fascinated and I want to see what stories they tell next.  I try not to imagine myself in their shoes when they talk about moving out of the first trimester, ultrasounds, listening to heartbeats.  I try to skip the posts that are ALL PREGNANCY, ALL THE TIME. 

Last night, a mommy-blogger that I read posted something along the lines of "Can it be my turn, universe?"  She wants to have another baby; she feels like she's surrounded by babies.  She says the next step is to see a doctor, but she's afraid that taking that step will lead her down a path she's not emotionally ready for...hold on, I'm just going to copy the exact text...

"As I discussed my feelings today, I realised that the next step is to see a doctor. But I can't bring myself to take that step. It is an enormous step to take. A step that will take me down a path that I am not sure I am emotionally ready for. So I sit and wait in having-a-baby limbo land. Waiting for my miracle."

This is exactly why I'm afraid to "try".  If we're just going along, doing our thing, and we happen to make a baby...AWESOME!!!  I can even handle going so far as to try to make sure we're "doing our thing" on certain days of the month to hopefully increase our chances of making a baby.  But you start talking about body temperatures and charting and ovulation kits...oh hell, I can't take it.  And what if I did do all that, and we still weren't able to make a baby?  Doctors visits and needles and pills and tests and...it's too much.  Too much.  My delicate psyche can't handle the pressure and stress. 

Mostly, I can't even allow myself to try to picture a world where someone tells me I'll never have a baby of my own on my own. I know a couple of things to be fact:  adoption isn't an option for us; in vitro and all those other invasive medical miracles they can do to make babies other than the old fashioned way - those also aren't an option for us.  So instead of seeing a doctor and being told that to have a child we'll have to do something more than just "it", I'd rather pretend we're still up in the air about whether or not an addition to our family is something we REALLY desire and then pretend that it's no big deal if it doesn't happen.

Only I'll know that my heart would be broken. 

So yeah, maybe it's a little fucked up that I spend minutes of my day reading pregnancy posts and mommy talk and tales of infertility struggles.  But we're only just to the point where we can start trying to get pregnant after the miscarriage; if we're not successful, my blog watch list may find itself trimmed in the best interest of my emotional well-being. 

#2 - this is why I pay for health insurance.

The bill for my Rhogam shot came in yesterday.

Without insurance, this little medical miracle that will allow me to successfully carry our future child to term without my body attacking its blood would've cost me at least a grand.

With insurance, I get a benefit statement telling me what my insurance company paid, and reminding me why I'm happy to let them deduct forty-five bucks from my check each week.

This is why we need universal healthcare.

What I meant to say was...

I meant to say that the OB nurse called me back yesterday and told me that my hcg levels on Monday were 164 and on Wednesday they were 41.  Miscarriage officially confirmed.  BUT!  Oh yes, there is a but.  But, I have to go back for a THIRD blood draw one day next week so they can confirm that my levels are negative (zero?  it seems like they should be zero.  how do you get negative hormone levels?), and oh, by the way, don't have intercourse until after we've confirmed those negative(?) levels.

WTF?

Come on, lady, I'm finally done bleeding out what I thought was going to be our first, our only, child, and you're telling me now I can't even get some of that good ol' fashioned comfort for another week?  After what has been the most emotionally traumatic, the most horrifically gross, the saddest experience of my life, I can't fuck out some frustrations?  Damn, you're mean. And your stupid lab tech will probably have to stick me twice to find the vein.  Again.  This shit sucks.  You could at least offer me a 2 week script for some xanax or something.

Shit.

But seriously, despite that little rant, I'm good.  I'm finding the silver lining.  One is that I was able to finish off that bag I bought right before I found out I was pregnant.  (HA!  Lame stoner humor is funny.)

On a more serious note, Jimi reconnecting with his sister is an awesome repercussion of this pregnancy.  I discovered that quitting smoking and drinking is pretty freakin' easy when you have to.  And to get ready to try to do this baby-making thing again, I'm going to have to quit my substance-abusing ways.  That can only be a good thing.  Jimi's motivated to get his ass moving, and he motivates me like nothing else can, so that will be a brilliant plus for us both, and for our future.  We have time now to focus on paying off our debts and getting more money stashed away, and we have a focus to keep us on target and help us reach our goals.  This feels like it's woken us up to a new level of what we want from our lives, from our life together.  And as ridiculous as it may sound, it does give me some comfort to know that if our timing is right, we can totally get pregnant.  I'd been unsure.  It happened once, though...we can do it again.  And we'll be ready next time.  We'll do it right.  And we'll live happily ever after.

I was only consciously pregnant for seven days.  The sadness is more of a whisper already.  Jimi's love, my family's love, the love from my friends, the understanding from my work family...it reminds me of how much good there is in my life.  I have so much already, anything more is just icing on the cake.  I only like a little icing on my cake.  Just a little.  Maybe a rose or two.

So there ya go.  I'm pretty sure this is going to be my last miscarriage post.  I'm totally returning to my regularly scheduled boring blogging.  Of course, this is probably pretty boring to most anyone who reads it, so I guess I'm still true to my title.  Either way, I never made any promises.

I'm waiting for a call from the OB nurse so I can get in to see the doctor today.  I can't say the words out loud without crying.  I couldn't even leave the message without getting choked up.  "Um, I had an appointment with the doctor for my first appointment on 9/27, but I think I (sob) miscarried over the weekend and (sob) I'm Rh negative (sob) so I need to see about coming in as (sob) soon as possible to get everything (sob) checked out.  (sob...long pause while I catch my breath) please call me at..."

God, this sucks.  This sucks so freakin' bad.  I wish Jimi could've stayed home with me today...he is my strength right now.  He's the reason I got through the day yesterday.  Every time I got sad, he was right there with his arms around me, reminding me that it's all going to be okay.  And I know it's going to be okay, but God, why does it have to hurt so bad right now?

It was only here for a week.  I only knew for a week.  In a week, my whole world changed.  Now it's flipped right back to the way it was.  Why do I feel like something's been taken from me?  Why do I feel so empty inside?  Like all my happiness, all my excitement, all the good was just sucked right out of me.  I feel lost.

Okay, I know this shit happens all the time, to women who are better-prepared, who want it more, who try for years, but still I want to climb on top of the roof and scream as loud as I can "WHY ME???!!!"  Why our baby?  We only wanted the one...couldn't we have just had this one?  I didn't want to be that one in four who loses the baby in the first few weeks.  I wouldn't want to wish it on someone else, but I sure as hell didn't want it to be me...to be us.  Ours.

And oh, I'm so scared to "try".  I'm so scared to make an effort...what if we can't have babies?  I can't take that heartbreak.  What if it's not meant to be for us?  When it was us making the choice, it was one thing, but to not have a choice to make?  Oh, I don't think my heart could take it.  Not after this.

The OB nurse called.  I'm seeing them at 11:30. I'm so not shaving my legs.