In your room

Dear Cleatus,

Yes, I am aware that you have a ridiculous name. For that, you can blame your uncle. We were working on a name that you would be called throughout your life, but as you can see, I'm still calling you Cleatus. Now, it reminds me of how silly-happy-giddy we were about you being created. Your whole family was excited, right down to your cousins. I hope you don't mind, but I'm going to keep calling you Cleatus. It makes me smile and reminds me of how much I laughed while we were together.

Your family is home now. While we were away, cards came in the mail telling us how happy people were about you. I told lots of our friends about you in our Christmas cards. They were so glad for us. I also got your baby book in the mail. It is really nice. I won it in a raffle for Her Bad Mother's nephew and Muscular Dystrophy research. In the spirit of my often untimely and slightly inappropriate laughter, I thought to myself when I opened it, "Well this is going to be a short book."

I am sitting in your room now. In our rocker. And I miss you. I am determined not to be that mother who burdens her children with her pain. I will not ask you or your siblings to shoulder my grief. I just want you to know that I miss you. It is empty here without you.

Today, we stopped in Montreat and took Lovely to the spot where Guy and I were married this summer. It was a place I wanted to take you as well. The creek had risen and drowned out the noise my breathing made as I tried not to cry. You would have gone to kids' camps and youth conferences in Montreat. We would have rock hopped together. I bought a book in the bookstore there that was about helping women deal with grief after miscarriage. The last page said something like this:

The depth of your grief is a measure of the love you have for your child. If there was no love, there would be nothing to grieve.

If that is true than I love you more deeply than I had even thought was possible.

I don't know if I believe in heaven or not. I wish that I did now. I wish that I could imagine you somewhere that we could be together again someday. If it is true, and you are not simply just gone, then I hope you can hear me when I still talk to you. When I still play for you. You can ignore the whole crying thing though. I'm told that will subside with time, and I will be okay.

If I believe that you are not simply just gone though, then it leaves me to worry about if you are alright and if you know how much you are loved. Yes, your mother is a bit loony. Sorry about that.

The walls of your room are missing and there is no light. Part of me wants to shut the door and never open it again, another part of me wants to never leave it. I can sit in here, in the dark, and no one wants to come in. There is only our rocking chair and piles of my junk. This weekend your daddy promised to get the sheet rock up and buy me a treadmill. We are going to put it in your room. If I am going to think about you nonstop, then the least I can do is work off those milkshakes you asked for. By the way, thanks for that. You stinker.

This didn't turn out how I wanted it too. Well, I guess more than one thing applies there. Your life didn't turn out how I wanted it too, but I meant this letter. I wanted to tell you about what I had planned and dreamed for us. I wanted to tell you about what I picked out for your nursery and the Mother's Morning Out programs I had thought about so that you could make friends. I wanted to tell you about the Jeep that Guy bought me and deemed the Mommymobile. I could fit all my gear and a baby seat too. You and I were going to gigs.

Truth is though, those things are not for you now. They will be for your sibling. You did not need those things from me.

There will be a time when I can be thankful for the life we did have together. I am already, but the pain of losing you so before getting to see you and hold you is making it hard to remember how grateful I am to have had you as long as I did. I was already proud of you.

I will always be proud of you. I will always love you. You will always be my first baby. Thank you for showing me that I can love enough to be a mother.

With Love,
Your Mom

No effort required

Suppose I won't know what is going to set me off for awhile. Today It was a puppy.

We stopped for gas at a very most awful BP in eastern Tennessee. Yikes. When we got out of the car, I took Lovely in to find the restroom and then not leave her side since it was a scary scary place. As we crossed the parking lot, a little puppy ran the other way. Cute little brown and black guy. Guy was getting our own pups out to go for a walk. Right before Lovely and I got to the door, I heard what sounded like a car losing a tire, a thump, and the screaming of an injured dog.

My first thought was about my own pups, but as I turned and started back to the car, I saw the little puppy limping along on 3 legs and crying its little lungs out. The sound of a hurt animal - it is so awful. It was heading for Guy and our pups. I was headed there too until I realized that Lovely was right behind me. The actions of a hurt animal - totally unpredictable. Plus, I didn't want her to have to see it.

Against all of my rescue instincts, I turned away from the puppy, put my arm around Lovely and led her back inside. She asked if the puppy had been hit by a car, and I said yes, but there was nothing we could do for it. We were in the middle of nowhere, and we couldn't take the puppy with us and our own dogs.

The people inside the gas station were unbelievably callous. The cashier told me that people drop dogs off there all the time - they are bound to get hit. Why didn't we just take him wherever we were going. We looked like the type.

I walked Lovely around to the side, where the bathroom was located, instructed her to touch as little as possible and dug through my purse for the Purell that she would need to bathe in on her way back to the car. I could still hear the puppy crying in the front of the building. When we got back to the car, I could see the puppy under it. Guy was pulling forward, and I thought he was going to run over it. I ran around, opened the door and told him that the puppy was under the car. Then, I got yelled at. The puppy had tried to bite him. The puppy had tried to bite our dogs. The puppy wouldn't come out from under our car. Guy had gotten him in the center, away from the wheels and was trying to move the car without hurting him anymore than he was already hurt. So, he already knew the puppy was under the car.

It is the second time though, that he has snapped at me. It is alright. The stress and pain of losing the baby isn't mine alone. Plus, he is about to have to go back to work knowing that he has been laid off. It is too much for one time.

I can't hold it together though. If I think for one moment that I have upset him, it sends me reeling. I guess knowing that he is on my side and we are taking every step together is what I am leaning on most now.

I cried. I don't know how long, but I cried. Lovely dug some tissue out of her backpack for me and suggested that Guy not be so harsh. The funny thing was, that after he apologized, which was practically instantaneous, I wasn't crying over him.

I was crying over that puppy. And I was crying over our baby at the same time.

Lately, I've felt nothing but helpless for the little lives that need me most. I couldn't do anything for Cleatus to help him. I don't know what happened to him, but there was nothing I could do. And, I couldn't do anything for that puppy in the middle of nowhere with my own family and pups to take care of.

Helpless.

It is strange what I've been connecting in my mind.

Tomorrow will be one week. Tomorrow he would have been 13 weeks. It hurts just as much now as it did last week.

My mother came in to find me crying at the computer a couple of days ago. She said to me, "Are you making yourself sad again?"

My answer, "No. I don't need to make myself sad. All I am is sad. There is no effort. I am completely sad. Thanks."

I was hoping that my mother would understand. She would understand my grief over the puppy better I think.

Heading home

Today we are heading home. Frankly, I am terrified. Being here, at my parents, I have been able to hide away whenever I wanted or needed to. I have only been around family. That is going to change now.

We will get back home tomorrow, and I do not want to walk through the front door of my house. There are baby presents from Christmas scattered about. Baby presents I haven't written thank you notes for yet.

There is the nursery. Granted, it isn't anywhere near done. It's even missing sheet rock on one wall, but still, we were already calling it the baby's room.

Then there are the friends. The acquaintances. The people you forgot you had even told who are bound to walk up to you and ask, "How's the baby?" The people who are going to unknowingly come up and basically slam a baseball bat into the side of my head - I'll have to just stand there and take it.

Maybe I will just post a sign in the front yard that says, "Don't ask."

Then again, there are moments when having people bring it up to me can be a good thing. Even when I'm in a good place of not obsessing over it. Sometimes they know just the right thing to say. Even though they are only six. My little Clone niece crawled in my lap 2 days ago and said in my ear, "I cried when your baby died."

Me too, little Clone. Me too.

Being a victim

It has been 40 hours since my breakdown. So far, so good. Guy and I went to iHop (noting that they, not the iPod, must have been the inspiration for all the iGadgets out now) with my parents for breakfast. My parents are not at the point where they are really very good at cheering me up, so that kind of stunk. It's not their fault though.

In the spirit of making decisions about how I feel rather than just letting the depression rule me, I've been working on a new list. The list of irrational reasons I am to blame for my miscarriage. Sil laughed when I told it to her the other night, and I could certainly use a good laugh, so I'm sharing. There are still pockets of laughter. They are why I know it will be alright one day.

1. I used to have an eating disorder.
2. I didn't start taking prenatal vitamins or folic acid until I was 7 weeks pregnant.
3. I didn't talk to the baby enough.
4. At 9 weeks 1 day, I had a pedicure and sat in the heated massage chair with it running.
5. I drank too much right before I was pregnant.
6. I drank some wine the night before I peed on a stick even though I suspected I might be pregnant but thought it just couldn't be true.
7. I lifted something that was too heavy.
8. I played a stressful concert.
9. God hates me for not going to church and always blaming him for bad stuff.
10. I existed on fruit smoothies for 5 days during my 9th week.
11. I didn't really exercise.
12. Guy and I had too much sex.
13. I didn't feel enough like a mom in time.
14. I used the microwave.
15. I cleaned the guinnea pig cage.
16. I walked both dogs at the same time.
17. I didn't relax enough and worried about my parents.
18. I let Guy's job situation, or lack thereof stress me out.
19. I didn't pay attention to signs I should have seen. I haven't figured out what they were, but I'm sure I ignored something.
20. I am generally just not cut out to be a parent.

The list will continue to grow I think. Everyday I come up with something else that might have happened, share it with Guy, and then listen to him explain again why it wasn't my fault.

I know this is true. I know it wasn't my fault.

There is a story though. Something I think is relevant. When I was in high school, there was a teacher. He was a pervert and a creep. He sexually and emotionally abused me. I went to therapy a few years later and spent a good deal of time talking about it and having someone try and convince me that it wasn't my fault. I was just a child. I was a victim.

Pardon my language please, but I fucking hate being a victim.

On my last day of therapy, I looked at my therapist, and told him this: I am not a victim. I was 17 years old and knew better. Sure, he shouldn't have been doing what he was doing, but I'm not an idiot. I should have told someone and I should have stopped it.

It was that day that I finally felt better. I took ownership of what had happened to me, acknowledged that it sucked, and felt stronger for admitting that I should have spoken up sooner.

I so wish that applied here, but it doesn't. It just helps to explain a little bit more to myself about why I am how I am. I wish I wasn't a victim, but I guess in this case I am. Me, my baby, Guy, and Lovely. All just victims. How sorry is that?

So much for the laughing. Sorry about that. I seem to walk in circles now, from alright to sad again. I'm thinking that the key might be to figure out how to be alright and sad all at the same time. When I can do that, those are the moments that I can feel hope creeping in.

Guy hopes it isn't a train

Each morning I have woken up, wished I hadn't, cried, and then stayed in the bed. This morning was different. We woke up to the phone ringing. The home phone is forwarded to Guy's cell phone right now, and it was my doctor from back home calling. She had just gotten the news and was calling to check on me. I really like her.

We had a good talk. She said the same things I have already heard, but it doesn't matter. Each time I hear them, be it from a doctor, a family member, a friend, or even just a comment here, they make me feel a little better. That phone call seems like a turning point. Don't get me wrong, I'm completely allowing another turn around to spin me back if needed, but at least this morning, I feel better.

Guy and I have decided that the night from hell was greatly accentuated by taking a Percoset too late in the afternoon and then having a glass and a half of wine with Sil that evening. Quite possible. Anyway, my doctor said that drugs will just mask the grieving process and that I shouldn't really be okay right now. It was just fine to not be okay. That unless I felt like hurting myself, we should wait on the drugs.

I figure that if anything even comes close to being like it was night before last, that I will run, not walk to the land of happier drugs. For now, I'm going to give it one more shot without them. I do want to grieve. I also want to live though. Today I think I can do both.

After I got off the phone, I rolled back over to Guy who held me like he loved me instead of holding me like I needed it. It felt good and I asked him, "Do you see light at the end of the tunnel yet?"

He answered me, "Yes. I'm just hoping it isn't a train." Smart ass.

Here's to a new year. Starting over. Trying again. Taking two steps forward and hopefully from now on only one step back at a time.

How I really am

I debated about posting this, but since I haven't left out anything thus far, here goes nothing.

Last night I think I lost my mind. Whymommy and Sil have been telling me about the hormones and the havoc they will be causing in my life, and last night I believe I met them. Fought them. And lost.

Sometime around 11:00, sitting at Bro's house, I freaked out. Picked up my purse and coat and walked out the door. Guy came running after me and wanted to know what was going on. I simply said, "I'm leaving." He talked me into waiting for him and then we left together.

I tried to just go to bed, but I had drunk a ton of water and ended up having to get up to go to the bathroom about 30 minutes after I lay down. Yesterday, I had been in physical pain all day with cramping and general hurtiness that the Percoset had stopped helping. When I went to the bathroom last night, there was a lot of blood. Again. And I lost it.

I don't know how long I was on the bathroom floor, but it was long enough for the left side of my face to swell up to where my left eye would not open from the crying. I was curled up on the tile floor, sobbing, wishing that someone would hear me and come to help. Guy didn't hear me, and my momma thought I was already with him. No one came. I lay there, crying, and thinking the most irrational thoughts I have ever had.

There was the thought stream about the wallpaper. It is black and white toille, which is what I had picked out for the baby bedding in the nursery. There was the thought stream about thank you notes. How do you write thank you notes for presents you were given for a baby who is now gone?

Then there was the thought stream about how I could hurt myself. I have never had that one. I won't go into all the ideas I had because they don't really matter now, but I finally decided that I would just leave. So I picked my pathetic swollen head up off the tile, went into the bedroom, got dressed, got my purse and started for the door.

Guy woke up and by the time he realized what was happening, I was down the hall. He chased after me in his underwear and my mother watched us struggle by the door. He had to physically restrain me and drag me back to the room by my left arm which was twisted and pinned behind my back.

From there, I became someone I have never seen before and hope never to see again. I began to hit him. Swing at him. I told him I hated him. I threw things. I was a terrible, awful, mean, and insane woman. He did nothing to deserve or cause any of it.

This morning, we woke up in a new place. We were both bruised. Literally. We were both hurt. Physically and emotionally. We had both been scared.

He held me anyway. He held me and told me that it wasn't me. It wasn't me having that insane fit last night. God, I hope he is right.

The depression and anger are not things I want in my life. I am generally a happy person. I would like to be that way again. I know it has only been four days. Yesterday though, people were telling me how well I was doing. Remarkably well.

That is only me trying. I am trying so hard to be doing well. I don't know how to battle the hormones though. That has to be what it is. Sil says they will be gone soon. She says to just hang on. The thoughts of how I can hurt myself are frightening though.

Guy says they make drugs for this. I'm thinking it might be a good idea if I look into that. I would really like to make it to try this whole baby making thing again. I so loved being pregnant. I so loved that little baby.

Am I weak for needing the drugs? Do they even work?

The new year can't come soon enough

I was planning to sort of do a year in pictures today. Before miscarrage. Everything is before I lost the baby. Instead, I'm just going to point out some of the good things that happened this year. I've spent enough time and words on what has gone wrong.

Marriage. July 24, Guy and I were married by a stream in Montreat. It was perfect.

Family. My parents moved around the corner from Bro and Sil. Mom has been declared in remission. Nerves are cooling and settling down. Dad is, well, one out of two parents is still good.

Work. I quit one job, leaving my precious school in the capable hands of someone new and a great Board of Directors. I got a new piano and am enjoying growing my career as a performer and teacher.

Self. I learned what it felt like to be pregnant. I learned what it meant to love someone you hadn't even met yet more than you could possibly ever love yourself. At the same time, I learned how to love myself better because I was carrying my baby. He taught me the reason my body worked the way it did, looked the way it did, and how to enjoy every glimpse and every moment of it.

I'm trying so hard to end this year on a positive note. That would be completely dishonest though, now wouldn't it?

No matter what else has happened this year, I'm afraid I have to admit that 2006 will always be the year that I lost my baby. My first baby. The one I have waited on for close to 10 years. Please God, let 2007 be better.

Every moment of forever

It is late. I have slept so much the past two days that I find myself awake at 1:21 AM. Awake laying next to my husband. So as I lie here (totally unsure of the use of lay and lie), I can stare at him while I type this (thanks to high school typing class). And I can tell you that I married the most wonderful man in the world.

He is why I will get through this. Not because I am not strong enough on my own, but because I want to be better for him. I want to get up and be with him. Try again. Get better and move on so that I don't miss a moment of life with him.

Cheesy? Perhaps. True? Most definately.

He said that I can take as long as I need and be as sad as I feel. I will. There is no getting around that. I still feel like they sucked out my heart along with everything else 2 nights ago. I am still empty and lonely. I still cry, and I still feel like I will always miss this baby.

What I am saying though is that I don't want to stay that way. 24 hours ago, I was convinced that I did. Convinced that I wanted to remain in the sorrow and loss of my baby. It felt like the sorrow was all I had left of my baby, so that is where I planned to stay.

The more room that Guy gives me to grieve though, and the more support he shows when I need it just lets me know that it won't last forever. I will be able to move on eventually.

He said today that I will be sad forever at the loss of my baby. I just won't be sad every moment of forever.

Time for a cuddle. Sleepy Guy is calling.

Building steps

This afternoon I realized something. This is the kind of sad that doesn't go away. This is kind of devastation that could keep me in the bed for as long as I let it. That is the key. How long am I going to let it control me?

At least a little bit longer, but not 24/7.

Guy came in this afternoon, and remember, we are still in Tennessee, 11 hours from home, staying at my parents' house, and says, "I really need to get some air."

I had two choices. I could let him go alone, or I could, for him, get out of the bed and attempt to go somewhere. I chose to get out of the bed.

It wasn't easy. He helped me shower. He helped me get dressed. We decided, as the dressing occurred, that we would go to the mall and buy me some non-maternity clothes. I had packed nothing but maternity clothes for our trip, and that was one thing keeping me from getting up and getting dressed. I chose the least maternity looking clothes I had and went with it.

The funny thing is, I loved looking pregnant. I have had incredibly sorry body image for so long, and as soon as that belly popped, I couldn't stop looking in the mirror. It was amazing to me - the changes that were occurring and how beautiful they were. I loved the belly.

Now, I'm obsessed with not looking pregnant anymore. I'm talking about buying a treadmill. Eating plain baked potatoes. Eating nothing. Whatever - I just don't want to be mistaken (there's that prefix again) for a pregnant woman.

There are things that the doctor here did that I think were both medical and for my emotional stability. One of those things was the drug he gave me to shrink my uterus. I understand that it also helped the bleeding and what not, but it was a real gift to stand in front of the mirror this afternoon and not look pregnant anymore. Side note: the doctor who didn't know me from adam took the most amazing and precious care of me. If you find yourself in Jackson and in need of a doctor, you should so email me right now.

The crazy part is, we did buy some new jeans. They are a freaking size 16, but we bought some new jeans. I cannot believe I just admitted that. Back to the crazy part though - I was still happy with the way I looked in the mirror. A gift from my baby. Decent body image. Am I reaching for a positive? Maybe.

It's going to take a hell of a lot of them to climb out of this hole though. One tiny positive at a time.

Totally not moving on

Miscarriage. It is a word that implies that you did something wrong. If you think about it, all the other "mis" words are words that you could avoid. Misspell. Misstep. Mistake. Things that you do that you could have prevented. Miscarriage. What a cruel word.

I am told there is nothing I could have done. While I logically believe that, I have spent today wondering how I could have not known that my baby had died. How did I walk around for 3 weeks, talking to him, playing the piano for him, feeding him at least a milkshake every 2 days, and not have known that he was gone? I believe that there was nothing I could have done to save him, but couldn't I have at least know he was gone?

It is so lonely without him. I had gotten so used to it being, "me and the baby." Now, it is just me again. Guy is here for me, but we have reached that phase though when he is ready to be up and doing things to get his mind off of it, and I am still lying in this bed sucking down the Percoset as often as allowed. He is busy repairing whatever he can find to repair in my parents' home.

I went back to the Babycenter Boards today. I had to go to the site to ask them not to send me anymore emails about my baby. Not surprisingly I suppose, the thread started for women who misscarried babies due in July 2007 is full of women more my own age, more like me. A lot of them were first time moms in their 30's with older husbands. That was strange. I had a pregnancy ticker on my signature. In fact, I had it on my sidebar here too. It is gone. I sobbed when I deleted it.

In fact, I sob a lot. Not just cry. Flat out gasping for air sobbing. I sob when I wake up from a nap and remember all over again that I'm not pregnant anymore. I sob when I can't force the image of little Cleatus just hanging there on the ultrasound screen with no heartbeat. I sob when I go to the bathroom and there is still blood. I have sobbed so much that the Percoset doesn't even touch the headache I've created for myself.

You see, I wish there had been something I had done. If there was, then I could prevent it for the next time. I could fix it and make it not happen again. Instead, I have to just try again and be terrified that whatever I couldn't prevent from happening to my baby this time will happen to the the next one.

The rest of it

I lay strapped down in the OR like I was on a crucifix. Both arms extended, I was left to soak myself in the tears I couldn't reach to wipe away. My terrible vision left everyone looking exactly alike in their green scrubs and caps. They would flutter in front of me, introducing themselves, telling me what their role was. I just wanted someone to dry my face.

Guy walked down to the OR with me so that I could wear my glasses as long as possible. I hate not being able to see. As soon as he left me, the tears came and wouldn't stop.

I knew my baby was dead, but I didn't want them to take him. I didn't want to stop being pregnant with him.

The lights above me were big and looked like flowers through my nearsightedness. They were purple and green and I was trying to focus on them and ignore all else.

The anesthesiologist (I think) leaned over and said something about that I appeared to be healthy except for the smoking. I squinted at him and said, "What?". He was confused I guess and asked if I smoked. I said no and he said, "Then you are in good health." I replied in my best smart ass while practically drowning in my own tears, "Right. Good health except for the baby losing and all. Thanks."

It is probably wise not to smart off to the man in charge of putting you to sleep and waking you up, but I couldn't help being pissed because that same man couldn't seem to read my chart properly and messed up the focusing I was trying to do.

They put me out rather quickly after that, and the next thing I remember is a new voice asking me if I'm alright. The only thing I could say was, "Where is my husband?" Apparently I was pretty adamant about it, because they let him into recovery with me against the rules. I think though, that it was also very late at night.

Guy stood next to me and fed me ice chips. My throat was dry and hurt from the tube that was in it during the surgery. He rubbed my head and talked to me, but I don't remember what he said.

In the room, I slept. Guy slept on the chair that turns into a slab. Kim took care of me all night as though she were an angel. I don't know how nurses are as kind and open as she was and yet are able to work their way through so many different patients every shift. It has to be draining.

I woke up around 3:30 and needed to go home. The tears started again, and I couldn't stop them. After a successful trip to the bathroom, Guy helped me into my maternity clothes and we left. There were prescriptions to fill, and I had to buy pads. I haven't bought pads in years.

We stood in the aisle of Walgreens, staring at pads and wondering which ones to get until a stock girl rolled a cart of pregnancy tests behind us to restock the shelves. Tears again, grab any pads, and head home.

I have never in my life wished so badly for something to not have happened. If there is any possible way to go back and make this not happen, to have my baby back, just please, let it be. I've turned to the typing today. Trying to work this thing out. Trying to find the pain and then find a way for the pain to stop.

I am now open to suggestions because nothing I am doing is working.

Finding out

It was just a precaution. Sil called her OB yesterday to see if they could work me in just to check things out. The spotting had gone on for about 24 hours, but I wasn't concerned. I had spotted after the doctor's visit and a few times after sex. Standing in the kitchen though, I became quickly aware that it was more than just spotting.

Still, I was thinking positively. Guy and I drove to the clinic and talked about how this was just a little nerve rattling scare. I told him, and believed with all my heart, that everything was going to be fine. I was not going to lose our baby.

The tech tried an abdominal ultrasound first. She said that she couldn't see what she needed to see from there. My palms started to sweat and Guy held my hand a little tighter. The vaginal ultrasound was confusing to me at first. Cleatus was bigger, and I thought he was moving, but later realized that it was the tech moving the instrument, not my little guy moving. The tech went to measure him and it came up on the screen as "9 weeks, 2 days."

That is when I turned my head away and started to sob.

She went to get the doctor. I asked him to try again. Please look again. Please try once more to find my baby's heartbeat. We looked again, and there was nothing.

I don't really remember from there. We moved from office to office filling out paperwork for the D&C. I was there and people were talking to me, but I wasn't there.

On the way out of the clinic, we passed by the pregnant woman who had been sitting across from me in the waiting room. She was smiling and saying goodbye. I didn't mean to look at her, and I'm sure she wished she hadn't looked at me. I know that look. It's like seeing the people coming from the back of the vet's office holding just a leash, an empty collar, and a used Kleenex. I pull my own leash in and lean down to whisper in my own pup's ear as they go by.

She looked at me as I walked by clutching Guy's arm and ignoring the tears streaming down my face, and she took a step back. She took a step back into the safety of her own pregnancy and away from the, "Thank God that isn't me."

I would have done the same thing in her shoes. I would have done anything to be in her shoes.

12 weeks

At 12 weeks yesterday, I gave in and bought baby clothes. Sil and I were at Old Navy and she helped me pick out the most precious "Baby's First Christmas" onesie and a pile of other gender neutral clothes. Mostly gender neutral. I threw in a onesie with a bulldog on it because a) I just knew my baby was a boy and b) It was possible to put pink pants with it and thereby qualified as either or to me.

We left Old Navy, picked up 36 Krystal burgers for the crew, and headed back to Sil's house. We had gotten new pj's and matching shirts for Lovely and my little Clone niece, and a pile of 50% Christmas randomness to show off and gloat about their cheapness. However, as I was standing in the kitchen serving drinks to the kids, I felt blood began to run down my leg.

Eighteen hours later, I am in my parents guestroom, being not pregnant.

Cleatus died at 9 weeks, 2 days according to the ultrasound. That was the day of the concert - the first day I needed maternity clothes. The D&C was last night here in Jackson. He was with me exactly 12 weeks. 12 weeks and you are supposed to be so much safer. Less risk. Everything is supposed to be alright.

They gave me plenty of prescriptions for pain, but none of them can touch where it really hurts.

On the subject of miracles

Believing in miracles is something that I don't do. Miracles happened in the Bible to tell stories. Stories were told in the Bible to teach us something and connect us under a common faith. There was a scientific reason the water turned to wine, or it was just a story. I didn't care which, because my faith has never been based on a literal interpretation of the Bible.

Someone recently commented on my spirituality or lack thereof. It is interesting to me that anyone feels they can judge how spiritual another person is or is not. To me, spirituality is a personal thing. Someone can comment on how unreligious I have become, but they have no idea about my spirituality.

It is all in the definitions of the words. I realized that when I started thinking about my momma and the miracle we seem to have been given. What I realized was that I had been defining the word much too narrowly. If I take a step back and look at a miracle as being given something that you didn't expect and didn't deserve, then my life becomes riddled with miracles.

My momma was not supposed to go into remission. Two months ago, she lay in a hospital bed, being sustained by a life support system, ovarian cancer taking over the spaces in her abdomen where she used to have ovaries and a uterus. Today, she is at home, taking care of herself and my father. She has been declared in remission. No cancer. Maybe next time, but right now, there is no cancer.

Maybe there is an explanation. Maybe there was something in their home in California that acted as a toxin. Maybe it took this long for the chemo to work. Maybe she ate some magic beans. I don't really care. I'm accepting that while there is most likely a medical explanation for what has happened, we will never know it, and I should accept that it is a miracle. It is something we didn't expect and didn't deserve. It is a gift.

As I sit in my music room, blogging here, there is another miracle. Lovely is sitting at our piano, playing her little heart out. "Jingle Bells" and other Christmas tunes are ringing out, along with her running commentary on whatever wrong notes she might hit. Having her for a stepdaughter is something I never expected and did nothing to deserve. She is a gift.

Most of the people in my life right now are miracles by my new definition. Guy of course. The timing of our finding each other had to have been a miracle. Loving his family like I do - miracle.

Boo and Pilot, miracles. Having them in our lives has been nothing short of one. She got me the gig with Dude, has been the best friend I've made in this town, and most amazingly, she has stood by me with unfailing loyalty. It's nothing I expected or deserved.

My students, all miracles. I have had so many changes and moves in my life the past couple of years, and they are still with me. It's certainly nothing I expected or deserved, so I deem them miracles as well. Their playing and determination is miraculous too, and I'm not just saying that for the brave one who reads these thoughts although she is definately one of the miracles in my life.

Finally, how on earth could I make it through this pregnancy without believing in miracles? Everytime I read an update on the changes in this baby from week to week, I am in awe of what is going on inside me. I am also completely freaked out by how very little control I have over it. Sure, there are medical explanations, and women have been having babies forever, but this is my miracle. Something I didn't expect. Something I didn't earn. Something I wanted so badly. Something I'm sharing with the other biggest miracle in my life, Guy.

But the biggest miracle of all is that my momma might actually get to know this grandchild after all. There is no better time than Christmas to be reminded of what you believe, why you believe it, and how faith never really dies.

More preggo brain

After my true confessions on how my hormones affected our Thanksgiving dinner and the cooking thereof, I thought that I would get a handle on my flakiness. Au contraire.

Since then, I have continued to do things which deserve admission to absolution from the blogging community.

You know how granola bars come in packs of 2? And sometimes you might only eat 1 and then wrap the other one up for later? That's what I did. I saved one. Then, when I was packing Guy's lunch one day last week, I thought that the 1 granola bar would make a good morning snack. It might have, if he hadn't opened it up to discover that I had already taken a bite out of it. The ensuing phone call of, "Why are you eating parts of my lunch and then packing them? Are we really that poor?" was rather humiliating, and yet I found myself laughing until I almost wet my pants.

You know how sometimes your new clothes come with stickers on them that tell what size they are? And sometimes you are so excited about a piece of new clothing that you want to wear it even before you wash it? That's what I did. I got some new maternity jeans (and no, I'm not having twins) that were so cozy and cute that I brought them right home, cut off the tag, and wore them to Costco. Then, as if I needed to advertise because people couldn't just tell by looking, I left the giant sticker running from my butt down to the middle of my thigh that said:
"Large Grande Large Grande Large Grande Large Grande Large Grande." Beautiful. I was so proud.

Next I'm going to have my pj bottoms embroidered "Wide Load" across the back and forget to change out of them before leaving the house.

Things everyone should know about my Bro

Since my Bro might joining us around here, I thought there were some things that you all needed to know.

My Bro taught me to fear the toilet monster. If you didn't make it out of the bathroom before the toilet gurgled, the toilet monster would grab you and take you back down. The noise of a toilet flushing haunted me for years. I occasionally still shudder at that gurgle.

My Bro taught me that Talladega was a bad word. As in, "Mommmmmm! He called me a talladega!"

My Bro used me for slumber party entertainment. There was the old putting my hand in warm water to make me wet the bed. There was the filling my hand with toothpaste and then tickling my nose. He taught me to always lock my door at night when he had company.

After all the torture though, if there is one person in my family that I know I can count on, it's Bro. When my parents made what seemed to us to be a absurdly random move to California 7 years ago, Bro and I made a pact to always spend Christmas and Thanksgiving together. That was of course, 2 kids ago for him and it hasn't always worked, but hey, we made a pact, and we've done the best we could at keeping it.

This year, the day after Christmas, we are loading up the car and heading to Tennessee. Guy hates to travel at the holidays. He might think I've forgotten this little piece of information, but I haven't. He didn't bat an eye when I said that I would really like to spend time with my family at Christmas.

Now that he has met my Bro in person, he totally gets it.

Dirty rotten dog

This is a bad bad bad dirty dog. She tries to hide it by being beautiful. She is a princess. She will even try to con sympathy out of you for her bum eye. Don't let her fool you. Besides, that bum eye was a gift from some vet friends of mine. Any other vet would have just sewn the socket shut. Instead, this spoiled dog got a fancy silicon implant so that she would still be a gorgeous setter. She is rotten.

Princess Dirty Dog is a counter surfer. She likes to go in the kitchen, put her paws up on the counter and see what yummy treat I have stupidly left out for her to eat. Sunday night, she really did me in.

We had company coming for dessert. Not just any company, mind you, but the vet friends. The very same vet friends who gave Princess Dirty Dog her new eye. I made a pie. Not just any pie, but Guy's favorite Black Bottom Banana Cream Pie. The very same pie that I messed up at Thanksgiving. This time I didn't mess up. It was perfect and beautiful.

I set the pie out on the counter, and waited a couple of minutes by the front door since our house numbers don't show up in the dark. As I let in our guests, Guy started yelling in the kitchen, "You've got to be kidding me! Bad dog!"

Princess Dirty Dog had eaten the pie.

Had I not been bawling my eyes out, I would have thought to take a picture of that pie. Instead, I had to settle for a picture of her the next day with more crap on her nose that she got there by counter surfing. Damn dog.

Still though, somehow she worms her way back into our good graces. I don't know how, but she does. She ate Guy's favorite pie and still there is this:

Bells, whistles, and other Christmas miracles

Mom didn't call after all. I did talk to my Bro. I told him to tell Momma to just call me tomorrow. The thing is, I knew that she would be giddy with excitement, and I just wasn't there yet. That probably sounds crazy.

Her cat scan showed no evidence of cancer. None. Nada. Not one speck. They had also redone her ca125 just to make sure and it had dropped another 10 points down to 14.

They have declared my mother cancer free again. Remission. Her next appointment isn't until March.

Any normal daughter would be falling all over themselves with delight. I still sit skeptical. So much of the news we have gotten from doctors over the past almost 4 years has been bad. I'm waiting for that proverbial other shoe.

Waiting.

Whymommy pointed out to me last night though that whether I believe in miracles or not, that the information we got yesterday was indeed good news and I just had to accept it at that.

She is so right. As usual.

I will call my momma today and be happy for her. Better yet, I'll call her today and be happy with her.

Text message

From my brother at 1:32 PM:

"Cancer is apparently gone. No details yet. Mom will call."

Curtain call

Saturday was a big day. The group I play with performed with a 200 voice choir in the symphony hall here in the lovely capital city. We have played on that stage before, and we have played on TV before, but never on that stage on TV. Plus, we were playing mostly brand new material. It was a little stressful.

Full dress rehearsal started around 10:00 that morning. Wouldn't you know that as I was drying my hair that morning, I looked in the mirror and saw, oh my word - my bump. Cleatus determined that the very day I was already going to be in front of the 10 pound adding camera, he wants to make an appearance as well. Luckily, my organza pants had an elastic waist. The sweater though - well, the sweater was shorter in the front than in the back. I guess that in itself isn't so new. My boobs are ginormous. However, Guy proclaimed (proudly, I might add) at the end of the night,

"You so looked pregnant up there on stage."

That's so cool. Of course, to some people I might just look chunky. I have no control over that. I did think ahead enough to get a manicure and stop by Kerry Catherine and get my rings cleaned. They always do a close up of the pianist's hands. I wanted those puppies to sparkle. Make Guy proud. He said that the camera was swooping in at me, so I hope that they got that shot.

Overall, I think the evening went pretty well. We held everything together, and Dude has an amazing way with a crowd, no matter what the setting. I don't know if it is his day job that gives him that - he is a morning news anchor - or if it is his personality. He just makes everyone feel at ease. He is a pleasure to play with.

The coolest part of the evening though was having my family in the audience. I could even see the from the stage. You can only see about 10 rows back because of the lights. But there they were, Guy, Guy's dad, and Lovely. There they were, smiling at me, and it was awesome.

That's whatssup, Doc

Today Guy and I went to the doctor. I have a great doctor. She is really cool and rolls with the punches extremely well. Plus, she got Blue Cross Blue Shield to start paying for my mammograms when I turned 30 even though my mother hadn't had the gene test yet. Soft spoken, but carries a big stick I like to think.

When she walked in she said, "Well you've been busy."

I guess in her time, I have. One year I go to see her and tell her that my husband and I are going to adopt. The next year I tell her that I've given up on that and I would like to go to a fertility specialist and talk about sperm donors. The next year I tell her I'm getting a divorce.

Now, I sit before her, gown open to the front, sheet over the legs, smiling, laughing, and holding Guy's hand. She has never seen me smile much.

And I'm pregnant. She is my doctor, and I can tell that she is genuinely happy for me.

That is pretty cool.

She moved my due date back to July 12 again and said that everything looked great.

Oh me of little faith

I'm so ready for answers. There has been limbo in my life for so long now that I should be used to it, but I never get there.

Guy's job is in limbo. He does an amazing job of keeping me calm while keeping me honestly informed. We are not scared that he will be unemployed, we just don't know how and where he will be employed. His company has reorganized his department, and we are waiting to see how the positions shake down. Or, we move to Connecticut. It's cold there and people will think I talk funny. Because I guess to them, I would.

My parents are in limbo. Even though they have made the move to Tennessee, they are still not settled. Daddy doesn't have a neurologist yet, and he gets worse every day. Momma, on the other hand, has seen her new oncologist and went today for her first chemo treatment since she got sick in September and spent 9 days in October on life support.

Here is the kicker. Somehow, from the time she saw her oncologist in California until the blood work done in Tennessee last week, her ca125 levels dropped back into the "no cancer" zone. They didn't give her any chemo today because without more tests, they have to assume that she doesn't have cancer present right now.

Lab error? Probably.

Miracle? Probably what my folks are saying.

Am I a terrible person that I don't believe that it is possible for her cancer to just shrink itself and go away? I want to believe it. Really, I do. The reality is though, that a lab error is much more plausible and the time that they spend celebrating the miracles could be time that she could be being treated.

You would think that I could just give some good news about my folks and be happy about it. Maybe someday, but I doubt it.

Meanwhile, I could tell the stories about my Daddy peeing all over the bed and then peeing all over my sister-in-law as she tried to help him clean up. I could tell the one where he got so confused one night that he tried to throw a punch at my brother and then told him in his best Vietnam War voice, "You're gonna regret this day for the rest of your life."

Or I could tell the story about how my youngest niece has attached herself to him and claimed him as her very own PawPaw. That would be the best story I guess.

In December, they will meet their new granddaughter. Lovely is looking forward to it. She is excited to have more grandparents, which I think speaks volumes for the ones she already has. They are excited to meet her too. Momma has asked for a Christmas list, and Lovely is the kind of child that hasn't really asked for much, so I might have to ask her to think up some more things. I find that funny and refreshing all at the same time.

I don't want for any of the children to get their hopes up. We have had these conversations with Lovely and I know my Bro and Sil have had them with their children as well. MawMaw and PawPaw (I really hate those names) are sick. They are fragile. We have to take care of them. One day, maybe soon, we won't have them anymore. The children have had to adjust to this just like we have. Lovely will not get to know her new grandparents very well before they are gone.

Or who am I to say? It's Christmas time. If we are ever going to get a miracle, shouldn't it be at Christmas time? Oh me of little faith.

I'm laughing now, really

I'm making lists. There are lists of things we will need for the nursery. There are lists of things that I need to do to get my freaking house on the freaking market. There are lists of baby names. Tonight, I give you the list of things that made me cry this week.

1. The ultrasound and tiny heartbeat.
2. Guy carrying my pee through the doctor's office.
3. The news story about abused dogs (that one isn't new though).
4. Pupstar crawling not just into my lap but on top of my computer just to be that much closer.
5. Grey's Anatomy.
6. Another news story about a mom and her two babies found dead in their car in the carport (okay, that one really is quite sad and okay to cry about).
7. The fact that I didn't have the yogurt required to make my smoothie.
8. Lovely leaving Thursday morning and not coming back for another week.
9. Not being able to button my favorite jeans anymore.
10. The Amy Grant Christmas album. I was embarrassed for myself as that happened.
11. Taking a family picture for the Christmas card.
12. Turning on the lights on the Christmas tree.
13. More than one blogger and their insights on motherhood, labor and delivery
(and yes, I read every word), and losing their dog for the night.
14. Pulling into the parking lot of our very own brand spanking new Trader Joe's.
15. The giant hug and smack on the cheek when I told the Dude I play music with that I couldn't gig in July because Cleatus the fetus should be appearing as real live baby then.
16. My mother's voice over the phone. I don't even know what she was saying.
17. The picture of my grandfather from his college days. I was hanging it in my studio.
18. The pet of the day on the noon news.
19. Twiggy singing "In My Life" on the Muppet Show with a background montage of her modeling photos. I'm not even kidding.
20. The card that one of my best friends sent on the day that Guy and I were supposed to have our family wedding. It was this past Saturday. Needless to say, my parents are too sick to come, my brother is stuck taking care of them, and I'm pretty sure I couldn't have squoze into my wedding dress at this point anyway. Thank God we eloped when we did.

On the upside, Guy bought me some new boots tonight from my most favorite shoe store. They are quite fabulous and have no heel. We are getting concerned that I'm going to send my pregnant kapooshy flat on the ground if I continue to wear my standard 3-4 inch heeled boots all the time. I am a girl who must have boots though. Don't you think they are fabulous?

Just don't pat her on the back right now

The biggest disagreement I remember having with my best friend was back in high school. She thought the paper luminaries that lined the sidewalks in my neighborhood were pretentious. I thought they were beautiful. It was probably the first time I agreed to disagree with someone, so I credit her for teaching me that all important skill.

There are so many things she has taught me. The most relevant things lately are about motherhood. She has never given me bad advice, so I'm relying heavily on her as we both incubate our little ones. This is her second and my first.

Whymommy has a beautiful mix of left-brain and right-brain. There are times when I feel like I am in on that secret; like she doesn't share that right-brain with very many people. I have been packing up my house for the past several months and came across a journal that Whymommy gave my in high school. It was inscribed "From one closet writer to another." As we both blog now, I guess you could say that we have come out of the closet. See you later, Tom Cruise.

As she blogs, she handles honesty gracefully. During her pregnancy, she has been plagued with sciatica. It has put her on 8 months of bed rest. Dealing with constant excrutiating pain can be handled a few different ways. You could write about it and hope you get sympathy. You could write about it out of anger. You could simply not write about it so that you wouldn't burden people with the ugliness of the situation. Whymommy chose to handle it differently.

Without ignoring what is a significant part of her life, the pain, she has been able to write about this pregnancy as a mother and a scientist. Is she in pain? Yes. Is it controlling her life? Only certain details. Is she still focused on Widget and the incubating Whybaby and their development? Absolutely. But she writes with the calm precision of her left-brain and crafts those words beautifully with the right. That is just who she is.

She posts about learning opportunities that she has found for Widget even when she is stuck on the couch. She posts about braving the playdates even through the pain. She posts about the hope of physical therapy and is honest about the disappointment of finding out they were wrong.
She continues to post, no matter how she is feeling, and I continue to learn from her. I hear encouragement in her words, hope, contentment, and love. She helped give me the courage to leave the professional world as I thought it should be and make a new life and new work for myself at home. Stay-at-home-part-time-self-employed mother. SAHPTSEM.

There is something else amazing about Whymommy. She has been able to accept help without feeling like it is a sign of weakness. My parents still have trouble with that. Watching someone struggle and refuse help is frustrating and sad. I am so proud of her for allowing her in-laws to come into her home and help them with Widget, the cooking, the cleaning, whatever. Whymommy has been able to maintain her dignity through a time when she is flat laid out. She even had Thanksgiving at her house with all the grandparents and who knows, maybe she will feel up to Christmas too.

If you haven't gotten to know her, you are missing out. I hope you will go spend some time with her today and be inspired. I certainly am going to just that.

This post was prompted by The Mom Trap over at Club Moms. A little bit of loving on your favorite expectant mommyblogger.

I think he looks like Guy

Introducing Cleatus the fetus.

Stuff on the side

I have been having a great time playing with this blog design by Zoot. Although it would probably be easier if I got a book on stylesheets and html, I have instead, just looked through her code and been trial and erroring it to add on to the side. It is loads of fun.

So what do we have?

There is the "me" section. It's not very informative, but I do rather like the picture because Lovely took it. She is actually quite good with a camera. Especially for a 10 year old. I have yet to write an "About Me" entry. That is because I am not that interesting on the whole.

Next is the pregnancy ticker. It is too small, I realize, but I wasn't about to have something out of line with the rest of the sidebar. If you rightclick on the ticker, you should be able to select "view picture" and then see the ticker. That is if you are as interested as I am in how many days I have left to be pregnant. Which you probably aren't. The butterfly is pretty though.

Then we have the lovely button from Cool Mom Picks. If you still have shopping to do and would like to do it from home, I strongly suggest that you click here. It has some great suggestions for Christmas presents for anyone on your list.

Below that is the Kind Blog button. This very much suits my new blogging mantra, "Blog unto others as you would have them blog unto you." It helps keep me in check, even with the unpredictable hormones.

Everything below that is pretty self-explanatory I suppose. You can see my links list. I only put people on that I check more than once a week. With my attention span being that of a gnat, often I will go to someone's blog, enjoy it, and then forget that I ever went there. So, although the list is small, it is people who I really enjoy reading.

Meeting the little guy with the big Guy

It's official. We have a heartbeat. And a new due date. I'm a little more pregnant than we thought, which is just fine with me.

The ultrasound was Monday morning. Guy and I went to the visit together. It was a "nurse talk," which meant that we simply met with a nurse and she talked a lot. Just as I was feeling completely underwhelmed, it was time for the ultrasound.

My brother has named this little guy Cleatus the Fetus. It's annoyingly catching, and Guy has picked up on it too. So Cleatus it is - for now.

Cleatus was right where he was supposed to be. In fact, everything was just as it should have been. The heartbeat was strong and we could hear and see it. He looked like a little shrimp. Guy and I both cried, but also both waited until the tech left the room to do so.

I have waited so long for this. This happiness that has been completely unexpected, unscripted, and unbelievable. It is not enough that I have ended up with a man that I love, respect, admire, and simply love being around, but now, well, now I am carrying his child.

I knew I wanted to be a mother, but I never knew that I would want to be pregnant. Maybe that sounds strange, but I always just looked at pregnancy as a means to an end. It is so much more than that though. It is 40 (give or take I hear) or so weeks of bonding with baby and father. I have this time to become a mother.

One last thing: if you haven't figured out how sweet Guy is by now, let me give you another example. The man carried my pee to the lab Monday. Granted, it was double bagged and you couldn't tell what it was, but he knew. And he carried it anyway. I love him.

Braving my way back

After last week's hormonal mind vomit onto the keyboard, I've been a bit blogging shy. Not that they are under control now, mind you. I just spent several minutes sniffling and drying my eyes while reading the latest on Zygote Daddy.

Side note: Guy likes to read over my shoulder while I blog. He prefers to read my thoughts as they go instead of after whatever editing I give them before hitting the publish post button. Not that I do that much editing of course. Hi, Guy.

In honor of my hormones doing more than just sending me into crying fits over Christmas ornaments, movie trailers, glimpses of Lovely and Guy snuggling on the couch, and running out of milk, I give you the list of things I forgot last week:

1. I left out a cup of cheese from the shoepeg corn casserole.
2. I got out the corn syrup for the pecan pie, assembled the pie, baked the pie, ate some of the incredibly awful pie, and then realized (the next day) that I had never opened the corn syrup and added the cup that the recipe required.
3. I forgot to put the biscuits in the oven to rise right away, thereby offering buttermilk hockey pucks as the bread with Thanksgiving dinner.
4. I forgot to add the semisweet chocolate to the black bottom banana cream pie, a pie that I have been making for 8 years now.
5. I forgot to do the laundry.
6. I forgot to feed the dogs. Twice.

I'm sure I'm forgetting something, but you get the idea. I have pregnant brain.

Okay, it was so totally hormonal

Three hours later, post house cleaning and showering, I can honestly say that it was totally hormonal.

I have got to learn how the "save as draft" button works. Good grief.

Wishing it was hormonal

The biggest loss of my divorce was not my husband. I wanted him to leave. I was happy once he did. The biggest loss was that of friends.

Most of my friends were friends through marriage. I have never been one to collect lots of friends on my own. I was never one of those girls who would have a weekly "girls' night out" and drink pastel cocktails while giggling about the bartender's cute tush.

There have been five women in my life who I could call steady friends, best friends, and now there are four.

Two of those women have had their own challenges brought on because of my divorce. Their own husbands are good friends with my ex-husband. T has handled it graciously and with care. The other chose not to. I don't know why either. I was in the same position with her during her divorce, and my Ex and I lay down the law right away. Her Ex was not to be mentioned, he wasn't welcome in our house, and I didn't want to know if the two men spoke or saw each other.

Maybe it was different because she was the one that was left. Maybe she felt more empathy towards my Ex. Maybe I'm giving her more credit than she deserves because it hurts too much to think about how easily I was discarded by her.

There was a day when she said to me, "You just aren't sad enough."

I am changing my life for the better, and she wanted me to be more sad.

I think what she was really saying was, "You aren't sad enough anymore to make me feel better about my life."

It's too bad she left me when she did. It was just a couple of months before my father's biggest slide downwards into Lewy Body Dementia and my mother's diagnosis of metastatic ovarian cancer. If she wanted to see sad, I can do sad now.

The interesting thing to me is that she and I were friends during a period of time that my family claims I was not myself. That is one of the things they love about Guy. They see more of me, the way I used to be, now that I am with him. As soon as I started coming out from under the weight of a marriage that was drowning me, my friendship with her started to crumble.

Most of the time, this doesn't bother me. I miss her, but I don't miss the way she treated me the last few months of our friendship. Today though, I came across a set of photos on Flickr. I was looking for some pictures of T's little girl's birthday party this past Saturday. Instead I found a set of pictures where T and her family drove to VA to visit my former friend and her husband. Again, the husbands are friends.

It didn't matter though. My mother has always said that I am loyal to a fault. If someone wrongs one of my friends, then I will write that person off for life. I am a bridge burner in my personal life, and during the period of time when I tried to get better at it, I just ended up collecting a whole lot of people who drained the energy out of me. I have torched a bunch of bridges over the past 2 years, and I usually feel much better for it.

The problem is that sometimes I can't understand why my friends don't have the same trait. Looking at the pictures of T sitting there smiling and having a terrific time with this woman who had hurt me so deeply, frankly, it cut me to the bone.

Logically, I understand that it isn't fair of me to expect all of my friends to act the same way I would. Emotionally, it doesn't matter. All I can think is that if someone treated T the way this woman treated me, I would never be able to maintain any level of friendship with them, no matter what. And that hurts. While I would like to blame this on hormones, I don't think I can. I would really like to not have this bother me, but I don't know how to just turn it off.

It didn't bother me when T and her husband sent out an email about something my Ex had sent their little girl for her birthday. I know they are still friends, and I wouldn't expect anything different. I wasn't abused or tortured in my first marriage, just deceived and disappointed. My Ex did not hurt me half as much as this woman did, and the pain he did cause was not intentional.

Of course I am too scared to talk to her about it because I will most likely say the wrong things and make everything thing worse. I know I can't handle losing her as a friend too.

Maybe it is hormonal. God I hope so.

Wimpy preggo

This is the time of year when my sinuses try to ruin my life. Usually it is a day of misery followed by loads of drugs including the miracle squirt or two of Flonase and an extra dose of Diet Coke. Now, it has become the source of migraines and the need for lots of sleep. In other words, I'm not getting anything done.

I am a person who likes to get things done. And yet, I have done nothing but take a hot shower for the purposes of steaming my sinuses and then go back to sleep. I'm fighting the urge to get up and go regardless of how I feel because what if this is my body fighting off a full blown sinus infection? I would really like to paint my porch and get ready for a yard sale tomorrow, but I sit here, with dog and laptop sharing my lap, not doing those things.

There might be drugs I could take. I could call the nurse at my OB's office and ask if my beloved Flonase is safe, but the last phone call made me feel stupid for needing to ask a question in the first place. Crying would be detrimental to the whole trying to mend my sinus thing I've got going on.

Why the wimpy label? Because my best friend has been on bed rest since her 2nd month. Her back and hip pain is so intense that she has days she cannot move. There are not drugs or therapy that she can have on a consistant basis, and so she endures the pain. For her baby. For her family. I do not know how she has done it. To trade her pain for a little sinus pressure would be a no-brainer for sure.

I guess it is okay to just sit here for a day and pay attention to my body. It's not like the work won't be there tomorrow. It's not all about me anymore.

Lovely's Christmas list

We haven't told Lovely yet about her pending sibling. Guy wants to wait until after the ultrasound finds a heartbeat. We did find a very cute monkey wearing a grass skirt who hulas when you pull its cord. The tag names the monkey with Lovely's name, so we bought it for her as a gift from the baby.

The best part though is Lovely's Christmas list. It includes the traditional TV for her room, iPod, clothes, and craft kits. Thankfully, it did not include the disturbing Barbie RV complete with hot tub. At the end though, she turned to Guy and said that what she really wanted though was a little sister. A brother would be okay too, but she would really like a little sister.

This makes us think she is going to be quite alright with the news whenever and however we decide to tell her. I hope so.

Preggo meltdown

Welcome to hormone central. Today, we have a lovely story of a pregnant woman cracking before your very eyes. It goes like this:

I started taking folic acid when I found out I was pregnant. Correction, I started taking it as soon as my dear friend T found out I wasn't and scared the crap out of me by hurling a bottle of it from her own cabinet at my head. Now, I take it religiously. 400 micrograms a day.

Today, I called the nurse and asked if my doctor could go ahead and call in a prescription for prenatal vitamins since my appointment is still two weeks away. She sounded shocked that I wasn't already taking them and didn't know that I could get them over the counter. I told her that I was taking my folic acid and she told me that I was only taking half the correct amount.

It is probably no shock to previously pregnant women that this sent me into a crying frenzy after I hung up the phone. I sat on the couch, stunned that I could already be the world's worst mother before my little zygote even grew out of its little tadpole tail. Guy called right as I was melting down and just laughed at me. I told him I was obviously trying to kill our baby by not taking the prenatal vitamins. He just laughed. Silly schmoopie. People have had plenty of babies without prenatal vitamins. You are just fine.

*sniff*

Can I just say again how magnificent he is? If I continue to gush about this incredible man, will you all roll your eyes and skip this part? Probably, so I'll just keep it to myself.

Besides, I have to go to Target and buy my prenatal vitamins and the new Damien Rice cd. Because I'm not emotional enough right now. I love that man too. He writes the most beautiful songs and orchestrates them like hanging tinsel on a Christmas tree strand by strand. Every instrument is carefully placed, the lines are simple, and when you stand back, the overall effect is stunning. I'm quite sure it will make me cry.

Another person that hates me

Why then, does the belligerent woman working the drive thru window of the Bojangles hate me so? I told her that I didn't want sweet tea while I was having to yell into the giant menu speaker while getting rained upon. She insisted that I did. In fact, I wanted sweet tea and french fries. No, no ma'am, I do not, thank you. I would like mashed potatoes with no gravy and I do not need a drink.

Why then, does she try and hand me a giant cup of sweet tea at the window?

I say, "I don't want any tea, thank you."

She sneers and says, "It comes with the meal."

I say, "Thank you, but I still don't want it."

She sticks her chin out and says, "You know you paid for it."

I say, "I understand, but I don't want the tea."

She expels a loud puff of air through her nostrils, takes the tea, tosses it into the trashcan behind her like she was hitting a 3 pointer and shoves my food through the window.

I ask for extra napkins because the inside of my car is now drenched from the rain pouring in the open window. She hates me even more as she generously gives me three.

It's all about preggo

I promise this will not just turn into a pregnancy blog. For one thing, I took the second pregnancy test and refrained from taking a picture of it. So there.

First-timers though are constantly aware of the changes I have found. Scanning through some of the pregnancy boards, I have read open conversations about boobs, gas, constipation, and God forbid, hemorrhoids. I am slightly afraid.

I am also slightly hungry. All the freaking time. The thing that sucks about it though is that absolutely nothing looks, smells, or tastes appealing to me. This is a very weird thing for me. I absolutely love to eat. I love food. I love to cook. I love to bake. And now that I need to eat, there is nothing that I want. Strange.

Then there is the tired. It is at least an hour before I used to go to bed and at least an hour before I wanted to go to bed. An early bedtime for me is bizarre, and 6:00 AM is not a favorite hour of mine, and yet that seems to be the new pattern.

Things smell funny. I smell funny. Body washes that I have used for years smell awful once I get out of the shower. World Market almost made me hurl yesterday; I think it was some unfinished wood furniture. Guy smells sweet though, like sugar. It is a good smell, but I know he didn't used to smell like sugar.

Tonight I was talking to my daddy. He asked how I was doing and I assumed he meant because I was pregnant and all. I told him I was always tired and hungry, but felt just fine. He told me to go get my thyroid checked. I reminded him I was pregnant. He pretended like he hadn't forgotten.

I guess some things are going to stay just the same.

A little light reading

I have 2 books about how to be pregnant because I don't know what I'm doing. They are both kind of annoying really. While I appreciate the information, I get going reading and feeling like I'm learning something and then they will throw in a "Dad Tip." These are pull out boxes on the page with stuff for the Daddy. One of them says,

"Dad Tip: Give your partner a lot of hugs. May women enjoy more hugging and cuddling during this very special time."

I'm not kidding. That is the tip. Here is a more useful tip that I would have included,

"Dad Tip: Quit telling people that your wife is pregnant by slapping her ass and saying, 'My boys can swim!"

But no, their tips include,

"Dad Tip: Bring home flowers for no special occasion."

Isn't that probably one of the things that led us to needing a pregnancy book in the first place?

I offer in its place,

"Dad Tip: When your partner tells you that she has to pee on the spice aisle of the grocery store, do not respond with, 'Again?"

But no, this book gives us nuggets of wisdom for those prehistoric sperm shooters we call husbands like,

"Dad Tip: Buy a present for your partner and the baby."

Aside from all this nonsense, I'm learning quite a bit. I have quit the caffeine, skipped sushi, of course corked the wine. We went to the Costco and loaded up on organic fruit and veggies, hormone free meat, and whole grain goodness. I'm exercising and getting a lot done around the house.

Most of what I've learned is that I'm not insane. Lots of pregnant women crave ice cream and have a metallic taste in their mouth.

One question that I have not had answered though is this: Is there any records of your dog knowing that you are pregnant before you do? I swear I think that Pupstar knew. She started acting more protective of me and will not leave my side for about 3 1/2 weeks now. I swear I think she knows. She is, of course, the smartest dog in the world. Evah.

Out of the bag

Momma is going to start chemo again. Her ca125 came back higher than it was before she started chemo this last time, so that is really disappointing. The news also included that she would be on chemo for the rest of her life. The rest of her life obviously, depending on how well she responds to the chemo.

Guy told them our news. I still couldn't. Not with her crying on the phone about her news. So he called them back and told them. I think Daddy got it. Momma certainly did. She said that they could really use some good news and that it was the best news she could have asked for.

I guess I should have told them days ago. Then again, I wasn't sure that I believed it myself. I took that 2nd pregnancy test that comes in the box just to see.

Very blue. Very quickly.

Very pregnant.

How much do you tell?

Momma goes to the oncologist today. She is rightfully very frightened. Today she will get a new estimate of the rest of her life.

The chemo was going well if you consider what it was doing to the cancer. Her ca125 had dropped into an almost safe range. She was well on her way to being on the 3 end of the number of years she had left to live.

Then came the pneumonia. After having the fever and cough for several weeks and finally being admitted to the hospital, put in the ICU and being on life support for 9 days, the chemo now looks like it wasn't going so well after all. She is pretty scared that they are going to tell her that she shouldn't take anymore. Or worse yet, that while she had been on hiatus from it and trying to recover, that the cancer has taken over and is unstoppable at this point.

I haven't told her that I'm pregnant yet. Each time that I call, she is so busy trying to tell me how alright they, and it exhausts me. She does this thing. If there is someone that she feels like is getting picked on or unfairly treated, then she does this passive thing where she makes sure to tell you all the good things they've done. Growing up, she would do that for my brother. She would try and passively change my dad's mind that my brother was a screwup. It never worked. And he wasn't, by the way.

Now, she is doing this for my dad. Every time we talk to her, we have to get the update on how well Daddy is doing. Nevermind the fact that while she is telling my brother the wonderful news on my father's miraculous recovery, he's in the other room falling off the air mattress that is supposed to be where my mother is sleeping for now. Hitting the floor, my mother's accolades are interrupted by unintelligible yelling, and Mom having to call out to him that she can't help. Oh yes, they are doing just fine.

I tried to have a conversation with my mother about the difference in being a wife and a caregiver. I have tried to help her understand how my Bro and I dealt with Daddy when he got mean and nasty. I have tried to encourage her to step up and take control so that Daddy will relax more and be easier to manage.

The bottom line is that she is incapable of seeing him as someone who is sick.

She still needs to see him as her husband and her rock. Really, if I step back from it, I can understand that. She needs a rock. God bless her, the woman has metastatic ovarian cancer. Doctors are telling her that she is going to die sooner rather than later. Her children are telling her that her husband is already gone just when she needs him to be there the most.

So how much do you tell each other? What is she leaving out of the reports? We know that he is yelling at her and berating her because he was doing it while she was still in the hospital. The fact that it is not his fault, rather the disease's fault doesn't make it hurt any less. Is he hitting her? Probably not. Would she tell us if he was? Probably not.

She did tell me about five years ago that he would hit her in his sleep. Part of his REM sleep disorder, this was probably one of the earliest symptoms. My reaction was to tell her that they needed to sleep in separate rooms. She never mentioned it again.

We keep so many secrets to be such a close family. I don't understand. Now, I'm keeping my pregnancy a secret. Part of me just can't get happy about the news as it relates to them. It just reminds me of how much they will not be with me. Another part of me doesn't want to tell her because I don't want it to effect her decisions about further chemo. Is that really my choice though, or should I let it be her?