My story, in brief: Stopped birth control June 2005. First pregnancy December 2005. First miscarriage January 2006. Since then, I have been pregnant six more times, all ending in miscarriage, except for my ectopic baby (referred to here as Cletus, as in Cletus the Fetus. He is the only one with a name because he was the only one we got to see even once on ultrasound. And he was in the wrong f-ing place). I have been diagnosed with a blood clotting disorder, but treatment for that has not thus far helped me to stay pregnant. I have just taken my last month of Clomid and am unsure what our next steps will be regarding ttc.
I get acupuncture, exercise a lot, eat organic and gluten free, cry a lot, laugh when I can, love on my dogs and cats, adore my hubby, read like a fiend, harbor dreams of actually finishing that novel I started writing, bandy sarcasm about like a weapon, dress like a femme fatale when I can so that I feel womanly despite my faulty parts, avoid pregnant women like the plague, and try not to wallow in self pity all of the time. That's me in a nutshell. (That was quite a sentence. Whew.) Thanks for visiting - please, leave a comment and introduce yourself. I love meeting new bloggers.
Side note: my internet service has been spotty at best due to weather issues (Iowa! In January!) so my commenting might be sporadic today. Please don't hate me :)
Showing posts with label miscarriage. Show all posts
Showing posts with label miscarriage. Show all posts
Thursday, January 21, 2010
Friday, October 16, 2009
Sunday, July 5, 2009
little knives
Today, I feel like a barren old hag.
I've been on one hell of an emotional roller coaster lately, and really all I can do is observe and report. I feel like I have no control over inner workings - I am just a passenger here.
Yes, we are still thrilled to be finally moving forward with adoption. No, adoption is not some magical cure for my grief. We always planned on adding to our family through adoption, regardless of my failure as a woman. I'm still going to start clomid next cycle, but really I've lost all faith that we'll be able to produce our own spawn.
The final push to this long downward roll came when I learned last week that Hubby's brother, along with his wife and new baby (AKA PIG), will be visiting in two weeks. Hubby's parents are planning a big to-do, so the whole family can meet the baby, the first grandchild. Or, more accurately, the first grandchild to survive pregnancy, but whatever - it's not as if they ever acknowledge our losses.
Enter old hag.
I felt physically ill at the thought of having to spend time in the company of fertiles and young children and babies. My heart started racing. I started sweating and felt nauseous and immediately weighed down like someone had placed an iron yoke around my neck. It's been there ever since.
My mind ran to the crazy - how can I get out of showing up? Can I break my leg? Get hit by a car? Stick a pencil in my eye? Perhaps I can manage to get bit by an animal at work that day. I have to do something, though - I do think I might actually have a breakdown if I'm forced to go. I'm too raw right now. I can't bring myself to hear everyone ruminate on who the baby resembles, or to see Hubby holding his niece and being tender and sweet. Little knives, right to my heart. What kind of person reacts this way to such a wonderful family event? A fucking horrible barren old hag, to be sure.
The timing of the party will be horrendous in another way. My body - my crazy, crazy body - is getting ready to pop out an eggy already. I find it absolutely amazing that my lady parts are always ready to go so soon after a loss. It's been less than two weeks, for Christ's sake! So, do the math, my friends: yep, that's right, I'll be having a visit from Aunt Flo that weekend, or close enough. I'll also, possibly, be on clomid for the first time and discovering the wonders that little pill will inflict. Yay.
More little knives - this time around, nobody gets it. I think the two people closest to me - mom and Hubby - are frankly sick of dealing with mood swings and weird unexpected grief moments. They think I should just suck it up and deal with it, go to the party and keep my mouth shut about my own personal hell. Or better yet - mom thinks I should, if I can't go, write a letter to BIL and his wife explaining my absence. Sure, I'll just bare my own dark soul for people I hardly know to see.
I'm ready for the next up on this ride, although I know it'll be followed far too quickly by a down.
I've been on one hell of an emotional roller coaster lately, and really all I can do is observe and report. I feel like I have no control over inner workings - I am just a passenger here.
Yes, we are still thrilled to be finally moving forward with adoption. No, adoption is not some magical cure for my grief. We always planned on adding to our family through adoption, regardless of my failure as a woman. I'm still going to start clomid next cycle, but really I've lost all faith that we'll be able to produce our own spawn.
The final push to this long downward roll came when I learned last week that Hubby's brother, along with his wife and new baby (AKA PIG), will be visiting in two weeks. Hubby's parents are planning a big to-do, so the whole family can meet the baby, the first grandchild. Or, more accurately, the first grandchild to survive pregnancy, but whatever - it's not as if they ever acknowledge our losses.
Enter old hag.
I felt physically ill at the thought of having to spend time in the company of fertiles and young children and babies. My heart started racing. I started sweating and felt nauseous and immediately weighed down like someone had placed an iron yoke around my neck. It's been there ever since.
My mind ran to the crazy - how can I get out of showing up? Can I break my leg? Get hit by a car? Stick a pencil in my eye? Perhaps I can manage to get bit by an animal at work that day. I have to do something, though - I do think I might actually have a breakdown if I'm forced to go. I'm too raw right now. I can't bring myself to hear everyone ruminate on who the baby resembles, or to see Hubby holding his niece and being tender and sweet. Little knives, right to my heart. What kind of person reacts this way to such a wonderful family event? A fucking horrible barren old hag, to be sure.
The timing of the party will be horrendous in another way. My body - my crazy, crazy body - is getting ready to pop out an eggy already. I find it absolutely amazing that my lady parts are always ready to go so soon after a loss. It's been less than two weeks, for Christ's sake! So, do the math, my friends: yep, that's right, I'll be having a visit from Aunt Flo that weekend, or close enough. I'll also, possibly, be on clomid for the first time and discovering the wonders that little pill will inflict. Yay.
More little knives - this time around, nobody gets it. I think the two people closest to me - mom and Hubby - are frankly sick of dealing with mood swings and weird unexpected grief moments. They think I should just suck it up and deal with it, go to the party and keep my mouth shut about my own personal hell. Or better yet - mom thinks I should, if I can't go, write a letter to BIL and his wife explaining my absence. Sure, I'll just bare my own dark soul for people I hardly know to see.
I'm ready for the next up on this ride, although I know it'll be followed far too quickly by a down.
Thursday, July 2, 2009
Operation No Regrets: revised
Yesterday was an absolutely incredible day. Out of the blue, we got a phone call that an attorney friend of the family, who happens to handle adoptions, had a 3 day old baby he needed to place. Hubby and I were ready to jump at the chance to be parents. We were thrilled, literally shaking with anticipation, at the thought that we might have a chance. Our minds ran to the gazillion things that needed to be done around the house. We knew, of course, that it was a long shot, since we haven't had a home study done yet. And, as it turns out, our anticipation was both premature and short lived.
This baby who needed a home actually had four couples interested in becoming parents. And of course, these four all had completed home studies. Once again, hopes dashed. Of course, it wasn't an unexpected turn of events, but the disappointment still stung. However, Hubby and I had any and all doubts/fears that we might have had about adoption completely erased: the excitement we felt at the prospect! the willingness to do whatever it might take to be approved! the feeling of wondering WHEN we could become parents, as opposed to IF!
We've decided to pursue adoption. As in, attending some meetings next month to get the home study ball rolling. Figuring out who we can beg, borrow and steal from to meet our expected expenses. We're going for it. I have not felt this upbeat for a long long time. We know the process might take longer than we'd like, and the road will be paved with frustrations, but we've become experts at dealing with frustrations.
We'll also be starting clomid next month. It seems a little crazy to be actively trying to conceive while starting the adoption process, but it feels right. It just feels right. I mean, me getting pregnant and staying pregnant is such a long shot at this point, but I feel like I should give the assisted ovulation aspect a try. Why should that stop me from trying another avenue toward parenthood as well? The agency we'd like to work with does not have any restrictions regarding ttc for infertiles, so why not?
Hubby and I have always discussed adding to our family through adoption, even before my many miscarriages and issues came to light. We just thought we'd have bio kids first. I'm okay with it not happening that way. I just want to be a mom.
So Operation No Regrets is in full effect, with a twist. And I'm beyond thrilled. I did, however, indulge in some wine last Saturday night, and I may this Saturday as well. If you can't indulge when your sixth dead baby like entity is slowly leaking out of you, when can you?
This baby who needed a home actually had four couples interested in becoming parents. And of course, these four all had completed home studies. Once again, hopes dashed. Of course, it wasn't an unexpected turn of events, but the disappointment still stung. However, Hubby and I had any and all doubts/fears that we might have had about adoption completely erased: the excitement we felt at the prospect! the willingness to do whatever it might take to be approved! the feeling of wondering WHEN we could become parents, as opposed to IF!
We've decided to pursue adoption. As in, attending some meetings next month to get the home study ball rolling. Figuring out who we can beg, borrow and steal from to meet our expected expenses. We're going for it. I have not felt this upbeat for a long long time. We know the process might take longer than we'd like, and the road will be paved with frustrations, but we've become experts at dealing with frustrations.
We'll also be starting clomid next month. It seems a little crazy to be actively trying to conceive while starting the adoption process, but it feels right. It just feels right. I mean, me getting pregnant and staying pregnant is such a long shot at this point, but I feel like I should give the assisted ovulation aspect a try. Why should that stop me from trying another avenue toward parenthood as well? The agency we'd like to work with does not have any restrictions regarding ttc for infertiles, so why not?
Hubby and I have always discussed adding to our family through adoption, even before my many miscarriages and issues came to light. We just thought we'd have bio kids first. I'm okay with it not happening that way. I just want to be a mom.
So Operation No Regrets is in full effect, with a twist. And I'm beyond thrilled. I did, however, indulge in some wine last Saturday night, and I may this Saturday as well. If you can't indulge when your sixth dead baby like entity is slowly leaking out of you, when can you?
Thursday, June 25, 2009
it's pity party time
The emotional overload has begun. I don't know why yesterday went so smoothly, except perhaps for the fact that I had Hubby all day and we were home together, not stuck at work.
Today sucks already. I can feel the cramping and the weird pain in my cervix beginning. My body is getting ready to expel my poor dead baby-like entity, and all I can do is sit here and try not to cry.
bleh.
Today sucks already. I can feel the cramping and the weird pain in my cervix beginning. My body is getting ready to expel my poor dead baby-like entity, and all I can do is sit here and try not to cry.
bleh.
Wednesday, June 24, 2009
Operation No Regrets
Second beta = 3. Loss confirmed.
I spoke to my RE this morning and he thinks that we "need help." (Um, really? Ya think so? I love my doctor beyond belief but I think that's obvious at this point). He really thinks IVF, possibly with pre-implantation genetic screening, is the way to go. He also does not think that I'm insane for wanting to try again.
If you had asked me two years ago, I would have said that I had absolutely no interest in pursuing IVF. Hubby and I, at that time, thought that the money would be better spent on adoption. Oh, how times change. I'm really sold on this idea of having no regrets whatsoever on our baby-making mission, and so I'm considering it. Cost is a factor though, and since we'll need to save up for our clinic's program, we're going to try some smaller guns in the meantime.
Doctor Obvious sees no need to pursue further testing at this point, since we've had so many tests, including genetic karyotyping, done already. We have formulated a plan to embark on Operation No Regrets after my next cycle. At this point, the plan is: try Clomid alone, then try Clomid + IUI, then try injectables + IUI, and then move on to IVF if necessary (and if we can afford it). My biggest fear regarding IVF is that if it fails, we'll have dumped all of our moolah into it and will have nothing left for adoption, but we'll cross those bridges when we get to them. As part of ONR, I will be excising caffeine and alcohol from my life. Today, though, I am enjoying cocktails made with Mountain Dew and SoCo and am feeling deliciously numb. And hot. Seriously, when is this midwestern heat and humidity wave going to end? I'm on my patio right now, and I feel like I'm breathing soup.
I feel surprisingly ok about all of this, but that could change at any moment. I wish we were wealthy, and had every option open to us right now, but alas, we aren't. We did, however, play the lotto today. Seriously, our luck has got to change at some point, right? If we win (yeah right) I'd like to pay for treatment for other couples who can't afford it, because infertility sucks when your pockets aren't deep.
Hubby took the day off today to hang with me, and I have to say, it's been great. We've been laughing a lot (because our only other option is to curl up in a hole somewhere and die) and enjoying each other's company. I'm super glad we share the same dark sense of humor, because otherwise, shit would be awkward. Case in point: returning from the store with our SoCo and Mountain Dew, he let me carry the bags. And I said "Sure, let your miscarrying wife carry the bags for you. I guess if I can't carry a child, I might as well carry the groceries, huh?" And he said "Absolutely. Make yourself useful." And we both cracked up. God, do I love that man.
And tomorrow I begin my clean living regime, and the start of ONR. Hope abounds where it shouldn't. Wish me luck. Oh, and if anyone has any advice about entering the world of fertility drugs and whatnot, I'd love to hear it. I have a feeling it's going to be a crazy ride.
I spoke to my RE this morning and he thinks that we "need help." (Um, really? Ya think so? I love my doctor beyond belief but I think that's obvious at this point). He really thinks IVF, possibly with pre-implantation genetic screening, is the way to go. He also does not think that I'm insane for wanting to try again.
If you had asked me two years ago, I would have said that I had absolutely no interest in pursuing IVF. Hubby and I, at that time, thought that the money would be better spent on adoption. Oh, how times change. I'm really sold on this idea of having no regrets whatsoever on our baby-making mission, and so I'm considering it. Cost is a factor though, and since we'll need to save up for our clinic's program, we're going to try some smaller guns in the meantime.
Doctor Obvious sees no need to pursue further testing at this point, since we've had so many tests, including genetic karyotyping, done already. We have formulated a plan to embark on Operation No Regrets after my next cycle. At this point, the plan is: try Clomid alone, then try Clomid + IUI, then try injectables + IUI, and then move on to IVF if necessary (and if we can afford it). My biggest fear regarding IVF is that if it fails, we'll have dumped all of our moolah into it and will have nothing left for adoption, but we'll cross those bridges when we get to them. As part of ONR, I will be excising caffeine and alcohol from my life. Today, though, I am enjoying cocktails made with Mountain Dew and SoCo and am feeling deliciously numb. And hot. Seriously, when is this midwestern heat and humidity wave going to end? I'm on my patio right now, and I feel like I'm breathing soup.
I feel surprisingly ok about all of this, but that could change at any moment. I wish we were wealthy, and had every option open to us right now, but alas, we aren't. We did, however, play the lotto today. Seriously, our luck has got to change at some point, right? If we win (yeah right) I'd like to pay for treatment for other couples who can't afford it, because infertility sucks when your pockets aren't deep.
Hubby took the day off today to hang with me, and I have to say, it's been great. We've been laughing a lot (because our only other option is to curl up in a hole somewhere and die) and enjoying each other's company. I'm super glad we share the same dark sense of humor, because otherwise, shit would be awkward. Case in point: returning from the store with our SoCo and Mountain Dew, he let me carry the bags. And I said "Sure, let your miscarrying wife carry the bags for you. I guess if I can't carry a child, I might as well carry the groceries, huh?" And he said "Absolutely. Make yourself useful." And we both cracked up. God, do I love that man.
And tomorrow I begin my clean living regime, and the start of ONR. Hope abounds where it shouldn't. Wish me luck. Oh, and if anyone has any advice about entering the world of fertility drugs and whatnot, I'd love to hear it. I have a feeling it's going to be a crazy ride.
Tuesday, June 23, 2009
Pregnancy #6: Epic Fail
The first beta hcg was 9 - not good. My doctor is reserving judgement until we see what happens on Wednesday, but it's looking pretty grim. I'm thinking that if I was getting positives last week, the hcg must have been higher than 9 at some point, leading me to believe that it's already falling. Pregnancy #6 = epic fail.
I hate that I keep bringing such pain into Hubby's life. He's devastated. I can see it in the set of his mouth, the droop of his shoulders. And his eyes - so, so sad. It breaks my heart that he keeps having to deal with this shit because of MY dysfunctional lady parts. Sunday, Father's Day, he kept touching my belly, and smiling, and it was so sweet that I knew it couldn't last. My life just doesn't work that way.
The doctor called me at work to give me the test results, and the waterworks started. I know my coworkers must know something is up, but luckily I got to hide in the office on the phone with tech support, so I could duck under the desk and play with wires whenever a fresh batch of tears appeared. I can't control them. They just pop up out of nowhere. I don't know how I'm going to function today. Especially if we have any preggo clients come in.
The sick thing is, I think I might want to try again. My name is Wifey, and I'm a miscarriage-holic. I have not yet fully implemented my straight edge, organic only lifestyle. Of course, I blame myself and those couple of beers I had after ovulation. I keep thinking that this whole trying to stay knocked up thing is like some crazy math equation: add organic everything, subtract pesticides, beer, sugar, carbs and anything else I remotely enjoy, multiply by a couple of doses of going to church (even though I don't believe in god anymore) and at the end, we'll get =baby. I know myself well enough to know that I won't be able to accept it if I feel like I haven't given 100% effort. I don't want to wake up some day 10, 15 years from now and wish that we had just given it one more try. I think I must be insane.
2 good things: Damn, do I have a strong marriage. We've been through the ringer and have only come out tougher and more in love. I just wish I could make him a dad, because he'd be a fab one.
The other good thing: some lawn care sales guy approached Hubby when he was out mowing today. He was in such a mood because of dealing with all this, I guess the thought of trying to wrangle the jungle in our backyard into submission sent him over the edge, and he signed a contract for professional weed control. I'm not thrilled about the whole chemical thing, but if you saw the weeds in our yard you'd know why we need to do this. They just won't die (unlike the babies in my uterus). We have a six foot privacy fence back there, and some of this shit is beginning to grow over the top of the fence. My soil, it seems, is fertile beyond belief. Oh, the irony.
I hate that I keep bringing such pain into Hubby's life. He's devastated. I can see it in the set of his mouth, the droop of his shoulders. And his eyes - so, so sad. It breaks my heart that he keeps having to deal with this shit because of MY dysfunctional lady parts. Sunday, Father's Day, he kept touching my belly, and smiling, and it was so sweet that I knew it couldn't last. My life just doesn't work that way.
The doctor called me at work to give me the test results, and the waterworks started. I know my coworkers must know something is up, but luckily I got to hide in the office on the phone with tech support, so I could duck under the desk and play with wires whenever a fresh batch of tears appeared. I can't control them. They just pop up out of nowhere. I don't know how I'm going to function today. Especially if we have any preggo clients come in.
The sick thing is, I think I might want to try again. My name is Wifey, and I'm a miscarriage-holic. I have not yet fully implemented my straight edge, organic only lifestyle. Of course, I blame myself and those couple of beers I had after ovulation. I keep thinking that this whole trying to stay knocked up thing is like some crazy math equation: add organic everything, subtract pesticides, beer, sugar, carbs and anything else I remotely enjoy, multiply by a couple of doses of going to church (even though I don't believe in god anymore) and at the end, we'll get =baby. I know myself well enough to know that I won't be able to accept it if I feel like I haven't given 100% effort. I don't want to wake up some day 10, 15 years from now and wish that we had just given it one more try. I think I must be insane.
2 good things: Damn, do I have a strong marriage. We've been through the ringer and have only come out tougher and more in love. I just wish I could make him a dad, because he'd be a fab one.
The other good thing: some lawn care sales guy approached Hubby when he was out mowing today. He was in such a mood because of dealing with all this, I guess the thought of trying to wrangle the jungle in our backyard into submission sent him over the edge, and he signed a contract for professional weed control. I'm not thrilled about the whole chemical thing, but if you saw the weeds in our yard you'd know why we need to do this. They just won't die (unlike the babies in my uterus). We have a six foot privacy fence back there, and some of this shit is beginning to grow over the top of the fence. My soil, it seems, is fertile beyond belief. Oh, the irony.
Wednesday, May 20, 2009
anticipating the dread
Can you grieve for someone who only existed for an instant? Whose existence was proven only by pink lines that faded far too quickly? Am I grieving for them, my nameless, faceless brood, or for the loss of the life I had imagined?
After our first loss, in December of 2005 (holy shit - a lifetime ago!) I stopped allowing myself the luxury of anticipation of baby. What I did feel, in abundance, with each subsequent pregnancy, was dread: how will this one end? how painful will it be? how long will the depression last afterwards?
Part of my learning how to be happy - and for me, happiness is a skill set that needs to be built and added onto and regularly maintained - has been learning to tune out the destructive voices in my head. You know, the ones that keep a running tally of all of the babies who have been born to friends and family since we started our journey, or remind me of how old each particular kid would be had they lasted, or imagine how I would look pregnant if I were capable of staying pregnant.
It's a coping mechanism, surely, to build up this wall around my tender parts. I can't help but feel guilty though - maybe if I had named those babies, loved them more, just been better in general, they would have stuck around. The guilt pisses me off immensely, too, because it's proof that part of my psyche is stuck way back in an early stage of grief. I want to be done with it, please. (So that we can try again, and I can get pregnant again, and start the whole stupid cycle over again.)
I've been really distracted lately thinking all of this through, and it shows. While I do consider myself to be a pretty smart cookie, I've been doing/saying some dumbass things lately. Consider the following:
Several weeks ago, I drove down to Kansas City, MO for a work meeting. Since I am fairly new to the midwest, I find Iowans' attitudes towards Missouri quite funny. The old joke is that if the southernmost county in Iowa were to become part of MO instead, the IQ of both states would jump. Basically, many Iowans think that people from Missouri, or anywhere near Missouri, are intellectually challenged. (I'm sorry if I offend anyone from MO with that.) On the drive home, I observed what I thought was an interesting confirmation of this. The conversation I had with Hubby when I got home is below:
Me: So, dude, guess what I noticed on the drive home?
Hubby: What? (trying to play his xbox, or shall we say, crackbox, and obviously distracted)
Me: Well, I noticed that there's a ton of roadkill in Missouri. I mean, everywhere and every species of animal. Literally, like every 5 feet.
Hubby: So? (still distracted)
Me: Well, as soon as I crossed the state line into Iowa, the roadkill disappeared. Virtually none.
Hubby: And?
Me: And, I'm wondering if that just proves that even the wildlife in Missouri is dumb. (I thought this was fucking brilliant!)
Hubby: (setting down the game controller, even! and looking at me with real concern on his face) Sweetie, all that means is that we spend the money to clean it up. Are you okay?
Duh. The simplest explanation.
Or another fabulous display of my intellect:
I had a friend's Olde English Bulldogge at work with me (I work in a vet's office, if you don't know already) and was walking him around lunch time. He happens to be a very sweet dog who loves people - adults, kids, babies - and he's very handsome, so he attracts a lot of attention. Of course, a lady stopped and wanted to pet him. I was focusing on the dog, not really looking at the lady, while the following conversation occurred:
Lady: Oh what a sweet boy! He just loves people, doesn't he?
Me: (still looking at the dog, and trying to convey that he likes kids too, because some dogs don't.) Oh yeah. Any shape, any size.
At which point I looked up and noticed that this lady just happened to be large. Quite large. And embarrassed. And I had no idea what to say to explain myself.
Open mouth, insert foot.
The kicker is that I come from a family of large people, and I truly would never ever be so mean to someone about anything, including their size. (Well, intentionally, at least.)
After our first loss, in December of 2005 (holy shit - a lifetime ago!) I stopped allowing myself the luxury of anticipation of baby. What I did feel, in abundance, with each subsequent pregnancy, was dread: how will this one end? how painful will it be? how long will the depression last afterwards?
Part of my learning how to be happy - and for me, happiness is a skill set that needs to be built and added onto and regularly maintained - has been learning to tune out the destructive voices in my head. You know, the ones that keep a running tally of all of the babies who have been born to friends and family since we started our journey, or remind me of how old each particular kid would be had they lasted, or imagine how I would look pregnant if I were capable of staying pregnant.
It's a coping mechanism, surely, to build up this wall around my tender parts. I can't help but feel guilty though - maybe if I had named those babies, loved them more, just been better in general, they would have stuck around. The guilt pisses me off immensely, too, because it's proof that part of my psyche is stuck way back in an early stage of grief. I want to be done with it, please. (So that we can try again, and I can get pregnant again, and start the whole stupid cycle over again.)
I've been really distracted lately thinking all of this through, and it shows. While I do consider myself to be a pretty smart cookie, I've been doing/saying some dumbass things lately. Consider the following:
Several weeks ago, I drove down to Kansas City, MO for a work meeting. Since I am fairly new to the midwest, I find Iowans' attitudes towards Missouri quite funny. The old joke is that if the southernmost county in Iowa were to become part of MO instead, the IQ of both states would jump. Basically, many Iowans think that people from Missouri, or anywhere near Missouri, are intellectually challenged. (I'm sorry if I offend anyone from MO with that.) On the drive home, I observed what I thought was an interesting confirmation of this. The conversation I had with Hubby when I got home is below:
Me: So, dude, guess what I noticed on the drive home?
Hubby: What? (trying to play his xbox, or shall we say, crackbox, and obviously distracted)
Me: Well, I noticed that there's a ton of roadkill in Missouri. I mean, everywhere and every species of animal. Literally, like every 5 feet.
Hubby: So? (still distracted)
Me: Well, as soon as I crossed the state line into Iowa, the roadkill disappeared. Virtually none.
Hubby: And?
Me: And, I'm wondering if that just proves that even the wildlife in Missouri is dumb. (I thought this was fucking brilliant!)
Hubby: (setting down the game controller, even! and looking at me with real concern on his face) Sweetie, all that means is that we spend the money to clean it up. Are you okay?
Duh. The simplest explanation.
Or another fabulous display of my intellect:
I had a friend's Olde English Bulldogge at work with me (I work in a vet's office, if you don't know already) and was walking him around lunch time. He happens to be a very sweet dog who loves people - adults, kids, babies - and he's very handsome, so he attracts a lot of attention. Of course, a lady stopped and wanted to pet him. I was focusing on the dog, not really looking at the lady, while the following conversation occurred:
Lady: Oh what a sweet boy! He just loves people, doesn't he?
Me: (still looking at the dog, and trying to convey that he likes kids too, because some dogs don't.) Oh yeah. Any shape, any size.
At which point I looked up and noticed that this lady just happened to be large. Quite large. And embarrassed. And I had no idea what to say to explain myself.
Open mouth, insert foot.
The kicker is that I come from a family of large people, and I truly would never ever be so mean to someone about anything, including their size. (Well, intentionally, at least.)
Friday, December 26, 2008
green eyed bitch
Jealousy is an evil, evil bitch. During my struggles with semi-fertility, she has taken up a near constant vigil in my life. Fertiles, specifically preggo fertiles, seem to bear the fruit of my resentment. I can't even begin to describe the just-punched-in-the-gut feeling that invariably accompanies the news that someone I know is expecting. (Oh, wait, yes I can. It feels like I just got punched in the gut). Several times Hubby has had the pleasure of delivering the news, and the exchange usually goes something like this:
Hubby: I have something to tell you (looking appropriately somber.)
Wifey: Uhhm, okay.
Hubby: So-and-so is pregnant (flinching as if I'm going to hit him with a spinning backfist. I haven't. Yet.)
Wifey: (tears, snot, incoherent mumblings, all of which may last several hours or days.)
Thank god that man often gets to see me at my best, because jealousy most definitely brings out my worst.
Sometime later, when I regain the ability to breathe, and thus talk, (much, I suppose, to Hubby's horror) I break out the "Why I'd Make a Better Mommy than So-and-so" game. It's rad - winner gets to feel like a total fucking asshole just for playing. I pretty much always win.
I have no idea why such happy news produces such an incredibly visceral reaction in me. I know that somebody else's pregnancy does not mean that I'll never have a child. It makes absolutely no sense that I feel like it does. Jealousy defeats reason, KO 1st round.
I think all of that is a fairly, or at least somewhat, normal response to the shit that we have been dealing with (not that that stops me from feeling ridiculous and asshole-ish for reacting in such a dramatic way). What really keeps me awake at night is not the because-so-and-so-has-it-better jealousy, but the because-so-and-so-has-it-worse jealousy. There, I said it. It seems even more asshole-ish written than it did in my head, but there it is. I wouldn't say that I wish I was that person dealing with the loss of a spouse, child, lover, friend, family member. I've experienced some of those losses, more than once, and they suck. I do, however, wish that the people in my world would understand (or acknowledge, for fuck's sake!) the depth of our losses. While my children might never have walked this earth, or been held in my arms, or kept me up all night, screaming, while I chugged from the flask in my bra just to deal, they are missed. Surely, sorely, they are missed.
Hubby: I have something to tell you (looking appropriately somber.)
Wifey: Uhhm, okay.
Hubby: So-and-so is pregnant (flinching as if I'm going to hit him with a spinning backfist. I haven't. Yet.)
Wifey: (tears, snot, incoherent mumblings, all of which may last several hours or days.)
Thank god that man often gets to see me at my best, because jealousy most definitely brings out my worst.
Sometime later, when I regain the ability to breathe, and thus talk, (much, I suppose, to Hubby's horror) I break out the "Why I'd Make a Better Mommy than So-and-so" game. It's rad - winner gets to feel like a total fucking asshole just for playing. I pretty much always win.
I have no idea why such happy news produces such an incredibly visceral reaction in me. I know that somebody else's pregnancy does not mean that I'll never have a child. It makes absolutely no sense that I feel like it does. Jealousy defeats reason, KO 1st round.
I think all of that is a fairly, or at least somewhat, normal response to the shit that we have been dealing with (not that that stops me from feeling ridiculous and asshole-ish for reacting in such a dramatic way). What really keeps me awake at night is not the because-so-and-so-has-it-better jealousy, but the because-so-and-so-has-it-worse jealousy. There, I said it. It seems even more asshole-ish written than it did in my head, but there it is. I wouldn't say that I wish I was that person dealing with the loss of a spouse, child, lover, friend, family member. I've experienced some of those losses, more than once, and they suck. I do, however, wish that the people in my world would understand (or acknowledge, for fuck's sake!) the depth of our losses. While my children might never have walked this earth, or been held in my arms, or kept me up all night, screaming, while I chugged from the flask in my bra just to deal, they are missed. Surely, sorely, they are missed.
Thursday, December 25, 2008
the holidays
Christmas is ruined.
I've tried, as an adult, to find some magic in the day, but never really with any enthusiasm. Hubby seems to have caught my malaise. We always wait till the last minute to buy gifts (this year we were traipsing through Target one and a half hours before our family Christmas Eve shindig). We've tried putting up a tree, though it seems to function as more of a cat magnet and endless supply of new doggy chew toys than anything else, so it hasn't been de-basemented in several years. After the turn of recent events, it seems even more depressing - after all, the whole holiday is about the birth of an infant (for the religious) and the spoiling of children (for the secular), and I am confronted yet again with my body's inability to function as it should.
Anyone want to tag along?
I've tried, as an adult, to find some magic in the day, but never really with any enthusiasm. Hubby seems to have caught my malaise. We always wait till the last minute to buy gifts (this year we were traipsing through Target one and a half hours before our family Christmas Eve shindig). We've tried putting up a tree, though it seems to function as more of a cat magnet and endless supply of new doggy chew toys than anything else, so it hasn't been de-basemented in several years. After the turn of recent events, it seems even more depressing - after all, the whole holiday is about the birth of an infant (for the religious) and the spoiling of children (for the secular), and I am confronted yet again with my body's inability to function as it should.
Anyone want to tag along?
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