bye bye 2010!

I can hardly believe 2011 starts tomorrow. It’s been 5 ½ months since we lost little baby Wyatt—how did that happen? Sometimes the time just flies; sometimes it drags ass. Looking out at the cold, windy street I can hardly remember how hot the summer was it seems so long ago…but when I was sitting in the apartment in July, sweating and having hot flashes, trying to get comfortable with a big ol’ belly, it surely felt like the days and days of heated misery would never end. Then, when Wyatt died, I thought time would never pass, the new year would never come, my pain would never subside.

But looking back on it, how the hell did I make it this far without him so quickly? I’m awesome! Hubby and I can seriously do anything after this! Isn’t time funny? Not really. I still want that damn time machine for fast-forwarding purposes.

Happy new year to all angel babies and babies-in-waiting alike! (and everybody else too, of course).

Enjoy your midnight booze-fueled-Snooki-ball-dropping party while I am in my fourth hour of sleep!

Hammer Time

Apparently, in Hubby’s family, Christmas Eve is Hammer Time. I’m not talking about MCHammer and his magical pants. I am talking about BoozeFest of the year. And for Hubby’s family, that means a lot. Let’s just say I’ve seen them all mixed-taped on more than one occasion. Since we have previously split Christmas Eve and Christmas between families, spending the Eve with mine, I had only heard of said Christmas Eve debauchery; I just had no idea how intense it really was. A tradition started by the neighbors, whom Hubby’s family visits every December 24^th, involves Aquavit and pickled herring. If you can think of anything grosser, you win. This wonderful family tradition usually entails teetotaling mother-in-law driving everyone the 100 yards home and some points of blacking out by many. In the case of 2010, when our families combined, things got even better.

Combining families can be stressful, and stress can cause, well, drinking, especially in people who a) drink a lot anyway and/or b) often self-medicate with booze because of awkwardness and random bursts of enjoying extreme drunkenness. Plus, it’s the holidays (When else can people drink if not during the holidays? They just spent their year’s paycheck buying crap for otherpeople, they deserve it). If a 12 pack, four bottles of wine, free-flowing scotch and vodka, and two (or more?) rounds of Aquavit among six drinking people is not enough to make us all comfortable together, then I don’t know what would ever work. But I can tell you what happened here, from the eyes of someone who was Fetus-Friendly among boozehounds: The same two people spilled two beers and an enormous glass (aka bowl) of red wine, all on white-ish carpeting; More than two people slurred their speech during the Yankee Swap, which was not even the last event of the night; There was at least one red-faced tackle during said Yankee Swap; This tackler confessed to booting for half an hour upon arriving home, which I find magical; Father- in- law stole at least five fondue meats from my dad, who finally had to say something in order to get any of the evening’s meal (did you know fondue sets are smart and make it so you can tell whose little stick-guy is whose? Well, they do); people actually ate the pickled herring, which obviously is due to being inebriated. This is just a sampling of drunken activities I witnessed. And I have so many weeks before I can participate in this type of activity…That’s okay though, really.

Photo Sesh #1

We got to see the little nugget yesterday, his/her first onscreen appearance. We already have a repeat date for a second photo session in two weeks because it wasn’t cooperating and letting nice ol’ Doc get a good photo and measurements. Rascal! However, it cooperated enough to show a booming heart beat which, as we know, was majorly stressing me out. I’m not too keen on statistics this time around, but statistics do tell me that seeing a heartbeat is majorly good news. Needless to say it lifted a load off my shoulders, although if I’m not exactly trusting what I hear I’m not sure why it helps…

This doctor is the bomb. He already noted that I could see him more often than “normal” pregnant ladies, and it sounds as if he is even going to suggest I come in more often than “normal” without me freaking out and asking him for visits in lieu of a script for anxiety medication. Phew. His PA is also rad. She rules at finding my veins, which is usually a complete puzzle for those blood-taker types. I like watching the needle go into my arm, is that weird?

They also have a magical pee-collector set-up where I get to look at up to two other “samples” just sitting in the bathroom. What would happen if I spit it one? I asked myself this twice already and it’s only just begun!

PS. Here is a crazy Google image of a 6 week fetus. yum!

Morning sickness, anyone?

I was just checking earlier posts to see when, last time around, I complained about feeling like crap. It seems about this time last pregnancy, so I guess I’m right on schedule. I’m not sure if I find that reassuring or terrifying: I kind of hope things will be different this time around if you catch my drift. Anyway, as I noted before, it’s not so much morning sickness as really any-time sickness. For me, that usually means anywhere from 2-6pm (or later) I feel terrible. Not like I’m going to barf (which, as far as most people I know, only happens in the movies and on reality tv) just like I am death. A little sick to the stomach, a little hot or cold, a little wheezy, pretty bitchy, and a little misery. Mix together and enjoy. NOT.

Luckily Hubby lets me moan and complain on the couch without being too suspicious, and even a bit helpful. If it were reversed I swear I would probably call him a wimp and think his complaining was bs. I can’t help it I’m a naysayer. I try, but I can’t.

Here’s what is good for morning sickness: sleeping.

Here’s what is bad for morning sickness: skiing at 10,000 feet in knee deep powder. But I do it anyway. I’m in Colorado for cripes’ sake.

What is cripes anyway? I had to investigate, and I prefer this definition from UrbanDictionary.com (which is amazing): Cripes--an exclamation found somewhere in between the words 'crap' and 'Christ.'

PS. There are a lot of gross comics regarding morning sickness

Wanted: Time Travel Creator

So, I know I’ve discussed Doc Brown and the amazing DeLorean before, but really, can’t someone please invent time travel? What’s so hard about it? You can clone some random person’s dog, if they pay you enough, but you can’t help me skip ahead 30 weeks in my own simple life? That movie’s gotta be at least 25 years old too; there must be some leads we could have been following all this time. It’s a major disappointment that something so many people want just can’t be created. I mean, someone followed through on the hoverboard, right?

I know most people would go back in time to change something, to make their lives better, to save themselves from something stupid or to keep that girl, maybe to experience their senior year of college again, but me, I’d whip off my pregnancy (maybe after going back to senior year), fast-forward, skip ahead, whatever you want to call it. If I had the option to black out until I go into labor I would seriously consider it. Revving a DeLorean to 88mph would be more fun, but I would really look at any option.

If I had a science degree, or understood anything about physics, I would find a lab somewhere and get to work. I guess for now I’ll be making Christmas cards and sleeping as much as possible.

sisters in law and show and tells

I’ve been thinking about when I will tell people about this pregnancy. I suppose I could call it a baby…but I just called it a pregnancy instead so, hmm. No need to overly psychoanalyze that one. Anyway, I’m definitely closed until I see the heartbeat, and that’s not for a god forsaken 12 more days (hopefully!). Parents and brothers can find out then. Last time we told people around 11 weeks after we had seen the first pictures; it was too exciting to hold in! This time, I’m torn between sharing early so we can all be happy while it lasts and keeping it completely secret until someone just calls me out on wearing maternity pants so I don’t have to talk about it. Hubby wants to tell his boss ASAP to make him feel better about having his own baby, but I’m still going to need to be convinced on that one. I don’t see why he can’t wait a while like everybody else, and I don’t think we need to worry about making him feel any better. (Hubby’s so much nicer than I am). Boss’s already sending us ultrasound photos (no joke) and I don’t need him any more shary-shary than that.

Mostly I figure I don’t need to tell people until they’re going to find out just by looking at me. And that’s how sister-in-law (SIL) found out yesterday. Cripes, I’m not even 6 weeks “along!”I’m not sure if she was just really curious and pushed the subject or if she actually thought I was pregnant but she certainly weasled it out of me. Here’s how it went: SIL is two years older than me and dying to have a baby. Problem is, she’s in school and has to convince her husband. With graduation a mere 6 months away she’s got her eyes on the prize and literally talks about making babies all the time. Not in front of the boys, just with me. And, she admitted, with one other friend. She wants to try some crazy natural family planning method, which the

other friend uses, but I am trying to convince her to stay on birth control because there’s just no telling that one little slip won’t make a baby. I don’t think she would be too sad about an accident, but that’s not the point. The point is she started asking me about a thermometer in the bathroom and if I was using it for basal body temperature taking, which has to do with charting ovulation, etc., etc. Then she talked about missing Wyatt for Christmas, her natural-family-planning friend’s miscarriage, how she can’t wait to make a baby, and on and on about charting fertility, blah, blah, blah. I pretty much blacked out wiping the counters down so many times out of nervousness. I realized after I washed my hands the sixth time that my face felt beet red and I couldn’t turn around without telling her the truth. So I did. And I got the biggest hug ever and some tears of happiness. She claims we had a sparkle in our eyes, but it was probably gas on my part. I just hope I don’t have to tell anyone else until we get some good news from that scientific wonder we call ultrasound.

Still there, phew

So far, every morning I go pee and simultaneously check for any signs of blood. Morbid, right? But I can’t help it. Every little twingy cramp, every time I feel “off,” every time I read something scary, my first wonder is if I’m not pregnant anymore. So many pregnancies end in miscarriage, and then, as we’ve learned, so many end after that, I just can’t get in into my head that this is real yet. I want to believe, and I even made Hubby buy me some baby stuff for Christmas (although it was really just this week and I won’t be putting it under the tree), but it’s hard to be convinced of it yet. I suppose that’s normal for someone who’s been burned like me, so I guess I don’t feel badly about it, but still, it stinks. I almost chickened out of blogging my good news for fear of jinxing myself. I’m really not even superstitious*.

You know what though? It’s exciting, and I feel like people will be psyched to hear the news (although I might just wait until the birth announcement to tell people so there’s no chance I’ll have to “untell” because man did was that terrible). They want us to be happy, and they know we want a baby, so they probably assume a new baby will make us happy. Transitive property and all. I just hope they don’t forget this one is Baby #2 and we all still need extra hugs for Baby #1, that little nugget Wyatt. I hope my uterus is one sticky, nutritious bitch this time!

*In my last post I had to use a different pregnancy test image from before, just in case. So I guess I am superstitious. Whatever.

High fives, round two

Hubby has been walking around like a peacock in heat. I don’t know zoology, but I imagine that is when they get all cocky and big and fluff up their feathers and think they are amazing like some annoying high school quarterback who just won the game in a young adult-type movie. This—Hubby’s hubris, not the movie—is because I’m up the duff. I like that saying. It sounds British, but I may have heard Juno say it. Not sure. Either way, Hubby is peacocking around because he believes it is his incredibleness that has made this embryo. I tried to convince him it was partly my doing but he’s pretty convinced he has super sperm. Yeah, we’ll see if something comes out healthy in several months. At that point I will lay praise on dear old Hubs. For now, a second round of high fives to my womb please.
And lots of happy thoughts and positive energy for Wyatt's sibling to get all the way out here!

Tentative Update...

So, I know you’ve been on the edge of your seat, waiting for me to announce my late period. Oh, you haven’t? Well, let’s pretend you have been. Because then you can be excited when I make said announcement: said period is said late. Only two days. Enough to make me extremely nervous. Cautiously excited even. But not enough late to make me whip out a pregnancy test and go through that whole drama, nosiree. I know enough about pregnancy tests to know I can’t quite convince myself to do it. What if it’s too early and comes out negative but my period still doesn’t show up? What if it’s positive and then I get my period tomorrow? What if I can’t tell what the hell it says? What if it’s positive and I actually am pregnant and have to go through with this again? Holy moly people. Stress City.

Here’s the thing of it: I’m 99% sure I’m pregnant. I have the same symptoms as last time, such as: extreme, huge, bitchiness toward my husband occurring in completely random bursts; cramps in the baby-making region; crankiness (more than usual); the ever obvious late period. My mind plays tricks on me though, because I can explain away any and all of these symptoms. Watch me: Hubby is annoying; my period should be coming so I should be crampy; I’m tired and bored; I don’t really yet know my “cycle” well enough to call Auntie Flo tardy. But still…I know it’s true. Maybe tomorrow I’ll be brave enough.

New Doctor

Hubby is on the prowl. No, we didn’t split up (like he could do better, please). He is trawling for health care. I know I have bored you with details about my health insurance before, but I have one more thing to share: it is possible to pre-negotiate how much you will pay to get a baby into the world. Hopefully a live one, but that’s another freak-out-for-the-future. Since Colorado’s crappy individual insurance will not deign to cover maternity, this is an important step for broke student-types like Hubby and me. We can get an idea ahead of time about what kind of ridiculous payments we will have to make “next time.” Again, this may be jumping the gun, as laws change in January and if Baby #2 waits until then we can get coverage and happily pay cheap copayments and go on our merry way. But, again, I am not waiting until January to at least give it a shot. (Technically Hubby gives it a shot, he he. Eww, sorry).

Thus, we find Dr. B’s prices, find them to be good, and therefore meet with Dr. B. He is the sole doc in his practice which means there is a 95% chance he will deliver the baby and a 100% chance he will be at every prenatal visit. For someone who plans to freak out over everything “next time,” this is good news. Plus ten. (I already know the secret that nurses are the key during delivery anyway—it’s the office I’m worried about). We head in there with our list of questions and our pile of records and the first thing he did was start talking about my lacrosse t-shirt. Plus three. He tells us Wyatt dying “sucks.” Plus another ten. He looks at the records and finds a gene mutation in my blood chart, immediately giving me three things to do to help. Plus ten. This is especially plus ten because I had to ask the last doctor what this gene mutation meant, and then I had to ask another doctor what to do about it because the first one said it wasn’t a big deal. Dr. B is also awesome because he went through the details, offering a couple potential reasons for Wyatt’s death, writing me prescriptions, and assuring me I can go skiing at altitude when/if I get pregnant. I have read morning sickness gets worse up there, but one worry at a time here. Plus twenty for the three. Dr. B gets a good score and a new patient. Here’s hoping!!

The Holidays

Blech. Such is how I feel about the holidays this year. As we have previously discussed, several times, I am not a super social or celebratory person to begin with. Normally, I am happy to do the obligatory smiling and nodding and just hide myself in the corner while everyone mingles and shares and enough time has passed that I can leave without being rude (if I couldn’t get out of attending in the first place—I use the term ‘happy’ loosely). This year, however, I am freaking out about the potential for sadness in the holiday season. Our friend/Hubby’s boss invited us over for Thanksgiving, one of my favorite holidays because it revolves around food, sloth, a woodstove, and watching television (football and/or movies). My immediate reaction was absolutely not. I would enjoy a turkey dinner and Patriots game of 2-4 people maximum (plus dogs, dogs are okay) this year, thank you very much. It was a very real and strong reaction. I know my heart rate went up a bunch just thinking about people. No offense to the boss and his family (they do pay the bills around here—and they’re good peeps to boot) but I’m really not interested in meeting random extended family and having to fake happiness in front of said strangers. Especially if I am missing Wyatt and need to have a meltdown, which, by the way, come on fast. Meltdowns aside, Hubby and his brother/sister-in-law convinced me it would be okay, I could do it, we could fritter most of the day away skiing, and it would be fun. I caved and our invitation was accepted.

Just to make things interesting, Boss subsequently blurted out that his wife is pregnant. Because he couldn’t keep his mouth shut when they started “trying” (eww—don’t need to know that), I was expecting this news sometime around now anyway. But that expectation did not make hearing their happiness any easier. After my big [genuine-I swear] smile and envious heart palpitation, panic set in. Tears shortly followed. “I can’t…go…to…their house…and..sniff…sniff…listen to them..ack..sniff...talk about babies!” I wailed. If Hubby’s mom scheduled a knee replacement the instant she found out about Wyatt, you better believe these guys will at least be giddy and talking about their new grandchild-to-be. I had to go to work (of course) ten minutes after this announcement, but when I got back I spent a solid hour in bed staring at baby photos and getting up the courage to tell Hubby that I had to back out. He obviously offered this before I had to mention it because he’s the bomb, but it was still hard because Boss’s wife was so super excited to cook for a large crowd and I don’t want them to feel bad about sharing their happy news. They’re our friends for god’s sake. And life goes on, as we know. I can’t be babied about babies my whole life, dammit. But I can cry a whole lot in the safety of my own comforter.

Is it too early for ‘Bah humbug’?? Damn you, Holiday Season. Always ruining stuff.

Now what?

We went back East for a quick visit based around a memorial service, the one for my friend’s mom. It was amazing; I only hope my friend agrees. The service was beautiful, happy, and promising. There were approximately one million people there. It was a gorgeous day. They hosted a busy, smiley, cozy party at their house afterward and a beautiful candle-lit walk that the mama used to do with her dog every night. We had a sleepover with a bunch of friends and a great hike capped off by lunch all together. I just really can’t explain how nice it was. My only problem, and my friend expressed this a little bit too, is: now what?

After people leave, after a little bit of time has passed, after you spend so much time trying to memorialize someone, find the perfect urn, write the perfect note, etc., now what? Life goes on all around you. Except the one life you just want so much, you miss so much. It feels like a different world almost, like something is constantly missing. And you have your good moments, where you can tell a happy story and laugh about your loved one, look at the photo album and smile, but mostly it feels foreign. Like you just can’t put your finger on what’s missing in your daily life. Obviously you know what it is, and other people do too, and it doesn’t hurt as much as time goes on, but it’s just a void. So, if you have any advice, let me know: now what?

a good feeling

No, I don’t have “a good feeling” about Take Two (I hope I don’t call the next baby Take Two, as I called Wyatt The Creature—I fear it is sticking though. It’s kind of cute, but in a sick way). I don’t think I would be brave enough to share that with you even if I did, so there. I have a good feeling called elation for my friend who just told me in secret that she is pregnant. Yippeee! Luckily, as I already mentioned, I am one of the world’s greatest secret keepers. Literally. I can’t even tell you some of the secrets I have kept because even if they are now known to the people who weren’t, at the time, allowed to know, I wouldn’t be good at keeping the secret of me keeping the secrets in the first place and that would not fly.

Now, I don’t want to share my friend’s secret with you, hence you will never hear her name, address, Twitter account or whatever cool things kids use for ID these days, but I do want to share that I was able to be happy—no ecstatic—for her. I got all jittery and hyper like Hubby on Christmas morning. This is a big deal for me because I really feared that my friends would all start getting pregnant and I would flip out from jealousy. I was supposed to have a baby first, you know? Be the expert on colic and cloth diapers and surviving on no sleep and all that stuff. My plans changed…but that doesn’t mean anyone else’s did, and that’s a hard pill to swallow (like my stupid B-complex ones that don’t have a coating and are HUGE). So anyway, my point is not to share dear friends’ secrets, even though I did, it is that I made it past a big hurdle and it felt like stepping over a staple instead of a steeplechase jump. Yay me!

Take Two

Well, I’ve told you how I want to make another baby. We don’t need to go into too much detail, but you know what that entails. Since I’ve boycotted sex for the past month (did I mention that I hate condoms-not something I noticed before, hmm) I’m pretty excited for obvious reasons. I don’t need to discuss Hubby’s elation, you can imagine it yourself. And I’m finally covered by “real” health insurance so I guess it’s okay to give it a whirl. (I say “real” in quotes because it is pretty crappy insurance and doesn’t cover maternity unless there are complications, and let’s face it the whole reason I need insurance is because I want a baby. If I—we—don’t succeed until January or later then all the health plans in Colorado have to cover maternity and my stress and worry will be for naught anyway; I’ll just have another kind of stress and worry but that’s not the point). The point is I am trying to dig up the courage to try again. And I still hate calling it that but that’s really what it is. Take Two. Attempt Two. Baby Two. I don’t know how I won’t be freaking out the whole “next time” but since I want a baby I’ve got to start somewhere. With some sex. I suppose that’s not a bad place to start.

Double whammy

One of my bestest friend’s mum died yesterday. She had a long, brave battle with the evil Brain Cancer. She was a warrior, and I’m talking Xena Warrior Princess, Brad Pitt in Troy kind of warrior. It’s just so sad. Why do we have to lose good people? Babies who didn’t even get to meet anyone, moms who are amazing? It’s a lesson in a lot of things, and a lesson nobody should have to learn. Why don’t they just try to teach us this crap in school and forget the “real-life” aspect of it? I mean, I know half the kids wouldn’t do their homework, but that seems worth it to me. So they don’t get an A in that class, big deal.

I’m feeling sad for my friend, for her family, for her mom…and yesterday on top of that I couldn’t stop thinking about Baby Wyatt too. It was like another round of smacks in the face. I was shedding tears for more than one person, and that is not a fair or fun situation. I never thought much about Heaven before, Dog Heaven maybe, but now I can’t stop thinking about how I hope there is a Heaven, and I hope the people there get to do whatever they want and be their best, happiest, shiniest selves. And I hope all the people I know in Heaven get to meet each other and see why they mean so much to me and how awesome they truly are. When I’m really sad I try to think of that and make myself believe that they’re having a good time, even if they miss us too.

praise be, October is ending

I know I’ve done some bitching about October in the past, so I would really like to celebrate its closing with a bang. I haven’t come up with any Earth-shattering post to create said bang, but would that I could. (I bet you thought I was going to apologize to October for hating it, didn’t you. Fat chance). I can’t imagine an October that doesn’t involve missing Baby Wyatt like crazy. I can’t imagine much of the future like that anyway, but I think October will be especially sucky. At least we can remember his birthday as something good—who doesn’t like cake and ice cream, or for those gluten-free relatives screwing with my gene pool, ice cream cake—with a party and presents (for me, probably). Plus, July is basically when everyone in my family is born anyway so it makes perfect sense to throw in yet another day of celebration and just keep that train rollin’. Additionally, I was finally cleared for health insurance and I think—think—I’m ready to “try again.” Boy, do I hate calling it that. It sounds like last time was an Epic Fail (http://failblog.org/), which, as you know, does not suit my competitive drive. It just sounds sad. Well, I guess it is sad. To celebrate the end of October, I’m going skiing. Take that!

dare I say, an upward swing?

I’m not sure if admitting this will immediately backfire (I’m not necessarily superstitious…but I’d rather be safe than sorry), so I’ll knock on wood before telling you that things have been looking up lately. I’m not sure if it was Wyatt’s due date passing; I wouldn’t be pregnant anymore anyway (well, hopefully). Or maybe it’s just the passing of time; my grandfather always says “Father Time marches on” and boy does he. Maybe it’s that other things are beginning to have appeal again, so I can focus on them instead of how pissed I am that I have to job hunt rather than change diapers or that I still have five pounds to lose but I can’t figure out where it went since my “normal” clothes all fit again and I feel fine (that I even know I weigh more than before is due to Hubby’s interest in the scale at the gym because he wants to see if he is “getting huge” so obviously I like to play that game too—digression). Maybe it’s that I finally have health insurance after all that hassle. Maybe it’s that I’m not as desperate to have a new baby as I was in the beginning. Maybe it’s that I visited my friend with the newborn boy and it was fine (he was just another wrinkly, crying baby—not mine). Whatever it is, I’ll take it. It feels nice to think about other things, worry about other things, and feel like, at least some of the time, things will be okay.

I’m not saying I don’t continually do research (and then worry about the new things I find that could go wrong “next time”) or get excited about the possibility that I could make another baby soon. I’m not saying I don’t miss him every single day. But I am saying, at the risk of jinxing myself, that things are getting better. And for me, that’s a big admission.

The Goodness of October

Things that are good in October: Halloween, changing foliage, cool air, field hockey, Nana’s birthday, Patti K’s birthday, first snow (?), daylight savings, slippers.

I figure I should take time to consider the great things about October, of which there are many. Many more than even I listed, obviously, but I tried to get the most important/best ones. 1) With Halloween comes crazy or stupid costumes, lots of candy, carving pumpkins, and usually (when you are an adult) a sweet party. Roasted pumpkin seeds taste awesome. And so do Reese’s Peanut Butter Cups. 2) October is also great for leaf-peeping. In Colorado, it is the gorgeous aspens people flock to see. They turn bright, beautiful yellow and then tarnish into a sweet gold. Against the consistently blue-bird sky they are lovely. 3) I also enjoy the weather. When you wake up, it is in the 40s and crisp. Daytime continues with summer in the 70s with sunshine (in Colorado that is). Then, for the last dog walk of the evening you have to snuggle up in a vest and sweatshirt again. Cozy, cozy, cozy. 4) While I can’t coach or play much field hockey out here, there is nothing I miss more than walking down to the field at 4pm with my gear and my team. The leaves are beautiful, the air is cold and clean, the promise of a good workout, some camaraderie, and a quick sunset are present. Donning that jersey feels best in October. 5) Birthdays of great people. Enough said. 6) First snow. Also enough said. 7) Daylight savings means it is easier to wake up in the morning, not that I have to. I don’t particularly like coming home from work after 3 hours of darkness have passed, but it makes the day more manageable and it means winter is just around the corner. 8) I love the time of year when it makes sense to bust out the old LLBean slippers. It’s become too cold for continuous barefeet, and the feel of fuzzy, fleecy slippers is almost as good. Plus, I don’t like walking around in socks. It feels yucky on the bottom and gives me tactile dysfunction when I step on something smooshy in the kitchen. These are things that rule in October.

Past due...

Wyatt was due this week. While I understand only 10-20% of babies actually come on their due date, it was a big date for me. Even though Hubby and his brother were late, and my brother and I were early, it was the best guess we had, you know? Since January we have had 10/14/10 stamped on our brains. We eagerly awaited October, curious about what would happen along the journey. We carved out October as a month of potential arrival. This is when all our last minute baby shopping would have taken place, and also when I would have been a huge, complainy person because I would have been uncomfortable and impatient. Instead, life went on without him. We found out he was a "him" almost three months early. I am not huge, and I am not complaining about pregnancy-related things (just other things, like health insurance). But 10/14 wasn’t that bad. I thought it would be terrible. I thought I would have to waste away on the couch with two boxes of tissues, the photo album, and sad movies. But I didn’t. Life went on. As it tends to do. My mum sent a beautiful homemade tapestry for her “mountain grandson,” and we received a couple nice cards from other parents and grandparents, etc. Someone dedicated the half-marathon she was running to Wyatt. Why she was running a half-marathon in the first place is beyond me, but I digress. Most people didn’t even know the significance of the date, which I think helped us just get through it. What’s a due date anyway? It’s not like the library where we get fined for being late. It’s not like a race where you get props for being early. It just is what it is. And now it’s gone. I do feel a small weight has been lifted, which is a nice side-effect, but I still feel very heavy in my heart.

Emotions!

Call me crazy, but this “waiting to make a baby” thing is well, making me crazy. I never in my life thought I would become one of those women (usually in movies) who hears that clock ticking. I guess it’s not so much the biological clock as just the passing of time in general; I was supposed to have a baby any day now, and instead I lost him 12 weeks early. My body says “let’s get crackin’!” and my mind says “dammit, I want a baby!” So, naturally, I’m ready to go. I’m ready. Especially since there are no guarantees I’ll get pregnant right away. The thought of waiting to get pregnant and then waiting another 9 months to actually bring home a baby makes me sick. What also makes me sick is thinking about how worried I am going to be during the “next time.” So it’s sort contradictory, which only makes it more emotional. For example, I know I have to get new health insurance before I even think about making another baby. While it is hard to wait, I can rationalize that. But it doesn’t make me any less sad or mad about it. (I pretty much had a complete breakdown this weekend, but that’s another story). Then I think, well, I shouldn’t be sad because it is what it is and I need to be smart. And then I think, well, f being smart, I want a baby. Then I think, well, every “cycle” you wait is another cycle your body and mind have healed. But then I think f healing, I just want to get going here. If you are following my ramble you probably understand how confused I am! Perhaps pregnancy hormones aren’t actually a good idea right now…but f pregnancy hormones, I’ll kill ‘em!

I don't like October this year

I’m boycotting October this year. I really would just rather have it be November. I love fall weather, and I think Halloween is hilarious, but I just don’t care this year. While November weather is usually terribly raw and unforgiving (below freezing but no snow to play in!), it gets really dark by 3pm, and everyone starts to hide out in their houses because it is, as I said, dark and cold, I still would rather have October just be done with already. Why do I need to sit through 31 days of it? Where is Doc Brown and his time machine when I need him?*

We have plenty of great birthdays to celebrate this month, including my 85 year old nana’s, but we don’t have our own baby’s to be ready and thankful for. This is why I say screw October 2010 and bring on the future already. Skipping this month would bring me that much closer to having another baby—one that I could bring home, hopefully—and allow me that much more time to grieve and feel better about my life and missing Baby Wyatt forever. I never really had anything against October but this year, f you, month of the Opal.

*on a side note, I once took a class in the engineering classroom building (although I have never taken anything remotely close to engineering) and the bathroom was right across from a NCAA-bracket style “Best Scientist Ever” contest. Each week people (nerds) in the building could vote on the brackets, deciding who would proceed to the next round. Louis Pasteur vs. Marie Curie, etc. The finals came down to Einstein v. Doc Brown. I really appreciated the nerdy humor. And Doc Brown won. The DeLorean is amazing.

the Unknown

I knew there was a good chance we would never know for certain what happened to our baby, why he died in the womb at 27 weeks’ gestation, 13 weeks before he was due to join us and several weeks before he would have been even remotely okay if he was born alive. Even though I knew the likelihood of not finding an answer, it still makes me mad and scared out of my mind. There’s just nothing I can do about it.

All dozen blood tests came back normal. My blood is normal. My genes are normal. I am not carrying any crazy infections, diseases, or mutations that could have caused him to die. This means they don’t have any more tests for me. And because Wyatt’s chromosome test was good, they don’t even have to look at Hubby (which is a shame because I bet he is a huge blood-test wimp). While this is great news for a future pregnancy (12 fewer things to worry about—out of the now million running through my head, great), it is crappy news for Wyatt. Why can’t we figure it out? Why can’t we get an answer? It stinks thinking we’ll have to go with the doctors’ “most likely it was _____” explanations. In our case, it was the umbilical cord—the wrong color and shape, too small near his little belly-button-to-be. But it’s only “most likely” that was the cause. So what “really” was it? Oh, how I wish I could know. Maybe he can tell me when we meet again someday.

rambling complaints

I have a load of bitching to do, based on the fact that since Wyatt died we have so many stupid things to think about that we wouldn’t have had to deal with if he had been okay. Extra maddening: I’m crankier now than I was pregnant! I think the fact that October is coming (with an October 14^th due date he probably would have come this month, whether early, late, or on time) makes me extra sensitive too. Mostly these annoyances have to do with health insurance and money, both of which are, sadly, important.

Health insurance: it did not work. For some reason they are trying to deny us coverage, even though we gave them every single piece of information they asked for, have no pre-existing conditions, and are young and healthy. So:

a. If we try to find other “individual” insurance, not a SINGLE one in Colorado covers maternity expenses. As I previously mentioned, that means if you want to have a baby you better get your finances in order ahead of time because ain’t nobody helping you pay for those visits, the gimmicky delivery room, and those disposable maxi-pad diapers you get when you leave (I stole a couple for later because they are awesome). And if you need anything “extra” then you better have that cash ready! Ps. Our friend seriously struggled to find the one insurance plan that would cover his newborn under three months old. WTF!!

b. While I am not 100% committed to trying to get pregnant again right away, I am ready to get rid of birth control and consider whether I dare go through with this again. If I was financially responsible I would wait until January 2011 because then all health insurance will be mandated to have maternity coverage. So, I can wait, and go crazy waiting, or I can not wait and pay the price. But how can I decide if having a baby, a baby that I want so much, even now more than before, is worth a certain price??! And maybe I won’t get pregnant right away and kick myself even more for waiting!

c. This really could be section C, 1 but whatever. I just want to explain why birth control is making me crazy. I’m not really sure I can though-that’s probably why I want to vocalize it. It’s just that I want a baby so badly I don’t think I should be preventing pregnancy. It’s like the absolute extreme reverse of my early-mid 20s. I’m not saying I want to go to the extreme of tracking my temperature twice a day, peeing on ovulation test sticks and then jumping Hub’s bones when they are positive, or trying to have sex every day or something…just something about birth control feels wrong. Completely wrong. I making myself wait two “cycles” because research told me to (the doctor said one, but I figured an extra couldn’t hurt and really, I can’t completely ignore all that internet advice), but after that I just don’t see the point any more. I want a frickin’ baby! I want to be pregnant; I was just getting into the big belly, good napping stage, you know? I was a great pregnant lady, and I was less than three months away from getting to bring home a little munchkin. Now I’ve got to wait. And what if it takes a year to get pregnant this time? What if we can never make Wyatt a sibling? What if being pregnant gives me some hope and happiness again? What if, what if, what if!?

insurance woes

Since we moved, dearest Hubby has been researching our health insurance options. This is because we were paying way too much for crappy coverage from COBRA and my last job. Let’s say I didn’t get good benefits and Massachusetts is one tough health insurance cookie (good in many ways, bad for my wallet). Oh, and there’s the whole thing about pregnancy being a pre-existing condition. Like it’s a disease or something. Well, since I’m no longer pregnant we immediately switched to short-term insurance that costs—get this—15% of what we paid for COBRA. Amazing, but that’s not going to cut it for much longer. However, lovely Colorado has absolutely zero individual plans that cover maternity expenses. So if you want to have a baby you better be rich, or you have to work somewhere that gives you coverage. Nuts! How unfair is this? You should see how the lawyer in Hubby feels. Why do people whose businesses set them up get better care than others? Discrimination!

Anyway, Hubby figured out how to get his business in the loop and hooked up to health insurance through his company. All problems should thusly be solved. But no. Obviously they are making it very difficult and we’re not sure it’s even going to work; they are asking for all this information Hub’s business doesn’t have (because they are non-profit they are far from “normal”) and as the 1^st of the month comes we have to make our decision all over again. And, at the risk of giving you TMI, I can’t stand much longer using birth control---if you need some advice on condoms I think we’ve tried every gimmicky kind because we thought they might be crazy or fun (they weren’t) so I can help you out. Grrrrreat.

friends and family= A+

We left Colorado for the week; two great people who I’m lucky to have as friends tied the knot in beauteous Vermont and we got invited. Yay! So, we took my mom up on her offer of a free “companion” ticket she can’t use, borrowed a car, visited my family, went to the wedding, and are visiting Hubby’s family too. I know I will never go back to New England without making the rounds—it’s stupid to not have time for people we love. I think losing my baby (he’s not lost, technically, but it’s a simple way to say it I guess) made me realize that I have to get over myself, my introversion, the fact that sometimes people tire me out, and just visit friends and family whenever I can. They won’t always be there, and I sure as hell don’t want to miss ‘em while they’re here! I guess I didn’t really avoid these kinds of people before, I’m not that lame, but now more than ever I want to put myself out there and be pushy and insert myself in their lives at every opportunity. I feel ridiculous that my baby had to die for me to really think about it this way (there must be a better lesson plan somewhere), but such is life I suppose. It’s not easy, it’s not straightforward, it certainly isn’t fair, and even when it feels crappy we have to try to make the most of it. It’s all we can do. A wedding is a good distraction; the dance party was amazing, I chugged a beer for the first time in…a long time…and we got to focus on some happiness with tons of funny people we love and hope to share our lives with forever. That’s so cheesy and a little preachy and I just don’t care.

sharing sad stories

So, I already mentioned hubby and I joined a support group. On the drive up to the first one my heart was beating out of my chest because I was so nervous; not sure why, but that’s me. This is also when I am most talkative (aka talkative at all) and I ruined the NPR story for Hubby, but that’s another tale. Now, after getting that first drive out of my system, and we only have one meeting left, I am super sad it is almost over. I want to keep going! I want to keep sharing stories with these kind strangers. I want them to be my friends. I want to follow their lives and see them when they have happy times come to them. I want them to try to have more babies and have successful pregnancies and then see those fat, screaming babies alive and kicking in their stupid hospital photos! I want to talk to them about something other than miscarriage, stillbirth, and little baby deaths. Instead, we have one more meeting.

At least with email we can keep in touch and I can, at the risk of being skeevy, pry into their lives once in a while. And at least we are having a potluck dinner.

an ode to wine

One good thing that has come from not being pregnant anymore: drinking. Man, did I miss wine. I’m not against the occasional beer or gin and tonic mind you, but wine is a soother of my soul. Especially when said wine is furnished by my good friend Ms Wine Broker who knows wine so well, and me so well, that she can make a life-long match. And also when it is used as an anti-depressant, naturally. For all of you Black Widow fans, I’m jumping on your bandwagon.

Going without wine for eight and a half months was torturous. Obviously it was worth it, but really, I didn’t even know how much I missed it—that’s how good it is. Plus, it was awesome that I got an immediate wine-buzz after my first sip (two months later I’ve got my regular immunity back, but the first couple weeks I was totally wine-drunk on a half-glass, how economical!). If I could give something back to wine, I would. And it would be indescribably awesome. Like the Pirates of the Caribbean ride at Disney World. Thank you, wine, for helping me find the good in my sad situation. You are delicious.

Facing the world

Well, life goes on whether you want it to or not. I mean, duh, I always knew that, but it’s certainly hit me harder recently. Three weeks after losing Wyatt I had to go to a wedding. And be a bridesmaid in it. If you recall, Ed Purveyor of Bridesmaids’ Dresses was THE first person to learn about my pregnancy (aside from Hubby). I had no idea what giant sized-dress to order for a 7.5 months pregnant me; he suggested my bust was going to just about explode (which it eventually did. See: Boob Takeover); I thought I’d be better safe than sorry and just go huge. This dress had a special meaning to me; I was planning to be a plump purple maiden at my good friend’s wedding and I wanted a dress 8 sizes bigger than normal just to be sure I could do the job right. I wanted to be the glowing beauteous bellied babe standing by my bride-friend in all her glory. I wanted an excuse to duck out of the party and sit out the lame dances! For all these reasons, a few weeks in advance I went to the good seamstress’s place, explained my situation (like it wasn’t obvious), and paid an inordinate amount of cash to make this dress look good. So, let me admit that even thinking about going back into the seamstress’s shop to face her and pick up that stupid dress after I lost my baby made me tear up. Or more than tear up, but who’s tracking details.

Brave ol’ Hubby pulled through for me. Since my boobs hadn’t grown (not even a budge!), and since bride-friend picked a pregnant-friendly empire waist, I was able to just about fit perfectly into the dress. It was horrible. It was like I never had anything in there in the first place. Nobody knew my story. Wyatt wasn’t there. I didn’t have an excuse to pig out like I did and I had to dance to Madonna. Oy.

Reading, reading, and more reading

Sometimes, I have this fascination, obsession really, with getting all the information I can. It hits me at obvious times, but also at completely random times. This time, it’s obvious. My son was stillborn; I am getting all the information I can on that. I imagine most people in my shoes would probably do their fair share of research as well, but man, it’s hitting me hard. It’s comforting, really, and I definitely get to do what I want right now. That’s reading, reading, reading.

Just as when I needed to know everything about how to get pregnant in the first place, and then what the heck to do (and even more not to do) when I was pregnant, I want to know what people have to say about stillborn babies. And their sad families and friends. And grief, and recovery, and so on and so on. Since I am sneaky, I have a library card for the county I live in and the county next door. This means I get double the books. While I have found that this isn’t exactly a popular subject, and some of the “suggested readings” are only available if I feel like buying them from some obscure bookstore, the libraries have kept me busy for over a month now. I would say that’s pretty good.

Here is what is not good: the internet. While it allows me to vent, share, and muse to you in anonymity, it also allows for the passage of way too much information. Information that may or may not be true. Someone in my support group said “I should not be allowed on Google when I’m home alone,” and you know what, sometimes I agree. How can I believe half the stuff I see on here, even if I really want to believe something? I can’t. So I get me some books. Lesson to you all: become friends with your library.

to say or not to say?

People say “Everything happens for a reason.” People say “At least he’s with God now.” People say “You’re young and you can try again soon.” Some people don’t say anything. Well, none of that helps. What was the reason? Why would God be so selfish? Do you seriously think I want to a) even think about going through that again so soon and b) have a different child? I want the one I started in January! And those of you who didn’t respond to the news that took me literally hours to muster up the courage to share, don’t you have anything to say? I appreciate that this is a sad, horrible situation and that plenty of people don’t think they can handle it or that they don’t know what to do to help (hence the crappy advice). But something I’ve learned is that a few words say the most: “I’m sorry. I love you. I’m here for you.” The list goes on, actually. Believe it or not I think there are more right things to say than wrong…and frankly, I’d rather have you say something I find to be “wrong” at the time than keep quiet. While I can’t promise I won’t paste it on my blog later and bitch about it I can promise I appreciate the effort. Maybe that’s just me, but I’m keeping that in mind for my ownself in the future.

Boob Takeover

I am feeling conflicted about writing this, but I think it’s time to share it. Part of the confliction, I think, is that I don’t feel right making fun of my situation. It doesn’t really feel good to laugh about any of it, even if it is amazing, ridiculous, or anything else good. I mean, I had a baby. I made it through childbirth. Hubby and I have survived, even came out better than before, those are good things. But I don’t have a baby for it, and I really don’t know what went wrong, so I don’t find the success and fun in them I should.

However, some things just can’t be contained.

Like my boobs.

My boobs got enormous. Huge. The doctor warned me, as I was sitting in the hospital bed, holding Wyatt and wondering what to do next. “The milk will come in. It’s kind of cruel, but it’s nature,” she said. “Wear a tight sports bra, the tightest one you have, don’t stimulate the nipples-I mean, don’t even let the water in the shower hit them-and it will go away in a few days.” I still wasn’t prepared. I mean, I was focusing on some other things, but still, I know she warned me and I just wasn’t ready. They literally blew up. Spilling-out-the-sides-and-top-of-my-full-coverage-sports-bra-blew up. I still can’t get over it. They looked like Heidi Montag-Pratt-whatever’s from The Hills after her full body makeover, and she paid for those. I’m talking cantaloupes, round and pert and firm just like ‘em. I know I can’t do it justice, just writing about it—even telling someone about it in person with props and hand motions will never do them justice. Now Hubby is the only one who can attest what is possible in my chest department. But I have proof that I can make milk for a baby…and that my skin is verrrrry stretchy. So at least that’s good.

Support Group

I never pictured myself attending any kind of help group. I never pictured a lot of things that are now a part of my reality, so, here we are. I’m certainly not against groups, and as someone who’s been around psychology and education a lot I think they’re legit. Just, personally, talking exhausts me. Especially to strangers. Yikes! If the definition of an introvert is someone who needs alone time to recharge from others then that’s me in a nutshell. But when the hospital solace person mentioned a support group for parents of pregnancy or infant loss and suggested we give it a try, I didn’t even think twice. And now that we’ve been, I’ve even got Hubby thinking it’s a good idea.

The real problem is that everyone’s story is so sad! All these sad parents talking about their sweet little babies. Babies who kicked them and kept them up at night, babies who made them sick for three months and tired and cranky for more. Babies they gave birth to and held, babies who lived for two weeks or no weeks. Babies who were perfectly fine and babies who had severe health problems. Really, what can be sadder than sick and dead babies? Boy, it is exhausting. But it’s also liberating. I couldn’t even introduce myself without bursting into tears and using two tissues. It felt great!

While I can’t say every day is getting better, I can say longer stretches of time are getting better. This group is going to help with that. And I have found myself being sarcastic again…so maybe I’ll start sharing some of those stupid things again.

my "maternity" leave

After all the fun I’ve poked at being pregnant, other pregnant ladies, stretch mark creams, babies, and other things, I feel the fool. My baby son was born three months early on July 21^st, and he was not alive. There is not much sarcasm or fun-poking to be had about that; that’s probably part of why I had to take some time off between posts. It’s not that fun to write somber, depressing, sad things. It’s more fun to write about how jiggly my thighs were getting and how if I didn’t take a two hour nap you didn’t even want to think about talking to me. But I suppose it’s time to say something, and I suppose living my life in this new way is all I can do.

I went in for a regular check up and got the shock of my life: no heartbeat. A close second was the reality that I was going to have to give birth to this poor little baby. I didn’t even know if it was a boy or a girl (and I very much recommend being surprised). The lady doing the ultrasound felt so bad and so guilty it made me feel even worse. Of course there were all the happy pregnant ladies hanging around the joint, chatting by the scale as if it was coffee break at the office. I didn’t want to use the bathroom because I didn’t want to walk down the hallway and scare them all into thinking it could happen to them too. But somehow, I made it through. We did. Hubby joined me for the marathon hospital wait, studying for the bar exam (lucky guy) while I surfed tv channels and cramped up like there was no tomorrow. Eventually, Wyatt was born. (Feet first, just to make it fun). We held him, checked him out, cried a heckofalot over him, and eventually had to say goodbye.

Now, I’m a mom.

Chub Rub

Yes, you heard me. And you know what I’m talking about. It’s when your shorts are just that wrong size or material so they get stuck between your legs where they climb up into your privacy and bunch there; front wedgie, if you will. It’s also when you have a skirt on and there’s nothing to bunch so it’s just your thighs rubbing together uncomfortably—this involves summertime and aerobic exercise (shorts can take over any time of year but bare skin needs a little assistance). When I Googled “chub rub” I found:

1. Chub-rub

what fat girls experience when their inner-upper thighs rub together so much they get chaffed and rashes break out. It usually is accompanied by sweat and foul odors

I have to say I am a bit offended that UrbanDictionary.com is basically calling me a “fat girl.” And I’m pretty sure it’s “chafed” not “chaffed,” assholes. In my previous experience chub-rub stems from ill-fitting shorts and does not emit foul odors either, but maybe that’s just me. I’d rather skip considering the foul odors if at all possible. Either way if chub-rub occurrence equates to chubbiness then I am getting chubbier. I would like to blame it on the Colorado summer heat but deep down I know I just have to blame it on the baby. And that chocolate crepe I just had. And that I’m still just wearing regular clothes when maybe it’s time to hit the maternity store…my one pair of stretchy-waisted shorts are made of material that really just encourages sweating, which, as we have learned, brings about the chub rub. Alas.

One hot mama

Yep, that’s me. Aren’t I modest? Well, really I’m talking temperature here. I mean, it is about 90 degrees everyday in the summer in Colorado and the sun does add quite a bit so if you are unfortunate enough to have to leave the shade then you really cook, but still, even compared to that, I’m hot. And I’m complaining, because it’s the kind of hot that really slows me down. If you know me, then you know I don’t like impediments. Sometimes I have to stop and just take a deep breath to try to get oxygen all the way down in my lungs; Hubby, bless him, says “You alright?” every time he catches me doing it. What I want to say sometimes is “not really, can’t you just take over this job for a few days?” but what I end up saying is “yeah, just uncomfortable.” Hey, they’re both honest answers so I just go with the kinder one. And I still get some sympathy.

It’s hard to really say if my core temperature is higher than everyone else’s (as the books tell me it is) but I am definitely starting to feel that way. Actually, it wouldn’t be hard to pull out our thermometer and find out, but I don’t care that much. I’m not a big deodorant person, but it’s looking like I might have to become one. It’s also getting on my nerves that certain activities are becoming more difficult i.e. all physical activities. I do have a good excuse to slow down though, which I never had before. Now I can come in last and blame it on the baby.