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.