Week 7

I have seen this on pregnancy blogs and I think it's a good memento. Since this is basically just my diary, I want to remember these things.

How far along are you? 7 weeks
How big is baby? The size of a blueberry (last week it was just a lentil).
Weight gain/loss? None so far but my first appointment weigh-in was awful. I have gained weight over the last year. At least ten pounds.
Stretch marks? YES! I have bright red squiggles on my abdomen. It's gross and weird considering I am not really bigger yet. I got them the week I found out.
Maternity clothes? No. I did buy two new shelf bras though. My breasts are huge.
Best moment this week? Telling our families at Christmas
Gender? Way too early. I think boy.
Movement? Way too early.
Belly button? The same.
Symptoms? Breast sensitivity, light nausea but constantly churning stomach. Food aversions and feeling constantly hungry but repulsed by food. Extreme fatigue.
Cravings? Tart and sour (lemonade), fruit, bland starchy foods
What do I miss? Feeling energetic.
What I'm looking forward to this week? Extra sleep.
Milestones? I heard a heartbeat!

After Christmas

It's Boxing Day today and I think it might be Kobi the dog's eighth birthday. I am home alone at the start of my week off. Billy's at work and the animals have been surrounding me all day. If I didn't know I was pregnant, I'd fear we had a carbon monoxide leak. I am so very tired all the time.

Every night I sleep a good 9-10 hours. Every afternoon I fall asleep. I am so happy to have this break. What will happen when I go back to work? Not only to I need to be awake, I need to be focused on details. I guess that's a part of HR or something.

I napped with both dogs and two cats for an hour and a half today, crashing out around noon and waking up with an open drool mouth. Only Violet snubbed the big bed. Orlando even slept on my belly.

My appetite is really odd. I will mostly forget to eat. I will be moderately hungry almost always but everything sounds bad. I've only vomited twice after eating very heavy meals that I should have known were a bad idea. Mostly, I have a sour stomach that feels like a low grade hangover. I am convinced that a finicky toddler and stole replaced my taste buds with her own.

My brain is on a loop of, "Oh, I'm hungry I should eat...why does my stomach feel so gross...an apple sounds good...Nevermind, keep that apple away it sounds terrible...why am I still hungry...Oh, I never ate that apple...I should have some soup...Soup is the most horrible thing on the planet; I can smell its vileness from inside the can...I feel hungry...Why does my stomach hurt?"

For a girl who likes to discuss her next meal during most meals, this is so weird.

So the good news is, we've told our families. Everyone got excited. Mom cried. Grandma cried. It was a wonderful Christmas surprise to share.

My Day Ahead

Today is doctor day. I didn't make it this far last time, so I am excited to go the the office like regular people do. Billy is coming with me.

We are in the middle of an escrow freak out. The bank has told us that we will owe an additional $400 per month due to their screw up. This has actually helped me focus on something other than the pregnancy. Now, if the bank woman would just call me back, I'd feel better. An answer, even a bad one, is more comforting than waiting. I am really hoping for a good answer.

Yesterday was Sunday. I slept a solid nine hours Saturday night. I lounged around the house Sunday morning, napped for over an hour and went to bed at 8:30 pm last night. I was so tired. I just hope that I banked up the extra rest so I have energy to function today.

Just one week of work and then a week off for Christmas!

General Freaking Out

I really wish my mom would keep her mouth shut sometimes. I love her. I do. She just says terribly inappropriate things some times. A month after my last pregnancy she told me, "I knew something was wrong when you weren't getting morning sickness."

She is not a doctor and I am only six weeks along. Many sources tell me that morning sickness will kick in over the next couple weeks. Logic doesn't matter. I am so scared that something is wrong. Where other women would be thrilled to not be queasy, I am scared.

I wake up every morning and think, "Oh no, my boobs don't hurt as much as they did yesterday," or "My abdomen doesn't feel tight and pully. That's it. It's over." I have another week exactly until my first appointment and I am getting more scared. It was a week before my appointment that I started bleeding last time. I can vividly remember the bathroom at work and the swipe of pink.

I was so scared but I told myself a little pink was nothing. I would talk to the doctor at my appointment. Within an hour, that pink was red and steady. That's when I called the doctor, called the insurance company, told my boss (who must have seen the terror in my face and the red eyes because he didn't question me leaving for a second) and went to the ER.

It's amazing how a whole life plan can collapse in an hour. It's amazing that one comment from my mother can haunt me as I lay in bed and wait for nausea. I am trying so hard to make my mantra about today only. Today I am pregnant. Today I am hopeful.

Today I am making food for Grandma. She has another stomach surgery. My mother in law is here. My brother and sister in law will be taking baby Genevieve to the grandparents' house this afternoon. I am making crock pot chicken barbecue sandwiches and Asia slaw to take over. I'm such a grown up. Okay, if my sister in law hadn't brought over food last time, I'd have never thought of it. She's a much more considerate person than I am in that way.

So far, so good on the pregnancy. I am queasy sometimes, which makes me happy. I am thirsty, a little ditzy, tired, crampy in different from menstrual way and my boobs are always a little sore. I want so badly to be 100% invested in this pregnancy and then, at the same time, I want to hold back. It's only been a week of knowing but I feel more connected to the pregnancy now, as if it's been too long and I couldn't possible lose it. That's not at all true. Last time I was another week along when I started bleeding. Anything is possible. I am not guaranteed a healthy bouncing baby at the end. I am not guaranteed anything. That doesn't mean I'm not hopeful.

First Appointment is made

I have an appointment for December 19th but I know there won't be an ultrasound (I asked). I was hoping for a heartbeat for Christmas. I think if we had one, I'd be forced to tell on Christmas. We haven't told anyone yet. Yeah, yeah, yeah, it's only been a few days. Well, I usually tell people about their gift the day I buy it. I cannot help it. I get so excited.

I am trying to remain calm and trying to remain cautiously optimistic. So far, I have surprised myself my opening my heart again. That worries me a bit but I am so glad to be hopeful. Please universe, make this baby stay. I have no idea when we'll share the news.

Pregnant Again

Peed on a stick this morning and there were two lines. This is already different from last time. Last time, I had gentle cramps and once got sick. This time, I've puked my guts out already. Not even one day of happily pregnant. I am in full-force vomit mode.

Thrilled. (except the puking).

Planning a next step

It's Sunday night and I am stuffed full of pizza. We had friends over to watch the Bears lose. The game was disappointing.

Now that I've been at the new job for three weeks, I am feeling more settled. I like the people pretty well. I can see that I may get bored sometimes but I am usually busy enough. I can also feel that my internal dialogue will be getting back to normal soon. I am once again sad and weepy about not 18 months of trying and no baby. I shouldn't compare myself to others but I do. I really shouldn't read internet message boards about parenting. "95% of healthy couples will get pregnant in a year." Well, that means we've won the shit lottery or we're unhealthy. I hate either option.

I think that once the holidays are over, it's time to go to a reproductive doctor. I have the referral from April somewhere. I could call and get another if need be. I expect my period in about a week. After that, I need to discuss with Billy and give the Month of December our very best shot with timing and such. For my 31st birthday in January, I want to be pregnant or have a plan about how to get there. The normal people way of just having sex and waiting hasn't worked for us.

Thankful

It's turkey Thursday and we have come back from Mom's place in the woods. Dad joined us for dinner and Pat. Amanda, Carmelo and the kids came. It was really nice. Billy even had a good time.

Amanda brought with her four tiny grey kittens from her in-laws' place. The neighbor cat had a litter of eight kitties! Mom was planning to take two and Ingrid got two. Well, Dad ended up taking home Mom's kittens. It's for the best really. He's been lonely since Bosco and Liver died. He needs some house cats.

I have come full circle and I am so thankful for the shitty year. It's over and I can tuck it in and put it to bed. No more 2011 ever. I'll never take for granted the things I have enjoyed. I have a loving family. I want it to grow but I cannot control how it grows and when and where. I can only try and keep smiling. People kill for what I have. Billy worships the ground I walk on and he brings me coffee in bed and never mentions my chub. He works hard for us and wants to be with me. I have a home that is made of lovely reddish bricks and it keeps me and my animals warm and safe. I have never gone hungry and I have medical coverage. I am as privileged as any human could ever dare to dream.

I am called aunt, sister, wife, daughter, friend. Thank you universe. I accept what is coming anyway. I will try to be like water and flow. I will try to be like metal and toughen with blows. I will try to be like a feather and fly where the winds will take me. I will try to be loyal and give. I will try to be deserving of the blessings I have received. Thank you.

Big Sweeping Changes Again

It's November now and the wind is loud. The weather is really mild and nearly 70 degrees in the sunshine. The tree out front has only a few yellow leaves on the bottom branches. When I found out I was pregnant this summer, I anticipated a baby bump for fall. I had a shopping cart full of maternity clothes with cute shawl collars and cardigans.

It sounds so melodramatic typed out like this but in real life I am not melodramatic. Days go by without thoughts of the miscarriage. So last week on a lark I went to the pregnancy message board I had joined for February 2012 babies. I was shocked to find women in their third trimester! Some women had already given birth. Granted they were super preemies but it blew me away. I hadn't done the math. In my mind, I had been not pregnant for a "little while." It was months.

As the non-pregnancy time passed, it became more an more apparent that I needed to make a change. I had decided to stay at the wine store until I had a baby. I made the decision over a year ago and here I am, no baby coming and who knows how long it could be. I wasn't happy in that job for a while. The commute killed me and I began to dread the holiday season.

Through some sort of crazy luck, I got three job interviews within two weeks. I got offered a job working in the wine department of a new grocery store (I passed) and I got offered the job of working the front desk at a rehab center for handicapped children and adults. I took it.

So tomorrow, I will begin my new job. It's five miles away and pays not much. I will see kids every day. I am excited.

2011 will be remembered as a difficult year. I want to close the chapter and start something fresh.

Job Interview

So, I got a call about a job interview this morning. The pay is crap but the job sounds good. It's close to home. Hot dog, I'm gonna check it out.

Bill will have his big raise this winter. At that point I can do pretty much whatever as long as I bring in $20K or more to cover little extras. I am worried because I know this job pays $12 per hour. I am salaried now at 47K. That's a huge pay cut. Am I an idiot to consider it? Maybe. but I am still going to the interview.

I made a decision to live for me, for my life and for the reality that is right now. A new job would be great for me. I am so tired of my grind right now. I want out of the weird unhealthy tensions that exist at my workplace. The big boss has decided to have an affair out in the open. It's quote uncomfortable to work with his wife now. I am just sick of the drive and the hours. I need out.

I am going to apply to lots of other jobs this weekend. It's liberating. Sprinkling resumes everywhere. No more, "What if I get pregnant?!" Maybe I will and maybe I won't. I put the breaks on my life for a year and a half and all I got was one lousy miscarriage. I need to live again and hope for good news down the line.

Wish me luck Monday morning!

Crying in the Shower

Crying in the shower can be terrible or it can be liberating. I am trying to focus on liberation and slough off some layers I don't need. I have layers of regret and layers of jealously (huge, puffy swaths of jealously that have wrapped and wrapped around my body). I have layers of nostalgia that haunt me and won't let anything else measure up. I have layers of preoccupation that blind me from the good of the present.

I can only live now. I can only live as I do. I can change my life with choices and action but I cannot change it with obsession or regret.

I may always be a chubby and infertile woman who wants so badly to be a pretty mom. I may always be middle class and vacation by car. I may always shop at the discount store. I may cry in the shower on the first day of my period every time until menopause. I can handle that. I need to quit imagining another woman's future and imagine and seek my own.

Air Conditioning Broken

Luckily it's just the upstairs window unit. Unfortunately, it's the only thing cooling the bedroom. After a few days (three?) of no AC at night, I have learned that I sleep like a rock in the hot air. I am so rested. My skin has broken out in tiny whiteheads all over my chin. I smell bad every morning, as if I went running in my sleep.

The windows are open and the whole world makes more noise. Louise next door is doing music lessons. I can hear it now, clarinet, tuba and flute in half hour doses. Today is garbage day and I can hear the truck.

I am so glad we got a cool streak for August. It's in the seventies and nicely cool all morning.

Ingrid Day

Tired all over again. I slept until almost 9:00! It was amazing.

Today was the third week of Ingrid days. I have been taking off Tuesdays to help out Amanda and give her an opportunity to go to the hospital. Ares is in the NICU and just graduated to an open crib! He's bigger than his birth weight now - over three pounds. His skin isn't hot red at every moment but stills gets red when he cries. He's wearing preemie clothes now, little t-shirts! He just needs to learn to eat from a bottle and pass the 35 week mark. I'm getting excited and I cannot imagine how excited Amanda must be.

So Ingrid and I went to the local Children's Museum today. I love that Ingrid calls my tiny hatchback a van. She thinks the shape dictates the name of the vehicle. We only had to stop once one the one mile drive over. Once we got there, we played for almost three hours. She played with one stuffed animal for two of those hours. It was exhausting. Of course she wants me to play with her and I don't want to act like the bored coffee-drinking moms who refuse to look up to see if their kid is kidnapped or anything. I'll wait until I have a kid to do that. Two hours discussing a stuffed ferret (or weasel as she called it) was quite a lot.

Then we went to Portillo's for some gourmet lunching. I learned that dining alone with a kid means that lunch ends when the kid needs to poop, whether you finished that delicious salad or not. So, I dumped half a salad and spent ten minutes in the bathroom, telling "jokes" to the stall door.

These are the types of jokes Ingrid loves: What does a cat put in his drink to keep it cold? Mice cubes.

She branched out into telling the joke about a horse (hay cubes).

I got a good laugh from What is brown and sticky? (a stick).

I just melt when she reaches her little hand up into mine when we walk through a parking lot or climb into a road. I fucking love that kid, poop and all.

With Ingrid

Today was another day with Ingrid. I am really enjoying my time with her. Mom, on the other hand, is having a breakdown these days. She can't quite seem to process her feelings and she's lashing out. Amanda is very frustrated with dear ole Mom. Mom is retaliating by being snide.

We played in the park and went to McDonald's playland. McDonald's playland is never just McDonald's lest you mistakenly believe it's a place to eat food. No. McDonald's playland is the most sacred and fun place that Mom never wants to go. It's a special event or manipulated auntie kind place.

Ingrid is wearing a hideous hairband made of fake neon pink hair that has multicolored braid tassels. It's the ugliest thing from the dollar store, so she loves it. It's adorable in her long, black waves.

I hate to focus on looks but she's an exceptionally beautiful child. She's getting prettier too.

Fairness

In the past few months, I have read lots of pregnancy blogs, infertility blogs and message boards. I read one message board pretty often but post very little. This message board is like the train wreck person I love to have on facebook. It draws me in out of horror.

Trying to Conceive boards tend to be very, very judgmental. I say this having read many of them. I have never found a TTC board, as they're called by those in the know, that didn't have it's policing regulars and scathing comments.

For the uninitiated, here's a handy dandy cheat sheet.

The following things are OK to say or discuss:

• Being sad, angry or jealous about the pregnancies of others.
• Expecting the world to pull you aside to announce pregnancies to spare your feelings.
• Expecting your pregnant friends to never gripe or complain out of respect for your infertility/non-pregnancy.
• Crying all the fucking time.
• Crying about baby showers, facebook feeds or holidays.
  
• Describing your mucus discharges at length.
• Saying that you will never, ever, ever complain when you get pregnant because you'll understand and appreciate the miracle of it all.
  
• Asking other people how they deal with the agony of not being pregnant.
  
• Creating a hierarchy of how sad anyone else is allowed to be. For example, women who already have a child should be grateful. Women who have has a miscarriage "at least" know they can get pregnant.
  

Then the following are not OK and will get the poster smacked down immediately:

• Calling anyone bitter - ever.
• Not taking your basal body temperature daily. That's a huge one. It's funny because my doctor tells me ovulation predictors (which is what I use. I don't feel like graphing, thanks) are more accurate.
  
• Not believing that TCOYF (Taking Charge of Your Fertility) is the Bible.
  
• Disagreeing with the leaders of the pack about anything.
  
• Fishing for others to guess that you might be pregnant. People do this one all the time and it is insane. "Oh, my boobs hurt so much and my sense of smell is so strong. I wonder if I'm getting sick? Oh, and my period is eight minutes late....ahem!"
• Wishing ill on all the pregnant friends you currently hate who aren't even allowed to talk to you lest they wake the beast within. It's a fine line with that one.
  
• Expressing any interest in a child of a particular sex or hoping for a baby born at a certain time. That will get you ten instant replies along the lines of, "Oh yeah, well all I want is a healthy baby whenever God/nature wills it!" Implication: I am a better person/parent than you.
• Being worried too soon. Too soon is defined as one month less than you've been trying. Every poster is a special snowflake who is allowed to spread her own doom and gloom. While every poster other than one's self is a worrywart.
  

It's really fucking old. All the new people lamenting one period. All the old people who just lie in wait to snap at new folks for not knowing the rules. The lifers, who are infertile, are revered as gods. That sets up some fucked up dynamics. Everyone wants to pose as if they have conception troubles. To appear cool or in the know? I can't figure it out.

Today might be the last straw. I read a post that linked to a woman's blog entry about the ways in which you're ALLOWED to tell other couples you're pregnant. If, God forbid, any of those other couples have fertility issues, you must tell them privately and practically apologize to them for your great joy. You must offer to never ever ever bitch and moan and be ready for them to not be happy for you. This blog post was longer and used more flowery language but that was the gist. In a situation where one couple is pregnant and another couple isn't, the pregnant couple must defer to the non-pregnant just in case it causes heartache or jealousy. Seriously, what the fuck?

These women work themselves into a fucking froth pretending to be infertile just to get a rise out of themselves. They feed each other's fears and horrors like kids at a slumber party until all reason is gone.

I wish they would quit counting everything and deciding what's fair and unfair. I wish they would quit weighing how sad someone else is allowed to be after how many months of trying versus their advanced age and factoring in their medical history.

I know my sister isn't going to be telling other mothers of twins that they aren't allowed to mention both kids. I know I am not going to forbid anyone else from having a baby in February. The world keeps moving whether or not we try and set rules about fairness.

Saying Goodbye

Today was Enzo's last day. It was officially diagnosed yesterday afternoon. He was born without kidneys and could not survive more than a few more days. Amanda and Carmelo were given the option to try dialysis but no baby with his condition has ever lived more than a few weeks. They had to make the call and stop treatment.

This morning my Mom and I scrubbed in at the NICU to carry my four-year-old niece, Ingrid, into a room for the one and only family photo my sister will ever get. Of course, she had to go potty just as the staff was gathering the photographer and the babies. I sat in a bathroom with her. Her fancy picture dress spilled out around the toilet. She was wearing pink Converse and her hair was messy. She wouldn't let us brush it. We played "I Spy" and talked about her stuffed cat, Millie. I remember looking into the mirror and thinking, "This is it. It's Enzo's last minutes and I am playing word games in a bathroom with a stuffed cat."

They instructed us to put Ingrid in a gown and a mask. She's four and normally defiant when told that she has to do anything. She must have understood it was a a big deal today. Her mom and dad had already explained that one baby was so sick he would never come home. She did whatever we asked. In the NICU, we used box of copy paper to act as a stool. She scrubbed in at the big foot pedaled sink. She had her own soap pack and soaped up to her elbows just like the grownups.

We all met in a special room where a photographer took pictures of the family and the babies. Ares was healthy enough to spend a few minutes in the room. He was such a contrast to Enzo. Ares was pink, almost red in color. He cried and cried but was quiet while his mama held him. He moved. He was feisty.

Sick Enzo was larger than healthy Ares. I kept forgetting that Enzo was baby A, born first and a few ounces larger. Enzo had been sedated. His mask had pressed his lip crooked. His head had a flat back. He was bloated with the fluid and waste his body couldn't excrete. He was pale and yellowish. He looked soft, like skin that has gone pruney in a long bath. He was still beautiful to look at - tiny and perfectly formed.

My sister got to hold her first born son just once while he was alive. He took a few loud breaths in that room and that left me sobbing even more. Mom and I were useless for a few hours. We stood in the corner, flowing with tears and boogers.

Ingrid, Grandma Katherine (mom)and I left the room to spent some time with the children's grief counselor as Amanda and Carmelo held dying Enzo. The counselor gave Ingrid a book about expecting a new baby and getting an angel instead. Mom (Grandma) read it to her. She drew pictures and colored. She talked to the counselor and begged for McDonalds. She giggled and expressed interest in the baby angel in the book. We talked about Enzo watching over her.

Later, after he was pronounced dead, I held his body and he was so incredibly beautiful. The wonderful NICU nurses pulled three rocking chairs around his bed. Amanda, my mom and I rocked him and passed his tiny body around. He was only three pounds but he was soft, warm and so perfect to look at. He had so much dark hair. Just like Ingrid did at birth, he had furry patches on his face. His fingers were puffed up, but they were tiny and looked just right. I held his hand. I sang to him.

Later, after his body was taken away, we stood around Ares' bed and talked. I am so sad but hopeful for little survivor Ares Enzo (who was given his brother's name for a middle name) who is eating, pooping and breathing on his own at just over 3lbs.

I have never felt such raw pain, not even close. I would give anything to change this and my heart weeps for my baby sister whose pain I cannot imagine.

Heartache Keeps Coming

Monday was a magical day for our family. My sister Amanda gave birth to her twin sons. We had remarked all along that it was a miracle that she would have spontaneous twins. Amanda has wanted to be a Mom all her life. I was delighted that she was pregnant again and squealed when I learned it was twins. She deserved twins. She loves babies to pieces.

Her pregnancy was tough. She had a preemie once before and these twins shared a placenta. They were very high risk. She had up to three doctor's appointments a week. She had weekly ultrasounds in her final weeks.

She began dilating early and needed medication to stop labor. She was in the hospital at 29 weeks. They boys had medicines to mature their lungs and prevent brain bleeds. She got released and went right back in to deliver a day later. On Monday, July 25 just after 7:00 am, she delivered two boys, three pounds each at 30 weeks.

My family drove to the hospital and rejoiced together. They seemed just fine. They would need to stay in the NICU for a while. They were so early that no names had been chosen. The hospital room chat was about names and gossip and breast feeding - happy new baby topics. We were so happy. My sister asked that we wait to meet the babies in the NICU. She couldn't get out of bed for 12 hours after her c-section and wanted to be the second person to meet them. Her husband, Carmelo went to meet them and brought us video of the boys. Other than the tubes and wires, they looked perfect. We were happy with that. We'd have their whole lives to hold them and love them.

The first sign of trouble was that afternoon. A doctor arrived in Amanda's room with a release form. He was very blunt; Baby A was doing poorly. One of his lungs had collapsed and his lungs weren't functioning correctly. He needed a blood transfusion immediately. He has two chest tubes and a machine breathed for him. The doctor told my sister that he was very sick but should survive.

The next day was worse. By now, the babies had names. Sick baby, Enzo, was not any better. He survived the transfusion but was declining. The other baby, Ares, was healthy and thriving. He could breathe on his own. The doctors came up with a theory that fit his problems. Enzo, they feared, had no kidneys. They performed an ultrasound and couldn't find them.

Having no kidneys at birth is called Potter's syndrome. If you google it, it's unbelievably sad. Potter's syndrome babies have no amniotic fluid. This causes all sorts of problems and they die before or just after birth. Their bodies are mangled without the cushion of fluid.

Enzo didn't have that. He didn't seem to fit the pattern and didn't have the visual symptoms, so we held out hope for another doctor to find kidneys in his body and somehow explain his problems. He had less fluid than his brother but still plenty. He wasn't mangled.

This morning was Thursday. Another doctor tested the babies. Enzo has no kidneys. His diagnoses is fatal. His twin, Ares, has only one kidney. Somehow Ares pumped enough amniotic fluid for two babies with only one kidney. He supported Enzo and let him grow. Because of this, Enzo might be one of the healthiest Potter's syndrome babies ever. His doctors have offered Amanda and Carmelo the option of keeping him on dialysis. If he lived a year and a half, they would put him on the organ donor list. He would be terribly sick the whole time. In fact, his nurses winced when they heard this option. Everyone recommended against it and said he would most likely die anyway and suffer.

It was an easy but horrible decision. Tomorrow, they will gather their four year old daughter and their twins. They will unhook Enzo and hold him for the very first and only time.

I cannot imagine the pain they are going through. A month ago, we were marveling at the idea of two babies. Where would she put them? What would she do? Now, we are mourning. My baby sister is so strong but I wish I could steal this pain from her. I wish I could go back to the dozens of ultrasounds and shake the doctors, "Why don't you see this? He was no kidneys! Prepare her now!! Why does she have to find out at birth? Why does she have to meet her son and believe he will live?"

I met my nephew Enzo today. I opened the door to his little pod and I told him I would always love him. I think a sang a little song.

The Naked Texter

So, I read The Gift of Fear. I believe that you should not engage with craziness. I believe that attention seekers and drama queens will quickly learn to move along if you don't give them the attention they want. On a normal day at least.

The day of the naked texts was not normal. It was the second day of bleeding. The day the doctor's office was to have blood result that would show if I could possibly still be pregnant. I was a wreck of boogers and tears.

That was the state in which I discovered a new text message on my phone. It was from a local number that I didn't know. I opened it to find five photos of good old fashioned home porn. Some guy naked, then naked reclining on a couch, then close up on the junk, then seated, then fully clothed and standing by a grill (wtf?).

My mental state was fragile and I did not recognize this person but I was pissed. I sent back a short reply calling him a fucking asshole. He wrote back, "Who is this?"

Shouldn't you know who you are texting? Maybe double check the number? These were the things I thought to myself but didn't type. I realized that engaging this genius in a conversation was a bad idea so I didn't reply. That night I missed a call from the same number.

I tried to think like the caller/texter. Obviously, he did not intend to send those pictures to me. He probably got my nasty reply and then wondered if he dialed correctly, so he called and hung up when my voice kicked in on the message. I felt assured that I had figured it out. Now he had figured out it wasn't me he was looking for and would never call again. He was probably so embarrassed. At least that's what I thought.

Two weeks have passed and he called my phone tonight. No message left. That bothers me. A lot.

Officially Over

I got the news that my hormones had gone down. I have miscarried or a I am, semantics. I have handled this final news really well so far. I think that it's because I accepted it as fact a few days ago. I knew before the tests told me just like I knew before I looked at the pregnancy test. Pregnancy is a whole lot of hormones to not notice. When they leave, you notice that too. Oh, and the blood. That's pretty obvious.

So, my boobs don't hurt. My upper abdomen isn't sticking out with bloat. I can enjoy this third cup of coffee and pretend I enjoyed the vodka I drank last night. It's still very hard.

I haven't really gotten to the "what do I do now?" part. I know that I go to work on Monday. I know that I delete the pregnancy email updates and the bag of thankfully unpurchased maternity clothes.

Then on Tuesday, what do I do then?

And poor Bill. He's just heart broken and not letting it show. I can see it in him and I wish he'd cry and let it out. I wish he'd show the reaction I got when I told him we were pregnant. I know he needs to release it.

That's not my place. I ask but I don't pry. I share and then smile to let him know he can share. He'll open up eventually. I've seen it happen.

Hours after shrugging a reply, lying in bed, he will say in the softest voice, "Remember what you asked me today?" and then he'll keep going.

I always turn to face him and watch his profile in the darkness. His eyelashes flutter and he puts together his words and I remain quiet. He will talk until he stops and then we'll both go to sleep.

I dislike the phrase "man of few words." It seems so cowboy or savant. "He's not stupid, he's just quiet." I sometimes forget that Bill doesn't talk much unless he's around friends. He's a quiet worker. He waves to neighbors. Most people like him but few know too much about him. Even quiet, everyone can tell he's sharp. He's smarter than most people I know.

He's had so much piled on him and he turned out loving, kind and thoughtful. His mother abandoned him long before she physically slipped off and left him with his grandparents. Of course she waited long enough to marry a guy who beat the kids for a while.

His father was gone before he remembers. It was the bad kind of gone too, on the streets drinking. His dad turned 18 in Vietnam and had two kids in the suburbs before 24. Bill never saw him after his early childhood. We now know that he died a few months before we looked for him. Lung cancer, VA hospital.

Instead of being hardened, Bill has become the hardest-working and most dedicated man I have known. He can't wait to right the wrongs of his childhood but his desires have no hint of bitterness. He doesn't care to show anyone or prove anything. He just wants to settle into the type of happiness he's never known before. He wants a baby as much or more than I do.

I know that it isn't my fault but my heart aches that I haven't been able to give him what he wants. I grieve the loss and feel a sense of failure. This is the gift I have wanted to offer him for so long. I want to do this with him and watch him meet our child.

I know this isn't the end. We will be parents. It may take more time. It may take adoption or medicine but we will get there. He's too good of a man not to be a father.

miscarriage

Well this is terrible. Mom called it death by a thousand paper cuts.

We were pregnant and thrilled. Then I bled just a little bit and then I bled more. Then I went to the hospital.

Never have a problem the day before a holiday weekend. You'll end up like me, four days later and just getting test results. This is my summer vacation. No work July 2 through 10. I had plans to baby shop and go to the beach.

I spent the 4th of July bleeding into a maxi pad and forcing myself to be ready for the bad news. I called my insurance company and the hospital and got answering machines all weekend. I spent this afternoon getting another ultrasound that shows no baby. No fetus. No heartbeat. The tech kept asking if a "felt OK." Are you kidding me, lady? I am grieving the loss of a baby that never existed. I don't care if you poke me through the organs with that stupid wand. Find out what is happening. I can pee later. You can touch my thigh. This moment is the very least of my worries. I tell the receptionist I'll take any appointment, "I'm on vacation." That's a cruel reality.

I never knew how long days could be when the lab is closed and the ER doctor said the horrible words, "fifty-fifty." What the fuck is fifty-fifty? I wish they had said, "Your pregnancy is certainly over. I am very sorry." Classic under promise, over deliver. My doctor's nurse scheduled an appointment for Thursday to do final tests and decide what to do next. She doesn't sound optimistic. So, that's a full week to diagnose a miscarriage.

This is the worst vacation ever.