It's Friday, y'all! I told you it'd come fast this week, and it sure did. So, here are some updates on past stories:
First, I want to thank you all again for the amazing support you gave me while I was going through my miscarriage. Last week was ROUGH, but this week has been all about keeping busy and moving on. I'm feeling good, although I do seem to have developed a bit of an angry edge. (On the inside, so don't worry that I'm going to cut you or anything.) I thought I recalled hearing something about anger being one of the 7 stages of grief, so I Wikipedia'd them, figuring anger must be the last one before the Being Over It stage. Turns out it's actually only step 3 in the process. Ouch.
But wait! I seem to be in hyperdrive, because I am simultaneously experiencing:
Anger: I'm swearing in my head a lot more than usual, especially when I see baby stuff. Fuck off, Pooh booties.
Reflection: Been thinking about the crazy ride we were on when we discovered that we were surprisingly expecting and then surprisingly not expecting anymore. Wondering whether we'll decide to try again or keep things as they are.
The Upward Turn: Experiencing a welcome lift in mood and productivity - for example, I cleaned for the whole morning while Nathan was at playgroup on Tuesday...typically something I'd do only to avoid embarrassment if company's coming over, or to avoid playing another game of Go Fish with Nathan.
Reconstruction and Working Through: I finally decided what I wanted and bought furniture for the living room, family room, and kitchen on Monday, and am currently investigating window treatments. Thinking about personal and "professional" (i.e. blog) goals. Noticing that my body feels back to normal. (Bye, bye, bigger boobs.)
Acceptance and Hope: I accept that this kind of thing happens. A lot. And I hope that it won't ever happen to me again. For closure, I morbidly peed on a stick yesterday, and I saw only the one lonely pink line, when last week there'd been two. I'm a visual kind of person, so this creepy maneuver helped me turn the page.
So there you have it: proof that women can multi-task anything, even grief.
In other news, Romeo accidentally injured Annabelle in school yesterday and he felt terrible. He seems like a pretty nice kid, actually. For a player. He kept apologizing (although it was an accident), and he told her that she looked pretty, despite the bloody lip.
And the Academy called this morning. Madeleine has been nominated Best Supporting Actress for her portrayal of Mom's Embarrassing Interview Fart in The Emotions Game. She says she's honored just to be nominated, but you know she wants to bring home that statue.
Showing posts with label pregnancy. Show all posts
Showing posts with label pregnancy. Show all posts
Friday, October 16, 2009
Friday, October 9, 2009
Friday Follow-Up
Happy long-weekend Friday! I want to thank you all for your support as I've gone through my miscarriage. I am amazed at how many of my friends have been through similar experiences and have now shared their stories with me to help get me through this loss. I was pretty arrogant to have thought that something like this couldn't happen to me.
People knock Facebook and Twitter and blogging because we are not communicating face to face anymore these days. While I agree that sometimes there is no substitute for holding a friend's hand or seeing their expression while delivering a joke, I'm all for using the internet as a means of connecting with people. I've always been very shy in person, but still have a need to talk about well, everything. Like this miscarriage for instance. Being able to talk about what happened helped me to deal with the confusing feelings of loss and mourning that seemed too big for something that I'd only known about for a little over a week. And wow, did people come through for me! So many women shared their stories and their caring with me via email, blog comment, Facebook, phone call, handwritten note, flowers, and even tearily in person. Had it not been for my big blog mouth, I never would have had such a wide-ranging outreach from friends old and new.
Another thing I've learned from all of you is that women really come through for each other in times like these. Yes, some of us may give each other once-overs at the playground ("Are those real Uggs or knock-offs?") or gossip about each other at practice ("Are those real boobs or did she get a little help?"), but when it comes down to it, we all relate in a fundamental way, and when one of us experiences a painful woman's issue, we drop everything and cry for her. We offer meals, babysitting, hugs, listening ears, and above all, sympathy. I am amazed at how both women I've known for half my life and women I've known for a few months have all come together to offer their support. It's like we have created our own virtual red tent, and we're in it together though we are technically, physically apart.
Thanks to all of you.
I have had ups and downs since I wrote last. Wednesday was good. I didn't cry, even though I saw a lot of friends in person and feared that I would break down or turn to stone upon seeing them. I listened to a lot of music, thanks to Nathan's reminders to "Bring the iPod!" whenever we were in the van. That helped. Miley Cyrus, of all people, with her cheesetastic "Party in the U.S.A." actually got to me when she said, "And you know I'm gonna be okay." Like because this 16-year-old sings it, it must be true.
Yesterday was not so good. I walked into early intervention playgroup, feeling all cool with Miley's teen pop anthem in my head and my iced coffee in hand. The group leader saw me come in, and nodding her head toward a newborn in a little infant carrier said, "Kelley, does that make you excited?" I froze, mute, head down, hair falling around my face. She thought I hadn't heard her, so she asked again: "Kel, does that make you excited?" I couldn't speak. I raised my head to meet her eyes and just started shaking my head "no." Tears streamed out of my eyes and I even made one alien sob noise as the already-seated parents looked at me, standing there, coming apart in front of them all. The rest of the 2-hour meeting was a blur. The group leader was there, hugging me, and thankfully a rocking chair happened to be vacant in the corner near where I stood, rooted to the ground, so that when I was able to sit I didn't have to make my way through the parents, but could just sink into the seat in the corner and keep my head down. I worked on my Ken Ken puzzle book and made sure that my unruly hair was unruly enough to cover my face so that I couldn't be seen too easily as I silently cried throughout the morning. There are a couple of other pregnant moms in the group, and naturally the topic of pregnancy and childbirth comes up a lot in a parents group. One question, asked by one expectant mom to another, "Is the baby really active in your belly?" kicked me the hardest, but as the morning went on I became desensitized and the eyes dried up. I know that I'll be much better able to handle next week's meeting.
Today has been pretty good so far. Nathan's going to a drop-off program in the morning, which leaves me kid-free for a couple of hours. I'm going to look at furniture again, looking at ways to home-ify my drab, vagrants-live-here house. I'll grab an iced coffee and listen to some Stones and, okay, probably some Miley, too.
P.S. My "Uggs" are knock-offs, but my boobs are real. ("No kidding," you're smirking about my teeny booblets.)
People knock Facebook and Twitter and blogging because we are not communicating face to face anymore these days. While I agree that sometimes there is no substitute for holding a friend's hand or seeing their expression while delivering a joke, I'm all for using the internet as a means of connecting with people. I've always been very shy in person, but still have a need to talk about well, everything. Like this miscarriage for instance. Being able to talk about what happened helped me to deal with the confusing feelings of loss and mourning that seemed too big for something that I'd only known about for a little over a week. And wow, did people come through for me! So many women shared their stories and their caring with me via email, blog comment, Facebook, phone call, handwritten note, flowers, and even tearily in person. Had it not been for my big blog mouth, I never would have had such a wide-ranging outreach from friends old and new.
Another thing I've learned from all of you is that women really come through for each other in times like these. Yes, some of us may give each other once-overs at the playground ("Are those real Uggs or knock-offs?") or gossip about each other at practice ("Are those real boobs or did she get a little help?"), but when it comes down to it, we all relate in a fundamental way, and when one of us experiences a painful woman's issue, we drop everything and cry for her. We offer meals, babysitting, hugs, listening ears, and above all, sympathy. I am amazed at how both women I've known for half my life and women I've known for a few months have all come together to offer their support. It's like we have created our own virtual red tent, and we're in it together though we are technically, physically apart.
Thanks to all of you.
I have had ups and downs since I wrote last. Wednesday was good. I didn't cry, even though I saw a lot of friends in person and feared that I would break down or turn to stone upon seeing them. I listened to a lot of music, thanks to Nathan's reminders to "Bring the iPod!" whenever we were in the van. That helped. Miley Cyrus, of all people, with her cheesetastic "Party in the U.S.A." actually got to me when she said, "And you know I'm gonna be okay." Like because this 16-year-old sings it, it must be true.
Yesterday was not so good. I walked into early intervention playgroup, feeling all cool with Miley's teen pop anthem in my head and my iced coffee in hand. The group leader saw me come in, and nodding her head toward a newborn in a little infant carrier said, "Kelley, does that make you excited?" I froze, mute, head down, hair falling around my face. She thought I hadn't heard her, so she asked again: "Kel, does that make you excited?" I couldn't speak. I raised my head to meet her eyes and just started shaking my head "no." Tears streamed out of my eyes and I even made one alien sob noise as the already-seated parents looked at me, standing there, coming apart in front of them all. The rest of the 2-hour meeting was a blur. The group leader was there, hugging me, and thankfully a rocking chair happened to be vacant in the corner near where I stood, rooted to the ground, so that when I was able to sit I didn't have to make my way through the parents, but could just sink into the seat in the corner and keep my head down. I worked on my Ken Ken puzzle book and made sure that my unruly hair was unruly enough to cover my face so that I couldn't be seen too easily as I silently cried throughout the morning. There are a couple of other pregnant moms in the group, and naturally the topic of pregnancy and childbirth comes up a lot in a parents group. One question, asked by one expectant mom to another, "Is the baby really active in your belly?" kicked me the hardest, but as the morning went on I became desensitized and the eyes dried up. I know that I'll be much better able to handle next week's meeting.
Today has been pretty good so far. Nathan's going to a drop-off program in the morning, which leaves me kid-free for a couple of hours. I'm going to look at furniture again, looking at ways to home-ify my drab, vagrants-live-here house. I'll grab an iced coffee and listen to some Stones and, okay, probably some Miley, too.
P.S. My "Uggs" are knock-offs, but my boobs are real. ("No kidding," you're smirking about my teeny booblets.)
Tuesday, October 6, 2009
Bye, bye, baby
I'm not sure how to tell you this, so I'm just going to say it. I am not pregnant anymore. I've had a miscarriage.
Watching soap operas throughout the years, I'd learned that a miscarriage always happens like this: you have a heated confrontation with your husband's lover, then you clutch your abdomen in pain and croak, "Something's wrong. Something's wrong with the baby!" Next scene, you're in a hospital bed, crying as a handsome doctor shakes his head, eyes to the ground. Next scene after that, you're on somebody's yacht, scheming about how to get another baby to pass off as your own...
Turns out that a real-life miscarriage may not happen in this way. I was sitting at my in-laws' house, stuffed from a bowl of GG's homemade beef stew, chatting with my mother-in-law about Nathan. I kept feeling cramps, getting more and more insistant, so I ducked into the bathroom to see if anything was going on Down There. Now, I do things like this to psych myself out all the time. Like, okay, I'll check and see if there's something wrong because I know that there isn't really going to be anything wrong.
Except there was.
I was bleeding, and I was so surprised to see that there actually was something bad happening. So I paged the midwife on call, still thinking that I was being dramatic and that she was going to (kindly) laugh at me about getting overly-anxious over nothing.
Except she didn't.
When the midwife called back - the very same one who had delivered Nathan, actually - she asked me to tell her what was happening. I explained that there was some cramping and some bleeding, and I just wanted to see if I should be worried. "Well," she said nonchalantly, "In a situation like this, when what you're describing happens, we think 'miscarriage.'"
I was dumbfounded, waiting for the rest. But there wasn't much else she could tell me except that I should go in for some bloodwork on Monday morning, and then again on Wednesday morning, so that the hormone levels could be measured and I could know whether my pregnancy was still viable. I awkwardly lingered on the phone with her; I couldn't understand that she was telling me that a) I was probably having a miscarriage, and that b) there wasn't anything that I needed to do, like go to the hospital, and that c) I wouldn't even know for sure until probably Wednesday.
I cried. Jason had already hustled the kids into the van as I'd been awaiting the midwife's call, so all I had to do was walk down the driveway and get in. I cried and shook so hard as I made that walk that the kids must have been terrified. Jason murmured something like, "Mom's not feeling well," and we rode home in silence except for Nathan's repeated questioning: "Why is my mom crying?"
When we got home, I laid in bed with the lights off and the covers over my head, just focusing on feeling what my body was doing. Nathan came in and hugged me and told me that he would make me feel better. And as he snuggled with me, he did.
I hid out in this fashion until bedtime, all the while looking for hope (implantation can cause bleeding and cramps!) but sensing that what was happening was probably not going to turn out to be some weird fluke that we'd laugh about after my delivery. By 7, I understood that there wasn't going to be a baby coming in May. I wiped my face and decided to give the kids a really good tuck-in. I relished reading every page of Nathan's book with him, staring at his profile as I recited the memorized lines. I felt overwhelmed with love for him, and I sang his songs with a sweeter voice than I ever had. When it was the girls' turn, I brought out a new chapter book for us to start reading together: Mathilda by Roald Dahl. As we read, I kept peeking at them, noticing how very beautiful they are. And I hugged those girls like there was no tomorrow.
Later, before I went to bed, I passed what they call the "products of conception," which told us definitively that the baby was gone.
What they didn't tell me on General Hospital was that a miscarriage is not necessarily a boom-bang-and-you're-done kind of thing. For me, it's been a sort of ongoing process as my body says, "Uh, something's not right with this one. Let's call a do-over!" Since Sunday afternoon, I've had cramps and bleeding as the field gets cleared off and reseeded for next time. It's a strange and surreal feeling to be walking around, going about your day(s), doing laundry, making lunch, running errands, all in the process of having a miscarriage.
So, I guess I should apologize to you for putting you in the awkward position of knowing that I've had a miscarriage. If I had done what most people in polite society do, I would have kept quiet about the pregnancy until 12 weeks, and therefore you never would have been the wiser that any of this had happened. Unfortunately, I've never been any good at keeping secrets, and I tend to be a pretty emotional person. As soon as I found out that I was expecting, it became the only thing I could think about, and good lord, how was I going to blog some stupid crap about what I bought at the store today when I was PREGNANT? And how was I going to make small-talk at the car pick-up line when I knew that I was PREGNANT?
So, I told. I honestly never thought that this would happen to me. I was like an arrogant senior rolling his eyes through the drinking-and-driving crash video they show a week before prom. Sure, it could happen, but it wasn't going to happen to me.
Except it did.
And I am sad - really, really sad. But I'll be okay.
Watching soap operas throughout the years, I'd learned that a miscarriage always happens like this: you have a heated confrontation with your husband's lover, then you clutch your abdomen in pain and croak, "Something's wrong. Something's wrong with the baby!" Next scene, you're in a hospital bed, crying as a handsome doctor shakes his head, eyes to the ground. Next scene after that, you're on somebody's yacht, scheming about how to get another baby to pass off as your own...
Turns out that a real-life miscarriage may not happen in this way. I was sitting at my in-laws' house, stuffed from a bowl of GG's homemade beef stew, chatting with my mother-in-law about Nathan. I kept feeling cramps, getting more and more insistant, so I ducked into the bathroom to see if anything was going on Down There. Now, I do things like this to psych myself out all the time. Like, okay, I'll check and see if there's something wrong because I know that there isn't really going to be anything wrong.
Except there was.
I was bleeding, and I was so surprised to see that there actually was something bad happening. So I paged the midwife on call, still thinking that I was being dramatic and that she was going to (kindly) laugh at me about getting overly-anxious over nothing.
Except she didn't.
When the midwife called back - the very same one who had delivered Nathan, actually - she asked me to tell her what was happening. I explained that there was some cramping and some bleeding, and I just wanted to see if I should be worried. "Well," she said nonchalantly, "In a situation like this, when what you're describing happens, we think 'miscarriage.'"
I was dumbfounded, waiting for the rest. But there wasn't much else she could tell me except that I should go in for some bloodwork on Monday morning, and then again on Wednesday morning, so that the hormone levels could be measured and I could know whether my pregnancy was still viable. I awkwardly lingered on the phone with her; I couldn't understand that she was telling me that a) I was probably having a miscarriage, and that b) there wasn't anything that I needed to do, like go to the hospital, and that c) I wouldn't even know for sure until probably Wednesday.
I cried. Jason had already hustled the kids into the van as I'd been awaiting the midwife's call, so all I had to do was walk down the driveway and get in. I cried and shook so hard as I made that walk that the kids must have been terrified. Jason murmured something like, "Mom's not feeling well," and we rode home in silence except for Nathan's repeated questioning: "Why is my mom crying?"
When we got home, I laid in bed with the lights off and the covers over my head, just focusing on feeling what my body was doing. Nathan came in and hugged me and told me that he would make me feel better. And as he snuggled with me, he did.
I hid out in this fashion until bedtime, all the while looking for hope (implantation can cause bleeding and cramps!) but sensing that what was happening was probably not going to turn out to be some weird fluke that we'd laugh about after my delivery. By 7, I understood that there wasn't going to be a baby coming in May. I wiped my face and decided to give the kids a really good tuck-in. I relished reading every page of Nathan's book with him, staring at his profile as I recited the memorized lines. I felt overwhelmed with love for him, and I sang his songs with a sweeter voice than I ever had. When it was the girls' turn, I brought out a new chapter book for us to start reading together: Mathilda by Roald Dahl. As we read, I kept peeking at them, noticing how very beautiful they are. And I hugged those girls like there was no tomorrow.
Later, before I went to bed, I passed what they call the "products of conception," which told us definitively that the baby was gone.
What they didn't tell me on General Hospital was that a miscarriage is not necessarily a boom-bang-and-you're-done kind of thing. For me, it's been a sort of ongoing process as my body says, "Uh, something's not right with this one. Let's call a do-over!" Since Sunday afternoon, I've had cramps and bleeding as the field gets cleared off and reseeded for next time. It's a strange and surreal feeling to be walking around, going about your day(s), doing laundry, making lunch, running errands, all in the process of having a miscarriage.
So, I guess I should apologize to you for putting you in the awkward position of knowing that I've had a miscarriage. If I had done what most people in polite society do, I would have kept quiet about the pregnancy until 12 weeks, and therefore you never would have been the wiser that any of this had happened. Unfortunately, I've never been any good at keeping secrets, and I tend to be a pretty emotional person. As soon as I found out that I was expecting, it became the only thing I could think about, and good lord, how was I going to blog some stupid crap about what I bought at the store today when I was PREGNANT? And how was I going to make small-talk at the car pick-up line when I knew that I was PREGNANT?
So, I told. I honestly never thought that this would happen to me. I was like an arrogant senior rolling his eyes through the drinking-and-driving crash video they show a week before prom. Sure, it could happen, but it wasn't going to happen to me.
Except it did.
And I am sad - really, really sad. But I'll be okay.
Friday, October 2, 2009
Friday Follow-Up
Wow. I have officially known about being pregnant for a week now, and it is starting to sink in. (Sort of.) Most people that I see around in daily life have heard or read the news by now, and everyone has been really excited and supportive. I must confess that I wasn't sure this would be the case. Having four babies seemed, well, excessive, and I was a little worried that people would start making Duggar references or ask me if I was angling for my own reality show.
As you may have guessed, this was not something that Jason and I set out to do. A few years after having the girls, who were born 13 months apart, we considered having another set of two babies close together. Then Nathan was born, and I said, "Whoa ... three is good." I told everyone within earshot that I was D-O-N-E, and yelped things like, "Bite your tongue!" and "Don't even joke about that!" when someone suggested that I might get pregnant again.
A month ago, when I found out that two moms in my early intervention parent group were expecting, I was very smugly unpregnant. (Or so I thought.) "Suckers," I thought to myself while outwardly well-wishing. "I wouldn't want to be starting all over again!"
Two weeks ago, I finished cleaning out my closet and drawers, and threw my maternity clothes and nursing bras into a donation bag with gusto. "I won't be needing THESE anymore!"
And then last week, I peed on three sticks and learned that I was on my way to being the mother of four children. My very first reaction was shock, but with an aftertaste of warm maternal happiness. Even though it was not something I thought I wanted, I am thrilled to be creating this big family. Growing up, I had no siblings at home to play/conspire/fight with, and I always envied my friends who had multiple brothers and sisters. Although I didn't think I'd ever be married and having children, I knew that if I did, I'd want to have the big, bustling "cool" house with lots of kids and their friends congregating in the kitchen after school, eating all of the food and gossiping about which teachers give the lamest homework. So, it turns out that now I have a shot at that. I'm creating the family I always wanted as a kid.
Of course, in my dreams, I was never the one who had to clean the toilets...
As you may have guessed, this was not something that Jason and I set out to do. A few years after having the girls, who were born 13 months apart, we considered having another set of two babies close together. Then Nathan was born, and I said, "Whoa ... three is good." I told everyone within earshot that I was D-O-N-E, and yelped things like, "Bite your tongue!" and "Don't even joke about that!" when someone suggested that I might get pregnant again.
A month ago, when I found out that two moms in my early intervention parent group were expecting, I was very smugly unpregnant. (Or so I thought.) "Suckers," I thought to myself while outwardly well-wishing. "I wouldn't want to be starting all over again!"
Two weeks ago, I finished cleaning out my closet and drawers, and threw my maternity clothes and nursing bras into a donation bag with gusto. "I won't be needing THESE anymore!"
And then last week, I peed on three sticks and learned that I was on my way to being the mother of four children. My very first reaction was shock, but with an aftertaste of warm maternal happiness. Even though it was not something I thought I wanted, I am thrilled to be creating this big family. Growing up, I had no siblings at home to play/conspire/fight with, and I always envied my friends who had multiple brothers and sisters. Although I didn't think I'd ever be married and having children, I knew that if I did, I'd want to have the big, bustling "cool" house with lots of kids and their friends congregating in the kitchen after school, eating all of the food and gossiping about which teachers give the lamest homework. So, it turns out that now I have a shot at that. I'm creating the family I always wanted as a kid.
Of course, in my dreams, I was never the one who had to clean the toilets...
Tuesday, September 29, 2009
Why, yes, they are!
Some weird happenings over the last few weeks.
I was dizzy for a couple of days in a row for no apparent reason.
I've been nauseas on and off for two weeks, and moody as hell.
Last Wednesday night, while Jason was away, I was even more lonely and sad than I usually am when he's traveling for work. I just needed him, but he wasn't here.
I sobbed off and on for ten hours after Nathan did a new autistic-y thing (he flapped his hands) during his therapist's visit. And when he woke at 10:30pm, asking to be hugged and re-tucked, I went in and held him like my life depended on it - so not like me. Normally, we adhere to a strict "Good night, I won't see you 'til morning unless you barf or the house is on fire" policy.
I wanted a lot of bologna-and-potato chip sandwiches.
Last Thursday morning, I had the weirdest feeling that my boobs were a little bigger than usual. And that's when I decided to buy a pregnancy test.
You may remember that Mad was home sick with me at the end of last week - boy, does that make shopping for a pregnancy test interesting. ("Mom, what is that?") I bought a box of two just in case and went home, wondering how I was going to manage to pee in private. The first test gave me a plus sign. No way! I had to pee again almost immediately, so I took the second test. Also a plus sign. Gulp!
Later, after grabbing Annabelle from school, I brought the kids to buy another box of pregnancy tests, a different brand this time. Maybe EPT was pranking me, but First Response would be on the level. When we got home with my purchase, Jason was there - he'd returned early from his trip. I stealthily peed on the third stick while the kids surrounded him and regaled him with stories of the last 24 hours. Two pink lines.
Yup, I'm pregnant.
I told Jason, and the first thing he said was, "I thought so. I noticed that your boobs were a little bigger."
I was dizzy for a couple of days in a row for no apparent reason.
I've been nauseas on and off for two weeks, and moody as hell.
Last Wednesday night, while Jason was away, I was even more lonely and sad than I usually am when he's traveling for work. I just needed him, but he wasn't here.
I sobbed off and on for ten hours after Nathan did a new autistic-y thing (he flapped his hands) during his therapist's visit. And when he woke at 10:30pm, asking to be hugged and re-tucked, I went in and held him like my life depended on it - so not like me. Normally, we adhere to a strict "Good night, I won't see you 'til morning unless you barf or the house is on fire" policy.
I wanted a lot of bologna-and-potato chip sandwiches.
Last Thursday morning, I had the weirdest feeling that my boobs were a little bigger than usual. And that's when I decided to buy a pregnancy test.
You may remember that Mad was home sick with me at the end of last week - boy, does that make shopping for a pregnancy test interesting. ("Mom, what is that?") I bought a box of two just in case and went home, wondering how I was going to manage to pee in private. The first test gave me a plus sign. No way! I had to pee again almost immediately, so I took the second test. Also a plus sign. Gulp!
Later, after grabbing Annabelle from school, I brought the kids to buy another box of pregnancy tests, a different brand this time. Maybe EPT was pranking me, but First Response would be on the level. When we got home with my purchase, Jason was there - he'd returned early from his trip. I stealthily peed on the third stick while the kids surrounded him and regaled him with stories of the last 24 hours. Two pink lines.
Yup, I'm pregnant.
I told Jason, and the first thing he said was, "I thought so. I noticed that your boobs were a little bigger."
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