It takes all kinds...

What is it about public service destinations that attract such... um... strange people??

I went to the post office two days ago. We have a PO Box, and I also wanted to send a little package off to a friend and her teething baby. As I collected my mail from the box, my ears caught the raspy voice of a man at the counter around the corner.

Rounding the corner to take my place in line, I saw the owner of the raspy voice. A man, mid-30's, perhaps? He had fiery red hair that had grown far too long than is normal for anyone with a Y chromosome. It was pulled into a ponytail at the nape of his neck. His skin was pale and freckly, and damaged from the sun. His teeth, I was about to discover, left something to be desired. Like a full set. He wore black denim pants, a dark blue t-shirt and rugged, worn black sneakers, and he was pushing a giant jogging stroller.

"...well you see, we moved from trailer seven to trailer eight 'bout two weeks ago. That's when my social security check went missin', an' I need that check..." His head twitched to the left.

As the woman behind the counter tried, in vain, to explain to him that he was in the wrong place, his gaze drifted to me, and then to Camden, who was giggling and smiling from his baby bucket.

Penny Postal Worker vanished behind a door to retrieve another employee, and the man turned in my direction.

"How old?" I recognized the question for its two purposes. First, to determine age, and second, to determine gender. (Confused? When I say "HE'S six months old," the quizzical stranger will know how to respond without having offended mama bear. You've all done it--even I have. Anyway.)

"Six months!" I smiled.

"This one here," he motioned toward the stroller, "he's eleven months."

I smiled again. "Almost a year, then!"

This is where things got weird. Really, really weird.

"My lady--she's back home at the trailer--we just got 'er home from the hospital today. She had one popped out two days ago. Eighteen week-er. Just popped right out. So it's a bad day today."

Mortified, eyes popping out of my head and jaw on the floor, I attempted to maintain my composure. Among other things, such thoughts raced through my head as 'who says that?? popped.out. Popped out??'

"I'm so sorry" was nearly all I could muster, and it came after a long, awkward pause. "We lost a baby before this little guy," I motioned toward Camden. "...it's hard." I concluded.

Penny Postal Worker returned in time to save me from any additional, awkward conversation.

After I paid to ship my package, I loaded Camden into the car and made my way off down the road. I spotted the man walking down the street toward his trailer talking on his shiny, new-looking cell phone, cigarette in hand.

Priorities... right?

99 Days!

Can't believe I'm saying this today... 99 days to go until my estimated due date!!

Where I'm standing today seems so, so different than the place I was in last November. I had a hard time, then, believing I'd ever make it to this point. I had lost all confidence in my body and its ability to do what it's supposed to do. I felt weathered, hopeless, and like a failure.

Today, looking at the marvelous things that are going on, I find my self constantly in a state of shock and awe. I'm DOING this. I'm physically helping this little person to grow and develop, so that when he is good and ready, he can make his mark on the world.

Any Ugly Pair of Shoes

I am wearing a pair of shoes.
They are ugly shoes.
Uncomfortable Shoes.
I hate my shoes.
Each day I wear them, and each day I wish I had another pair.
Some days my shoes hurt so bad that I do not think I can take another step.
Yet, I continue to wear them.
I get funny looks wearing these shoes.
They are looks of sympathy.
I can tell in others eyes that they are glad they are my shoes and not theirs.
They never talk about my shoes.
To learn how awful my shoes are might make them uncomfortable.
To truly understand these shoes you must walk in them.
But, once you put them on, you can never take them off.
I now realize that I am not the only one who wears these shoes.
There are many pairs in the world.
Some women are like me and ache daily as they try and walk in them.
Some have learned how to walk in them so they don't hurt quite as much.
Some have worn the shoes so long that days will go by
before they think of how much they hurt.
No woman deserves to wear these shoes.
Yet, because of the shoes I am a stronger women.
These shoes have given me the strength to face anything.
They have made me who I am.
I will forever walk in the shoes of a woman who has lost a child.

Author Unknown

Thinking of you...

A dear, sweet friend found out that she lost her baby today... I am at a complete loss for words, and so stunned over the news. We all thought for sure this pregnancy of hers was going well, and we just *knew* the end results were going to be the best possible.

Whatever you do... pray, wish on stars... please send her your positive vibes for a speedy physical AND emotional recovery.

NILMDTS

Some of you might remember... a while back I posted something about an organization called "Now I Lay Me Down To Sleep."

Imagine my surprise a couple of days ago when I saw THIS STORY on the Today Show.

I cried like a baby through the whole story... but the family in the story just encouraged me to follow my dream even more. I really do want to some day be able to be a part of this organization. Some day.

Just thought someone might find the video clip interesting...

When will this get easier?

Someone should create a service designed to do the following:

1. Figure out discreetly and indirectly when someone has suffered a miscarriage/fetal demise/still birth.

2. Contact all, and I do mean ALL, of the companies who are sending things to this person's house. These companies would include, but not be limited to:

a. Formula companies.
b. Diaper companies.
c. The company that keeps sending me these DAMN *free* swaddling blankets.
d. Viacord*. (see footnote)
e. The Gerber Life Grow Up Plan... or whatever it's called.

3. Get said companies to STOP sending their freebies, magazines, letters, coupons...

*(Evidently, shouting into the phone, "my baby is DEAD!" does NOT prompt them to remove you from their calling list.)

Now... which one of my entrepreneurial friends wants to take on this task? Hmm? and when will this get easier?

Worried...

Ugh... where do I begin? What should I do?

I'm terrified about the idea of trying again, now that I know there might be a problem with our house, now that I know there's the chance (a very minute, slim chance... but a chance) that this whole miserable mess is related to the place where we tuck ourselves in every night.

I don't want to put babies on hold.. I don't want to wait... but I almost feel obligated to. What should I do?

Not looking forward to today...

Today just hasn't been getting any better.

On November 27th, I delivered our little Brody, and here I am, January 27th, two months later. This morning, AF showed up, to add to the list of things I'm not thrilled about on a day like today.

Tonight, Ryan leaves for Arizona.

And, something new has begun to interrupt my peaceful moments. Let me explain:

The house we live in is owned by Ryan's grandparents, and we're lucky enough to be living here rent-free, which is helping us to keep up with our big student loan payments, etc. Well, the house is in a somewhat less than desirable area, out in the toolies where things aren't as well-controlled, and the other day I came to find out that at one point in time a few years ago, methamphetamine was likely being made here. I don't think there was ever an actual "bust," and so it stands to reason, at least in my mind, that because there was no true "bust," there was no true clean-up either.

So, me being me, I started to think about the residual "stuff" left behind from "cooking" meth... on the walls, the floors, inside cabinets, in the attic, in the plumbing, the septic tank, etc., etc., etc. and so I asked about it during a conversation with some fellow miscarriage-survivors. One of the ladies was kind enough to Google search the topic for me, and she came up with this site. I started reading through the information on the site last night, looking for possible "effects" of meth lab exposure, and there it was... that dreaded word. Miscarriage. It was almost like the word had been underlined and italicized there on the page for me.

So now I'm trying to wrap my mind around this possibility, and quite frankly, I'm terrified. I feel like I've taken five giant steps backwards today, and I don't really see myself making up that lost ground before the day brings itself to an end. I sort of feel... stranded... today.

Fluffy and other musings...

I'm starting to feel like Fluffy again today... for those of you who missed out on that conversation, read this.

Oh what fun! I've just noticed today that my Blog has been added to this Blog Directory. Oh how I wish it were some other directory, about bringing home baby, bringing up baby, or the like... but it is not, and for right now, that is ok. I don't suppose it's really much fun at all that I've been added, because no one should ever have to be added here, and these Blogs should not exist, but they do. I only hope that maybe my Blog will help someone find some comfort, or at least feel less alone, in whatever grief has come their way.

One of those days...

Today was one of those days.

It was one of the days where I feel like the world is gradually caving in around me, and no one can see it but me.

I was feeling somewhat anxious all week about today, because I knew today would mean a birthday party for a sweet little set of twins, who have just recently turned two. But I didn't want to miss the party, so I put on my best happy face, and went in feeling optimistic, gifts wrapped and in-hand. I arrived before some of the other guests, and listened quietly as they trickled in, all greeting the family with gifts and cheery "hello's." I hid in the kitchen while everyone enjoyed cake and ice cream, because it was more quiet there... unlike the living room, where children were screaming and adults were talking.

The party was just your average family birthday, cake, candles, singing and some gifts... there were about 15 people in attendance. But to me, the crowd felt huge. I've been struggling with that since the miscarriage... crowds really just seem to overwhelm my senses, and make me feel trapped. I call it sensory overload.

The kitchen wasn't enough to protect me, though, from the arrival of an older couple whose names I cannot remember. They shuffled in through the front door, gifts in hand, and promptly started to "ooh" and "aah" over their newly born grandson, who, thank goodness, was not in attendance. Perhaps he's due any day, not born yet. I cannot recall the details, nor do I want to. Either way, the conversation continued about this sweet new baby boy... who will be called Brody. Yep... MY baby's name... OUR precious Brody. My body went numb, and I could feel myself shaking. I felt like I might scream. Why here? Why now? Why the SAME NAME??

Either way, what's done is done... and now I feel like crap. I feel empty... I feel like someone else is living my life, and I'm watching from the outside, trying to narrate. Trying to make it all work out in the end.

To make matters even worse...

Oh my god... I thought I felt blindsided before. Are you ready for a doozie?

I went to my appointment today... and found out that the cut-off "size" for a D&C is 12 weeks. The baby stopped developing at 13.5 weeks, making me ineligible for the procedure by a week and a half.

The only option they have deemed safe for me, physically, is to be checked in to the hospital (in the labor & deliver ward, no less) where I'll be given medication every 4 hours or so to basically force my body to go in to labor. I'll have contractions/cramping, the medication will most likely make me sick, and it could take longer than 24 hours to complete the whole process.

I feel absolutely sick to my stomach. I've never had a hospital stay that I was old enough to remember (rotavirus at 9 months old, out patient surgery at 5 years...) and hospitals make me feel uneasy when I'm just a visitor, let alone a patient. I'm scared about the piddly things, like an IV and taking pain medication... scared about the nausea... but I'm obviously scared about what I'm going to experience, more than anything else.

Thank you all for your encouragement... it means a lot to me, and to Ryan. I'll be back soon to give everyone an update on how I'm feeling and what's going to happen next.

A change of plans...

Well... I think yesterday was probably one of the hardest things we'll ever have to go through. I feel blindsided.

About a week and a half ago, the baby stopped growing, so we lost him somewhere between then and yesterday.

I saw my doctor at 1:30 for the spotting and what-not, but she didn't seem worried at all, and mentioned she saw a small tear on my cervix that looked like the cause of the spotting... and then she used the Doppler to listen for the heartbeat and got nothing. So, it was over to the miniature ultrasound machine that they can use in the office... and no movement. Next, we went over to the hospital, where they had agreed to squeeze me in for an ultrasound... and waited from 2:30 until 5:30 to hear the news.

My next task is to talk with a doctor Monday morning about either waiting this out, or scheduling a D&C. I'm leaning toward the D&C simply because I don't want to just wait and see what happens... I feel like I'd be more miserable physically and mentally for a longer period of time, and that's the last thing either of us need.

Worry...

Today hasn't been a good day. I'm worried today, and just somewhat "off."

I'm worried today after reading someone's blog about a blighted ovum (basically, a baby who never properly developed, turning into a small bundle of cells and things... a very early miscarriage.) and her issues with getting (and staying) pregnant.

I shouldn't have read the blog... it made me nervous. It seems like every site I visit has some mention of miscarriage, and I wish it would all just go away! It's hard to "just skip over it" and not read the bad stuff... it's this strange curiosity.

My ultrasound is quickly approaching and I'm so scared! What if we go in and something is wrong? What if we can't see the tiny little heartbeat on the screen?

I want to be optimistic, and odds are everything will be just fine and dandy, but I can't help but worry. I worry that I've told too many people too early in the game. I worry that something will be wrong. I worry about how I'll feel (and Ryan) if something is wrong. How do you move on from something so horrible? Let's hope I don't have to find out.

Let's face it: I'm crazy... and I worry too much.