Humor Me and Pretend You Care!

I had no idea they were even going to run it but apparently something I submitted to the [tag]Huffington Post[/tag] is up over there today. They didn’t give me a link back or a bio so there are probably only three or four people in the whole blogworld that would ever assume that that  Izzy and myself are one in the same but I’m very excited and hope you’ll go read it!

A big thanks to Kvetch for emailing this morning me and clueing me in that I was up at the HP and to Kristen for encouraging me to submit something!

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The photo caption contest is still happening if you want to throw your hat in the ring. The winner and runners-up will be announced Friday!

Make Me Laugh

We need some levity around here, dammit! Unfortunately, with Ernesto headed toward Florida, I’m a bit distracted with trying to figure out where the holy hell we’re gonna go if we evacuate, which at 3am Monday, seems within the realm of possibility. Of course, if you know anything about hurricanes, you know anything can happen and the forecasters are always wrong…

Anyway, I’m leaving the levity in your capable hands, people. Your mission? Caption the following photo with something brilliant and make me laugh out loud! The lucky winner, to be judged by yours truly, will receive their choice of an Elexa shirt that is a little snug for my taste but reputedly a great boob enhancer or some temporary tattoos that say “Blog This” and “Mommy BlogHer”, courtesy of the ladies at Mommybloggers. And if you don’t want either of those, I’ll see what else I can dig up.

It’s all on you now. Make me proud!

And if you just can’t get enough of my drivel, go check out my rant fair and balanced post over at Props & Pans :)

Everything that could have been…

PLEASE NOTE: If you’re pregnant, you should probably skip this post.

I read something today that brought back a sad memory. In the abstract, it doesn’t really hurt anymore and that is where I keep it. It is the place where I keep all painful memories; that vague place where thoughts and feelings have been forcibly separated. I believe it’s what they call a ‘coping mechanism’.

I can talk about my [tag]miscarriage[/tag] rather clinically and dispassionately now, as if it happened to someone else but sometimes, something — a word, a phrase, a similar story will crack open that door and the memories start furtively darting out, refusing to comply and go back where they belong.

For the second time in two days I have been reminded of the [tag]baby[/tag] that is no more. The one I wanted so badly. My husband was less enthusiastic about the prospect of being a father. He admitted that he was scared but had conceded at my insistence.

We were at a wedding when I started cramping and spotting. I had noticed, in the days previous that I had been feeling less…[tag]pregnant[/tag]. But I was 11 weeks and nearing that first trimester finish line. I assumed that was the reason for my feeling better.

Later that night my doctor met my husband and I at the hospital as my cramps were getting stronger. The doctor couldn’t find a heartbeat. I was told to come to the office the next morning for an ultrasound as there was no technician available.

I went alone, hoping against hope that the doctor was simply mistaken and the baby was fine.

There was still no heartbeat. The fetus only measured 8 weeks. Inside me was our tiny baby and it was no longer alive. I wanted to yell and scream and curse God but I didn’t. I just cried quietly. Nobody comforted me; just a few pats on the back from the nurses and a date for an outpatient [tag]D&C[/tag] the following Friday.

In the days that followed, I cried and mourned and sometimes denied that this was happening. Why hadn’t anyone told me that as many as 50% of all pregnancies end in miscarriage? Why didn’t anyone tell me not to become attached?

Sometimes I swore I could feel my baby move inside me, not wanting to accept that it had probably died weeks before. Not understanding how God could foist death upon me yet again and force me to carry it around inside me.

Why?

Was it me? Did I do something to make this happen?

Bad karma? Bad luck?

Why?

The night before my D&C, I started having contractions. One way or another, it would finally be out of me. But as painful as the contractions were, the baby was not delivered. It was like some cruel joke.

I finally accepted the inevitable when I was on the table in the OR, counting backwards; my [tag]sadness[/tag] drifting away with my psyche on a cloud of general anesthesia. The baby would soon be gone; cut out with a sharp surgical instrument, destined to become medical waste. Everything that could have been would soon be gone. It about ripped my heart out.

My husband was racked with guilt because he hadn’t been more excited about the baby. I simply mourned her (she was a girl in my mind). I still think about her on rare occasions. I’ll do the math, figure out how old she would be now. I still have the EPT somewhere and for a brief moment, when I see it, I’m reminded of how happy I was when those two pink lines appeared.

I was told a thousand times by well-meaning friends and family… “Sometimes there is no reason. It just happens. You can try again.”

While their words seemed awkward and cold at the time, they were right and I did go on to have two more children, both healthy and perfect in every way.

It’s been almost 8 years and until now, I’ve never discussed my feelings about this at length. Nobody that knows you wants to hear about this kind of stuff. They just want you to move on and be normal. So to spare everyone else the discomfort of rubbing elbows with the unpleasantness, I’ve never allowed myself the luxury of talking or writing about it, which always felt vaguely disrespectful. It feels good to acknowledge, out loud (so to speak), that she existed.

And please don’t worry. I’m really okay. This has just been hovering around in the back of my brain, sort of quietly nagging at me to give it a voice, to give it credence. So I finally did.

And if you’ve made it this far, thanks for listening.

Fourteen

I know not everyone is interested in the details of my son’s fourteenth month. If you’d prefer to skip them, there are some great links at the end, handpicked just for you, you stone-hearted meanie. Kidding. KIDDING! No, really. But don’t just click and run. At least let me know if you liked any of them.

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Dear P,

You’re 14 months old this week and the changes are coming faster than I can keep up with them. All over the house are little notes to myself about the new things you’re doing and learning. Of course, now that I want to commit them to a monthly post, I can only find a few.

First, I want to tell you that I’m sorry I haven’t taken you to get your portraits done as religiously as I did with your sister. I had hers done every three months until she was a year. You? You’ve had them done twice. BUT in my defense, I’ve taken at least a gigabyte of photographs of you with my own camera and someday, hopefully this decade, I’m going to do something beautiful and creative with them.

This month your personality, though always charming and mischievous, has really started to blossom. When your daddy and sister leave in the morning, you run to the foyer and start waving furiously at the door after they close it. And today, after daddy closed the door, you said “Ba ba.” Though you say a handful of words, that was the first time you’ve ever said “bye bye” and I was the only one to hear it!

Now, instead of just giving me an open-mouthed kiss on my cheeks or mouth, you now do this suction kind of thing so a kiss feels like a light little hickey for a moment. Just knowing that you want to show me affection with a kiss melts my heart into a puddle of pink goo. I love that we are so attached!

When you’re upset, you call me by saying “Muh muh” but when you’re happy and settled, it’s more like “Mahhhh” or a slow, lilting “mahhh mahhh” that sounds like a little sigh of contentment.

When I sing the verse of “Rock a Bye Your Bear” that goes “la la la la laaaaa,” you sing it back to me, but with out the melody. You always respond positively to music, which thrills your Daddy to no end.

Your climbing skills have also exploded this month and you excel at taking years off of my life with your antics. The other day your sister had the ladder out so she could get on the top bunk of her bed with her friend. Imagine my surprise when I heard you giggling and went in there to find you on the top bunk. You were so pleased with yourself and with being up so high. I humored you and let you explore but made sure to follow your every move so I could catch you if you fell over the side. It’s no longer even surprising to find you sitting on the end table these days and pretty soon, I expect I will find you on the dinner table, as well.

Your deep and abiding love for Bootsy, our cat, is still going strong. Whenever he is within three feet of you, you will make a point to walk up to him, pat him on the back and keep going. You also continue to lay your head on him to show him affection and in turn, he patiently tolerates all your patting, head rubbing and squeals of joy, which is why we all adore him so much.

Your appetite is a force of nature in it’s own right. I don’t when or why but all of a sudden, I cannot feed you enough and anything I have MUST be shared with you. I’m happy that you will eat anything your limited teeth will allow but sometimes I honestly wonder if you have a tape worm or something. You were never as hungry as you suddenly are now. Some of your favorite things are Amy’s [tag]Organic[/tag]as the spinach and feta. You also like Annie’s organic cheese crackers, Goldfish, Cheerios, Yo-Baby yogurt and applesauce.

You now have 8 teeth and 2 molars with the other two just starting to bulge through your gums. I’m glad to see those big old chompers, as they explain a lot of fussiness on your part. But during those times when you’ve not been fussy, you express your happiness and approval by clapping your hands with great delight. Of course, we all find this terribly charming and fall all over ourselves trying to please you so we can be rewarded with “the clap”

Your affection for your sister continues to grow by leaps and bounds. You always followed her around but now you spontaneously hug her and climb on her, doing your signature head rest/rub that indicates how much you love her and the feeling is clearly mutual. That my [tag]children[/tag] love each other means everything to me. I hope you two will always be close.

I [tag]love[/tag] you, my darling [tag]baby[/tag] boy, more than words could ever express. To say that I am attached to you would be an understatement. I inhale you, wishing I could envelop you inside me and hold onto you forever. I crave you when you’re not with me and I lament daily that I cannot keep you this little.

Always know that you are loved beyond measure…

Forever,
[tag]Mama[/tag]

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• You have to see these photos. They’re so awesome that they look fake but they’re not! They are what’s called HDR (high definition range) rendered from 3 photos of the same scene, taken at different exposures. It’s way cool.

• Many of you may have seen this already but if you haven’t, it’s hilarious!

• You were wondering what to do with all your old bras, right? Then click here.

• And if you don’t wear a bra, this might be more your speed.

• Check out Karen Rani’s new blog, Motherless. But beware, you might cry at the brutal honesty and emotion of this powerful site.

Two turntables and a microphone…

Urghhhh…I had such a bad headache earlier tonight that I didn’t do anything but sleep on the couch for hours. I feel better except it’s 2:40am and I should probably try and go back to sleep since I have to be up in oh…about 4 hours.

I did, however, write a post over at Props and Pans earlier in the evening when I wasn’t feeling so horrendous. The ladies in the house might find it both useful and dare I say, a tad amusing, and the guys..well, um, I dunno. Maybe you can report the info back to your wives and they’ll be all “Woooo! He cares about my feminine hygiene issues. I think I want sex tonight”

Or not…lol

Anyway, that’s where it’s at today. I’ll be back here mañana.

Go! Go!

(Remind me to tell you about how Wendy Boucher whipped my ass in Scrabble on Saturday night)