Category: miscarriage


Fuck No

Worst wake up call.

I just found out this morning on the way to work and I am So fucking sorry. I’m crying like an idiot at work for her and everyone thinks there is something wrong with me. I wish I could make this better. I wish I could be with her right now. I wish we could just cry together and tell the world to fuck off for doing this to her and hold on to her until it all goes away.

I want to do something and I know that there is nothing that I can do.

Mo is just over 22 weeks pregnant and last night her water broke. Last I heard, they are giving it until morning with the hope and prayer that some water starts to replenish itself, but it’s not looking good. If not, they will have to induce.

I know she’s strong, but now is the time for us all to be strong for her. Please send her your thoughts and prayers by email if you have her email address or by commenting on her last blog post. She really needs us right now guys.

I love you Mo. I’m so sorry.

Day of the little angels

November 1st comes again. One of the few days that comes to stick out in my mind now seeing as it is the Day of the Little Angels or Day of the Innocents. Ok, it’s a Mexican holiday, but I choose to recognize it too. Maybe you remember me posting about it last year, maybe not.

Really, I’m just out here to remind us that today is a day to (aside from our normal remembrance) honor the memories of our babies that cannot be with us. I wont be buying them any toys, I can’t make their favorite foods, but maybe I’ll light a candle and say a prayer for them. Maybe I’ll tell them a story and how much I love them. Maybe it wont be much of a stretch since I already talk to myself anyways. 😉

The year of nephews

Well, that’s it, it’s finished. Like I’ve mentioned, 5/6 of my sisters were having babies this year and the last one popped on friday. So the large part of me is cheering “YAY, no more pregnant sisters!” (yet) and another part of me is a little nervous that I’m now completely surrounded by babies.

They. Are. Everywhere.

I’ve recently gotten to the point where I am better with babies again. I’ve spent a long time now just not really acknowledging them much. I never really hold them. Well, other than the one time last year when I took the first of this years bunch off for about a 30 minute snuggle and cry. That was the only time I’d ever really touched any of my nephews (let alone any other baby) until this summer when my older brother had his son. For some reason I was drawn to that boy like he was my own. I guess it’s hard to hold back when there is no way to deny that a child is so obviously of your blood. He (W) is like my brothers doppelganger. But now the last two of the bunch are out too and I’m trying my best to get back to snuggling the babies. It doesn’t feel natural, let me tell you. And I never thought I’d say that holding babies is awkward and unnatural (except W) but I’m just being honest saying that it is.

That will change with time again, right? I was never like that before. Just since my miscarriages.

It has to get better, ’cause they are everywhere.

It’s done….kinda

If it wasn’t so depressing, I’d have laughed at the talk I had with Monster today. Ok, I did laugh a little, but who wouldn’t have seen it coming? I’m trying to have a serious talk with a three year old.

I was laying down reading and Monster was flapping around on the bed, driving his car on my book and trying to convince me it was a turtle. All was normal. Then he starts tracing on my back and he asks me “why did you want feet on your back?”. So I try and tell him, not really knowing the words I want even though I’ve had a long time to think about this.

Me: “I wanted the feet to remember my babies that aren’t with me anymore”

Monster: “Why?”

Me: “Well sometimes when mommies are growing a baby in their tummy, something happens and you don’t get to keep the baby. Something goes wrong and the baby dies…”

Monster: <insert crumpled irritation here> “I’m not talking about BABIES! I’m talking about TATTOOS!”

Me: “Yes, but I got the tattoos as a way to remember my babies and keep them close to me”

Monster: “Close to you?”

Me: “Should we read the story?”

Monster: “Yep”

So we sat down together and read this story that I ordered last year and donated to my local MOPS group. I was hoping that this would help to explain to him what had happened seeing as I often mention Darla and during my last pregnancy (I was never able to name that baby so I just call it Baby) he would regularly talk to my stomach and tell me when Baby was sleeping or awake. Immediately after I miscarried he just stopped mentioning Baby even though I never really told him what happened.

Monster: “What does died mean?”

Me: “Well, it’s like if someone goes away but they can never ever come back again”

Monster: “Is it like killing bad guys?”

Me: “Kinda, but we don’t kill people. Besides, it’s rude.”

Monster: “What’s on your face?”

Me: “A pimple”

Monster: “Why?”

Me: “It just happens sometimes. It will go away on its own”

Monster: “Let’s have a snack. Can I have a peanut butter and jelly sandwich?”

And I knew I’d completely lost him. I didn’t bother pulling out Darla’s ashes, or the ring that I wear that some of her ashes are in. I accepted the hugs and the gentle arm strokes he gave me when I cried a little. Tried to answer his questions as best I could for a three year old. I didn’t really know what to say when he asked why babies turn into angels or how to explain that killing bad guys wasn’t really along the same lines as a baby dying. I guess next time he asks I’ll try again and just go from there. I know he remembers what I tell him, but understanding it is a much different story.

But it’s a start, right?

The tattoos

Believe it or not, they are done. It took a little hand holding and deleting email from our interactions to prevent me from throwing things at him, but it ended up coming out well. I’m even pleased to say that he apologized for the fuck ups and admitted that he’d been skim reading the emails and after I ripped a strip off him last week he went back and read my initial email that had all my VERY straight forward instructions in it. Yay for me, I guess?

But at least it’s done. And I’m really happy with how they have turned out. No to mention getting tattoos is almost as good as a message for me since I have a crazy high pain tolerance and the light weight of the persons arms on my back with the vibration of the machine nearly puts me to sleep (and has in the past). But he had a fancy-ass new kind of machine and it was the gentlest tattoo(s) I’ve ever had.

It’s not a great shot. The whole slathered in oil thing and my camera being a jerk is making for a fuzzy picture (that and I’m trying to get Hubby to stop playing WOW for two seconds to do it so he’s not really paying much attention). I’ll get a better picture of it shortly, but it gives you the general idea. I’ll put a picture of the other up with a different post about it too.

So, I guess now is the time to sit down with Monster and talk about this. I’ve got the tattoo, the story, the ashes, now I just need to time to sit down and do this. It’s so rare that I’m busy, but it is Thanksgiving weekend and Hubby and I are out today to celebrate our 8th anniversary.  I guess maybe it will be Monday.

Holy Crap! is one year old

It’s been a year. Can you believe it? A year since I started this blog. A year since I was so full of grief and loss that I couldn’t keep it to myself anymore.

I felt so alone, desperate to find others in the same position. Wishing to help others by my experience even if it was only to prevent them from feeling as alone as I did.

I wanted people to talk about it. I was so tired of miscarriage being a taboo subject, people made to feel that they had to keep it hushed up like it was shameful. Do we hide our grief when our parents die? Our brothers, sisters, friends? Our living children? No. People expect grief and mourning. So why are we supposed to hide it when we lose an unborn child?

So, months after my second loss, I decided that not only would I talk about it to others, but I’d write about my experience and hope that it could reach others. And then I found you guys. A whole community of women sharing in the same struggle, each in their own way, and I can honestly say that I have never been so grateful for a group of strangers in my life. And many of us aren’t really strangers anymore.

You guys have seen me through some dark times and some grade A quality denial, nearly giving up but then hopping back on that overly flogged horse for one more try. You guys have listened and supported, not judging when I needed to get things off my chest that were less than sweet, laughed with me and cried with me too. We all know that this journey can make us a little less than sane and at times others may question whether or not our logic is human logic, but at least we know we’re NOT alone here. We can be crazy with vegetable soup logic together.

I don’t know how much I’ve grown in the last year, maybe not at all. I know that I’m no longer nearly debilitated (that sounds like a made up word) with grief. I can go more than 60 seconds without focusing on my losses. I can talk about my miscarriages to others without turning into a puddle (I didn’t say without emotion). And the biggest thing, I can feel some hope for the future. I may never raise another child. My son may never have brothers or sisters. I may never get pregnant again or I may have another loss. I don’t know. But at least I can HOPE that someday Mo’s Flying Spaghetti Monster will deem me worthy of the gift of another child (through any means…anyone have a spare they want to send my way?).

So thank you guys. Thanks for witnessing my crazy ass go through it all, but mostly just for being here. I’m going to keep on keeping on, keep hoping, and well…keep being a crazy ass for the most part. But at least I know I’m going to be ok.

And just because I’m a big fan of the laughing…

The Help. Have you read it? (this isn’t a book review)

I’m only ~ half way or a little more but I have to say I’m a little surprised with myself. If you haven’t read it, I’m not giving any real spoilers here so don’t worry. But I will say that I like the book so far.

So, I’m reading this and there is a scene where the maid is trying to get into the bathroom to check on her boss because she doesn’t believe her when she says “go away, I’m fine”. She gets in there and finds a bloody toilet and so on and so forth, finds that the lady has lost a baby. She proceeds to give her crap “If you were pregnant then why the hell have you been boozing it up” (Ok, those are my words, not theirs) and  the lady says it’s not alcohol but a “catching tonic” from the native tribe near where she’s from.

“You can’t trust them Indians. Don’t you know we poisoned their corn? What if she trying to poison you?”

Maybe I’m going to hell, I’ve never been politically correct by any stretch, but I laughed and laughed. I don’t recall anything about poisoned corn in school, but maybe in Canada we left the corn alone? Or maybe I just didn’t pay attention (which I didn’t really in social studies).

But what I realized was that I had read over that whole scene and laughed at the black maid who is pissed about the white people treating them like shit while she’s being racist to the natives.

When did this happen? At what point did I get to a place where I could read about a miscarriage (and it was a pretty similar bathroom scene to my last miscarriage too) and not be effected? Just keep on going like the rest of the story. I didn’t think that it would ever happen. It’s not like “You planted tulips? Hey, I planted tulips too!” <insert high-five for a shared experience here>

Part of me is happy about it. That means I’m moving on more, right? But then there is the part of me that thinks “How could you? You just glossed right over that like they were cooking.” It made me feel kinda heartless. I figure only people who’ve never experienced a miscarriage should be able to do that.

Am I healing or am I just so jaded that I’ve started to ignore everything?

I had called and talked to a guy about getting my tattoo, what was it, two weeks ago? I gave him my info and we chatted about what I wanted for a while. I sent him some examples of things I liked and the I used the site he recommended to find the font I wanted for the writing. Then he said he’d get back to me.

After a week of  nothing I sent him a little “how’s it going?” message. I get back that everything is good and it’s done. ? Well…? You gonna show me? Then he tells me that I have to book and put in a deposit before they show me the stuff to make sure that people don’t just take the artwork from them and start shopping around at other places. Reasonable, right? I can understand that logic but it would have been faster for him to tell me that first. I’ve only ever done the “go in and talk directly to them” style of things, never having all this back and forth from long distance so I was a little out of the loop. So I finally get the appointment booked and send him an email that it’s done and I’m excited to see what he’s done for me. That was Friday.

Today, finally, I get a message saying with what he’s got for me….and it’s exactly what I had sent him. It’s not even placed how I said I wanted it. The feet are just an exact copy of the example I liked best. I’m not saying that I wouldn’t want those exact looking feet used, but when someone says “so people don’t just take the artwork and start shopping around elsewhere” don’t you expect that they’d have changed things up so that it is in fact their artwork? And the text was just a cut and paste of the words using the fonts I wanted.  Which was fine except that I wanted “Darla” curved around the bottom foot. I wanted to see if I liked the look of it. And I had said I wanted two feet, not two set, but who cares, two sets is probably less confusing to the onlookers.

So I say to the guy “Isn’t that just a cut and paste of what I sent you?” and specified what I wanted in a polite but to the point message. Including not wanting the last “j” capitalized and please don’t forget the “d”.

And he sends me the message “Here I just cut and pasted your message back to you.HA… thanks for the input.” Then, and this is the good part, 30 minutes later, I actually get the full message I sent him cut and pasted back to me. I’m REALLY hoping it just took that long to get through because if he had that bad of a blonde moment while he was trying to be sassy, I just don’t know how serious I’ll ever be able to take him. As is, I’m giving him one more go before I just cancel my appointment and go somewhere else.

And While writing, he just sent me back this.

Are we forgetting that he had me pick the font I liked? Why did he just fuck with that? Does he think that I want swirls because I’m a girl? I’d have picked swirly fucking font if I wanted swirly font! This should really be simple. I didn’t tell him he had to change it, just that he made it sound like he did. I feel like I have to go drawl it for him myself. If I was standing in front of this guy we could have had this done in ten minutes and not two weeks.

 

Minor Funk

Putting in a song that makes me smile since I’m grumpy. The Me First and the Gimme Gimmes version is preferred but I couldn’t attach a clip.

Today was Monster’s first day back at school for the year. Maybe it’s just my mood today but I’m really starting to wonder if I like many kids that aren’t my own. Probably just me.

I had my slumber party with LB last night. Nothing out of the ordinary but it was nice to spend time with him. We watched the Princess and the Frog or whatever that newer Disney movie is called and it was cute but Monster is very concerned about those crazy-ass voodoo masks and why they took the bad guy away and I’m just not up to explaining Voodoo to a 3 yr old. Hell, I can’t explain it to myself! Alls I know is that it’s in the South, they talk in a way that makes me smile and giggle with a jumble of french in there, that there’s a lot of spicy food, and that voodoo is creepy. And that could easily be all incorrect information due to TV.

So, my minor funk started out with getting a crap sleep. I forgot to bring PJ’s since…well…I don’t wear any and it didn’t occur to me to bring them. I dug out some clothes that I have bagged in the back of my car trying to remember to drop them off at a donation bin but never do. I was wearing jogging pants and a t-shirt that were ~2 sizes too small and laying in a foreign bed in a foreign room and it was too hot. Monster and I tossed all night and kept each other up a good part of it. I’m really not used to sleeping in beds other than my own and occasionally at my parents. In summation, I was tired.

Then at school they were doing the “get to know the kids” portion and would ask them question and if it applied to the kid, they’d stand up. What does Monster stand up to? “Stand up if you have a sister”. I tried to get him to sit down (I was the volunteer parent today) and he turned around and glared at me (would have been funny if it were for a different question) “yes I do!”. Yay, for drawing attention there. What am I going to say though? Ya, actually he does/ did but that she’s dead, to a group of 3/ 4 yr olds? No. So I just left him to have his turn, like many other children that only stood up because other kids were too, and I had to have a little bathroom break to cry. Obviously Darla has been on my mind more than normal the last few weeks.

Just top that off with I’ve barely scene Hubby in the last month (9 days I think I got?) and I’m just a little lonely for him. And I think I ovulated today…and he’s coming home tomorrow night. Go team me.

 

Ashes

As I was cleaning up to stash stuff away to paint my room the other day, Monster comes up to me with his usual “what’s this?”. To be honest, I don’t usually look because if I say “you tell me” he already knows what he’s holding. So when I hear a bag crumpling and a bit of a sandy kinda noise to go along with the “I asked YOU!” I got a little curious. I turned around to find him attempting to dig into a bag of ashes. I didn’t want to traumatize him with “that’s your baby sister” but I couldn’t think of anything else to say so I just said “that’s Darla” as I nabbed the bag as fast as I could without making him feel like he was doing something bad and popped them back into the box they came in from the funeral home. Noted, DO NOT leave ashes within reach of a child unless you want to risk a mess.

This also counts for overly curious men that don’t ask before they try prying into things. I had a flashback of one of my friends nearly scattering my dad all over his moms kitchen when she was helping my glue shut the cross I was keeping him in. We got a good laugh at how traumatized he was about what he almost did (only prevented by both his mother and I lunging across the room to tear it out of his hands). Then again we were both a little fumigated on glue and covered in a dusting of ashes ourselves.

Note to anyone trying to transfer ashes independently: they stick like nobodies business and really burn if you get any in your eyes.

So back to the original topic, Darla. How old do you think Monster will have to be before I’ll be able to explain to him who she is…was? Without seriously freaking him out. And when he’d be able to actually grasp it.

I got a call from a tattoo artist (is that the right term? seems wong at the moment) today and he’s going to start on designing my baby feet for me based off a few images I sent him. He recommended the shoulder for what I was wanting but said that the hip is doable too (he had logic that I forgot right after he told me). So it’s between those two places now.