Fetus Eater

 You sure you want to know?
 Nothing much new.
 A lot of 1st world ennui. And PTSD. And extreme back pain. So that's fun.

Got pregnant again in July after 6 months of trying and a round of Clomid. Everything was fine at the 11 week and all previous ultrasounds; 5 by then. Then, at 13 weeks (an appointment I had to DEMAND), no heartbeat AGAIN! So that's 3 dead babies in two years. 7 pregnancies with two living children to show for it.

Elizabeth. I would have called her Eliza (even though Dave is not a fan of the name.)

Apparently I have also lost 2 of my oldest and dearest friends along the way. Who knew? Also, I think I freaked out a mom at our homeschool co-op by rocking her baby to sleep a week after. She won't email me back. I wear my desperation on my sleeve and it freaks people out. Also, I pointedly did NOT help open the door at the vegan bakery for a mom with a baby in a stroller. So that was bitchy.

And then my period showed up again on the very day I should have been 18 weeks, or have a three month-old, or have a 21 month-old. Someone, anyone. Something, anything but the bloody vacancy and pain and deep, deep hurt. I knew it was coming, but nobody likes to be reminded that they are not pregnant when they SHOULD be.

They said I should have a D&C so they could do a karyotype on the baby fetus baby. Which I guess was for the best because my body was doing the "missed miscarriage" thing again.
Dave and I also got blood drawn for karyotypes but no one has any results and I want another child so badly it hurts, literally.  My back can barely move it is so tense.

 Did I mention that my stupid body actually made MILK for this baby? My body is so stupid that it killed ANOTHER baby and then made food for it. Awesome.

I am a secret wreck. Most days I hold it all together and you can barely even tell. I do my job, I play with the kids, or at least attend to them. The numb days. Some days I even laugh and participate in life, those days are weird -waiting for the shoe to drop- sort of days; treacherous and forgetful.

Some days I simply count the hours until Dave gets home so I can have some wine.

Also I make disturbing collages. Like this one ↓↓↓

EDITED AT 8:55pm 

Got a phone call right before I left the house for the day. Already in a shitty mood (you can tell that by the fact that I blogged) Well, MFM called, baby's chromosomes were normal and she was a girl. Which I think I knew all along. 

FuckMyLife.

2 inches to the left

So I meant to post 9 days ago, on the 18 month anniversary of the day I birthed the dead. Yup, I still think of it that way. Yes I have been in therapy this whole time. I've had better days. They are getting worse, but that's a story for another blog? I'm thinking of doing an different blog. Don't know what it'll be like or about or called. I don't have to go home, but I can't stay here.

  I can't be sad about Juniper all the time. I also can't be at peace with it. I can't write about him. I miss him like always, but it is distant and amorphous. I still get misty over newborns, not usually 18 month-old toddlers, which is what he should be. I am still deeply traumatized by everything.  I don't cry very often. For the 1.5 year deathiversary I did weep my eyes out quietly in the dark next to my -sleeps like a rock husband- whilst clutching the hat I made for Juniper that I could have sworn he was wearing when we sent him off to be "handled." I have no idea how that hat came back. I wonder if they burned him naked. That isn't very nice, or comforting. I also have no idea why there is a staple mixed in with his ashes. A regular -office looking- staple. It's all charred and black, but is clearly a staple, not a baby bone or flake of what I assume is skull? It might be a suture, but why only one. and it's kind of huge. Who knows? Why do I even think about these things? These thoughts are the things that make it hard for me to act be normal.

  I'm not sure what the hell to do. The long and short of it is. I am tired of being a dead baby mom. I feel bad that I just dropped out of "the community." I subscribed to so many blogs and I haven't checked any of them. Half I'm afraid of because they already have their rainbows and the other half are in some sort of hellish limbo, but not the same one I'm in. I feel bad, but I can't be supportive. I have nothing to give. Not even to my own family. I've been doing a lot of isolating lately. For better and worse. If it makes anyone feel better, I also dropped out of my Mothering community because of one "oops" pregnancy announcement. I haven't spoken to my mother in a year because she pissed me off one too many times. And I can't forgive her because she hasn't asked me too. She doesn't get it. She hurts her kids then makes excuses. I don't have room for people who can't be trusted.  Even when I am surrounded by friends and family, I am making myself alone. WHY? I don't know. Perhaps because I know I am pretty much alone in my quest for another baby anyway. I have a bevy of well wishers (I think) but ultimately Dave was right when he called this "my project."  So we all just play along, but I'm not exactly here, or there. I'm about two inches to the left I guess.

  I have other kids that need me, though I often am just phoning it in because my head is never on quite straight. I hurt my wrist the other day pushing Nigel on the swing. I wasn't really into it. I was a thousand miles away resenting being at the park with a kid who refused to PLAY. I was so frustrated at having to do this simple interaction when all I really wanted to do was sit on my ass and talk with other moms.Though even there, there was an uncomfortable disconnect. I am having a really hard time being present in just about every interaction. It makes for some scary driving. Terrible. I know. "Why would she want to have other kids when she is so put off by the ones she has now?"  But I'm not, I swear. I'm just having so much trouble wanting to be in this life. I'm not sad, I'm not angry. I'm waiting. And my therapist says that's the problem. I have to stop waiting. I can find a million things to occupy my time. I can sew, needle point, card wool, make cosplay outfits, chat at the park, pick berries, drink a lot of wine, go shopping, play guitar, ride bikes, etc... I'm not present while I'm doing any of them. So I wait, while I should be there doing that thing. Whatever it is. It's not what I want to be doing. It's just something I'm doing to bide my time. An unhealthy and unpleasant way to exist. I'm depressed, but not in a sad way. And I end up hurting myself by just not paying good attention. It's pathetic.

  I've been seeing so many many practitioners about that too. The hurting. Literal and figurative head-straightening. I was having agonizing, blinding headaches and neck and shoulder and hip pain that would kill a weaker man. But thanks to my super team of chiropractor, acupuncturist, massage therapist, physical therapist and the massage chair my daddy got my for Solstmas.  I can mostly move my head and neck sometimes. So that was fun. Now my wrist hurts and I am swollen like whale carcass on the beach at high noon from the stupid Clomid (more on that below.) I live in a world of stupid minor discomforts and I try to suck it up, but this is my blog and I'll whine if I want to!

  Next we moved on to failing at getting pregnant (or maybe it was simultaneous. Who remembers? The past 7 months, no ... 18months, no ... 2 years+  have been a bit of a blur.) We consulted the fertility doctors and they did a few intrusive and unpleasant tests. Just this past couple of weeks I have been subjected to an HSG and a Clomid Challenge test with the accompanying blood draws, dildo cams and grievous side effects.. Just like all the blood work I endured last year. IT WAS POINTLESS. I guess I am fine. My body killing off and then outright avoiding babies is just BAD FUCKING LUCK!  So now we are at the I can't seem to get pregnant and there is apparently no reason for the septenary infertility (6 pregnancies, if any one's counting.) Unless of course this Clomid thing does it's goddamn job, besides just making me fat and cranky and have achy boobs. I have, in theory, had enough time since Juniper was born, to grow and birth two babies. (If I was insane)  And the one my body killed off in January would be due a couple of days ago. So, I'm still in dead baby waiting land, but now with inexplicable infertility and two big kids who are getting older every minute; including one that I have recently had to discuss birth control with. (scary.)

So that's where I am. And I decide today that I really need to blog. Even if no one reads it or comments. Because It does keep me present. I am sitting on my porch in the lovely summer dark drinking cheap white wine and blogging because that's this kind of thing you can do with no baby. But it's not where I want to be. SO, I'm wondering if I should start a new blog? If so, what to focus on. Sewing? Homeschooling? The trials and tribulations of having old eggs and two out of your six babies alive?  Should I just stay here? If you are still reading, please weigh in, but I'll understand if you're not, since it's only fair.

 

Hey blog, long time no see

It has been brought to my attention that I worry people when I blog about devastation and then disappear for weeks on end. It's true, I do mostly come here to dump off my bad feelings and then forget I have this place until I am sad and frustrated again. (Sorry Daddio ;-) Yes, my dad reads my blog, I'm not particularly secretive.

So, today I am here in a good mood. Things are going alright. Not great, but okay.

We are trying again, but I don't think we hit it quite right this time. My chart is all over the place like it's never been and I have no idea what's going on in there right now.

I can't read blogs so much anymore, so I kind of don't expect mine to get read. I just can't bear all that weight right now.

A good thing is that I am going on a little staycation right up the road at the Edgefield tonight and seeing one of my favorite singer/songwriters Daisy May

Last time I saw her, I gave her a purse that I designed and sewed just for her. It felt a bit stalker-ish, but money was not enough to show my gratitude for her music. It has been so very helpful in the past 13 months, 6 days. This time, I knit her a scarf, but I don't know if I'll give it to her. She is a friend of my sister's friends, so it's not like a total stranger.

My sense of what might be appropriate is quite skewed these days. Like, yesterday I was invited to a friend's for dinner. And I used to do childcare for her (and she wants me to again) but I totally was mother hen-ing those kids even though she was right there. I couldn't stop myself. It's how I always am with them and she was usually at work. But I couldn't shift the dynamic. I even knew what I was doing and apologized and then kept on doing it. But, she said it was fine and even helpful. But dang!

That being said, I am getting back on the wagon and am going to start doing childcare again in April. Just 2 days a week for a three year-old girl, but it's a start. For those of you that don't know me for real. I have done childcare almost my whole life, in various forms. It's kind of my career. Because, let's face it, small theaters in Portland don't really pay well for costuming (which is the job I want when I grow up ;-)

Also, while I am at the Edgefield I am getting a facial at Ruby's spa. The soaking pool there is amazing. You should click on that link up there and ogle it. I want to steal that pool and keep it for myself.

Wherein she reposts a comment she made on Missy's blog

  Bakunin said "The urge to destroy is also a creative urge." Right?

 So, I told my therapist this and said I wanted to break things and hit things and destroy things. And she offered up, "will that make you feel better?" I thought about it and said "for a little while." And she asked if that was enough for me, to feel good in little spurts? I said "no." She suggested that when I feel that way, what I really need to is create something. Because then; there it is and it's not fleeting and I can be proud of it and it will sustain me for much longer than a destructive act, which will inevitably drain me because I have nothing to show for it.

  And I thought it was crap and I left there still wanting to smash everything.
(I am a slow learner and stubborn as hell I guess)

  But then I had a really, really, bad day and I started sewing this little outfit for my stupid sister's baby that she shouldn't be having because she is a selfish dumbshit. And I cried my eyes out. And then I still felt bad, so I started sewing a dress for the Mary Madeline project and I ruined quite a bit of taffeta with my tears, but I sewed and sewed until I couldn't see straight and I was dehydrated from the tears. Then I went to bed.

 And the next day I still felt a bit crappy, but I went down to the sewing room and looked at what I'd done. And Dammit! I smiled a just a little. I was proud of what I accomplished in my pain and rage. And there were no shards to cut myself on, just some stray pieces of thread and fabric.

 Still, some days I think a few hours chopping firewood (which is destructive, but also useful) would be just the ticket. Unfortunately, I live in the middle of the city and our firewood comes neatly wrapped in plastic like a Mal-wart steak.)

Not Today

Most of you won't read this until it is that day.
But today is not that day.
Today I went to the doctor who finally said "uhh yeah let's check your progesterone and chromosomes and stuff next time." and who gave me a script for Xanax, so maybe my brain will finally shut up at night. And also a natural supplement for stress and anxiety relief during the day so I can be calm and still drive and function. Today I learned that I have lost 6 pounds since I stopped going to the gym.
Today I also went to my beloved chiropractor. I drank from the bird cup. And we chatted about this and that and poop ;-)
Today I squeezed in a $100 trip to the Asian market and bought overpriced potstickers by accident. Today I don't really care. Also I bought tempura vegetables.
Today I picked my boy up from school and did NOT take a nap and instead took him to the supermarket and the playground. I bought my grrl a phone charger, even though she hates me again.
Today I spent over and hour in the kitchen and made Tempura from eggplant, onion, mushroom, sweet potato, carrots and fakey fish. It was oily and yummy.
Today I ate almost nothing, and then too much.
Today I talked to a counselor and made an appointment for me and the grrl.
Today I tried to write out invitations for a birthday party that will always be exactly a week from tomorrow. Every year.
Today I received, in the mail, a box full of wedding dresses with which I am to sew clothing for babies who have died. The patterns start at 18 weeks.
Today I decided that maybe that was a project best reserved for tomorrow.
Today I am going to pop my first Xanax and hopefully fall into a blissful dreamless slumber.

Today is almost over. And I dread tomorrow. Not because it will be scary or sad (which it will) but more likely because it will be just like every other day. There will be no balloons, or first cakes or presents. Just me, the boy and a whole lot of time that I am tempted to fill so that I don't have to remember all that shit that ISN'T.

Also this song has been going through my head like a runaway train... Not intended towards anyone, except maybe the part of me that insists on chattering away the night.

Death day

Today is the day we found no heartbeat. A year ago already. It was a Tuesday last year. I last felt him move on the Saturday before. He had the hiccups. That was it. Then the midwives came over on Tuesday and couldn't find anything, so we went to the hospital, where that dumbass doctor wouldn't shut up until I told him "you need to stop talking" and he ran from the room. And I got dressed and said "I need to get the kids to school" and left, which I guess they consider AMA (against medical advice) though no one told me to stay. We went home, the kids did not go to school (this was also the day our homeschooling died too, I guess.) I threw all the baby stuff on the floor and fell into bed. I would spend the next whole week there, trying to figure out how to get a dead, as of yet unamed, baby out of me.

always choose the hardest thing first

Because you will end up there anyway. At least, that is the way my life works.

You want a home birth? Go directly to hospital.

You want a natural birth? Let's gut you like a trout.

Oh, you wanted a live baby? Well, here's your breech Vbac, too bad you never get to take him home, except as a handful of dust in a plastic bag in a plastic box.

Back in bed again for the weekend. Though I did manage to shower and play with the boy for a short while before feeling like total crap again.

I wanted to NOT have a D&C so badly (I already have cervical scarring from a biopsy 11 years ago), yet Friday I was dizzy from blood loss and had to submit.
Apparently my darling uterus was swelled up to 12-14 week size. Which is odd because the baby stopped growing at 6 weeks and I took the misoprostel and started bleeding at 8 weeks.

So, a week later I'm still gushing and feel like complete crap and might be starting to depend on Percoset a little too much.

And I checked with three different doctors, hoping one would say, "you'll be fine." But they mostly said to go to the emergency room.

 So I went, and they did offer me the choice of going home and taking more of the drug that seems to make me want to bleed to death, or getting my womb vacuumed out. At least they didn't have to use the metal scrape-y thing.

Good times.

They even offered to do it right there in the emergency room. But, emotionally stable gal that I am, started bawling and kindly asked to be knocked out in a proper OR. So, that'll likely take care of our insurance deductible for the year.

Which is good, I guess. Because (if I can ever get the man drunk enough to get near me again ;-) When we conceive again, all the doctor visits will be covered.

That last line, and all the included hope, was brought to you by the wonderful little surprise I got in the mail yesterday from Missy
Thank you so much friend. That tiny key has done me a world of good :-)

1-19-2011

Today I am in a lot of pain. The worst since this whole bloody mess started. I don't know if my other miscarriages hurt this bad. Tylenol did nothing. The pain woke me up a little after 4am and I reached for what was nearest the bed, which was extra strength acetaminophen. Tossed and turned for and hour before conceding that this was beyond the scope of mere OTCs. Got up and took a shower, passing clots the size of ... I don't know, something unpleasant but not alarming. Still hurt after all the lovely hot water, and I am never going to get back to sleep at this point, so I go for the Percoset with a soy yogurt and granola chaser.

I have a doctor's appointment at 10:30 today and I am terrified that they will want me to have a D&C because this is not abating on it's own. Because my uterus is NOT RIGHT. ( I really want to say it's retarded, but that will ruffle feathers) But I already have scarring on my cervix, which makes it not want to let people out, plus I don't have the kid care resources. and FUCK I am scared and I just want this nightmare to be over. Also I want to go back to sleep, but the kid has to be to school in an hour and 20, so fuck that. Coffee will probably make me more crampy.

Oh, and did I mention I still have "morning" sickness and my boobs still hurt. I would really like to not feel like total shit anymore.

Anyway, good fucking morning ;-)

Liar - full of hate

I lied. I am not okay. I hate this. I hate this murderous womb. I hate blood and chunks coming out of me. I hate destroying the planet throwing away pads because I can't have my homemade cloth ones associated with this much death. I hate having to wait AGAIN. I hate the idea of more forced sex. I hate that I can't think of anything except how much I hate this. I hate the bleeding. I hate having to leave the coffee shop because I'm crying. I hate the term rainbow baby. I hate story time at the fucking library. I hate the innocent. I hate that I get pregnant so easy and kill them off just as easy. I hate that I don't know what to do with myself. I hate that everything, even doing the fucking laundry, makes me bleed harder. I hate that all the blood taken from me in little vials over the last year shows that NOTHING IS WRONG WITH ME! I hate that all the car seats in my basement closet are going to expire before anyone can use them. I hate that I want to run away but can't think of anyplace I want to be. I hate that I am beginning to wonder how my kids would be without me. I hate that my brain will even go there. I hate that my teenager hates living here. I hate that I hate living here. I hate that I cannot think of one single thing in this stupid world that would make me happy. I hate that I am selfish. I hate that a year ago and just a couple weeks ago I had a living child in my belly and now I don't. I hate that my five year-old is being raised by the TV. I hate that I have so few coping mechanisms. I hate that I am spending all our health care money on therapy.
/ rant (but not really)

Rock? ... Meet hard place.

A miscarriage? huh? After pushing my fully formed, ready to be born, dead child out of my vagina and sending him to be burned up, you would think it would be a cake walk. After all the "at leasts" right? At least it was early, at least I didn't get attached, at least I know I CAN get pregnant ... blah blah blah. Fuck that shit. What I know know is that my uterus is a traitorous bitch and can't be trusted. And the next time I get pregnant I will have to be even more detached and that every week spent charting and bleeding and having procreative, boring, sex is another week waiting for more damage to my already broken spirit. And every week NOT trying and not peeing on sticks and not holding just one more baby in my arms is also one more week crushing my heart into a lump of useless rock.

And I can be thankful for what I already have and focus on them; blah blah blah. Just what every kid wants. A beaten mom going through the motions because they are all she's got.

And yeah Dad a lot of people have it a lot worse than me. Honestly thinking about all the shit going on in the world isn't as helpful as you might think. And thanks doc, but knowing that we, as a species are doomed to only birth 40% of our conceived offspring and that only a percentage of those will live too. Also not helpful.

But... To those that bring wine, and beer made with coffee, and doughnuts and a cheery chorus of FUCK YOU UNIVERSE! Thank you.

So, I guess what all this means is that I will live to avenge and the universe better watch the FUCK OUT. Because I will get you fucker and all my DBM and IF and 'almost killed by buses' and 'barely scraping by' and 'barely have a shred of hope' mamas will
KICK YOUR FUCKING ASS!

SO WATCH OUT AND BACK THE FUCK OFF!

(And, just so it knows that we are serious; please leave a comment if you at all agree with the aforementioned sentiments)

If you're wondering where I've been

Hey folks. If you're wondering where I've been, well...

I was trying to avoid the scenario which is now unfolding anyway.

See, I was pregnant. For about a minute. And as of today, I am not anymore.

I was having sharp pains in my side about 1.5 weeks ago and I went to the hospital to make sure it wasn't tubal. It wasn't, but the heart beat, at six weeks, was only 79bpm. So I knew it wasn't good. The tech tried to be optimistic, but I have been down this road before and had little hope of any sort of miraculous recovery. So I waited, but nothing happened, except I felt like shit and queasy all day and night. So, we went back today for what should have been my first prenatal and sure enough, no heartbeat and still 6 week size. I knew, I was ready. I did all my crying a week and a half ago and then just decided that we won't know if we are pregnant until the 14th.

So we are not, and that is fine for now, except my body was not doing the expulsion of contents it normally does. So I had the choices of: wait and see, take drugs at home, or D&C. I am not getting any younger, and don't want to damage my cervix anymore (it is scarred from a come biopsy 11 years ago) so I chose the pills. And some lovely Percoset. They kicked in pretty fast, so I am sitting here bleeding and also a bit woozy, because one Persocset did nothing for the pain, so I took another half and am just staying awake long enough for the next dose.

I am alright, I didn't tell too many people, didn't really have a lot of hope in the first place and didn't get too attached. And I had a week and a half to mentally prepare. I just really want to get this done so I can have one normal cycle and then try again.

But I thought I should explain the radio silence.

It's cool, you don't have to say sorry. Maybe "better luck next time" that would be cool. But the perinatologist said that 60% of pregnancies end in miscarriage, mostly before a woman knows she's pregnant. Not comforting numbers by any means.

I know it's not how statistics works, but with this being miscarriage number three (my first "missed abortion" as they call it), two living children and dear stillborn Juniper, I think I've surpassed my 60% allotment right?
 And since all the bloodwork after Juniper was perfect and normal in every way (including really good iron levels. Take THAT vegan haters;-) They aren't going to investigate this further, so we just have to try again and hope for the best. That's a lot of hope and I have little in reserve. So if anybody has some spare hope laying around that can be spared that would be good. I'm not getting any younger...

Blah-lidays

Soltice, Xmas, Solstmas. Nothing interesting going on here. Sorry folks. I know you all anxiously await my blog with baited breath, but I am so flatlined I don't know what to write about. I am keeping sadness at bay by keeping ALL feelings at bay. It's working so far. I do have something wrong with my inner ear on the left side though. We are going to spend today playing vidoe games and eat vegan cheesecake at my sister's  tomorrow (and maybe play with the vintage Star Trek trivia game I scored at an estate sale for them.) Whee!

Give away winner

I cannot make that number thing stick with the winner's number.

And the winner is.... number 3!! Missy, you get soap. I hope you are not allergic to wool. It's this soap in case you were wondering about ingrediants. Email me your address (or pick it up at the end of your thousand mile drive ;-)

Cherry on top

Thanks Missy!

The rules of this award are:

1. Link back to the person who gave it to you
2. Pass it on to five (or more) other blogs
3. Leave them a comment telling them about the award

There are so many blogs I could award this too. Including one that I can't remember the name of or find anymore. 

So, I hereby award this to:

1. Elizabeth @ Bad Hair Days
2. Catherine @ Between the Snow and the Huge Roses
3. Jen @ Dreaming with a Broken Heart
4. Frustrated Fairy 
5. Sally @ Tuesday's Hope 

 There are so many more that I could name as inspiring, helpful and downright angry in the same way I am. Love to you all.

Giveaway

Here's what I want to give away:

1. A few pints and games of darts at the local pub (if you and/or me are not pregnant)
2. A pot of tea and some pastries at the local tea house (if one of us is knocked up)
3. A session at the batting cages if you are new to this stupid DBM journey
4. A soak and a massage here for everyone I know
5. All of the above if you are struggling with TTC in any way or have to be done, even though it kills you inside

Unfortunately most of my readers are not in the Portland Metro area. Also, we are not rich, so I cannot fly you here ;-) But, if you are in town I will make good on offers 1,2&3 at any time!


So... even though I didn't sign up for the 25 days of giveaways, I am hereby offering up something I can give which is some of these:

Felted soaps (not the washboard ;-)

or one of these:

Fabrics will vary, tell me your favorite colours. Yoga mat not included:-)

Soooo, leave a comment below, before Monday. Tell me which prize would float your boat, and I will do some random thing and pick a winner at some point in the next couple days.

Dear Blog

So sorry I have neglected you. I have been in a dark place. I broke the blood vessels under my eyes from crying so hard. I have been so very very sad. I really just wanted to check into a mental institution for a vacation.

The FUCKING Holidays

AGGRRHHHH!

They suck for all of us DBMs, for so many reasons. It is really awful to have this vacancy that we all have. Where "baby's first Christmas" and all that crap should be we have ... nothing. A big gaping maw of empty space in a time that is all about children and family. And the world still expecting that empty space to be filled with false smiles, cookies and tinsel, well wishes and crumpled wrapping paper.


For me they suck in a special way (not harder, not worse, just umm...more pointy.) See, Juniper and Nigel are a week apart. Well, 5 years minus one week. So five years ago we had "baby's first Solstmas*" Five years ago, Nigel was learning to walk and my dad came out for the holidays and


Arrrggghhh FUCK IT ALL I don't even have to imagine what this time should be like I KNOW what it should be like. I lived it and I'm supposed to be living it again and I can't even find a fucking picture that isn't gruesome to put in the frame I made because someone is missing from this family and so the frame with his name on it is ironically empty!
AND IT JUST FUCKING SUCKS!
And I'm not supposed to ruin Solstmas for the kids I DO have. But I just can't wrap my brain around joining the charade of celebration. And we are not christian and they don't need anything, and our family is a billion miles away. And I don't want to kill a tree and we don't have a place to plant a live one and I can't fathom buying a bunch of shit just so we can go along with the rest of the sheeple. I just want to run away. And they, of course, don't understand. I am usually the Solstmas cheerleader. I make the fucking holidays happen and everyone just has expected that all along and usually that's okay. But this year I just can't and no one else wants to do it, but they want to complain about it nonetheless. Or they want to run away too. And I want them here, I just don't want to make the effort to pretend to be happy when I'm not.

I want a baby
and a tree
and a Solstmas party

I want this again  

 or this (but with my baby)

 

 

And so I'll throw a holiday tantrum and if I can't have what I want. Then NOBODY gets anything. So THERE!


 *Solstmas being my own, made-up holiday, seeing as how we are not christian or pagan or ANYthing

PSA from the future

"A public service announcement followed me home the other day. I paid it never mind, go away"
-REM, Bad Day

Anywhoo, the future just spent two hours dealing with teen angst mega bomb. (But you know by calling it that I'm being ageist and childish.) Two hours of "you don't understand me" I wish I was with ______" "We will NEVER be able to communicate" etc...

And you can't shove the "give me a break, I pushed your dead brother out of my vagina" card in their faces. You really can't.

You may have small children, or want them desperately. We are mostly dead baby mamas here. And many of us cannot understand how anyone would think of a living child as anything other than a precious gift. And yes I love my children with all of my heart and want another living baby so bad it burns.

But, I am also here from the future to tell you ... those precious little angels don't give a rats ass most days if mommy has had a headache for 20 hours, or mommy had a dead baby and still cries about it all the time, or that mommy and daddy need to be alone so they can make another baby.

Not that it is their responsibility to be our emotional support. But those colicky little angels NEVER give you a break, even when you are trying to talk to your midwife about how might be the best way to have a non-dead baby next time, even if you give them a new toy and candy.

No matter how much you need to be sad, or angry or just stay the fuck in bed for the day, even if you have a temperature of 103, your feelings count for a little less than nothing. Sometimes, they even use your TTC against you. As in, I say "Arrgh I wish you guys would stop messing up the floor I just vacuumed and mopped! Hold over the table!!!" and I get "Geez! Are you sure you want to have more kids?"

WHAT THE FUCK?

No I didn't say WTF to my 14 year-old I said "Yes, and I want all my children to learn to be responsible and value the hard work of others."

So yes, I want another. And it will likely cry, and teethe, and bite my nipples. And I will likely grumble a lot and yell sometimes. Even if it's not all puppies and rainbows and lollipops. It's a new life and I get to try not to screw it up too bad and teach it things and watch it learn; and that is worth all the pee-soaked beds, head lice and teen drama in all the world ;-)

About 11 years ago, when I was her world.

Plus I got to teach her the words contentious and pragmatic today. Both words that I used to describe myself.

This is boring

Silly Tom Petty- the waiting is not the hardest part. It's just another hard part. The hardest part is after the waiting. Followed closely by the before the waiting. The waiting isn't hard, it's tedious, it's numbing and boring, but not at all challenging.

I need something to fill it up. I read a whole Gene Wolfe novel in 3 nights. I have folded 42 (and counting) paper cranes. I actually MOPPED the floor. I kind of wish I had a job so I would have something structured to do while I wait. I am afraid to workout too much in case we magically hit the mark the very first month we tried. I am so bored I peedonastick this morning, even though it's only been a week since I ovulated.

There is plenty to get done, but nothing to keep me occupied. What a maddening state of affairs. And yes, I am spoiled because I have never really had to wait for the waiting to begin. And I've never had to wait after the waiting was over. After the waiting is supposed to be filled with sleepless nights, breastfeeding and babywearing. Not ... NOTHING. And now I have to wait AGAIN and it's a bit crazifying.
And it's not like I have excess time. Not having a baby has not freed me from any other responsibilities. There is still the daily grind and the "mommmmmmm"! to attend to. So, I'm likely not going to be meditating or being artsy craftsy with my boredom most of the time.
My free time is stolen. Like now when I'm sitting in this cafe after a trip to the periodontist, before I pick the boy up from school. Or when I can manage to sneak off to the gym. I tried to work it into some sort of a schedule, but I can follow the schedule for one day and then I say "fuckitall" and spend way too much time desperately seeking out stories that relate to mine. Which is a challenge, but a depressing one.

Arrggh! Someone give me something I HAVE to do before I go nuts. I am too much of a spaz to lie around doing nothing. And, although I would love to just sit around and play video games, I am trying to keep the house from becoming a contestant for hoarders and letting the children go completely feral.

On the plus side

Did you know tears and snot are a potent aphrodisiac? Apparently if you sob uncontrollably at the thought of nine months without your baby coupled with missing your fertile window, even if your DH is sore and tired, he will go along with the plan despite you saying "fuck it all" and crying some more.

Now on to the 2WW!!!!!!

 In other news, I have a (technically preconception) appoitment with a perinatologist next Friday. Any ideas on what kinds of things I need to ask about?  

9

9 months in
9 months out
9 months dead
9 months dust
9 months sad
9 months empty
9 months alone
9 months bereft
9 months gone forever
9 months never coming back
9 months ahead
9 months hiding
9 months fearing
9 months hoping
9 months not hoping
9 months sinking
9 months swimming
9 months holding nothing but my breath

Halloween and Day 30- a dream for the future

I hid in the basement. Except for the few minutes I had to drive to deliver something to the teen. And I hate driving on Halloween. But driving while crying on Halloween is extra not fun. And oh the little dinosaurs, and princesses etc... I came home and cried some more. I wanted to dress my baby up as a baby alien, to match mama. There were darling little sparkly legging hanging near the register at the store yesterday. I was told not to buy them because I don't have a baby yet. "I already had one" I replied. And choked back tears.

If this is Halloween I think we should all us dead baby moms move to an island for the next few months because this minor holiday sent me round the bend, I can only imagine what the major ones will do.

Day 30- a dream for the future

A dream of the past, brought forward. Family reconciled. Gathered for a happy occasion. Cousins, brother,sisters, aunts, uncles, grandparents, etc... Gifts, food, photographs. Stories told, remembrances of those that aren't there. A fire, perhaps a tree. Or perhaps the days before and we are decorating or baking, preparing for a ritual that has found new meaning after the healing has had it's time.

Wherein she defends the term "failure"

fail·ure (flyr) n.
 Let's start with this

1. The condition or fact of not achieving the desired end or ends: the failure of an experiment.

2. One that fails: a failure at one's career.

3. The condition or fact of being insufficient or falling short: a crop failure.

4. A cessation of proper functioning or performance: a power failure.

5. Nonperformance of what is requested or expected; omission: failure to report a change of address.

6. The act or fact of failing to pass a course, test, or assignment.

7. A decline in strength or effectiveness.

1. I did not achieve the desired end of my pregnancy, it is a  fact my experiment at producing life failed.
2. I failed, my uterus failed. We don't know exactly what caused the failure, but something fucked up.
3. My body was insufficient somehow. It fell short, it restricted my baby's growth, severely
4. Something did not function properly. A child that is 21 inches long should weigh more than 4.5 pounds.
5. Nonperformance. I specifically requested and expected a NOT DEAD baby.
6. I really failed at the birth a live baby test
7. A definite decline in effectiveness. It worked before, but this time it failed. Like so many broken condoms;-)

I hate that we can't own our failures. If we claim that we failed, or that our bodies' failed or something like that, we get a torrent of comments denying us that claim. "You didn't fail" Your body didn't fail you," "You are not a failure."  As if something magical happened that I had no part in, whether conscious of it or not.
I don't think I'm an over-all failure, just at this one thing in this point and time. No, I didn't TRY to fail, but it happened and it is a fact I have to deal with, not gloss over or deny.  I try not to use that term lightly, as if I'm fishing for a compliment. When I say I failed, I really did FAIL. And it's okay.  I have to try again and do it right the next time. Denial is not going to change anything. I need to own that failure, know it's not permanent, it doesn't make me a bad person. I need to try something different that's all. That doesn't mean anyone has to dwell on the failure, or give up. But damn, why can't we say it?

And if we didn't fail, what the hell happened?

Day 29 - hopes, dreams, and plans for the next 365 days

365 whole days? That's a lot of hoping dreaming and planning. I am more of a one day at a time kind of grrl. I have trouble setting up dentist appointments every six months, because who knows what will be going on then? And NEVER try to get me to plan a vacation. I can't even plan meals, which is why tonight we had tofu scramble and mashed potatoes from a box. (I am on soft foods due to mouth surgery) I can make a plan for getting through a sewing or costuming project occasionally, but that's about it.

But, in the next year I NEED to have a living healthy baby come out of me.

It is vital.

I'd also like to take some guitar lessons and try to somewhat regularly sew and sell some stuff.

Day 28 - what's in your handbag/purse

Oh man! Behind again.
There is a lot of shit in my purse. It is a darling little Timbuk2 mini-messenger bag.

• I have my phone,
• Lisa's iPod Shuffle (for the gym),
  
• my Chococat wallet with no money -but many receipts, credit card, pics of the kids, and a *car key in it-
• Then there are my phone earbuds; wrapped around a rubber robot that is supposed to keep them from tangling, but never does.
• A well-worn purple bandana for a hankie
• a tape measure
• tinted lip balm I almost never use
• two stuffable shopping bags because I hate plastic bags
• a glass nail file my
• My Supportland card
• hand sanitizer
• my business cards
• hand cream
• lotion from a hotel
• my HSA checkbook
• more lipbalm
• a Tide to go stain stick
• an empty sandwich bag for some reason
• a gift card for 24 hour fitness that probably has about 50 cents on it
• my toiletries kit with: a bunch of makeup I never wear, band-aids, advil, nepsporin, a tampon (which is odd since I hate them and almost never use them), another nail file, and a small pack of tissues
• another thing of lipbalm
• a lens cloth
• make that two lens cloths
• a bunch of wadded up coupons
• a house key

I really need to take out some lipbalm and add a pen huh?












*One of the many helpful hints form my dad. If you drive, always keep a spare car key in your wallet, they are flat and don't take up too much space and can save your ass if you lock yourself out, lose your keys, or have to pick up your car from the shop after-hours. JUST DO IT!

Day 27 - your worst habit since your child's death.

Gosh, there's so many to choose from.
Should I go with spending waaaay too much money on frivolities like workout clothes and Five Finger Shoes? Or the fact that I almost never comment on any of the 35 or so blogs I subscribe to. Also, I started shaving my legs. Which isn't a bad habit to most people, but I never used to and it is a big fat waste of time, is often bloody and painful, leaves nasty red bumps and my husband doesn't even like it.

Day 25 - your day, in great detail Day 26 - your week, in great detail

Hold onto your hats folks. My days are so exciting and action packed you might get jealous ;-)
OK not even remotely really.
Yesterday was more exciting than today; which consisted of mouth surgery, a car wreck on the way home from the periodontist, mouth pain and trying to rest while noxious smells from the bathroom renovation downstairs waft up.
Day 25 - your day, in great detail
AM
7am-woke up and took BBT-(97.5 for those dying to know) then got up, picked out gym clothes from the dark abyss that is my closet and got dressed
7:15- woke the boy and forced him to get dressed, even in the dreaded socks
7:25- made the boy veggie sausages in the toaster oven and some decaf chai for his mom, did some dishes, went back to the closet of doom to try and find clothes to change into after the gym (yay! roller derby knee socks!)
7:45- force boy into raincoat because all hoodies are in the car. Drive him to school
7:53- arrive too early at school and find that the gate code has been changed, but no one knows what the new code is. fun
8:00- depart school and head to gym
8:10- park stuff in locker and go do hated cardio for 20 minutes on the not-quite-an elliptical-not quite a stair stepper thing
8:30- start pumping iron of various sorts until I notice that Lli is there
8:50- chat with Lli until her trainer shows up and she realizes that her session isn't until noon
9:00- pump more iron
9:20- go upstairs for more hated cardio on the stupid treadmill (is it really too much to ask to make these things interactive and fun? It's got a screen right there, how about a little gaming? geez!)
9:45- hit the showers and get dressed ans stuff like that
10:15- go over to Jazzkats coffee and have kick-ass bagel with vegan red pepper cream cheese and fakin bacon, paired with a lovely loose-leaf chai and steamed hemp-milk. Pay credit card bill over unsecured public Wi-fi! Fuck around on computer and attempt to catch up on this here blog.
11:20- leave to get the boy from school
11:30- realize code still doesn't work on gate, wait for another parent to come out and leave it open. go pick up boy. Sign up for apple tasting in "other" category.
11:45- go to hardware store and buy wax toilet ring and shelf brackets for projects that won't get done for days (Though teen did make a really kick-ass shelf out of old floppy disks with a hot-glue gun).
PM
12:00- park boy in front of Power Puff Girls feed him popcorn, clean bathroom, finish blog
12:15- feed boy more substantial meal of chips and salsa and orange juice, do dishes
12:30- decide that's enough TV and turn it off -to much moaning and gnashing of teeth. Vacuum living and dining rooms.
1:00- tell boy we can finally play video games. realize I haven't let chickens out and go do that first.  Man calls, train is delayed.
1:05- get down to playroom and realize rats are out of water and food.Take care of them
1:10- realize batteries are dead in both PS2 controllers, go try and find working batteries.
1:20- try out various games and realize that very few are two player. try Baldur's gate, Burnout 3 and another Burnout
2:00- boys settles on watching me play Simpson's Hit and Run
3:00- girl calls begging to have pizza for dinner. Man calls and train will be in at 4.
3:45- leave for train station, fuel light comes on
3:57- finally get my turn at the gas station
4:12- late to pick up the man (sorry hunny)
4:25- go directly to plumbing store, man buys bits for bathroom renno
4:45- drop man and boy off at home and run to get pizza and meds (for today's surgery)
5:30- come home and eat pizza and be talked int a glass of wine, even though I am abstaining - in theory-
5:45- help finish up the bathroom deconstruction, which includes tediously scraping old caulking off the bottom of the wall all the way around the room (because the man has suddenly decide that we need to do the floor too, which means the quarter round molding has to come off and the guys are coming tomorrow during my surgery)- until 11pm!
9:00- insist that man put boy to bed
9:15-Ask teen to put away chickens
11:00- drag my poor brutalized hands and the rest of my sorry ass to bed, read bad fantasy novel
11:30- wouldn'tyouliketoknow...............................?






Day 26 - your week, in great detail

Variations on:

• wake
• eat 
• kids to school
• blog
• kids home
• dishes
• laundry
• gym
• showers
• laundry again
• errands
• facebook
• shopping
• cleaning
• dishes
• gym
• school
• interweb
• sleep
• cook
• eat
• drive
• walk
• chickens
• compost
• vacuum
• dishes
• laundry 
• feed: kids, rats, cat, dog, chickens, etc...
• gym
• etc... 

Riveting, no?

HOly crap I'm behind! Day 23 - a youtube video that makes you laugh. Day 24 - where you live

Day 23 - a youtube video that makes you laugh.
YouTube Shmmoo Toobe. I do get a kick out of the literal video of "Total Eclipse of the Heart", but nothing has really made a distinctive impression on me. Except Angie's video about the stupid things people say after your baby dies. And I cant find it again.

Day 24 - where you live
I live in the greatest town in the US. Portland Oregon is home to the most lovely combination of beer, coffee, vegans and weirdos.
  My specific corner of it, near the "Alberta Arts District" (Also known as just plain old Concordia) is the best. I live 4 blocks down from two great taquerias, 14 blocks from my son's Montessori charter school. 18 blocks from the food co-op. 9 blocks from 1 vegan bakery which is next door to a great tea shop and across the street from a yarn shop, a fabric shop, and a pet supply shop. And 5 blocks from another vegan bakery. If I was still drinking coffee, I could go directly to the end of my street and get some Stumptown. Then go right nextdoor to the wine shop and a block further to our favorite (mostly) vegan restaurant. We can walk to two parks with playgrounds, if they didn't depress the shit out of me. And the local natural foods market is about 10 blocks form here, three blocks closer than the brewpub/ hotel.
  Really, everyone even remotley awesome should live here. I got my sister to move here, and she got 3 of her friends to move here.

time out

i nesd to catch up with my blogging, but Dave has been out of town and I got my hemorrhagic period and I, for some reason, decided two consecutive sleepovers for friend's of theboy was a good idea and I had t dismantle the bathroom before the guys come to make it not gross and I've been trying to reassemble my sewing room and I haven't been to the gym since thursday and I am tired and sad and hormonal and cranky and am writing this all as one huge run on sentence because I can't be bothered to punctuate or spell-check.

Day 22 - a website that has been meaningful since your loss

I could go with the obvious her. Namely Glow in the Woods. Which is amazingly helpful and inspiring and tragic place.
But, oddly enough what was most meaningful to me, especially while I was lying in bed trying not to bleed to death 7 weeks postpartum, was websites like The Fabulous Ruins of Detroit and this one (although the second one is about the website I went to a lot, but is now missing from the interweb.)
 I'm from "the D" born and raised. Well, raised in the suburbs but born and lived in Detroit occasionally. I really didn't understand why the websites -and many more which I never bookmarked- were so important to me during the early weeks. But now that I think about it more, I think they connected me to home. A place i got the hell out of at 19 years-old, but still miss on occasion.  And places that, although the world around them has changed so much, remain. Even if they have been rotting husks since before I was born. They are what I grew up with and they are still there same as ever. Or so I like to think.

I got really bored on bed rest and decided to go on a walking tour of my old haunts one time, that was a bad idea. The autonomous zone was a fancy bakery and the co-op seemed to have moved into a larger space and then gone under. it was a bit surreal and disappointing. But hell, everything was at that point.

If I wasn't in the midst of sleepover weekend (one kid leaves at 11 tomorrow and the next arrives at noon) I might visit Edison Park via Google street view and see if I can find my sister's old apartment. 

Day 21 - a recipe

I hate cooking. I can barely stand food. And you do NOT want to let me near the oven. I rarely uses recipes, and when I do it is generally to get an approximate ratio of ingredients.

My main triumph in cooking is when I rummage through the fridge and pantry and throw stuff into a pot. some sort of vegetables, some onion and garlic if we have them, some sort of protein source, some broth or bouillon and water, and some random seasonings, and it often turns out edible. I call it "sumthin stew" (Simpson's reference.)

Seriously you guys, the only foods I ever crave are kalamata olives, pickled carrots, eggs and bagels. EVER. I have to force myself to eat just about everything else and usually only after I am angry from hunger. Why am I not skinny?

Day 20 - a hobby of yours and how it changed since your loss.

So, several years back, I bought drop spindle at the Shrewsbury Renaissance Faire. I was working the Faire and needed something "period" to do with my hands. I got one lesson and a bit of wool and was hooked. Later, my dear husband got me a spinning wheel. Soon, I had much yarn and not much to do with it. So, I learned how to knit. I tried really hard to get into knitting, I have dozens of pairs of needles and a rolling case filled with knitting stuff and I did make some pretty awesome stuff here and there.

my first hand spun and hand knit socks. my dad wore them once

made the hat, not the teenager

hand washed, carded, spun and knit by me.

So, fiber arts = my hobby. Right? Well, that's where the second part of the title of today's post comes into play. See, I have tried to card, or spin or needle felt. Hell! I even started to knit a scarf that I will never finish, for Heather - who deeply deserves a pink scarf. 

The thing is. You know that deeply disturbed, deadbabymama part of my brain that I keep under lock and key most days? (honestly, this is me trying to act normal.) That crazy lady is completely convinced that knitting kills babies. Fucked up as all hell, but there it is. The two babies I knit things for while I was pregnant both died within days of each other. 

Yes I am a rational skeptic atheist. But, that DBM chic? She is completely superstitious. And if you try to tell her that it was coincidence, or maybe just that yarn (don't be ridiculous, sock yarn doesn't kill babies, knitting does) she will either cut you, or run and hide and sob. Either way, there will be no knitting done around here for quite a long while. 

And that -if anyone is still reading- is how my hobby has changed.

An ironic note; our doctor gave Nigel a bag of llama wool to take home today after his visit. I can't get to the carding combs right now though.

Also, the one thing I bought whilst antiquing this weekend was an incorrectly labeled, and therefore very cheap, antique drop spindle!

Day 17 - an art piece (drawing, sculpture, painting, etc) that moves you. Day 18 - my wedding/future wedding/past wedding. Day 19 - a talent of yours.

Day 17 - an art piece (drawing, sculpture, painting, etc) that moves you.
CARP! The printer/ scanner still is acting stupid, so  here is a webcam shot of the picture.

I think Heather cut it out of a magazine or something. 


But it has Daisies and a sunflower, which correspond to our love of Harold and Maude. (See day 2 for details) and a big ol' belly popping through.

Day 18 - my wedding/future wedding/past wedding.


Oddly enough, the reason this post is late is that I didn't blog on the 18th because it was our 7th wedding anniversary! We went back to the Edgefield, where we got married and stayed for two nights. 


The wedding was great. Raven and I made handcrafted paper for the invitations.I designed and made my own dress and Raven's dress, and found Dave's three-piece wool suit at a thrift shop for $7.00.  Little 7 year-old Raven was our "leaf girl." We all stood in a circle and Lisa, who got ordained on-line just for us, performed the ceremony with our personal vows. My sister took pictures, her future husband and my big brother played music and everyone got varying degrees of drunk.  There's lots more to tell, but you'll have to come look at the pictures that we never put into our scrapbook.

Awesome webcam capture

Me Dave and Raven

Day 19 - a talent of yours.

Hmm...Just one? 

My most secret talent, which is hard to believe because I hate to cook is that I can make something out of nothing. If hard-pressed I can scour cabinets and fridges and create a meal that no-one else would have thought of and its almost always edible. 

Also I can card wool, spin it into yarn, and knit something useful out of it. Like a fuckin' pioneer yo! (more on this tomorrow)

Day 16 - a song that makes you cry (or nearly).

This one

It is my song for my Raven

Day 14 - a non-fictional book that is meaningful to you since your loss & Day 15 - what you like about your house.

Day 14
I think I already wrote about the book A Broken Heart Still Beats. It is a collection of excerpts and poems about the death of their child from various writers spanning generations and centuries. I kept it in the downstairs bathroom hoping someone else might pick it up and understand a little better. I don't think anyone ever did, but I read it in the bath many many times. I liked that it wasn't all "advice-y" or specifically personal. 


Day 15
And, about my house? There is nothing terribly wrong with it. It is just too small for us. And awkwardly laid out. And the kitchen is a hallway - literally, it is 7x17 feet from wall to wall, so there is about 2 feet of walking and standing space between the cupboards on one side and the stove and fridge on the other. You can open either the dishwasher or the fridge, but not both at the same time.
I do like my very own little powder room upstairs though. It is decorated how I want, even the sink faucet that I chose (it looks like a miniature old-fashioned water pump), with my toiletries cluttering it up and my choice of linens and my silly SF magazines on the back of the toilet. If it wasn't infested with ants, I'd even say I love that room.

Day 13 - a fictional book that is meaningful to you since your loss.

I already wrote about this on day ... whatever it was. But I picked up a copy of  Hotel Under the Sand by Kage Baker at Elliot St. Books when I was on my first solo trip to Seattle. It was my first cycle post-partum (not counting the hemorrhaging March) and I was feeling like crap in so many ways. I am a fan of her writing anyway and had never seen this book. It looked like a short, sweet read, so I bought it, even though it was full price.

It is such a good book. About a girl who finds herself in a place she is not familiar with where she has lost everything and everyone she has ever known. You should READ IT!

day 12- something you are obsessive about

Do not put your hat on the table! That is gross.

Day 11- a photo of you recently and how it makes you feel seeing it now.

2010 Shrewsbury Renaissance faire. Sunday's Rounders game. Rounders is the ancestor of baseball. It is much more fun though. Here I am the "feeder" which is like the pitcher, but more fun. I am very good at rounders. Especially considering the excess skirts and wool bodice. Also, I can switch hit!

How it makes me feel is: conflicted. That was a hard weekend for me. Right after this game I realized I had lost the scissors I had used to cut a lock of Juniper's hair. I cried in my tent for the rest of faire. Not just because of those, they were just the trigger. There was also a screaming toddler in the guild across from ours. The old friend who didn't remember that I was pregnant at last year's faire, so I had to tell her about the whole debacle and then she told me there was "a reason for everything." Which is total crap, but I couldn't argue with her because she suddenly lost her husband last summer and said that believing that was the only thing that kept her going.

The night picked up and we had a great time being totally childish and mildly destructive with glow-sticks.

Day 10- a photo of me from more than 10 years ago

It's tough to choose just one. I am friends with tons of people I went to high school with, so pictures of me from decades past abound. In keeping with me feeling really nostalgic for that camping trip mentioned on day 7, I'm choosing this one.

Same trip. Boogie-boarding on Lake Michigan. My best friend and my way too old for me boyfriend (R.I.P Sean ♥)

This picture swells me heart with love and longing for such a free and simple time. It gives me twinges of regret of the time lost in silly feuds with both of these guys. And it makes me wonder how I ever had any problem with that lovely 18 year-old body ;-)

Day 9- a photo you have taken since your loss

I have taken a lot of photos since death moved in.

This one as at "OMSI After Dark" and I liked the way everything cast a shadow on this placard.

I can't go to OMSI during the day anymore, even though my dad got us a membership last Solstmas. Too many triggers. Too many bucket babies, etc...

But, they do this lovely 21 and older night once a month, so I can get my science and my drink on at the same time!

Day 8- a photo that makes you angry and/or sad

Of course there are many many photos that make me sad
I have books and books of them; dead baby brothers, dead former loves, dead grandparents, etc...

There are few that make me angry. Odd, considering I am angry A LOT.
I suppose that former love who dies too soon, the little kids that grew up into idiots, and of course the "omg! They let me out of the house looking like that?" pictures from big hair days of yore should make me angry, but mostly they make me nostalgic.

Okay, looking through my Facebook pics to see if anything not obvious (Juniper's hands for instance) would trigger anything.  And I came across this:

The diaper stash. I have no idea why I kept this up on Facebook. Hand made covers, pocket diapers, prefolds, all in ones ... all for nothing.

Day 7- a picture that maeks you happy

I tried you guys, I really did. I took the picture(s) I intended to post off the wall, out of frames and photo albums, found my memory card and trekked into the under-repair basement to use the scanner. It is a scanner/printer/copier and it was being an ass and decided it didn't like the ink cartridge that has been in it and working fine for weeks. Therefore it was going to just give me an error message and not scan, even though it doesn't need ink to SCAN!!! grrr...

So, you'll just have to come to my house to see the pictures. One is of a camping trip the summer after high-school graduation. It is of bagels toasting over a campfire. It was such a great trip and
I have such great memories from it. And Sean was still very much alive and played beautiful music for us around that same campfire.

The other is on our wall in a silver frame studded with rhinestones. It is a black and white of my sister Melissa with Raven on her lap. They are both smiling. Raven is laughing. She is missing teeth. She is holding a scrabble thingy with tiles that spell out the word "grrl."

My sister is a professional photographer and usually take the good pictures, but sometimes I get a hold of her camera and the magic transfers to me for a minute. That was one of those times.

Day six- 20 things that calm me

Calm? Me?

Ummm.... You may know, or be able to tell from my writing that I am almost NEVER calm. I am a spaz. Being relaxed makes me nervous.

So, I'll try

1. Coffee: the taste, the smell, the feel of the cup in my hand
2. Antiquing: I have a morbid curiosity that is quite satisfied looking at stuff that likely belonged to someone now dead
3. Reading in bed, but not anywhere else
4. trying to play my guitar
5. multi-tasking
6. singing really loud in my car
7. reading DBM blogs
8. cooking with OTHER people (I hate cooking by myself)
   
9. carding wool
10. hula hooping
11. lifting more weight than yesterday
12. climbing into a bed warmed by my son and husband
13. my teenager being nice to me
14. staring up at the stars
15. pedicures
    
16. having my hair washed by someone else (which won't happen again soon, I'm growing it out)
17. more coffee
18. sometimes a nice cup of tea (oh don't look at me like that coffee, you know it's you I love)
19. nursing a baby (have to wait for this one again :-(
20. playing video games