I'm back in the saddle again

There is no great way to tell friends and family you are thinking about having another baby. In fact, I'm not sure that it's any of their damn business anyway. The fact is that I like to blog though and since I have a few IRL stalkers around the joint, that's what is about to happen. We're trying to have another baby.

Nothing like announcing to everyone that you're basically fucking like rabbits.

And it's going....well, interesting. I can't possibly hope to have the timing we had with James. I'm going to have a baby in the middle of the school year. I just know it. So I am working my ass off trying to be as productive as possible before that second line pops up and I'm dealing with morning sickness, narcolepsy, and a toddler. Gee, don't I make motherhood sound fun!

But here's the thing, even though there are a million reasons to put it off another year or latch the lock on the chastity belt, I AM DYING TO BE PREGNANT.

I did not expect that. I threw up for 20 weeks of my first pregnancy and looked like Violet Beaureguarde sans the purple tan by the end. I warned hubby not to pull a Britney and knock me up again so soon and yet, here we are. We've safely passed the Britney mark, so at least I accomplished that.

Well, I'm off to have carnal relations.

Babies on Everyone's Brains

My friends have babies on the brain, I do not. Well, not in the same way. It's getting to that point for many of us when TTC is coming up. Most of my friends have children around James' age, and I understand the compulsion to want to think about it. I had been thinking about it a lot in the last few months as well. DH and I had joked about it. We both knew it wasn't great timing financially and professionally, but we were both ready to start thinking about #2.

And #2 came along with no planning and no trying and what would have been no stress. Not like James. It was exactly how I wanted to get pregnant the second time and then I lost the baby. Now the whole relax and let it happen plan is shot to hell.

But what's killing me is the talk of babies. Suddenly every one is talking about HPTs and temping and charts, and I'm a wreck. I love my friends. They are amazing women and they were there for me when I miscarried. But I want to scream "Stop with all the baby talk! It's killing me!" But how can I? I understand they are excited. I understand they want babies. I want another one too, but I don't begin to know when I physically and emotionally will be able to try again.


I suppose I feel left out. How stupid is that? But it's more than that. It's different than being the girl left out at recess. I can't describe it. It's feeling robbed and cheated - feeling as though I have been violated and constantly reminded of it.

I wish them all the best, but I'm not sure when I'll crack.

Mars and Venus

I love my husband, but I'm hurt as his ability to move on so quickly. Other than to ask how I'm doing or give me a hug, he has shown no emotion about this loss. He was excited at the ER when they confirmed the pregnancy. We joked about minivans and Christmas, but once it was clear how serious the situation was, how unlikely it would be that I would keep the baby, he became reserved. When we found out for sure the baby was gone, he was more concerned for me.

He's been supportive. I shouldn't complain. And yet, part of my sorrow is that I feel so wholly alone in this grief. I don't want him to hurt and yet I want to know he's sad too. I'm not sure he is and that hurts me deeply.

I know pregnancy is different for men and women. He was never the type to hold my belly or talk to the baby in utero. He did, however, get me take-out, medicine, go to childbirth classes, clean, and take care of me. But I was always a little sad that I alone bonded with our unborn child. I longed for him to want that connection then and I wish he had wanted it with our angel. The weekend we waited for the news of the miscarriage, I ached for him to reach out to my belly. To acknowledge I was pregnant if only for a moment.

But that moment has passed. There is no child in my womb. But I loved that child and I miss that child, although he was never really mine. And I wish I could share that with someone.

She said it better than I could

I've been trying to pinpoint exactly why having a miscarriage is so hard. In my case, I didn't even know about the baby until it had already started. Sure, I was given a lot of hope by the doctors at the ER and friends, but deep down I knew the pregnancy wasn't viable. And yet, I hoped. I found out my due date (Christmas Day). I imagined how James would look at his little brother or sister.

As women, we fill our lives with what-if's and hypotheticals. We worry about the next meal, the next year, and the next decade all at the same time. For the first time in my life when I go to bed, I don't spend 30 minutes pondering that day and the next and the one after, but only because I am too tired from keeping up with James! Instead my waking hours are spent physically and mentally multi-tasking. I never stop thinking. I never stop planning.

When we went in for our follow-up sonogram, the doctor came over to the hospital to go over the results. She said some thing then that really hit the nail on the head. It really encompassed all the feelings I had been grappling with for the last week, "For women, when that second line comes up, it's not positive. It's an entire future."



That is certainly true. That's why it aches. No matter how bad the situation was last week, I still found myself pondering that future. It was unexpected and surprising, but I was ready for that future.

The problem with being rational

is that it leads to some very irrational thoughts. We found out Friday we were having another baby, but since I had been bleeding off and on since the 12th, I tried not to get too excited. Yesterday, it was confirmed that we lost the baby.

I had tried not to be too hopeful or too excited. But when I had looked up my edd, I was due on Christmas and I just knew that meant I would have a Christmas miracle. I was wrong. I'm not angry at God or the doctor or my husband, mostly just mad at myself for wanting to believe it could still happen.

So I've been rationalizing it all to myself in attempt to understand why it happened. Why did I lose the baby? Why should I have hope? Why did I take the test?

So far, in no particular, irrational order, I've come up with: I lost the baby because I am still breastfeeding. I lost the baby because I am too stressed out. I lost the baby because I eat too much fast food because I am too stressed out to cook. I lost the baby because I cleaned out the cat box and ate a turkey sandwich. I lost the baby because my hormones are nuts. I lost the baby because something is wrong with me. I lost the baby because its bad timing. I lost the baby because I wasn't in tune with my body.

See how a rational mind can become very irrational when rationalizing? I mean the cat box and turkey sandwich?

I'm mad as hell

and I'm not going to take it anymore.

RESPECT MY AUTHORITY!

My parents are the type of people who think they know everything. They have never made a mistake in their life. Never had a parenting issue. In all fairness, they did raise 4 extraordinary kids, but that may have been a fluke. Growing up, we were limited to the number of activities we could do b.c. mom didn't want to drive to get us, they warned us about sex, took us to a conservative Christian Church, came occasionally to performances/recitals, etc. Despite feeling a little ignored, they also insisted on family dinner and holidays, which may be why I feel loyalty to them. My mom and I havr grown closer as I've grown older. Now with a new baby, we are back at square one.

I should be supplementing, I should be giving solids, why do I listen to my pediatrician? Why isn't that baby in his own room? He looks uncomfortable in his sling. He isn't satisfied with milk alone. Why cloth diaper, you can do other things to save the environment. For instance, don't buy juice boxes. You overdress him....and on and on.....

My mom says these things to my face, my dad sends passive aggressive emails to my sisters. They both think I should get a life. Thanks, I have one.