Good Intentions

More doctor crap, but not about me this time:

So a few days ago I took Addy in for her four year check up. Usually a trip to the pediatrician leaves me sweaty and frantic and ready to look up the laws re: child abandonment in our state, but this time, despite the hour and half of waiting, I managed to stay calm and keep them reasonably entertained and not climbing the walls. (And this without my morning coffee. Perhaps the adrenal booster is working?) They were being well behaved, I was being well behaved: all was well.

And then the dreaded vaccination discussion. Apparently she was due for four separate shots, or maybe it was four vaccinations, but two were combined so it was three shots? Anyways, a LOT of different live viruses being injected all at once. And I wasn't really cool with it, especially since she's still kind of low weight for her age and she's just so pale and FRAGILE looking. She doesn't exactly seem like a hale, robust child who could fight off four different, albeit tiny, doses of serious illnesses and keep on feeling fine while doing so. So I asked if we could stagger the vaccines, and still have her caught up by preschool next year. Not a big deal.

They agreed in the end- I mean, they can't FORCE the needles into her thighs without my permission. But they kept whining about how it's so much EASIER to get it all over with at once, and the younger the better, so that the kid doesn't remember the shots and then hate the doctor and the nurses. And it's so much better when they're smaller so that they're easier to hold down. All I could think was, "This is all stuff for YOUR benefit. Why would I make this decision based on what's going to be easiest for you guys?!"

In the end I let them give her one booster shot, the combined one for polio and pertussis- I've heard about some outbreaks of pertussis (whooping cough) lately and it really sounds awful, so I thought we'd better get on that one. And wouldn't you know, she held perfectly still, didn't require any holding down, nor any convincing that the doctor and nurses weren't evil people bent on stabbing her. She didn't even cry, and she THANKED the nurse before we left! (Bribe her with a Dum-Dum sucker, though, and she'd probably let you break her leg without much fuss.) I felt pretty smug. Totally nixed THAT argument for doing all the shots at once!

But later, at four o' clock the next morning, she was awake, crying and clammy, with a fever of one hundred and four and complaining that her stomach hurt. I was immediately awake, jolted with adrenaline and fear. Her forehead was so hot against my lips, her gaze so vacant. Once tucked into our bed, she said very little in complaint to our repeated attempts to gauge her temperature and administer medicine, which was the strangest thing of all. Not to be melodramatic, but she just looked so pitiful laying there against my pillow, all bright red cheeks against white, white face and glassy eyes.

She was fine by morning; a dose of Tylenol helped her to sleep, her fever broke, and she was back to her old self. It was obviously a result of the vaccination, though, so I can't help still feeling really yucky about it. Good job preventing that vaccine reaction, Mommy! And fevers in the nighttime are always so scary feeling to me. I become Ma Ingalls, huddling over my sick baby with washcloths and a furrowed brow, wondering if this is just a fever, or is it YELLOW FEVER? ARE WE ALL GOING TO DIE?

Another Day, Another Doctor

Tuesday I drove about an hour away to a chiropractor who had been referred to me as someone who also does nutritional advising and homeopathic supplement consultation, etc. Apparently he's helped people with fertility issues for whom drugs weren't fully solving the problem. At least, enough people that I heard of him by word of mouth, a state away.

At this point I'm figuring anything's worth a shot. However, I'm also beginning to feel that the stress of worrying about doctors' visits, timing of drugs, injections, blood draws etc. is possibly counteracting any good it's doing. Stress in the area of fertility is definitely a cyclic thing, in my opinion. The more things don't work, the more stressed you get, and the less likely treatments are to help you because your body is not in a receptive state.

This opinion may sound kind of in opposition to the fact that I am pursuing yet another doctor, but I guess I rationalize it by saying that this doctor is DIFFERENT and that his treatment suggestions are very DIFFERENT than those the OB's and reproductive specialists have proposed. He thinks, based on a LOOONG discussion and medical history review, that the problem may be a dysfunctional adrenal gland. This gland processes progesterone and if it's not working, tends to turn progesterone into cortisol (stress hormone) instead. This could explain why even when my body was being seriously pumped FULL of progesterone, my blood levels were still shockingly low.

Some of the symptoms of this dysfunction are sugar cravings (huge for me- can't go a day without it,) chronic tiredness (iffy here- yes, I get draggy in the afternoon, yes I have a hard time getting up in the morning, yes I drink coffee at both of these times in order to wake up, but who doesn't?,) depression (again, iffy- yes, I haven't been at my highest, mood wise, in the last year or so, but we've been dealing with a lot of stress so I think that's kind of normal,) and very low alcohol and medication tolerance (definitely true. SO TRUE.) Also severe PMS is a big indicator, and I have always, always battled that.

But the main indicator is definitely the recurrent miscarriages, which APPEAR to be happening because of low progesterone levels beginning at conception. So what he wants me to do is a cycle-long saliva test, which measures your levels of estrogen and progesterone throughout your entire cycle so that you can get a really good picture of when your levels are rising and falling, and if they're doing so appropriately. Before we've only tested post-ovulation and then once I'm pregnant. No one's ever attempted to measure my levels all cycle long to see if my progesterone is even going up at all post ovulation.

He said once that's done, we'll have a clearer picture of how to proceed, and whether or not I need more specific adrenal function testing (probably so.) In the mean time, he gave me an adrenal... kick starter? Or something. It's for short term use after athletic events or stressful physical experiences, such as surgery, miscarriage, illness, etc. I'm supposed to take it for a month to try to help my body get back to normal after this, the World's Longest Miscarriage. Then next month I'm going to make sure my cycle is normal (this current one is not exactly acting normal.) And then the cycle after THAT, probably in December, is when we'll do the saliva testing.

I'm happy that he seemed normal and nice and not a quack. Nor was he quick to offer me some magical supplement that would cure all ills. The fact that he seemed a little unsure and doesn't yet have a set idea of how to treat me is reassuring, I guess, because I don't like it when doctors are quick to jump to conclusions and aren't really listening to all the specifics.

On the other hand, it was a little depressing HOW unsure he seemed. He was very surprised, looking through my stack of records, at how poorly my body has responded even to such high doses of progesterone, EVEN in conjunction with Clomid which supposedly jacks up your hormone production. He said there definitely seems to be a big problem in how I process and produce that hormone. I didn't get the impression that there's one specific supplement that I can take to magically fix that. It seems that this treatment route may take a while and be quite a process. But at least I won't be worrying about GETTING pregnant until the process is done (usually with supplements they want you to wait three to six months after beginning them, to make sure they're fully integrated into your system.)

So, hopefully it won't be all that stressful. I have accepted and am (mostly) ok with the fact that it's going to be awhile before I get pregnant again, and I'm trying to look at this as a period of rest for my mind and body. A time to get well, and to take good care of myself and my family. A time to appreciate what I have, to enjoy the holidays, and to enjoy good health.

I'm trying to be ok with the fact that maybe there is no solution, too. Maybe I won't get pregnant again, or maybe I will but I'll miscarry. There are no guarantees. There is only the fact that I do have two kids, that I have managed to maintain two pregnancies to a safe point, and that I have gotten to give birth and nurse and cuddle on two babies. This is not SO unfortunate, as misfortunes go. I do think we would eventually pursue other options for adding to our family, if I really can't have another baby, but we're certainly not there yet. There is still reason to hope.

Don't Hate Me Because I Could Kick Your Butt On An Elliptical

Last month marked the one year anniversary of my gym membership. I have logged approximately ninety work outs, which is... less than stellar. I mean, that's what? Exercising one out of every four days, on average? But don't worry, I have all sorts of excuses: the hernia surgery last October, two weeks after I GOT the gym membership; various illnesses, mine and the kids, since any sickness on their part prohibits me from going during the day and utilizing the childcare; THE HOLIDAYS; a few bad weather/icy road scenarios, I'm sure; and of course the pregnancy/miscarriage during August and September, during which months I think I logged in maybe four or five workouts TOTAL.

I am still quite proud of myself, though. I did it. I no longer think of myself as a non-exerciser, or someone who doesn't have muscle and in fact CAN'T build muscle, or can't be in good cardiovascular shape because of my poor KNEE, wah! (Though if it weren't for exercise bikes and elliptical machines, that might be true. I have pretty much abandoned running, even though it's much more fun than machines, because of knee pain.)

I've lost between five and ten pounds this year, but weight loss wasn't the primary goal here. What is noteworthy is the huge increase in endurance and stamina, and the significantly more toned muscles. My upper body and waist are a little more defined, my arms a little more shapely. Even my legs, while nothing even approaching thin, are at least somewhat firm now. Most importantly to me, my legs FEEL much stronger. My knee, which always used to feel weak and wobbly and cause me to walk gingerly whenever I was on uneven ground or stairs, feels fine now. It may someday give out again, of course, if I do something stupid or turn too sharply, but in general I feel a lot more confident running around, playing with my kids, and generally acting my age instead of like a little old woman.

The biggest benefit of exercise, though, in my experience, has been quality of life and mood improvement. I always feel more productive if I've gotten to the gym, and it's a good way to get out of the house and do something with the kids other than shop (expensive!) or errands (boring!) especially if the weather is not condusive to playing outside. I have more energy the rest of the day, I'm more inclined to eat healthfully before and after I work out, and I just generally feel more positive.

I contribute a lot of my emotional recovery from this last pregnancy loss to the fact that I tried to get back to exercise as quickly as possible, knowing that the last time I miscarried, exercise was what really helped me feel better. And it worked. I'm not exactly walking on air, but I'm not depressed right now, as opposed to the last time when I would say I was definitely battling it. Most days I feel okay, mostly happy, and even hopeful. I have certainly felt FRUSTRATED occasionally with the way things were dragging on, but I never felt like I didn't even want to get out of bed in the morning or that there was no hope of our ever having more babies or anything like that.

So I know this is a barfy fitness post (term credit: Tess) but it's been on my mind the last few days, and it's something I wanted to express to anyone out there who may be battling some melancholy or even just a negative self-image. Exercise is not magic: it's not going to turn that frown upside or anything, and it's not a cure-all for every problem. Also, if you don't change your eating habits much (which I have NOT) it's probably not going to cause the pounds to shed miraculously. But you WILL be healthier and stronger, and you will at least feel better. That I can guarantee.

Inner Child

I'm a big dollhouse fan. It's not even so much the playing with the dolls in the house, per se, but the arranging of the dolls' stuff in the tiny little houses that I find so magical. I used to drive my friends crazy when I was little, because I never really wanted to play with them. I just wanted them to go dress the dolls and drive them around in their mini coupe while I arranged the furniture to my heart's content.

There was one friend in particular who had a dollhouse I truly coveted. This dollhouse. Every time I went to her house I virtually ignored her in favor of her doll mansion's sprawling terrace and charming old fashioned bathroom fixtures.

Fifteen years later, the charm has not worn off. This exquisitely detailed dollhouse showed up at our house two days ago:



My sweet mom has fulfilled my lifelong dream of owning the Playmobil Mansion. Now I can die happy.








Tragically, though, my mom gave me this gift only with the stipulation that I must share it with her granddaughter:




Oh well. She's pretty good about taking turns.

Young Man...

Eli. Eli, Eli, Eli. What to say other than you SURE DID get the memo that you have turned two, huh?

You are lucky that you are cute and cuddly and learning funny little phrases, so that when I have to stomp, er, go to your room for the third time in a row at ten o' clock at night, you can hold up your arms, immediately stop screaming, and lisp sweetly, "COME 'ere!" And then grab my sleeve and attempt to haul my giant adult body into your toddler bed beside you, but in the most winsome and coaxing manner possible, so that I have almost no choice but to at least TRY to force your tiny bed to hold us both.

Turns out it does, until my leg falls asleep. Unlike YOURSELF!

Dude, if I end up with ten extra pounds and a drinking problem this winter, the blame is squarely on your little shoulders. Because once you are finally asleep, all I ever want to do is celebrate, adult-style. (And by adult style I of course mean diving into a box of cookies and a tumbler of red wine while watching the most recent Netflix offering.)

Belated

So here's my firstborn, my NOT baby NOT toddler but honest to goodness kid, doing some kind of gleeful pirate jig in anticipation of her birthday party later that day:




Here's the spread before it all got torn apart by par-taying:




Yet more plastic princess junk to add to her already substantial pile of plastic Disney princess junk. And I can't even blame relatives for this particular gift- my sister Jeni had gotten her the original Cinderella set, but once I saw what a hit the tiny, rubbery dress up dolls were with Addy (and the elevated status they gave my sister) I felt compelled to include another set in her stack of birthday presents. Yes, I am a cheap sell out, bowing at the altar of Disney just for popularity.

(Public service announcement: those dresses are SO HARD to put on, even for adult fingers. Forget about a child being able to do it. In the process of dressing, I even POPPED THE FLIPPING HEAD off the original Cinderella and had to go shamefacedly get a replacement. So if you too lose your mind and buy these, expect to be helping your kid dress and undress the dolls about ten times a day.)


But just look at that gorgeous cake. Only my mother could come up with a way to satisfy a four year old's very specific wish for a cake on the theme of Ballerina Strawberry Shortcake.




Happy birthday, Addy Bear!

What's Wrong With You

I keep waiting to post until I have downloaded all the pictures from Addy's fourth birthday party, but then it turns out the batteries are dead in the camera, and the rechargeable ones aren't holding charge, and I don't have any regular double A batteries anywhere in the house and...

Anyways. I figured I'd better throw something up in the meantime. But unfortunately, all that comes to mind to write about it a little on the, eh, woe is me side. So feel free to skip, but here it is:

I am so. tired. of this miscarriage. At least with the others, I had a d and c, and it was over and done with. The brief hospital stay was a kind of physical and mental closure, and within a few days, the bleeding was completely over. My cycle resumed normally, and I got back to thinking about trying again, or at least about things other than, "When oh when will my stupid hcg levels go down to zero so I can be done with blood draws and waiting, waiting, waiting?"

I took a cheapy pregnancy test on Friday, expecting and hoping for a positive result since that would mean that yes, there was still an elevated hcg level present and therefore yes, it was normal that my cycle hadn't started again. I was getting a little nervous about that, and testing seemed easier than going in again for a blood draw. Of course, it was positive, and while this was the expected result, taking that test was just the dumbest thing I could have done. It was so frustrating to see a positive pregnancy test and feel my emotions zing right to elated, automatically, even though my brain knew that NO, the appropriate reaction would be frustration that this miscarriage isn't complete yet. I had to keep talking and talking to myself, repeating the biological facts of why yes, it was a positive pregnancy test, but no, it did not at all mean that I was pregnant again.

And I'm not, for the record. I went again for a blood draw Monday just to make ABSOLUTELY SURE, and my hcg has dropped to fifteen. Since it has to be at twenty five to show up positive on a pregnancy test, that would mean it's dropping at... what, maybe about four or five points a day? So we're getting close here. Almost over.

Another ouchy thing this weekend happened at the fall festival we took the kids to on Sunday. It was really fun, actually, but then I ran into a friend I hadn't seen for quite a while, and she eyeballed my baggy sweatshirt conspiratorially and asked, "So, is there a little baby in there yet?" When I told that there had been, but that it didn't work out, she exclaimed, "Again? Oh no! But... I thought they had figured out what was wrong with you when they found out about that blood clotting thing?"

I know there's no right reaction when you hear other people's bad news. You're always shocked and sad for them, and you just want to say something to make sense of it, to try to figure it out.

But I just don't like being reminded that there is, indeed, something wrong with me.

*You may (or, more likely, may not) have noticed that at the bottom of my page, where I have tickers to track the kids' ages, I added a ticker for the last miscarriage. I fully realize that this may be slightly morbid, and I know that I won't want it there forever. But for some reason it just felt right to have it for awhile. A way to mark time, but also a way to memorialize, in some small way, the tiny life that was with us so briefly.

On The Bright Side

I think I have some sort of innate, Polly-type gene which causes me to make note of every little thing that is GOOD about an otherwise CRAP situation. While kind of cheesy and embarrassing, it's an excellent coping tool. It's just not a coping tool that I like having foisted upon me, I've noticed: it's one thing to mention to yourself, mentally, that maybe it really wasn't the best time yet to be pregnant and tired and large-bellied, because my gosh, Eli seems to be ramping up those tantrums every day, but it's quite another thing when someone else remarks upon this. Likewise for money, time, energy, housing situation, etc. It's all well and good and comforting for me to reassure myself that, hey! Maybe by the time another baby comes we will have moved or added on, but it makes me bristle a little when someone suggests that goodness! It certainly would have been a tight squeeze to add another child to our house! Even though, y'know, it's actually bigger than the house I grew up in, with two other siblings.


I know this is my own problem, entirely, because I am basically hearing my own thoughts repeated to me. Gah. Defensive much?

So anyways, here is some little stuff that is making me happy in spite of things:

-Cooking in cold weather is always much more fun for me. I even made homemade marinara with all of our garden tomatoes, something I wouldn't have even attempted if pregnant and nauseaus. And I've been meal planning and baking muffins and just generally enjoying food. (And drink.)

-Sleep. How I love my sleep. Despite the constance of Eli's nighttime wakings, which occur least once a week but usually more often, they are definitely decreasing in furor. I can usually settle him down and put him back in his own bed within ten minutes. And he's still napping pretty reliably. So in general I feel well fed AND well rested. It's nice to feel healthy again.

-I have a massage gift certificate I haven't used yet. I'm just savoring the anticipation and waiting for the perfect time.

-It's so much easier to go places with kids this age. Um, loud public tantruming aside, but whatever. I'm immune to embarassment now. You don't really need to drag the stroller and the diaper bag with you everywhere, just as long as they're stashed in the car for emergencies, and there's no constant planning around nursing or twice-a-day naps. Both kids can walk on their own now, as long as I hold Eli's hand, and, when in the right mood, they both really enjoy outings.

-Eli is learning SO many words, and starting to speak in sentences. Hallelujah! While he still throws fits when he doesn't get his way, at least he's not resorting to screaming due to lack of communication skills very often anymore.

-I'm really excited about Adelay turning four. Four seems so grown up, but that's okay with me. I really enjoy kids between the ages of, oh, four and eight. They're so inquisitive and learning so much, but they're still so funny and fun and don't usually have attitudes yet. AND! They wipe their own butts. Or so I'm hoping.

Preschool

This is another question-regarding-Adelay post. Maybe I should eventually delete these so she doesn't think she was my main source of worry as a child?!

Anyways, it's about preschool. To do or not to do, basically. All summer long, people have been ASKING and ASKING us if she's in preschool yet, and assuring us that she's going to be so behind if we don't get on it and get her in a good school! And I'm all, "She's still only three, you know." Which... won't be true as of Saturday, but it was true when I was saying it! Is preschool considered mandatory now for school preparation?

I've always planned to put her in some kind of preschool program next year, when she's five, because our school doesn't offer half day kindergarten and I feel that going from being with Eli and me all day to being at school all day would be kind of a big transition without some stepping stone in between. But does she need to start it now? (For the record, she can't start kindergarten until she's almost six due to her birthday. In this state you have to have turned five by August first to start when you're five.)

I know that a lot of kids start preschool around three or four, but for most of them isn't that because they were in daycare already anyways, and at that age it automatically transitions over to a preschool program? If she's here with me (FOR FREE, I might add) and reading books, going to the park, coloring pictures and practicing letters with Jim and painting and all that stuff, is it really necessary to take her somewhere else and PAY someone else to do that stuff?

I'm kind of gathering that the main concern is socialization and structure, more than perhaps actual education, but in my opinion she's getting plenty of that, as well. She goes to Sunday school once a week, and now sometimes on Wednesday nights too. She goes to the Y childcare program whenever I work out, she's taking dance class this year, we go to the playground pretty frequently, and she sees her cousins quite a bit. She doesn't seem to me to be antisocial or to be having any problems relating to others, sharing, listening to other adults, etc. I watch her through the windows at the childcare and at her dance class, and she seems to be responding well to her peers and taking instruction from her teachers just as well as the other kids.

I guess our decision is pretty much made for this year, and I'm just kind of looking for validation. However, I know sometimes as a parent your kid seems fine to YOU, but you're not seeing things objectively. I certainly don't want her to be behind or at a disadvantage in any way. On the other hand, it's kind of too late for this year anyways, and also, TEH MONEY, geez, especially when there's no reason to pay for childcare since I'm here.

Do you guys think preschool is necessary at this age, or that she'll be behind in some way if we hold off another year?

One Step Back

Okay, here's a post that, while not exactly upbeat or inspirational, is at least not downright depressing. We're moving in the right direction!

I have a question for you about potty training regression. Addy has been fully potty trained since the end of January this year. Granted, this was late in the game (three years and four months old before she was really good to go) but once she was trained, she was golden- she even stays dry at night.

But all of the sudden, the last couple of weeks, she's either having some kind of forgetfulness issue or a laziness issue, because almost every day we're dealing with at least one accident. Not the I-just-soaked-the-couch-cushion kind of accident, but more the I-waited-way-too-long-to-get-myself-to-the-potty-and-now-I'm-peeing-on-the-bathroom-rug-while-wailing-in-panic kind. And last night, to put the cherry on the sundae, she DID wet the bed. The entire bed: comforter, top sheet, fitted sheet, mattress protector and mattress pad. And of course herself. She woke me up at six forty five to inform me that she needed a bath.

What is going ON? I totally get the occasional bed wetting thing; I know lots of kids her age are still wetting the bed every night, so I'm hardly upset about that, though it would certainly be easier if she had been wearing a Pull-Up! But the daytime stuff is really throwing me. I guess I just need to make her go every couple of hours whether she thinks she needs to or not, huh? It's just weird that for quite a while she was pretty much an independent potty-er, and now all the sudden she's needing all this prompting or else she doesn't make it in time. Is that normal? (For the record, she'll be four on Saturday.)

This Day Needs A Do Over

I'm doing a garage sale tomorrow with a bunch of other people, and I am so relieved to have yet another project to think about instead of the other THING that is always in the back of my mind. And I know, I said before that I'm trying to actually FEEL my feelings instead of distracting myself from them, but sometimes I just need a damn break from all that feeling. Painting the living room (I also did a hallway earlier this week to match the living room) and getting the kids' pictures taken? Those were mainly done because I knew I needed to plan for mental breaks in the weeks following the miscarriage.

Sometimes you just get tired of feeling unhappy. I mean, that sounds so stupid and obvious. But there it is. Sometimes I'll be crying and think wearily, "Oh just STOP. What is the point anymore?" But once it's started, it's hard to force it down, something which always infuriates me.

Last night, I enjoyed my usual Thursday night ritual of drinking wine, eating junk food and watching NBC comedy shows, and then we went to bed. Happily. I mean, everything was fine; I wasn't feeling even remotely sad. But then as soon as I fell asleep I dreamed I was pregnant. It was like some kind of gauzy maternity photo shoot: I was blissfully happy, smiling and cradling my belly. Then I woke up and, after a few seconds of continued blissfulness, remembered that there was no baby inside me. It felt like actual, physical pain, that realization. I curled up around my stupid, empty belly and cried uncontrollably. I was barely even awake, and maybe that's what made me less coherent and more emotional, but I felt like I couldn't have stopped sobbing to save my life. I'm pretty sure I cried myself to sleep, and it felt like it took all night.

I look like a train wreck this morning: face puffy and blotchy, eyes bloodshot. I look like a hungover drunk. There aren't enough fun, distracting projects in the world to shake this feeling. My face is too tired to smile. And all through the grocery store this morning, Addy would point and yell in excitement, every time she saw a carseat in someone else's cart, "Look Mom! Look at the cute little baby!"

But tomorrow will be better.

Oh, Sweet Irony!

So today I got called by the OB's office, telling me that the doctor wanted me to come in to discuss the results of my most recent hcg level check. I of course panicked, thinking that a: I was somehow accidentally PREGNANT AGAIN already and had brain damaged my unborn child by taking all that Cytotec or b: (more likely) my levels were still not dropping sufficiently and I had to have a d and c after all, which at this point would just be the suck, quite frankly.

Fortunately it was neither; my levels have tapered off further still, though are still high enough that my body considers me to be, technically, pregnant. The doctor's just concerned at how long it's taking- it's been a month now since the embryo ceased to be viable. Or since my tiny baby died. However you want to look at it. I've now tried Cytotec three different times to hurry the process along, and all it's done the last two times is make me horrendously sick, which was also concerning. Apparently the doctor's never heard of it doing that to anyone. Uh, even though nausea, vomiting and diarrhea are listed on the drug's website as side effects! Whatever. Just my luck, I suppose.

She said that we could do a d and c, but she'd still prefer not to, and I agreed. Just wait it out some more. It's gotta end soon, right? I'm just awfully sick of getting blood drawn, but at least I get to give it another two weeks before the next one. Let my poor right vein rest up a little.

Anyways, the doctor had to duck out of the exam room momentarily to get some paperwork, so I was idly viewing my chart, which had been left up on the computer screen. Aside from all the depressing information with which I am all too familiar, I noticed that I was listed as Status: Incomplete. I actually laughed out loud when I saw that. Incomplete. Yes. That pretty much sums it up.

I still believe that our family is incomplete. Maybe we're in a hiatus, a resting period while these two grow up a little more, but I feel strongly that their are more children in our future. Someway, somehow.

Weekend Stuff

Hmm, that unbelievably tedious post didn't seem to elicit a lot of comments there! I can't believe you all have better things to do than log in to tell me, "Yes, Sarah, that IS a nice shade of light brown/tan you have chosen there!"

Anywhays, I'm basically just typing without direction right now in order to stop my fingers from picking up a SEVENTH square of delicious, delicious cold pizza and cramming it into my mouth, which still thinks it's hungry even though its attached food receptacle is telling it that IT IS FULL. I used to think it was so gross that people ate cold pizza. And then I, um, ate some cold pizza. It is very nice. It's also the only thing stopping Eli from being a little ball of furious misery tonight. Well, that and today's third screening of Cars.

He came down with a sudden cold yesterday just HOURS after being a perfect angel at ye olde cheesy children's photo studio, where I had spontaneously dragged the kids in a fit of optimism that, for once, turned out to be well-founded. They were both lovely, about a katrillion times better behaved than the last time I was struck with the seasonal compulsion to pay a stranger to capture their precious childhood memories. (Memories of, y'know, being stuffed into matching outfits and awkwardly posed back-to-back.)

And speaking of memory-worthy situations ("And the grand prize for Worst Segue Attempt goes to Semidesperate Housewife!") last night Addy was out on the deck playing with one of the balloons left over from my birthday party when, inevitably, it slipped from her fingers and floated away. She burst into such piteous, heartbroken sobs, you would have thought she'd been grievously injured or watched her best friend die or something. "My balloon!" she wailed in genuine grief, huge tears racing down her cheeks. "It's gone! I lost my balloon into the sky!"

I held her and tried to comfort her, but it ended up being her own little self-soothing talk therapy that settled her down. In between hiccuping sobs, she would murmur, kind of to herself, "The balloon is ok? It's with the clouds? It's playing with them?" And I would say yes, that's exactly where it was. "And it is all fine up there, with the clouds?" Yes, the balloon is fine. "Maybe it can see me?" Yes, I suppose it could, I told her. "And I will have another balloon someday, maybe for my birthday?" she inquired, still crying. I assured that indeed she could have another one soon.

"And now tell me, 'Don't worry Adelay, it's ok, your little balloon is all fine," she instructed shakily. I did as told. "And now sing a song that is like, 'Hush little Addy, don't you cry, 'cause soon you will have another balloon...'" she specified. So I made up a song to the tune of "Hush Little Baby." But then it was the weirdest thing. I could barely sing it because I was crying too. And in my head, I was singing to myself, but not really about a balloon at all.

A Dozen Pictures. No, Really- A Dozen

Eli's birthday cake, Cars themed, decorated as usual by my mom. I always defer to the master.


Eli very seriously- almost threateningly- enjoying said cake.


But still not as much as he enjoyed one of his umpteenth tiny cars.


Outside at my parents' house, preparing to attempt a family photo while my older sister was home. Enjoy the random hand visible on the left slice of the picture.


This was as good as it got. And it took fifteen minutes.


Addy posing inside one of the storage ottomans later that day. About ten seconds after this photo she had dissolved into tears, convinced she was stuck inside the tiny box forever.


Blowing out my candles at my surprise party on Wednesday. It was really a lovely night, even though I was still kind of (really) sick from the Cytotec. And everything looked really festive. Bonus: the kids have been entertained by those balloons for the last two days straight.


The remains of the cake by the next day. And, uh, some of the guests didn't even have any cake.


This has nothing to do with anything, but LOOK at the adorable ensemble my Mom got Adelay to wear for her upcoming birthday!


I mean, the purse is a CAKE, people! A CAKE!


And here are some shots of the living room's new coat of paint. I have chosen to highlight the corners, as the walls used to be two different colors: kind of a pinky-brown on the longer walls and cream on the shorter walls. I liked the idea, I really did, but I think in the end I like the one color all the way around better. The room feels a little more open.


(And Rachel, I know you're going to think it's horribly boring. Basically the color of oatmeal with maybe a teaspoon of honey stirred in. But what can I say- oatmeal is comforting.)

On The Mend

I'm going to do a picture post soon (which will include pictures of the SURPRISE BIRTHDAY PARTY my husband and family orchestrated for me!) as soon as I get motivated enough to walk ALL the way to the kitchen to get the camera. In the meantime, I just wanted to say thank you to everyone who is frequently updating their blog, and apologize for not commenting much. I also apologize for not doing much with my blog other than to use it as an emotional dumping ground. But I figure that's what it's there for, sometimes. I just don't want you all thinking I am feeling nothing but moody and reflective these days, and that when not openly sobbing I am sitting in a chair staring wistfully out the window while Sarah Mclachlan plays in the background.

Today, for example, I went to the gym, to a coffeehouse (with the kids!) and then took them to our local Children's Garden, which is basically heaven on earth this time of year. I smiled the whole time. Except maybe for when I had to explain to the daycare ladies at the Y where we had been the last month or so. "I've been sick," I replied briefly, not feeling inclined to explain that first I had been pregnant, i.e. exhausted and nauseous, and then I had been, well, sick, I guess in a manner of speaking. Cytotec is no picnic (especially THREE ROUNDS of it.)

As far as updates on that mess, I still might have to have a d and c, apparently, but we're keeping our fingers crossed. The last round of Cytotec did absolutely nothing that it was supposed to, and just made me violently sick to my stomach for two days. So they had me stop it, and checked my blood levels to see if the hcg was finally going down. If it wasn't, I was going to have the d and c today. Fortunately it was down enough to give me some wiggle room, so we're going to keep an eye on the blood levels next week and just hope that my body will at some point get its act together and do its job. If not, I still might be heading to ye olde outpatient care next Friday to have the doctor do it for me. But here's hoping.

Little Stuff That Feels Big

-My OB's office is painted almost exactly the same color as our living room used to be painted. I loved that color for a long time. Now it makes me feel claustrophobic and barfy. I am so relieved that it is gone, gone, gone. I just wish I could convince the doctors to repaint their office, too, so that I could stop feeling that way every time I walk in.

-Relatedly, I forgot how much I hate painting and how bad I am at it. I ruin clothes every time I paint. I end up with drips here and there no matter how slowly and carefully I roll. Paint bleeds onto trim no matter how painstakingly I tape it. I never want to paint anything ever again. For a year or so. (It was still worth it, though.)

-I am breaking out all over. My shoulders and back, even. My hormones are messed up right now, obviously, so I know my complexion will settle down eventually. But currently, nothing is working to control it and I can't even think about trying to cover it with makeup because then my skin goes even crazier in reaction to the concealer.

-My sister is leaving for school Thursday and I am seriously sad about it. My kids will miss her so much. I will miss her so much. My brother in law is leaving that day, too, just when we were all getting used to him being around again. And I'm sad. (Not that you should arrange your lives and education schedules around my feelings, guys. Obviously. I'll just miss you.)

-Jim got me season five of The Office as an early birthday gift last week, and while I am thrilled to complete my collection and while I am still a loyal fan and all, I have to say that he was totally right last year when he observed that the show was getting weaker every season. With the exception of the "Baby Shower" episode, I don't think I laughed out loud much at all. AND I just ended up getting depressed when I watched the last episode today- the one in which Pam and Jim find out that they're unexpectedly pregnant. I wanted to snap at their glowing little faces, "Don't get all excited just yet, kids. That doesn't mean you're actually having a baby."

There are days when I'm dealing with things better than others.

On the other hand, I feel so in love with my kids right now. You know that feeling you get, walking into their bedrooms when they're still fresh and newborn, and you see them looking up at you and you just... feel like it's Christmas morning? It's happening again for me, every time they smile at me, every time I watch them cuddling together. Every time Eli buries his face in my neck and shoves his thumb in his mouth, and every time Addy squeezes me tight and says, "You're my favorite Mommy." And while I wouldn't exchange the baby I lost for this feeling of wonder at the babies I have, it's still a pretty great consolation prize.

State Of The Union

Guess I've been a little quiet this past week. I've been keeping myself busy with, as usual, family stuff- birthday party/Labor Day party, and then my older sister was in town from Charleston for a few days. It was really good to see her, and for her to reconnect with the kids. I'll try to post some pictures of that soon... And pictures of Eli's birthday party. And pictures of the new paint job in the living room.

'Cause, I also repainted the living room this weekend, including the ceiling, thank you very much. Er, with a lot of help. BUT I chose and purchased paint and did all the prep work and the cleaning up work and the moving of furniture and decor-y stuff and wall art, so. Overall, more time invested, albeit perhaps less actual painting.

I also sorted out all of Eli and Adelay's old clothes, choosing my favorites to keep but paring down the rest for a garage sale next weekend. When your kids have twenty to thirty outfits per season, per size apiece, it gets a little bit IMPOSSIBLE to store them all, even if it was fun to have all those cute clothes to choose from back when they fit. (Note: excess clothing was not a result of my own personal excess, if you know what I'm saying. Just fyi.)

The painting project and the sorting out clothes project were distractions from the unwelcome news on Wednesday that there is still, to quote my OB, "all kinds of junk" remaining in my uterus. This, despite the three days of Cytotec-induced discomfort last week which I thought had surely taken care of all that. The doctor is still very opposed to another D and C since we may try again for a baby at some point, so my options are (and there's going to be a lot of information here, boys, so avert eyes to next paragraph if squeamish): to let nature finish things, which, based on my hormone levels, the number of blood clots still in my uterus and the very light state of my bleeding right now would probably take a month or more; another round of Cytotec, perhaps a little more intensive; or go on the pill for a month, let my body stop bleeding and rest, and then hope that the artificially triggered period would take care of everything remaining from the pregnancy. This would have to be the estrogen-only pill, since I have a clotting issue and am not allowed to be on regular hormonal birth control. I HATE the estrogen-only pill.

So I think I'm going to give the Cytotec another shot, though I'm dreading it. I could have done it this past weekend, but my sister was here, and my mom had offered to help paint, so I put it off. And now my birthday's Wednesday, so I don't want to start it tomorrow either... Maybe next weekend?

Oh wait. During the garage sale? I don't know. Blech. Guess I'll squeeze it in there somewhere. Fun stuff. I just hope it actually finishes the job this time. Then at least we'll have some closure and be able to find a place to go from here. And maybe my body can try to get itself back to normal. Or hopefully better than normal, since my normal seems to be pretty unbalanced, hormonally speaking.

We do have a vague plan for the next months, regarding hormone stuff, and it definitely does not involve any more Clomid or progesterone supplements or mid-cycle ultrasounds or ovulation trigger shots. I just can't take it anymore, and it doesn't seem to be helping anyways. I know it does some of the time, for some people, but at this point we're ready to look into some alternative treatments. And if that doesn't work, well... We'll see. But that's where we are right now.

Sadness 101

I had a check-up today that went pretty well, although my hcg levels are still high enough that the doctor has scheduled an ultrasound for tomorrow, thinking that maybe the miscarriage hasn't completed after all. I hope she's wrong. The last thing I want is another round of Cytotec or a d and c after all. Yuck.

I seem to be going back and forth a lot, physically and emotionally. There have been hours- even days- when I felt relatively fine and normal and have been up doing dishes and picking up toys and giving baths. Business as usual. And there have been times when I was suddenly in a lot of pain again, of one kind or another, and it seems for awhile that nothing will feel normal again. I am trying to accept all this, as I have learned from experience that these cycles are normal and nothing you can really alter or skip past. The only way out is through, as they say.

I think grief is like labor, a little bit: you can tense up and fight it, or try to distract yourself with other things, or panic and scream. You can beg someone to help you or tell them how unfair and unbearable it is. But the only way to effectively help yourself is to relax your body, unclench your fists and breathe into it, even welcome it. There are some things in life you just have to feel.

Which is why I am trying, right now, not to turn away from the pregnant woman in the waiting room or from the stack of tiny newborn clothes I am sorting through for a garage sale. I don't fight the sadness that fills me when I realize I can button my jeans again, or that my chest no longer aches in preparation to feed my baby. It is what it is, and there's no amount of comfort or hope that can erase or really even ease those pains. Of course, there are moments when I have to put sadness aside and function, and it is less a choice than a necessity. What was it Scarlett O'Hara always said? "I'll think about it tomorrow."

But mostly, when possible, I am trying to loosen my shoulders, unclench my fists, and take in whatever emotion happens to be churning. If I start to feel angry about the injustice of this happening three times to us, when I have done all I knew to keep these babies alive and inside me, then I just feel angry for awhile. Often that anger turns inward, at my own body for betraying me, and even this I allow for. If I need to cry- and understand that I am not a person who enjoys crying, and definitely not in front of others- then I try to allow for that instead of swallowing it back. If I hear a sad song and find myself conjuring up images of the baby I had begun to dream of, I don't push them away.

Whether you experience a miscarriage as losing a literal, tiny child, or you prefer to view it as the loss of the hope of a child, it's still goodbye. It's still a wound, a wound that will scab up for a little while and then suddenly be ripped open again by a random image or comment or song lyric. I guess all I can hope is that spirits are like bodies. That often, in the end, the places that have had to heal themselves are the strongest.

For Now

I'll write more later, but I just wanted to thank every one of you for your kind comments. Having a blog is fun when you have happy stuff to say, but it's when things are feeling seriously sucky and unlucky that having this outlet matters the most to me.

We're doing okay around here. Physically things are mostly over with already, with relatively little ordeal, so that was an enormous relief that's probably contributing in large part to our sense of okay-ness. I was really nervous that deciding against the d and c might backfire and lead to a drawn out and miserable experience, or an emergency rush to the ER, but so far my body seems to be doing its thing without complication. It was almost TOO fast- I was expecting a few days to process things before I actually, physically lost the baby- but its mostly a relief to have this part over with.

I definitely have more to say later, but right now we're just trying to spend lots of time together and with Addy and Eli (although, THANK YOU, family who have graciously watched the kids during hours when we needed some alone time.) All I wanted as I sat in the doctor's office, furiously, tearfully awaiting my post-ultrasound consultation, was to hold my two babies and breathe them in. And also to look at their newborn pictures. And breathe them in.







I wanted another one of these so badly. I really did. I really do. But even if that doesn't happen for us again, or it's going to take much longer than we hoped, I am so lucky to have had the chance, twice. No one seems to have figured out how to solve whatever's wrong with me, but somehow, despite my body's craziness, we made those babies up there. And they are still my favorite babies in the whole wide world.

I don't even know what to say. The baby is gone. There was a baby inside me, making this much worse than the other two miscarriages, when all they saw were empty sacs, but according to the ultrasound today its heart stopped about five days ago. The corpus luteum, which had looked healthy at the five week check, was completely gone. Meaning my body had stopped producing any progesterone at all. I guess the only thing keeping the baby in there was the supplements, but it wasn't enough.

Since I'm taking so much progesterone, though, my body didn't show any symptoms of miscarriage. I'm supposed to stop all the supplements and hopefully miscarry on my own soon, but if not then I'm going to take some drug? And that will make me miscarry. We're trying to avoid doing another d and c since I've already had two, and they're pretty hard on your cervix.

I feel like apologizing to everyone, even though I know, I know, don't be ridiculous, not your fault, etc. But how many times am I going to tell people I'm having a baby when I'n not?

And I'm just sad. Obviously. And also incredibly frustrated with myself for daring to hope in spite of all my common sense, in spite of those early, less-than-great numbers that should have warned me to keep all hope firmly at the door until we saw a heartbeat. I thought I was doing that, but the lump that rose in my throat as soon as I saw the lack of heartbeat on the screen showed me that I had, in fact, been believing that all was well. I was crushed.

So. I feel very overwhelmed thinking about where we go from here. I guess I just shouldn't think for awhile, huh? I definitely don't want to think about the having to miscarry soon part. I'm sure it's horrible to have it happen suddenly and unexpectedly, but I think it might be even worse to be sitting here, right now, anticipating it.