Sunday, January 30, 2011


My heart is heavy tonight.

If I tried to work through everything I'm feeling this post would make little sense.

Pregnancy announcements have been flooding in.  I've been thinking about those who aren't, but wish to be.  Honestly, I don't know what to say, how to comfort. What if my words come across as insensitive?  I want to say I'm sorry, but we as a group don't always take kindly to those words.  Sorry doesn't change a thing and if I could I would change so much.

The sermon at church today left me speechless.  This has been happening every week so perhaps I should start expecting it.  The pastor preached on suffering and at the beginning of the sermon he said that some people don't really know suffering whereas others have suffered greatly.  Then he said something about those who go to the hospital expecting to bring a baby home and leave with empty arms and grief.  Whew.  Yep.  Been there.  I am there, still.  I leave church every Sunday feeling like I've heard the best sermon of my life.  It's good to be back. (If you are at all interested, here is a link to the sermon archives.  Today's sermon isn't up yet, but it will be up in the next few days.)

I miss her.  I feel her absence more now than I have in quite some time.  I haven't lit her candles in a few weeks, or cradled her urn, or talked to her, but tonight I would like to light a hundred candles and have her come sit with me for a while.  Really sit with me.  Here, on the couch, with skin I can feel and cheeks I can kiss.

I've been thinking about the spring.  The first birthdays of the babies that were born before her. Her first birthday in heaven.  The countless occasions I'm already dreading.  The spring feels insurmountable right now.  I don't want to figure out how to celebrate my dead baby.

I wonder what she would look like as a one year old.  I wish I had more pictures, pictures of her growing, smiling, laughing.  In every picture she is still.  Shortly after she died someone said, "You can tell she's dead because her mouth is hanging open.  In movies the mouth is always closed, but that is not true of real life."  When I look at her pictures sometimes all I see is that open mouth and what it signifies.  

I wear that gray sweater on sad days.  It is wearing thin in places, but I still wear it.  Not as much as in the beginning when I often wore the shirt, the yoga pants, and the gray sweater that I labored in and put on, or was dressed in, to go to the hospital after.  I hoped it would bring her back to me.

The first couple weeks of this pregnancy I was up, up, up.  Now I'm down, down, down.  Next week we're headed to Sunriver for a winter vacation with the 3 'H' families.  Yes, they're all related.  I won't be skiing or relaxing in the hot tub, but it will be nice to get away for a week, breathe the air on the other side of the mountain.

Maybe someday this will hurt less ...

Saturday, January 29, 2011


This overwhelming question came up today:

What do we do if this baby dies?

Oh, dear.

Do I plan for death or hope for life?

I want to hope for life, but if I don't plan for death I'll fall flat on my face like I did when Charlotte died, which was unpleasant to say the least.  We would know what to do this time, the steps to follow, the questions to ask, but that knowledge doesn't bring reassurance.  

People say things about odds, about slim chances, and not very likely that that will happen again.  Well, once you've been on the wrong side of the odds, once you become the one out of millions the idea of good odds and not likely means squat.

We have agreed that we won't try again if we have another full term loss.  Full term loss, I love that term.  Or neonatal loss, which is what I have to write down on every single medical form for the rest of my life.  # of pregnancies ____ # of living children ____ Cause of death ____  ...... I hate medical forms now.

One thing that has pulled me through the past eight months has been the hope of trying again.  So if this baby dies I won't have that hope and where will that leave me?  More importantly, where does that leave us?  I really don't want to think about this, but I think, perhaps, I need to.

I've been surviving by focusing on the next appointment, not the next few months, but I think I need to consider this one part of the equation.  I refuse to say that a baby will come home with us in September.  And yet, I kind-of expect one to, because reliving through what we have since Charlotte died doesn't seem possible or manageable.

Perhaps in this one instance I need to drop the 'if' and really think about the next step if September comes around and we are once again bereft and childless.  Well, not childless, living children-less.

Pregnancy after loss is way more emotional than I thought it would be.  I thought I had worked through a lot of my fears and emotions about a subsequent pregnancy when we made the decision to try again.  Now that I'm a tiny bit pregnant with HUGE seemingly unanswerable questions whirling around in my mind I realize that this whole rainbow baby experience isn't for the faint of heart.  

Thursday, January 27, 2011


I spent time with my nephew and sister yesterday.  My sister is almost 36 weeks (I think) and doing well.  She is off bed rest, moving around, and hasn't been having contractions!  Baby was just over 6 lbs at her last appointment so if she needs to spend time in the NICU she is going to be the BIG baby of the pack.

My nephew is cautious about his sister coming home.  Dear boy has had his view of life and death change with Charlotte's death.  My sister said he tells people that baby may not come home, that you have to wait until it's born to see if it lives.  He has an imaginary friend that lives in his bathroom.  When he goes inside he often leaves the door open, or doesn't shut it all the way, and I can hear him jabbering away in there.  It's fascinating how the innocence of an imaginary friend can co-exist with the notion that babies die in one little mind.  

I am seven weeks today and sicker than sick.  I've resorted to taking colchicum (my anti-nausea tincture) every day.  I was texting with a dear friend last night and I wrote, "I am hopeless at making decisions and stepping out of set parameters" and that is the best description of my personality that I've come up with.  Ask J how many times he has tried to break a small rule and I've flipped out.  These words come out of my mouth far too often, "The sign says no, the law says not to, I know it's only a minor offense, but if no one followed the law we would have anarchy!!"

Dr. B said I can take colchicum every day if I need to, but she prefers I take it three times a week (M,W,F).  Well, now, how am I supposed to decide what to do if she won't tell me what to do??  Since I can barely function on the days I don't take it I've decided to take it every day, but half of me wants to call the office and pretend like I don't remember if it's okay so I can make SURE Dr. B doesn't mind.  Sometimes I don't feel twenty-seven.  Or maybe I just want to be young again and have someone else make decisions for me.  If I had all the money in the world I would hire a decision maker.  Surely that's not too eccentric for a billionaire.

Monday, January 24, 2011


50 comments on my last post.  I. Am. Astonished.

I've read the comments again and again, my heart full and a smile on my face.  I so appreciate the kind words and acknowledgment that I now hold two precious souls in my heart.  I'm just so grateful for this LIFE, for a second chance, for the opportunity to try again and to have you all encouraging me makes a bittersweet time a little more sweet than bitter.

I was glad to be pregnant with Charlotte, but the gratefulness did not overwhelm my heart like it does with this baby. Every night I think God for another day with this rainbow, this bright burst of life. When I step outside for a walk, or enter the library, church, the grocery store I talk to the baby in my mind.

This is a tree, this is grass, this is a book, these are cupcakes, mama likes cupcakes, this is Aquafit, this is where we will come for mama/baby swim classes, this is life, this is air, this is rain and sun. I hope you see these things with your own eyes one day.”

It's hard to go forward, but those who have sent me encouraging e-mails and left comments here and on that ubiquitous social page have shared so many beautiful pieces of advice that I find myself able to shed a small bit of the fear that felt so overwhelming the afternoon I laid on the ultrasound table and hoped to see a heart beat.

A few days after I found out about this pregnancy I saw Dr. B and she gave me a set of visualizations to work through each day. She talked me through them and then said, “I know it's hard. I know you don't want to do this because you are scared that this baby will die, but you NEED to do this. You need to imagine birthing and feeding and growing this baby.”

Yesterday a dear friend who has a rainbow of her own sent me a long e-mail. Embedded in her beautiful words was this bit:  "I want you to know that believing in something does not make it hurt any more or less if it does not turn out the way you want."

So maybe it's okay to hope ... ????

I am scared of doing something wrong.  I'll always feel like I failed Charlotte, like I didn't do everything I could for her.  Shortly after I found out I was pregnant J and I were driving home after a night out and I was explaining my fears about this to him. I was talking quickly, trying to alleviate some of the pressure that was sitting on my mind, all those fears building in my heart and I said, “I don't know what to do to make this baby live. I feel like I did everything right with Charlotte. I gave up caffeine, no chocolate for three months when the MFM doctor said it would be best even though her heart arrhythmia was benign.  I ate well, I loved her, I exercised, I just don't know what I can change.”

And then J said this, which completely changed my perspective.  "Maybe Charlotte lived as long as she did because of everything you did."

Oh. Hadn't thought of it that way.
He went on.  “Each baby is a different being, it's a small ball of cells, it develops quickly, and it's a miracle any babies live.” And it is, it truly is. And hopefully regarding Charlotte I can remember I did my best, I did right by her small unprotected life. 

At church on Sunday the pastor preached about giving our lives over to God and feeling totally accepted and loved because of this surrender. The sermon made me realize that I need to give this life up to God. Sometimes when I think about my dear Charlotte dying I imagine that she never left the arms of heaven; that she was born into the hands of love with the hands of God around her as well and she never felt pain, or fear, only love, and after we had a moment to look her in the eyes the Lord took her home with Him, His hands never leaving her.

I want this baby to be born with hope, love, and prayer. It is my greatest wish that she or he join us on Earth, not our beloved Charlotte in heaven, but I still want this baby to be born with the love of God surrounding him or her. My heart says that God is good all the time and I do believe that. He did not forsake us as we walked through the darkness without her, and though there is still darkness there is light as well as He has blessed us with this second child. 

He will watch over us as we watch over this life and pray for its wellbeing.  All I can do for this small flicker of life is to place my fears for it in the capable hands of God, sleep, eat, exercise, drink water, and love, love, love on this baby for as long as he or she is with me.  

I am helpless.  It is very humbling to know I have no control over the next (hopefully) nine months.  If I could will this baby to live he or she would live a thousand years.  But then, had I that power, I would have an eight month old and I wouldn't know the incredible depths of love or grief. 

*** Out of respect for those who are still trying for a rainbow I have started a page over there to the right for belly and ultrasound pictures ***

Sunday, January 23, 2011

New year, new life


(I don't know who to attribute this to, but this is the definition of a rainbow baby that is floating around the Internet: "Rainbow Baby" is the understanding that the beauty of a rainbow does not negate the ravages of the storm. When a rainbow appears, it doesn't mean the storm never happened or that the family is not still dealing with its aftermath. What it means is that something beautiful and full of light has appeared in the midst of the darkness and clouds. Storm clouds may still hover but the rainbow provides a counterbalance of color, energy and hope.)

I'm pregnant with my rainbow!!!!

Baby is 6 weeks, 3 days!!

I know some of you are shaking your fist at the screen and pulling out a bottle of wine. I'm sorry, I hope you get your BFP soon.  If you can't read here anymore I understand, but I will miss you. I know a lot of mamas decide to begin a second blog for their rainbow, but it's simply not for me. While this is a loss blog, it is also a life blog and this pregnancy as well as my time with Charlotte are so intertwined that I cannot begin to separate them. Again, if you leave I will miss you dearly, but I understand how difficult it is.

I found out on the 7th of January at 9:42 am. I have no idea when I tested with Charlotte, but with this pregnancy I am marking down every milestone. I know now how treasured the smallest milestones are when you will never have a first birthday, first word, or any of those other important firsts.

I don't know why December was the month. I think it was a combination of midwife magic, a healthy diet, and feeling like it wasn't my month. My dates were impossible to sort out because it took forever for the pregnancy test to show a positive and I had no idea when I ovulated, but after an early ultrasound the tentative EDD is September 15th.  

I was going to wait longer to share the news, but I can't keep my mouth shut. I've told so many people now there's little point in not sharing the news here. I am pregnant right now and that is something to celebrate.  I've also discovered that I need to write here because you dear readers have walked beside me and guided me since Charlotte died and I need that more than ever now. 

This also explains all of the whiny posts about how I don't want to do much. The first trimester of pregnancy is a very rough time for me. I was hoping to be less sick with this babe, but as each day passes I feel more nauseated. I am happy to have strong symptoms even if it means I spend most of my time on the couch or in bed or moaning and crying on the bathroom floor because I can't keep any food down.    

With my thyroid being off life is a little crazy. My care team has expanded as this pregnancy is being watched over by maternal fetal medicine doctors as well as my midwife. Soon I'll go through the list of who, what, where because I'll be tossing out a couple more names, but that's a boring post for another day.

I'm scared that this baby, this rainbow, will be seen as a fix, or a replacement for sweet Charlotte. It's not, not at all. If we make it to birth, and if this babe lives, he or she will definitely help heal our hearts, but there is no way we can place this babe over Charlotte and her memory and forget that she was, that she breathed, that thirty-eight weeks with her made us parents and changed us forever.

There's a lot of terror here.  I've been texting and e-mailing my poor midwife like mad. She was in Haiti when I found out and I nearly fell to pieces knowing I was pregnant and she wasn't in the U.S. It's not all terror though, there's joy and hope as well. The extreme hormonal shift has brought up a lot of emotions. I cry a lot for Charlotte, for this baby and its flickering heart that I already love so much it's indescribable. I want her, but I want this one too, and my mind cannot sort out how I ended up here.

I am so blessed to be carrying life again.  On Thursday afternoon I saw this:  

A beating heart, a little bud of a babe, a beginning that will hopefully end with a healthy baby. 


Friday, January 21, 2011


It's 11:00 and I'm still in bed in my pajamas.  I haven't had a day like this in a long time, but it's cold, I don't feel well, and I need rest.  I am feeling better, but I'm still not as healthy as I was a couple months ago.  I'm on the medication I was on before plus everything Dr. B had me taking before my levels went sideways.  I had a blood test last week and the results came in a few days ago.  My levels are still high, but they're coming down, so progress is happening.

This morning I've been thinking about how lucky I am to have the marriage I do. It hasn't always been easy, we've hit a few rough spots, but eight months after Charlotte died I feel like we're closer than we've ever been before.  Had she lived I don't know if I would take the time to tell J how much I love and appreciate him every day.  I feel very blessed to be in a relationship with someone who shares the same values and ideals as me.  We've come a long way since that early summer afternoon in 2006 when we said our vows.  Though I wish Charlotte was here I think losing her has changed us for the better.

And I feel so grateful that J has a job and that he likes and is committed to that job.  It's because of him that I can stay in bed all day because I don't feel like getting up.  I was gone most of the day yesterday and when I arrived home he had done the small amount of housework I needed to do so I could relax.

I know I've written about being grateful and thankful for the people in my life, and how losing Charlotte has really accentuated the need to tell people how much I love them.  I've been having a bit of a hard time lately and I've been inundated with messages of love and support.  It's made me think about how much a simple, "I love you," "I care," "I'm listening," can matter.  It's incredible how my world view changed when she died and I realized that in thirty-eight weeks life can come and go.  My priorities and what I considered important shifted dramatically when I left that hospital with empty arms.  People matter, friendships matter, family matters, love matters, and not much else.

My midwife recently came back from Haiti and when she told me of her time there hearing the passion in her voice for the people and the situation Haitians are in magnified the importance of love and family for me.  Family is so much more than the people I'm related to.  And while I am immensely grateful for my family I feel blessed ten times over to have so many friends I consider family as well.

This post is over the top sentimental, but I'm feeling the love today.  And I'm eating an apple while I type this which always makes me feel feverish and sentimental.

Wednesday, January 19, 2011


I don't know what I did at Aquafit this morning, but I'm walking like I traveled by horse from Portland to Seattle.


Thank you for the delightful comments on my church post.  I was afraid to post it, but you dear readers were so kind to me.  And a big thank you to the readers who have introduced themselves recently.  I love e-mails and comments from known and unknown readers.


I've been feeling quite well lately.  Not too sad, almost happy.  Well, actually, I think I've tipped over to happy a time or two recently.  Not now, not tonight.  I tend to work myself up about things I don't need to work myself up about.  It drives J crazy.  He greatly dislikes that about me.  That and the fact that I drop the toilet paper roll on the nearest surface instead of snapping it into the holder.  In our bathroom the holder IS the nearest surface as two people who are not good friends cannot occupy our bathroom at once so I'm not sure why replacing it is so difficult for me.

In all seriousness, I'm a bit of a wreck and everything always comes back to her no matter where it starts from.  And I think some of the tears tonight are worry tears, but quite a few are missing Charlotte tears.

I know I've shared this song before, but it speaks to where I am, and what I want.  This bit especially: When you lose something you can't replace / When you love someone but it goes to waste. Oh, yes, that.  I know loving her is not a waste, it will never be that, but sometimes I just don't know where to put all this love as I have no baby feet to kiss.

Tuesday, January 18, 2011


I have been blessed with the Stylish Blogger Award from two sweet mamas! Thank you Jessica at Too Beautiful for Earth and Ava's mama (I am ashamed to admit I don't know her name) at Beautiful Songbird.

Here are the rules:

1. Thank and link back to the person who presented you with this award
2. Share 7 things about yourself
3. Award 15 recently discovered great bloggers
4. Contact these bloggers and tell them about the award!

I have to confess: I don't have the energy to pass this award on.  My brain cannot come up with seven things my readers don't know about me, (perhaps I should share less) and linking to fifteen blogs and then commenting on those blogs about the award is daunting for me right now.

Please forgive me. I don't want to seem ungrateful, or be a bad blogger, but I need to conserve my energy and alter my focus a bit.    

I'm feeling better, but I'm still not as healthy as I was a few months ago and I've been focusing my efforts on my home and husband.  It's been eight months since Charlotte died and while I cannot find the strength to go back to work I have to be somewhat useful.  So I've been cleaning out drawers, sorting out our files, planning meals, grocery shopping, COOKING DINNER EVERY NIGHT (can I get an award for that? I hate cooking) and doing my best to be a helpful hausfrau.  

I cannot live peacefully if I think someone is mad at me, or feel like I have disappointed someone so it is difficult for me to admit I cannot do this but my health and home have to take priority.

I appreciate everyone who reads here so much and I love the two mamas who passed on the award.  When I logged on this afternoon I noticed that my readership is growing consistently and I feel blessed that so many come here to read about my daughter and my efforts to live without her.  I don't feel very stylish as I sit here in lounge pants and a shirt I bought four or more years ago, but I do feel loved.

Sunday, January 16, 2011


We went to church this morning.  It's been a while, but we're trying to make the effort to attend every week.  It's been eight months.  It feels like it's time to resume at least one of the normal routines we had before Charlotte died.

I know many of you don't believe what I believe.  I know a lot of my readers won't finish this post because it makes them uncomfortable.  I don't want to make anyone uncomfortable, but there are moments when I just have to share my heart and beliefs. (Sometimes it is difficult for me to balance my faith with what I write here.  I want readers to know I am a Christian, but I don't want to scream it in anyone's face).

The message was fabulous even though our pastor had a 103 degree temp.  I would've passed out, but he delivered a wonderful sermon.  At the end of the service we sang How Deep the Father's Love For Us.  I don't always pay attention to the lyrics of hymns because I've been singing them for years, but it's been a long time since this song has come into rotation and I stopped singing when I saw these words on the screen:

"How great the pain of searing loss,
The Father turns his face away"

The song is about God watching his Son die on the cross so we can be saved and have eternal life.  Every now and again I am struck by the reminder that God lost a child too.  Granted he didn't lose a baby, but he did lose a child.

I know many struggle with God after their baby dies.  I don't think I have the capacity to explain how I feel about God but I can say that I don't feel like Charlotte died because God didn't intervene and I don't believe he "needed another angel" (worst statement ever).

Even if you are not a believer, even if you are simply confused about God and His place in a world where babies die read When Bad Things Happen to Good People by Harold S. Kushner.  It is the best book about God and loss I've read.  


Friday, January 14, 2011



I pulled the 2010 calendar off the wall this morning.  I hate this calendar.  I left it up long after the new year had come because I couldn't stand pulling it off the wall.  This calendar has prenatal appointments, birthing classes, the phone number for the midwife who taught our birthing classes scribbled at the bottom of April, and "Baby due!" written across May 20th although your due date was probably later.  You were so small, full term, but so, so small dear girl, and I think somewhere along the way dates were confused, days dropped, you lost your way, and either stopped growing, or grew incorrectly.

It's been thirty-two weeks since you died.  In seven weeks it will be thirty-nine weeks and you will be dead longer than you were alive.  I don't understand how that is possible, how you could live and die in such a short span.  You lived less than a year.  I feel cheated, stolen from even.  Life is very, very unfair.

Love couldn't tether you to this Earth, but it will keep the thread between us strong, and no matter what changes, or how many seasons we live through you will be missed.

You are loved, baby mine.

Thursday, January 13, 2011


I am finally feeling better.  I am on medication + tinctures and that seems to be the necessary combination for now.

Tomorrow is eight months.  Whew.  That number feels huge, almost insurmountable.  If tomorrow is eight months, next month is nine, and that is a whole lot of months, days, hours, seconds I have lived without my heart.

Both sets of grandparents gave me wrapped gifts to open on the 14th.  I want to open them now.  I've wanted to open them since I've had them in my possession.  I really need to develop patience.

I haven't been writing here as much.  I don't have many words these days, which is pretty unusual for me.  I'm feeling a little lost, a bit overwhelmed too.

I'm mopey and sad.  I've been skipping Aquafit because I haven't been feeling well, but I need to get back in the pool.  Floating in the water greatly improves my mood.  The last time I went I was floating in the deep end with my head resting on my arms which were folded over a swim noodle.  The instructor said, "At least try the exercises."  I smiled at her and kept floating.  "Well I guess you don't have to if you don't want to," she said as she turned back to the class.  I'm a little Aquafit rebel.  

In other news: My sister comes off bed rest next week.  She will be 34 weeks at that time and the risk of blood clots is too great for her to remain on bed rest. Her sweet girl is growing and thriving and will hopefully be born healthy in a few weeks.

Tuesday, January 11, 2011


Blah ...

That's all I can come up with these days.

There's a lot happening.

Life feels heavy.

January is always a hard month for me.

Six years since the doctor said, "You have Graves Disease ..."

I have bigger anniversaries to mourn now, but this one haunts me too.

This is helping: Philippians 4:13: I can do all things through Christ who strengthens me

This too:

Saturday, January 8, 2011


We've decided not to buy the house.  We're quite content here, even though the bathroom is tiny, and the house we were looking at was in shambles.  It feels like a good decision, the right one for where we are.  While talking about the house, the repairs needed, the money and time we would have to invest, I realized we still aren't doing all that well.  We're functioning, but a project like that would prove too much for us at this time.  It hasn't even been a year ... we're still picking up the pieces, I suppose.

On Thursday J went to the prison to see patients.  His ultrasound machine is portable, it's a modified laptop, and he didn't have time to drop it off at the hospital so he brought it home.  I asked him to scan me, see if he could find a baby even though his machine is not meant for that, he wasn't trained to do it, and the only babies he's been able to find are late second and third trimester ones.

I find ultrasound fascinating.  It provides a window into the body and it gives me a clearer sense of where my organs are (they're never where I think they should be).  On Thursday I learned that I have a slightly leaky heart valve, that my right kidney is really close to my bladder, and J showed me how the heart works, what its functions are, how the blood flows.    

J didn't find a baby, but he did find a liver cyst.  He thinks it's benign, nothing to worry about, but Dr G., who he works for, thinks an abdominal ultrasound is a good idea so I'll schedule that next week.  I hope they're right about it being benign as another health problem is the last thing I need right now.  

Soon it will be eight months since Charlotte died.  Now that we've rounded the corner into the new year I feel like her one year birthday/anniversary is looming.  I've started to think about what to do, how to remember her, honor her short life.  We've discussed burying her ashes somewhere, but I'm strangely hesitant to do so.  I feel a strong connection to those ashes, silly as that may be, and I'm not sure I can part with them.  Maybe we'll bury a small bit, but keep the rest with us.  J will go along with whatever I want to do, but he doesn't care one way or another, and he's not going to plan anything, which leaves it all up to me.  

I can't believe I'm trying to sort out her first anniversary instead of her first birthday (I wanted to make cupcakes from scratch for the first time).  I can't believe I've made it this far without her.

Thursday, January 6, 2011


I've been on a documentary kick.  There are tons of documentaries available via Netflix instant watch and I've watched everything from Manhattan parents battling the ups and downs of the admittance process to private preschools ($9,000 - $20,000 a year for a three-year-old? I don't think so) to a millionaire heroin addict attempting to break his habit with a trip to Mexico and a few doses of an experimental drug.

Last night I watched A Walk to Beautiful which follows three Ethiopian women seeking treatment for fistulas after childbirth.  All three lost their children while in labor, all were not allowed to see the baby after birth, and all were ostracized from their families and villages.  Can you imagine living through the loss of your child, suffering through physically after, and then being shunned for those very reasons?  The movie was filmed in 2007 so this is a current and ongoing problem.  Bless the doctors, surgeons, and nurses who work at the fistula hospital in Addis Ababa  for restoring life, honor, dignity and hope to so many women.  The hospital has served over 30,000 women, helps over 2,000 women each year, and provides lodging for patients who need long term care (

Yesterday afternoon a friend sent me a text message wherein she asked if buying me a onesie with "little bird" on it would be too painful; perhaps a framed picture of the same thing would be better?  I responded, said we may need a room just for Charlotte's things since we have received so much and are blessed with remembrance gifts every month.  At the very least I will have to buy a trunk of some sort to store all of her things.  If a day comes when I don't feel the need to scatter her things around the house, that is.

I wish I could find the words to explain how I feel about the gap between my life and the lives of the Ethiopian women in A Walk to Beautiful.  All I can come up with is this: I am so blessed.

Wednesday, January 5, 2011


I can't sleep ...  I always suffer from insomnia when my thyroid flares up.

The framed picture from the wonderful C was waiting for us when we went over for dinner and games tonight.  It is so incredible, a picture simply cannot do it justice.  Especially since I took the picture at this time of night.

Sweet Ascension

I just have to share this too ...  

This is my Charlotte bear from the wonderful Bridget who remembers her daughter with Molly Bears.  The bear is weighted, so it's 5 lbs, 7 oz, just like our sweet girl.  I'm a bit embarrassed by how much comfort I receive from it ... it's just wonderful to hug it close and remember holding her.  And the bird detail is fabulous, so sweet.  

A few days ago I reached the absolute bottom in regards to my illness.  When I'm this sick life seems very bleak, the smallest task insurmountable.  I have a lot of hormonal/emotional things happening here so I'm a mess most of the time.  Add in my love for drama and I'm a basket case.  We'll never have a living child ... If I don't conceive soon we won't have a baby in 2011 and the world will simply end ... 

Side story: When I was a junior in college I was still sorting out what medication I needed, what dosage worked best for me, and how my body reacted to the different medications.  At the end of a semester I was very ill, barely functioning.  I had to give a presentation in my literary criticism class to pass and move forward with my degree.  I made it through one sentence before blanking on the entire presentation, nearly fainting, and running out of the classroom in tears.
I went to a small Quaker college where we called the professors by their first names and all of the class sizes were small.  I knew everyone in this class fairly well since it was a requirement for my major.  I ran out of the classroom and into the bathroom next door, collapsed on the floor and sobbed.  My friend A, came banging in the door and sat down next to me.  
"Oh my gosh, B just told the entire class you have hormonal problems!" she informed me.  I was humiliated, mortified, embarrassed, and very, very ill.
That night I went to the store to pick up a few items.  Before leaving the apartment I asked my roommates if they needed anything and they all requested pads, tampons, panty liners, everything of that nature.  I selected my few food items and then filled the basket I was carrying with the items my roommates had requested.  I placed the last item in my basket, turned, and bumped into a guy from my literary criticism class.  He looked at the basket, glanced at me, looked at the basket, looked back at me ... his eyes were HUGE.  He patted my arm, shuffled back and forth a bit, muttered that he hoped I felt better soon and scurried away from me.  
I passed the class.  I think (hope, really) the professor felt bad about his incorrect, and very personal, comment.  

We have all we need but I always feel like we're living an almost life.  I carry a serious case of 'everyone else is happier than me' everywhere I go.  I don't know the private pain others feel and experience, but from the outside looking in many lives look better than mine.  I feel like they're living LIFE while I mope around dragging I almost had it all behind me.   

I'm trying so hard to find contentment, be content, but it's elusive and I'm struggling.  Life feels HARD right now, but I feel as if I should stop complaining since we have so much.    

We turn the heat off at night and I am freezing so it's off to bed for me, even though I won't be able to sleep.  The entire point of this post was to share the beautiful drawing from our friend, but simplicity has never been my thing.  Verbosity, on the other hand, I've got in spades.    

Tuesday, January 4, 2011


I'm still not well.  I'm far from well actually, but I have another acupuncture appointment today, followed by a long appointment with Dr. B next week so hopefully my body will sort itself out soon.  I am VERY late, hoping that situation will right itself soon too.  Half of me wants to take one more test, just in case, the other half is hitting the first half upside the head and repeating the words two negative tests over and over.

Life has been exciting around here.  We found a house we love, but to say we are up in the air about whether or not we should buy another house right now is a grand understatement.  The market has not been kind to sellers lately and while we may be able to hold two mortgages that seems like an awful lot of pressure and not something the bank is likely to approve.  This house is our feasible dream house, a wonderful home that we can afford.  The situation is messy, the home has been foreclosed, but the price is beautiful and it's about 1/3 of an acre.  We dream of 1/2  - 1 acre with a beautiful Craftsman home, but that's simply unattainable for us.  Land is so expensive here.  The house needs a new roof, it needs painted, there's a few broken window panes, and random holes in the wall.  The kitchen needs updated as well, but that could keep, it's not an immediate concern.  I refuse to be hopeful about this situation, to think it may work out for us, because it is such a long shot and I've learned a few harsh lessons about dreams and expectations

J has mentioned pregnancy and how moving into a second home now as well as carrying a second mortgage simply does not make sense if I am pregnant.  I don't know what to tell him.  My body is on strike and refuses to do as I command.

If you think of us, please pray for peace and clarity surrounding this decision (if you pray, of course).  J and I have made a few horrendous decisions in the four years we've been married and we hope to avoid one this go round.

Also - fellow bloggers: I'm reading, always reading, but not commenting of late.  I know how much a comment means and I try to comment when I read, but I haven't had the energy.    

Saturday, January 1, 2011


I feel as if I should write about how renewed and refreshed I feel on this first day of 2011 but I have to be honest, this is not how I wanted to start my year.  One week late, two negative tests in the trash can.  A thyroid gone sideways which is the probable cause for those negative tests.  I possess little patience, the waiting is making me crazy, and as each day passes the next cycle, and the next, and the next get pushed further back and my odds of having a baby in 2011 are dwindling by the moment.

Initially I was going to sign on and write The Creme de la Creme is up - Yay!, but I got a bit distracted by the second negative pregnancy test and the frustration that refuses to leave.  I've packed its bags, turned it out and locked the door, but it slips back in, tosses open its suitcases, scatters its things, disrupts my life and refuses to leave.  And it brings friends.  "You''ll never have another baby," is a mean monster and it always tags along with Frustration.

I'm going to take a HOT bath and forget all about peeing on sticks and one pink line and the words not pregnant (digital tests are evil) and then it's dinner, dessert and time on the couch with the fabulous posts from The Creme de la Creme.  



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