Everything is a Memory

December 3, 2008

They are everywhere, bombarding me from all directions.  Memories of this time last year when I was newly pregnant.  I was innocent and thrilled, excited and a little scared.  Now, all I can think about is that this would have been their first Christmas.  I should be out buying little presents and toys and making plans for to have their pictures taken but no, not this year.  Not ever.  They are gone forever.

And I miss them so much I can’t stand to have my eyes open.  I have cried so hard the last 3 days that my eyelashes are starting to fall out again.  I think my pain is showing because people keep asking me if I am okay.

No, I am not okay.  I don’t care about anything anymore.

I want to sleep through December and hope that next year will be better.

And Then It Was Over.

November 6, 2008

I started spotting last night.  And then the spots turned bright red.  And then I knew that was that.

Dr. T still wants me to have the second blood test to confirm but I am pretty sure whatever little grouping of cells had attached themselves to my uterus are gone.

But surprisingly, I haven’t cried.  I’m disappointed, of course but thing is, it’s still a win to me.  We got pregnant again.  We knew there might be some false starts with the genetic issue that I have.  It’s still a win though and I am focusing on that positive.

Thanks for being excited for me.  Let’s just call this one the practice round.


October 31, 2008

So here I am, sitting at my desk at work, feeling totally lonely.  I have friends – lots of really good ones actually – but I feel like I can’t say, “I am sick and tired of being the only one with no baby, this fucking blows.”  I mean how do you say that in conversation.  Plus I would just break down and no one wants to see that.  This is when I would plop down in Suzanne’s office and whine.  Suzanne is 3 hours away.  Maybe I need to meet some people with no kids.  I don’t know.  Maybe this is because I am sick and don’t feel well.  Everyone in the office is treating me like MORE of a leper because I have a cold so I have not spoken to a soul in 3 and 1/2 hours.  Maybe this is because “dot” (thanks Jenn-Jenn) was supposed to come this morning and I am too scared to test (I don’t feel pregnant – why waste the money and get my hopes up).  Maybe this is because Halloween is my favorite holiday and I don’t have my boys to dress up.  I don’t even have costumes for the dogs.

I’m tired of this.  Every month I am disappointed.  We have two more months of au naturale and then I want some drugs.  If Dr. T won’t do it, I will find someone who will.  I want to be tested and then I want drugs.  I’m calling January 2nd.

I’m just tired of this feeling like I’m never going to have another baby.  I’m tired of wondering how I got here.

I came to the conclusion last night that the strangeness between me and my mother is not me.  It’s her, it’s all her.  My mom came to spend the night at my house last night because she was flying out to San Diego this morning.  I told her we would have dinner and see “Nights in Rodanthe.”  She called at 3:30 to say that she was on her way.  It takes about 3 hours to here from her house so that would be perfect.  The movie started at 7:45pm, we had time to eat and see the movie, no problem.  I was looking forward to seeing her.  I had a nice little inter-dialogue with myself that I was happy to see her, that I would be nice and not quick to anger or be offended.  I would be compassionate.

She walked in the front door at 6:30pm and flopped down on the couch and “said, well, you don’t have to worry about me coming by, I’ll never do that again.”  No hug, nothing.  “Okay,” I said, “what’s wrong?”  She looked at me and said, “that was the worst drive ever.  This is so out of the way, all the way out here.”

Hubby and I live in the suburbs of Raleigh.  It’s not the close suburbs but it’s what we could afford when we were buying a house.  It was the difference between a 2 bedroom with no land and a 3 bedroom with a fenced yard on about a quarter of an acre.  We worked hard to buy this house.  We wanted a house for a long time and with no help from either set of parents, we bought this house on our own.  It’s a nice house.  I love my house.

While repeating in my head, “happy thoughts, smiling thoughts,” I said, “well, I am glad you made it.  Would you like a glass of water or the bathroom?”  She still had not commented on the house or the Halloween decorations in the front.  I have some serious Halloween decorations out front.

After the restroom, she said, “well, are you going to give me a tour or what?’ 

Okay……..so I did.  I showed her to the guest room/Hubby’s office.  We have a really nice futon (not a contradiction, I assure you) in the office.  I had already made it up for her.  First thing she says?  “It’s really hot in here.  I thought you had a 3 bedroom house.”

Lovely.  Great.  I said, “I do have a 3 bedroom house, do you want me to get your stuff out of the car?” 

What I wanted to say was, “Yes, I have a 3 bedroom house but one of the rooms that is chalked to the walls with baby furniture, car seat, clothes (remember people, I had two of everything…) and that room, well, that’s supposed to be the nursury for my twin boys but really, I had totally forgotten about that room so thanks for reminding me because I don’t walk passed it everyday, touch the door and wish like hell it was filled with two screaming boys.  You are right, I totally forgot about that room.”

We went to dinner, skipped the movie, came home, she said two words to Hubby and went to bed.  No hug, nothing.

So I went in there gave her a hug and said, “have a nice trip, I will see you when you get back” – Hubby was taking her to the airport as I wouldn’t have gotten to work on time if I took her – she never asks when we can take her to the airport, she just books her flight.  She gave me a hug and said “goodnight.”

I made a point to get up this morning and make sure I said “goodbye” and give her a hug.  I am just so relieved to know that it’s not me.  It’s really not me.  It’s her.  She’s unhappy.

And that’s not my fault.