There are other things that get lost

“But when we miscarry, and little ‘evidence’ is available to support a life existed, the support disappears—leaving the mother grieving and treated as neurotic for mourning the very same ‘baby’ who’d been exuberantly cheered for all over Facebook just an hour before.”

This post from Still Standing punched me right in the heart!

I know loss isn’t fun, I get that. I’m not always happy. I don’t always feel things the way people who haven’t had their world crushed, multiple times, mind you, act. It isn’t happy. It isn’t polite dinner conversation. I’ve lost a dear friendship, too. Loss leads to loss, it seems. I don’t blame anyone, but it makes me so sad. It hurts in a different way, but almost as badly. It is, in fact, one of the worst things in the word. Being broken sucks. It is like being consumed by something so like the Nothing from The Neverending Story. Not being able to fill the kind of emptiness that just grows deeper and blacker all the time is the most urgently painful thing I’ve ever felt.

I know I’m not that fun all the time. I wish I was more fun, too.

Believe me. I want to be.

I want to BE happy.
I want to BE a Mama.
I want to BE able to make my husband a Daddy.
I want to BE the kind of friend that doesn’t cry when she finds out you are pregnant.
I want to BE in love with myself and not hate all the parts of me that don’t know their effing job.
I want to BE.

It’s one of the many other things that were lost along with those tiny heartbeats that don’t mean as much to you. The ones that leave me empty and broken.



I probably suck for this, but

Show Poster Baby Shower Invitations

I probably suck for this, but…

I don’t do Baby Showers.

I haven’t gone to a baby shower since we lost baby Hope when I was 14 weeks pregnant. 10.01.10:  The worst day ever.

I used to go to them. All the time. I loved to plan baby showers for friends. I have always been baby crazy. Just the thought of one of my friends being pregnant would send me into a whirlwind of excitement! I’m was so totally YAY! BABY!

Now it just hurts. It makes my whole body ache. I grieve all over again. I have to remind myself to breathe. I’m not being dramatic. This pain, this most awful reality, is so very real and vivid and painful.

I hope that you don’t know this level of pain. Not anyone. Not ever. Unfortunately, I know so many that do. And so many more that struggle with infertility. It isn’t fair, not even a little bit.

I’m happy for my pregnant friends. I’m even happier for the ones that get to experience that same kind of innocent excitement we were blessed with for the 14 weeks I was pregnant. For those friends that are pregnant after a loss (or two, three, more), I am endlessly excited for you. Soaring with you. Worrying with you. Praying all the while, for all of my pregnant friends with love. So much love.

So, I probably suck for this, but I don’t do baby showers. I don’t because they hurt my entire everything. I don’t because it isn’t about me. Some sad and distracted friend in the bathroom crying isn’t exactly baby shower material. It pains me when my friends apologize for being pregnant. That awkward phone call, even though we haven’t spoken in a while. The “I have something to tell you” or the “I wanted you to know before we announced it.” That almost kills me. Every time. Not because of me, but because of you. The idea that I am loved enough to be called and coddled. That someone would almost downplay one of the most amazing things ever. It KILLS ME. A baby shower is not about me. It’s about pure joy and the amazing awesomeness of a life being built. Dreams and wishes and everythings. Baby showers aren’t for me right now.

I hope, one day, to be pregnant again. The kind of pregnant where you get a healthy baby at the end. And I hope I get to have a baby shower. I hope everyone will come, but I won’t think you suck if you don’t do baby showers.

the super cute invite at the top of this post is from

My worst enemy is me

Sometimes things suck so massively that there just isn’t any way to put a positive spin on them. Believe me, I try. I’m usually a life-is-beautiful, everything-works-out-in-the-end, YAY FOR ALL THE THINGS! kind of girl. But, not so much right now. Schmoopy and I had this conversation several times this weekend. He’s the realist. I’m the hopefull one. He likes it that way & usually I do, too.

Right now, I’m a hope-is-for-suckers kind of chick. I’m one of those everything-sucks kind of people today. And I’m perfectly okay with that. Because stuff sucks sometimes. People say stupid things. Nothing goes the way you want it to. I’m not pregnant AGAIN, I have strep, and my back is about to go out.

On Saturday, it became obvious that our last IUI didn’t work. That was confirmed on Sunday. I’m done for a while. Done with being happy. Done with hope. Done with the stupid roller coaster that is infertility.

I don’t trust my body to do the right thing. I don’t trust my body enough to invest the time, emotional toll, or huge dollar amount needed for IVF. It might not work. It might work and I could have another miscarriage. It might work and we could have a healthy baby or two. I’m no math genius, but the odds don’t look so hot. I just don’t believe that this is going to work for us. So I’m waiting to confirm a few things with our doctor and I’m ready to call it. Throw in the towel. Be a quitter (which seems to be a theme with me lately and I still don’t regret any of my recent quits!).

Friends who were in the same infertility boat as us have now had a successful pregnancy (or two or three) or have successfully adopted. We are happy for them. Truly. But, the bottom line is, that doesn’t get us our baby. That doesn’t make me stop hating the parts of my body that don’t work. It doesn’t fix anything. I know, I promise, really I know, that I need to be a good friend and support all of the people we love who are new parents or expectant parents, but I might need to do it with a bit of distance. I might not be able to go to baby showers yet (I haven’t been to one since my 2010 miscarriage at 14 weeks and I don’t know if I’m ready yet). I’m trying not to be a selfish brat, but at the same time I’m trying to protect myself from seriously considering staying in bed all day every day.

Who knows, I might feel better in a week, feel infinitely hopeful again, make peace with the broken parts of me, and be ready to go for it again.

But, until that happens, here’s what you can do to help:

Here is a list of things I don’t want to hear from ANYONE EVER:

It’s okay (because not even one little bit of this is okay)

Stop trying and you’ll get pregnant (that is both total b.s. & so freaking hurtful)

I know, read, heard that …. (you, just like me, don’t know much about this–geez, even the doctors don’t know a whole lot, really)

Everything happens for a reason (might be true, but totally not helpful, & the reason pretty much sucks to me right now)

Cheer up (or anything that sounds like that. I’m really effing sad & there’s nothing wrong with being sad)

My friend (sister, cousin, lady at church, whoever) did xyz and it worked (please don’t throw other people’s good fortune in my face. It feels like you are, which you probably aren’t, so just don’t)

Here are some things that you can do:

Pray for us (it helps infinitely)

Let me know if you know anything about adoption (we are seriously thinking that adoption might be the right path for us)

Respect my right to be sad for a while.

Love your pregnancy and your kids a million times more than you even think is possible. Even when you are puking and feeling horrible (I’d love to be that sick right now-you are making a person, deal with it), even when they drive you totally insane (because they are such a beautiful gift), even you are exhausted and worn out and just don’t know anymore (be thankful for every second of parenthood, no matter how difficult it may be)

Yep, this was a rant. It’s over now.

It didn’t make me feel much better and I probably offended several people, but what’s done is done.

The eyeliner incident, but not really


Last week I cried because the wrong color eyeliner was in my box from Sephora. Cried. Ugly, Schmoopy needed to hold me cry. It was about as awful as a Dobby from HP kind of cry. My patient, kind, loving husband who doesn’t always understand but loves without judgement and so fiercely, let me thrash it out. And thank God for that man! The kicker: It wasn’t even Sephora’s fault. I ordered the wrong one. That kinda sucked, too, because I couldn’t even blame anyone but me. There was a roach at the bottom of my coffee cup only a few days later. It was like a message saying, just go with it…you will be fine. But, I wasn’t in the mood for that message. Or much of anything, really. Roller coaster emotions. I hate them

It wasn’t the eyeliner I was crying over, for real. It was so many things, huge and insignificant, that had me sobbing. I have a strange sense of unease this school year (as a teacher, my life is measured in these school years, rather than fiscal years, or calendar years, like non-teachers see the world). It is a thing that has causes and mysteries, none of which are easy to name. And these unnameable things grow even bigger and more fierce without names. Like they can roam free and do anything they like, because they have no way to be called or caught.

I am fighting this, all of it. I’m searching for these longings to be settled and an ease that just won’t come. Some of it is the societal demand of being a teacher in a time that keeps blaming and trying to fix without knowing or really supporting. Without loving. Some of it is my heart that wishes for big huge giant things that cannot be, like my Poppi, or my Yankee Jane kitty girl, or my sweet baby Hope. Some of it is that horrid stupid empty that is infertility and the feeling of powerless that wraps itself around me and squeezes, as 40 draws more near, as friends become parents time and again while still I wait. I talk & text with my dear friends and they rage with me and fuss with me and give me hugs across the miles. Even though I know they hurt with me and they would fix it, if they could. They’d kick some ass and set fires. And I love them. So freaking hard. So, so, so much.

But this still sits on my chest like a beast. Some of it is the nightmares, both tiny and raging, that keep me edgy and sleepy and up too early. Most of it is a fear of those Dark Times returning, even thought I know I’m in a better place now and I won’t fall like that again. But also knowing that I could, so quickly and easily, I could. This is an ugly temper tantrum in a crowded store. This isn’t about the eyeliner. Or the coffee roach. Or the entire blender full of green smoothie that jumped out my hands at 5:30 this morning & coated the floor, walls, and appliances with greenish blue muck. It isn’t about one thing, large or small. It is everything. And nothing.

Then tonight I went to my teacher book club. And I was tired &  grumpy. And I didn’t really want to go. But I went. And I laughed. And I laughed. Laughed. We talked about all of the awesome that happens in our classrooms and all of the awful, too. It was so right. So raw. So real. But not in a sad way. Not in a complaining way. It was just what I needed.


When I got home it was late & I was tired. Way tired. Teacher Tired, but so much happier. I logged into my MADE course  and read this:

“I am here to remind you
your life is heartbreakingly gorgeous even when it’s heartbreakingly . . . heartbreaking.
I am here to remind you
we can speak with the Divine
even when our words come out all ugly, when we want to swear,
when we scream why,
when we have nothing left to say.
I am here to remind you
you are loved––beyond measure, beyond any boundary:
you are loved, you are loved, you are loved,
you are the child of Love
and expression of Love
and outpouring of Love.”

It was a gift. A hug. A prayer. Love.
And I knew, really knew, that I would be okay. Because of love, and laughter, and friendship. And love. So much Love.

Please say a prayer or two, offer a smile to those who need it, be kinder than necessary. Be strong for those who are weak. I am trying. Always trying.