A bit of a funk.

I’m sorry I’ve been so negative lately.  Unfortunately, I don’t see it going away any time soon.  I’m not quite sure what to do about the sadness I’m experiencing these days; at this point all I can think to do is ride it out.  I think it’s better to work through it than try to push it aside…so that’s my plan for now.  Thank you for all your love and support, I honestly feel like I’m not worthy of it…I’m having such a difficult time giving it back these days.  I’ll understand if you can’t keep giving it to me.  This should never be a one way street.

Along these same lines, my lack of commenting has made for a really poor performance with ICLW this time around…I guess I didn’t think I’d be in this state when I signed up.  I had been doing so well for so long, and now it’s all that I can do to even turn on the computer.  So those of you that came by and left words of encouragement, thank you so much, they have been really wonderful to read.  This community is incredible.

In light of my last two weeks, I think we’re taking December off from trying.  I just need a break from the disappointment.  Besides, there are hot-buttered rums to be consumed, and I can’t spend another two weeks of not drinking just to get my period again.  I’m not a huge drinker, but if I can have one thing that a pregnant woman can’t, I’ll take it, damnit!

So January we’ll hop back on this crazy train.  Hopefully I’ll be in better spirits by then.

In the meantime, I’m trying to surround myself with joy and hope that it sticks.

Joy in the form of this:

And this:

Right now, it’s the little things.

This is bullshit.

It’s so bloody unfair that my husband’s ex-wife is at home right now with her week-old baby, her tubes tied because three is enough, and I’m sitting here with the cramps from hell, starting my period.

How did this happen?

I just want to scream from the top of my lungs, but I know it will do nothing.  No one will hear me and make it all better.  Once the voice of my pain stops, I’ll realize nothing has changed.

So for now, we’re going to go eat sushi and drink a martini.

But I’d so much rather have a baby in my arms.

 

Challenges.

I had a really hard weekend last weekend, one where I was not able to get out of my funk the entire two days, with the exception of the two short hours that I was fortunate enough to see E and J.  It spilled over into the beginning of this week and took me a while to figure out what it was that was upsetting me so much, when really, it should have been obvious.

Tomorrow my step-daughter’s mom, N, is giving birth to her third child.  Her pregnancy, for the most part, has not bothered me.  (For those of you that haven’t been reading here for a while, I have a really wonderful relationship with her mom.  I consider her one of my good friends here.)  So I stupidly didn’t think that the birth would (can anybody say denial?).  When I picked up K from her mom’s house last Friday night, we talked about her baby and the impeding birth.  We talked about K’s excitement to meet her baby brother and the logistics to make that happen while she’s with us.  We left and I was okay.  It wasn’t until the next day that I woke up feeling heavy.  N’s family is growing +2, and I’m still at -4.  Being immediately surrounded by K with these feelings lurking, the heaviness grew to something that ended up causing unwanted friction in the house, no matter how hard I tried inside to change it.

I wish all of this were easier, K doesn’t deserve a step-mom that has a hard time being around her sometimes.  It’s not fair to her that she’s a consistent reminder that I may never have a child with my husband, but that another woman did.  It’s not her fault that when she slips and calls me “mom,” and instantly retracts it,  that I’m woefully reminded that those brief mistakes may be the only moments in my life I’ll ever be called that.  She means no harm when I ask her why she has a difficult time playing by herself, and she says it’s because she’s used to playing with her little sister at her mom’s house, and it stabs in me in the gut because I may never be able to give her a sibling to play with in our house.

I want so badly to be okay with my family as it is.  My husband comments often how much he loves our family and I adore that in him.  I have love for it as well, but every time he says it, I can’t help but be reminded of how painfully incomplete it is.  There are times that I worry it may never stop feeling that way to me, and I fear for how I will handle that the rest of my life.  I feel like I need to come up with a better strategy to tackle the weekends where I’m feeling like this because K deserves a step-mom that is there for her and engaged, not one that is harsh and closed-off.  Tim deserves that, too.   Weekends where I can’t get out of my grief, are fun for no one.

Because of tomorrow, I’m worried this weekend will be a repeat.  Even though N has been amazing during these two years and has been conscious of my feelings since her last pregnancy, just knowing that tomorrow she’s about to hold a baby in her arms for the third time and feel a love I may never get to feel, is hard for me to ignore.  Even though I’m okay with my husband bringing K to the hospital to meet her new brother, it hurts me to my core that it’s not me and our new baby he’s bringing her to see.  I just wish I could understand why that person giving birth tomorrow, isn’t me.

This weekend, the pain of all of this is about to get a bit more challenging.

Bathroom stall philosophy.

Your dreams are almost always here!

–

So there you go.  No more worrying if your dreams will come true or not, they’re all already here.  You know it must be true if it’s written on the wall of a bathroom stall.

It’s just like if you were to call Jenny, you know you’d have a good time because it says so right there above the toilet next to her number!  Then again, there’s the chance she could make a special kind of dream come true.  *wink, wink*

11.11.11

[ via flickr ]

I just erased a long emotional tirade about how I wish I had more passion for protesting the war and how the numerous battles have effected me and my family personally; but after last night’s post, it just felt like too much.  All I really wanted to say is that today I’m thinking about my grandfathers who are still with us and my uncle who is no longer, S’s step-father and her sweet friend from college that lost his life in the war, and all the men and women who have served our country.  Just saying thank you doesn’t seem like enough.

(Also, I can’t help but put this in because it hits close to home — did you know that during the past two years, the US military has lost more men and women to suicide than it has to combat in Iraq and Afghanistan?  Devastating.  This war needs to end.  Yesterday.  A decade ago.)

 

How can we talk more freely?

In the comments of my last post, it was apparent that besides all of our prayers that she’ll have her baby girl,  we all wanted her to find the support she so desperately needs.  We’re the “lucky” ones….we’ve found our voice, and through that voice, we’ve f0und this community.  I’ve already been fired up about this before, but felt the desire to approach the subject again – how do we find a way to talk about this beyond our online community?

After my second loss, I felt like I was the only one to have ever known this kind of grief.  I believed I was utterly and painfully alone.   It wasn’t until I opened up about it here that I found others that shared my pain.  The more I talked about it on my blog, the more I talked about in my real life, too.  Just last week I was out to lunch with my boss and a couple of colleagues and we got on the topic of Twitter.  I was asked if I had an account, and I mentioned I did.  However, I quickly added that it wasn’t one that I’m willing to link to our organization’s account because it’s focused mainly on pregnancy loss.  The woman colleague (who hadn’t yet heard of my history) hesitated, but we continued our conversation despite what I had just revealed.  Today I receive a call from her telling me that her sister had just lost her pregnancy at 12 weeks and she wanted my advice on what to say.  Because I was so open about my relationship with loss, I believe it allowed her to feel okay about asking me for help.  Do you know how incredible it felt to have someone just pick up the phone and not be afraid to ask me about it?  It was hard not to think to myself, “One small step for man, one giant leap for mankind.“  Because I’m dramatic and cheesy like that.

But guys!  I helped someone — a complete stranger! — because I talked about it openly.  Because of that, she won’t have to hear, “Everything happens for a reason,”  or “It was probably for the best, you wouldn’t have wanted something to be wrong with your baby,” or “God knew you could handle it.”  Instead, someone will tell her she’s so sorry this happened, and she will acknowledge that her pain and grief is real.  And maybe as a result, she won’t feel so alone.

For so many out there suffering loss or infertility, their voice feels restrained, unable to speak about their loss.  According to the recent Redbook article, “The invisible pain of infertility” (November 2011), 61 percent of those polled hid their infertility from family and friends.  What’s more shocking…nearly half didn’t even tell their mothers!

I understand if someone chooses to keep this private – that’s of course their choice and they shouldn’t be forced to talk – but for those of us that are comfortable with talking about it, we need start telling people about our experiences outside of our blog so it can become a less taboo subject.   For me, I tend to be an open-book kind of gal so I’m able to talk freely (sometimes too much) about my life to anyone who will listen.  But for those out there that it doesn’t come naturally to, how does one do it?

What sparked this post was a comment from nobabiesyet in response to the PostSecret:

So ladies, how can we breach the silence and have our voices heard, so that others don’t have to feel as alone in their suffering?  How have you done it?  Do you think it should remain behind doors, or talked about freely on the streets?  Let’s see if we can come up with some concrete ways to do it, because the side of infertility that the NYTimes refuses to cover, needs to be heard.

A heart-wrenching PostSecret.

Did anyone else see this secret on this Sunday’s PostSecret?

Those last five words…..I want to find whoever it is that sent it in, grab her, and not let go…and pray with all that I have that she won’t lose that baby.

Those last five words are uncomfortably familiar.

After my first few losses, I wasn’t sure how I would be able to continue.  I remember so clearly after the second and soul-crushing loss, how I briefly thought about driving into the river instead of going to the doctor’s, where I was headed.  It seemed like such a better alternative than my reality at the time, with all of my hopes and dreams lying lifeless in a plastic container in the back of the car.

These particular words are so very bold and real, it is incredibly frightening.  My experience was fortunately just a fleeting thought, but these, these are a permanent declaration.  I know I don’t know the entire story, or how long she’s fought for this baby girl…but these words, they hit me in a way that make me want fight for our collective voice.   So many of us have felt like our entire world ended with the loss of a heartbeat and felt at times like no one could possibly understand what it’s like to experience this heartache and this pain…and it’s all because people don’t talk about it.  We are made to feel so completely alone in this grief because it’s not recognized as real grief.   A woman like this needs to know that she’s not alone and that we’re all out here to help get her through this.  I know I’m where I am today largely because of you guys; because of your brave words I learned I wasn’t alone in this.  What if she doesn’t find that?

This is why it’s so important to keep talking about this out loud, and not just on our blogs.  This is why the Redbook campaign is so important and why RESOLVE exists.  I feel like I need to do more.  If I can make just one other woman feel less alone, it will make all of this hell worth it.  If I can stop one other woman from wanting to drive into a river, I want to find a way to do it.

I hope this woman finds the support she needs.  More importantly, I hope she never needs to.