Back to the world

Going back to work tomorrow. Will be an adjustment, and would have been in any case, since I haven't been in the office since Wednesday morning. The weekend has been filled with the usual weekend activities, multiple trips to the home improvement warehouse, Target, and other retail establishments, plus a variety of attempts to get the Kraken to take a nap. An informal poll of the household's inhabitants indicates that "if you take a nap, you can watch Cinderella" was the most successful.

I think I'm as ready as I'm going to be. I really do fine unless someone asks me if I'm okay. Then I cry. The phone calls have been pretty constant this weekend, a good and bad thing. Taking the edge off my sadness, in technicolor and general hilarity, I give you......the Kraken.








She helps. A lot.

Home again

I am safely home, before the snow started. I am vacillating between feeling pretty much normal and bursting into tears. There are babies and baby stuff everywhere. Going to Target for a few needed items is like walking the gauntlet, and the grocery store is an exercise in masochism. When I'm at home I'm okay, especially when I'm not alone.

Talked to several of my friends who have been through this, and that helps. And while I am tired and my throat is still raw from being intubated for surgery, I otherwise physically feel almost normal. That helps too. I am dreading going back to work on Tuesday. My colleagues are kind people, and they will many of them want to tell me they are sorry. That is when I usually lose my sh*t. Not to mention the fact that the ultrasound picture from the previous Friday is taped to my computer monitor. Not something I look forward to seeing first thing.

The Minotaur is really struggling too, I think. He didn't go to work on Friday at all, and he didn't want to let me go when I got home. He doesn't always talk a lot about how he feels, but being a father has been one of the most pivotal experiences of his life, and there's no question about that. He is ready, like I am, to do it again. He is afraid, like I am, that it will not be as easy to achieve this time, and current events are certainly not helping in that respect. I am 37 years old. Not ancient by any stretch of the imagination, but hardly a spring chicken.

The last few days have been a really powerful reminder of why I've stayed with the company I work for this past 13 years. The calls have been regular, not to me, but to the girl I traveled with. I think out of fear of upsetting me. The travel agent was given instructions to get us home early, despite the $400 additional cost for doing so. I feel the support so strongly from where I am, even without a word spoken to me directly. I am so grateful to be home and not stuck in New York.

My Kraken was very glad to see me. And I have to say, despite the fact that it totally SUCKED to have to go through all of this without my husband, I am immeasurably grateful that my daughter did not have to observe any of it. She won't even have to know it happened until she is much older. She is so powerfully affected by my emotions, it's hard to imagine how the cocktail of my fear and my obvious physical distress would have impacted her. She cries when I cry, even if she doesn't know why I am crying. A girl after my own heart.

Two more days of family time to get my head back together. And it's snowing. It's so beautiful.

It turns out that it wasn't New York I was afraid of, but I have to wonder how much of my dread of this trip was prescience.

I miscarried yesterday, in the middle of the conference I was attending. The very wonderful doctors of NYU Medical Center released me at 9:30 last night after a D&C to complete what my body chose to start. I am in the airport catching an earlier flight home as we speak. My shell shocked but incredibily supportive and comforting employee is reading at my side, and in just a few hours I will be able to see my husband and child.

I am not sure when or if I will be able to blog, or talk further about the experience itself. My emotions are incredibly close to the surface at the moment, and I'm just trying to get through the day and get home.

Off to the big city

I am leaving on a jet plane tomorrow morning, not to return until Saturday evening. I am most decidedly not looking forward to being away from my family for that long, but at the moment the repetitive nature of the clanging noises issuing from the television set in the next room do make the prospect of 3 nights in a quiet apartment more appetizing. Did I mention that I have not yet gotten to play the Wii since it arrived on our doorstep right after Christmas?

I have packed my bags. Printed my boarding passes. Placed my ridiculously small shampoo bottles into the appropriately sized ziploc bag. Spent quality time painting toenails and reading stories with the Kraken. I am ready to go. Now, if only I could face my fear.

I know it's completely ridiculous to be afraid to go to NYC. I lived in London for a year, Chicago for a summer, and I happily tromp around Seattle whenever I head Westside to visit the parents. I have spent my fair share of time in cities. But never New York. And very little of this city time have I spent since I became a mother, and truly knew fear for the first time in my life.

There are a handful of women who read this blog (and some lurkers, you know who you are) who remember my younger, wilder self. Who watched me move to foreign countries and stalk the streets alone at night. Part of my fearlessness came from a completely misguided perception of my own "scariness". Who would try to mug the creepy looking chick with the leather jacket and the skull buckle boots, after all? But most of it was, in retrospect, what I didn't have to lose.

Oh sure. I liked my life well enough. I loved my friends. I loved my family. I didn't have a death wish. But the idea of my own mortality seemed distant, unrealistic. And my mother's constant worrying about the choices I made was stifling, unnecessary, and neurotic.

Now that I have a child of my own, I understand my mother better. And I also wonder why she never just slapped the shit out of me. I'm fairly certain I would have. I still sometimes think she worries unnecessarily, that her own mother's fears bled into her psyche with the laundry detergent. And that sometimes I worry unnecessarily for the same reason. But the stakes are so high, aren't they? To even ponder momentarily the idea of not getting to watch her grow up is enough to make my hands shake. Worse still is the idea of her grief at the loss of me. It strikes me as so strange that my fear is not personal, even when it's fear of my own death or injury.

I'm afraid to go to New York. It's irrational. It's paranoid. It's informed by ridiculous television shows. But I am somebody's whole world now, and rationality has got nothing to do with it.

Getting back in the groove

It's been so long since I blogged regularly, I feel a little clumsy. Like I'm learning a new language, or a new set of dance moves (the only dance I ever mastered was the washerwoman's jig, and trust me, that wasn't something you wanted to see). But I am hopeful that practice will make me, if not perfect, at least articulate again.

It's Saturday night. It's almost 11 PM. I should be sleeping, since it will only be about 8 hours before I am awakened by the dulcet tones of the Kraken shrieking Ariel's song from The Little Mermaid at levels that can be heard from space. You know, I hear other 3 year olds just get out of the bed and come to the door and come. out. of. their. rooms when they are ready to start the day. Not the Kraken. It's not her way. And it's not my way to go to bed myself when I can have a few precious moments to myself.

Another exciting day of errands is behind us. And what weekend would really be complete without a trip to Target AND a trip to Lowe's? And how in the hell can one actually spend $300 on blinds, doorknobs, hinges and light switches???? Sigh. This home improvement thing may end up costing us so much money that we have to sell the house.

I feel a little blah today. I'm sure some of it is from spending a week on tenterhooks waiting to find out why I was bleeding. The resulting relief from knowing the baby's still alive has degenerated into a general sense of low-keyness, like endorphins wearing off a few hours after a tattoo. Fortunately, SugarMama is bringing her brood to the house in the morning so that ought to liven things up. Watching her Bean and the Kraken play together is always entertaining, not least of which because of the unpredictability of it. One week they may largely ignore each other until it's time to scuffle over a toy, and another week they may sneak off into the other room to build a hydrogen bomb together.

Next week I'm going to New York for a few days for work. I am looking forward to the actual work part, but I'm traveling with a much younger (and much livelier) employee. I'm afraid she's going to be sadly disappointed at traveling with a 37 year old pregnant woman. I am not a good little shopper at the best of times. Still, I have never been to New York, oddly enough, so I'm looking forward to the experience for that reason. I've heard there are many restaurants, which is handy when one has to eat every 2 hours to avoid projectile vomiting on one's surroundings.

I am on my way to bed, my crossword puzzles calling me softly from upstairs. I leave you with this assertion from the Kraken this evening.

Kraken: "My name is [Kraken Gorgon]"
SG: "Yes, sweet girl, it is."
Kraken: "NOT Captain Crazypants. That's your name, Momma."

Kids these days

On my drive to work in the mornings, if I haven't recently exhausted my Harry Potter CD's for the eight bazillionth time, I often listen to NPR. And earlier this week they were talking about the current state of PE in America.

Now, I despised PE, as I think the majority of us did, because of the humiliation inherent in having to do aerobics to Jefferson Starship while the rest of the school meandered by on their way to class. Not to mention my general distaste in earlier years of any kind of activity that required me to actually get up and put my book down. Having said that, I certainly recognize the value of PE as part of our school curriculum. For many children it's the only form of exercise they get. So, when this woman started talking about the "new PE", I listened, wondering what on earth they could possibly be doing to make PE new.

Turns out it means no more kickball. No more running boring old laps. And more video enhanced games, whatever that means. Is that like laser tag or something? And that got me to thinking, what the hell is wrong with kickball? I mean, my generation played kickball. My generation did not have the same problem with early childhood obesity that the current generation of children has. My generation did not have video games at all (at least not until Atari's first system came out). So why aren't we going all old school with PE? Come on, let's jazzercise! Let's run laps while "Pass the Dutchie" plays in the background from a boombox. Let's do 500 jumping jacks in a row, before the advent of a decent sports bra. And let's play bloody kickball, the only game in the history of games that virtually any child can be successful at. Come on people, kids aren't getting any exercise at home anymore because it isn't safe to let them run around the neighborhoods by themselves. If we want the next generation to be able to walk upright, let's do the math: Exercise at school ~=maybe not quite as many kids with diabetes by age 5.

Then again, maybe that's new math. I never did get new math.



P.S.
Sadly, I really did think about this for about a half an hour that morning.

It's ALIVE. ALIVE!

Cervix is closed. Heart is beating.

"A viable pregnancy was detected". Have you ever heard more beautiful poetry in all your days?

I'm going to go eat some ice cream now.

Soon

Soon I will blog about something other than this pregnancy, I promise. I just need a little good mojo, tonight, ladies.

I debated whether or not to blog about this or not. You know how sometimes things don't seem real until you voice them? For me, once I write it down it's given life, so I am very careful what I write about. I stopped keeping a journal a long time ago.

I am almost 8 weeks pregnant. I am bleeding. Not a lot, mind, just a spot here and there, a larger spot here and there. I am not cramping. I am not passing tissue. But I am not stopping, either. It's been going on since Monday afternoon. My first call to the nurse earned me a reassuring "not to worry, very common". My second call got me scheduled for an ultrasound. I don't know if that was because they were more worried, or if they simply wanted to stop me before I started calling daily. Either way, I go tomorrow at 2 PM to find out what the situation is. Hopefully I am far enough in for them to detect a heartbeat. I have been driving myself insane for days going back and forth between thinking "meh, it's fine" and "oh, my, god, it took me five months to get pregnant and now it's over before it starts". I really need to have an answer, no matter what it may be.

I dreamed last night that my niece belonged to me, and that I was putting her to bed in the room with Kayleigh. I don't know if that's my psyche's wishful thinking, or a sign of what's to be.So, good mojo for me tonight, if you don't mind. I will post this weekend and let you know what the situation is, either way.

Evil

My mother, bless her heart, gave the Kraken for Christmas one of those horrible Big Mouth Billy Bass singing fish. If I have to listen to Take me to the river one. more. time. this evening, I may lose what little sense I have left.

7 weeks today

I feel like shit on a shingle. I think I blocked out this part from my memory. This morning, I almost barfed while brushing my teeth. Then, in the car, whilst outlining the list of foods that sounded tasty to me (ramen noodles, tater tots, bloomin' onions, etc), I simultaneously felt my mouth begin to water in anticipation, and the bile rise in my throat as I even considered the possibility of eating.

I am trying to appreciate the crappiness of how I feel as it's a very present reminder of the fact that my hormones are doubling daily. I know this is no guarantee the baby is okay, but in the days before even getting a glimpse of my little parasite, it helps.

Help me push the Minotaur towards Rowan for a girl, ladies. That's my current pick, and it's jammed tight in my head for some reason. If it's a boy, he gets the name that would have been the Kraken's should she have sprouted testicles - Connor.