I rarely pay attention to commercials – I tend to flip to another channel or go find food during them – but tonight I was stuck on the couch waiting for a show to return when a stupid commercial for juicy-juice came on. I don’t even remember exactly what it was, now, just that it was about how wonderful being a parent and raising a child is and all the things you’d do for that baby. It’s rare that commercials really get to me anymore, since I’ve just kind of tuned them out, but that one made the anger flare up in me. I mean, it makes no sense that I’m angry at the commercial, or the other mothers of the world, but I just want to say, “Yeah, well fuck you!” And really really mean it.

And the next commercial was for some HPTs. “Seriously? Is enough enough tonight?”

But of course I shouldn’t have been surprized, since it was leading into the next show: Jon and Kate Plus 8. Which I watched. I don’t actively watch the show, but if it’s on and I’m bored I will. It’s the only baby/child show that I can watch anymore, and for one very simple reason: when I watch it I do NOT get any kind of “I want that!!” feeling. Never ever ever. The thought of twins scares the bejeebus out of me, especially after losing a baby in a healthy singleton pregnancy, and sextuplets? Hahahahha. Yeah. Not. So most of the show was amusing, as usual.

One part did really irk me, though. This episode was a retrospective of their lives up to this point, which is why I watched it – very interesting. They were talking a little bit about infertility and how they ended up with sextuplets, and also showing a couple home movies from way back when. So she has PCOS, and though she didn’t say what treatments they did in order to get pregnant I would assume it was clomid or injects, possibly with IUI but not necessarily. She stated that the first time they went to the infertility specialist was in december, and they were pregnant in february. It hadn’t even been a year of trying (since she knew something was wrong, which I certainly don’t fault them for – if I knew something was wrong I wouldn’t be sitting around waiting, either). Pregnant on their first, possibly second, cycle of treatment. And yes, I know infertility is infertility, but jesus. If only it were so simple, right? Take a pill, fix the problem. And what got me was the home video of her holding up the positive HPT, obviously thrilled beyond belief, saying, “This may be the most wanted pregnancy ever.” Knee jerk reaction. Again, I can’t really fault her for feeling that way, and that was a home video, not something she was ever expecting to be displaying to the masses.

Obviously the babies WERE wanted and loved, and that’s what matter. I just don’t see them as being poster children for infertility. Am I splitting hairs, yeah. She wasn’t saying that she was, either. I just was watching it all with this frustration and envy bubbling up inside me. I’m just tired and frustrated.

::

Despite what it sounds like, today wasn’t a bad day at all. It was actually quite a nice day. It was my day off this week, and I slept in horribly late (thus why I’m awake and posting now… damnit). But then I got up and cleaned the house up, including scrubbing the toilet, inside and out… wow. Ate some food, did some exercise, posted on some forums a little.

The exercise… I got a wild inclination and found my exercise ball and my little free weights and did some working out. I’ve been focussed on being active and trying to lose weight, but I forget that a little bit of strength training can be almost fun. (Almost, I said. Don’t have a heart attack or anything.) And it’s good for me. I’ve also been very good about doing some ab work in the evenings. I know it’s not likely to “fix” the problem, but any little bit helps. I’m happy to see my body image improving, and I would like to keep that ball rolling in the same direction.

For whatever reason I felt a little nostalgic, and when I was in the garage looking for some weights I paused over the big pile of baby things…. things still in boxes that I never got to really see or play with. I hesitated for a minute, then grabbed the travel swing I’d received at my shower. I brought it inside and opened the box for the first time. It was in pieces and I didn’t really want to put it together – mostly out of fear that it would get broken and the knowledge that the cats would claim it as their own – but I got to look at and touch the fabric and the cute toys on it. It made me smile. It’s so cute.

Then, again for an unknown reason, I went into the basement to look for baby clothes. Why? I have no idea. I had no purpose to pulling out baby clothes. I didn’t want to cry. I just wanted to see them. I finally located the bin with the newborn clothes in it (after about 10 minutes of looking, during which I almost just shrugged walked away several times). I pulled out one of the blue velour footed sleepers, one of the sleepers I had earmarked as maybe bringing Devin home in (I had never decided for-sure on any one outfit). I grabbed that and the baby hats I had knitted and brought them upstairs.

I just sat there for a while, touching the velour, smiling at the cute bears that were on the front of the sleeper. It’s still there, on my desk. It was his, you know? It was Devin’s, even though he never got a chance to wear it. It was for him. I bought it full of hope and joy and love, and when I look at it I remember the good times. I was so happy… so damn happy. Some days reminders of how happy I was just point out how sad I am now. But other days it reminds me that it’s possible. All of it… the pregnancy, the baby, the joy. It existed. And we’ll have it again.

Frequently I find myself daydreaming about getting that positive HPT again, seeing those two pink lines. I imagine myself freaking out with joy and disbelief like I did the first time. I even had a dream about it last night. Then I usually end up just getting scared that, because I’m feeling so positive about it, it won’t happen. It’s this constant battle in my head between staying positive and fear that I’m setting myself up. But when we do get that positive… it will be just as sweet as the first time. Then will come the fear, yes. But first? First there will be joy. And I’ll cling to that for as long as I can.

First of all, my stupid RSS reader isn’t working right (there seems to be an issue with the cache, it’s not updating, keeps saying no new posts when I KNOW there have got to be about a hundred) so I’m unintentionally behind in my reading. I haven’t figured out what I’m going to do to fix the issue, so right now I’m just grouchy about it and ignoring it because I just don’t feel like messing around with a stupid script right now.

Secondly, I am thinking a lot about Becky right now. She is still spotting and it’s effing scary for her because she has had two miscarriages already. I hope hope hope beyond hope that this one sticks. Please stick, for Becky.

::

I’ve been quiet lately. I’m not bad. I’m not good either. I guess the middle-of-the-road doesn’t really provide much emotional fodder for journally. I’m just kind of getting through… going to work, paying bills, dealing with crazydogs and crazycats, scrapbooking. Living life, such as it is. Like I said, it’s not bad. It’s just… not what it should be.

Today I had an immigration appointment (biometrics) to go to, and for whatever reason while I was driving down there my mind kept thinking about that ultrasound. THE ultrasound. I have been steadfastly trying not to think about it, but I was having a tug-of-war with my own memories. My mind was all like, How did that go again? When I called Den, what did I say? Like it was bored and, since it couldn’t immediately remember, was idly dragging memories out of the closet to examine and play with. I did not want to play with them. I felt a little ridiculous, arguing with myself in my head, asking myself WHY I needed to think about this right now? I turned up the music. And then I got stuck in a huge traffic backlog that made me late for my Very Important Appointment and I had better things to freak out about. (Everything turned out fine with the appointment, by the way. I was half an hour late, but no one cared. Thank the LIGHT. I should be getting my new green card after the usual extended wait time.)

As I was on my way home I thought to myself that this was two days gone by that I hadn’t seen BabyH. I both congratulated myself from staying away and not crowding, but also in the way of two more days I’ve gotten through, and I’m okay. My emotions surrounding BabyH are so dissonant. I feel like every day is a challenge, every day is a relief that I’ve managed another one, and maybe it gets a little easier every day. I guess it’s kind of exciting to be taking steps towards a day when it won’t be so confusing.

Someone – and I forget who – recently wrote about how the 3-month increments are hard. I never would have thought it would be, I mean what’s special about 3 months as opposed to 2 months, and yet it really was difficult. It just hit hard… and having BabyH born that week obviously didn’t help.

::

On a “yay” note, I am now fitting my medium-size underwear…. my normal stuff. At the end of my pregnancy I moved into large, ostensibly to fit with the belly, but I realized later it was actually to cover the expanding ass. I had to stick with the large for 3 months and I (idiotically) assumed that was just the shape of my new after-baby body. No, that was just fat. Duh. Well now I’m getting back down to where I should be, I find the large undies are a bit… baggy. I was rather shocked when I realized that!

Between that, the number on the scale and the way my husband keeps telling me how great I’m looking, well, I can’t help if I’m preening a tiny bit. (Tinytiny.)

I figure I’ll get my pre-preg body back just as I get pregnant again. I can’t think of a better reason to get fat. (Personally I think the slightly roundish face and curves of a pregnant woman are just so beautiful.)

Den and I didn’t want to intrude on SIL and BIL during the first few weeks at home with the new baby, so we decided to bake some food and bring it over there, drop it off, and head on our merry way. We figured they could probably use some easy-to-eat food with how hectic things must be, right?

So we drive over there and find MIL over there visiting for the evening, BIL is cooking a nice dinner, SIL is dressed and has makeup on, and BabyH is peacefully asleep. We ended up getting invited to stay for dinner, and we did. It was nice to visit, but left us feeling a little dazed.

After dinner, when BabyH had woken up but just wanted to be held, I got to hold her for a while. I marvel at how a baby feels. So amazing. I’ve never really been around a newborn before, ever. Just so small, so soft. Holding BabyH seems to quiet the voices in my head temporarily… like everything is okay for a moment. Even though it’s not my baby. Even though I have to give her back. There’s still some kind of mystical perfection in the world when there is a baby asleep in your arms.

It’s afterward that it hurts. When I come home to my too-quiet house, to online chats and TV shows, to life as usual when all I want is to have no time for any of it. I want to spend all day reclining in a chair with a baby asleep on my chest… to just sit and stare and protect them in my arms.

Today I stopped by briefly to drop off the photos I took of BabyH in the hospital. The twins (7) were bouncing around and taking turns holding BabyH, BIL and SIL were relaxing after dinner. I was invited in for a burger. I still feel a little weird about imposing in any way, I don’t want to intrude. But when I hesitate they encourage me to stay, tell me it’s no problem at all, that we’re welcome at any time.

SIL said she almost called me last week, to invite me over one evening when BIL was out… but she didn’t want to press. It’s hard for all of us, I think, negotiating these waters. They are very aware of what we are going through – it’s hard to forget. Before she had the baby SIL and I built a foundation of these new rules, and I think that’s helping. They don’t want to upset us, but they don’t want to leave us out, either. I am thankful that they have invited us in, that they are welcoming; I would have understood if they just wanted to be alone right now, but it would have been harder on me, I think.

I look at my BIL and SIL and think, you make it look too easy. It seems like the most natural thing to them, to bring a baby home and take care of it. To be parents. Easy is not a word I could ever attach to it, not after infertility, not after loss. It’s not that they take it for granted, no – they are well aware, and very very loving parents. But how can it be so easy for them and so hard for us? Why, of all the things in the world, of all the things in our life, is this the one thing that we have to fight every inch of the way? Why couldn’t we be sitting at our dining table, eating dinner with a baby nestled in my arms?

It’s supposed to be easy. Having a baby is not supposed to be this hard, this painful. And I know I have learned a lot, I know in some ways I have become a better person, and I know above and beyond that when our time does come it will be the sweetest moment we could ever ask for and we will appreciate it far far beyond what we could have before. But sometimes I would give anything to have this weight erased, to have it all come easily.

::

Den is having a harder time with it all than I am, has even before BabyH was born. He doesn’t have the support and outlets that I do to work through things – granted he’s always worked through things differently than me. But I see something in his face when we’re visiting BabyH, or even when I’m just editting photos of her or talking about her. There’s a tightness, a coldness. It’s not obvious, it’s just… like he takes a mental and emotional step backward. When he held her in the hospital he was making jokes and chatting; to all outward appearances he seemed fine. But he tone was off. His heart wasn’t there. The jokes were a screen, and I think only I knew it.

His concern is not for himself, however. He says things like he doesn’t want them (BIL/SIL) to think we’re ignoring them. He doesn’t want to cut them off, he doesn’t want to avoid them, but at the same time I think deep inside he does want to avoid them. He doesn’t want think about it, he doesn’t want to hold BabyH, he doesn’t want to be reminded. And on one hand I’m proud of him for not hiding away completely, I know how easy it would be for him to slam that door shut. But on the other hand it just kills me to watch him balance his way through this and be “fine” and know that he’s not.

I am angry that this had to happen to him, of all people. Everyone who knows him knows what a great father he would be. He has wanted children for many, many years. It’s what he lives for. I was the one who had to be “talked into” the idea of having kids – I was the one who wasn’t ready yet when we got married. I was the one who grew up not really sure if I ever wanted kids. Den was the one who felt it whole-heartedly. He’s the one who has been waiting all his life. For me this has been a 2 year journey; for him it has been well over 12 years.

I watch him play with our neices and I just get so fucking angry that we have had to go through all this bullshit and still have no child to raise. If I know one thing about my husband, it’s that he would give his whole life for a child. He will be a wonderful father.

Through all of this it has never been my biological clock that has been ticking. It’s been his. I feel it constantly reverberating in my head.

Two days ago I skipped into Den’s office to babble off yet another stream of conciousness and in that stream I realized… I feel pretty good. Actually, I feel pretty good about myself. My thought process missed a beat there, so unexpected was the feeling. I didn’t think I’d ever feel okay with my body again, so angry was I at it for leaving me changed and childless all at the same time. It was as if I could handle my body changing after pregnancy or losing my baby, but having to deal with both pushed me over the edge at times.

So here I am, a little over 3 months later, and I’m starting to feel okay in my skin again. I’m getting extremely close to my pre-pregnancy weight. I’m not putting in a huge effort, as some days just getting out of bed seems like a huge accomplishment, and screw any kind of exercise. But I’m getting there. It’s exciting to see the scale slowly creep downward. It’s a weight lifted from me in two ways.

I explained to Den that I think I’m a tiny bit relieved I’m not pregnant yet… it gives me time to get used to me again. I LOVE being pregnant, as you all well know. And it made me a little nervous how lost I felt afterwards. I didn’t know who I was anymore… I had forgotten how to appreciate being just me. I’m slowly getting it back, slowly re-adjusting. When I walk by a mirror I no longer feel shock and sorrow as I realize there’s no big belly there. Being not-pregnant has become the norm again. And I think my kneejerk desperation to get pregnant right away was to fill that hole and not have to deal with the current state of being – or not-being, as it were. And I think this re-adjustment has been good for me, for my well-being. Finding new stable ground again. I know either way I’d make it back to stable ground at some point, but I feel a little bit better being stable again before getting pregnant. I’m looking forward to it again, as a journey. A change to embrace and enjoy.

I find myself being amazed. I feel good, and I look pretty darn good. And I just had a baby 3 months ago. That’s a little crazy. It’s all more than a little crazy. How can my body do all that and bounce back like this? Amazing.

::

Body changes in summary:

My hair is all falling out. It’s terrible. The last week or two have been bad, suddenly it’s just all coming out in handfuls. It’s summertime now so I’m wearing short-sleeved shirts and tank tops, and I am constantly twitching because of a stray hair tickling my shoulders and arms. It’s driving me a little crazy.

My face is slowly getting back to normal. It was really really bad for a couple of months – so oily I couldn’t stand it. I find myself able to get away with less frequent washings (only 1 or 2 times a day now) without my face becoming a greasy, zit-covered mess. I did manage to get one lone pimple right under my nose, though. Fantastic.

I have not noticed AF to be any heavier than it used to be. It’s gone already, so a normal 3-4 day run. Maybe one day of that is heavier than “usual” but it’s nothing remarkable. I feel good to have two periods behind me now, I feel like my body has cleaned itself out sufficiently and it’s now ready for a new pregnancy.

Mood is still the same. Mostly good, sometimes bad, anxiety when I forget my meds. I can deal with it. I’m thankful that the good days outnumber the bad. I know people said that would happen, but I guess I didn’t expect it so soon. And I don’t really feel guilty about it, either – I see so many women feeling guilty and upset because they have good days months after a terrible loss. I don’t. It’s not like I’m not sad. I think about him every single day, and I spend a lot of my time actively remembering, whether it’s by writing or creating graphics, or working on his scrapbook, or talking about him. I will never leave him behind. But I do have to move forward, too. One of his gifts was teaching me to live in the moment, to appreciate what I have, and I’m trying my damndest to continue doing that.

::

There was what I thought to be an interesting topic on one of my forums recently. Someone mentioned loss dates and how upsetting it is to have someone else “take” those dates (someone else’s baby being born on “your” date, whether it’s your lost baby’s due date or the anniversary of a loss, or another date that’s important to you in regards to a loss). I thought about it all day. It’s obvious to me that this protectiveness of dates is much, much stronger when it’s connected to a loss. For a live baby I don’t see half the reaction when another child is born on the due date or birthday. Oh sure, sometimes you see some jealousy come up, but you don’t normally see someone burst into tears and have a minor meltdown over it. When was the last time you heard someone even speak about a living child’s due date? Other than that first year – when it’s either a case of “due date’s past, baby’s still not here!” or “baby’s here already, too busy/tired to think about due date” it’s most often forgotten. When you lose a child it’s like that date gets burned into your brain. The date they should have been here. As if, had they made it to that date, it would all be different. Your due date is the “should have been.” (I just realized there is a whole group of people with living children who obsess over due dates: preemie mamas. And that’s another case of “what could/should have been.”)

What we babyloss mamas have are so few, so limited. We won’t have those milestones to look forward to and keep track of, we won’t have new photos, we won’t have new experiences to ease the unhappy ones. What we have now is all we’ll ever have in connection with our lost child, and I think that makes us cling very very tightly to what we do have… to things like dates, symbols, names.

Someone also mentioned the fear that if a happy occassion takes place on or near a loss anniversary that no one will remember the loss. Everyone remembers a living child’s birthday, the excitement eclipses the sorrow of a loss. It’s easy enough as it is for family to forget about special days for a chid who isn’t here. I can only hope that our families will be as understanding and caring a year from now as they have been this first year. But on that note, I think some of it does fall on us, the babyloss mamas, to remind others of how important it is to remember special dates, to remind them of the need to be sensitive. I have learned in marriage that you really do have to ask for what you need – the same is true with extended family and friends.

I think we did a great thing in planting Devin’s cherry tree on his due date. In a way it did give a new experience, a new, somewhat postive memory for that day.

::

I’ve also been thinking a lot about what I will do during my next pregnancy – or rather, what I should and shouldn’t do. For those couple of days when I entertained the possbility of being pregnant again I was thinking about things like will I join a due date club on my forum? In my head it’s a given, but I see other people mention how they couldn’t, how it’s too scary, how it’s too sad. So I spent time wondering if maybe, having gone through what I have, I should just avoid that sort of thing… or at least wait a while.

But then I realized that, you know, what works for other people doesn’t necessarily work for me. If I do feel like throwing myself whole-hearted into my next pregnancy, maybe it will be stupid, maybe I will be risking my heart in a whole different way, but maybe that’s just who I am. I see nothing gained by holding myself back from experiences out of fear. If I truly don’t want to do something then by all means I won’t. But if I want to do something, if my inclination is to dive right in and what’s holding me back is that little voice saying you shouldn’t do this, then fuck it. That little voice gets louder when I see what other people do – it’s the voice of “should” and “normal.” Screw normal! I’m me.

I have a feeling my next pregnancy is going to be a wild ride. But, like everything else I do, it’s going to be a unique one. Whenever it does come I will welcome it with open arms and embrace the experience for what it is. That’s just how I am… that’s just how I “should” be.

Once upon a time I grew cat grass for the cats. They really liked it, and I thought boy, what a great idea that was! It’s been sitting there for a couple of weeks, slowly getting eaten and layed on.

This morning I no longer think it was such a great idea. Merlin found another use for a pot of cat grass.

Oy.

Back in february when I was still pregnant, one day when I had a doctor’s appointment I locked my keys in my car. I panicked and ended up running to our neighbor’s for some help. Our very very kind neighbor ended up driving me to my appointment at the hospital while Den came home to unlock my car.

That happened to be the first day in many months that I had spoken to our neighbor, and of course, being that she drove me to my midwife appointment and the fact that I had a bulging belly, it was the first time she had heard that I was pregnant. Everything was fine that day, and I thanked her profusely for her help.

I didn’t speak to that neighbor for several months. After we lost Devin I would sometimes see her or her husband outside, and they’d wave to us, we’d wave back. There is no fence between the yards, so they’d frequently see us as we were taking the dogs out to the woods. Every time I saw her I would get nervous, wondering when she was going to ask me about the “good news.” There were days Den and I would spend outside in our garden, me obviously not pregnant anymore, with no baby beside us. But the question never came.

I thought about how she must be wondering, how she must be thinking that it was a little odd that she’d never seen a baby here. I figured I had to tell her at some point. Especially after she’d helped us out when I was pregnant, I felt like I at least owed it to her to tell her what had happened. I didn’t want to stop when I had the dogs, though, because they go nuts barking and it’s not a conversation you want to have while your dog is trying to jump all over you. One day when I was weeding my peas I saw her working on her garden and it seemed like the time was right. She walked into her garage and I took a deep breath and straightened up, ready to walk over there when she came back out. But she didn’t. I didn’t see her again the rest of the day, and I just let it go.

It’s been hanging over my head for three months now.

Today as I put my stuff in my car, about to leave for work, I saw her watering her plants in her front yard. I knew it was time. Absently jingling my car keys in my hand I walked into her yard. “Hi,” I said. “It’s been a while. I’m sure you must have been wondering about the baby…” She stood up and looked at me, her expression closed, guarded. “Well, I wanted to let you know… that we lost the baby. At 8 months.”

I didn’t see shock or horror on her face… just sorrow. Her eyes welled up. “I’m so sorry. I saw you around, and I wondered, but… I didn’t want to bring it up, you know?”

I told her about the tree we planted. She said she’d noticed the tree, but hoped it was for a good reason. I got the feeling that she knew. Not knew, but… suspected that all wasn’t well. She was waiting, hoping that she was wrong. She said she wondered if maybe she’d just been wrong about when I was due, and that’s why she hadn’t seen a baby.

She said she lost a baby halfway through a pregnancy… after many years of infertility (no treatment, just many years of no pregnancy). A few months after her loss, she got pregnant again with her living son. That was over 20 years ago. She cried a little, talking about it. She gave me a hug. She told me she wished I’d told her sooner, that she would have been here to hold my hand or whatever we needed. But she understands why I didn’t, why I couldn’t bring it up.

I feel so thankful for such great neighbors. She said they might be moving. I selfishly hope they don’t. And if they do, I want to be sure to get their new address so I can send her news when I do get pregnant again… and send her pictures of our next child when he or she is born healthy and alive.

I used to be horrified by photos of stillborn babies. I didn’t want to see them. I never stopped to think of them as someone’s baby, but saw them just as a dead baby. I’ve never had anyone close to me die before, and I didn’t understand the need for a connection with the dead. They were dead, I would think to myself. What does it matter?

On March 6th I held the dead body of my baby carefully in my arms, cradled like I would a live baby. I looked at him and felt so much love. My eyes blurred with tears I looked past his death to see the little boy that he was… that he should have been.

I keep his photo close to me at all times. I keep it on my websites, I keep it on a frame in my living room. It seems normal to me now. Sometimes I forget that it’s a photo of him in death. The other day I was searching through a folder on my computer and came across the original version of the photo. It shocked me, for a moment. I forgot that’s how he’d really looked like that day, that’s what he’d really looked like in that photo, in death. But I feel no guilt at using a touched-up photo. To me the photo shows him as he really looked like, when he was alive. It’s a true photo of my son – not his empty body.

When I come across photos of stillborn babies now my heart aches. I no longer see dead babies. I see loved babies, missed babies. Lost potential, broken dreams. I smile when I see the beautiful faces of someone else’s angel. I know how they feel now. I know what they see when they look at the photo. I picture that child alive, how they should be. I cry for all the parents who will forever mourn a loss. It just shouldn’t happen… it’s too cruel. But it does. It happens too often.

::

Sometimes what we’ve gone through is almost incomprehensible. I have been through the worst loss a person could imagine, and I have survived. I can no longer shrug off thoughts of my inner strength. I survived. I don’t always have good days, obviously. But at the same time I get the sense I am dealing with this all very well. I have not relapsed into depression (other than some spotty days, and I can accept that). I have not collapsed.

I was talking to Kel for a while about how we each feel about pregnancy now… and in many ways she is more scarred than I am by our combined experiences this past year. I am not ready to throw in the towel. I am not ready to let go of my joy and wonder of the experience. There is a worry that my fear will eclipse it, and I expect it will some days. But I don’t think it will all the time, or even most of the time. Shitty things happen, and I accept that. I accept crappy odds. But I also believe that 99% of the time everything is okay.

I want another natural birth. Having been through it once, I walked away from it with a completely empowered view on it. Going through labor was… amazing. Talking about it with my friend Carrie we both remarked that it seemed like it was two separate events in my head… the labor, and Devin’s death. It was the worst day of my life, by far… dealing with his passing, saying goodbye. But the labor experience itself was far easier than I ever pictured it. I gave myself to the contractions, I let my body do its job, and it felt amazing. I am still in awe at what our bodies were made to do. Not getting that epidural was the best thing that could have happened that horrible day. It gave me back some faith in my body.

In fact I’ve still been thinking about the possibility of maybe becoming a doula in the future. I don’t know if it is something that will ever materialize, and I don’t think the time is right yet – I would like to have a live birth under my belt, as well as breastfeeding – but I still feel very strongly about it, especially now having been through an unmedicated birth. I just enjoy the process so much… and I feel like I want to be involved somehow. I wish I could attend a birth just to see if it’s something I am interested in pursuing… but it’ll have to wait, I guess. No one I know (locally, I mean) is having a baby anytime soon. (Though I am thankful for that for other reasons. I need some more time to heal before tackling any more live babies that aren’t mine.)

::

I really am okay today. No tears. No feelings of despair. Like I said yesterday… just disappointment. It would have been nice, you know? And there is that little bit of fear peeking around a corner inside my head, but I’m ignoring it right now other than reminding myself that we have a plan. I think after my next BFN I will make an appointment with the RE to talk about other possibile steps to try. I’m okay with giving my body a fair try at this, but I also need to have a backup plan in place.

So apparently the wait is over… I got my period. At 10dpo. Uhhh, wtf? Did I miss a memo here?

First started this morning, a bit of blood (and by “a bit” I mean “quite a lot of spotting”). My first thought of course was holy shit, this is what happened on Devin’s cycle! Spotting at 10dpo. I got excited… too excited. I didn’t really say much though, except to Kel. She and I were all hopeful together.

But the spotting didn’t stop… it got heavier. And I was getting more and more perplexed. Of all the things I thought this could be, I did NOT expect AF 4 days early. But apparently that’s what this is. It’s gotten heavy enough I need a pad, and I’ve got a lot of AF cramps going on too. So what the hell? Did I O before my positive OPK? Or did I just have a really short luteal phase this time because I’m post-partum? This whole journey has one big “WTF?!” so I don’t know why this surprizes me.

I’m not really sad, though. Disappointed, yes. But… a little relieved too. I was nervous about being due so close to Devin’s birthday… before his birthday. Like I told Kel this morning, I was kind of at a space of “whatever happens this month, I’m okay with that.” And I truly am.

The one thing that does really sit heavy on my mind, however, is the infertility thing. Every cycle I don’t get pregnant is another step further away from a surprize “natural” (non-medically constructed) pregnancy. And that worries me. I mean, if I can’t get pregnant on my own when my eggs are still fresh and new from pregnancy, well… it doesn’t bode too well.

I told Kel today that honestly, if I didn’t have the infertility thing to deal with I’d probably just put off TTC for a month or two. If I thought I could plan the timing of a pregnancy ideally I’d shoot for May-ish. But I don’t have that luxury. As the other infertiles know, the idea of sitting around planning your due date ahead of time is laughable. So I take whatever I get, whenever I can get it.

I just want a baby, damnit. That’s all.

The weather here has decided to go from “Yay, spring!” to “Holy hell, WTF summer?!” over the span of a day. Air conditioners have been hastily thrown in windows, and all activity has ground to a halt. I spend my day vascillating between trying to get something done on my desktop computer (which has more power than my laptop, required for certain applications like Photoshop) and hiding in the bedroom with the laptop. Our living room, may I point out, does not have an air conditioner. (There’s an issue with the windows in that room – they’re crank-out windows.) It’s frankly aweful. Our thermostat was reading 89 degrees today. In my living room. So we all hide in the bedroom.

This all is frustrating to me, because I want to work on Devin’s scrapbook and that is of course the one thing the laptop has serious issues with (other than games). I think I’m almost done his ancestor family tree, but I’d like to make another page to go with it and I just gave up for the day. I feel like I’ve wasted time, I spent all day working on one page, but I also realize it’s going to be a very slow process. I hope to have the scrapbook done by his first birthday…. that gives me lots of time to do it correctly.

::

I’m feeling jittery tonight, which explains why I’m still awake at 1:30 when I have to be out the door at 8. Oh well… I don’t really need that much sleep. I’m not quite sure why I feel jittery, but sometimes I just have to roll with my moods.

I hate this part of my cycle. Instead of “I could be in the future” it’s “I could be right now” which leads to me wanting to know as soon as possible, and then sharp on its heels is “But I’m not going to be.” Hope and despair and back again. What a terrible feeling, this hope, knowing that more than likely I’m going to be seriously disappointed.

Having been through it once before I know two things that I didn’t the first time: that being in a seriously bad, bad mood throughout my 2ww is not going to prevent a pregnancy; and that I will have no signs or symptoms until significantly after a BFP. There is a kind of peace in knowing that – knowing it in my heart instead of just in my mind. I remember analysing every little thing. I don’t even bother now, because I didn’t “feel” pregnant until I was about 6 weeks.

No, there’s nothing to do but wait. Maybe I should sleep. It makes waiting easier.

Many words, much hope, no baby.

The goal? Six words, your life story.

Very famously started by Ernest Hemmingway while telling the saddest story ever written, “For Sale: Baby Shoes, Never Worn.”

Your turn.