We went to a relative’s for dinner tonight. There was a 18 month old girl and a 16 month old boy there. I lavished attention on the dogs. “Always been such a dog lover,” mom said. Yes, I have been, but that’s not the reason mom. You should know that.

I pretty much ignored them the whole evening. Not rudely so – but I remained politely distant. No one commented one way or the other. That’s fine.

It was hard not to look at the little babies running around, thinking that there should be three. Devin should be with me on this trip. I don’t think that very often – I try not to. But sitting there tonight, I did.

After dinner, for whatever reason, the other adults decided grandma-to-baby should pull out all the baby clothes she recently got a good bargain on. Since everyone knew I’m feeling a little under the weather, and I had already asked mom if she was ready to go, it didn’t seem to abrupt for me to get up from the table and walk away.

Yes, they were girl items. No, I wasn’t having a meltdown. Yet. But I really wanted to avoid having one in public.

::

Yesterday I went out with a bunch of old friends I haven’t seen in years. I knew from facebook that one of them had just had a baby, and that she wouldn’t be coming (at which point I stopped reading, just for my own emotional stability). Not that she wouldn’t be coming because of the baby, but because she had a prior engagement.

Imagine my surprize when I get to the restaurant and am told that new mama will be stopping by briefly with the baby. My heart sank. Could I be fine? Sure. Could I be not fine? Sure. Problem is, I never know ahead of time which way I’m going to go.

She arrived later in the evening, pulled the newborn out of his carseat and sat him on the table. I stared. He was tiny. I mean, he was newborn size. But holy shit, I forgot how tiny they were at first.

They passed him around for a little bit, and I was fine. I kept glancing at him, his sweet little newborn wiggles. Finally I spoke up and asked to hold him. He of course decided he was hungry and squawked, for for a few minutes I kissed his little head and held his little body. Sometimes when I let my guard down, when I let go of all that came before and all that could come later, when I just hold them, everything is right with the world. Just like it was with my niece. Time slows, and there is light.

But then I have to give him back, for someone else to feed, someone else to take home. And that’s when the anger and jealousy and hurt comes in. The mothers. The mothers who have what I lost – the mothers who do not know the deep chasms that exist in my heart. The mothers who think nothing of taking their baby home, because that is how it always happens. Except it doesn’t. Not for all of us.

Seeing the girls was so wonderful in its own way, but at the same time I’m left feeling like everyones life has moved forward but me.

::

For me it’s the newborns that incite the biggest longing, the most jealousy, not the toddlers at the age Devin should be. I see them feeding yogurt and dealing with tantrums and I don’t really have any concept of it. I obviously have some measure of conciousness as to what age Devin would be, but I’m so far removed from that now.

Birth is where my play ended; where I want to pick back up. A newborn is what I spent countless hours imagining and preparing for. It is that moment in time that I long for with all my heart.

Looking through old photo albums I relive pieces of the past. This house, too, holds so many pieces of me. I walked around taking photos of the collages on the walls, the photos that have been hanging in the same spots since before I can remember. More have been added, some have been moved. But all of it feels so familiar, so comforting.

::

I looked through the albums from 2000 and 2001 – my last year of high school and the year after. Every photo I had a huge smile on my face, teeth showing. I flipped the pages thinking that anyone looking through these photos must have thought I was quite a happy teenager. They would have been very, very wrong.

::

My mom and I sorted through some old, left-behind things from a closet. Among my textbooks, piggybanks, and random objects she pulled out something she had stashed in there – a fishing lure, still in its original box, with a note from an aunt. My aunt had written that she had saved this lure for me for when I got married, and wondered if I knew the story behind it. My dad fishes a lot, so hooks and lures are not exactly rare objects around here, but my mom admitted she hadn’t a clue why my aunt had this one, or why it was a sentimental item.

Later I remembered to ask my dad about it. “Do you the story behind an old fishing lure that Auntie C had? She sent it to me.”
“Is it pink?”
“Yes, actually.”
Dad nodded, expecting that answer. “That’s what I gave out to everyone when you were born, instead of cigars. I figured a cigar coming from me would have just been silly. I gave out blue ones when Cory was born.”

::

I look at the baby pictures of me and wonder if someday my daughter will look like me. I wonder if I will ever have a daughter.

::

I ran across a photo of me in pigtails and smiled. I was born nearly bald and had very little hair for quite a long time, so me in pigtails was quite the accomplishment. I pulled it out and read the note on the back – my mom, ever the organizer, wrote notes on the back of every photo in all the old albums. It said, “Natalie: 2 1/2 years old. First time in pigtails – she finally looks like a girl!”

I burst into peals of hysterical laughter, then read it out loud to my mom, who covered her mouth with her hands and laughed too.

::

I look at all the places we went, all the things we did. My mom was often taking the photos, and my dad would be there at our sides or in the background, watching protectively. There are pictures of vacations, swim lessons, learning to ride bikes, baking, playing, and so many more things. I realize what wonderful parents I had and I am so, so grateful.

::

Even though I am here with my family now my heart seems to ache even more, knowing that I have to leave. I am desperately trying to soak it all up.

No matter where I am, this will always be home.

I’m starting to feel hopeful again… playing over “what-if”s and “what-could-be”s in my head. I don’t like it. I know that doing this over and over again without any hope would be pretty pointless, but I wish I could just block it out completely while I am waiting. There is simply no point to it and I am tired of being hurt.

My father’s dog is a senior, at nearly 14 years old. I check her hearing every time I come, and I’m pretty sure she can hear okay. However, she plays dumb so it’s hard to tell.

I called her up on my bed, and she layed down on my side, where my feet are supposed to be. “Oreo, move over,” I said. “Oreo. Oreo, move.” I nudged her with my foot. “Oreo! Move!” I nudged her harder. Not a flicker of understanding from her… not a twitch of her ears or a glance of the eyes. She continued staring at the wall as if she was old and completely deaf and did not notice me insistently pushing her from under the blanket.

I ended up sleeping diagonally across the bed, leaving her where she was. She’s old, and I don’t really want to yell at her. I guess she’s earned her fake senility.

And so here I am. It’s so interesting to come back after such a long time (a year and 3 months since I was last here) and see how so many things are just as they were, just as they always have been. The carpet, the wallpaper, the kitchen cabinets. Small changes here and there. But everything pretty much where it was. It’s so comforting. I don’t know what I’ll do when – if – my parents sell this house. This is my entire childhood, my entire life, right here. The textured wallpaper that our old cat used as a scratching post, the carpet where a square had to be replaced because I threw up on it. The dark blue walls of my old room, the lavender bathroom I decorated. So many memories wrapped up in this house.

And the beings within it. My mom, my dad – though I have seen them more recently. Their amicable bickering over which TV show to watch, my dad’s rants on politics and money, my mom’s constant fretting. My brother, who I just wanted to hug and not let go.

And my dog. My dear, sweet dog. In a little more than 2 months she will be 14 years old. And I admit, every time I visit now I check her over – check her hearing, her eyesight, watch her carefully as she walks. Every time I come the fear occurs to me that maybe I will find her decrepit and sick. But not this time. I am pleasantly surprized to say I really don’t notice any difference now from last time. Maybe slightly slower – though that’s quite hard to say, as she’s always been a lazy git. Her hearing, too, is hard to evaluate, since half the time she simply chooses not to acknowledge you. (But with the right motivation she can hear the smallest sound of, say, a cookie box opening.) Her eyes are cloudy with age, but still seem to see everything keenly. No signs of arthritis in her movements.

I know she will not live forever, that one day far too soon her run will end, her body will fail, and I will have to say goodbye. The thought drives me to tears every time. How can I say goodbye to someone who has been there with me for over half my life? She was my first baby, my first best friend. Even though I am no longer her owner, even though there is distance between us, even though I have other pets whom I love and cherish… she is the one who stole my heart long ago.

And so tonight I cry in gratitude for one more year with her, for one more visit. I hope there will be more still, but I know there are no guarantees. I hope she hangs in long enough to meet my next child. Not that it will matter to the child, or to her – but it will matter to me.

I am grateful for this time with my family. Losing Devin has really reminded me how we need to cherish every moment we have with the ones we love. And I do.

It has been a very long week and it still hasn’t sunk in that it’s over yet. Saturday I was at work until 9pm, trying to finish everything up… then this morning I was back in there at 8am. Thankfully I was done at 10:30, without feeling overly rushed. It felt good to print off the stack of notes and instructions, make sure everything was set up correctly and labelled, say goodbye to my boss, and leave.

Vacation, vacation, vacation. Sometimes it doesn’t even matter where you go, as long as it is somewhere else. Of course in this case it matters, since I’m going home to see my family, but right now, at this very minute, I’m just happy to be leaving. Leaving the customers, the clients, the cats… the demands, the responsibilities, the never-ending to-do lists. Leave it all on my desk, I’ll return to it later… but right now it is not my problem.

All of the cats were pissing me off mightily this weekend. I work with cats, and normally I love it. I did love one of my special cases, a used-to-be-feral, climbing on my lap while I counted out cans of food on the floor. However… the cats stepping on the computer keyboard, biting my pens, and taking off with half of my fucking breakfast… well, them I didn’t like quite so much. And then I came home and attempted to print off some things for clients and Merlin ended up walking across them leaving smudges, and insistently and violently headbutting my mouse hand. A new rule took effect: no cats on my desk while I’m working. I’ve just had it with them. I love that they’re sweet and attentive, but I need to get shit done.

I was so busy I had to force myself to stop reading my book (the last Harry Potter book!), which I am halfway through. I am really happy to be able to crack it back open tomorrow… I figure I’ll be done before my first flight lands for my layover.

I am not, however, looking forward to the pain I get in my left knee every time I fly. 5+ hours of that shit is not fun. (And I still can’t figure out why only my left, not my right.)

::

Today after work my MIL and Step-FIL arrived so we could go to the Hospital’s memorial service for children. They do one every year – this was for all the 2008 children and babies.

I was really unsure of what to expect from it in terms of emotional attachment. Had it been last year I think it really would have been something special, but at this point it’s been over a year since his birth and loss. In so many ways I feel like I’ve moved on a lot from the grieving and mourning. That’s why I wanted his birthday to be more of a celebration than a time for grief. I’ve grieved, hard. I’ve been through hell. And now… now I feel like I’m standing in the sunlight again.

So I don’t think it was as helpful to me as it could have. Especially since a couple things about the ceremony struck me badly. The first was one of the readings. Most of them were very nice. But one of the first ones read was The Prayer For Children. Go take a quick peek – don’t read the whole thing, it’s long, but just get the gist of it. And then come back and tell me – how the hell is that appropriate for a ceremony for dead babies and children? All those things in the prayer are things that our children will never get to do. It just seemed so completely irrelevant and I just sat there thinking, what the hell is the point of this?

The other thing that bothered me you can probably guess. It happens all. the. time, even in places like a memorial for dead children where you would think oh, no it wouldn’t happen here. Yep: babies crying. There were quite a few children there – siblings of the deceased, I am willing to bet. And I totally understand that. But it is NOT a place for younger children who do not understand and can not stay quiet! Goodness gracious, how incensitive can you be?! And the parent took their time deciding to take the child out, too. I threw Den a look and rolled my eyes in frustration. Thank goodness I am a year out from my loss, or I would have been doing more than rolling my eyes.

However, there were good things.

In the room they had several tables set up for people to put pictures and memorial items. I brought Devin’s picture and the little Sheepie Jr. I kind of wished I had done something more than that, at least with his name on it, but of course this was not the week for being able to do something crafty. But, still, it was a good feeling to put his picture there and watch people look at it with respect. There were other pictures of stillborn babies on the table, too, which I looked at for a while. I thought, what a wonderful thing this is, for us to be able to freely share our photos of our dead babies without worrying how others will react at the sight a 22, 34, 40 week stillborn baby. These photos are our treasures, yet are still socially unacceptable. Such a simple thing as being able to display them in public means so very much.

At one point during the ceremony, we were all seated at round tables in this ballroom, people of all ages and races. Some women were obviously pregnant, some families had children with them. But as I sat there, looking around the room as the familiar feeling of resentment crept up I realized where I was and why we were all there. All of us had lost a child. The woman seated at our table, who was pregnant but not hugely so, was dabbing at her eyes with a tissue and lit her candle for her twins she had lost. My feelings of frustration dissipated as fast as they had come.

So all in all it was nice, but I didn’t even cry. Interestingly enough, Den found it harder than I did. He got choked up a few times. MIL had tears. I felt kind of strange just sitting there, drawing on the quilt piece (for the memorial quilt they make every year), making mental notes on this and that. In a different time I probably would have been far more emotional. But this is just not the time for me to grieve.

::

The FET cycle is chugging along. I’m at a few days out from transfer now, not really sure what that translates to, and I have no desire to look it up, either. I’m not a part of any cycle groups, so I have no one to compare symptoms to or countdown with. I’m free floating, and I like it. I’m not paranoid about what I eat or what I do. Last cycle I was so nervous for the whole week after transfer, worried that I was going to somehow jar the embryo lose or knock it out – illogical, I know, but this process does not really lend itself to logical thinking, it’s all gut fears and paranoia. But this time? Oh whatever. I’ve been watching out the window, waiting, for so long. This time if it comes it can ring the damn doorbell.

Here’s the real kicker: my beta (which I will not be here to take, but I have to remind them of that fact) is scheduled for April 5. If that seems familiar to you, that’s because it was Devin’s due date. April 5.

So, my past three attempts have been: beta on Christmas (day after), beta on Devin’s birthday (day before), beta on Devin’s due date. Now, it would be NICE if we could have one of these things turn out to actually be a good thing, but as I’m sure you can imagine I do not feel a whole lot of good feelings about this.

Thankfully after this there aren’t really any important dates until my birthday in September, but then we’ll start getting into the uncomfortable position of tracing Devin’s pregnancy. The next FET should be free and clear, with a due date in January sometime. But after that a 2-month stims cycle will place the due date squarely in March – and, given our incredible luck with these things, I would not be surprized to be handed a due date right on March 6. The cycle after that, which I am optimistically assuming would be a FET, would then be an April due date. You can see the obvious problems with a March or April due date. I would really like to avoid that – but not at the cost of delaying cycling through the entire summer. We’ll get whatever we get.

Den just keeps saying that I need to stop thinking ahead like that, that we will be pregnant before we get into those muddy due dates of the next stims. I’d like to believe him. But I’m not feeling very positive about any of this. That’s not to say that I don’t think this could work, that’s not it at all. It’s just that the last – perfect – cycle ending in a a negative has really hurt me. I really carried a torch for the notion that all we needed was a good embryo. Well, we had that, and my notion was proven wrong. So, no, I can’t say I hold much excitement for this cycle. Maybe that’s why I’ve been so blase about it… so easily unattached.

I know I will keep persevering until something works. I swear to you that much. I am stubborn beyond explanation and hellishly determined. But no one can tell me how or when, because no one can possibly know the future… especially in realms such as this one, that defy what have always appeared to be a given.

So I keep planning for the future, keeping my eyes three stepping stones ahead. That way it doesn’t matter quite so much if the one I’m standing on tips… I know where to jump to.

My transfer was today. I slept well for the most part, though kept waking up thinking about the stuff I need to do for clients. When I awoke this morning I was still thinking about client work. “Oh… and I have transfer today.” I briefly wondered about the state of our two frosties, if they thawed just one and it survived or if they had to use both to get a live one, but I quickly shrugged it away. I hit snooze and fell back asleep. I did manage to get showered, hair blowdryed, and dressed before Den came home from work to pick me up. On my way out the door I grabbed my blackberry and the new little sheep I bought to bring to work. I briefly considered bringing Sheepie, but he’s rather big and that might cause some questions I don’t feel like answering. We drove in relative, easy silence, listening to NPR while I drank my 10oz of water and took my valium.

We got there on time, got me changed and in a bed. The valium was kicking in, and I was just… happy. Well, maybe not happy. But pleasant. Everything was pleasant and just fine. Den got his scrubs on and we waited.

10 minutes after 11 they said they were ready and wheeled me into the OR. She wrapped the warm blanket around my shoulders while the Embryologist came over with the “report card” for a frozen transfer. One thawed, one survived, one transferred. One left in storage. I smiled.

The rest was the same as usual. The transfer process itself was easy and painless (just a little uncomfortable, with the gigantic flood light illuminating my nether regions and all). Minutes later they were covering me all up with warm blankets and rolling my bed out of the OR to my little niche for a rest. When the nurse poked her head in to say I was good to go we got dressed and walked out the front door together.

And that was it.

I’ve been laying in bed the rest of the day, thinking about it all. About how easy this has been, mentally and physically. Feeling glad that this is the path I chose to take right now – the FET rather than the Stims, and sooner rather than later. Now of course the hard part starts, but with so much else on my mind hopefully that, too, will be easier than ever before. And either way we have another frozen embryo.

I believe I am rapidly approaching burnout. My mom said on the phone that the last week before a vacation is the worst ever – you just feel like you can’t possibly survive another minute without that vacation. I didn’t realize how true that was.

And it’s not that things suck. I am not having a horrible week, all in all. I’m just busy. Busy, tired, and feeling a little bit like buckling under the strain. Obviously this is not the week to be making decisions about jobs, since right now I’d like to go hide underneath the covers for a good long time. We’ll see how I feel after my lovely vacation.

My irritability is up quite high. It has been for a while – I’ve been blaming hormones, but who really knows what goes on in there – but this week due to the tight schedule I’ve been even testier than usual. Muttering at drivers on the road, cursing at pets who constantly trip me, nearly throwing little temper fits when my clothing gets snagged on a doorknob. Just… short-tempered. I don’t like it, and I’ll be ever so glad when I don’t have to worry about meeting deadlines and being on-time for appointments.

And on top of everything I decided to read a book. My plan was to re-read book 6 in the Harry Potter series so that I could finally get to reading book 7… hoping that I would only have to bring one of the two big hardcover books with me in my carry-on. Unfortunately the plan has backfired and now I’m avoiding the stuff that I need to get done in order to read. I knew this was going to happen. It’s why I loved reading so much as a teenager and why I have avoided it for several years now: it becomes an addiction. It’s not that no longer like books… it’s that I recognize that once I start I cannot stop and my life cannot frequently accomodate such a black hole of a diversion. So I avoid it.

I love the feeling of a good book. I love leaving my life behind for a little while – always have. I love immersing myself in a rich world, in strong emotions, in wonder and awe. The hard part has always been returning to my own life… And that is never more true than now. Even when the Harry Potter books get depressing and there is death and overwhelming sadness… at least I know the last book has been written. At least I can read ahead and find out what happens – for good or ill, there will be closure.

I am posting this mostly for posterity’s sake, so one day, when I start thinking that it wasn’t really that bad, I can read this and realize that I was crazy.

Sunday was my day off – we cleaned the house. Did all the laundry including bed sheets, vacuumed the house, cleaned the kitchen, did all the dishes, put everything away, cleaned the bathroom, etc etc.

Monday I dropped Den off at work, went home to get my dog, took her to her vet appointment, picked up my husband so he could drop me off at my job (remember, we’re still sharing a vehicle). I worked for a few hours, getting sicker as the hours ticked by. Threw up a few times. Late afternoon I finally called husband to ask him to please come pick me up. I went home, fell asleep curled on my side in the fetal position because my stomach hurt so much. Woke up at 10pm threw up a bunch more times, faxed in the Costco order for work, fell back asleep for the night.

Tuesday. Woke up feeling better, but not fabulous. Dropped Den off at work, picked up Costco order, worked for several hours in a client’s office on web stuff, met up with coworker to buy a whole lot of cat food, carried it all into the sanctuary (still feeling a little faint and ill, btw). Worked for several hours on that stuff. Called a new client back to arrange a new project. Picked Den up from work, drove him home, wolfed down a sandwich (only thing I’d eaten in 24 hours), went back to work to do some more. Went to work meeting for several hours. Got home at 9pm. Read a few chapters, fell asleep.

Wednesday, time for bank job. Feeling back to normal! Dropped Den off at 7:30am, went to my job. At lunch I went to the store to buy food for lunch. I got to read a little bit at lunch. After work I went home to quickly fix a web problem I was just notified of. Ran out the door in a flurry to get to appointment on time for very very needed haircut (It’s been I think 3 months of me not having time). Got out from that, drove like mad to get to the pregnancy loss support group meeting (which I was late for) – scarfed down food on the way. After meeting chatted to one of the girls for a while. Got home at 10pm. (Note: Den got his car back today!!! No more sharing!!!)

Somewhere in there I was supposed to make a potato salad for work tomorrow – which is obviously not going to get done – and I still have an urgent client project to get done, which will have to be done tomorrow evening.

Oh, and Friday is my transfer (crap, I need to pick up my prescription for valium), Saturday is work work work to prepare for my time away, Sunday is probably going to be finishing more work and then we have a memorial service to go to (put on by the hospital, for all babies born/lost in 2008). Monday I leave on a plane. Somewhere in there I have to actually… oh, I don’t know… PACK.

One of the big injustices of life…. when I wasn’t working I had no money to spend and a lot of time on my hands. Now that I’m working we have some money to do fun things (like Yoga, exercise classes, dance classes), but I have no time for anything at all! Right now I’d love to just read my book but I feel guilty when I’m doing that instead of working on a project!

I’m going to bed now, so I can sleep 6 hours before I have to get up for work.