That's Like, Totally Heavy

Grace, on the way to run some errands this morning:

"Well, if we don't know where we're going, then we're not there yet."

Wow, toooooooooootally right on Grace. The kid has achieved Zen at age four.

The Power of Sleep

It is 7:58 p.m., and Grace has been asleep for about thirty minutes. I can't believe it. This is the same girl that fights tooth and nail to stay up until 8:30 every night.

Tonight started out the same as the past few nights have. I picked Gracie up from day care, and on the way home she was already displaying signs of being overtired and super, super crabby. As soon as we got home, she plopped on the couch and all she wanted to do was sit on my lap and drink some juice. Aaron and I then took Grace to Target (where else?) to buy some new shoes for her and some time during the ten minute drive to Target, Grace fell SOUND asleep. When we got to Target and woke her up, it was clear that Aaron and I had our work cut out for us. Gracie did NOT want to wake up, and she let us know by yelling at us when we tried to help her fasten the safety belt in the shopping cart and sticking her tongue out at us when we told her that she wouldn't get to pick out a treat if she was sassy. Three temper tantrums (and two new pairs of shoes) later, we were heading to grab some subs for supper and eventually we headed home for the night.

I got Gracie ready for bed and she and I settled together on the couch for some snuggle time before bed. I told Gracie that I needed to get her washed up and that I needed to trim her fingernails before bed, and she flipped out, flailing around on the couch and begging me to leave her alone. At this point, I had had enough drama for the evening, and I said, more as a threat than anything, "Do you want to go to bed?" Much to my surprise, she stopped crying and said, "Yes." In total disbelief, I gathered Grace up in my arms, along with her blankie and her sock monkey, and carried her up to bed. Less than ten minutes later, she was fast asleep, and I was left wondering what the hell I was going to do with an extra HOUR of free time tonight.

So, I think that Gracie is just really and truly exhausted. Eliminating her daily nap has taken more of a toll on her than I ever thought it would. Who knew an hour and a half of nap time could do so much? The only time in Grace's life when she has ever gone to bed at 7:30 at night is when she is extremely ill, and since she's not sick at all, I am taking this as a strong signal from my daughter that she needs a schedule adjustment and that her bedtime needs to be moved up. Got it, kiddo, loud and clear.

We'll see how she does tomorrow, but the relief that she displayed tonight when I asked her if she wanted to go to bed was enough for me to be sure that this is what she needs to feel like herself again. Now, what to do with that extra hour at night? "Lost" reruns anyone??

The Formidable Fours

The Formidable Four's...they're the new Terrible Two's. Fasten your seatbelt, Mama. It's gonna be a bumpy ride.

Grace went through the classic Terrible Two's phase from about sixteen months until age three--she had two to three major tantrums per day, sometimes more. These were the tantrums that you read about in books--kicking, screaming, inconsolable crying tantrums that couldn't be dealt with effectively no matter how hard I tried. She tested me in every way that she possibly could for almost a year and a half, then suddenly one day, right around her third birthday, she turned into a preschooler, ready to potty train and displaying a completely new attitude. She had a much larger vocabulary, so she was able to express herself easier, she was more independent, and the tantrums were a thing of the past. Hallelujah.

Mwaaahhh haaaahhh haaaahh...(twisting evil pencil mustache). Or so I thought.

Recently, I've noticed a troubling pattern forming in my child and tantrums are back, with a new twist--sassiness. Perhaps it's because the teachers in Grace's room at day care have stopped making the kids take naps. Frankly, I've never heard of such a stupid idea...why wouldn't the day care teachers want a two-hour break in the afternoon and why are they risking having a bunch of overtired kids come 4:00pm?? In the interest of preparing the kids for K4 in the fall, they have stopped letting the kids take naps during the day, and Grace is definitely showing the effects of it.

Or, maybe Grace is sensing the stress and sadness that I have felt over the past month or so since learning of the miscarriage. Lord knows I haven't always been Miss Sunshine and I wonder if Grace is reacting to me. I have tried to hide things as best as I could from her, but sometimes some of the feelings snuck out...I'm only human. Maybe it's the nap thing and the emotional roller coaster that we've all been on. Maybe it's neither and she's just going through a developmental phase. Either way, I'm bracing myself for what's to come.

Here's an example of what has happened lately. Yesterday at church, we were excited because the theme of the service was "All Music Sunday" and since Gracie loves listening to music, we figured she'd be totally into the service and we'd be able to enjoy it as a family. (Is it called a service when it's a Unitarian church? Actually, it's not called "church". It's a "society". I have no clue--I'm new to this Unitarian thing, but so far, so good.) About five minutes into the "gathering", Grace decided that she was totally not down with the whole music thing and took out some colors that I had packed and I offered to give her my paper fan that the "society" furnished for her to color on. She sat on the floor in a huff and demanded her OWN fan--mine was obviously flawed in some way, making it unsuitable for her artistic renderings. After telling her that no, I was not getting up in the middle of the "gathering" to get her a new fan, she pouted for a few minutes but then decided that a used, flawed fan was better than no fan, so she commenced coloring. A few serene moments passed, and then she got bored with coloring, so she took to paging through the hymnals for entertainment, but apparently she was turning the pages too loudly, because soon her paging was drawing gawks and sighs and stares from the clearly uptight old bag sitting in front of us. I asked Grace to turn the pages quietly, and she had a meltdown. She slipped snakelike down to the floor, sobbing silently in her folded arms and when I attempted to pick her up, her body went limp and jello-like and I broke a sweat trying to get her onto my lap. After wiping her tears, I held her for a few minutes when she took the hymnal out AGAIN and started paging through, loudly enough to elicit more stares and sighing (seriously, get over yourself, lady) and I took the book away from her once and for all and offered to color quietly with her, but Grace wasn't having it. She slid back down to the floor, started crying much louder this time, and when I tried to pick her up to take her out of church, she grabbed the underside of the pew so tightly that I couldn't pry her fingers off. She remained there for the rest of the "gathering", weeping just loud enough for those right around us to hear and get extremely annoyed with us.

Finally, mercifully, the "gathering" ended and we decided to cut our losses, skip the church tour that we were wanting to participate in, and head home. On the way out of church, Grace grabbed a Welcome Packet (the same packet we snagged on the way out of church a few weeks ago) and insisted on taking it home. After telling Grace no, we don't need ANOTHER envelope full of Unitarian brochures, she broke down AGAIN, melting to the floor in a heap of sobbing child. I was determined just to get her the hell out of the building, but again, she went totally limp and made it impossible for me to pick her up, so Aaron picked her up, put her over his shoulder, and carried her out of the building.

So, here we were, on a beautiful Sunday morning, hauling a SCREAMING four-year-old down the street. First, when Aaron was holding her, Grace was yelling for me, and when I held her, she was screaming that she wanted to get down. When I put her down, she stood in the middle of the sidewalk and refused to move. So, we started over again, with Aaron carrying her, then me, then the sidewalk standoff. Ten minutes later, we had managed to transport her the two blocks from the church to the car, and we were on our way home.

It was like that ALL DAY yesterday. I cried after Grace went to bed last night.

I was hoping today would be better, but I was wrong. Tonight, the sassiness kicked in with full force. Here is an example of a conversation that we had tonight, but the same type of thing has occurred several times over the past couple of weeks:

Me: It's time for bed now.

Grace: Well, I'm not going to bed.

Me: Yes you are. It's bed time. Let's go.

Grace: I'm not coming. I'm staying right here (on the couch). You can't make me. You're being sassy.

Me: (Silence...anger and frustration building) Let's go. It's bedtime.

Grace: (With gravitas) You're not my friend anymore. I'm not going to play with you. I won't follow you to bed. You're sassy. You have to go to bed now. (Storms off...fade to black)

OMG!!! What happened to my baby who loved to snuggle with me at bedtime and read stories and quietly drift off to sleep? How do I react to this? Where did this sassiness come from? I think that I am a good parent who has taught Grace boundaries and I have taught her what is acceptable behavior and what isn't...who is this child??

Please tell me that this is just a blip on the radar. Please tell me this ISN'T a full-blown phase. Last night, Aaron and I took Grace out for dinner and ice cream, and as she was having a meltdown because there wasn't enough ketchup on her plate, I looked over at a younger couple with a newborn and thought, "Savor the days when they can't talk yet..."

Counting My Blessings

Well, I knew ever since we found out almost four weeks ago that we were having a miscarriage that this day would come, and it has. The medication that my doctor gave me two weeks ago did the trick, and things are truly over now. The biggest feeling that I am experiencing right now, other than sadness? Loneliness. It probably sounds odd, but when I was pregnant with Grace, it was so cool knowing that I was carting this little person around with me everywhere I went, and I enjoyed knowing that she was always around. When I gave birth, I was a little sad that I didn't have her with me every moment of the day anymore. I sorta feel that same way right now. When I found out that I was pregnant at the end of April, I immediately had that sense of...I don't know...shared space and companionship, even though at that point the baby was nothing but a cluster of cells (and, as far as we know, that's all it ever was). Now that things are really and truly over, I am feeling that very same sense of loneliness that I felt after giving birth to Grace, although this time I don't have a newborn to hold. I just have my sadness.

I spent a large amount of time today staring off into space and trying to piece together my feelings. To be completely truthful, I am a little bit relieved. If that sounds horrible, I'm sorry...but not really. I am relieved that I don't have to wonder about when it's going to happen anymore or how it's going to be. I am relieved to know that I'm not irreparably broken, physically speaking. Part of me is also relieved that this didn't happen last week, when Aaron and I were at Bonnaroo. Maybe our baby's spirit wanted to hang out with us for a while longer just to see how great his parents' tastes in music are.

I'm also very sad. Even though I knew in my head that we had lost the baby, in my heart I was still hanging on to the smallest shred of hope that maybe there was a mistake and that all of this sadness and agony was for nothing. Giving up that last modicum of hope is like admitting defeat, and more than that, it's admitting that nothing will bring our baby back. It's over.

I do want to move past this and feel better. Coming home from vacation has been extremely difficult for both of us--being able to escape reality for a few days was great, better than great, and I've noticed that since coming home, I have lost the ability to care about some things. Oh, I care a great deal about the important stuff--Grace and Aaron--but some of the stuff that I usually obsess about doesn't really matter to me anymore. So what if the laundry that I folded on Tuesday is still hanging out in the laundry baskets waiting to be put away? Who cares if I don't water my plants? We've gotten enough rain anyway. Does it matter that I haven't made the bed all week? What's the big deal if I don't go through the mail every day? The fact that I DON'T care about this stuff is alarming to me...this isn't normal for me. I need to pull myself out of this.

And that's just what I plan to do. I hate it when people look at someone who is truly depressed and say, "Pull yourself up by your bootstraps," but I'm gonna give it a shot. I have hit tough patches before, and although this patch takes the cake, I want to try to whip this on my own. It's not going to be easy, but I have so many blessings. I have the most awesome, beautiful, sweet, amazing daughter. She is my life, and I am so fortunate to have her. I have the most wonderful husband, and over these past few weeks he has shown me more patience and love and encouragement and support than I ever could imagine. He's my rock. I have an amazing support system of family and friends, without whom I'd be lost. And, as difficult as it is to fathom right now, I know that I have another shot at having another baby. A lot of women don't get that second (or third) chance, and I do, and that gives me back that little shred of hope. I am blessed and I will remember that.

Deep breath.

I need to move on now. Move on, but never, ever forget.

Rock Out With Your Sun Block Out -and- The Return of My High School Rock Star Crushes

**Click on the slideshow to the right of this pane to see all of our Bonnaroo photos!!**

Wow…there is so much to say about Bonnaroo 2008 that I’m not even sure where to start. I guess I’ll start with the titles of this post…

Title the First:

It was really, REALLY hot and sunny at Bonnaroo this year, as it is every year, but for some reason I still need to be reminded to wear sunscreen. You would think that after living with albino-like fair skin for thirty years that I would know that I need to apply sun block liberally before going outside for more than, oh, thirty seconds, but sometimes I forget, and I end up with skin that looks like this:

Yep, it’s totally gross, blotchy sunburn skin. And it hurts like hell. I didn’t put sun block on my legs on the last day of the festival because I was wearing a skirt that went all the way to my ankles, and I figured, hey, my legs are covered, I’m all set. Well, it was like 100 degrees that day and while we were sitting on the lawn in full sunlight watching the Rogue Wave show, I hiked my skirt up past my knees to get some airflow going to my lower extremities. And now I suffer. And I’m not just burned there…my scalp is scorched (even though I wore either a scarf or a headband each day) and my forehead and chest are burned as well, despite the fact that I applied SPF 30 a couple of times each day. Sucks to be a redhead.

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Title the Second:

I was a little bit surprised at the choices of headliners at Bonnaroo this year. Generally, Bonnaroo is a jam band hippie festival and so when I saw that Metallica and Pearl Jam were headlining, I scratched my head and wondered whether or not the festival was being redefined. (Although my confusion was cleared up a bit when Metallica stated that as a band they love live music, and all of us Bonnaroo attendees are live music lovers as well, so maybe there aren’t such stark differences after all.) I was also quite excited because there was a point in time, way back in high school, when I was a HUGE fan of both Metallica and Pearl Jam and I was stoked that I’d get a chance to see them live after all these years.

Ok, actually, I had big high school girl crushes on James Hetfield, lead singer of Metallica, and on Eddie Vedder when I was in my long-haired/dangerous/metal head dudes phase back when I was fifteen or sixteen. I spent HOURS staring at the cassette tape insert of the Black Album by Metallica and hoping that one day, James Hetfield would spot me in a crowd and decide that he was madly in love with me and whisk me away forever.

Obviously that didn’t happen, but when I was at the Metallica and Pearl Jam shows this weekend, I closed my eyes and suddenly was a sophomore in high school, wearing a flannel shirt and ripped jeans and playing metal music in my bedroom with the volume low enough so my parents wouldn’t hear. And my crushes on James and Eddie? Alive and well. They rocked my world.

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Other ‘Roo Happenings

Saturday was by far the best live music day of my life, thanks to some great shows by Sharon Jones, Gogol Bordello, and Ben Folds. The three artists are so different musically, but their shows were all high-energy and engaging, so kudos to them for kicking ass. Ben Folds’ show was one of my favorites—he played a great mix of old and new stuff and made sure that his crowd was enjoying the music. Other fantastic shows were brought to us courtesy of Tegan & Sara, Mike Birbiglia (even though he didn’t show up for his autograph signing session), Rogue Wave, Chromeo, The Dirty Dozen Brass Band, and Death Cab for Cutie.

Actually, all of the shows that we attended at the ‘Roo were awesome, with the exception of the Vampire Weekend show. We saw Vampire Weekend at a smaller venue in Milwaukee a couple of months ago, and I enjoyed that show far more than I did the show they did at the ‘Roo. Maybe they are just one of those bands that do better in smaller venues, but their show at the ‘Roo sounded sloppy to me. Don’t get me wrong—I still love them and their music, but this wasn’t their best show.

The big disappointment of the weekend was Kanye West. He was scheduled to play a late night/early morning show after the Pearl Jam show, and his set was all hyped up because it was supposed to be this super cool “glow in the dark” show. So, even though he was slated to play at the ungodly hour of 2:45am on Sunday morning (seriously, whose idea is it to schedule shows at 3am?), I was willing to sacrifice some sleep to go and see him. Aaron and I showed up to the stage where Kanye was scheduled to play at around 2:15, and I decided to lie down on our blanket to catch a quick nap before the music started. A while later (when some moron kicked my foot and woke me up as he was walking past), I looked up at the stage and noticed an alert on one of the screens that said that Kanye’s show was postponed until 3:15. I decided that I could force myself to wait another half hour to see the show, but when another alert popped up at 3:15 stating that his show was pushed back AGAIN to 3:30, I told Aaron that there was no way I was waiting around any longer for a hip hop show when I don’t really love hip hop and I do love sleeping. We headed back to our campsite and I fell asleep shortly thereafter, not really feeling bad at all that I was missing Kanye’s show (I had seen him a couple of years ago at Lollapalooza and wasn’t overly impressed).

Turns out that Kanye didn’t go onstage until 4:40am and the crowd was understandably upset with him. People tell me that he just did his show, didn’t wait for applause in between songs, and didn’t offer any sort of explanation as to why he was two hours late for his show. People were angry about it for the rest of the festival—I heard several Bonnarooers say, “F*%# Kanye!”—and I am REALLY glad that we didn’t decide to wait it out to see his show. You can’t expect fans that pay more than $200 for a festival ticket to wait for you for hours and be excited about it. I know he’s a big name celebrity, yadda yadda yadda, but the hippies were pissed, and they were telling others about it. I am SO boycotting his show at this year’s Lollapalooza.

I was also going to write about how our camping neighbors were total douche bags, but Aaron said that he was going to resurrect his blog just to write about them, so I won’t steal his thunder. And now I have obligated him to do just that, so there you go, Aar. Go write about those hippies.

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Summing Up…

Bonnaroo 2008 was fabulous, wonderful, awesome, marvelous…it was a great time, plain and simple. It was all that I hoped it would be and then some. By far, the best part of the trip was my time with Aaron. It was so cool to step out of our normal “roles”, get away from everything, have some really good talks, and relax. It was exactly the medicine that we needed at this point in our lives.

And, I feel that Sara has made a bit of a comeback. This weekend, I was able to leave Sara the mom/wife/daughter/coworker/grieving miscarriage patient behind and just be Sara the woman, jumping around and singing along and doing the best rendition of the Hippie Noodle Dance that I could. I may not have made a total comeback yet, but the foundation has been laid and I’m feeling a bit better about things. It’s amazing how much perspective can be gained just by stepping away for a bit and catching your breath.

Bonnaroo pictures will be posted soon—as soon as I get caught up on my sleep.

Goin' on Vaca

Tomorrow, Aaron and I are off to Tennessee for a much-anticipated five-day vacation to the Bonnaroo Music Festival in Tennessee! I can’t wait…lots of live music, great food, and a road trip with my hubby. I will miss Gracie so much--five days is the longest that I will have ever been away from her. To help take away the sadness of leaving her for a while, I have made a list of reasons (other than the live music, great food, and the road trip with Aaron) why going to Bonnaroo will be totally awesome:

-Surely Tennessee will be drier than Wisconsin. Over the past few days, we have been slammed by rain and severe weather and flooding. In fact, the flooding is so severe that an entire lake near Wisconsin Dells was overtaken by the flood and some poor homeowners who used to own lakefront property are now the not-so-proud owners of mud hole-front property. Imagine waking up to that. Makes the flooding that we have experienced in our own basement seem like a walk in the park (a wet, musty park, but a park nonetheless).

-Festival atmosphere will be a welcome change from sitting in my bed at night, Googling information on the progesterone-based medication that I am taking (to no avail) to bring on the end of the miscarriage and the beginning of my normal cycles. Still nothing—no sign of anything at all. How is that possible? What is wrong with me?

-My tendency to experience live music-induced euphoria will replace the violent mood swings that I have been plagued with as a result of said progesterone-based medication. Poor Aaron—a special place in heaven surely awaits this man. He has managed to keep a smile on his face even though his wife is up and down and up and down more frequently and less predictably than the price of gas. And I can’t write anything else more about him or I will cry. Again.

(Well, the tears are welling up anyway so I might as well keep going.)

-Time away from home and constant reminders of the miscarriage will hopefully lead to further healing for both myself and for Aaron. I am at the point now where I want to be able to move past this and have a little bit of closure. I know that the pain will never be completely gone, and I still have moments where the sadness is overwhelming, but at least I can see past the grief and I WANT to feel better. A couple of weeks ago, I didn’t even want to feel okay. A little progress is better than none, I suppose, and I think that getting away with Aaron will do wonders for me.

-I’ll be attending my fourth Ben Folds concert. Ooh, I love Ben, almost as much as I love the Decemberists. Ben is my new Dave Matthews, only not quite as hot but with better vocal range.

-Camping! I love camping, and we didn’t get to go at all last summer. I’m very excited about sleeping in a tent and enjoying the outdoors (except if it’s raining—in that case, I am sleeping in the car).

I’ll post pictures when we return. Y’all take care!

Grace at Four Years...and, Thank You

Friday, Grace had her four year checkup, and here's how she measures up!

-Weight: 40 pounds. This puts her in the 90th percentile for her age.

-Height: 42 inches. This puts her in the 90-95th percentile for her age. She grew four inches from last year! No wonder none of her clothes fit!

I have a tall, skinny kid. She certainly doesn't get it from me. She's always been at the top of the charts in this regard, though.

Developmentally, she's right on target. She is doing all of the things that a kid her age should be doing. She dresses herself, she's fully potty trained, she a little question box, asking questions about anything and everything. The doctor asked if she sleeps in her own bed, and I said yes, but had to stifle a little "Ahem" after I said it. She sleeps in her own bed, but it's on the floor right next to our bed. Details, details. We have every intention of starting the process of moving her to her own room, but the events of the past couple of weeks have made it difficult for me to climb that emotional mountain.

Anyway, nothing but good things from the visit (other than the FIVE shots that she had to receive in anticipation of starting four-year-old kindergarten in September). The doctor told me what I already know--that I have a healthy, happy, wonderful kid. In fact, age four is by far my favorite age so far. Grace is able to do many things on her own and wants to at least try to do the rest of the things on her own. She is caring and compassionate and shows that she cares about others' feelings. She loves to read, do puzzles (up to 150 pieces!!), and do art projects. And, we are firmly out of that temper tantrum phase that plagued us from about fifteen months up until she turned three.

Yay Gracie! You're awesome...there are no two ways about it.

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Just wanted to say thanks to all of you who read my blog and have sent support and encouragement my way. You all have made this bearable for me, and I can't thank you enough for your kind words. I thought about discontinuing this blog and blogging in general when I had the miscarriage, because many of my previous posts focused on my short pregnancy and the excitement of trying to conceive. After that, it was almost too painful to have to tell the story of the miscarriage, so I thought about not doing it at all. But, I am glad that I did, and I am glad because of you all. If I hadn't told this story, I would have missed out on all of the support you all have to give. So, thank you so, so much, from the bottom of my heart. I love you all.

You're Fired!

Message from me to my obstetrician: I am going Donald Trump on you. Doctor, you're fired.

Aaron and I had an appointment yesterday with my OB, to follow up on the miscarriage and to talk about "the plan". Over the past ten days or so, since learning of the miscarriage, Aaron and I have both been doing some research and I am fortunate enough to know some peeps that are in the know on obstetric problems and miscarriage, so we came to the appointment prepared with questions and armed with information.

Unfortunately, my doctor sucks. Plain and simple...she totally sucks. She came in (panting and complaining about how busy her day was and neglecting to apologize for making us wait thirty minutes past our scheduled time) and asked, "So, what happened?" After doing some quick interpreting and deciding that she meant to ask, "Have you had any spotting since you were last here?", I told her that I haven't had even one iota of spotting, no cramping, no nothing. The only indicators of the miscarriage were the ultrasound and the lack of any pregnancy symptoms (other than amenorrhea).

After hearing this, my doctor looked back and forth between Aaron and me and said, "Weird," and "I don't know," alternatively at least six times. Then she told me she was going to give me some synthetic hormone pills to bring on a period and get my cycle back on track. And that was it.

I don't know...I guess I was expecting something more than that. Maybe some insight into what possibly happened. With miscarriages, I know that a vast majority of the time you never know what happened. I guess that's okay, but hearing some theories on what happened or some comfort would have been appreciated. Maybe some semblance of a plan would have made me feel better. All that she gave me was the instruction to take this medication--we didn't discuss when I should be expecting my period, when my cycles might be back on track, and when we can start thinking about trying to get pregnant again. When I asked about these things, she told me that my cycles might get back on track "after finishing the medication" and that we can start trying again "whenever".

Red flag--everything that I have read and heard has told me that after a miscarriage, a woman needs to wait one to three months to start trying to get pregnant again, and that she should use birth control until then. My doctor never once mentioned any sort of birth control to me and didn't give me any time frame for trying to conceive again. Honestly, I can't even think about trying to conceive again...I'm not anywhere near that point emotionally (or physically), but some information on that point, especially when I asked about it, would have been helpful.

The last straw was when the doctor was prepared to send me on my way, with this medication that can cause severe birth defects in children if taken while pregnant, without offering to give me a pregnancy test. Yes, she told me ten days ago that I miscarried, but stranger things have happened and Aaron and I have been having unprotected sex ever since I found out I was pregnant and we have no clue if I am ovulating or not. I had to ask for the test, and when I did, my doctor said, "Oh yeah. That might be a good idea." I am all for taking charge of your health care and suggesting options to your doctor, but this seems fundamental to me.

The other deciding factor for me was Aaron's reaction to my doctor. Aaron, who has an innate ability to see the best in every person and every situation, agrees that my doctor sucks. He couldn't deal with her through the rest of this ordeal and possibly through another pregnancy. In fact, several times last night, he told me, "I don't want to tell you what to do and if you like her, you can stay with her, but I want you to find a new doctor." Done.

Luckily, Grace has her four-year checkup this afternoon and I really respect her doctor, so I will be asking her to give me some referrals to new OB's in our network. Ironically, when I told my OB who Grace's doctor was, she was excited and told me that Grace's doctor is one of her favorite people. I'll be interested to see what Grace's doctor has to say about all of this.

Anyway, the pregnancy test that I asked for yesterday was negative, so I'm on the medication. I hesitated to take it because I feel like taking it is admitting that this is over and I am taking the final steps to end it. It's heartbreaking and I feel like some of the grief that I let go over the past few days is creeping back in. It's also a little nerve wracking, because the pharmacist gave me a warning last night that taking this medication could give me PMS times ten.

Oh good. Just what we need in our house...a little more emotion.

Angry in Sioux Falls

Dear Readers:

I am on a business trip in Sioux Falls. Thinking that it might be a good idea for me to get away for a couple of days, on my own, to spend some time reflecting on the loss of the baby and hopefully start to heal a little bit, I decided to go ahead and go on this trip and not cancel it or have a colleague go in my place. Those that know me well know that, during a crisis, I tend to draw myself in and need some space to pull myself together. The fact that this trip comes a week after learning that I am miscarrying seemed to at least serve a purpose in forcing me to take that time away and get that space that I sometimes need.

Of course, this theory might have proven true if I was actually READY to be on my own for a couple of days. I'm not. But, here I am, sitting in a hotel room alone, far from home, and panic is creeping in. I'm not ready to be alone, and the fact that I am is scaring the crap out of me. I am not yet prepared to deal with these feelings of loss on my own. Thank goodness I am going home tomorrow.

In addition to feeling scared, I am also SO PISSED OFF. Everything is making me angry. The idea that I can't actually talk to a human being to set my wakeup call--I have to program it into the phone. The fact that I have cable TV in my hotel room and I have every single news channel known to man except the one station I actually love to watch--CNN. What the hell is the point of having cable around if you can't watch Anderson Cooper 360?!? I don't have cable at home. All that I ask is that when I do have cable around that I ALSO have CNN! Who has CNBC but not CNN? The Holiday Inn in Sioux Falls, that's who!

And don't even get me started on the people who honked and waved at me as I accidentally turned out of the hotel parking lot the wrong way and headed down a one-way street in the wrong direction this morning. I could have jumped out of my car, pulled each one of these people (who were just trying to warn me of impending danger) out of their cars, and kicked their butts.

And then there was the freaky dude in the whirlpool tonight. All that I wanted to do tonight, after a long day of meetings, was to sit in the hot tub for a while and read my book IN PEACE. Nope, not happening for me. Freaky dude starts talking to me about how he tried to read his book in the hot tub but the water kept splashing his book so he had to stop. Guess what? I DON'T CARE. Then, as I got out of the whirlpool to turn the jets back on (whose idea was it to only have 15 minutes on the timer?) I caught freaky dude (who was clearly wearing a wedding ring) leering at me and watching my every move. Sick. I got back into the hot tub and tried to concentrate on reading my book, but freaky dude was sending weird oompa loompa vibes my way, so I covered myself up and hustled back to my room, looking over my shoulder the whole way. Bastard. If I find out that any of you men who read this blog (and I know who you are) go on a business trip, or go anywhere for that matter, and spend your time leering at women who are alone and making them feel uncomfortable, I will hunt you down and cut off your balls. And that's a promise.

Oh, and in addition to freaky dude, there were about ten teenage girls coming in and out of the whirlpool, all giggles and string bikinis. You just wait, skinny girls, till you hit your late 20's and early 30's. Your metabolism will catch up, and you'll be forced to wear a tankini and wouldn't be caught dead in anything with less material than that. You'll be too concerned about things like back fat and scaring small children if you display too much of your wobbly bits.

I'm just so angry. I think anger is somewhere in the grieving process, so this is normal, right? It doesn't feel normal. I have a temper normally, but it's nothing like this. I just want to go home.

Sincerely,
Angry in Sioux Falls

Not Sure How...

...to grieve for my loss.

This is not a baby that I ever held in my arms, or that I ever saw, or whose face I can picture in my mind. This was, technically speaking, a small cluster of cells and, depending on when I actually miscarried, possibly a very small embryo who was just starting to form. What was left of our baby was just a small black spot on an ultrasound. Still, this miscarriage has shaken me to my core. Just because this baby was never born doesn't mean this loss is diminished for me.

It's been five days since we went to the doctor and found out that we lost our baby, and I still am not sure how to grieve for our baby. Over the past five days, I have started to feel a little less devastated. I have gone from crying nonstop to crying just a few times a day, mostly when I can steal a moment to myself. I can put on a happy face--yesterday was Grace's birthday party, with friends from school as well as family, and I'd like to think that those people that didn't know about the miscarriage weren't able to tell that deep down, I am suffering. There are moments when the grief feels like it's going to take over my body--it's a physical thing, and it almost takes my breath away. Then there are times, when I am playing with Grace or when I am immersed in work, that I feel like one day I will feel okay.

So, I am at a loss for how exactly I am supposed to grieve. There is no closure. I still haven't had any physical signs of a miscarriage, other than cramping. That in and of itself is confusing to me and at times, I wonder if this was some sort of mistake, and that the baby is still alive inside me. All that I can do is put one foot in front of the other and carry myself through this as best I can.