Doing okay

(with a nod to Claire-- hellooo!)

I'm fine. It's been a week. This past Thursday, Nick and I took a little mini-vacation to Vermont. Just one overnight. It was great. Very relaxing, very not-kid-friendly, very something we couldn't do if we had two kids (or at least it would be a lot harder to convince my mom to take two small kids instead of just one). Here are some pictures:

Relaxing at the B&B before dinner.

Dinner at Hen of the Woods. Amazing table!
Lunch Friday at Simon Pearce-- another amazing table!

Otherwise, I feel fine. I think I expected the miscarriage from the moment I saw the positive-ish pregnancy test, so it wasn't nearly the blow it was the last time around. I've been distracted though. I spent the morning crying over my college friend dying of cancer (I think I mentioned this recently); this morning I found out that he has just days left. It's a sobering thought that he sometimes doesn't recognize his wife or daughter.

So that has certainly kept me from feeling sorry for myself. At Simon Pearce yesterday I made a crack to Nick about my old, infertile body and he was all "hey, hey, don't say that..." I had to clarify that it is much easier for me to deal with things through humor. Besides, bad things are (or can be) funny. It's not funny to talk about having a great marriage or whatever.

Speaking of funny, Sascha thinks I am Julia Roberts. She watches this video on YouTube of Elmo and Julia, then likes to act it out later. She gets me to say "Hi" like Julia does, and she takes over the rest (both parts). But now she calls me Julia! Last night I put her in time out and left the room, and she started screaming "JULIAAA! JULIAAA!" Oh HELL it was funny. Dude, I will totally take that.

A few unpolished thoughts

So, where to begin.

I didn't go for the bloodwork. I already know the answer. If my dad (and Claire) is right, and it is possible for me to still be pregnant, then great-- I'll grow a baby. I just could not stomach the idea of waiting rooms and paperwork and opening files and signing forms and just UGH. Not to mention having to go back for comparative bloodwork in a week. I just can't. Not today. Today I want to eat smoked salmon and sit on my ass and shop online. More about the shopping later.

In the past 18 hours I've had at least three more requests for me to go see a fertility specialist. I may have finally figured out a way to express how I feel about that. It boils down to my not wanting it badly enough. I feel very strongly about putting my faith in fate's hands. Que sera, sera-- if I'm supposed to have one, then that's fine. If I'm meant to have two, I'll have two. My gut speaks loudly & clearly to me about not wanting to mess with that.

I guess I can see too many benefits to only having one.

This summer my sister made a jokey-eyerolling remark under her breath about "huh, mother of one," ribbing me about how easy I have it (she has three). It was funny, and I laughed, but it stuck with me. She's right. I do have it easy with one. Lately that kid has been rocking my world. She's been so fun that I've fallen desperately, scarily in love with her. We have a couple of inside jokes and when our faces snap towards each other and we laugh at them, in that moment of private recognition, it's like the planets have aligned.

I know this will sound silly (and insulting to many, many people-- sorry), but there seems to be a slightly hipper quality to having one child as opposed to an army. When I thought I was pregnant, I was thinking "oh, now I'm really going to be a mom-- I'll have to get a minivan and maybe a midwestern accent and pull my jeans up to my tits." Whereas one child still seems to be straddling the line between having kids and not having kids. Technically, it is neither. I don't have kids, I have a kid. It's like I still get to keep part of my adult identity. Some of the coolest mothers I know only have one. Not that having more than one automatically makes you not cool! Shut up, I'm just trying to make myself feel better about having a miscarriage and being old and barren.

Of course, I am sad about not having another. I am. This was going to be my Redemption Baby. A pregnancy where I wouldn't be overwhelmed with panic and fear, concerned only with myself. The early months where I would know firsthand what to do, and know that those days would pass. A final chance to try to breastfeed. It would have been my Do-Over Baby, where I would right all the wrongs I committed with Sascha.

And I worry about only having one, in terms of... if something ever happened to Sascha, we wouldn't be parents anymore. End of parenthood. The thought of that is too horrible to bear. Or what if she screwed up her life? Became a crackhead? Or wanted to move to LA to become an actress? (shudder) It would be almost as bad if she grew up and hated me. What are the odds? I mean, she's been pushing me away from her since she was born. It's practically hard-wired in her. I know plenty of first-born daughters who have that relationship with their mothers. Of course, I know a handful of women who were only children who get along with their mothers just fine.

So I think I'm not going to see a specialist. I know this decision will not sit well with so many people, but like I said, I just cannot get my gut behind it. I will continue to try until I turn 40 in 2011. After that, I'm packing it in and moving on with my life as a mother of one.

For now, I'm thinking about raw oysters and martinis. I'm thinking about shopping for school clothes at non-maternity stores. I'm thinking about running the half-marathon again next June. I'm pricing trips to London in February. For now, I'm going to continue enjoying the bits of adult life I'm slowly getting back since having Sascha.

Strike Two

I'm bleeding.

My dad says there's still hope. I think the hope is all his. I'll take the blood test tomorrow to confirm what I already know. This being my body, I know what's going on. I'm done. Again.

As I cried into Nick's chest again tonight, I couldn't stop thinking of my college roommate, whose wonderful husband is losing a long battle with cancer. Believe me, I am counting my blessings, but I'm still disappointed.

I'm sorry if you're family or a close friend and you're finding this out here. Do me a favor and don't call me. The long pauses punctuated with a sad "I'm sorry" is torture. I hope that doesn't sound insensitive. Also, please, PLEASE don't tell me not to tell anyone next time I get fake pregnant. I don't need any fingers wagged in my face right now. And I still don't regret telling.

Thanks.

Wine is waiting.

5 Weeks

Unlike last time's fake-out pregnancy, I actually don't feel like a pig this time.

Check it out, I can fit into my pre-pregnancy shorts! This is a pair of shorts I bought the summer we got married, when I was in awesome shape!

Granted, I'm still spilling out a little. But hey! They fit! By the way, that is a bathing suit top holding up Rock of Love Bus 1 and 2, not a cute yellow bra. (are you kidding? they don't make bras that cute in my size.)

Exhibit A: bras in my size

And can I just say, the camera is cruel. I was holding the camera up, and I'd look in the mirror and go "wow! I look great!" then look at the camera screen and go "oh no, I look awful!" then back to the mirror and "wow, I look great!" and so on. Unfortunately, the 3" roots in my hair are represented accurately.

This post has two points-- one to document my possible weekly belly-growth update, because I wish I'd done that with Sascha, and the other to remind any of you who happen to be my friend on Facebook: please keep this under wraps! I have students and random acquaintances on Facebook. I've gotten very lucky so far, but pleeeeease don't say anything there yet. Thanks!

The rabbit is half-dead

...and apparently, I am sort of pregnant.

I've been dying to write about this, but had to tell all family first, and even that had to wait a few days. It's good that I've had a little time to cool down. Here's what happened.

Last week, my period didn't come the day it was due. I took a test and it was negative. Three days later, still late, took another test... and I got the same faint second line I did last time. Actually, even fainter. I. Was. FURIOUS. Really, really pissed, spitting virtual f-bombs like an angry cat to my friends in the forum I'm in. When I got pregnant with Sascha, I had two strong lines the day my period was due. Stupid old, crusty body. I am not up for another fake-out pregnancy. This was at 5 am (I'd been up since 3 with my usual insomnia), and I was wondering-- how do I tell Nick when he wakes up? Congratulations, sorta? Keep your calendar open in a few weeks? I went with "I've got good news and bad news," and he grimaced when I showed him the test. Even he knew.

So I waited a day and took another test. Same result. Nick went out and got the Dummy Test, the one that actually says "pregnant" or "not pregnant." Third time's a charm. I managed to pass this test with a higher score than the C-minuses I'd gotten on the other two.

So, at this point we're cautiously optimistic. Everyone says they have a different feeling about this one, but I don't yet. I don't feel any different (aside from constantly craving spicy food, hot enough to melt my face off spicy, although that isn't all that different from normal). Not sick. Not any more tired than normal. My boobs hurt, but they always hurt. (Can anyone else out there with giant knockers confirm this for me, that big tits just hurt? Or is it really just me?)

At this point I have two more major hurdles to cross before I can fully believe it. First will be the heartbeat. Second will be the genetic testing. My sister advised me to not blog about this pregnancy (or, "pregnancy") yet until I'm 100% sure there is a full, healthy baby in there, but I just can't keep my mouth shut. If the worst happens, I'll talk about it. Of the nine people who read this blog, most of you are people I don't know, so I don't mind.

If I may allow a little excitement to creep in? If this is for real, then my due date will be APRIL 18th. BULLSEYE. Surely my luck can't be that good.

And finally, the best reaction I've gotten to this news was my friend Karin, who said "You whore! You're knocked up! Again! Can't you keep your knees together woman?" Awesome. Karin for the win!

"Two kids make one feel like none."

I just got back in touch with a co-worker from when I lived in Los Angeles. Last time I saw her, I wasn't married and neither of us had kids. Now she has two. We started talking about motherhood in general and she concluded with that statement. Considering how hard one has been for me? It made me shudder and has haunted me ever since. Whenever I'm playing with Sascha or she's being easy, the words "...make one feel like none..." echo in my head.

Nick and I had a nice talk about it yesterday. I told him that I'm still 50/50 right on the fence, but lately I've been feeling the pull even harder on both sides. Wanting a baby more than ever. Wanting to stick to one child more than ever. I concluded that it's a good thing that I am on the fence, that way I won't be devastated if I never get pregnant. We're going to let the chips fall where they may (um, except with birth control through the winter). I decided that I'll give this two more years. 2011 will be the year I turn 40. If it doesn't happen by then, I'm selling all the baby stuff and calling it a day. Dusting my hands, making peace with the nice little family I have. I know, lots of women have kids after 40, but people have climbed Everest too and I'm not going to do something just 'cause I can. (Or can I? Christ, we've been trying a long time.)

I did see that amazing midwife a couple weeks ago. She gave me the number of a fertility specialist that she loves, and who helped her get pregnant. I don't know why, and I'm going to get lots of shit for this, but I can't bring myself to make the call. Maybe I'm lazy and don't want to drive a half hour for a string of doctor's appointments? Maybe I'm afraid of what he'll tell me? Maybe both? I think I've had enough experiences where I've gone to the doctor, paid a copay, waited for him/her to be late, then had them shrug and say they don't know what's wrong with me. I would say that's been 90% of the doctors' appointments in my life (not that I've had to go very often). I don't really have the time or patience to deal with that again. The idea of spending my time sitting in a waiting room is revolting on its own. I guess that's why I'm not calling. I really wish I could find a Dr. Phil-style therapist (what, he was awesome before he went all Springer) who would lay it out for me straight instead of nodding sympathetically. That's what the last woman did. I liked her, but I need someone to shake me and ask me the hard questions I don't know how to ask myself. I don't even know what the questions are.

I have been scarce 'round the blog because it's been a very busy summer. I counted six straight weeks where Nick and/or I have played host or guest. I have loved every visit, but after six weeks I felt completely wrung out. At the end of it, I still had to face a dirty house, piles of laundry, an empty fridge, a garden & yard full of weeds, and a fat body from all the celebration eating (restaurants! desserts! oooh, let's make this! all of which were usually my idea). So I have a month to restore what I've been giving, giving, giving for six weeks. We've hired Saint Erika to take Sascha a few days a week. We still have a monster to-do list like we do every summer, catching up on things that have accumulated during the school year like getting the scanner fixed and replacing a ripped screen. But the house is clean. Garden is halfway there with the weeds. I've been eating well. The sun has peeked in here and there (the epic rain has continued through the summer, confining a lot of that visiting to the indoors-- crazymaking), enough for me to have a pool day or two with Sascha. We've finally had the opportunity to try to potty-train her, which has been a spotty endeavor at best. We're in no rush, she'll get there when she's ready. But aahhh... it is finally summer vacation!

I'll finish with Sascha's Funny Story of the summer: out of nowhere, she started yelling "What the FUCK?" Nick figured out this came from him, while he's driving. (small, discreet wipe of forehead as the blame is taken off the foul-mouthed mother.) So we've tried to change that to "WonderFUL!" It's only sort of working. We'll correct her, she'll give us this little "yeah right" smile and then yell the original version again. Ai, that kid.