Snippets

He crawls away from me, until he gets to the edge of the door which will lead him out of our kitchen and into the den. There he stops, turns around, looks at me and comes back to play with the Tupperware again. He hasn't found his baby wings yet. He hasn't realized that we are not one yet. I am still his person. At not yet eight months old, I am his world. He lights up when he sees me in the morning and cries when I walk out of the room without him.

This is the way it should be. Yes, he will get over his separation anxiety soon. Yes, he will one day leave the room I am in on purpose. But not yet. I will savor the time until then.

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Logan: Iss, I think we need to eat at home this week. He reaches for another hot wing from the container in the middle of the table.

Bailey: Daddy, we are eating and we are at home.

Logan: Did you coach her to say that?

Me: Nope, she got that one on her own. Babe, I'm doing the best I can. Dinner is still dinner, as long as we all eat together.

Logan: Pause. I never thought of it that way. So, okay, dinner at home, no restaurants this week. But I don't care where the food comes from. One week, lets just try it for one week, okay?

Me: That sounds like a plan.

******************

Morgan was as sick as a dog last week; food poisoning from some treat at the school. I've never seen her that sick in my life. Her long thin body, curled up on the bathroom floor in between retching. I sat with her, me and Harrison hanging with her on the floor until I finally decided to take her to Urgent care. I have been scared in my life; scared of many things. But nothing is scarier than watching your baby go as limp as a noodle from exhaustion and dehydration as you carry her too the car to take her to Urgent Care.

At 2am that next morning, she came into our room and said, mama I can't go to school today. I know bug, I do. But it's only 2am, I told her. Then I did something I rarely do, I pulled her into bed with us. She slept curled into me, nestled in between Logan and I for the rest of the night.

When I was in California, she slept with me two nights in a row. The two nights following my losing the baby. Those two nights, I felt guilty for, because she was there to comfort me. Now I know it works both ways. It's okay for her to be a comfort to me on occasion, just as it is for me to be that for her. That's what makes us family. Yes, she is seven years old, my first baby. But she is getting so big too. Big enough that we are starting to become friends in some way.

I want that, to be friends with my kids. Their mother first? Always. But friends too.

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My Mom: So, Papa** and I are coming out mid-June. We're hoping to find a house to buy while we are there.

Me: Really? That soon?

Mom: Yeah. I've already started working on my book and he's pretty much finished with the practice. Jordan has a handle on it, he's been there for nearly two years. The practice runs itself these days. We're ready for the change. Ready for the new chapter in our lives.

Me: Mom, you know there is a house for sale down the block from us.

Mom: You'd want us to look at that? It wouldn't be too close?

Me: No, not at all. We'd love it.

Mom: Oh I'm so happy to hear that. Ok, well pull the phone number, so I can call on it, okay?

Me: I will call them for you.

Mom: You know it's funny, but so many people don't get to say that their grown daughter is one of their best friends.

Me: I know, that's just sad. God, I hope the girls and I are like that one day.

Mom: I know it will be like that for you.

**We call my step-dad, papa. Have since they got married when I was eight.

******************

Kate: Are you guys sending the girls to summer day camp?

Me: I don't know. Maybe? We go back and forth on it. Morgan wants too, but Bailey doesn't at all.

Kate: Yeah, Aidan doesn't want to either. If we send him, you know he'll fight me every single morning. It's almost not worth the trouble.

Me: Yeah, I know. I want the time with them, the freedom to sleep in. Ha. But the reality is, I don't know that I want to entertain them, or listen to them fight all day every day for the next 10 weeks.

Kate: Well what if we share the kids? Take turns on certain days? Split them up on certain days and then have a day a week where we all do something together? Then we can both say, have a day a week free and the rest will work itself out.

Me: That is awesome. I'm in for sure. Can I have Friday off?

Kate: I knew you'd ask me that.

Me: At least I'm consistent.

Kate: Um huh. Consistent, pain in the ass maybe.

*****************

I wake up late/early one night to the bed shaking. He's sobbing, all 6'4" curled up around a pillow, with his hand shoved in his mouth to be quiet. I comfort him and calm him down and then ask why he is so upset. I wanted that baby. I wanted that baby so bad that it hurts. I wanted you to never have to go through this again. I couldn't fix it and I wanted too. You needed time to grieve, I had to be the one to not fall apart.

Well now it's your turn I tell him. Babe, we will have another baby, I tell him.

I can't even tell you how much I wanted to have another baby, he says. That baby, our baby.

We will. That one wasn't meant to be. But there will be another try, another chance. If not through us, we'll adopt. We'll find our baby. The one that is meant to be in this family.

There will be another baby. I know it. I feel it. Not yet, I need time. But sooner than one might think, I'd bet.

*****************

It's a crazy life, it keeps me on my toes, but it's my life and I wouldn't give it up for anything.

Guest Post: When two worlds colide

Today's Guest is from Stacey at AnyMommy. Stacey, for those of you who have never been to her site, is capable of making me (and most anybody) laugh and cry in the same sentence. (Read below, or read any of her posts and you will understand.) Also, she wins the best Tweet award for the month: "Most embar Seattle moment: Waiter: Ma'am, 4 u, a coke? sprite? Me: No, I'd like huge top shelf margarita. Blank look. Me: Is the bar closed?" For those of you who don't know her, she is like 32 million weeks pregnant.

She's a beautiful writer and friend. I tell her that she's a great writer, because she is, all the time. My only compliant about her is she posts really early in the morning and I NEVER wake up early enough to get any points. Because yes, her posts have points too. I keep thinking if I tell her enough times what a great writer she is, she might float me a free couple of points. But so far, it ain't workin.

But this post below is awesome and I'm blessed to be able to share it with you all. I have a post coming next week. With real words and all that jazz. I have more guests post coming too, but I am feeling the urge to write. Please be patient with me, while I find myself again. I hope you guys enjoy these guest posts, because I am loving them.


Different Worlds

She walks toward me quickly, with a huge smile, and hugs me tightly, "Oh, I knew you'd be here. I've been reading your blog. I think it's wonderful that you're walking for Maddie."

I am thrown off balance, stiff and awkward in my disorientation. The field is swept by a constant cold wind, but bright with sunshine. The purple balloons tied to my triple stroller dance crazily. My kids happily eat free doughnuts provided by the March of Dimes, their cheeks sticky and chapped red by the wind. She turns to them, her warmth and enthusiasm prick at my heart. "And here are Ess and Gee and Cue," she rattles off their names without hesitation. "They are gorgeous!"

"Thank you. It's great to see you here." I don't know her name and my brain is in a tail-spin panic. I should know it, we aren't friends exactly, but our kids went to the same co-op school in different years. We've chatted a lot at book club meetings. Also, she's lovely and I really enjoy talking to her. I should know her name in such a way that asking is not an option. It's more than just being poor at names, or being a social ditz, it's that some where deep down I feel I should know her the way she knows me, that I've failed some how.

I know she has a daughter a little older than my three-year-olds. I know her little girl was born prematurely and struggled to live for weeks. I can't remember her daughter's name either. She told the whole story at a quiet restaurant table with just three or four of us left after a book club meeting. That was maybe six months ago and I haven't seen her since.

She has seen me, though, here in my other world, where the mirror sometimes only lets people look in at me, as though I sit under a barren light at an interrogation table, gazing at my own reflection while those on the outside watch my movements for clues.

"I loved your last post, the one where you think about Cue at the pool while you're rocking him. It touched my heart."

"Thank you so much," I answer. "I love writing that blog, it means a lot to me that people read it." I want to say so much more, I want my three restless children and the windy field to melt away for a few minutes. I want to take her hands and lead her to a little table and buy her a coffee. I want to ask her, tell me, please tell me, what do you think about when you rock your little girl to sleep? But, the walk is about to start and the rest of my team is waving at me from the other side of the open space and all three of my kids are asking me something and someone is asking her a question because she wears a volunteer t-shirt. So, I give her another quick hug and surreptitiously wipe the strange, inappropriate tears from my eyes.

"See you later."

Guest Post: Toddlers Rock

Today's guest post is by the lovely PsychMamma. I am kinda thrilled that I managed to trick her into writing for me, seeing how she doesn't really blog anymore. She Tweets, thankfully, because I'd miss her if she didn't, but she doesn't really blog anymore. She also is constantly kicking my butt in Scrabble, but we don't talk about that. This is basically something she wrote for her little girl, J, and was kind enough to share it with us. I have to say, it totally made me miss my girls being so little. It's strange how different a year makes, because really Bailey is only four and a half. But it is different; they grow so freaking fast.


Tomorrows

(A journal entry for my three-year-old daughter)

Hey pumpkin!

Today was a most wonderful day with you. I have to admit that many of these days are not-so-wonderful. You seem to have saved the "Terrible Two" phase for when you turned three. Most days, you're busy testing boundaries (and my patience), shouting "NO!" and being in time out. I know that it's developmentally normal and that it's just a phase, but sometimes my sanity survives minute-by-minute.

Today was NOT one of those days. We woke up to a rainy day, and I was feeling lazy. Yesterday, I accomplished EVERYTHING from my "to-do" list for the day, so I was feeling triumphant. I decided that all the house things and work things could wait another day, and somehow managed to not even think about them. We had a great time playing together. We made a tent in the living room out of a sheet, the couch and a dining room chair and played in it for a long time. For a while, it was a tent, and then it magically transformed into a pirate ship (your idea)! Have I mentioned how much I love your imagination these days?? It amazes and amuses me without end. We prepared food for jungle animals on safari and for ponies on our pirate ship, and you made me some special tea. We read a couple stories, sang lullabies to babies and tucked them in to sleep. We took a walk to Venezuela, pushing a baby and two bottles in a stroller, and pulling a puppy pull-toy along behind us. We snuggled while watching Charlie & Lola together, which we both absolutely and completely adore, and I loved hearing you giggle whenever Lola giggled. It made me giggle to. We played with buttons for a long time - one of your favorite things to do. We talked about the colors, textures and shapes, sorted them into bowls and found the tiny ones that fit in the teapot spout, then strung them on a strand of dental floss. You love the flower shaped buttons best. After a while, we made a picture for Daddy by gluing buttons onto cardstock. Your declared that your picture was a cow with a flower (even though it looked absolutely NOTHING like either), and you were so proud of it when we were done. You were also completely amazed by glue. It was the first project we ever did with glue (Yes, I've been terrified of the possible repercussions) and when the picture dried, you couldn't believe that the buttons stuck! You declared it wonderful magic, and then asked if we could take the buttons off again.

Your phrase of the day was "C'MON! Work with me here!" and I have NO idea where you heard it. Neither your daddy or I say it, but I'm sure you picked it up from a library movie or something you overheard someone else say. Your memory constantly amazes me. I've learned not to question you unless I'm prepared to apologize, because you're very rarely wrong about things you remember. Although, weirdly, if it's something I WANT you to remember or find ("J, WHERE is your other shoe?") you mysteriously have no recollection.

You woke up from your nap on the wrong side of the crib (Yep - you're still in a crib, and will be for as long as possible), but happily snuggled with me in the rocking chair for almost twenty minutes. Because that rarely happens anymore, I treasure anytime it DOES. I can't believe how big you're getting and how the space on my lap is getting filled up. Your head easily rests on my shoulder when your knees are on my lap now, and I remember so well the days when you snuggled up against me with your head on my chest and your feet on my belly. I know that a huge part of me will be incredibly sad when these snuggling days are over. You'll be to big and too proud for that. But, I also know that new wonders will be waiting for me as I watch you bloom and grow at every new stage. This parenting thing is so bittersweet. I'm so proud of your every accomplishment, and I want you to learn new things and to become more independent. At the same time, I know that very independence means you'll need ME a little bit less, and that the snuggles will be fewer and farther apart.

Daddy and I had a date night tonight. We need those now and then. It's that sanity thing again - someday you'll understand. You love your babysitter, and are usually so excited when I tell you that she's coming. This morning, when I told you she was coming you got mopey, though. I asked you why you were sad, and you said, "Because you will go away. And I don't like it when you go away." My heart melted and I reminded you that I always come back and that I would be here when you're sleeping and when you wake up in the morning. Your little face lit up, and you said, "And we can play again? You will play with me tomorrow?"

For as many days as you let me, Pumpkin. For as many weeks as you ask me to. Until the years when you're busy with friends and I become the embarrassing mom. I'll take all the tomorrows I can until then, and I'll store them up in my heart.

I love you, Sweetie. Always.

Guest Post: The MIL version

Note from Issa: I've been blessed with lovely friends who have taken pity on me and my messy heart right now and have obliged with a few guest posts. Please be kind to them, as they are doing me a HUGE favor and I have no way of repaying them. Unless any of them takes sour Jelly Beans as payment? Ladies? Anyway, today's guest poster is going to be anonymous, because her MIL lurks on her blog.

This is an anonymous guest post, written by someone with sadness in her heart and a Mother-in-Law that chronically lurks on her own blog. Thanks for giving me the opportunity to share my thoughts...

On Mother's Day it came to hit me, my mother-in-law hasn't seen my children in over two years. TWO YEARS. My youngest is only two and a half, which means you don't need to be a genius to do the math, she's non-existent in their lives. As I grow older and wiser, I realize you can't force someone into your life even if it's a family member.

But I wonder when it's going to hit my children as well. Why doesn't Grandma come visit us?

Unfortunately my MIL likes to spend her travel time on things she likes doing, rather then visiting her grandchildren. You see my MIL isn't a knitter or crafter or bingo player, my MIL is a chronic gambler. Even though we live about 2,500 miles apart, she'll fly right over our house to a better destination Las Vegas. You know because when she travels to Vegas, she gets "free" rooms. We charge a high premium for our guest room, quality time with the grandchildren. I guess it's too much for her to handle.

We've tried to have the conversations, we've heard the promises of a visit in the winter, no a visit in the summer. But alas the years are passing and visiting us is low on the priority list. And yes, we are partially to blame because we haven't made the visit to see her or her husband that has never met our youngest child. Saying that blows my mind.

I just feel like being an adult and traveling with out little children in tow is not too much to ask of someone that loves and cares about you. Now for us, hopping on a plane or two with layovers, with our children is much more of a process. We are going to make the trip this fall, but I don't quite know how to accept that she doesn't want to be a part of our lives. I guess we don't provide the rush of a pull on a slot machine or the promise of the next big win. We just like to have quality time around the dinner table and create lasting memories.

Time to focus on the family members that do love us, love visiting us and creating memories. Although it sure is hard to let go when it's your husband's own mother that doesn't love you the same way.

Mother’s Day and a few random announcements

To my mom, the woman who carried me inside of her for 38.5 weeks. The woman who laid in bed for the last 3 months of that time, hoping beyond hope, that she and I would make it through okay. The woman who nearly died having me. The woman who didn't know for 29 hours if I was even alive. The woman who spent the first two months of my life laying on a couch with me on her chest trying to get better. The woman who raised me, played with me, never took crap from me, who loved me every day and every night. The woman who taught me how to be a woman and a mother. My friend, my mom. Happy Mothers Day Mama, I love you.

To my babies, all three of you crazies, for making me the mother I am today. I adore you.

To my husband for giving me the three crazies. You have my whole heart.

To all of you, those who are mothers, those who have mothers and those who help mother the rest of us anyway, happy mother's day.

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In the next few weeks, I'm going to have some guest posters. I need the freedom to not write when I can't, and to write only when I am ready. I've asked some amazingly lovely friends of mine to help me out. It doesn't mean I won't post at all, but I need to know that it's okay if I don't. I need time. Time to process, time to heal, time to grieve. Time to just be. Please know I'm still here, reading, tweeting.....I'm just needing a break from posting.

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I found an old file, posts I had written before, on my previous blog. I might share a few in the next few weeks. I'll put the date on them, so you know they were previously written. Some of you knew me then, so you might recognize them.

Below is the first one. I thought it seemed like a good thing to share, seeing how tomorrow is Mother's Day. Obviously my girls were a lot younger then.

October 24, 2006

You know you are a parent when...

You buy the Princess and Spiderman Fruit Snacks instead of the organic real fruit infused with a cup of beet juice snacks, even though they are supposedly healthier, for three reasons. One, you know it is a lie, they are all full of sugar. Two, sugar never killed anyone. Three, it makes your kids smile and happy for at least three minutes.

You have Cheerios and Goldfish in your cabinets at all times. You also find random Cheerios and Goldfish under couch cushions and under your car seats at all times.

You drop a dry erase marker in a client meeting and say "uh oh", without even thinking.

You smile a bit and gently laugh at the woman who said "uh oh" in the meeting.

You give your last piece of spicy tuna roll that was on the way to your mouth to your two year old when she says, "Mama, I hab it, purty please", without a second thought. (Even if not eating that piece does make you want sushi for two more days, until you break down and buy more sushi.)

You find yourself dancing in odd places, like the grocery store or the elevator just because you like the song. When you realize where you are, you don't stop, because you're a parent and what the hell do you care what strangers think?

You go into a toy store or go online to start your birthday/Christmas shopping and while you do think to yourself, will she/he like it, you also ask yourself it it is loud enough to give you a migraine and will it hurt if I step on it at 2am in the dark?

You buy things that give you migraines and hurt your feet at 2am, because you know they will love it.

You get up in the middle of the night when you hear your child cry out even though you just want to say snuggled in you nice warm bed.

You watch The Incredibles, the Muppet's Show and the Magic School Bus over and over again until you know the entire dialog, but you don't make them quit watching it.

You take dozens of pictures, just hoping one of them will capture the magic of the moment. You also take pictures to remember how little they were once.

You read The Monster at the End of This Book, Goodnight Moon and Blueberries for Sal each and every night to your toddler, because they love those books and only those books, even though you'd secretly love to toss those books in the ocean or poke your eyeballs out before you will ever want to read them again.

You go into the kitchen at work and grab a bottle of water and before you take a drink, you write your name on it, so you know, there are no fights.

You look at teenagers and think they are such babies and wonder what your kids will be like at that age instead of remembering how cool you were back then.

You tell random people with newborns in stores to enjoy it while they can, because they won't stay that tiny and huggable for long.

Happy Mother's day everyone.

-Issa

Maybe ice cream is magical?

Last night I received a call from my BFF at 8:49pm ish. She told me that I needed ice cream and she would be there to get me shortly. Any attempts to tell I her I didn't need ice cream were met on deaf ears. She was coming, I was going to get in the car and that would be that. You don't argue with the woman. I mean you can, but it never works out well for you in the end. Only I would argue with her about not needing ice cream.

Anyway, when she picked me up, she asked me where I wanted ice cream from and I replied McDonalds, for a McFlurry and she promptly told me she didn't like that and we were going to go to Dairy Queen. At this point I have to tell you that with anyone else, I'd want to smack them, but this is part of why I love Kate so much. She is just like me in this way and normally we fight over who gets to be the most ridiculous in our demands. Last night, she won, because I really didn't care to begin with and I didn't have it in me to argue.

So we drive to the Dairy Queen, which happens to be a drive-thru and start to order our ice cream. Kate tries to explain to them what she wants, which is basically taking apart three different blizzards (two of which don't exist anymore) and making one of her own. She explains it to the woman three times, each time saying it a little different, because honestly the girl has no idea what she really wants. After trying to explain it for the forth time, the woman, through hysterical laughter asks us to just please pull forward.

Pull forwards? Because hai, we have no idea what you want and um we need to look at you while we try and figure it out. I had tears rolling down my face at this point, because I was laughing so hard. Pull forwards? I have never had a single person say that to me before. When we pulled up to the window the chick could barely keep a straight face as she asked Kate to explain it. To make matters worse when they got it figured out, I said, I'd like the same thing, but with the truffle pieces in it. (Because who in their right mind, doesn't want the truffle pieces?) Then of course, we knew one of ours, if not both would be wrong. But it didn't really matter, because it's ice cream, from Dairy Queen and we'd both eat it. And yes, mine was right, Kate's was wrong and that made us laugh even more. I could just hear them thinking, couldn't you people have gone and gotten a dam M&M McFlurry?

I laughed; we laughed, for a good twenty minutes. I laughed so hard that I had trouble eating my ice cream because my stomach and ribs hurt from laughing so hard. I laughed so hard that I had tears pouring down my face, in happiness for the first time in a long time. I laughed so hard that for an entire half hour, I forgot that a week ago, I was still pregnant. (Although it was a week ago last night, that I wasn't any more.) I laughed so hard, that I forgot I was sad and depressed; forgot that my children were spending the night elsewhere, just so I could be sad and not worry them; forgot that I wanted to be at home, in bed, with the covers over my eyes.

In that moment, that small window of time, I remembered that I am okay. That I will be okay, that I will soon feel like a whole human being. That my heart will heal, like it has before. That the cracks will always be there, but they will fade over time. Sometimes laughing at...er um, with your best friend is the best medicine in the world.

Last night I dreamt about ice cream. Today, I woke up not crying for the first time in a week. Do I feel better than yesterday? Yes. Do I feel good? No. But you have to take it where you can get it. Last night, laughing was the best thing I could have done.

I want to thank you all for your comments. I want to hug you all for your kind words. I may email everyone, but I am having trouble with that, so don't count on it. Just know, your words have helped me more than I could ever tell you. Your support means the world.

The elephant in the room

I knew right away. Some women don't know for weeks, a few for months, but I knew the very next day. Weeks before a test would ever show me a plus sign. The tell tale nausea, the kind that lasts all day. Morning sickness my ass. The sore boobs, the dizziness, the inability to eat anything besides bread, pineapple and ginger ale. I was pregnant.

There are next to no pictures of our vacation in Hawaii; no funny stories or great date adventures. There is none of that because I (well we) spent our entire vacation in the hotel room. And not in the fun way. (Trust me, there has been no fun in that way lately.) I have been sick for a month. Just waiting for the day that I could take a test, post a picture of it and tell the world. Because I was beyond thrilled. I told more people than I should have, because the excitement was overwhelming. I also thought it good to mention to a few people why I was never around, why I never posted anymore, why I rarely made any mention of being around. So people didn't forget about me I guess. That day, was Tuesday of last week. I peed on the little stick and it confirmed what I knew, what I had known for a month; I was pregnant. Excited, I told everyone I came across.

Late Wednesday night, I lost it. The baby, my baby. Gone as quickly as I told people. Just gone. One day after confirmation that it was true, it was all over.

I went on vacation anyway, this past weekend, because I needed a distraction. I slept a total of an hour and a half Wednesday night, but I went to California anyway. In the moment, it seemed like the best option. Maybe it was. But now I'm home. And I hurt. There are no more distractions now. There are no more family members to act fine around. No more places to go. Nothing, except me and my head for company.

I am writing this, because I can't speak. Not past the: please don't hit your sister or the, yes, sure have another piece of candy, I don't care; type of speaking. I am here, going through the motions. Changing diapers, doing dishes, playing along on Twitter; but I don't feel it. It's not real, it's fake. I am pretending. Pretending I am not crushed. Pretending I want to do anything besides get in bed and pull my comforter over my head for a week. I feel like a shadow of myself. Like I am watching myself do these things, but not really doing them. I am not sure I can explain it, not sure I need too. I will be forced to speak tomorrow, to my shrink. But I am not ready. I just want time to grieve. However to appease my husband I will at least go to the appointment.

Every time I open my mouth, I feel like I offend people. And it's true, because I have offended a few people. I am spewing on others, my lovely friend told me today. She is right and there are very few people I'd let say that to me when I feel like this. But I am, spewing and making asshat statements. So, now....I am not talking.

I hurt. I am sad. I want my baby back. I can write this, but I can't speak it.

I am not crazy, despite my jokes about it. I am just a woman who lost a baby. A sad, depressed woman who lost a baby. A baby that made me sick like a dog for a month. I would be sick for the next eight months, if I could have my baby back at the end.

Right now, my heart hurts. It hurts so bad that I feel it cracking. It hurts to breath, it hurts to smile. I have to make myself eat. If you don't believe me, ask Maura how little cake I ate when I met her on Saturday night. I know in a few days, I will feel better. I know in a few weeks, I will feel even better than that. I know one day soon, I will laugh at a joke, tell a joke even; it will feel good and natural. I will one day find myself smiling, drinking wine, or enjoying a moment. I have felt this way before, I know how it goes. Truly it's not as bad as last time around. But today I pretend.

I wrote this so you all know why I haven't been around, why I may not be around or be very pleasant for a bit. I wrote this for me, because I had to get some of it out. I had to say what I can't say, if that makes any sense. I had to write that I am crushed, because I am. Because it hurts to breath and it hurts even more to think. Because one day I won't feel like this, but I need to own it right now. To honor it; my grief and loss. To share my love for a baby I will never meet. My baby.