Tuesday, October 11, 2016


I've been trying to be a little more honest with myself, and others, about how I'm really doing. I'm not really sure who I am trying to fool more, myself or them, but I have long ago figured out that faking "fine" isn't the same thing as BEING fine.

See? Look at that progress. If only all of my old therapists could see me now. They would be so proud.

Alex and I went out to dinner on Saturday just the two of us to celebrate our anniversary (a month late). After a disastrous attempt to try a new restaurant, we went back to an old reliable. We found ourselves chatting about everything and nothing. Eventually the tequila kicked in and I found myself telling Alex that I wasn't doing well.

He said that he'd noticed. That he was doing his best to do what I needed, but he was never sure what that was. That it always seemed wrong. I told him that it wasn't all in his head. That everything he did annoyed me. I was honest and told him that I wasn't entirely sure that there was an actual reason for the anger, that it could very well be that he was just there, but that his mere presence annoyed me most of the time and I couldn't figure it out.

I told him I was doing my best to exist and that most days, that's all I had in me. Wake up, get ready, get the baby ready, feed baby, pack stuff, drop baby off, work, try not to flip out at work, pick up baby, come home, make dinner, feed baby, feed large man, feed dog, put baby to bed, clean up, pack lunches, exist, go to bed. Lather, rinse, repeat.

That's kind of all I got in me. Everything else is work. Effort. I don't feel like a great Mom. I feel like I'm "phoning" it in a lot. Then I feel like I have to overcompensate. Then I feel even more fake because I'm doing things purely to make myself not feel like a shitty Mom. It's been fun.

I've been hard on Alex. He can't do much right. He's not helpful enough, he's not around me enough, he doesn't want to talk enough, he's in my way, he's talking when I just want to sit quietly. There's literally nothing he can do right.

I told him I would try to take it easy on him, He promised not to do the imaginary things that make me mad.

What a good husband.

Sometimes I think I'm OK. I seem rather rational. Not random outbursts. No excessive drinking. Work is stressful, so I attribute a lot of my moods to that. And while it doesn't help, at all, I know that a lot of what is bothering me isn't work. Or maybe it is. Who knows anymore. But, a large portion of my life is a shit show and I'm just trying to tread water.

But Sunday night things started to take a bit of a turn. I haven't been sleeping well, but that's pretty normal for the amount of stuff that I have in my head. There's a lot going on at work so I feel like I'm always remembering something at a random time and it gets my head spinning. So I've been going to bed later and later. I've been waking up a lot too, which hasn't helped.

But Sunday, I was on the verge of a panic attack. I was sitting on the couch and Alex and John were playing at the end of it. All of a sudden they were too loud. They were too close. They were doing too much. There was too much stuff everywhere. The dog was standing right next to me so I could get off the couch. My sweatshirt felt like it shrunk 2 sizes and I couldn't breathe. I went upstairs, took my sweatshirt off, and took some deep breathes. Thankfully I was able to calm down. It started to rear its ugly head a little while later, but I squashed it and was able to calm down again.

It's been a long time since I've had a panic attack. I'm not sure if I'm had a full blown one since before I met Alex. It's been that long.

But things are just piling up. Saturday I took Felix to get his nails clipped. While I was there they gave me his new medicine, insisted he needed his rabies and heart worm in order to get his nails cuts, and charged me $250 for the whole shebang. The money is rough, but he's my guy so I do it. He has trouble getting in the car and wasn't even remotely interested in trying when we were leaving. Normally when I attempt to pick him up he flips and then tries to get in himself. He has never liked to be picked up. So I called his bluff. But this time he let me pick him up. No fight. Nothing. He's so skinny now. He's finally eating regularly, but he's just so skinny. He's 15, so I'm not naive to what's going on. But it's been a rough year.

When I got home Alex asked how it went, to which I told him what happened with the car. I then added, with a little dramatic flair, "I already lost my Nanny and two babies this year, so why wouldn't I be losing my dog too", burst into tears, picked a fight with him for not sounding sincere enough, and went inside.

So, you see, I'm doing awesome. Really, quite well.

I try to remind myself that the real crazy people probably don't know that they are crazy, so I can't be ALL that bad yet, right?

It's just a lot. I feel like every time I try to get my head above water something else happens. I feel like I've been treading water for almost a year and I'm exhausted. I just want to stop struggling. With work, with money, with my family, my friends, everything. I'm just so tired.

I just wish this year was over with. Start fresh. Start new. Maybe have a year that isn't full of disaster and heartache. I think we are due for that.

I find myself not talking about us having another baby. Like, talking about it out loud will jinx us. We used to talk about what things would be like with two. Or when things were crazy we would say, "are you sure you want another one". But now we don't. And I cringe when people talk or ask about us having another one. We just don't know. I think we are trying to guard ourselves against the worst. Sometimes I feel even sadder about that. That it broke us. We were so optimistic, both times, well... trying to be. It never felt right. But we wished and hoped and prayed.

We just feel broken now.

I'm not sure how to fix it. 

Sunday, October 2, 2016

Here we are Again...

I wasn't really sure if I was going to post about this. Mainly because I'm not sure how I feel about it. There's a part of me that feels stupid. There's a part of me that feels reckless. There's a part of me that feels broken. There's a lot going on in this 'ole brain of mine.

But, I've gone through the story this far, so let's continue shall we...

Last we "chatted" I was coming off a baby shower that was a lot more difficult for me to attend than I anticipated, but through the help of a mimosa and 3 Coors Lights, I made it through.

I was still waiting to get the month over with and kicking myself a little for thinking that everything would happen so quickly and we would all just be moving right along into expecting another baby.

I couldn't get it out of my head that I thought I was pregnant and had convinced myself that I was just another one of those crazy people who had spent so much time wishing and hoping and praying that they had convinced themselves that they were pregnant.

Imagine me, 9 months pregnant, going into labor, only to find out that I had made the entire thing up in my head.

Now, let's stop for a minute here and set some things straight. I don't actually think that anyone is crazy. I think that this process is gut-wrenching and sometimes all you have to hold onto is hope. That you need to let your heart have those few days where you think it's possible because they are way better than the days that you know it isn't.


I bought myself more tests, because the 20,000 that I had already taken (and squinted at, swearing I saw something) weren't good enough. I had taken a couple days off from peeing in a cup and just decided that every few days I would test until it was obvious that I wasn't, just to make my head feel better. (You'll notice that I don't talk about "female" things. Ew. Just read into the references and we'll pretend that I'm not actually talking about this.)

I came home Tuesday afternoon, took a test to ease my mind as I poured myself a large glass of wine. Except, imagine my surprise when I saw two lines. Yeah. Two lines.

I called to Alex and freaked out. I texted Nicole. I texted Kelli. I texted Lindsay. I needed my people. I then stopped texting people, because it had been 12 seconds and it was becoming excessive.

Alex and I told ourselves this would be it. We would be OK. That we were so lucky to get this chance again. That we would bring this baby home.

I called the doctor the next morning and went in immediately for blood work (they promised to keep a close eye on me). I sat nervous all day. I got the blood test results back from Friday, which made my heart race when I got the "result" email, only to find out it wasn't what I was looking for. At least the didn't find anything, so that was good.

I never did get the email, but I finally found the result. My hcg was a 4.

They don't even consider that pregnant.

I called to talk to the doctor, but why would she ever be available? I spoke to the nurse, explained my situation. Neither of us could figure out how I could have a positive home pregnancy test with only a 4, and she told me to come back on Friday. They'd figure this out.

So I sit. I wait.

I take 12,000 more tests. They get lighter. They turn negative.

I was pretty hopeless about it. I got an email from my doctor that my pregnancy test was negative. I explained to her what I talked to the nurses about and what the plan was. Not that I would hear back from her. God forbid she actually calls me and has an actual conversation with me, knowing everything that's been going on. Nope. Please tell me twice in an email that I'm not pregnant.

Friday morning I wake up and decided to take one more test and then head in for blood work. Just to see what's going on. But, I don't need to and my heart sinks.

So, I called out of work and just did my thing. I needed some time.

I'm assuming it was a chemical pregnancy, since it happened so quick. I'm also assuming that this is some sort of sick joke that is being played on us because I can't honestly think that we are here, again, one more later dealing with this bullshit. Because that's what this is. Bullshit.

I'm a little less emotional this time around, but when I am it comes out of nowhere. Just driving. Or sitting on the couch. Or doing something normal. And it hits me.

I feel sick. Or tired. Or weird. And wonder if it's the baby. Then I remind myself that I'm not pregnant. So it's obviously not. Those are usually the times that I get upset. The fact that I have to remind myself that I'm not pregnant. That I'm not 10 weeks along. Or 5 weeks along. That there is no baby growing because I lost both of them.

Those are the parts that get me.

I think I'm definitely switching doctors. The ride out to her has been terrible and I feel like I deserve a little extra TLC right now and she's made me jump through hoops to talk to her and made me feel like shit when I actually do. Not really someone I'm comfortable with anymore. Not really sure what the plan is for that going forward but I have some time.

Alex and I have decided to take some time off from things. I think I need to let my body and my heart heal a little bit. I don't think that I can do this again. Alex is already talking about how this will be our last baby, if we ever get one, and that breaks my heart too. I always saw us with three. I always imagined it being MY choice how many children I had and not out of fear of not being able to have more.

I can't help but feel a little broken. A little deceived by my body. Wondering why it doesn't work right. Wondering why this keeps happening.

Our pregnancy ratio is plummeting quickly. It went from 1 out of 2. To 1 out of 3. And now 1 out of 4. Which, are not very good odds.

I don't really know what happens next. Or where we go from here. Or what any of this means. I just know what it sucks and no one gets it. Or maybe there's just nothing to get. No one can seem to say anything right, but I think that problem lies more with me. It's not OK. I can't relax. I can't hear that we'll have a baby soon. Or this will all be just a bad memory. I don't want to hear any of it. And I don't want to hear that I "shouldn't think like that" when I tell people that I don't know if this means that John is it for us. I can think about this however I want.

I need to protect my head and my heart from all of this. I need to steal myself for the possibility that John may be the only child that we ever have. I need to start to open myself up to that possibility. Because it IS a possibility. And I just can't hold onto rainbows and unicorns. I can't just think that this is just a blip on the radar. This is huge. This is something that defines me. This is a big part of my life and my story. And people thinking that I can just "move on" from it makes me feel like they are diminishing the amount that this affects me.

But like I said. I don't think anything anyone said to me right now would be right. I think it's just one of those things.

So, here we are. Again. Again.

I'm hoping to one day no longer be writing this posts. I'm hoping that some day my life becomes boring again, so the need to write dwindles. Or maybe I start writing about how blessed we are.

But, until then. Here I am. Again. Again.