Whatever. At least it's keeping my mind occupied.

I want a steam cleaner. I keep seeing infomercials on TV for these absolutely delicious looking steam cleaners and all I can think of is how much I want one. I want one so badly.

Is this transference? This is transference, isn't it?

Limbo

Well this is interesting, just sitting around waiting to miscarry. It's like there are two little time bombs in there and I have no idea when they're going to go off. Or if they're going to blow, as a matter of fact.

Will they quietly leave me on their own? Will I be in surgery later this week? I dunno.

Fuckity fuck, I don't know.

I'm at my worst when I'm not in control. Although I'm maintaining a calm, collected exterior and trying to function as normally as possible, I'm feeling relatively dead inside. Pardon the morbid pun.

I'm confused by the cruelty of the universe, I'm frightened about how this is all going to go down, and, worst of all, I don't know if I can do it again. Any of it.

Neither of us do.

I sat in church today (don't ask me why - it's not like God can possibly do any more to me, but I'm still too chicken not to traipse over to see him every Sunday) tormenting myself with the thought that I was the only person in that building waiting to miscarry twins. What a weird, lonely thought. And horrible. Just horrible.

Just before communion I became acutely aware of the cacophony of children's coos, cries and chatter echoing around the church, and for the first time ever it made me feel sick. Because I'm a million miles from owning those noises and I don't know if I have the stomach to keep on trying to get them.

How many times can you go through the cycle of hope and agony? How many times until it breaks you? How many times until you finally buckle and lay down at the feet of the gods crying "uncle" over and over again just to make it stop hurting? How many times until the grief twists you into something unrecognizably ugly forever?

I can't decide if not having any children is equal to the pain of losing more of them.

And fuck me, I can't believe I'm being forced to consider that equation at all.

Many thanks to the universe

In a nutshell, it was nice while it lasted.

The OB is 95% sure I'm going to miscarry. There's sac growth - enough that there should be plenty of evidence of life within them - but there's still no sign of anyone. Just two gaping black holes staring vacantly out from the computer monitor.

To cover their assess, the OB suggested I go back Wednesday for ultrasound #5. If I haven't miscarried by then, he said.

We are comfortably numb.

And I am a spectacular failure.

One more sleep

Still here. Just waiting. Barely functioning. Trying not to think. And mostly succeeding. Mostly.

Not much, and you?

What have I been up to? Not much. Just sitting here on pins and needles, resisting the urge to scream that it isn't fair that we're still sitting here on pins and needles after everything we've endured over the past 28 months. But then, so much isn't fair. Why should this be any different?

And there's still hope. Thank God, there's still hope. This stomach churning, on-and-off-all-day nausea, and the fatigue that has me dragging myself out of bed three hours later than I normally do just has to mean something good, right?

So when I'm not clinging to the promise of strong physical pregnancy symptoms, I'm trying not to think much about it at all. And desperately trying not to get too attached, or to dream all the dreams I'm dreaming despite myself.

One day at a time. That's the best I can do right now.

So I'll just be sitting here waiting. And eating soda crackers.

Just when you thought you'd seen it all

All I have to say is, Huh?

Quick update

There are two tricky little babies in there. Invisible ones, it would appear.

Ultrasound number three revealed two growing sacs, but no one inside. At least not yet.

We've talked and talked and talked until we're blue in the face trying to convince each other that everything is fine (and we've just about done it, if you can believe it) but the truth is we really won't know if those two pretty little sacs are home to our two pretty little babies until we actually see two pretty little babies inside them.

And hopefully we'll be doing that next Friday at ultrasound #4.

My beta numbers are excellent (or "lovely" as the kind nurse on the phone told us) and sypmtoms have begun to kick in with a startling vengeance, so all signs point to yes. Except the ones we just can't seem to see yet.

So stay tuned. The roller coaster continues.

I miss you Thomas. And I love you.

A funny thing happened on the way to the clinic...

Yesterday I discovered that my secret is even bigger than I imagined. Twice as big, actually.

I'm pregnant. With twins.

TWINS.

It was an unmedicated, unmonitored cycle that presented itself as completely non-pregnant cycle. My temperature dropped and what appeared to be my period arrived at the end of it. With its arrival came the consumption of Hard Lemonade (remember that post?) and beer with the neighbours. What followed was a period of two and a half weeks of shockingly reckless behavior for someone pregnant with twins. I cleaned out the basement (remember that post?), put up rabbit fencing in the blazing heat, popped blood pressure medication I shouldn't have, had aspirin and Robitussin when I came down with a cold and went for a 5K walk that wore me out beyond belief.

I just had no idea.

When I had some strange midcycle spotting (which I was convinced was cancer-related) I took an HPT because I knew the doctor would ask me if I had done so when I went to see her about the cancer.

To my shock, up popped two very dark lines. Immediately.

And thus began the roller coaster (which, to be honest, is still making me pretty friggin' dizzy).

It's probably early to be announcing this secret because the sacs are still so tiny (common in twin pregnancies) that they can't actually see anyone inside yet, but my reasoning is that we've already made the most agonizingly difficult announcement we ever hope to have to make. If something goes wrong with these little tigers in the next few days or weeks, we'll be okay. We can make that announcement too.

But in the meantime, I can tell the world that they're here. That they exist, for however long. I want to celebrate the fact that by some miracle I was able to get pregnant again after two years of trying, and that the gods saw fit to bless us with twins.

I also want the world to know that I'm utterly head over heels in love with them. It's completely reckless and something I'd hoped to avoid, but I simply can't help it.

There. That's my secret. Now about that chocolate you all promised...

Pssst...

I have a secret.

Actually I probably have more than just the one, but I've forgotten what they are. Evidently I'm an excellent person to tell a secret to.

I can't say anything more about my secret until someone tells me I can, so please don't ask. Believe me, I'm hoping it'll be soon because it's a good one - a real humdinger - and I'm dying to squawk.

But I shall remain ever-patient. With my trap firmly shut.

The end.

It might be possible to bribe me with chocolate, just so you know.

Birthday wishes to My Beloved

I can't believe I'm married to someone who just turned 38. It's impossible that we're this old, and yet somehow it's true.

It's also true that this 38-year old is the person I want to continue growing old with and the person I want to celebrate all my birthdays with. He's the person who helps me make sense of the nonsensical, and keeps me sane when life slams its way through the front door and forces us to be grown-ups in a world that hasn't always been particularly kind to us. He's the one who holds onto hope when mine is gone. He's the one who always seems to know exactly what to say. He's the one who continues to surprise me and who makes life infinitely more interesting just by being alive.

I love you Sandy, and I hope you have a very, very happy birthday.

OXOX

From the garden...

It's mid July and things are finally happening in the garden. For instance, my hollyhock is getting eaten by baby bunnies who are annoyingly tiny enough to sneak in through the slats in the fence, and my roses are being carefully and thoroughly devoured by a troop of hungry Japanese Beetles.

But aside from the carnage, things are good.

See for yourself...

This is the beautiful blue balloon flower I planted for Sherry's sweet little Ryan in my angel garden. It has easily doubled in size, and for some reason it's much bluer than it was last year. I absolutely adore it.



And here's the Carpathian Bellflower I planted in memory of another friend's two little angel Buttons. I planted it beside Ryan's balloon flower, as you can see below...





Finally, there's one of Rosepetal's marigolds, the bleeding heart from my mom and dad's garden and the white "David" phlox in memory of the David my mom was going to marry when she was 23. He was killed in a car accident less than a year before their wedding. (This isn't the greatest picture, but at least they all managed to fit into it...)



And that's how my garden is growing these days.

The little blue hoodie

I'm feeling a lot better. Most likely because I've done nothing but lay about and get well for three days. Seriously, that's the cure for the common cold. If I could bottle and sell "laying about like a sloth" I'd be a millionaire.

But since I can't, I'll just pass the word along. Seriously, it works. Well, that and preventative doses of Robitussin before bed.

Anyway, while I was laying about today I decided to work on the baby hoodie I started crocheting a few weeks ago. It's in the loveliest, softest shade of blue - almost like a gentle dove gray, only bluer (if that makes any sense at all). The pieces (front and back and about a quarter of one arm) are so delicate and pretty. To little old unbiased me, anyway.

And I haven't a clue who I'm making it for.

It sort of dawned on me today, this fact. I started it because I liked the pattern and wanted to give it a try. I bought the blue yarn because I liked it. Only now I don't know who it's for. It doesn't really matter, except that for some reason it just does.

I could throw it up on my plumpkinheads.com website, but for some reason it feels like I'm making it for someone. Only I'm not. I'm strangely attached to it, but I don't need it. I'm not pregnant. I have no idea if I'll ever be pregnant again.

Part of me wants to tuck it away in my cedar chest just "in case". The other part of me wants to give it away to someone who I can see wearing it. Maybe to someone who I can hold while they're wearing it.

It's just that kind of baby sweater for some reason.

So we'll see. I'll finish it up and decide later. No particular rush.

But if a little blue hoodie should find its way to you (whoever you are), please know it was crocheted with a lot of love.

Who crapped on my fortune cookie?

For those who believe such things, apparently yesterday (7/07/07) was considered the luckiest day this century will ever see.

Which totally explains why I woke up with a sore, swollen throat that has evolved into a miserable summer cold.

Totally.

The crib

The other day I was cleaning out the basement. It needed it. Badly. I can't for the life of me figure out how two people can create such an impenetrable jungle of boxes, tools, Christmas decorations and random crap in such a short amount of time. I swear it hasn't been that long since I cleaned and organized it, despite evidence to the contrary.

Anyway, I was deep into the thrilling task of purging and cleaning when I dug my way down to Thomas' crib. Most of his things are in big covered plastic bins on shelves at the bottom of the stairs, but the bigger items (the still boxed stroller, the crib and the bassinet) are over in the larger storage area in the basement.

They're safe and sound, it's just that they were kind of hidden by other stuff. Until I excavated them again.

I stood looking at the crib. I ran my hand along the curved end where once upon a time I'd draped the beautiful pink, blue and white blankie my mom started knitting when she found out I was pregnant with Thomas, and slowly exhaled.

I stood there looking at it. Inconceivable, even still.

Anyway, later in the day I called My Beloved to let him know how the excavation was going, and we got talking about the crib. Suddenly, more than two years after the birth and death of our son, we're having a conversation about the crib. About the fact that neither of us feels comfortable using it for another child (should one, by some miracle, happen to come our way again) because we're nervous that it has been stored, uncovered, in our basement for so long.

Just to clarify, our basement isn't cootie-ridden or infested with anything other than Lucy the cat who occasionally wanders down there to use her box. But it's still a basement with its less than fresh air and, despite two dehumidifiers, slightly musty aroma. It's an ordinary basement. And it's just not where a crib should be.

And we're paranoid.

So there we were, agreeing with each other that we'll buy another crib if the time ever comes. And there I was, suddenly bone crushingly sad, talking about the crib our beautiful son never used, which will now never be used by his sibling either.

And this is why it makes me absolutely mental when people suggest (either outright or by more subtle methods) that there's a finite amount of time to be spent on the task of mourning a child.

Let's just clear this up once and for all. For the blissfully ignorant who just don't get it: IT NEVER GOES AWAY. Never. Not only because it's utterly impossible to "get over" losing your child, but because for the rest of your life there will be situations - like discussions about what to do with the unused crib two years down the road - that will pop up out of nowhere and remind you that your life is touched by an unthinkable sorrow.

Those moments can't be predicted, but they're always going to come. The wound is routinely stripped of its protective scar. It happens All. The. Time.

I was perfectly happy down there in the basement cleaning and sorting. I'd been walking by bins of unused baby things for two hours and coping perfectly well. I'm used to passing those bins. But I'm not used to making a final decision about the crib we lovingly picked out and put up for our darling boy, who never once used it.

You never get used to moments like that.

Hmmm....

Yesterday I pitched a fit and screamed for rain. Today it was raining when I woke up and poured on and off all day long. We're supposed to get thunderstorms through the night too.

I may be on to something here.

Sooo...

GIMME A BABY, DAMMIT!!!!

I'll just be here waiting. In the rain.

More musings

Does it say something about a person who makes it all the way to 37 before realizing that the "K" in Special K cereal stands for Kellogs?
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I flipped through a couple of books on Infertility at Chapters the other day. One had all kinds of advice on things like dealing with uncomfortable social situations, making informed decisions about treatments, and when to let it all go and move on, etc. I perused a few passages that pertained to things that have been rumbling around in my head then shoved it back on the shelf. Like I was mad at it.

Because that makes sense.
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It can be hard to resist the lure of the "I have it way worse than you" game, particularly on those days when you feel especially low and woebegone.

I sometimes play it in my head, but it has recently occurred to me that I'm not exactly sure how you win. Am I winning if I believe I do have it worse than someone else, or am I winning if I determine I'm better off? Is a lose-lose game one I should even be playing in the first place?

Yeah, really, no one should play this game. Ever.
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My cat's leg is clicking. I don't know why. She doesn't seem to notice it so I'm not going to point it out.
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Three years ago I was pregnant. I didn't know it yet, but I was about two days pregnant with my beautiful boy. It was the start of our 38 weeks together. The start of his very tiny life.

How can so much have happened in three years? How is it possible that he came and went without a single sound except one little gasp?

Three years. Good God.
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My neighbours are away at a cottage this week. Because everything everyone else does always sounds so good to me, I want to be away at a cottage too.

Only clearly I'm not.

Sigh.
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Is it possible to have too much yarn? Is it somewhat insane to buy yarn on sale when you have no plans at all for it? Is this an addiction? Should I be worried?

It's just that it's so pretty...
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Two weeks ago My Beloved and I went to a Hallmark warehouse sale. We spent a total of $6.20 (including tax) on items that would have cost us $1285.98 (including tax) if we'd purchased them in-store at regular retail prices.

We saved $1279.78.

I'm still riding that bargain high.

Oh, and if you need any gift bags, let me know.
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If you tailgate - if you ride so far up my ass that I can see the colour of your eyes - I'm going to slow down and drive right on the speed limit.

Just so you know.
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There's a mandatory watering ban being enforced in our town because we've had so little rain over the last month and a half.

I understand the need to conserve, but the thought of my beautiful lawns drying up to match the brown of the rest of the neighbourhood is making me a little crazy. Plants and grass are the only things I can nurture and help grow right now and not being able to take care of them the way I want to is torture.

RAIN, DAMMIT!!!
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Lucy is happily scratching her claws on the carpet at the top of the stairs. With gusto.

I don't think the clicking leg is an issue at all.

Crisis averted.

July a little early and it's OKAY

I used to have this thing, this weird superstition about calendars, that I think I made up ( I'm not sure). Anyway, my deal was that I absolutely could not turn over a calendar before the month was over. I could flip through the calendar and look at upcoming dates or check out what the next month's picture was and whatnot, but bad luck would befall me if I permanently turned the calendar over to the new month before the old month was completely finished.

No flipping to January 1st on New Year's Eve for me.

The other day (a particularly windy one) I came into the den and found my Snoopy calendar (shut up, it's soothing) on the floor. Obviously a strong gust had blown it and the tack that was holding it up right off the wall.

I left it lying there on the floor for a few days. No good reason, except that I just couldn't be bothered picking it up and it wasn't hurting anyone where it was resting. And I'm lazy like that sometimes. I'll clean the kitchen up three times in one day, cut both front and back lawns and do four loads of laundry, but picking a calendar up off the floor? That's far too taxing.

Finally yesterday I decided to gather it up and put it back on the wall. I was going to pin up June, but I stopped. June only had a few hours left in it, so it would make much more sense to just pin up July instead.

Except for that bad luck thing.

I stood there for a few minutes contemplating my dilemma. And then pinned up July.

Bad luck arrives for no good reason - or for complicated, complex reasons that I won't know until I meet my maker (who will have a fair bit of explaining to do at that time, by the way). It has nothing to do with whether or not I've put a calendar up 16 hours too early.

It just doesn't.