D-Day

Woke up one morning in a funk and didn't understand why. Didn't want to turn loose of the sheets. Didn't want to leave my husband's side. Didn't want to shower. Had tears well up in my eyes without provocation.

Didn't want to do anything.

Took just a glance at my cell phone to figure out a potential underlying cause.

It was my due date - July 11th.

At the time when the doctor told me what the due date would be, I can recall making jokes with my husband about "7-11" and how we should be concerned that this kid could be open 24 hours like a convenience store, too.

Turns out, my due date turned out to be my very own version of "D-Day". Sure, it's extremely dramatic to compare something so tiny that it's barely a blip on the radar, to something as momentous as history's "D-Day". There are no mass casualties, intense sacrifice, insurmountable pain and loss of friends and heroes associated with my d-day. And there's definitely no need for a monument to memorialize such an event.

But through all of the differences, I have found one undeniable similarity - both days were game changers. The events of June 6, 1944 forever changed the course of WWII and subsequent world history. The landscape of France's coastline is still riddled with scars from battle. And, however small the events of July 11, 2012 were, they have forever changed the course of my life.

It stinks. Not what I had hoped for. Not what I had planned. And it will completely change what I expected to be the landscape of my own life.

But it is what it is.

What I thought would be the beginning of a new chapter in parenting, has in fact become something very different. For me, giving birth is most likely not an option in the traditional sense.

But it might be time for me to "give birth" to something else.

Maybe zucchini in my garden can be a starting point for now???

If that doesn't work, I'm moving on to a mini-cow........my husband just doesn't know it yet. ;)

Why you have to go and make things so complicated?

It should be as simple as a + b = c. But it isn't.

Sitting in my 8th grade algebra class, I can recall staring at the pages of my text book thinking my assignment was easy enough, only to come home that evening and realize while doing my homework that it was much harder than it initially looked.

Our health teachers would have us think that another math problem is simple, as well:
sperm + egg = screaming, pooping, expensive baby in 9 short months

But getting pregnant and having a child hasn't been as easy as they warned. The mechanics of it may be simple for some. In my case, however, none of it has been simple. Becoming a parent is by far the most complicated matter I've dealth with in my 30 years.

Why is it that some of the most basic things in life are so riddled with complication?

The decision to have a child is incredibly complex, or at least it is in my world. As strange as it may seem, I envy people who have such lackadaisical approaches to marriage and family planning. They make it seem as though their "accident" was their intention all along and it's no big deal. While I agree that everything happens for a reason, I prefer to think that my meager influence over my destiny can help make it for the right reason though....whatever "it" might be. 

The old adage of "first comes love, then comes marriage, then comes a baby in a baby carriage" may be true for some people. But for me it breaks down to a math problem with a lot of additional variables that make it incredibly difficult for me to solve....even harder than that algebra homework. My problem looks more like this:

love + marriage (+ # of years we've been together - impact on children from husband's 1st marriage + folic acid - serious expense of 2 previous D&C's from miscarriage + unpredictable amount of joy to our lives - cost of daycare - sleep + potential regret) = baby in a baby carriage

Or does it?

I just don't know. I make it a point to remind myself that my life is not in my hands, but instead God's.

But, I sincerely hope He's better at algebra than I am.

They're everywhere!

Ever noticed something for the first time, and then you can't help but notice it everywhere you go?

I'm an avid Nissan Murano fan. Bought my first one in 2007 and just traded that one in for another one last month. I love them. They're comfy, roomy, sporty, decent gas mileage. I can remember when I bought the first one thinking that there weren't many of them on the road and I wouldn't blend in everywhere I parked.

And then I actually got out on the road and noticed they were everywhere.

When I traded in my first for the second, I thought for sure I would be driving something pretty unique - a pearl white, double sun roof beauty.

Yeah, right! They're everywhere, too! I see at least 2 of them each morning on my way to work.

And speaking of everywhere.......so are babies. And pregnant women.

I feel sometimes like I need to exit the building I've just entered and double check the sign on the door, feeling certain that I've just entered a day care or OBGYN clinic rather than a grocery store/nail salon/post office.

It's like someone spilled water on a Gremlin or a baby bomb exploded!

It's happening in my circle of family and friends, too. One niece is 7 weeks pregnant. And her sister (also my niece) is 8 weeks pregnant. And a dear friend is 9 weeks pregnant. And my coworkers, friends, sorority sisters are conceiving and expanding and birthing left and right!

I never took much notice of babies or preggo waddlers before my own stint with pregnancy - much like I never noticed that many Muranos until I drove my own.

And now that I look around, it's all I see.

Maybe, it'll be all I see when I look down one day, too.

Why can't you be frugal outside Winn Dixie, too?

I am so sick of working hard to be nice, and being surrounded by impolite people.

My entire life, I've worked hard to be polite, kind, welcoming, and accommodating to others. Sometimes, I've been more successful than others.

More frequently than not, I tend to worry about others' feelings more than my own. I've been known (and criticized) for apologizing for things and circumstances that are not within my control. And yet I apologize anyway.

I'm at a point in my life now, though, where I REALLY DON'T CARE to spare anymore....spare others' feelings, that is.

I know what I like. I know who I like. And I also know the opposites.

I no longer feel it necessary to spend my time accommodating people in whom I have no vested interest and who I know wouldn't pee on me if I were on fire, even if they were tasting salt and seeing yellow and I'd done them no disservice.

And yet somehow, I can't help but feel that this makes me a b*@ch. Why is that?!

When I go to the grocery store, I know exactly which items I should put in my cart and pay money for at check out. I know exactly which ingredients I need to make meals that will not only nourish, but please my family and myself. And I know which items to completely avoid because they're a waste of my money and time. For example, my family won't eat a bunch of bananas before they go bad and I wind up throwing them away, or making banana bread, another item which my family won't eat and I wind up taking to work. My family won't eat certain vegetables and my family won't eat a large jar of salsa before it goes bad.

So why buy it? Why invest in it?

Any logical person would tell you not to do so....you'd be wasting your money.

But when you're talking about people, instead of groceries, it's not quite the same. If you refuse to waste your money/time/emotion and invest in someone, you're regarded as a b*@ch, regardless of whether or not they are useless, detrimental, or beneficial to your life.

Why is that?

I can't say for certain that I'll ever truly understand it.

But I can say for certain that my grocery bill has been significantly lower since I've started shopping with detailed grocery lists. I simply do not buy an item that I've not deemed necessary enough to write down.

As a result, my life is much simpler, and my family's diet doesn't seem to be suffering whatsoever.

I might try writing another type of list soon, too.......

Gross vs Net?

Have you ever paid close attention to the numbers on your pay stub?

I usually don't.

Unfortunately, I work in a field that believes paychecks are needed only once a month, so by the time my paycheck arrives, I'm so relieved to have SOMEthing, ANYthing that I don't pay any attention to the fine print on my check. I just care that there's no minus sign before the amount.

For some odd reason though, I peeked at all those tiny lines above my check amount this past month. And I kinda wish I hadn't.

I make a decent living, so that's certainly a plus. But there were a whole lot of minuses that made me completely forget the pluses. State tax, federal tax, short term disability (that's really just there in case I ever require maternity leave again, since my employer doesn't offer that benefit....apparently birthing a child is considered a disability! But, hey, it's only short-term, so at least I can look forward to a cure or healing.), insurance, retirement, yada yada yada. One quarter of my gross earnings disappears before I ever see it.

Thinking about this depressing payout made me think about my miscarriage, too. They seem a lot alike. I'm working a whole lot of hours for something that can be taken away in a matter of moments...for something that can disappear before I ever even get the chance to see it, much less hold it in my hands.

What's perhaps the most depressing about it is that those negatives, though painful, seem so big that they outweigh the positives.....when in reality they truly don't. I can quit my job and start working "under the table" and storing my money in coffee tins buried in my backyard, sure. I can give up on the idea of ever being a biological mom and send my husband for a vasectomy. But are either of those truly going to eliminate all those negatives, or just create a new set?

Regardless, I've got to keep in mind that whether or not I'm looking at the glass as half full or half empty, at least it's got something in it. Just like my pay check. Maybe one day I'll be able to say the same about my uterus :)

Hello. My name is Murphy. (Not) So nice to meet you.

It was just one of those days. The kind where you are certain you must have jinxed yourself from the first waking moment by doing something silly like putting your left foot onto the floor before your right, or simply putting your underwear on inside out. The kind where you just want to crawl back in bed, pull the covers over your eyes and deny the passage of time. A Murphy's Law kind of day.

Merriam-Webster even knows all about Murphy! It defines Murphy's law as the observation that if something can go wrong, it will do so. And boy, did it.

First, I woke up late. I hate being late. As a result, I forgot to put in earrings. I happen to believe that leaving the house without earrings is seriously bad juju, and the events of this day are further evidence. Noticed our mailbox had completely fallen off the post on my way out of the driveway. Forgot I had to stop for gas on the way to work. Managed to spill coffee on my pants while driving. Got mascara on my cheek while applying it in the rearview mirror at a red light. And once I arrived at work thoroughly annoyed with myself, my office phone began to ring incessantly. None of these things is catastrophic. None of these is worth "wasting a heartbeat worrying over" as my husband likes to say. But on this day, my trivial happenings, compounded with the fact that I was beginning my 62nd straight day of bleeding (yes, I counted), it was enough to make me want to wave the white flag.

Background: I was 2 months post-miscarriage and subsequent surgery hooplah and still bleeding. And it was really starting to get the better of me - my color and patience were seriously waning. Not to mention the feeling that I was perpetually in a diaper was no bueno. I held off calling the doc because I assumed that prolonged bleeding post-DNC was appropo, and more pressing to me was the desire to just be left alone "south of my equator" and avoid any more requests for money in my mailbox (health insurance bites, but that's a blog for another day).

There was even an evening half-way through this seemingly never ending red marathon in which I would've sworn I was miscarrying again...only that was impossible, unless immaculate conception was a possibility. But it was a complete re-run of what I'd earlier experienced while miscarrying at home.

Ultimately, I caved and called the doctor while at work that afternoon, and described my symptoms: excessive, constant bleeding, pain, lethargy, etc. He asked me to come in for an ultrasound immediately - not my idea of a good lunch break, but then again, I usually have a working lunch anyway, I'm just usually clothed and not lying on my back.

The ultrasound turned into an escorted trip by the technician to the doc, which resulted in a one way ticket to the hospital. Talk about the VIP treatment.

The ultrasound seemed to show excessive endometrium and what looked like placenta - could I have conceived again, or was it simply the result of an unthorough previous surgery? According to the doc, only a scope could tell, and a second surgery was the best option to stop the bleeding. If there ever were a day to go buy a scratch-off lottery ticket, this certainly was not it. The bad news kept mounting and pretty soon, so would the tears.

Strangely enough the straw that broke the tear ducts' dam was literally a straw.....pine straw to be exact.

My trip from the hospital parking lot to patient registration left me with a sticky hitchhiker on my shoe and an unstoppable flow of sobs.

They say there's no use crying over spilled milk, and the same may be true for spit gum, but I did it anyway. I cried and cried and cried - while registering for surgery, while reluctantly forking over $400 that we intended to spend getting new tires for my car, while getting hugs and prayer from a hospital staff member, while leaving my husband a voicemail letting him know where I was (he was asleep because he worked the previous evening and was scheduled to go in again that night), while calling my boss to let her know I wouldn't be back to work for a few days, while calling my mom to let her know I'd be spending the day before my 30th birthday under anesthesia, while they took my vitals, while they drew my blood, and while I attempted to pee in a cup and instead pee'd all over my hand.

And when I went to reach for paper towels and noticed only the cardboard roll with no towels in sight, all I could do was shake my head, dry the tears with my clean hand, and laugh out loud.......Hello Murphy! Nice to meet you.

Don't know what to say?

I, too, have been in positions where I wasn't sure what was best to say. Whether a loved one passed away, or a job was lost, or a pet had to be put down, it's always been difficult to find the right words.

I frequently have clients visit me in the counseling setting and I'm faced with the same predicament. What can you say?

Unfortunately, there is no magic phrase, but the start of the conversation about it is always a relief - almost like naming the elephant in the room.

While I don't necessarily agree with her "19 kids and counting" philosophy (I spent only 16 weeks pregnant and it was rough...have no idea how she has spent almost 19 years being pregnant - minus the premies and 2 sets of twins!), Michelle Duggar had some advice to share on the TODAY show this morning regarding how to address the loss with others. Check it out!

Duggars talk about their miscarriage, next pregnancy