love is blonde

In redesigning the blog (thank you everyone for the swooning!) I found myself reading through a bunch of my archives. Aside from the normal embarrassment one feels upon reading one’s young and immature diary writings, I couldn’t help but think to myself…damn, I was really happy back then.

There was the time we did six word memoirs. Do any of you remember those? There are some gems in the comments.

There was the time I shaved my eyeball with a razor and ended up with an eye patch (and later with LASIK and 20/20 vision so we can consider it a happy accident).

There was the time my comments got a little crazy when I told you guys the s-e-x-u-a-l poem that Andrew wanted read at our wedding. Good veto, friends.

There was the ordinary Wednesday afternoon that we snuck out of work and got married at the courthouse.

And perhaps my favorite post of all time, writing about falling in love over the course of six Valentine’s days.

There’s more, too. Drunken girlfriend weekends, crafty endeavors, buying a house, beautiful vacations. In 2010 and 2011 the fog of infertility crept up on me. And then a little bit of hope and happiness for awhile, and then the loss. Now I feel like a black cloud follows me everywhere. It shadows all of my thoughts and words. It owns me and I hate it.

One day I’d really like to be a happy person again. If I had to write my six word memoir today, it would be: Things will never be the same.

With a new blog design! If you click over from your Google Reader or other preferred blog reading device, you’ll see a snazzy new site design by the amazing Jennifer.

Farewell to the cherries, which I loved dearly for many years. It just felt like time for a fresh, new look.

Let me know if you guys run into any glitches and we will get them worked out. In the meantime, have a lovely weekend. It might be 60 degrees here tomorrow! Holla!

OLD:

NEW:

For anyone who knows me, it is probably no surprise that I would never, ever vote for Rick Santorum. I wouldn’t vote for anyone who draws parallels between homosexuality and “man on child, man on dog” or who doesn’t “believe” global warming is “real.” The nicest way to put it is to say that we have fundamentally different world views.

But I’m finding myself really angry about something I’ve been hearing about him lately and I feel the need to speak up.

I heard first it at a small social gathering.

“So how about the Republican primary, pretty crazy, right? Can you believe Santorum actually has a chance?”

“Have you heard that thing about his stillborn baby, how he brought it home from the hospital?”

And then, in a blast email I got today, citing the Santorums’ “decision to force their children to kiss, hug, fondle, and sing to the dead baby.”

And I’ve seen tweets like this one: “Just a reminder that Rick Santorum kissed and cuddled a dead baby for hours and he is treated as a somewhat-viable presidential candidate.”

I’m sure my experience having a stillborn baby was different than the Santorums’, for probably a million reasons. But I can tell you that the couple of hours I got to spend with my son Miller — when yes, he was dead — were hours that I cherish so very much. In fact, my biggest, and probably only regret, a regret that sometimes feels like it’s eating a hole through my insides, is that we did not hold him for longer when we had the chance. Because I’ll never get to hold him again.

I wish we had spent the night with him. I wish I had held him until my arms were tired, and then for longer. I wish I told him 100 more times that I loved him and that I was so sorry he did not get a chance to grow up.

I console myself by saying that we made the best decisions we could at the time we were making them. I can’t really explain it any other way. But I’d kill to have those hours back, and I’d do it over differently.

To be critical of another family spending time with their (dead) beloved baby — that is just beyond my scope of acceptable right now. As a liberal, and a Democrat, and a fervently pro-choice person, I don’t think it is okay.

The reason I am pro-choice is because I believe that medical & reproductive decisions ought to be left to women and their doctors. I trust that most women, and most doctors, will make moral and ethical choices for themselves, given the circumstances they are in.

And so I think we ought to grant that same liberty and freedom from judgment to the Santorums, and to other parents of stillborn babies. They should choose how to grieve and cope and make decisions that are right for them and their families during a family tragedy.

If I hadn’t experienced this loss, I would have probably said those statements above, too. And the Santorums’ loss doesn’t really forgive the fact that they made it into a political platform issue. And I’m probably having somewhat of a knee-jerk reaction because my regrets over time spent with Miller are so raw and painful. But even with all those caveats, let’s leave the guy alone on this topic. There are plenty of other things to dislike about him.

designed by etsy shop digibuddhaPaperie

Sending and receiving Christmas cards is probably my favorite thing about the holidays. I love getting mail, seeing photos, and yes, even reading those family newsletters.

Side note: I’m a big proponent of sending out photos even if you DON’T have kids, and including adults in the photos even if really you just want to show off your cute kids. I’m friends with YOU! I want to see YOU!

My Christmas wish for you is that you get to spend time with people you love. Thank you for sharing the highs and lows with me this year, and especially for lifting my spirits over the last four months. This blog and the friends I’ve made because of it have been a big part of my healing. I’m so grateful for you all.

I was browsing a friend’s work website the other day. She runs a marine biology lab so I was pretty out of my element, but I’m always impressed and interested in what my friends do at work, especially something so radically different from my DC life.

It was maybe 30 seconds before I came across the word hypoxia. The only place I’ve seen that word before is on the autopsy. The likely cause of death. Not enough oxygen. Hypoxia.

I couldn’t read another word.

•••••

I’m pretty sure I come across as “normal” to most people. I go out to eat, go to happy hour, I laugh and joke and wear mascara and make fun of the Kardashians. But sometimes I’m just plain faking it. This is how pretty much every conversation goes in my head, if not in actuality:

Someone: Hey, how are you?

Me: Oh, hi. I’m [depressed]. How are you?

Someone: I’m good, too! What’s new?

Me: I’ve been keeping pretty busy [crying my face off]. You?

Someone: Tell me about it, this time of year is so busy with all the holiday parties and things to do! What are you doing for Christmas?

Me: I have plans to [feel sorry for myself. I might not get out of bed.]

Someone: That sounds great – let’s try to meet up one night.

Me: Totally. I’d love to [sit around and cry and talk about sad and unfair shit] together.

Someone: Cool, I’ll call you.

•••••

Merry Christmas to me! I just bought $561 worth of fertility drugs.

FA LA LA LA LA LA LA LA LA.

•••••

So I went to two support groups.

The first one was an infertility group. About eight or so women, all very nice, all with their own stories. One had 4 failed IVFs. Another was about to embark on her first RE appointment. Another was using a surrogate. I was probably somewhere in the middle in terms of infertility timeline and interventions.

But I was the only one with a dead baby.

So I went to pregnancy and infant loss support group. Again, about eight women, all very warm, all with different sad stories. One woman lost one of her twins, another lost a son at full term in a car accident. Another lost her son at three weeks old. Another lost her twins at 22 weeks gestation.

But I was the only one without any living children.

I just don’t know if I should go back, to either or to both.