December 31, 2007


The more I look at that other post, the more whiny it seems.

We have many things to be thankful for this year: the husband being home and with a regular work schedule, lots of fun trips with my blog friends, and, as Butterfly Wife said, a knit octopus...and rhinoceros, lion, and wombat.

Life could be a lot worse.

Here's a good New Year's resolution: a sunnier outlook.

My other resolution is to buy less stationery. I'm not sure which one will be harder for me!

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IS IT 2010 YET?

Well, it's the end of what feels like the most emotionally draining year of my life. Way harder than deployment. Way harder.

And hey, in 2008 we have both conception and deployment to look forward to. Whoopity doo. Should be an especially fun year.

Who me, grumpy?

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December 25, 2007


Erin was the first person to call me this Christmas morning.
She is still making my Christmases special.

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I was able to find joy in the smallest things on Christmases past, be it not having a tree (2006), having a husband in the same room (2005), hitting a milestone during the deployment (2004), or not being able to even write because we had no computer access (2003). So let's see if I can muster that joy this year.

Admittedly, it's been a pretty crappy month in our household. On the day I planned to put up the tree, we instead went to the emergency room and had our hopes and dreams crash down on our heads. Not a great way to start the season.

But we have hope.

Shoot, we don't have anything else to show for the past year. Except a sliver of hope that by next Christmas we will have the prospect of spending future Christmases surrounded by children and grandchildren.

But we have that hope to hang on to, and that's what keeps us smiling through the Christmas season this year.

Maybe we just need to move to Utah.

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December 18, 2007


An ode to my Christmas tree at SpouseBUZZ...

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At night in bed when I'm trying to fall asleep, I think about knitting. It's a soothing exercise for an insomniac; it keeps me from obsessing about what some jerk said at work and other things that my womanly mind fixates on when silence abounds. Knitting keeps my mind from wandering and focuses my brain on something peaceful. I think about finishing the projects I have started, starting the exciting new ones, or designing the next preemie hat.

And I swear, for a moment last night, my brain started mapping out that intarsia Abraham Lincoln. Bad, bad Sarah. A google search this morning turns up evidence of a pattern for a knitted Lincoln doll. No photo, but you can see the knitted Borat and Amy Winehouse. Heh.

Scolded away from intarsia Lincoln, my thoughts turned to my hair. To quote the Mad Hatter, my hair wants cutting. Last time I had to go quite short in order to donate the full 18 inches to Locks of Love, but this time I have grown weary of my hair faster. In fact, I never really planned on donating again; it just happened. It's because I have no idea how to maintain a haircut. I've never done it before. My life has been a series of chopping it to my chin and then letting it grow for years. I don't have any idea how to pick a hairstyle and stay at it. I haven't been to a barber in at least two years, not even for a trim. (Man, that sounds bad when I actually type it; I promise I don't have four inches of split ends.) But I think I might be ready to try an actual hairstyle. Maybe. I do know for sure that I can't wait to get rid of 10 inches.

OK, enough of my inane chit-chat nonsense. Please switch your brains back on and go read this monster tome: Mormons, Muslims, and Multiculturalism

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December 06, 2007


Life is conspiring to make me a stronger person today.

We got to the hospital this morning and had to wait in the waiting room for a while. At one point, a nurse came in and decided to turn on the TV. After the commerical break, we returned to Dr. Phil, who said -- I am not kidding -- "Today we're talking with women who are desperate to get pregnant."

Of all the things to watch on TV when you're waiting for a D&C. My husband and I just burst out laughing.

Then I got into the pre-operating room, and the assisting doctor came to get me settled. The very pregnant assisting doctor.

I mean, at this point it's like someone is just trying to make things awkward, right?

But everything went well, and, um, now we don't have a baby anymore.

I've been thinking a lot about the John Prine lyrics I posted the other day. In the grand scheme of things, this really is only half an inch of water. And I did feel like I was going to drown earlier this week, but unfortunately I've gotten way too good at The Perspective Game for my own good.

The women on Dr. Phil had major problems. They only ovulated three times a year. They had tried numerous in-vitros. My husband and I look lucky in comparison to that.

The friend I wrote about a while back who had the miscarriage, her baby was further along than ours was. Hers looked like a real baby instead of the tadpole striking a Rosie the Riveter pose like ours was. It would've been a lot harder for me if our baby had looked more like a baby.

When I woke up from the surgery, I hurt. I am a big wimp, and I was in pain. And I lay there thinking about GBear's son, a 13-year-old boy whose body was ravaged by cancer and who has to repeatedly endure painful limb lengthening surgeries. If he can deal with massive metal pins pulling his femur apart, I can surely deal with some cramping.

I've taken a deep breath this week and realized that things could be a lot worse than they really are. This half an inch of water will not drown me; it will make me a better swimmer.

So this chapter of my life is over, and now we're on to the next.

And I now return this blog to the regularly scheduled programming of attempts at grokking.

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December 03, 2007


Saturday night the SpouseBUZZ authors surprised me with an unexpected baby shower. We oohed and ahhed over onesies and baby lotion and cute little socks. I was touched that they had conspired behind my back to throw me a shower, and it was so fun to imagine my little baby in sleepers covered in ducks and snails.

But today my husband and I spent six hours in the emergency room finding out that our 12-week pregnancy stopped somewhere around week 5. Our baby is no longer a baby. It never even had a heartbeat.

That's the way that the world goes 'round.
You're up one day and the next you're down.
It's half an inch of water and you think you're gonna drown.
That's the way that the world goes 'round.

We got sad. Then we wanted to puke. Then we got angry and frustrated. Then we made crass jokes. And then it was back to sad. We've been through every emotion that exists today, and there's nothing else left to feel.

But what I feel most of all, what is weighing most heavily on me tonight, is time. We don't have time for a blighted ovum, as this condition apparently is called. We were racing against the deployment clock as it was, and now all I can think about is how we have to start over. Back to basal temperatures and the rollercoaster months. Only there aren't that many months left.

And this baby, this baby is still inside of me.


I think I had more perspective when I wrote my SpouseBUZZ post.

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