10 Things Not to Say

It’s not my plan to make this a blog that’s just about miscarriage/pregnancy loss, but as I said in the previous post, it’s not something you just “get over” and so it’s on my mind. A lot. I spend a little (and sometimes a lot) of time online everyday with some seriously fantastic women. From my own experience and from the stories I’ve read I thought I would put together a little list of things that you shouldn’t say to someone who’s dealing with a loss.

I want to throw out a caveat first, though. I can see how this could easily be misconstrued by people in my life who might have said some of these things to me. I just want to say that I really do get it. I know that most comments have the right intentions and I try to view everything through that lens. This isn’t me taking a shot at you.

I’ve been guilty myself of saying the wrong thing. And when someone’s heart is broken and grieving it’s really hard to know what to say at all. Hopefully this list will help someone out there to help someone else down the line. So…in no particular order, here we go:

1. It was probably for the best. (The best? For who? Doesn’t feel like the best to me.)

2. At least you won’t have an unhealthy baby. (I’ll love whatever child I’m given, thank you.)

3. God wasn’t ready for you to be a mother yet. (Really? Just really??)

4. At least you know you can get pregnant. (Right…but staying pregnant is kind of key to whole process, yes?)

5. You’re so stressed at work—do you think that caused it? (There’s almost nothing you can do to “cause” an early loss. And even though we know that, most of us worry that we might have done something to cause it. Just don’t go there—are you trying to make me feel guilty on TOP of feeling heartbroken?)

6. At least it was early. (I fell in love the day we found out. A loss hurts like hell no matter when it happens.)

7. Just try to forget about it. ( Ouch—really?)

8. What’s the problem? If you want a baby, just get pregnant again. ((A)I don’t just want “a” baby, I want the one I lost and B) I wish we could all just pregnant when we want to…it so doesn’t work like that.)

9. That’s so awful. Now let me tell you about the awful things going on in my life….(Sigh. I want to be there for the people in my life, especially when they’re hurting. But my baby just died, don’t ignore my pain and expect me to be able to focus on your problems right now.)

10. I know this sucks, but you’ll have your babies some day. (This is the one I’ve gotten the most and I completely appreciate the sentiment and where it’s coming from. But, as mentioned in #8, I’m grieving a baby that I loved and wanted. I hope I’ll have babies some day, but I wanted THIS one. It takes away from the baby I just lost to so easily replace him with another baby down the road. I also know at this point that there are no guarantees in the journey to parenthood, especially at my age.)

There are plenty more (and if you’ve been through it and want to add to the list, please leave a comment!).

So what should you say? Say that you’re sorry. Say that you hate that we’re hurting so much. Say that this is unfair and that it sucks. Offer to be there for us if and when we want to talk. Pray with us. Treat it like you would the loss of any other family member or friend. Keep reaching out with calls or texts or emails—just a note that you’re thinking of us does wonders to keep us going. Just be there and let us know that while you might understand our exact pain, you love us and want to do whatever you can to help us while we grieve. Don’t be afraid to ask us how we’re doing—you’re not going to remind me of it, we already think about it all the time.

And to those of you who loved on me over the past few months—thank you for caring and taking such good care of us.

Then Came a Baby who Would Never Use a Carriage

I said in my last post that I wouldn't be announcing that I'm pregnant, and I'm not. But I guess that's only part of the story because I was. I've debated for a while as to whether or not I should share this story, but it might be the most significant thing that's ever happened to either of us and I don't want our baby to be a secret.

We never hid the fact that we would start trying to get pregnant as soon as we got hitched. Um, we're old by the fertility world's standards, right? We knew that we wanted a family and we also knew that we needed to jump right in cause the clock is ticking. 

On a run of the mill Wednesday morning in early September it happened--I took a test and saw the second pink line. It was pretty faint and M wasn't so sure that he saw it, so I tested with a digital and that beautiful word popped right up: Pregnant. I screamed and he ran back into the room and I jumped up and down and we laughed and cried all at the same time. 

Then we went to spin class. (Cause we're uber romantic like that).

We fell in love that day with the little life inside me that we called Beanie. Over the next weeks we talked to "him" and told him stories about how excited we were to meet him and all the plans we had for playing and learning and all the things we wanted to do together as a family. I had no idea how quickly and completely you could love someone you've never met and was no larger than a raspberry. I started having symptoms and looking at maternity clothes. We talked about names and what we might want to do for a nursery. They were the happiest weeks of my life.

Then the symptoms went away. If you know me in real life, you know that I'm a realist (and maybe a little neurotic?). I spend way too much time on the internet and I don't do much that I haven't already researched. Unlike a lot of first time moms, I wasn't really that naive. I knew the stats on miscarriage and have a painfully long list of friends who have experienced loss. When the symptoms subsided I knew something was wrong.

Two days shy of 9 weeks we had our first appointment including an ultrasound where we desperately hoped that my instincts were wrong and that we'd see a heartbeat. We didn't. We saw a beautiful little baby on that screen who looked perfect. But he measured a week behind and was no longer alive.

There are no words to describe that moment. I was initially in disbelief and made them bring in another doctor to take a second look. The outcome was the same. In an instant I was both numb and experiencing the most intense pain I could imagine. There is no question that it was the worst day of our lives, and it was one drawn out nightmare until I actually miscarried a week later at 10 weeks.

It's been almost 3 months now since we said goodbye to Beanie. And yet, I know that in many ways I haven't been able to say goodbye. I've learned a lot in these painful weeks. I've learned that I had no idea what it was like when my friends were experiencing their losses. I've learned that I said all the wrong things to them when I was trying to say the right things. I learned that unless you've been through it, you can't understand this pain (and I'm so glad that most people in my life have never had to experience this).

But I also learned that I have an amazing support system. The few people who knew we were pregnant jumped in and just loved on us. The people that I opened up to and told about the loss jumped in and loved us, too. I learned that I married the absolute perfect man for me. He has been amazing and we are so much closer and stronger as a result. I also found an amazing group of women through an online support group and in our shared experience they have helped buoy me along on some of the darkest days.

Pregnancy loss is, unfortunately, still a very taboo topic in our society. I think most couples don't share because so many people don't understand, and therefore don't legitimize, an early loss. It is a silent grief that affects 1 out of 4 pregnancies and there are, undoubtedly, men and women all around you going through the motions of work and life and play keeping their pain inside. Maybe we're afraid of what people will say (as I mentioned before, many people with the best of intentions still say things that sting). It's a loss that you don't just "get over."

So I write this post for them. For me. For the many who will experience loss in the future. And I most of all, I write it for Beanie. 

We love you, sweet angel baby and can't wait to meet you in heaven some day. You will always be our first baby, and while we hope we'll have another chance at a successful pregnancy, it will never replace you or mean that we wouldn't give anything to have you back.

Then Comes Marriage!

On a gloomy Saturday morning in September, M and went for a hike. There's a great little trail in Sonoma that ends up overlooking the town with views extending out through the valley and, on a clear day, over to San Pablo bay and San Francisco.

No make-up, hair in a ponytail, sleepy eyes. Not exactly my best look. But, I love that my guy loves me for who I am without all the face paint and such, and so I absolutely adore that he chose that moment when we reached the top to drop down on one knee and ask me to be his wife. Perfection.

We spent the next eight months planning and prepping and pulling together our dream wedding--an intimate and simple ceremony on the lawn of a local winery with a hell of a party in the barrel room to celebrate our new life together. It was an absolutely perfect day and exceeded all of my hopes of what that day could be. I know it sounds generic, but it really was the best day of our lives. Here are a few of my favorite pics.

(Credits to our AH-mazing photographer, Chip Gillespie. He's in the Houston area. Book him. NOW.)

 

 [For more amazing pictures take a look here. For our rockstar pictures from the day after the wedding, look here. Now really, book this man for any photographs you need taken!]

After looking for my prince for so many years it finally happened and he might as well have placed a glass slipper on my foot. Fairytales really do come true.


 ***And don't get excited about these last two titles-- there's no baby news coming in the next one***

First Comes Love...

Whew! OK...I realize that it's been beyond ages since I last posted, but here I am with a shiny new look and, really, a whole new life since I left you last.

Yep--I'm no longer a swinging' single gal. I think the main reason I stopped posting was because my head was suddenly filled with all these thoughts of a very groovy guy. But dating and blogging don't always go hand and hand. I'm not sure he would have been super excited to read the chronicles of our growing relationship here, and so I just stopped posting. The fact that I was working a gagillion hours a week at the time might also have contributed just a little bit.

So what's the back story? Well, I actually met this groovy guy "back in the day." We grew up in the same small-ish town in Texas and had tons of mutual friends. He played football with my brother. Our moms were teachers together. And we even double dated to his senior prom with each other's friends.

(REALLY wish I had a picture of that to add here. Then again, you would see me when I was 17. With poofy hair. And a poofier dress. I assure you that nothing was pretty in 1990.)

He graduated and neither of us thought twice about the other for nineteen years. I have to spell that out because, hello, 19 years! Enter a Facebook friend request and the sweetest reconnection with emails and getting to know each other all over again and, well, we fell in love in a crazy California adventure full of days spent in vineyards in wine country mixed in with lazy days at the beach. Next month will mark 3 years since we reconnected, but it's only been a couple of years since we were solidly a couple. You know, around the time I stopped posting. (Yes, I was holding out on you there for a while).

I'll tell the rest of the story in my next post, but to tide you over I'll drop in a few pictures from the early days. :)

Second date (June 2009)

My first trip to Napa (Sept 2009)

New Year's Eve 2010

Wine tasting (April 2010)

Wedding in Vermont (May 2010)

Whale watching in SoCal (August 2010)

The Thing About The Olympics

I'm such a sucker for the Olympics. Seriously--I will schedule my whole life around the games during the two weeks (winter or summer) that they're on. And let's face it. I will CRY LIKE A BABY.

So what is it that hits such a nerve as to evoke such emotion?

I think it's simple, really. The fulfillment of a dream. We sit on the couch in the comfort of our homes and watch these kids who have spent countless hours, sacrificing time with their friends, sleep, their parents' money, and a lot of other "kid stuff" for years. All because they had that perfect combination of unique talent and a dream strong enough to drive them to incomparable heights.

So maybe my dreams haven't involved as much time and sacrifice. And if I'm honest, they haven't involved as much heart. either.

But that doesn't matter. Because at the end of the day, dreams are dreams. And the thing about dreams is that most of them don't come true. And for most of us, that's a bit uncomfortable.

But here comes this moment in time, every two years, where we get to watch these kids compete their hearts out. And for the lucky few it all pays off and they get that sweet moment of victory. It's an amazing thing to watch.

My dreams....well, there are a lot of them that continue to falter. When I watch the Olympics my emotions swell with the satisfaction of seeing a dream realized just as much as they stutter with the reality check for those in that haven't come through.

Sometimes that hit is pretty deep, tapping into those areas of my life that I've hoped for but not yet realized.

But for the most part, I think the emotion is pure joy. Joy in knowing that dreams DO come true. That hard work and effort DO pay off. And that so many of us can sit in our living rooms and experience that joy together.

The thing about the Olympics? They shake us out of being content with anything less than all we have to give. They make us want more--to stretch ourselves and see what we can really do.

And really, isn't that what it's all about anyway?

[Side note: yes...I know I owe you details on life. When I have more than 2 free minutes at a time I promise I'll catch you up.]

When It Rains It Pours

So what’s up with our little buddy El Nino?? Last week had the craziest weather that Southern California has seen “ever.” (At least that’s what those who have lived here longer than my tenure of 14 days keep telling me.) I’m crossing my fingers that they’re right. My Texas friends will understand the conditions when I say that it was basically April thunderstorm weather—complete with a couple of tornados.

[Interestingly, though, the storms came without thunder. I’m going to need to go to the wiki on that one…I don’t get why the thunder didn’t come to the party.]

Anyway, I got soaked more times in the past seven days than I can even count. I’d like to order up the sunshine now, please.

One of last week’s agenda items was getting to the DMV and getting my driver’s license and registration taken care of. Apparently the fact that I had this on my list caused some friends to think that I’m overly conscientious about such things. Yeah…not so much. But my registration expired at the end of December and my license expired last Friday. SO…I carved out time from work and headed over to just get it done with. I left the DMV (soaked from waiting in line outside) 2 hours later with neither of these chores accomplished.

Long story on both, but I did go back the next day and get the properly licensed to drive. The registration…well, when your title is locked up somewhere in storage facility in Fullerton, you have to get the state of Texas involved. I love the Tejas, of course, but I’m not holding my breath on getting this one resolved very quickly.

Moving cross country: there’s so much more fun than just living out of your (unregistered) car.

To escape the wet dreary weather in SoCal, I headed to NoCal where I was delighted to be greeted by…more wet, dreary weather. I went for some meetings in San Francisco and then to Napa to celebrate the second anniversary of my 35th birthday. Let’s just be crystal clear—there’s no better way to spend a birthday weekend than sipping delicious wine in spectacular locations with a super groovy guy.

Especially when you get a good pour.

Not in Kansas Anymore

Whew. I honestly don’t know where to start. The past few weeks have been a whirlwind like no other. I completely feel like Dorothy…pretty much minding my own business and then…POOF…swept away to a foreign land in the blink of an eye. It’s crazy that it’s only been a few weeks since all this change was set in motion. And here I am tonight sitting in my (second…we’ll get to that in a minute) hotel room in Orange County California.

So let’s see. There was the move itself. I’m so glad that Mother Nature blew through with 20 degree temps the day of the move. That was ever so helpful to the whole process. I won’t soon forget the morning that the movers were loading the truck and my mom and dad and I were upstairs in the warmest room of the house with coats and gloves shivering away. Three hours with the door open with those kind of temps has that effect.

Other than being mind numbingly cold (I’m from TEXAS, people…I don’t have the constitution to withstand anything less that 45 degrees), the move went very smoothly. I gave away about half of my stuff and really regret that I didn’t take a picture of my garage before the charity came and took it all away. It was, if I do say so myself, one impressive heap of junk. Absolutely a case of where one man’s trash is another’s treasures. Seriously…I hope that others are enjoying that stuff. I feel so much lighter without it!

There were a few glitches of course (my favorite was about 20 minutes after the truck drove away and my mom happened to open the largest drawer in the kitchen. To find it FULL. Yep. Luckily that was the only thing the packers missed). But my belongings have arrived in California and I’m so happy to be back in possession of my car—not because I care about the car at all, but it was impressively packed with all the stuff that I will have access to in the next couple of months while most of my stuff is in storage. So now I’m not just living out of one suitcase…I’m living out of six of them. Good times.

When I got here I checked into an extended stay hotel. For some reason I thought it made sense to get a place where I could pick up groceries and feel somewhat settled in for the first week. I clearly didn’t factor in the 80 hours of work that left minimal time to eat…let alone shop. The hotel was absolutely disgusting (and I’m pretty sure the carpet hasn’t been changed since 1984). I can’t believe I stayed there for 5 nights, but I’m happy to report that I vacated the flea bag suites this morning.

I had hoped to move into an apartment today. I did find a place yesterday, but can’t move in until 2/1. I’ll be in a furnished apartment for a couple of months while I get the lay of the land and figure out where I really want to live. I found a super cute place in Laguna Beach about 3 blocks away from the beach and village. I can’t believe that I will live walking distance to the beach. This, my friends, is my dream come true.

So many other things have happened (including my car showing up broken…though apparently not the movers fault), but it’s all just coming together. It’s been quite a ride, but I’m not sure anything has just snapped into place for me before like all of the details around this whirlwind move have. I am so many miles from home and barely know anyone out here, but I’m so happy and at peace that I’m exactly where I’m supposed to be.

Even if the gas is $3.19 per gallon.