Summer And I Are Officially Married

I am in love with Summer - and I don't say that lightly. Polygamy has never appealed to me in the least bit, but when it involves Summer, I have to reconsider.

Summer and I were meant to be from the get go. Summer gives me freedom like I have never known. Summer lets me take long walks, lets me sleep in if I want, and lets me go to the gym during the slow hours. Summer doesn't care if I wash my hair, if I put on makeup, or if I even brush my teeth. Summer supports my late night habits and my disdain for the alarm clock. Summer doesn't make me speed pee each time I go to the bathroom, or scarf down my food. Summer lets me actually eat breakfast, go to the store when I feel like it, and spend time outside. When Summer and I are together, I feel normal. I feel good. I can breathe. I can think straight.

Before you feel sorry for My Babe, don't worry, we'll break up soon...too soon. August 14th to be exact. And, when that time comes, I will mourn the loss deeply. For now, I am officially married to Summer and lovin' every minute of it.

An Aching Heart That Cannot Be Fixed

Let's face it - I don't get close to people. I still talk often to the same friends I have known since elementary, middle, and high school. I have no friends from college. Not one. I have friends from work, but we don't actively do things together.

And then there is my team...adopted team members included.

My team that celebrates the good, and cries along with me during the bad...every single day. My team that lets me rant, rave, act like a brat, and still loves me like family. So, how does one patch a hole the size of the universe when a team member (and possibly two) leaves? I can't stop crying. Another town is close, yet so much farther than I imagined. Especially when it is someone that is so deeply seeded in my heart. It won't go away. She is packing and moving as I type. I said my goodbyes today, but I already want to see her again. My heart aches and it cannot be fixed.

This Just In...Pessimistic Melissa Wins Again

I am in a serious foul mood. This foul mood has lasted since Saturday. It's Monday, people...this is ridiculous. I fight this with each cell in my body, but it wins every single time. It consumes me, makes it miserable for My Babe, and I need Pink Pills. Usually I can fake a good mood, but I can't even fake it this time. It makes me tired - makes me weary - makes me sad - makes me not fun to be around. The happier someone is around me, the worse I feel. It pains me to write. It pains me to smile.

There are several things hanging over my head that I just can't let go. Two are major things and one is so incredibly tiny that it isn't even worth a minute of energy. However, I dwell on it...seek the negative over and over and over. I've tried more strategies than I can shake a stick at, but I still continue to focus on the negative. In fact, I think I'm getting worse. To make matters even more dismal (because I like that, you know), I'm pumped up with good ol' fertility drugs which make me want to rip my hair out. My book, Authentic Happiness, says that people who are really happy are just born that way. Those that are not so happy can make themselves happier by using strategies, but will never really be high as a kite happy because they weren't born that way. Well, crap. I'm out of luck, which makes me really happy. But, I'm determined to change. I'm determined to beat it....just not today. Today, pessimistic Melissa wins. And, really, it's okay.

Team V at the March of Dimes Walk

Thank you to R and the girls for walking with us! And thanks to everyone that donated to Team V:

TC & RC
RC & MC
GH & DH
MK & HK
SP & NP
BV & CV
GV
JW

Let's Hear It For Number Two!

No, not that kind.

I'm officially back in the saddle. If I fall off this horse again, I am going to be super pissed.

My levels are negative, so we are once more on the road to motherhood. Have I mentioned I'm terrified? I mean, really, let's do this thing correctly. You know what they say...the fourth time's a charm!

I'm sick of receiving coupons for formula, samples of diapers, magazines that say, "Your baby at X months," and baby lotion I can't use. This time, the fourth time, I will not be so stupid (maybe) as to sign up for everything under the sun related to babies until I am more than positive this might work. I am, however, stupid enough to save that crap in the baby's room. I'm really good at cracking the door open (because if you crack it rather than open it, the room doesn't really exist and all is well), chunking it in there, and slamming it quickly. There is a mound about 2 feet high of it, and I better get to use it soon.

I've got my game face on and my hurdle jumping shoes laced. For now, I say...Three Cheers for Number Two!

Will The "Real" Mothers Please Stand Up?

I'm torn when all the mothers stand at church to be honored. I can't stand. I never changed their diapers. I never fed them. I never dressed them. I never bathed them. I never heard them cry. I never rocked them to sleep. I never got up in the middle of the night. I never pushed them in a stroller. I haven't sacrificed. I can't stand.

However, I am a mother.

I carried my babies. My body changed. I felt the kicks. I knew their personalities - strong and feisty, calm and passive. I had the sickness and heartburn. I managed the intense back pain. I felt the pressure. I told the doctor. He didn't listen. I tried my best. I failed.

I delivered them.

I held them. I watched them gasp for breath. I felt their heartbeat...and felt it fade away. I held their hands and touched their tiny feet. I kissed them. I gave them back to Heaven.

I came home alone.

I am a mother, but someday I will get to stand.

I Don't Like Odd Numbers

I am a very even girl. I like all things even. When I eat candy or anything that involves pieces, I eat them in even numbers. Often, I count my steps - all must end in even numbers. Sometimes while counting, I will take an extra step or a giant step in order to get to an even number. I count ceiling tiles, lightbulbs, numerous different things on a daily basis. Most do not end in even numbers, but I can rig my counting to get around it. I will just count whatever I am counting 2 times or 4 times if I feel like it. It's insanity, I tell you. Which brings me to a very big problem for the next 365 days. Today I am 31.

Exactly one year ago today, I sat in the perinatologist's office awaiting the showing of my 10 weeks old baby's heartbeat. Note to self: Never schedule a sonogram on your birthday. Exactly one year ago today, I found out there was no longer a heartbeat. Exactly one year ago today, I swore I would be pregnant by Christmas. Exactly one year ago today, I never thought it would happen to me again. Exactly one year ago today, more of my heart was ripped away, causing me to forever change - to forever be a different person. And here I am, one year later, with empty arms.

Today I received a bit of even news. My progesterone is down to a 4. It's not the bright and shining news I would like for my birthday, but at least we are on the way to the 2 we need. Heck, I'll even accept a dreaded 1. Anything to get me closer to motherhood and counting children running around my house rather than lightbulbs.

Houston...We Have a Problem

R.I.P. Little Squashy
May 2, 2007 - May 6, 2007

It seems we have a problem with reproduction and life around here. Not only does it rain on Little Squashy's parade, but it rains on ours too. Little Squashy couldn't handle the constant flow of moisture coming from the Austin clouds lately. Can Little Squashy's mother handle the constant flow of blood coming from her veins into a vial, only to find out her Progesterone is just down to Unlucky Number 7? Sure, I should be happy that it is down and we are very close to trying again. However, I've been down this road before, my friend, and it has not turned out pretty. The crazy part of me is downright giddy that I might be pregnant again so soon. Don't get me wrong...there is absolutely nothing about pregnancy that makes me giddy. In fact, it makes me pukey, bi%#@y, and quite wiggity wack. It's the thought that maybe, just maybe, this will be the one that lasts. I mean, seriously, how many more random complications can we have?

And then, there is the realistic side of me that says, "Whoa, Nelly...you still have way too many hurdles to jump over." I haven't ever trained for hurdle jumping. I don't even like track meets. Who wants to run as fast as you can in a circle, going nowhere? That seems to be how this pregnancy, birth, and living thing goes for me and for Little Squashy - absolutely nowhere.

God Hears, "Amen," Wherever We Are

My prayers usually start with gratitude and thanksgiving for the blessings in my life. Half the time, lying in bed, I fall asleep - never getting to the good part when I ask God for the desires of my heart.

As a young brat, I fought my mother each and every Sunday, refusing to attend church. There were times we would arrive at church, I would refuse to go in, and she would leave me in the car until the service was over. Why she didn't beat me, we'll never know. I'd like to see my future children try that one...it wouldn't go over well. I never felt a connection with our church and I sure didn't feel a connection to the snobby girls in Sunday School that never talked to me and left me sitting all alone. Slowly, I pushed church to the back of my mind. Thanks to DM for helping me find the church I needed. The church that allows people of all walks of life, all stages in the game - believers and seekers. For once, if I miss a Sunday, things are just not right that week.

I've always prayed, but not regularly. There is something about losing children that makes you a praying professional. I have prayed more deliberate prayers in the last year and a half than I have in the last 30 years. When the grief strikes me many times during the day, I have to remind myself to slow down, stop, breathe, and pray.

So, today on this National Day of Prayer, I pray for the health and safety of family and friends, my friend's children, and my sweet little kindergartners. I pray for the strength to keep going. The strength to not give up until I am holding my newborn baby or a baby I have chosen as my own. I pray for humility, wisdom and grace. I pray for comfort and patience. I pray for kindness and love. I pray for energy and serenity. I pray for gratitude. I pray for forgiveness...someday soon I will forgive myself for the loss of Kinsey and Ryan. I pray for so much more, but most importantly - I pray for peace.

I've learned I don't need to have my thoughts organized and coherent. They don't need to be elaborate or profound. I don't need to set aside a certain time or place. God listens and hears a sincere, "Amen," wherever I am. I know someday he will grant me the desires of my heart - even if I voice them from a snore.

Houston...We Have a Squash

Just so you know...in real life it is half the size of my pinky.