Let Us All Bow Our Heads

And give thanks for blessings of which we are not worthy.

Thank you FedEx man.

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I had my first official dream in which I brought home a live baby.

However, not before I jumped from a cliff into a raging river with a grilled cheese sandwich in hand. I did have the sense to give the baby to a stranger prior to jumping into Niagara Falls though, so that must count for something. And, my grilled cheese sandwich landed safely in a paper plate held by another stranger down on the rocks, so score 3 points for me.

After retrieving the baby that was at that time a boy, I found myself in my childhood home. 2 days later, I realized I hadn't fed the baby (now a girl) at all, to which I responded, "Well, she didn't tell me to feed her!" I successfully fed him (yes, him) for 30 minutes straight without stopping, while watching her (yes, her) belly begin to grow bigger by the minute. I finally burped her and placed her on the bottom of my bunk bed while I removed blanket after blanket, toy after toy, hazard after hazard from her crib all decked out in pink butterflies and ruffles.

And then I woke up.

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Elf Eviction

Dear Elf,

It has been widely brought to my attention that you have taken up residence in my uterus next to the current (and legal) tenant, sweet baby girl. For the following reasons, I respectfully request that you pack your bags and hit the road, as I have 164 days left in this pregnancy.

The little spears of fire you throw so viciously are not appreciated nor are they necessary. You must be quite fast if you can throw a spear in my calf, my uterus and my eye all in a matter of seconds. Do you have more friends in there? I mean, we all know sweet baby girl wouldn't do any of this.

Thanks to you, I cannot get comfortable on most occasions and considering the days noted above, this is not acceptable. The heartburn you give me will someday cause me to spontaneously vomit mid-sentence if I can't force it back down my throat. You could at least give me some type of warning.

Due to the energy you suck from my body, you have forced me to do nothing but watch ridiculously bad t.v. from my couch. You continue to keep me from cooking any meal that involves work or real food, and as you know (and everyone in the McD's parking lot found out...including my shoes) you won the fight after lunch the other day.

Considering the above reasons, you are hereby notified to vacate the premises described in the address above (my uterus) within 24 hours of the date of the delivery of this notice to you. I am happy to escort you out in any fashion possible and will even help you find real estate that includes a little more room and is not currently occupied. If you fail to vacate within this period, court proceedings will be taken immediately to evict you from the premises via the honorable Judge, My Babe.

Thank you for your attention to this matter,

The Landlord

Better. And For That I Am THANKFUL

Thanks to a lot of prayer and some hefty steroids, Peanut is pretty much back to normal. And, considering the holidays are not the brightest of times for me, I am eternally thankful for this gift.

Thanksgiving Day 2000, was the day the doctor called to say my dad had incurable lung cancer.

Thanksgiving weekend 2005, was filled with work on sub plans since I was certain Dr. Jerk was finally going to listen and put me on bed rest. Two days later, I was in the hospital in a magnesium stupor, unsuccessfully trying to stop labor.

But today, Thanksgiving 2007, I am extremely thankful for this pregnancy and sweet baby girl growing as I type. It's just hard to shake the feelings of the holidays, and Thanksgiving marks the beginning.

Please Pray For My Sweet Puppy

Peanut isn't doing well and I experienced my first ever full blown panic attack. It wasn't pretty and I was even surprised at my unstoppable reaction. I guess I'm just tired of losing things.

The vet says she could have a tumor, could be having mini-strokes or her symptoms could be the result of geriatric vestibular disease. Either way, our time is limited as she is 13 years old. I have had her since she was 6 weeks old and she has lived a long life, but it doesn't change the devastation I will feel when she goes, whether it is today or 3 years from now.

Well, Looky There...I'm One Lucky Duck!

Thanks to Lori at "Eggs in a Basket" for honoring me with my first award within the infertility blogosphere. I did not bring my acceptance speech with me, but let me just say a hearty THANK YOU and...

I honor Lori over at "Losses and Gains" because she writes every single thing I want to say about losing boy/girl twins at 23 weeks. And, because she's just so dang wise.

I also honor Akeeyu at "herveryown" because she is the best writer I know (or know in my computer) and each day I hope and pray I turn on my computer and find a new post to keep me laughing hysterically.

And, finally, I honor Ann at "The Unlucky 20 Percent" because she just lost a sweet baby boy at 20 weeks. I know the unbearable pain.

Snakes, Snails and Puppy Dog Tails

Tonka trucks, rocks, crawdads, bikes from dawn to dusk, Hot Wheels, constellations, mud, playing army, GI Joe parachute men, spending hours in the creek, climbing and jumping out of trees, digging for treasures.

I'm certain our little girl will love all this and more...just like her mother.

If I Had A Mannequin Head, I'd Name Her Frankie

And I'd give her some serious streaks of red in her hair. Skunk like. And she would like it. Because that's what you do with a mannequin head. I'd tuck her under my arm and carry her around with me, hair flowing in the wind, red streaks causing envy everywhere.

That's what you do at the Paul Mitchell Beauty School. And, that's where my brave (and broke) butt went to get my hair trimmed. $15 and 2 hours later, I was out the door. But, not before learning many important things.

Did you know that alpha hydroxy acids are derived from fruit and milk sugars? Did you know that you must be the bravest soul possible to let a fellow student cut(!) and color(!!) your own hair. And I mean cut into super freak styles? Call me silly, but I believe that is what Frankie is for. Did you know that it is possible to have a hair supervisor giving advice to young, impressionable "future professionals" as their shirts boldly announced with a hair style that rivals Dog, The Bounty Hunter? For reals.

My sweet little student was 3 months into her schooling and had an adversion to hair..."Oh! There's hair everywhere!" She sectioned my hair into 10 (I counted.) sections and painstakingly cut each strand of hair with careful precision. At one point I almost snatched the scissors away and said, "For the love of Pete! Let me cut it Granny Moses!" But, I refrained and sat, magazineless, watching her every move. And every move of Death's Door Dora, the student sitting in the chair next to me watching the whole time. She was quite a ray of sparkles as she stared me down, scowl in tow. I brushed her off until hunger took over and I almost asked her if she wanted a piece of the hungry pregnant girl.

Honestly, she did a great job and even caused me to say a little "I will be better with my hair" mantra that lasted just for the day. I will return there. And, I might even have my own little mannequin head tucked under my arm just to pass the time.

Just Frankie and me.

November Resolutions

1. Start my iPod books again.
2. Buy a prenatal yoga tape before I die from missing my beloved Body Flow class.
3. Be thankful for every second of this pregnancy.
4. Pray harder, longer, more frequently.
5. BREATHE.

Who's That Girl?

No wedding is complete without wedding pictures...even if they make it to an album three and a half years later. Since I'm home bound, I thought I would do just that, which led me to a string of pictures of My Babe and me from the last six years we've been together. Pictures of camping, rock climbing, skiing, and bike riding. We've been sky diving, canoeing, hiking, and many more things I've always dreamed of doing. I look back and see a girl that resembles me, but not the me I know now. In my mind, I'm still that girl. The girl that used to have a slight bit of muscle tone, skinnier face, long hair with highlights, able (and willing) to wear tank tops without embarrassment, and open to trying anything (almost).

But, the last two and a half years have taken that away. I've spent those years gestating...with no end result. No product. Just a few short hours with two precious babies in my arms, a belly that never went away, and a box of memories that aren't enough to last. I feel robbed of the girl I used to be from my body, to my brain, to my heart. Those that know me and have been around me may or may not agree, but to me it is so obvious, especially after seeing those pictures. Especially when I can't physically do the things we used to do. And, while, it may be temporary, by the time I give birth, I will have spent three years of my life unable to do the things I enjoy due to trying to conceive, pregnancy, and pregnancy loss after loss.

I want the old me back. I want to be stupid and naive about pregnancy and the end result. I want to not have to think about my angel babies on a second to second basis. I want to push the play button since my life has been on hold for so long. I want to move on. I want to be the girl in the pictures again. The girl with the smile that wasn't covering the heartache. I want to find that girl again. If you see her, send her home to me.