Okay...Really, I Can't Complain

This is the best pregnancy I've had to date. Although I certainly do not feel even close to 100%, I can actually eat. Nothing really sounds good, but at least I can eat and that makes me one happy camper, considering I am a big eater. I still want to throw up but it isn't right there in my throat potentially causing me to spontaneously vomit at any given moment. This is mainly in part to the constant stream of nausea medication I've kept in my body. I've learned that when I don't take it on weekends (simply to save the pills since they cost an arm and a leg per pill) that is when I throw up. Nights are not very good either, but I'll take that to feeling badly all the time. Of course this stream of good luck makes me wonder in the back of my mind if the baby is still alive. I haven't had an ultrasound in almost two weeks, so you just never know. This isn't consuming my mind, but I am confident I will feel this anxiety daily.

Which brings me to another reason I cannot complain. I'm sick to read of a fellow blogger's latest loss...her 7th to be exact. Her repeated second trimester loss has me waking in the middle of the night, stopping in the middle of the day, wondering what she is doing. Knowing the physical things her body is going through right this minute. Knowing that her body has no idea she doesn't have a baby to hold. Knowing the devastation and the tears that just won't stop. I do not know her, have no idea what she looks like, and will never meet her, but I hurt for her. Unfair doesn't even begin to describe the situation.

It Was The Banana Family

I got rid of the high fever after 5 days, only to be blindsided by "morning" (24/7) sickness that very day. The last couple of weeks have been tough. My kindergarten children no longer look at me funny as I gag over the trash can several times per day. No telling what they say to their parents about it, but it seems that they view it as normal now. I can no longer bring home food from a restaurant without all four windows rolled down and my head sticking out. Even then I might scream at any moment, "Throw the food the hell out of the window!"

I had 3 good days last week. I am convinced it was the family of bananas my mom bought for me. I should've cloned the damn things since one of my children's parents works in a lab where they clone cows (serious business). For 3 glorious days I ate a banana before getting out of bed along with those little rectangle Club crackers. Those were days that I could actually smile, laugh, and only want to half-puke all day long. But, that family of bananas is long gone and it seems that no others can take their place. In fact, if a banana comes within 1 foot of my mouth, I might hurl. And don't bring me a Club cracker either unless you want to get smacked down.

Speaking of hurling...ever puked up trail mix? I highly do not recommend it. That's been my day today.

If it seems like I'm whining...I am. In fact, I've earned that considering this is my fourth pregnancy with no take home baby and each time I've been equally as sick. Being sick does NOT mean this pregnancy is healthy. It just means I have damn good hormones that like to make themselves heard.

However, I am thankful. I am thankful to God for the opportunity again. I am thankful that everything looked great at our 7 week sonogram. I am thankful that I have THE BEST HUSBAND IN THE WORLD, and I am thankful that maybe, just maybe this could be the one.

Hey Fool (self): It's No Longer Allergies When...

1. The sight, sound, taste, feeling of water makes my skin crawl.
2. I have on a sweatshirt, long pajama pants, and the A/C up to 80 degrees in August.
3. Chills.
4. Sweat.
5. A throat so sore I am trying not to swallow and when I do, I wince.
6. Hot.
7. Cold.
8. Fever of 102 degrees.
9. Aches.
10. Pains.
11. Stiff neck.
12. Gatorade sounds good.
13. The couch becomes the infirmary.
14. Anything touching my skin hurts.
15. I'm actually okay with watching all 2 hours of "VH1's Top 40 Greatest Pranks."

I've Taken A Second Job

My first job I've had for 9 years. It's the brain engineer job where I take care of everyone else's children. I teach them to read, write, think critically, be respectful, to love friends, laugh, and be inquisitive. This is the job that sucks the life out of me most days, but pays in unseen rewards beyond measure. This is the job that I'm actually pretty good at, but tend to take too seriously (especially the last few days). This job has run my life for 9 years.

My newest job is much more important. It will take precedence over my first job. It will take more energy and strength than I have some days. It will require a great deal of rest, faith, healthy choices, and positive thinking. It will be all consuming, but will pay better than any other job on earth. This job will guide my thinking, my actions, and my words. This job requires me to put everything and everyone else on the back burner. And although I know too well that this job involves a great deal of risk, I remain confident that this job will lead me to a place I've been praying for.


My new job is Pregnancy #4 and I'm excited but scared to death.

Goodbye Grandpa

Today you went to Heaven and I couldn't be happier for you. I know you have been desperately waiting to be reunited with Grandma for years. Thank you for taking me in as your own. I will forever wear Grandma's ring with honor.

Uh...What Just Happened?

This whole "Back to School" thing is really cramping my style. My body is in a perpetual state of shock and I'm sick of hitting the sack at 11:30pm or later, only to wake up all bright eyed, bushy tailed, and rather ticked at 3am. For some odd reason, I feel the need to write down these random thoughts that plague my mind at 3am. In pitch darkness, I write profound things like, "fish" and "straw" on a notepad. Now, the "fish" part is understandable because I really will forget to take the fish out of the freezer unless I write it down. However, the "straw" part is just silly as I am convinced...did I mention at 3am?...that I need a straw for my morning smoothie to decrease the risk of blueberry and strawberry seeds embarassingly lodging themselves between my teeth. Really? Who does that? Alas, time marches on, my imprisonment school officially begins Monday, and things will begin to "settle" down. Until then, I will continue to tend to my wounds and battle scars each night (read: paper cuts) and just hope for the best.

Oh, and to the lady that found this site by searching "must get pregnant or go insane", I say...amen.

Ugh...

My head is spinning and it aches. I feel dizzy. My neck aches. My belly feels like it might blow at any given moment.

We can either chalk this up to nasty Clomid and the two (yes, I said two!) big follicles I currently have. Or, we can say it is a nasty case of the I Don't Want To Go Back To Work Tomorrows.

Either way, I feel like a dog.

The Bathroom Tells Me So

I don't normally find luck in a bathroom, but yesterday was a little different. I reach for the toilet paper and there, sitting upon the holder, was a nice little piece of paper. A fortune to be exact. And this is what it said...

You will have a beautiful family.

Girl's Beach Weekend

August Resolutions

1. I will remain calm despite adversity.
2. I will bite my tongue when necessary.
3. I will overcome fear and say things that are necessary.
4. I will be productive in the last days before school starts.
5. I will draw lines where lines should have been drawn long ago.
6. I will stop allowing myself to be bullied and brought down.
7. I will spend time relaxing and not feel guilty.
8. I will help others as much as I have been helped in the past.
9. I will be open to change.
10. I will accept new friends with open arms.

Just Let Me Do This...

Because, frankly, I'm a little ticked.

WHAT ELSE DO YOU WANT FROM US???

We've tried everything. We eat healthy, organic foods and have for the past 2 years. I don't salt my food, I eat the correct amount of fruits and vegetables daily, and I try to avoid dairy in large amounts (okay, not ice cream). We haven't used anything other than non-toxic chemicals in our house for over 2 years - even down to my shampoo. I go to acupuncture...I've even started taking the damn herbs. I have avoided yoga and pilates (at Dr. request and against my will!), and didn't do Urban Assault even though I was dying to. I listen to the Bible on my I-Pod (I fall asleep reading it, sorry God.) I've read The Complete Organic Pregnancy book cover to cover. Hell, I've read tons of books. I teach children to read, write, be inquisitive about life and to love others. I drink a lot of water. I regularly attend church. I tithe...even though we are soon going to rent our house out for a year and MOVE IN WITH MY MOM since infertility has us so far in debt we can't see straight. (Yes, you read that right.) I don't drink alcohol, haven't had a Coke in 3 months, I practice deep breathing, visualization, and all that BS. I get 8 hours of sleep, avoid unnecessary medication, I've never smoked, and I pray. A lot.

Don't tell me we're trying too hard. Don't tell me to "relax", that I'm young, that it will happen when the time is right, to just believe, that it wasn't meant to be before, to enjoy the time I have alone, that stress makes it worse, that our losses were "for the best", to stay positive, or to "just" adopt. I don't want to hear what your friend's cousin's aunt did to get pregnant, that I need to "enjoy" trying, or I just need to take a vacation. It's best not to tell me how easy you get pregnant or how you have to be really careful since your husband looks at you and you are pregnant. It's best not to tell me that you will just die if you don't have the sex of baby that you wish to have next, or about the twins and triplets your friend just had.

I can't walk in my neighborhood, go to the store, to a restaurant, to church, to work, to the gym, listen to the radio, have a face to face conversation, drive in a car, talk on the phone, read my email, or watch tv without the constant reminder of what I do not have or the reminder of what I could have had. It's tiring. It weighs heavily on me. It's a burden I try to give to God, but have not quite figured out how to release myself from.

Don't stop calling me if I don't answer. Sometimes it is just too much to pick up the phone. If I smile and it doesn't seem genuine, don't be hurt. If I seem distant, don't take it the wrong way. Don't judge me. A mother's grief after losing four babies is raw, primal, deep, and as a good friend once said...normal and necessary. I cry a lot...you just don't see it. I can put on a happy face and for the most part, it's real. But, if I get quiet in a conversation, be sensitive. We may be talking about teaching, cooking, or shopping...but I will be thinking about my babies. My mind will be wrapped around their faces, their fingers, their toes. Don't stop talking to me. Don't tiptoe around me or ignore the whole thing altogether. It's nice if you acknowledge Kinsey and Ryan. I will probably cry right then and there, but it's not like I wasn't thinking about them 2 seconds before. Don't stop talking about your children because I love them and celebrate each of their milestones right along with you. Don't hold it from me if you are pregnant or fret over how I am going to handle it...just don't rub it in. Tell me that this sucks and that you are praying for us. That's about all that you can say.

By now, if you know me in real life, you might be thinking I am writing this about you. However, I am not. Yes, all of the above things have been said to me, and I know that I've said some myself before I became a case study in infertility. I'm writing to get it out so my head does not explode. I don't write any of this for your sympathy or for attention - if you know me, you only have this address because it alleviates some of the stress of communicating the progress in person or on the phone. I'm writing because I am angry, bitter, and very jealous. I'm writing so tomorrow I can come that much closer to putting on a happy face and meaning it all day long. I'm writing so My Babe can know my innermost thoughts when I act irrational, short, distant and quiet. I'm writing to educate others on the excruciating pain of infertility. I'm writing because I don't want to lose hope, I don't want to lose faith, and this is the only way I can get through it. I write this for my sweet babies, to honor their lives and to mourn the loss. I write to heal. I write this for me.

100% NEGATIVE

Enough said?

Watch Out People!

Soon this will be me for only $9.97 a year.

Dinner With The Peeps

Just a Little Math For Ya

If Melissa is pulled in x directions at a rate of y + 5,431 per minute, how long will it take Melissa to go insane?

Please choose from the following options:

a. What do you mean? Melissa never goes insane. 3 days
b. 7 days
c. .5 seconds
d. Melissa stays insane.

Unfortunately, I think we all know the correct answer.

The Power of Rice Socks

Warning: Bring a rice sock within 15 yards of my body and I might unleash a full blown crying spell.

I cleaned out the babies room today. I say babies because that's just what was going to be in there - two babies. I know it will turn into the baby's room someday, but for now it is still for my sweet babies that never came home. You would think a lot of things might send me into a crying frenzy while accomplishing this task. The sonogram pictures, the sonogram video, the maternity clothes, the picture frames we were given, the outfits that came in twos since most were determined to dress the babies alike against my will, the baby booties, the twin magazines and books, the diapers my mother bought by the droves (and judging by her garage, she still buys), the cards of congratulations, the pictures of My Babe's family with their mouths gaping open after we told them I was pregnant, the samples of formula, the initial announcement that Dr. Jerk thought we were having two boys, or the books we bought for each baby, The Gift of an Angel.

No, those did not send me into a conniption (hey, that's really in the dictionary!) fit. What did, however, were rice socks. You see, those rice socks were my saving grace during the intense nausea and extreme back pain. There was nothing like the fresh-out-of-the-microwave feeling to relieve me from the hell I had come to know as pregnancy. I never left the house without a steaming hot rice sock tucked behind my back and sides, even when driving short distances. My Babe would heat up 5 of those suckers each night and we would build Fort Knox around my body with rice socks and pillows. And, ultimately, rice socks pulled me through the last night at home. The night I should have gone to the hospital. The night I should have listened to my body. The night I could have changed the outcome of the pregnancy. The night I failed Kinsey, Ryan, My Babe and myself.

Don't tell me differently, because I'll never believe it. Don't tell me I did the best I could because I didn't. Yes, I did not know what to expect or what to feel, but I did know that those babies were going to come sooner than they should. I read premature labor books cover to cover. I did not contact a perinatologist even though my gut told me to. I did not stop working just to please the parents of the kids in my class even though my gut told me to. I continued to be on my feet because Dr. Jerk said I should even though my gut told me to rest. I constantly told myself to "suck it up." I was stubborn, naive, and just plain stupid.

The sight of the rice socks brought me back to that night. And while I think of that night, oh...every 10 seconds of the day, I allowed myself to dwell on it for a little while. To dwell on the greatest loss I have ever felt, the feeling of holding those sweet babies in my arms, the sight of their long legs and toes, the memory of what could have been, and the hope and faith for what is still to come.

So, for all of you thinking of bringing a rice sock within my scope anytime soon, you are agreeing to deal with the dire consequences. You have been warned.

Planes, Trains, Automobiles...and Follicles

After a two hour delay, we were off to Indiana and I snuggled in next to My Babe for a please-let-me-sleep nap. I awoke from a slight snooze to the sound of screaming -definitely not something you want to hear on an airplane. I hear a fizzing sound and immediately think we have blown a gasket or a terrorist has unleashed a serious gas bomb and we are going down. I look back to see the flight attendant crouching on the floor, holding a spewing object. Turns out it was only a Coke.

The rest of the flight was uneventful and we arrived at the car rental place. We go through the usual of declining insurance coverage, declining the gas tank fill-up, declining the upgrade, just give me the car already, declining the convertible...wait...convertible? So, we splurge, telling ourselves that grandpa will really like it. I almost back out when she says the car is orange, which is a complete and utter no-no in my Aggie family, but we proceed with the papers and head out to the ever so flashy car. Anyone that knows me can tell you that I strive 99% of the day to NOT be noticed and nothing helps out that phobia like an orange convertible. We should have twitched just a little when we could not fit our suitcase in the trunk, nor in the back of the car with the top up. But, noooo, we proceed. I get into the extremely low seats, cannot see a damn thing, sit on my Mogu, put on my huge you-can't-see-me sunglasses, and prepare myself for a flurry of looks as people encounter the burnt-orange bomb. I'm terrified as we pull out onto the highway because:

1) I've never been in a convertible. On the highway.
2) In light of recent events, car accidents are always on my mind.
3) I keep playing a roll over, smashed head scene in my mind.
4) I'm waaaaay exposed in this car. People can see me.

My Babe, master of distraction, questions me:

My Babe: "Do you know why that street is called 'Stop 13'?"
Me: "I have no idea."
My Babe: "Well, a long time ago, there used to be a railroad system here and this was (you guessed it) Stop 13 for the trains."
Me (approaching another stop light): "Hmmm...interesting."
My Babe: "Do you know why that street is called 'Stop 11'?"

We push through and arrive at the nursing home. The guest quarters rival hotels in which we have stayed...very nice to say the least. We venture over to grandpa's room and decide to take him out to supper, wheelchair and all. I pull the car around to the front, top down, smiling, knowing this is going to be great. Grandpa settles in the front and we proceed to fold the wheelchair...that doesn't fit in the car. Immediately tickle machine kicks in and we cannot stop laughing uncontrollably as we try to maneuver around the wheelchair beast. Finally, I squeeze in the backseat, half on/half off the seat. My Babe folds himself into an accordion, gets in the driver's side, and we're off - still completely hysterical as the wheelchair is sticking up 3 feet in the air, wheels flapping in the wind. Did I mention I do not like to draw attention to myself? Ultimately, the orange beauty gave us a ton of laughs and grandpa liked the sun and wind on him. We also took My Babe's grandma for a spin as she carefully protected her hair with my jacket. I grew fond of the convertible, comfortable with the top down, but never in love with the color.

And now, we are back home with good news to report on the reproduction front. I had a size 22mm follicle today and a plump lining. Give it up for the herbs! We'll do the Ovidrel shot to release the follicle tonight and IUI on Monday. For now, I'm tired. Planes, trains, automobiles, and follicles have me spent.

Goodbye My Sweet Kitty

I'm sick of bad days. We put my cat, Wrangler, down today because he recently developed cancer and was in pain. He was a sweet cat (most of the time), but definitely enjoyed ambushing me in his younger years. We got him when he was a few weeks old and had him for 14 years.

And, to make things even better today...no mature follicles. We will recheck on Saturday after our trip to Indiana (sans the thrill for the oldies) and then move to injectables. I'm sick of bad days.

Giving The Oldies A Thrill

Ever conceived in a nursing home? As luck would have it, thanks to my ever-so-sweet cycle, I might do just that. I finished the hellish Clomid and Dr. V. will check follicles on Monday. If all goes according to plan (ha!), My Babe will give me the Ovidrel injection on Monday, making our optimal conception time for Wednesday. Impeccable timing as we are visiting My Babe's grandpa in Indiana...in a nursing home. Being that we are money conscientious in mega debt, we are staying in the guest quarters at the nursing home. This should make for an interesting trip for all. Never a dull moment around here.

We're Back!

July Resolutions

1. I will focus on cooking again.
2. I will continue swimming.
3. I will help mom with her house and the maintenance it needs.
4. I will clean out the kitchen cabinets.
5. I will no longer accept debt as a way of life.
6. I will stare opportunity straight in the face and refuse, no matter how much I try, refuse to close the door.
7. I will have courage to defeat my fears.
8. I will not let others fears, misunderstandings, and attitudes guide my thinking.

A Big Fat Negative

Bummer. I'm mainly sad that I am not able to get as much of the "morning" sickness out of the way during the summer. However, I have been so lucky in the past with getting pregnant easily. It will happen next time and that will be the time that it sticks for good. Oh well, at least I can eat a pound of lunch meat without the threat of Listeria, go white water rafting, and swing out over the Royal Gorge on our vacation next week if I feel like it.

Death, Be Gone With You

I didn't sleep last night, just like most of the people in my immediate part of the world, I'm sure. I wrote in my head, tossed and turned, dreamed of at least 3 different car accidents, and stared at My Babe sleeping soundly beside me (and thank you, dear God, for that.) I need not be reminded of the brief time we have on this earth with our loved ones. I think about that every time I kiss My Babe as he walks out the door to one of the riskiest jobs around. I do not rest until he walks back in the door again. I know that each day I have with my family, my team, my friends might be my last. And somehow, I forget that all at the same time. I forget to live in the moment, to choose kindness, to love unconditionally, to give the benefit of the doubt, and to give freely to others.

Nothing brings it home more than death.

Three of our teachers were killed in a car accident yesterday.

Susan, our speech therapist, loved our team and always wanted to teach with us. According to her, we were her favorite team. Our neighbor until just recently, she and her husband had just moved to their dream home. She couldn't wait for us to come over for a pool party. She worked closely with our kindergarten children and did an amazing job with them.

Pat, our counselor, was probably the most well dressed counselor in the world. Always organized, always proper, and always ready to party. Pat dancing at Nat's wedding was quite a sight to behold. I think we all nearly peed in our pants from laughter that night. Pat and I always joked at how we couldn't look at each other during meetings because, inevitably, one of us would make a face and set the other one off laughing at an inappropriate time.

Debbie, a first grade teacher, taught kindergarten with us for a couple of years. Never have I met a woman more capable than Debbie of being a successful stand-up comedian. Teaching with Debbie kept us hysterical on most days. Like Pat, she was always well dressed, never repeating an outfit within a year's time span. Recess in a full mink coat posed quite a few laughs, as well as her stories of porridge (beef stew to her) and using striped toothpaste and Bisquick to fill in holes in apartment ceilings and walls (in Texas...in the summer...you get the picture).

Susan, Pat, and Debbie...you are loved and will be missed.

So Far...That Would Be a Negative

We'll find out for sure on Wednesday.

My Shadow

My Babe gladly takes backseat to all of my many emotions, trials, and tribulations. We seem to be consumed with my moods, my infertility, and my everything. When I find myself wallowing in the sorrow of losing our babies, I have to remind myself that I am not the only one that has lost four children. My Babe may not have experienced the pregnancies and deliveries first hand, but he held my hand throughout. I know the thoughts plaque his mind daily - the "What ifs?" and the "Whys?" I know he hurts.

Today was a day made especially for My Babe. He got to pick what we ate (a once in a lifetime opportunity...I assure you), he got to pick what we did/did not do. He was completely in charge of the day. It felt so nice and made me feel sad at the same time. How is it that I have grown so far from taking care of him and his needs/wants? This was a great day to bring me back to my senses.

The message at church today was exactly on target for everything I know without a doubt My Babe will be when he has the chance to parent. He will be the most present, committed provider, protector, mentor and friend. I cannot wait to experience it with him.

Happy Father's Day to My Babe, my shadow, and the best daddy ever to our four angels in Heaven.

I'm Not Sick...But I'm Not Well

I don't know how to get past it.

I don't know how to rid myself of the poisonous nervous stomach that paralyzes me for no apparent reason.

I haven't fully enjoyed my marriage to summer yet because of it. I think I'm consciously sabotaging myself and I need a swift kick in the rear. My head spins, my stomach churns, I dread going anywhere and seeing anyone, and I am not even close to productive. I've pushed myself hard this summer - trying to find a solution to our debt, "learning" how to swim, and forcing myself to do things completely out of my comfort zone. I've tried to lower my expectations, but it doesn't help the constant whirlwind inside my head and the sickness I feel. Exercise has helped tremendously, but not enough to maintain the feeling throughout the day. After seeing my awesome acupuncturist today, I felt better than I have since my marriage to summer began. I really only have a few things to feel sick about...nothing life threatening for sure. Nothing that should cause such anxiety that I'm on the verge of losing it.

The dreaded "Two Week Wait", the limbo between knowing if I am pregnant or not, isn't even really concerning me. It's the small potatoes that haunt me. I called a counselor that my acupuncturist recommends today. I am anxious (surprise!) to talk with her and develop strategies to tackle this monster sans my beloved Pink Pills.

Celebrating Our Third Anniversary

We celebrated our third anniversary at Trois Estate yesterday. Fredricksburg is our special place since we got engaged at the top of Enchanted Rock. We found Trois Estate (across from Enchanted Rock) three years ago and have returned every year since.

Maturing A Little More Each Day

I had my first swim class today. Let's just say that I was in a little bit of a foul mood about it before going. I don't like new people, I don't like new places, I don't like being incompetent, and I certainly don't like a nervous stomach. Let's get this straight...I know how to swim, but I would like to get better at technique and most importantly - breathing properly.

This afternoon I managed to once again work myself into such a frenzy about this new risk that I was taking that I almost didn't go. It didn't make things any better when I hear my name screamed across the entire pool by the sweet father and family of a kindergartner I taught this past year. A brief conversation ensues...

Him: "Mrs. V! What are YOU doing here?"

Me: "Oh, well I'm just taking a swim class."

Him: "You don't know how to swim?!?!?"

Me: "Well, yes, I can swim but I'm not too great at the breathing thing while swimming freestyle. I'm a little nervous."

Him: "Wow! Everyone should know how to swim. I mean, that's a survival skill! That's great that you are learning!"

Me: "Well, actually, I know how to swim, I just want to get better."

Him: "Oh, I can't believe it! That is great that you are trying to learn!"

Me: "Yes, I'm sure trying!"

Him (talking to daughter): "________, tell Mrs. V. not to be nervous!"

Does it matter that he thinks I can't swim? Absolutely not - and it was a great lesson in "just let it be." I tried to enjoy the moment of seeing him and the rest of the family... of course while slightly freaking out on the inside as I am standing there in a bathing suit. After all the negativity, nerves, and non-necessary nincompoopery, the swim class went well. Even after they called the Nitro Swimming instructor over to help me with my breathing and we proceeded to bob up and down like children.

Risk-taking is not my cup of tea. I like the known, predictable and common. It sounds silly at the ripe young age of 31 to be so extremely afraid of new adventures and new situations. However, I am pushing myself a little more each day. Now I must learn to change my thinking in order to change my life. I must work on the negative thoughts that plague my being, freeze my insides, and make things so much harder for me than they should be.

Yes, I'm maturing a little more each day.

Wanna know what else is maturing? The big fat beast of a follicle Dr. V. found today. Yippee! I will take the Ovidrel shot tonight!

Hurdle One...Check.

So, I successfully jumped hurdle one without face planting. Dr. V. reports that there is no more scar tissue(!) and that everything looks great. At one point he thought he saw polyps on our scan, which would completely not surprise me, but after checking with a radiologist, he is confident everything is fine.

Now for hurdle two. We will go in on Monday to check for mature follicles. Clomid better have done its thing because this time I'm not playing around.

Prayers for today are as follows:

*Melissa will make it through a 48 hour shift without My Babe and will not shed one tear.
*Follicles are maturing like a beast inside of me.
*Melissa will remain productive, calm and rational in the wake of the hellish Clomid.

WHY??

Why didn't we spend more time holding the babies? Why didn't we take more pictures? Why didn't we see them again before we left the hospital? Why didn't we get a casket? Why didn't we have a memorial service? Why don't I talk about them more? Why don't I write about them more?

What in the world were we thinking??

I don't know when these questions will stop plaguing me on a daily basis. I don't think they ever will.

We can't ever take it back. I want to hold them. I want pictures of their tiny hands. I want pictures of their long toes and legs just like My Babe's. I'm sick.

Grief strikes me so hard, so quick, out of nowhere. It immobilizes me. I am thankful that it is summer and I can cry without having to do so while speed peeing in the classroom bathroom for once.

The hurt is deeper than I have ever known.

Why?

Meme

I've been tagged for a meme by, Lori, a mother of 5 children...3 earthly and 2 sweet babies, Molly and Joseph, born and lost at 23 weeks just like our Kinsey and Ryan. Lori has also lost her father, so it seems we have a lot in common.

What I'm told is that a meme in blogland is a series of statements that begin with "I am..."

So, without further ado...

I am a flip-flop lover. Everyday. All day.

I am a leader at school, but not really in life.

I am a thinker, a questioner, and a wonderer. Thank goodness, for My Babe who answers my questions with great patience.

I am scared of opportunity and what could possibly be.

I am a recurrent dreamer of vomit - at least three times a month. Don't ask.

I am completely anal retentive about the placement of the pillows on our couch. Sometimes I think of them at night and know that they are downstairs, out of order.

I am determined.

I am an extreme lover of all animals, elderly, and people with special needs. So much so, that is causes me physical pain to see one of the three in need.

I am stubborn.

I am quick to anger...but working on it.

I am strong on the outside with my grief, but so weak on the inside. I miss my babies with every ounce of my soul, every single second of the day.

I am introverted and shy. I need to learn how to loosen up and have more fun.

I am so in love with My Babe.

I am going to be a mother someday.