I Had a Miscarriage

I've been mulling this one over in my head for awhile. Usually, while I am cleaning or cooking or trying to sleep, I write letters in my head. I've always been too in my own head. When I was young it was dreaming up what I would say to someone I had a crush on, how to win friends and influence people. Now, it's angry words, diatribes, apologies, soap-boxes. This past week, I have been trying to find purpose in what seems purposeless.

I found out about 3 weeks ago that I was pregnant.
I found out a week ago that I was miscarrying that baby.
I've gone through about every emotion I can imagine in the past three weeks.
On September 1st, due to extreme user error on my husband's part, we had a condom malfunction.
Shit, I thought, I am pregnant now. No way, said my husband, reasoning that I had just finished my period like three days earlier.
But I knew better.
His family has a fertility problem. They are way fertile. Like way way fertile.
And so I took tests. Probably too many tests, all said negative. And finally on the 17th I got a pregnant result. Even though I suspected I was pregnant, it blew my mind. I had decided firmly against having any more children. I had been bugging my husband to get a vasectomy (its outpatient for guys, in-patient for girls, plus I've already had enough pain associated with that region of my body thank you very much). And now I was pregnant again. My husband was overjoyed. Maybe I will finally get a girl, I thought.
This had to be a gift from God. We used protection (even if used poorly), I was no where near ovulating (at least so I thought), and here I was pregnant anyway. God must have great things planned for this baby.



The reactions from many friends and family were not great.
I got asked if I had considered the day-after pill.
I was asked if I was pro-life.
I got asked if this meant my husband and I were staying together now.
Maybe this is a similar reaction that many people get, but it was jarring. I wasn't proclaiming- I'm pregnant what should I do? Instead I was saying I'm pregnant.
I'm not throwing everyone under the bus. Many people were excited or feigned excitement. That definitely helped get through the bad reactions.
Now I was rearranging all of my life plans, as one would when faced with a life-changing decision. Baby names, how to procure baby items similar to what I had just finally cleared out of the basement and donated, midwife appointment, sleeping arrangements for three kids instead of just two.

And just like that, it was all over.

Normal spotting turned into bleeding. I called my midwife, and her secretary walked me through what to expect with a miscarriage. She had just suffered one at around 6 weeks, like me. Not like me, I thought. This is not what is happening. This is just from stress.

Stress? Oh you mean like your family member coming out of detox, which set you and your husband back $1350, only to drink himself near death for the following 11 days. The phone call that you have to hurry home so your husband can go check on him, since he's incredibly intoxicated worrying about people trying to kill him if he doesn't place a bet. Your husband having to leave you to call the midwife and inquire about your bleeding so he can pick his family member up from the psych ward that he has checked himself out of, claiming he was never suicidal and his .37 BAC level was not a form of self-harm. Trying not to sob in front of your visiting friend and your children when you get the news that you are miscarrying, and your husband is at the pharmacy trying to get meds for his family member's DTs (but thank God that my friend was visiting. I'm sure she didn't thoroughly enjoy being in drama central while there was psych ward/drinking drama and miscarriages, but she was invaluable.).

Even when we were getting the ultrasound and the tech said there was nothing in my womb, when I got up from the table and noticed excessive blood on the sheet, my husband said he was still holding out hope. When I got the numbers back and my hCG level was 32 (what it would be, say, soon after conception), he said he was still hoping. I allowed myself the thought that maybe this was not happening. Two days later, I went in for more labs and the numbers came back at 14. That's when I stopped hoping.
This was happening.
Or is happening.
From the lack of anything in my womb, it happened weeks ago.
How long have I been kidding myself that I was pregnant?


Then came the fun task of telling everyone that I was no longer pregnant.
Now I understand why people wait til 12 or 13 weeks.
I had two healthy beautiful little boys. I'm lucky. Some women can't conceive. Some spend years trying to get pregnant, coping with miscarriage after miscarriage. If I had been 9 weeks or more, I'm told the pain of miscarrying would have been a lot closer to labor instead of a bad period. I'm lucky, I guess.

I don't feel very lucky. I feel messy. I have too many emotions. Mournful, angry, disappointed, embarrassed, bitter, relieved, guilt, pain. I can't sort through it. I didn't have the time to mourn it properly with my husband, as he was moving the belongings out of his family member's house, trying to clean it up so the girlfriend could get some security deposit back. It's kinda too late to mourn it now, as he's a guy and he's over it. His vasectomy has been scheduled for about a month now, and I definitely don't want to try again. I didn't want another kid, but having one taken from me has me wondering what I'm supposed to feel.

What's God's plan with all this?

Interventions and Co-opting the Story

My best friend and I had a discussion after September 11th about social media on that day. Everyone feels the need to state where they were when it happened (the attack on the Twin Towers, by the way), how they feel now, how great America is. The issue, my friend stated, is the co-opting of the story. Many people died. Their loved ones were directly impacted. One might say we were all impacted in a way, but it's really their story.
I've been thinking way too much about the co-opting of story. For example, I had anorexia pretty badly in 9th grade. It impacted my life. But my mother, while she didn't have anorexia, was deeply impacted by my eating disorder. Is she not allowed to have a say in the story of an eating disorder? If she wanted to write an article about how anorexia impacted her, it would be truthful as it is coming from her perspective, living with a daughter with a hidden eating disorder. What about people from my school? Could they claim they were impacted by my eating disorder, even though they weren't me, they weren't family, and they had little or nothing to do with me? Where do we draw the line of what is acceptable for impact, and what is not?

All this is muddle around to what I'm going through at the moment. It isn't my story. It's not in my day-to-day existence. But it is still impacting me greatly.
I have a family member who is a heroin addict.
Heroin.
That's pretty big. And apparently the face of heroin is no longer what it was when I was growing up, because this young man isn't what I would ever consider a heroin addict. And yet, here he is.
Is it co-opting his story to be upset? Or his ex girlfriend who has 3 kids with him, all under the age of 4? She has suffered the worst through all of this (and I'm sorry, I know addiction is a horrible illness, but it's an all-consuming selfish thing), having to pay for everything, going back to work like 4 weeks after she gave birth because she had no financial help from him. She knew about his drinking problem and guessed that he had a pill problem, but this whole heroin thing came out of nowhere and quickly escalated. She left as soon as she knew, as anyone would, but she's left living with one of her family members in a less-than-ideal situation because she has to work overtime just to pay her bills and provide her kids with food and daycare. She told me about finding the burnt spoons, the belt around his arm. I told my husband, who moved to swift action. I contacted their last involved relative, who wanted me to get everyone together for an intervention. I called around to clinics to find where he could go to detox, what the costs were, what options for financial help we could find.
This isn't my story, but I'm involved.
He doesn't know I'm involved. No one besides my husband and his girlfriend probably know that I'm involved. Maybe it's better that he doesn't. When my husband's mother was dying and I was pregnant with my first, I did everything I could. I was over at her house at least 3 times a week bringing her food, trying to clean up, paying her bills, running her business, knocking myself out. And I couldn't save her. She still died. Can I save him? Probably not. This isn't my family. Maybe it's better that I do what I can from behind the scenes.
That's not to say that I don't care. I care so much. While I'm cooking, cleaning, trying to get to sleep, I'm writing these epic letters in my head. What I would say to him. How I could help. Words that might just resonate and get him to clean up.
I can't stop.

I've seen my fair share of A&E's Intervention. I used to watch it every week. I would be filled with nausea and dread while watching it, regardless of the addiction. My heart ached for these addicts. My heart ached for their families. I saw what worked and what didn't. I don't know what will work, what words will influence him, and what will make him angry, make him feel unsupported, alone, hopeless. What if I wrote a letter that just pissed him off, or worse, made him feel like what right do I have to say anything to him.
And so I relay messages to my husband, try to get information about rehab, try to find supportive things to say.

But I have so little supportive things to say.

I'm mad.


Why do we keep getting hit with this crap? When does this family get cut some slack? Philandering, alcoholic, abandoning father, mother killed by cancer, history of family addiction. Great. Hooray. Like the Kennedy's but without any money. Much less romantic that way.

What do I say? What do I do?

What would you say, what have you said?

Sweet Sweet Irony

Since I quit my job in February, I have been forced to face the reality of the job market.

As in - the job market sucks.
Oh no it isn't, the recovery is great, says you with a great job or a rich hubby.
Yeah shove it.
I remember when I was 250 applications past pathetic after I got my Master's, there was a chime everywhere apparently to get thee to a grad school. Hahaha. I am rolling in my seat. When you have applied for over 250 jobs and haven't received a call back on more than one (that would be me, folks), you start feeling like the set-up for a bad joke.

And now I'm right back there again. Except I have this unexplained missing time from my work experience. What was she doing for 3 years? And it's not like I can write "having kids" since that's info they supposedly don't want, but info they will use to damn me just the same. God bless all these women popping out puppies and then shlepping themselves back to work so they can have a decent job. The rest of us, who thought we were doing the "right" thing by our kids, have instead crippled our careers. Or at least set them back 5-10 years.

I went to an all-day training class that was supposed to help provide me the skills that employers would seek. Instead it was full of staff members from a large local employer, who all told me I just need to work their sales phones for "a few years" to put in my time to travel the ranks. Oh really? I got a Master's so I could work for $10/hr for two years and give more money to daycare than I would bring home? Tempting.

And THEN the TOPPER on the GIANT JOB CAKE:

So I've applied to maybe 20-30 jobs in the past month, and actually putting effort into it. I've been tailoring my resume, rewriting the cover letter, filling out completely needless iterations of my resume and then attaching my resume since I love exercises in futility. Yesterday I get asked by a woman that I have met once to chat with her. Mind you, my husband met her when he took the kids to the park down the street, she has two boys who he said were well behaved, and she invited us to her older boy's bday party that we didn't end up attending. So basically random stranger asks me to talk with her. I'm weirded out by it because I don't know her but my husband says I'm being a weirdo. She didn't want a playmate, just to speak with me. I decide ok I will be a decent human being and go meet her. She then asks me to provide daycare for her 10 month old full time and her 4 year old on Fridays.

She met me once when I walked by her house with my family.

Is this weird or is it just me? I guess it's no more weird than putting an ad on craigslist or up at the local college, but the difference being I didn't ask, I don't know her, I didn't solicit. And, I do NOT want to do daycare. I don't even like my kids, let alone some strangers kids. And what do I do if they are sick or my kids are sick? Ugh. No. Just no. So apparently, moral of the story, the only jobs I can get are the ones I haven't applied for.

Oh look, a pint of Ben and Jerry's.

Fat Lazy Slob- i.e.: Don't EFF with My Family

My sister and I haven't always gotten along.

Like say the entirety of high school.

Or when we were in junior high and she chased me with a butcher knife. 

Ah the joys of youth.

And being one year younger than my big sister.

Once we had kids, we actual realized we have more in common than we don't have in common.

We understand how truly weird our parents are.

As our family always said- I'm an idiot and she's my biggest fan.

And while I love her, she can drive me batshit crazy. I can just assume she meant something or sense a tone in her voice and it's done. I'm pissed. We can fight over the silliest things, yell, and then magically we are over it. The joys of family- they are family regardless.

And BECAUSE she is my sister, I am allowed to be grumpy and upset, or to say crap about her.

But don't for ONE. SECOND. Think that you can say ANYTHING about her. OH YES IT IS AN ALL CAPS MOMENT my friends.

She did something I'm not exactly in support of, but once you have kids you understand-

She left her kids in the car (it was about 60 out, early afternoon, so it's not like it was hot) to run inside a store, grab an item, and pay for it. In total, she may have been away from the car for about 5 minutes max. Now I am the ocd worrier who would think of someone crashing into my car or trying to steal my children, so I wouldn't do this. But I understand why she did. They are 4 and 6, loud, bratty, similar or equivalent to my children (just older). 

When she came back to her car, a man in his truck next to her berated her for leaving her children in the car. She responded, "They are my children and you should mind your own business". That's a step better than I would have said, and also had no swears.

He responded by calling her a fat lazy slob and said he was going to report her.

UM WHAT

I could kill this piece of crap bastard. First of all, the nerve. He said he noted it. Great. It wasn't hot, no one was crying, it wasn't a long time. Second, the hypocrisy. She said when she got there his dog was in the car without him. Oh so it's good enough for your dog but not for human children? Third, he's sitting in his truck sucking on a cigarette berating my sister? Imma murder him. 

It just reiterates the vastly different standards that men impose on women. She was dressed nicely, had makeup on, did her hair. Maybe she could stand to drop a few lbs, but what mother with children, especially young children, couldn't say the same?

And lazy?

OH YOU HAVE NO IDEA

My sister has been working full time while putting herself through nursing school, currently working nights in the maternity ward, and taking care of her kids during the day.

You are the most ignorant person in the history of persons I have called out on the internet, sir. 

I've definietly had my share of "helpful" people giving me unsolicited parenting advice. But insults? Fat-shaming? No.

And what do you think will stick with her? The words of love and support from her family? Smiles and hugs from her kids? Accolades on the job? Good grades?

Or some verbally abusive misogynist bullcrap from a random stranger?

It just makes me sick that one person could, with a few words, cut down a person I love so much and who has done so much for me. 

I'm done with humanity for the night.

Living with someone with issues

This is most likely too personal of a post. Oh well.
A blogger I follow writes about her dramatic childhood in a cult, and how she suffers PTSD and other issues, like depression and anxiety. She talks about having bad days or even weeks, withdrawing, needing to sleep or retreat.
She makes it feel all very compelling and horrible. Which it is. This isn't to minimize that at all.
But there is another side of the story- her husband.
He is married to someone that retreats, that needs to curl up in her shell, so to speak. She withdraws, sleeps, does whatever she needs to make it. Her husband is left to deal with everything else. The house. The kids. That is a lot of pressure.

I'm writing this because I am living with a person with issues.
As long as I've known my husband, he has had issues. That's sorta what drew me to him- I liked complicated. I liked wounded. I had a significantly misplaced Florence Nightingale syndrome. When I first met him he had blown out his knee and could barely walk, if that tells ya how big my issues are (and perhaps he feels he is living with a person with issues, but I'll explain the difference later).

Other issues?
Hmm-
father abandoning the family after cheating on his wife
verbal and emotional abuse of his mother by his father during his formative years
strict religious upbringing
death of his mother from cancer which she chose to treat naturally
no communication from any of his father's side during or after her death
father a raging alcoholic
just to name a few.

And he withdraws. He retreats. He sleeps. Excessively. Granted, it has improved in the past 5 years. But that's like saying the cancer has improved. It's still cancer. The sleep drags on from morning into afternoon. It starts and nap time and stretches into dinner. It takes up days of work, family time. And the drinking to deal with issues. The constant "I'm going to quit" and never quitting. The "you could have it so much worse" explanations. How he isn't mean since he isn't calling me a c*nt like his dad called his mom. That he doesn't drink near as much as his dad did. And then I start feeling guilty. Maybe I am a princess. Maybe I do expect too much.
And I deal with it. I take the boys to the park, go to playdates, do what I can. They say "where's papa" and I tell them "sleeping" if I just can't figure out something better to say. I worry incessantly that they will develop his sleeping problems, his drinking problems, his compartmentalizing of emotions, like how my eldest's eyes changed from blue to green when he was 2. The genetics will be too strong and win out.
I worry.
I clean to help with the worry.

I get yelled at for saying anything because dammit he is working on it or dammit he wants to change or dammit he isn't even sleeping that much or he needed to drink because it was a long day or his back hurts.
And I'm alone.
By myself.
While the person I'm living with who has issues is trying to deal with their issues.
I guess I wait around hoping that someday it will be different.

Maybe he does too.

On Being Quiet and Lies

I'm a talker.
And a massive over sharer. So much oversharing. Yeah I'm a bit deprived (and depraved) now that I'm back to full time staying at home (minus two days a week that I clean for a couple hours in the evening- that is over soon and doesn't truly count).

I'm also a Christian. I was raised Methodist, dabbled in Charismatic I suppose, and am back to confused and nondenominational. The thing that has me super challenged (SUPER) is this notion I keep reading/hearing about the power of the tongue.

I'm definitely not confused about the Bible's point on the power of the tongue- life and death is in the power of the tongue, it's the rudder that steers your whole body, what proceeds out of your mouth is what you are on the inside, etc. Got it. But there are so many (too many) pastors and speakers who talk about what I essentially believe is lying.

Now wait a minute, sweet Pastor isn't advocating lying.

Sure s/he isn't, sure. Sarcasm.

They are saying to speak positive words, to speak what you want your situation to be. My mother-in-law, when dying of cancer, would not discuss her sickness at all. She was being HEALED by the Lord and to say otherwise or discuss other treatments would be showing your doubt. And DOUBT means you WON'T get your HEALING. Sorry for the caps but this just was so upsetting to me. Not then, because I tried to be the good daughter-in-law. I prayed (boy howdy did I pray, like it was my job and rent was due), I spoke positive words, but I doubted. And for awhile I thought it was my fault that she died. Because I had doubt. I was the ship being tossed by the sea. I'm not so narcissistic that I believe that I caused her death, but I have a niggling voice that says it was my doubt that countered her wonderful faith.
Anywho, yeah I get easily derailed by that topic.
So these speakers want you to speak positive life-affirming words. No more whining, complaining, worrying. "Things may not be great right now, but the Lord is working on me and everything will be ok," is what we are supposed to declare.
That's a difficult one for me. I've tried to be that person, that positive person. Guess what?

Sometimes things are not going to get better. Ok sure, I guess my mother-in-law went to Heaven so things got infinitely better for her, but she still died and left her family here on Earth. We all had to deal with the blow-back from some incredibly faithful and hopeful woman not getting the healing that was promised her if she just believed with nothing wavering.
What hope do I have if the most Godly person I know followed that directive to the nth degree and still didn't get answers to her prayers?

And when are we supposed to get out of bad situations instead of praying and hoping and saying positive words to the world?

My aunts-in-law had breast cancer as well, and they took traditional medicine to treat it (radiation/chemo) and they are all alive. Joyce Meyer was in a bad marriage and got out of it before she married the man whom helped her with her ministry. When do we stop speaking these words of positive hopes for our lives, and start taking action?

Or the bigger issue, what if we can't get out of our situation (for whatever reason)? Are we not allowed a chance to talk about our problems, have fellowship with others, or do we bottle up our problems inside? I know I know, give them up to the Lord. Well let's say you give them up to the Lord but you are still miserable and there is nothing you can do. That is a tough spot indeed. I guess you must keep speaking words of positivity, even after years of no change, no forward movement. That is beyond depressing to me.

It seems like lying to yourself and lying to the world.  Look how together I have it!! Sure my husband is an alcoholic! Sure my wife spends all of our money! Sure my kids are living in sin! I will keep saying how well they will do in life, how much I love my husband, what a great financial steward my wife is. It'll all just be ok!

Or the alternative is just be quiet.
And hope all the pain and hurt and anger just stays bottled up.

Easiest Dinner Ever

I don't know if you are like me, but I HATE making food. I am not yet to the short-order-cook phase (and I feel like if it got that bad, I may burn the house down and head for Bermuda). There was a time I loved to cook, even tried out fancy recipes in cookbooks that required long grocery lists and hours of prep and cooking. That was during my vegetarian years (a good 16 years, people- I didn't hop on the trendy bandwagon), and I tore through book after book, trying out different cuisines. They weren't all successes, and I was also unemployed during a brief stretch, so time didn't matter.

Now, I do not have the luxury of time. Usually I am preparing something while children are pushing and crying and doing who-knows-what in the other room. It is not enjoyable. By the time dinner prep rolls around, I have often already made 3 meals that day. Yep, cuz the lunch I prepare is not approved, or else I have to make my own lunch because as tempting as mac and cheese is...
Needless to say, I lack inspiration. I want my family to eat healthy, but I am not going to knock myself out to prepare something fanciful only to have two little boys turn their noses up at it. It is enough to cause me to cry. I'm not big into forcing food on my children, especially since the older one has a super gag reflex (like gags when he touches oatmeal). I've gotten into a bit of a rut of quesadillas, meatloaf, spaghetti, grilled chicken. I know they'll eat it, it's fast, and who can complain.
I forget about the easy stuff.
Like this:

Super Quick Quiche

This is LITERALLY the easiest and most adaptable recipe. Throw in what you have. It's great for leftovers. I usually cook up a big pan of veggies and have a bowl of leftovers that I throw in mac and cheese or quesadillas (for super quick lunch that's healthier). Today, I had some purple veggies I bought especially for this, hoping the color would entice the boys.

5 eggs
1/4 cup milk
1/4 or more of cheese
salt and pepper
I added curry powder, turmeric and garlic salt
I cut up 2 large green onion stalks, about 6 fat purple asparagus stalks, and a quarter of a purple pepper.

Beat the eggs, milk, spices and cheese in a bowl, add to a Pam-sprayed pie pan. I cut the veggies up very thinly so they would be sure to cook quickly and thoroughly. My son picks out peppers if they aren't cooked enough (and calls them spicies).

Throw in a 375 over for 20 minutes. Cool and serve. Personally it tasted like it could have used more cheese, but was pretty tasty. Even my eldest ate it. I gave him a bite and asked how it was. He declared it delicious so battle won this time. The younger wasn't too impressed, even with ketchup, but he's also teething so he picks and chooses which meals he will actually eat.

Verdict- seriously easy. I am going to make it once a week, maybe with ground turkey, broccoli, other cheeses like mozzarella. If your kids are adventurous you could do wild and crazy things.
It doesn't make a huge amount though.