Crawling Out

I crashed hard. A thousand little heartaches piled up, one on top of another, until I crumpled under the strain.

It gets harder as time goes on. I know a couple girls who are due the week I was. I'm thrilled for them and happily read their blogs, eager for more news on their growing bellies. It's still a reminder of what I lost, though. I would have been in maternity pants, by now. I would have been feeling little popcorn kicks and hiccups for a couple weeks, already. I would have been gearing up for my 20-week ultrasound. It bothers me that I don't even know if we'd have wanted to find out what we were having. We never got far enough to discuss it. The others are moving on, each new development a beautiful discovery, and I'm right were I was, empty and unchanging. Like a fly trapped in amber I feel lost in time, forever stuck just as I am now with no means of escape. Worst of all, I'm not sure that it's time to break free, yet. I want to climb back up on that horse, show it who's boss and that I control my life, but mine is not the only life that will be affected. As much as I hate it, I have to wait.

Still, I'm grateful for friends and a husband who will literally lift me up and get me going when I'm down. I don't know what I would do without you.

Falling

I've run out of Artemis Fowls (the 7th one's been checked out so I have to wait for it to be returned) and the How to Train Your Dragons are amusing but not engrossing. Books got me through last week, but now I hang at the edge of the pit. Not a deep one, thankfully, but enough to leave me scraped up as I try to climb back out. Hopefully I won't need to. I don't want to tip the balance by saying "...but it's only Friday," either. I can feel it, though. I make up excuses to go to stores, touching, feeling and wanting to buy something--anything!--to fill the void. I leave with an empty cart only because I know deep down that it won't help. Strangely enough, the one place I don't go is the grocery store. I would love to fill bags with apples and cucumbers, mushrooms and the last of the peaches. But I don't. I don't know why. Fresh produce is something I don't mind indulging in. It's healthy as well as being delightfully tasty. It's something the whole family can enjoy, too. So why do I stay away? I'd love to insert some witty and insightful remark here, but I've run out. I feel drained, like I've been running on empty for way too many miles. I need a good cry and a long nap, but don't have the playlist or spare time for either. If you have a moment, a hug and a shoulder will do.

Date Night

Since Jonathan and I don't get very much time together, we've made the every-other-Saturday he gets off a mandatory date night. We have to do something together, though it can expand to cover the rest of the family too. Orville Reddenbacher has some boxes with RedBox codes in them, so BAM! popcorn and movie night. We piled the family onto the couch (minus James, who was tired and is still a bit small for this sort of thing) and popped in Toy Story 3. The kids were so excited. Jumping up and down, excited. Squealing like leaky balloons, excited. Yeah.

I highly recommend watching kids' movies with actual kids. It's a whole new experience. Joseph nestled into my arm, as the tension cranked higher, while Elena screamed in terror and squeaked "Oh, no! Daddy! Oh, no!" Just as things looked bleakest, she sobbed"Turn it off, Daddy! Turn it off!" We tried to reassure her, tell her that the toys would be OK, but honestly, neither of us was that sure. When it was all over, she said, "That was a good movie, but I never want to see it again." We'll be buying it in a few months, anyway. Hopefully she'll have forgiven us by then.

Distraction

Elena's elementary school lets parents and community members check books out from their library. I find that really convenient because I'm at school a lot anyway, and it lets me have the chance to pop in and browse books during a spare moment instead of making a special trip to the public library--not that that's hard, just that I have to wait until 10, instead of a quick scan at 7:30, so there's the whole packing-the-boys-along thing to consider. Anyway, while I was scanning through the school shelves looking for the second How to Train Your Dragon (because I believe in knowing about the books my kid reads) I decided to pick up a copy of Artemis Fowl. I read the whole thing straight through with enough time to run to the public library and grab the next two before picking up Elena. It's that good. It reads like a combination of crime drama and spy novel, which given the title character is a 12-year-old criminal mastermind is absolutely understandable. That was Wednesday, though. I finished the third book last night, and while that was, luckily, a good stopping point, I can't wait to start of the next one. We're heading out to the library's story times in about half an hour so that I can swap out my books while they have fun.

I also cast on for the start of the Christmas Queue, last night, since I'd finished my books by 8:30 but had no car. Elena's up first. When she was little, I fell in love with a style of sock at Gymboree--a lattice pattern up the instep, ribbed top, and a picot/scallop edge. I must have bought these sames socks in a half dozen colors, I loved them so much. I'm attempting to make new ones (in her favorite color, red, of course) but with a bit of a twist. She's not a little girl, anymore, but she's not big either. I want to merge the two into an anklet, still with the lattice, and picot edge, but drop all the ribbing. She doesn't fold her socks down, these days (and they wouldn't stay put id she did), so I think that'll work well. Plus, that's less work for me. Win-win, I say.

Clearing

I've been doing better, the last few days, but it's also the better half of my week. Plus, having gone public, as it were, I don't feel like I have to carry this myself any more. That's incredibly liberating. Just knowing I'm not the only one--not the only one who's been through this and not the only one who knows about me--frees me. I'm not sure how the latter half of the week will go. Wednesday night and Thursday morning are the usual fall-off point, but I'm hoping it won't be so bad.

I'd like to give myself a good challenge, something big to work toward besides my knitting projects and Personal Progress. It should be something that will stretch me, but it should be realistic, too. Maybe, as I'm a pack rat and I'm married to a pack rat (albeit a minimalist pack rat, if that makes any sense), I should be clearing out things from my house. I haven't yet because it's so hard finding a time to do it. Day is no good because Jonathan needs to sleep. Evening is out because I've got too much going on. Night is either the only time I get with my husband, or when I should be sleeping (which might well explain a least a part of why I'm so tired). Still, it really does need to get done. There are plenty of toys that don't get played with, clothes that don't get worn, things that haven't seen the light of day in years that can be somewhere other than cluttering our little apartment. It'll get interesting when I get to my yarn and fabric stashes. I use those! Sort of. Most of the yarn has actual plans for use, with patterns and recipients picked out and everything. Fabric is a little more iffy, but still every bit as useful. And yet they take up space, space that could be used for plenty of things, including a floor to walk on. Sigh...

Progression

The last few nights I've been working on Personal Progress. It's a different program from when I was in young. There are different requirements and different activities to check off. Most of them involve contemplation and journal writing. It's simpler, in that there are fewer things to do, but harder because they either take longer--three weeks seems standard--or require you to dig deep and really think about the things of the gospel. Having goals is good for me, right now. I like having something manageable to tackle. And in the end, I'll have a new medallion to show for my work.

Having dug deep and motivated myself to actually want to do this, I'd like to apologize to my mom for how hard she had to push me to get the first one done on time. I'd also like to thank her for doing it anyway. I can see much better now why the program's there in the first place. I'm doing it this time for the necklace, yes (I want silver to match all my other jewelry), but I'm also doing it for me, for my own growth, and to set an example for the girls. I'm doing the whole thing, too. Mothers and leaders are allowed to finish with only half the requirements, but I'm going to do it all. Maybe it's to make up for what I did to my mom, I don't know.

It's interesting, writing things down. I'd like to save both books for posterity, but I'm sure my kids will be far more interested in this one than the old. It's more personal. Right there in my own handwriting are my thoughts on the Savior's atonement, what I need to do to stay worthy to enter the temple, and what I think it means to be a daughter of God. It's an incredible legacy. If any of you have the opportunity to do the program again, do it. Even if it's your third of fourth time around, there's more to learn and more you can share.

60 Frames per Second

I wrote the first three all in one sitting. Everything seemed to flow out of me, needing only a little structure for it all to fit together. Since they were understandably depressing, I've chosen to focus on brighter things, today.

I've found I notice so many new details in this quiet new world my brain inhabits. So many things have slowed down, and as they glide past I can't help but see colors and smell scents and feel textures that were only a blur in passing, before. I'm not sure why I was so eager to get on with things, be somewhere else, do something different, before. Now I want to savor every last drop of life. I want to catch it in a jar and breathe it in over and over again.

My closest, most readily available sources of comfort are my children. I cherish my walks to school with Elena, even when it means waking a literal hour before dawn. Six is a fantastic age. She can carry a normal conversation, and her perspective on everything is fascinating. We've even started talking about feelings and the quirks of each other's personalities. I like getting those peeks inside her head. She's still affectionate, but not so smothering, anymore. Even better, she lets me show her the same. I can share my love of reading with her, too, and we've gotten to discuss both Harry Potter and How to Train Your Dragon in the last couple months. (By the way--HtTYD, the movie, is nothing like the book but brilliant on its own merits.) I honestly hope the next few years are like this because I really am enjoying it.

I've discovered a hidden well of patience, with Joseph. I let him run in circles and he happily wears himself out. We hadn't been to a park in a while, with all the weirdness of life, but we're venturing out again. He's got a wonderful imagination. He perches his PlayMobil pirate on top of the Sonic kids meal parrot and they fly around. We laughed forever about that one, a pirate on a parrot's shoulder. The pirate also has a couple of pet dragons (four life-size and realistic-looking toy garden lizards) and they have amazing adventures. Joseph tells some really funny stories, too. They don't make much sense but he laughs so hard through them that it doesn't seem to matter. Now that he's got most of his letters down (uppercase, at least--we're working on the others) I feel like I've got a better handle on how to teach him to read. Elena pretty much taught herself, so I'm kind of new at this.

James is both a solace and a frustration. He's one of the snuggliest two-year-olds you'll ever meet and wants to be on or near me most of the day. If he's not in my arms, he's sitting on my lap. If I'm reading a book, he wants to sit next to me. If I'm cooking, he wants to see what's in the pot. I love having him near, and I love hearing him giggle while we play our little games, whether tickles after diaper changes, peek-a-boo, or his odd silly-face game. We give loads of fives and he's started saying "Bye! See you!" and waving when anyone walks toward the door. I think a few of the See Yous might have been Love Yous, but it's hard to tell. The down side to this is when I reach my limit of being touched and get the Mental Itches, or when he's into everything in the kitchen during dinner prep. Jonathan's usually home during those times, though, and I can pull away into my quiet time with a cutting board and sauce pan.

My calling helps, too. I thought I was called because I felt I had so much to share with the girls, but I really do think the timing is because I needed them around me for this. Both they and the other leaders have been a God-send. They force me to socialize instead of sitting quietly in the back of the room the way I would have if I'd stayed in Relief Society.

Finally, I love this time of year. As beautiful and refreshing as Spring is, as riotous as Summer is, or as magical as real Winter can be, I love the way Fall feels like everything is settling down to rest. It mirrors my favorite time of day, late evening, when everything quiets down, curls up with a good story, and watches the sun set. I love the cloudier days, the nip in the air, that slight drizzle that gets things wet but never soaks, and the crunch of leaves underfoot. I love the smell of woodsmoke and cinnimon, roasted pumpkin seeds and hot bread with soup. Best of all, living in Central Texas means that Fall lasts for months. Sometimes, it'll bypass Winter alltogether and keep going all the way to Spring. Those are my favorite years. I wonder what this year will bring.

Bumps in the Road

The hardest part isn't the loss of the pregnancy. The Lord made it abundantly clear that we'd be getting this one back. He's promised me certain things and he's going to deliver. Just not this time. It might not be this year, or this decade, or even in this life. And I'm OK with that. A promise is still a promise. No, the hard part is the loss of being pregnant. It's like being cut off in the middle of a thought, having the station fade out just as you find the song you were hoping for, or (perhaps most accurately) getting laid off. I feel incomplete, hanging in mid-air. There's no climax or denouement to this story.

It's the little things that get me the most. My ice crunching habit showed up right on time at the start of the second trimester, except that I was technically post-partum, by then. It drives me nuts, this compulsion to dip into the ice bucket and fish out chips when I don't have a "reason" to anymore. I was OK with having it all end until my mouse was hovering over the "unsubscribe" button for my Your Pregnancy This Week emails. Clicking meant admitting that it was over, done, and not coming back. I felt the same when I put my small handful of maternity shirts back in their box with all the others. All I could do was stare at it and cry a little. I pine for the missed experiences--Elena's speculations on the sex and number of babies (she tried to convince us I was having twins, at the end); James learning about babies when he's still so small, himself; being pregnant in winter (first time!) and new life with the spring. All our plans that had been thrown so far off are back to where they were--or are they?--but it feels so odd and off-balance, now. That Easter due date feels slightly bitter. Or maybe not. It's so hard to sort things out, and it keeps changing, day to day. I wonder if October will be hard for me, next year. There's no way of telling where my life will be by that time. I take things day by day, and if that doesn't help, minute by minute. It's the only way to get through.

Pieces

The day of our final ultrasound we sat in the car outside our house for such a long time after driving home. I couldn't go back in, couldn't just be Mom and pretend that everything was normal. The kids were so excited for this baby, how could I tell them it was gone? My beautiful visiting teacher hustled my boys away so we could have time alone. Jonathan had been up late with me (remember: works nights, sleeps days) so he immediately crawled into bed. I curled up with him, drained and directionless, and slept most of the day. The previous week had been so intensely spiritual, I'd been absolutely sure something survived. I'd even daydreamed scenarios of telling people about my miracle baby--"I had a miscarriage, but this little one pulled through." No dice. I dragged myself to school to pick up Elena, but I was quiet, subdued, wrapped in sun hat and sunglasses so she couldn't see my red eyes.

It's so easy to hide, to not let others see our pain because we don't want to explain or make excuses. It's especially easy for me, already turned inward by nature. I pull a cloak of solitude around me, unwilling to share because I don't want to hurt any more. This one is too big, though. I need to probe and lay bare this splinter in my soul. If I leave it to its own devices it'll just fester and poison all around it.

Despite how lonely I feel--or perhaps because of it--I crave the society of other people. I need someone to talk to, or just stand next to. After a while, though, it's starts to feel a little... forced. Do they understand? Do I want them to? I don't want to explain it again, but if I don't, well, maybe I should just find somewhere else to be. The spiral downward and crash when I'm alone at night hits me the worst. I don't sleep well, I'm always tired. I've started falling asleep at odd moments, the last few days.

That's not to say that there aren't bright spots. We really have been blessed. This could have been so soul-shattering, but wasn't. Even so, while we may not be broken, there's a lot of bruises. Some of them refuse to come to the surface, too. There's still so far to go.

So Many Changes

I'm going to take a stab at Marin's Blog Posting Thing. I know it's the 3rd and I've already missed my first two shots at posting every day, but it's hard to get my thoughts organized, these days. I've had so many things to say, so many things to share, and then...

Let me start from the beginning. Jonathan got a new job, in July. He works all night long on 12 hour shifts making chips for memory sticks. It's hard, but he sees our kids every afternoon, we get to eat dinner together as a family, he gets Sunday, Monday and Tuesday nights off so we can do family things, and we're finally self-sufficient. About the same time, I got called to the Young Women. He's been beautifully supportive, especially since he's the designated sick-child-watcher because I teach lessons most weeks and he therefore misses more Church than he'd like. Also in that same week, I got pregnant.

If you know me well enough, you know I have a really weird thing with planning my kids. I want them at a certain time, for certain reasons, and the Lord lets me have that, give or take His tweaking to get it just right. This one was unexpected, though. It moved our plans up an entire year. We scrambled to make adjustments, but things were working out pretty well. For the first time, I had healthy cravings--salad! water!--and even started showing at 7 weeks. I'd managed to get nearly everyone called by the time I had to pull out a couple of my favorite maternity tops.

A few of you more clever readers may have noticed my verb tense in that last paragraph. Four days before my first OB visit I started bleeding. The following week saw an ER visit, three doctor's visits, three blood draws, two ultrasounds, and one good long cry. I never did get that OB appointment. I miscarried at 11 weeks. I was due on Easter Sunday.

This is not a cry for help. It's not a Pity Party, either. The Lord has been exceedingly gracious with us, easing the blow as much as He possibly could. The only reason I'm talking about it is that I feel it needs to be talked about. It's not a dark, shameful secret. It's not something to be locked away and never talked about again. It's part of who I am, now. The next month, I'll be looking to share my thoughts as I come to terms with this new state of being.