Slash

It's often the little things that hurt.

It's the comment last week from our neighbor, teasing us for not coming to the block party. As she went out the door, jokingly saying "Well, once you have a kid, you won't get any free passes for skipping the block party."

Doesn't she just have it completely backwards?

First of all, dead baby is always a 'free pass' for something we don't want to do. It's not even a pass, and it certainly wasn't free.

Secondly, it's the other kids running around the street - on that one day a year that they are allowed to play in the street - that sends us to our protective shell. Those kids, laughing and giggling, up to way past their bedtimes, all without Serenity. That little toddler that isn't. Like a glass shard through my heart.

Besides, next October, when hope against all hope, beanie is 6 months old, I think we the parents will still be able to decide what to do.

It's the fact that the cat has diarrhea, and Triple S is worried to the point of boiling anger that whatever the cat has got is going to harm beanie. And it is dealing with his temper, and a sick cat, and trying to give said pain-in-the-butt-sick cat any kind of medication, and with Triple S complaining about and oftentimes gagging at the litter box. Like having small pieces of ground glass rubbed into your arm.

It's the jewelry that I have either misplaced, thrown out, or had stolen. Three pieces, my most expensive, that were all wedding gifts. And I haven't called the insurance company, because I don't want to deal with them. I had an apartment robbed (twice) in grad school, and the insurance adjuster basically accused me of selling my own items and then reporting them stolen. And that was with broken windows and police reports. Now, I just have a picture of two of the items that I haven't been able to find since we returned from the wedding in Toronto in July and my word. Another scratch, another irritation, another stress.

It's the blood test that went from a 1:374 risk for Down's due to my age to a 1:324 risk. As the genetic counselor read the results, cheerily saying, "Don't worry, it's not a big change," I wondered if she thinks I am an absolute moron with zero math skills. Sure, there are still 323 babies with 46 chromosomes, and just one with 47, but it's not the same as going from 374 to say, oh, 1000. Another worrisome scratch that saps strength.

I can ignore these cuts and scrapes, push them aside with hope that the quad screen will come back better, that the jewelry will turn up in the weirdest place, that I will at some point come up with a way to articulate the hurt I feel from dumb witticisms, that the cat will either get better or croak. However, eventually, these metaphysical injuries coalesce into something that needs to get out, to be released. To be washed away with tears.

La di da di dah

I'm baaack! Ok, I haven't been posting much lately. I do try to keep up with reading the blogs, although I don't always comment.

It's not that I have been in a slump, I just feel very antisocial. I just don't have the energy to explain myself I guess.

For instance, last Saturday was our annual block party. Our house is right int he middle of the block, so basically block party central. Triple S didn't want to go, so we sat inside watching TV in the front room while everyone else was out around the fire it (it was cooold). Our neighbor stopped by before she went in, to give us shit. Well, really, neither of us felt like seeing all the kids running around. It still hurts. I wish it didn't, but it does. And, now, I have got a couple facebook posts from some neighbors, so I think they've all found out that I am pregnant again.

In some ways, I wish I could share this pregnancy with others, but I also feel defensive. Everything is not happy-go-lucky. I am stressed and worried. I really thought that 3 week OB appointments was a bit of overkill, but, gad, the last week I have been so worried that beanie is dead. It's crazy. But the sound of that heartbeat yesterday reset me, so I should be good for another two weeks.

I am going to a chiropractor, in an attempt to fix my back again. I was having massive headaches up the neck and back of my head. Good times.

The cat has diarrhea. I was not aware of this as I am not allowed to clean the litter, but Triple S told me it looked bad, so off tot he vet we went on Monday. Of course, they give us pills - to feed to a cat. A cat that has never ever let us do anything to hi (ie clean his ears - his ears have been dirty for 12 years). Like I said, good times.

I have been doing a lot of lounging. Thank goodness for Robert Jordan. I am just about done re-reading the Wheel of Time series (****nerd alert****) in anticipation of the first 1/3 of the final book being released this month. It's kept me company during that first trimester of nausea and dbm grief and anxiety.

We have been trying to take more pictures, to document this pregnancy too. I feel bad. We just haven't taken that many (of course, beanie has lots of u/s pics already!) I think alot of it has to do with my own vanity. I am faaaaat. My tummy is not a cute little pooch. It's kinda flabby and disgusting. So, poor beanie will have few early-pregnancy pics in his album.

As winter approaches, I am thinking to start up a scrap book for beanie. I didn't start on when I was pregnant with Serenity, but I did want to do a 'baby' one for her, so I had an album and papers all ready for all her 'firsts'. After she died (I guess that was a first - and a last) I started an album on her pregnancy. It is still 'started'. I was thinking I could work on them both at the same time. However, I am not sure that is a good idea. What do you think? But, anyway, I want to start beanie's before too long. I've got the table out - that's progress right?

Well, these ramblings are progress. Maybe I will come out of my protective shell. Maybe not. Or, more than likely, just here.

Off to the basement...

to unpack the maternity pants. It definitely is faster the next time around...

I am not really 'out' to the volunteers at work yet, but I can't squish beanie any more in my regular khakis, and I don't think I can get away with yoga pants at work like I do at home.

Triple S gets the biggest smile on his face every Thursday when I put the khakis on after a week of not wearing them, and they are tighter. And then I share a small, secret smile with beanie, my growing beanie.