Gonna Be

A few days ago M. and I stopped in to see the last few plays of our local minor league baseball team. Kids picked from the crowd usually supply the entertainment between innings. There are trivia contests, funny face contests, and races of varying degrees of humiliation. Tell me, would you let your little one get put in a hot dog outfit and race against ketchup and mustard? I probably wouldn't but d*mn, that one's a crowd-pleaser.

The point of this inning's "race" was for the kids to run shoeless along the third base line, find their shoes which had been scattered and thrown around the area, put them on, race back. First one back wins. One young'un wasn't having all that. When the Go! was given, he dashed to the pile of shoes, grabbed two, any two, and sprinted back. "No, no! They need to be your shoes!" the announcer laughed. But everyone knows it doesn't really matter. Everyone's declared a winner in these things, so why not mix it up a bit? M. and I were impressed with the 5-year old's resourcefulness and utter disregard for the rules.

me: "That's so awesome. I'd be so proud if that were my kid."

M: "That would have been our kid."

[Silent nods. A shared look. Quiet.]

me: "That's gonna be our kid."

M: "yes."

**

Speaking of resourcefulness, we are back to challenging ours. No green light for our proposed gestational carrier. That's 0 for 2.

And yes this is a disappointment, but somehow not as crushing as the first one. This one is disappointing in a different way. When our clinic said no to the first potential GC, it felt like the door slamming shut on any hope for a family. Ever. Certainly never with any of our own frozen blasts waiting so patiently on ice. But then a wonderful person proved us wrong by saying, "hey, what about me? I think I could help." Knowing that we cannot move forward with this person stinks mostly because it would have been so wonderful to have her and her family as an official part of our extended family.

But somehow it doesn't feel like the end of the world this time.

Maybe we're just growing resilient. Maybe delusional.

But today I am filled with the feeling that this will happen. We will someday be the proud parents of the kid that just scammed the rest of them in the between-inning competition.

Now we just need to figure out how.

This is what i do

i drink red wine.
i sit on the balcony and watch the sun fade over the buildings and wonder when i can harvest my coriander seeds.
i make popcorn and dance in the kitchen with my love.
i pour more wine and go inside and turn the jukebox on.
i play every song that makes me feel alive and creates that mixture of happy/sad that only gets better with
more wine
i watch my love play video games based on vengeance and relax at the release,
i pour more wine and book two tickets to the gulf coast of paradise and pray
we make it there before the oil slick.
i dream of the rental car and the satellite radio and the condo we like to pretend is ours.
i count the days.
and i savor these minutes when we are drunk and in love and forgetful
of everything else.

Published with Blogger-droid

But what do you DO?

A few weeks ago, M and I were lounging on the front porch of my parents' house, enjoying a beautiful night of a holiday weekend. My mom's BFF and his brother who was in from out of town stumbled over after a long day of beer and sun. After the introductions and snide remarks about my dad (bff and dad are not cool with one another, you see. Bff likes boys and my dad simply cannot wrap his tiny little mind around that)....after the intros, bff's brother asks,

"So, you do you guys have any kids?"

Thinking he was being helpful, bff nearly jumped to answer for us, "No." And gave his brother a glare like that conversation is so over.

"Well, got any pets?"

No.

"So....(truly perplexed) what do you do?"

**

M and I took a minute to compose ourselves and then rattled off the most recent lines in our resumes, and then hoped they would disappear as quickly as they appeared.

Perhaps he didn't mean it to sound as accusatory or judgmental as it sounded. Perhaps he's always that blunt. Perhaps they were muddled and sunstruck and missing a little bit of good old fashioned courtesy that night. Whatever the case, I just couldn't be bothered.

Couldn't be bothered to correct BFF who had the audacity to erase I. and J. from the map. Couldn't be bothered to school BFF's brother that there is more to life than what one does to get a paycheck.

But yet, they left, and I was bothered.

As was M. So we got in the car and drove. Drove to the beach. Drove to the boardwalk. Walked around. Walked around. And didn't say much, but I kept wondering in my head, well, what DO I DO? What was the answer I wanted to give?

Clearly saying that you grieve daily while trying to figure out some way, any way to safely bring one or two of those little embryos on ice into the world is not the story most of the world wants to hear. And what would give this drunken stranger the right to know that story anyway?

But any other answer is short of the truth.

Molly at The Unlucky Lottery is right. It does get better. At least the grieving. The infertility, the lost ability to carry a child within me, the barriers and roadblocks we are facing with going a gestational carrier route....that doesn't seem to be getting any better. The world goes on. We stay here. The stasis is cruel. But the pain of loss, the desire to not even be here, that actually does fade, at least to the point where you look stable enough that someone doesn't think twice to demand to know what you do and then sniff at your answers.

I can't imagine what I would have said to this man a year ago. A year ago when my guns were blazing and all bets were off. When I found just a little bit of pleasure seeing some people visibly recoil when I told them my babies were dead. If only to teach them a lesson for being, so, so, normal. So seemingly untouched.

Don't get me wrong. The need to get the facts right doesn't completely go away. But as Tracy so eloquently says,

I think we've learned to wear our peculiar mix of joy and despair a little more gracefully. People do less brow-furrowing when I engage them in mundane small talk...and hey, I can engage in mundane small talk! T almost electronically eviscerated an FB friend who wandered into my lane last week (she responded to my post about my early-rising dog with a complaint about her twins who won't sleep in) but we discussed and decided we shouldn't rain on her parade.

I'd like to think we think more about other people's parades these days, too.

So bff's brother learned that I'm in the nonprofit world and M. is a web producer. We live in different state than my parents and yes we think their new house is lovely. We've been together over a decade. We like to kayak and to be outside. Hmm, that's about it. Interview over.

How mundane. How seemingly normal. He thinks we are bores.

And that's just fine.

Quit Pulling My Leg!

Clearly, we watch way too much wrestling. Waaaay too much.

Why else would my husband think it was perfectly rational to try to do a swinging leg pirouette in the kitchen - while I still had hold of his other leg?

Let me rephrase that. Why would M. be utterly shocked and surprised when he fell on his face after willingly removing both legs from the ground and spinning around?

"Why are you laughing?!?" he angrily asked. "What about this is funny??"

Um, all of it. Like, all of it.

He disagreed. And further posited that it was my fault, because he had it all worked out, had I not pulled his leg and brought him off balance. Whatever, marmalade.

But its morning, and we've kissed and made up. The brush burn on his chin is barely visible and I think we've both learned a valuable lesson:

Sometimes, we can be total f*ck ups. I mean, WWE moves in the kitchen? Who does that? Do I dare tell you how old we are?

But we are also ridiculously in love. Still. Even after...holy shit....almost TWELVE years together, he's still my main man. I'm his lady. We're quite a pair. And I've said this again and again, but I truly don't know what I would do without him. With everything that has transpired and not transpired, I cannot imagine getting through this without him by my side.

Even when he's sulking and holding ice to his chin.

Nyquil-Drenched Dreams

Just so I don't forget my recent spill too easily, a nasty cold has latched itself on to me this week.

Last night I tried to soothe my stuffy, sneezing, achey, et al. ails with some of that magic green elixer, and my mind created this concoction in one of my dreams:

homemade dulce de leche
spread on wonderbread (wtf?)
with the crusts cut off,
then deep fried,
then rolled in sugar.

W...T.....F......

There was a batch, freshly-made. Still hot. Sitting on the counter of my parents' old house. And me, my mom, my aunt, and my (deceased) grandma were sitting around it getting ready to dig in. I was dubious, but damn if my fingers weren't sandy with sugar, getting ready to take my first bite.

So, um, what is the point of this story?

Don't O.D. on Nyquil. Or you will turn into P*ula Dean.

And no one wants that.

Oh, the Humility

Dear beautiful and powerful River,

Obviously, you sensed I was not treating you with the respect and admiration you deserve. I should have taken my slip on the rocks while getting into my kayak, the slip that bruised my arm and waterlogged and ruined my Dr*id as your way of saying, "ahem...."

But I didn't.

I should have realized that putting in farther upstream than usual in territory that includes rapids and rocks should have equaled 100% attention. Not, I'll pay attention once I get myself settled in the boat and latch my bag to the lifejacket I never use but carry with me because its the law.

So I suppose it is only fair that you flipped me in the narrows and left me to drift downstream in the swift and cold (and rocky, ouch!) water for a good 20 minutes before allowing M. and two lovely dudes in a canoe to help me get my shit together and back in the boat.

M. told me later they actually came in from the other shore when they saw we needed some help.

Oh the humility! Sure I'm bruised. But my pride. Sweet jesus, it is battered.

So much for our gorgeous day on the river on Saturday. By the time I was right-sided and secured, M. was exhausted and I couldn't stop shaking enough to figure out how I was going to managed my waterlogged self. So we docked at the next opportunity to assess the damage and go in search of a cell phone to call for a ride.

1 hat, 1 smart phone, 2 sets of binoculars - none of which were in my waterproof bag. Why, you ask? Because had we put in where I normally do when I go out alone, the binoculars would be around my neck, the phone would be within easy reach for pictures. But no.

On Saturday I was so brazen, so cavalier, that M. suggested, and I willingly agreed, that trying out the narrows was a good idea. Never mind the water was running fast from rain the day before and 15 mph winds was urging it faster. Not only did it sound like a good idea, it sounded like an awesome idea.

Sigh. Hubris is a bitch.

I am continually shocked and surprised when I find I am not even a fraction of how athletic I envision myself in my mind. Dammit.

So, M's mom came and rescued us, I showered, called my doc to make sure mouthfuls of river water wasn't gonna kill me, and tried to live with my chagrin.

**

Sunday was another glorious day weather-wise. So after a morning on the balcony, I suggested we try an adventure on land this time. We headed towards a "birder's paradise" just an hour down the road for a few hours' hike. What better way to redeem the weekend and reconnect with that guy who saved my ass the day before?

At the trailhead was when we realized that just letting the binoculars dry out overnight did not guarantee they were going to function. At all. Ever.

So, through the woods we went. M. silently fuming ahead of me. Me getting more and more flustered as we heard birds all around us and just had to guess what we were missing. Of course, the previous day's incidents were playing over and over and over again in my little head (Could I have paddled out of my predicament had I been stronger? Did I really think aiming for that 3 foot drop was a good idea? What was I thinking...) M. was probably kicking himself for suggesting the diversion in the first place, for not checking the binoculars before we got in the car, oh the points of blame and self-blame are endless, aren't they?

But we made it out of the woods and somehow managed to salvage the drive home. We were actually in good moods for a few hours Sunday evening.

And that lasted up until I learned from a friend that the pregnant friend I hoped would understand my absence from her life right now does not. And does anything hurt worse than hearing you have hurt another person? But, I'm sorry, there's nothing I can do about that right now. Despite outward appearances, I'm not in a place where I can watch a mirror image of where I would be if my one and long-awaited chance to try again had worked. I cannot muster the strength to fake my way around the pain. And if someone wants to surround themselves with happy and good, I am not the support she wants right now, I promise. There is no room for someone voicing dead baby realities, doubts and fears. I feel my distance is best for her, and for me. At least right now. But the fact that I was questioned about my motives and actions did feel like an affront of sorts (I know you didn't mean it that way, m), at a time when I had little strength to defend myself.

I am wore the fuck out. And now it's Monday. And the week begins.

So then, what have I learned from this weekend? Let's recap:

• the narrows are no joke. If we want to attempt them again, we need to put in even farther upstream to give ourselves the time we need to find the right lines through the rapids and get ourselves there.
• waterproof bags are very handy - but only when valuables are inside them
• I have no upper body strength - daily push-ups are now in the regime. I could muster 5 this morning.
  
• I have no core strength - add sit ups and crunches to that.
• I should probably take a water-safety course as penance, or at least wear my lifejacket on longer floats.
• Dr*ids are not for kayaking
• I can hope for understanding as we continue to grieve, but I cannot count on it.
  

Just Curious

I saw Sue's word cloud a week or so ago and that got me curious. Just what is it that I talk about here? In case you were wondering too: