Today’s guest post is by the lovely PsychMamma. I am kinda thrilled that I managed to trick her into writing for me, seeing how she doesn’t really blog anymore. She Tweets, thankfully, because I’d miss her if she didn’t, but she doesn’t really blog anymore. She also is constantly kicking my butt in Scrabble, but we don’t talk about that. This is basically something she wrote for her little girl, J, and was kind enough to share it with us. I have to say, it totally made me miss my girls being so little. It’s strange how different a year makes, because really Bailey is only four and a half. But it is different; they grow so freaking fast.
Tomorrows
(A journal entry for my three-year-old daughter)
Hey pumpkin!
Today was a most wonderful day with you. I have to admit that many of these days are not-so-wonderful. You seem to have saved the “Terrible Two” phase for when you turned three. Most days, you’re busy testing boundaries (and my patience), shouting “NO!” and being in time out. I know that it’s developmentally normal and that it’s just a phase, but sometimes my sanity survives minute-by-minute.
Today was NOT one of those days. We woke up to a rainy day, and I was feeling lazy. Yesterday, I accomplished EVERYTHING from my “to-do” list for the day, so I was feeling triumphant. I decided that all the house things and work things could wait another day, and somehow managed to not even think about them. We had a great time playing together. We made a tent in the living room out of a sheet, the couch and a dining room chair and played in it for a long time. For a while, it was a tent, and then it magically transformed into a pirate ship (your idea)! Have I mentioned how much I love your imagination these days?? It amazes and amuses me without end. We prepared food for jungle animals on safari and for ponies on our pirate ship, and you made me some special tea. We read a couple stories, sang lullabies to babies and tucked them in to sleep. We took a walk to Venezuela, pushing a baby and two bottles in a stroller, and pulling a puppy pull-toy along behind us. We snuggled while watching Charlie & Lola together, which we both absolutely and completely adore, and I loved hearing you giggle whenever Lola giggled. It made me giggle to. We played with buttons for a long time – one of your favorite things to do. We talked about the colors, textures and shapes, sorted them into bowls and found the tiny ones that fit in the teapot spout, then strung them on a strand of dental floss. You love the flower shaped buttons best. After a while, we made a picture for Daddy by gluing buttons onto cardstock. Your declared that your picture was a cow with a flower (even though it looked absolutely NOTHING like either), and you were so proud of it when we were done. You were also completely amazed by glue. It was the first project we ever did with glue (Yes, I’ve been terrified of the possible repercussions) and when the picture dried, you couldn’t believe that the buttons stuck! You declared it wonderful magic, and then asked if we could take the buttons off again.
Your phrase of the day was “C’MON! Work with me here!” and I have NO idea where you heard it. Neither your daddy or I say it, but I’m sure you picked it up from a library movie or something you overheard someone else say. Your memory constantly amazes me. I’ve learned not to question you unless I’m prepared to apologize, because you’re very rarely wrong about things you remember. Although, weirdly, if it’s something I WANT you to remember or find (“J, WHERE is your other shoe?”) you mysteriously have no recollection.
You woke up from your nap on the wrong side of the crib (Yep – you’re still in a crib, and will be for as long as possible), but happily snuggled with me in the rocking chair for almost twenty minutes. Because that rarely happens anymore, I treasure anytime it DOES. I can’t believe how big you’re getting and how the space on my lap is getting filled up. Your head easily rests on my shoulder when your knees are on my lap now, and I remember so well the days when you snuggled up against me with your head on my chest and your feet on my belly. I know that a huge part of me will be incredibly sad when these snuggling days are over. You’ll be to big and too proud for that. But, I also know that new wonders will be waiting for me as I watch you bloom and grow at every new stage. This parenting thing is so bittersweet. I’m so proud of your every accomplishment, and I want you to learn new things and to become more independent. At the same time, I know that very independence means you’ll need ME a little bit less, and that the snuggles will be fewer and farther apart.
Daddy and I had a date night tonight. We need those now and then. It’s that sanity thing again – someday you’ll understand. You love your babysitter, and are usually so excited when I tell you that she’s coming. This morning, when I told you she was coming you got mopey, though. I asked you why you were sad, and you said, “Because you will go away. And I don’t like it when you go away.” My heart melted and I reminded you that I always come back and that I would be here when you’re sleeping and when you wake up in the morning. Your little face lit up, and you said, “And we can play again? You will play with me tomorrow?”
For as many days as you let me, Pumpkin. For as many weeks as you ask me to. Until the years when you’re busy with friends and I become the embarrassing mom. I’ll take all the tomorrows I can until then, and I’ll store them up in my heart.
I love you, Sweetie. Always.
This is an anonymous guest post, written by someone with sadness in her heart and a Mother-in-Law that chronically lurks on her own blog. Thanks for giving me the opportunity to share my thoughts…
To my mom, the woman who carried me inside of her for 38.5 weeks. The woman who laid in bed for the last 3 months of that time, hoping beyond hope, that she and I would make it through okay. The woman who nearly died having me. The woman who didn’t know for 29 hours if I was even alive. The woman who spent the first two months of my life laying on a couch with me on her chest trying to get better. The woman who raised me, played with me, never took crap from me, who loved me every day and every night. The woman who taught me how to be a woman and a mother. My friend, my mom. Happy Mothers Day Mama, I love you.
To my babies, all three of you crazies, for making me the mother I am today. I adore you.
To my husband for giving me the three crazies. You have my whole heart.
To all of you, those who are mothers, those who have mothers and those who help mother the rest of us anyway, happy mother’s day.
In the next few weeks, I’m going to have some guest posters. I need the freedom to not write when I can’t, and to write only when I am ready. I’ve asked some amazingly lovely friends of mine to help me out. It doesn’t mean I won’t post at all, but I need to know that it’s okay if I don’t. I need time. Time to process, time to heal, time to grieve. Time to just be. Please know I’m still here, reading, tweeting…..I’m just needing a break from posting.
I found an old file, posts I had written before, on my previous blog. I might share a few in the next few weeks. I’ll put the date on them, so you know they were previously written. Some of you knew me then, so you might recognize them.
Below is the first one. I thought it seemed like a good thing to share, seeing how tomorrow is Mother’s Day. Obviously my girls were a lot younger then.
You know you are a parent when…
You buy the Princess and Spiderman Fruit Snacks instead of the organic real fruit infused with a cup of beet juice snacks, even though they are supposedly healthier, for three reasons. One, you know it is a lie, they are all full of sugar. Two, sugar never killed anyone. Three, it makes your kids smile and happy for at least three minutes.
You have Cheerios and Goldfish in your cabinets at all times. You also find random Cheerios and Goldfish under couch cushions and under your car seats at all times.
You drop a dry erase marker in a client meeting and say “uh oh”, without even thinking.
You smile a bit and gently laugh at the woman who said “uh oh” in the meeting.
You give your last piece of spicy tuna roll that was on the way to your mouth to your two year old when she says, “Mama, I hab it, purty please”, without a second thought. (Even if not eating that piece does make you want sushi for two more days, until you break down and buy more sushi.)
You find yourself dancing in odd places, like the grocery store or the elevator just because you like the song. When you realize where you are, you don’t stop, because you’re a parent and what the hell do you care what strangers think?
You go into a toy store or go online to start your birthday/Christmas shopping and while you do think to yourself, will she/he like it, you also ask yourself it it is loud enough to give you a migraine and will it hurt if I step on it at 2am in the dark?
You buy things that give you migraines and hurt your feet at 2am, because you know they will love it.
You get up in the middle of the night when you hear your child cry out even though you just want to say snuggled in you nice warm bed.
You watch The Incredibles, the Muppet’s Show and the Magic School Bus over and over again until you know the entire dialog, but you don’t make them quit watching it.
You take dozens of pictures, just hoping one of them will capture the magic of the moment. You also take pictures to remember how little they were once.
You read The Monster at the End of This Book, Goodnight Moon and Blueberries for Sal each and every night to your toddler, because they love those books and only those books, even though you’d secretly love to toss those books in the ocean or poke your eyeballs out before you will ever want to read them again.
You go into the kitchen at work and grab a bottle of water and before you take a drink, you write your name on it, so you know, there are no fights.
You look at teenagers and think they are such babies and wonder what your kids will be like at that age instead of remembering how cool you were back then.
You tell random people with newborns in stores to enjoy it while they can, because they won’t stay that tiny and huggable for long.
Happy Mother’s day everyone.
-Issa
Last night I received a call from my BFF at 8:49pm ish. She told me that I needed ice cream and she would be there to get me shortly. Any attempts to tell I her I didn’t need ice cream were met on deaf ears. She was coming, I was going to get in the car and that would be that. You don’t argue with the woman. I mean you can, but it never works out well for you in the end. Only I would argue with her about not needing ice cream.
Anyway, when she picked me up, she asked me where I wanted ice cream from and I replied McDonalds, for a McFlurry and she promptly told me she didn’t like that and we were going to go to Dairy Queen. At this point I have to tell you that with anyone else, I’d want to smack them, but this is part of why I love Kate so much. She is just like me in this way and normally we fight over who gets to be the most ridiculous in our demands. Last night, she won, because I really didn’t care to begin with and I didn’t have it in me to argue.
So we drive to the Dairy Queen, which happens to be a drive-thru and start to order our ice cream. Kate tries to explain to them what she wants, which is basically taking apart three different blizzards (two of which don’t exist anymore) and making one of her own. She explains it to the woman three times, each time saying it a little different, because honestly the girl has no idea what she really wants. After trying to explain it for the forth time, the woman, through hysterical laughter asks us to just please pull forward.
Pull forwards? Because hai, we have no idea what you want and um we need to look at you while we try and figure it out. I had tears rolling down my face at this point, because I was laughing so hard. Pull forwards? I have never had a single person say that to me before. When we pulled up to the window the chick could barely keep a straight face as she asked Kate to explain it. To make matters worse when they got it figured out, I said, I’d like the same thing, but with the truffle pieces in it. (Because who in their right mind, doesn’t want the truffle pieces?) Then of course, we knew one of ours, if not both would be wrong. But it didn’t really matter, because it’s ice cream, from Dairy Queen and we’d both eat it. And yes, mine was right, Kate’s was wrong and that made us laugh even more. I could just hear them thinking, couldn’t you people have gone and gotten a dam M&M McFlurry?
I laughed; we laughed, for a good twenty minutes. I laughed so hard that I had trouble eating my ice cream because my stomach and ribs hurt from laughing so hard. I laughed so hard that I had tears pouring down my face, in happiness for the first time in a long time. I laughed so hard that for an entire half hour, I forgot that a week ago, I was still pregnant. (Although it was a week ago last night, that I wasn’t any more.) I laughed so hard, that I forgot I was sad and depressed; forgot that my children were spending the night elsewhere, just so I could be sad and not worry them; forgot that I wanted to be at home, in bed, with the covers over my eyes.
In that moment, that small window of time, I remembered that I am okay. That I will be okay, that I will soon feel like a whole human being. That my heart will heal, like it has before. That the cracks will always be there, but they will fade over time. Sometimes laughing at…er um, with your best friend is the best medicine in the world.
Last night I dreamt about ice cream. Today, I woke up not crying for the first time in a week. Do I feel better than yesterday? Yes. Do I feel good? No. But you have to take it where you can get it. Last night, laughing was the best thing I could have done.
I want to thank you all for your comments. I want to hug you all for your kind words. I may email everyone, but I am having trouble with that, so don’t count on it. Just know, your words have helped me more than I could ever tell you. Your support means the world.
I knew right away. Some women don’t know for weeks, a few for months, but I knew the very next day. Weeks before a test would ever show me a plus sign. The tell tale nausea, the kind that lasts all day. Morning sickness my ass. The sore boobs, the dizziness, the inability to eat anything besides bread, pineapple and ginger ale. I was pregnant.
There are next to no pictures of our vacation in Hawaii; no funny stories or great date adventures. There is none of that because I (well we) spent our entire vacation in the hotel room. And not in the fun way. (Trust me, there has been no fun in that way lately.) I have been sick for a month. Just waiting for the day that I could take a test, post a picture of it and tell the world. Because I was beyond thrilled. I told more people than I should have, because the excitement was overwhelming. I also thought it good to mention to a few people why I was never around, why I never posted anymore, why I rarely made any mention of being around. So people didn’t forget about me I guess. That day, was Tuesday of last week. I peed on the little stick and it confirmed what I knew, what I had known for a month; I was pregnant. Excited, I told everyone I came across.
Late Wednesday night, I lost it. The baby, my baby. Gone as quickly as I told people. Just gone. One day after confirmation that it was true, it was all over.
I went on vacation anyway, this past weekend, because I needed a distraction. I slept a total of an hour and a half Wednesday night, but I went to California anyway. In the moment, it seemed like the best option. Maybe it was. But now I’m home. And I hurt. There are no more distractions now. There are no more family members to act fine around. No more places to go. Nothing, except me and my head for company.
I am writing this, because I can’t speak. Not past the: please don’t hit your sister or the, yes, sure have another piece of candy, I don’t care; type of speaking. I am here, going through the motions. Changing diapers, doing dishes, playing along on Twitter; but I don’t feel it. It’s not real, it’s fake. I am pretending. Pretending I am not crushed. Pretending I want to do anything besides get in bed and pull my comforter over my head for a week. I feel like a shadow of myself. Like I am watching myself do these things, but not really doing them. I am not sure I can explain it, not sure I need too. I will be forced to speak tomorrow, to my shrink. But I am not ready. I just want time to grieve. However to appease my husband I will at least go to the appointment.
Every time I open my mouth, I feel like I offend people. And it’s true, because I have offended a few people. I am spewing on others, my lovely friend told me today. She is right and there are very few people I’d let say that to me when I feel like this. But I am, spewing and making asshat statements. So, now….I am not talking.
I hurt. I am sad. I want my baby back. I can write this, but I can’t speak it.
I am not crazy, despite my jokes about it. I am just a woman who lost a baby. A sad, depressed woman who lost a baby. A baby that made me sick like a dog for a month. I would be sick for the next eight months, if I could have my baby back at the end.
Right now, my heart hurts. It hurts so bad that I feel it cracking. It hurts to breath, it hurts to smile. I have to make myself eat. If you don’t believe me, ask Maura how little cake I ate when I met her on Saturday night. I know in a few days, I will feel better. I know in a few weeks, I will feel even better than that. I know one day soon, I will laugh at a joke, tell a joke even; it will feel good and natural. I will one day find myself smiling, drinking wine, or enjoying a moment. I have felt this way before, I know how it goes. Truly it’s not as bad as last time around. But today I pretend.
I wrote this so you all know why I haven’t been around, why I may not be around or be very pleasant for a bit. I wrote this for me, because I had to get some of it out. I had to say what I can’t say, if that makes any sense. I had to write that I am crushed, because I am. Because it hurts to breath and it hurts even more to think. Because one day I won’t feel like this, but I need to own it right now. To honor it; my grief and loss. To share my love for a baby I will never meet. My baby.
Grab My Button!
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