Thank you all for your words of wisdom about a new blog, etc. There are so many things I wasn’t aware of or hadn’t even considered! I think that when the time comes, I’m probably going to need a knowledgeable blogger to walk me through the whole thing, step by step.
Yesterday I began putting Zach’s memory book together—another of the things I wanted to tick off my list before I got to the end of the third trimester. On the surface, the project is very simple—much less complicated than my other scrapbook projects. All I have to do, basically, is arrange the pictures, mat them and add a few words. I put on a “Bu.ffy” DVD in the background and set to work, naively thinking I’d be able to get most of the album done in an evening (after all, we don’t have a huge number of pictures).
I discovered, however, that while I normally don’t like to write much in the rest of my scrapbooks (go figure—the writer doesn’t like writing in her free time), I felt the need to put a succinct version of Zach’s story in the book. I wrote to him about how much he was wanted and anticipated, and how hard it was to learn that he would never live. It occurred to me as I was writing that this was an incredibly depressing project. Well, duh, but I guess I hadn’t really considered that before. There were times that I had to take a moment to wipe my eyes because my tears were making the page all blurry.
I only got three pages done. That was all I could stand to do. Apparently, this will be a project that is accomplished in stages.
I also realized that I won’t be sharing this book with anyone but M for a long, long time. I just am not in the right place to be able to watch our family members read what I have written. I don’t want to see their reactions.
Monday, July 28, 2008
Friday, July 25, 2008
A new blog
I’ve been thinking about this particular idea for a long time now. So far, the only person with whom I’ve discussed it is M.
Now I open it up to you guys.
I think I might like to start another blog if/when/after we have our baby. This blog’s URL would be given out to basically everyone in our lives—family, friends, etc. But – and I stress this point – it would not be a blog focused on our baby. Rather, it would be an opportunity for me to continue practicing my writing and, simultaneously, an easy way to update family members on our lives. I picture myself writing some introspective posts on life, etc. Would I post baby pics? Yes, I would imagine so. But I don’t want to be defined by my reproduction.
We have friends who have been writing a “family blog” since well before they had a child. Posts often consist of what they had for breakfast that day. I can’t imagine having a blog like that. Ideally, my new blog would be very similar to this one—except, of course, that it wouldn’t be quite so “tell-all.” And another big difference is that I would have far, far fewer comments because my audience would be mostly people who don’t have blogs themselves. It wouldn’t be a conversation so much as an online news source of sorts.
The thing is, if I were to start this blog, I would have to change The Unlucky 20 Percent. In essence, I would go invite-only. The only person in the world who knows I currently have a blog is M. Whenever I refer to my conversations with you guys, I always talk about “people I have met on the Internet.” If my mom knew I actually had my own Web site, it would take her Googling fingers about 2 minutes to find it. Then I would be finished.
Yet, if I started a different blog, it would be very difficult for me to pretend like I haven’t been blogging for a year and a half. This blog is a part of me, and I would like to be able to own up to it. I only have three options: 1) Give out this blog’s URL to everyone I know (a terrible idea, because I would basically lose all my friends); 2) Delete this blog completely (I would hate to just fall off the face of the earth and lose all of you); or 3) Go invite-only. It kills me that Googlers or other Web surfers would no longer be able to find me, but you can’t have everything, right?
Isn’t it funny that, with all the changes imminent in my life, this is one of the changes that scares me the most? I must admit that the idea of opening myself up on the blogsphere to people who actually know me in real life is somewhat terrifying. What in the world can I say that won’t sound trite?
Now I open it up to you guys.
I think I might like to start another blog if/when/after we have our baby. This blog’s URL would be given out to basically everyone in our lives—family, friends, etc. But – and I stress this point – it would not be a blog focused on our baby. Rather, it would be an opportunity for me to continue practicing my writing and, simultaneously, an easy way to update family members on our lives. I picture myself writing some introspective posts on life, etc. Would I post baby pics? Yes, I would imagine so. But I don’t want to be defined by my reproduction.
We have friends who have been writing a “family blog” since well before they had a child. Posts often consist of what they had for breakfast that day. I can’t imagine having a blog like that. Ideally, my new blog would be very similar to this one—except, of course, that it wouldn’t be quite so “tell-all.” And another big difference is that I would have far, far fewer comments because my audience would be mostly people who don’t have blogs themselves. It wouldn’t be a conversation so much as an online news source of sorts.
The thing is, if I were to start this blog, I would have to change The Unlucky 20 Percent. In essence, I would go invite-only. The only person in the world who knows I currently have a blog is M. Whenever I refer to my conversations with you guys, I always talk about “people I have met on the Internet.” If my mom knew I actually had my own Web site, it would take her Googling fingers about 2 minutes to find it. Then I would be finished.
Yet, if I started a different blog, it would be very difficult for me to pretend like I haven’t been blogging for a year and a half. This blog is a part of me, and I would like to be able to own up to it. I only have three options: 1) Give out this blog’s URL to everyone I know (a terrible idea, because I would basically lose all my friends); 2) Delete this blog completely (I would hate to just fall off the face of the earth and lose all of you); or 3) Go invite-only. It kills me that Googlers or other Web surfers would no longer be able to find me, but you can’t have everything, right?
Isn’t it funny that, with all the changes imminent in my life, this is one of the changes that scares me the most? I must admit that the idea of opening myself up on the blogsphere to people who actually know me in real life is somewhat terrifying. What in the world can I say that won’t sound trite?
Thursday, July 24, 2008
Analyze this
I’ve debated writing this post for a couple of days now, not because it’s painful, but because I was unsure if I wanted to deal with the response I thought I might get from it. Perhaps it’s best to start with the conversations I’m hoping to have with you, my readers.
I am now at a place where I can (at least most of the time) be rather emotionally disconnected from our loss last November. It’s not that I don’t miss Zach or wish he were here; I simply think about the events surrounding his death on an intellectual level rather than an emotional one. It’s how I approach much of my life—I analyze the hell out of it, just for kicks. So, as I tell the following story, I’m not looking for sympathy or expressions of condolence (although, believe me, that has been very much appreciated in the past). Rather, I’m looking for you to be over-analytical right along with me.
At my shower two weeks ago, there was a friend who had brought along her 10-day-old daughter. As I spoke to her and a few other friends, talk turned to her labor and delivery, pain management, etc. I piped in with my own experience with an epidural, cheerfully talking about how cute the anesthesiologist was and about how I questioned whether all epidurals are that easy. As I talked, it occurred to me that other people might be uncomfortable with me being so frank about my experiences. Bless their hearts, they didn’t show it, but I wondered, is it socially acceptable to talk about the induction/abortion of a doomed baby as though it were just a normal delivery? After all, I had something to add to the conversation, and I added it! I can talk about last November without crying; the question is, can others listen without feeling they need to put on their concerned and sympathetic face?
Have you ever found yourself in a situation where you wondered if you should be talking so casually about such a heavy topic?
I am now at a place where I can (at least most of the time) be rather emotionally disconnected from our loss last November. It’s not that I don’t miss Zach or wish he were here; I simply think about the events surrounding his death on an intellectual level rather than an emotional one. It’s how I approach much of my life—I analyze the hell out of it, just for kicks. So, as I tell the following story, I’m not looking for sympathy or expressions of condolence (although, believe me, that has been very much appreciated in the past). Rather, I’m looking for you to be over-analytical right along with me.
At my shower two weeks ago, there was a friend who had brought along her 10-day-old daughter. As I spoke to her and a few other friends, talk turned to her labor and delivery, pain management, etc. I piped in with my own experience with an epidural, cheerfully talking about how cute the anesthesiologist was and about how I questioned whether all epidurals are that easy. As I talked, it occurred to me that other people might be uncomfortable with me being so frank about my experiences. Bless their hearts, they didn’t show it, but I wondered, is it socially acceptable to talk about the induction/abortion of a doomed baby as though it were just a normal delivery? After all, I had something to add to the conversation, and I added it! I can talk about last November without crying; the question is, can others listen without feeling they need to put on their concerned and sympathetic face?
Have you ever found yourself in a situation where you wondered if you should be talking so casually about such a heavy topic?
Wednesday, July 16, 2008
This and that
So many little things have happened in the past week, I don’t feel like I can write a cohesive post. So, here you are—a rundown of what’s going on with me right now.
Shower
The part that sticks out most in my mind is when I came to the gift of one of my closest friends, K. The gift was three different-sized stacked boxes, all wrapped beautifully. I commented, “Oh, this is so pretty—I can never do the whole ribbon-wrapping-the-stacked-boxes thing.” K said, “I knew you would get a kick out of it; that’s why I wrapped it that way.” I was so touched that I have a friend who knows me that well. This is the same friend who drove two hours to our house to take us out to dinner the day she found out about Zach—two days before I was admitted to the hospital.
There were so many good things about the shower that I’m at a loss for words. I’m extremely grateful to my mom and SIL for throwing it.
You guys
Boy, and I thought nobody was reading. I am overwhelmed by how helpful you guys were when I asked for book advice. Incidentally, I ended up buying the “What to Expect…” book at H.alf Pr.ice Books over the weekend. If I make it through that one in any sort of timely manner, I’ll check out the Girlfriend’s Guide.
This is exactly what’s so wonderful about blogs—support when you need it, and good, sound advice when you need it, too. Thanks, you guys!
My BP
120/80 Yes, you read it right—my BP at my last OB appointment was perfect! That serves to quell a lot of my fears about swelling, rapid weight gain, etc. My OB wasn’t overly concerned about the pain in my left calf, and she said things seem to be going along just fine. Woo-hoo!
My hubby
He ambitiously decided to put together the crib the other night. After he had assembled it in the living room (it wasn’t very hard, he said—but then again, he’s an engineer), I looked at it, then at the door to the nursery. “Um, how are you going to fit this through the door?” I asked. He sheepishly admitted that he would have to take apart half of it and reassemble it in the nursery because he had forgotten to check the measurements. Silly M!
My weight
I'm 29 pounds at 29 weeks. Wow. So much for my goal of only gaining 30 pounds. I'll be lucky if I stop at 50. Surprisingly, the farther along I get, the less this bothers me. I'm just going to have one hell of a time losing the weight afterwards.
Shower
The part that sticks out most in my mind is when I came to the gift of one of my closest friends, K. The gift was three different-sized stacked boxes, all wrapped beautifully. I commented, “Oh, this is so pretty—I can never do the whole ribbon-wrapping-the-stacked-boxes thing.” K said, “I knew you would get a kick out of it; that’s why I wrapped it that way.” I was so touched that I have a friend who knows me that well. This is the same friend who drove two hours to our house to take us out to dinner the day she found out about Zach—two days before I was admitted to the hospital.
There were so many good things about the shower that I’m at a loss for words. I’m extremely grateful to my mom and SIL for throwing it.
You guys
Boy, and I thought nobody was reading. I am overwhelmed by how helpful you guys were when I asked for book advice. Incidentally, I ended up buying the “What to Expect…” book at H.alf Pr.ice Books over the weekend. If I make it through that one in any sort of timely manner, I’ll check out the Girlfriend’s Guide.
This is exactly what’s so wonderful about blogs—support when you need it, and good, sound advice when you need it, too. Thanks, you guys!
My BP
120/80 Yes, you read it right—my BP at my last OB appointment was perfect! That serves to quell a lot of my fears about swelling, rapid weight gain, etc. My OB wasn’t overly concerned about the pain in my left calf, and she said things seem to be going along just fine. Woo-hoo!
My hubby
He ambitiously decided to put together the crib the other night. After he had assembled it in the living room (it wasn’t very hard, he said—but then again, he’s an engineer), I looked at it, then at the door to the nursery. “Um, how are you going to fit this through the door?” I asked. He sheepishly admitted that he would have to take apart half of it and reassemble it in the nursery because he had forgotten to check the measurements. Silly M!
My weight
I'm 29 pounds at 29 weeks. Wow. So much for my goal of only gaining 30 pounds. I'll be lucky if I stop at 50. Surprisingly, the farther along I get, the less this bothers me. I'm just going to have one hell of a time losing the weight afterwards.
Friday, July 11, 2008
Looking for a book
Well, I guess it's about time.
I need a book. About parenting an infant.
Because really, I don't have the faintest idea what I'm doing. And because I haven't personally bought any books about pregnancy, childbirth or parenting yet. And because I'm realizing that in three short months, I may very well have an infant in my home who is completely dependent on me.
But I want a good book--one that approaches this subject with a sense of humor, rather than just with a sense of alarm.
Any suggestions?
I need a book. About parenting an infant.
Because really, I don't have the faintest idea what I'm doing. And because I haven't personally bought any books about pregnancy, childbirth or parenting yet. And because I'm realizing that in three short months, I may very well have an infant in my home who is completely dependent on me.
But I want a good book--one that approaches this subject with a sense of humor, rather than just with a sense of alarm.
Any suggestions?
Tuesday, July 8, 2008
What might have been
I’m always amazed when I have new thoughts regarding our loss last November—I guess that’s partly because I sometimes feel like I’ve thunk every thought I can think regarding Zach.
But last night, as I was pondering my day of feeling bloated and heavy (and berating myself for whining about it), I flashed to a vision of an alternate universe. In this universe:
I am still 28 weeks pregnant—but it is New Year’s Eve (or thereabouts) 2007, not July 8, 2008.
M and I have made the decision to carry my doomed pregnancy to term, or however long my body chooses to house this baby.
I am feeling as I do now—bloated, heavy and fat, and I wonder whether I will ever be able to regain my former figure.
Strangers are becoming brave enough to ask me when I’m due.
I start to wonder just how difficult labor and delivery will be for me.
Now that I am experiencing the third trimester, I can catch just a glimpse of what the latter part of my first pregnancy would have been like, had we not chosen to end it.
But there’s a big difference.
Even when I have days like yesterday, during which I felt hot and decidedly unpretty, there is an underlying joy to everything I’m feeling and doing. I can handle the discomfort because I have high hopes that there will be a huge reward at the end of this pregnancy. I can plod my way through a boring day at work because I know I have a baby shower to look forward to on Saturday. I can smile my way through muggy nights because I know my husband is painting the nursery down the hall.
If I had been this pregnant with Zach, there would have been only sadness as I looked at my body. I have no idea what I would have said to strangers and acquaintances. Would I have told them about Zach’s problems right away before they could launch into a bunch of innocent questions about the baby’s sex, due date, names, etc.? Would I have taken some measure of satisfaction as I watched the smile fade from their faces after they learned of my baby’s predicted demise? Would I have turned our sad story into a black joke just to more easily escape the inevitable awkward conversation?
I know, without a doubt, I could not have handled it.
No. I take that back. With God’s strength I could have handled it. But choosing to continue the pregnancy would have turned the worst week of my life into the worst four months of my life. I would have had to watch as my friends and family members announced pregnancies, as my SIL happily decorated her toddler’s new room to make way for the (living) baby she was expecting in March, as my co-workers started talking about “trying.”
The horrifying thought of that alternate universe is something I plan to hold close to my heart the next time I’m feeling particularly whiny.
But last night, as I was pondering my day of feeling bloated and heavy (and berating myself for whining about it), I flashed to a vision of an alternate universe. In this universe:
I am still 28 weeks pregnant—but it is New Year’s Eve (or thereabouts) 2007, not July 8, 2008.
M and I have made the decision to carry my doomed pregnancy to term, or however long my body chooses to house this baby.
I am feeling as I do now—bloated, heavy and fat, and I wonder whether I will ever be able to regain my former figure.
Strangers are becoming brave enough to ask me when I’m due.
I start to wonder just how difficult labor and delivery will be for me.
Now that I am experiencing the third trimester, I can catch just a glimpse of what the latter part of my first pregnancy would have been like, had we not chosen to end it.
But there’s a big difference.
Even when I have days like yesterday, during which I felt hot and decidedly unpretty, there is an underlying joy to everything I’m feeling and doing. I can handle the discomfort because I have high hopes that there will be a huge reward at the end of this pregnancy. I can plod my way through a boring day at work because I know I have a baby shower to look forward to on Saturday. I can smile my way through muggy nights because I know my husband is painting the nursery down the hall.
If I had been this pregnant with Zach, there would have been only sadness as I looked at my body. I have no idea what I would have said to strangers and acquaintances. Would I have told them about Zach’s problems right away before they could launch into a bunch of innocent questions about the baby’s sex, due date, names, etc.? Would I have taken some measure of satisfaction as I watched the smile fade from their faces after they learned of my baby’s predicted demise? Would I have turned our sad story into a black joke just to more easily escape the inevitable awkward conversation?
I know, without a doubt, I could not have handled it.
No. I take that back. With God’s strength I could have handled it. But choosing to continue the pregnancy would have turned the worst week of my life into the worst four months of my life. I would have had to watch as my friends and family members announced pregnancies, as my SIL happily decorated her toddler’s new room to make way for the (living) baby she was expecting in March, as my co-workers started talking about “trying.”
The horrifying thought of that alternate universe is something I plan to hold close to my heart the next time I’m feeling particularly whiny.
Wednesday, July 2, 2008
The wonders of a warm bath
Last night, I was getting up from the table after a particularly filling dinner when I yelped in pain. M, who had been distracted by the two dogs (one is not ours; we’re dog-sitting while my friend is in the hospital after having a C-section), said, “Was that noise you?”
Yes, it was me. I was suddenly experiencing severe cramping that was agitated any time I stretched, moved, coughed or did anything but lie on the couch. In fact, even lying on the couch was starting to bother me after a while.
The logical part of me said, well, this must be what late-third-trimester ligament pain is like. The deadbaby mama in me, however, wondered if this was cause for alarm. So I decided to call our birthing center just to talk to a nurse to gain some perspective. While she was hesitant to tell me everything was OK, she did reassure me that ligament pain can, indeed, feel like “someone is shoving a stick up your v.a.g.ina.” She suggested a warm bath.
And so I took my first bath in years (I do, of course, shower—I just find it time-consuming to fill up a bathtub). While I was horrified with how dirty our bathtub/shower actually is, I was amazed by how quickly I felt better. A hot bath is the miracle drug! I’ll have to remember that when I’m in labor…
I’m 27 weeks today. This morning I discovered I had gained a whopping 4 pounds in the past week. I now weigh in 26 pounds heavier than I did pre-pregnancy. Whoa. My current fear is preeclempsia, but so far the weight gain and slight swelling are my only symptoms, so I’m just going to hang on tight and try not to think about it.
Yes, it was me. I was suddenly experiencing severe cramping that was agitated any time I stretched, moved, coughed or did anything but lie on the couch. In fact, even lying on the couch was starting to bother me after a while.
The logical part of me said, well, this must be what late-third-trimester ligament pain is like. The deadbaby mama in me, however, wondered if this was cause for alarm. So I decided to call our birthing center just to talk to a nurse to gain some perspective. While she was hesitant to tell me everything was OK, she did reassure me that ligament pain can, indeed, feel like “someone is shoving a stick up your v.a.g.ina.” She suggested a warm bath.
And so I took my first bath in years (I do, of course, shower—I just find it time-consuming to fill up a bathtub). While I was horrified with how dirty our bathtub/shower actually is, I was amazed by how quickly I felt better. A hot bath is the miracle drug! I’ll have to remember that when I’m in labor…
I’m 27 weeks today. This morning I discovered I had gained a whopping 4 pounds in the past week. I now weigh in 26 pounds heavier than I did pre-pregnancy. Whoa. My current fear is preeclempsia, but so far the weight gain and slight swelling are my only symptoms, so I’m just going to hang on tight and try not to think about it.
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