Wow. There’s nothing like announcing that you’re going invite-only to bring out the masses.
Well. Relatively speaking. It’s not like I’ve had 300 people asking for an invite—which is a good thing, because apparently Blogger limits me to 100! But I have to admit it’s been an ego boost to hear from all of you—especially you lurkers. Honestly, I feel like I’m in an episode of “This is Your Life.” Or maybe an observer at my own funeral. (Too morbid?) I am so completely touched by some of the e-mails you have sent me, and I’m humbled that you want to follow along on my journey.
I’m sad, too, because by going invite-only, I’m inevitably turning this blog into a different animal. I love the fact that a heartbroken mom/mom-to-be/wanna-be-mom-to-be/wanted-to-be-mom-to-be who has a story somewhat similar to mine can find me on this newfangled thing we call the Web. For that same reason, however (and many others) I have to protect my privacy. My greatest source of support could become my nightmare if I’m not careful. I prefer that this blog continue to be read by virtual strangers (that’s you guys!) rather than risk someone I know stumbling across it.
Now down to business: Everyone who asked for an invite has been added to my list. A few of you, however (specifically, I’m talking to Geohde, Dorian&Amp and Nurse Lochia) said I could find your e-mail in your profile. Um, it’s not there. Geohde, I know we’ve e-mailed before but for the life of me I can’t find your address! So could you just drop me an e-mail so I can add you to the hordes? (Ha!)
In pregnancy-related news, my friend A hosted the shower for me a week ago, and it was lovely. All my worries were for naught; the perfect number of people came to the shower. I continue to be overwhelmed by the support of friends.
Sleep, however, continues to elude. Oh, I get a fair amount—but I’m constantly waking up, shifting, settling down uncomfortably and repeating the same cycle about an hour later.
I must admit, too, that I’m starting to get my first round of the freak-outs. As in, “Holy crap, in about six weeks I’m actually going to be responsible for the well-being of another person!
M and I are also getting our butts in gear and finally ordering a monument for Zach’s grave. Between the opening and closing of the grave and the monument, they seriously do rob you blind. Sigh. But we can’t not put the marker there, because how would we even remember where he’s buried? Such is the problem with stillbirth that you never would even think about. If Zach had been born alive, we could’ve gotten life insurance for him and not had to pay for everything out of pocket.
Tuesday, August 26, 2008
Wednesday, August 20, 2008
Going invite-only--soon
I recently discovered that my company blocks users from clearing their Internet histories. I guess it's sort of the Big Brother thing--if we get accused of viewing naughty pictures online, they want to be able to track it.
That does not bode well for me, however. I can just picture it: My maternity replacement comes into the office, gets bored one day and starts absentmindedly viewing the pages (and many blogs) I have viewed while in the office. Suddenly, she stumbles upon a particularly interesting blog called The Unlucky 20 Percent...and decides to share it with all her new friends in my office.
Not. Gonna. Happen.
So, the only solution is to take a step I had planned on taking anyway: As of about mid-September, I will be going invite-only. It saddens me that I have to restrict my readership, but I simply have to protect my anonymity.
Of course, this isn't sad news for all of you lovely people. All you have to do is send me your e-mail address and I'll add you to the "safe list." (We'll see if I run into any technological disasters along the way.) E-mail me at b ear nest at wi dot rr dot com, and we can rock 'n roll!
I'm only 34 weeks, so I'm not expecting to leave the office just yet. But I need your e-mails in the next three weeks so I can go invite-only early--just in case.
That does not bode well for me, however. I can just picture it: My maternity replacement comes into the office, gets bored one day and starts absentmindedly viewing the pages (and many blogs) I have viewed while in the office. Suddenly, she stumbles upon a particularly interesting blog called The Unlucky 20 Percent...and decides to share it with all her new friends in my office.
Not. Gonna. Happen.
So, the only solution is to take a step I had planned on taking anyway: As of about mid-September, I will be going invite-only. It saddens me that I have to restrict my readership, but I simply have to protect my anonymity.
Of course, this isn't sad news for all of you lovely people. All you have to do is send me your e-mail address and I'll add you to the "safe list." (We'll see if I run into any technological disasters along the way.) E-mail me at b ear nest at wi dot rr dot com, and we can rock 'n roll!
I'm only 34 weeks, so I'm not expecting to leave the office just yet. But I need your e-mails in the next three weeks so I can go invite-only early--just in case.
Monday, August 18, 2008
The complainer
I have a nasty habit of, when someone asks me how I’m feeling, actually telling them.
I don’t subscribe to the “I’m fine” camp when I’m not—not completely. So most people in my office are aware that I have recently had ligament pains that make it very difficult to get up from my chair and walk to the bathroom. When they ask me how I am, I tell them I’m feeling very uncomfortable.
On Friday, I accompanied M to a work conference at a resort for a night and treated myself to a massage and a few hours by the pool. Apparently, it was just what my body needed. Even M said I seemed much more relaxed.
This morning, when my co-worker S asked how I was doing, I told her, truthfully, much better. I then turned it into an extended joke along the lines of, hey, apparently all I need is just to sit on my butt by a pool and my body just magically feels much better. The office wouldn’t mind, then, if I spent the next seven weeks doing just that?
My co-worker C happened to walk up while we were talking. She gave a small smile while I was joking (hey C, you wouldn’t mind if I just took the next seven week to lay by the pool, would you, ha ha?). Then she said, presumably joking, “Hey, you chose to be pregnant, so suck it up!
(I should probably remind you that C is the office queen bee who was never able to have children and has alternately been my biggest nemesis and my biggest comfort through all the crap of the last year. She’s also planning my office shower.)
I think C was sort of joking. But it still stung. Have I really become “that person—“ the one who complains when she has been blessed enough to become pregnant? I have always been conscious of what I talk about and when, but when somebody asks me how I’m feeling, it is very difficult for me to grit my teeth and swallow down any words other than “great!” I’m just too talkative of a person for that.
It is very, very difficult for me to just ignore my pregnancy at work when, everywhere I turn (remember, I work in PR at a hospital so I work with LOTS of different people), someone is asking me about it. Even when I try to joke, I feel like I’m betraying the infertile sisterhood.
I don’t subscribe to the “I’m fine” camp when I’m not—not completely. So most people in my office are aware that I have recently had ligament pains that make it very difficult to get up from my chair and walk to the bathroom. When they ask me how I am, I tell them I’m feeling very uncomfortable.
On Friday, I accompanied M to a work conference at a resort for a night and treated myself to a massage and a few hours by the pool. Apparently, it was just what my body needed. Even M said I seemed much more relaxed.
This morning, when my co-worker S asked how I was doing, I told her, truthfully, much better. I then turned it into an extended joke along the lines of, hey, apparently all I need is just to sit on my butt by a pool and my body just magically feels much better. The office wouldn’t mind, then, if I spent the next seven weeks doing just that?
My co-worker C happened to walk up while we were talking. She gave a small smile while I was joking (hey C, you wouldn’t mind if I just took the next seven week to lay by the pool, would you, ha ha?). Then she said, presumably joking, “Hey, you chose to be pregnant, so suck it up!
(I should probably remind you that C is the office queen bee who was never able to have children and has alternately been my biggest nemesis and my biggest comfort through all the crap of the last year. She’s also planning my office shower.)
I think C was sort of joking. But it still stung. Have I really become “that person—“ the one who complains when she has been blessed enough to become pregnant? I have always been conscious of what I talk about and when, but when somebody asks me how I’m feeling, it is very difficult for me to grit my teeth and swallow down any words other than “great!” I’m just too talkative of a person for that.
It is very, very difficult for me to just ignore my pregnancy at work when, everywhere I turn (remember, I work in PR at a hospital so I work with LOTS of different people), someone is asking me about it. Even when I try to joke, I feel like I’m betraying the infertile sisterhood.
Thursday, August 7, 2008
Shower time
I have to ‘fess up to something: I hate throwing parties.
It’s not because so much work goes into planning them, or even because it takes a while to clean up after a party. No, I hate throwing parties because I’m always afraid nobody is going to come.
It’s usually an unfounded fear. But it’s a fear nonetheless.
You’d think this fear would go away when somebody else is throwing me a party. But no—if anything, it gets worse.
My friend A was gracious enough to offer to throw me a shower. It was a very sweet offer, and at first I was too surprised to say anything. But as soon as I got over my shock, my prevalent thought was: Who in the world am I going to invite?
Let me back up a second. I lived in the Chicago area most of my life. Many of my closest friends, both from high school and college, live in that area, as do my parents and B and SIL’s family. I moved up to the Milwaukee area to be with M a little more than three years ago. I’ve managed to make a decent number of friends, but my “friendship base” is spread out over a larger geographic area than other people’s.
We have been overwhelmed by the support we have received in (and before) this pregnancy. There are five showers being thrown for us. Five! I love attending parties, so it’s lots of fun for me. However, we only know so many people!
Shower #1: In Chicago, thrown by my mother and SIL. It was lots of fun and the perfect size. I got to see most of my Chicago friends and was overwhelmed by love.
Shower #2: A’s shower, scheduled for next weekend (15 minutes from our house). Not including my mom, MIL and other SIL (who lives up here in Cheeseland), I could only think of 12 other people to invite. And even that’s pushing it (church people, etc.).
Shower #3: A total shocker—M’s boss and wife wanted to throw us a shower. The company is very small, so there will probably be just four or five couples there, including us. But a total non-stresser for me, so yay!
Shower #4: My work shower, thrown at a co-worker’s house (ironically, a co-worker that I’ve been hot and cold with since I started working here). Also not much of a stresser for me because everybody at the shower knows each other.
Shower #5: Thrown by my MIL and SIL here in WI. Will be mostly family and MIL’s friends. Since the guest list isn’t so much mine as it is MIL’s, I’m not stressing about it.
So why, you ask, am I so stressed out about A’s shower? First of all, every time I see her she sounds so excited about it. Even though she just had a baby at the beginning of July, she’s putting lots of work into this shower. I’ll feel like I let her down if only a few people can come! Plus, I feel really weird about asking her who she’s heard from, and she doesn't volunteer the information. My mother gave me almost a daily update on the guest list for Shower #1, so I knew exactly who she was still waiting to hear from. It feels weird to be in such a passive position regarding a party.
What I need to do is just stop stressing and start enjoying the ride!
(By the way, last November I would have killed to have “problems” like these. I must admit it feels good that the biggest issues I have right now are superficial.)
It’s not because so much work goes into planning them, or even because it takes a while to clean up after a party. No, I hate throwing parties because I’m always afraid nobody is going to come.
It’s usually an unfounded fear. But it’s a fear nonetheless.
You’d think this fear would go away when somebody else is throwing me a party. But no—if anything, it gets worse.
My friend A was gracious enough to offer to throw me a shower. It was a very sweet offer, and at first I was too surprised to say anything. But as soon as I got over my shock, my prevalent thought was: Who in the world am I going to invite?
Let me back up a second. I lived in the Chicago area most of my life. Many of my closest friends, both from high school and college, live in that area, as do my parents and B and SIL’s family. I moved up to the Milwaukee area to be with M a little more than three years ago. I’ve managed to make a decent number of friends, but my “friendship base” is spread out over a larger geographic area than other people’s.
We have been overwhelmed by the support we have received in (and before) this pregnancy. There are five showers being thrown for us. Five! I love attending parties, so it’s lots of fun for me. However, we only know so many people!
Shower #1: In Chicago, thrown by my mother and SIL. It was lots of fun and the perfect size. I got to see most of my Chicago friends and was overwhelmed by love.
Shower #2: A’s shower, scheduled for next weekend (15 minutes from our house). Not including my mom, MIL and other SIL (who lives up here in Cheeseland), I could only think of 12 other people to invite. And even that’s pushing it (church people, etc.).
Shower #3: A total shocker—M’s boss and wife wanted to throw us a shower. The company is very small, so there will probably be just four or five couples there, including us. But a total non-stresser for me, so yay!
Shower #4: My work shower, thrown at a co-worker’s house (ironically, a co-worker that I’ve been hot and cold with since I started working here). Also not much of a stresser for me because everybody at the shower knows each other.
Shower #5: Thrown by my MIL and SIL here in WI. Will be mostly family and MIL’s friends. Since the guest list isn’t so much mine as it is MIL’s, I’m not stressing about it.
So why, you ask, am I so stressed out about A’s shower? First of all, every time I see her she sounds so excited about it. Even though she just had a baby at the beginning of July, she’s putting lots of work into this shower. I’ll feel like I let her down if only a few people can come! Plus, I feel really weird about asking her who she’s heard from, and she doesn't volunteer the information. My mother gave me almost a daily update on the guest list for Shower #1, so I knew exactly who she was still waiting to hear from. It feels weird to be in such a passive position regarding a party.
What I need to do is just stop stressing and start enjoying the ride!
(By the way, last November I would have killed to have “problems” like these. I must admit it feels good that the biggest issues I have right now are superficial.)
Monday, July 28, 2008
Remembering Zach
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.
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.
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?
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