What's Goin' On; or, Taking a Sabbatical

Things have been moving in the Sloper household the last few days. After a whirlwind of social activity, all of our immediate family (including Sister #3, finally) knows about Smudgie. We also had dinner with two separate sets of friends and told them (four more people). And Lawyer Guy wanted to tell his closest aunt and uncle on each side of his family when we saw them over the weekend at our niece's first birthday party (though we are not informing any other family--including cousins--until after the Level I anatomy scan). We each have a few more friends on our lists of people to tell, but that can be stretched out over the next month.

You may remember that my sister-in-law burst into tears when we told her about Smudgie two weeks ago, and even my stoic brother-in-law got choked up. Apparently, this is a common reaction. One of LG's step-sisters also stared crying when we told her, as did--separately--three of our friends (one of them male!).

I can't deny that there's something very warming about seeing people react so enthusiastically to the news that we're (we hope) expecting. It's nice to know that so many in our lives support us and have been supporting us throughout these two years. I remember my youngest sister saying after we miscarried the m&m, "Maybe now everyone will be even happier when you have a baby and it will be even more special, because we'll all know how sad you were." And it seems like that is coming true, to a certain extent. Two years trying to conceive, a lost pregnancy: they're not always easy things to share with the people in your life. But I'm glad that I did.

Unfortunately, after such a busy, social weekend, I'm feeling pretty drained and very anxious. But fortunately, for once the anxiety is not about Smudgie (though I'm sure that will return soon enough). Nope...it's about school!

I've mentioned that I have my orals (aka qualifying exams) coming up. They're in about two months. My work pace up until now has been, shall we say, sluggish. I've been distracted, I confess. But now I need to read 60-70 texts in April and May and prepare myself to converse with my committee on any aspect of any of them. And because I'm a Victorianist, most of these tests are 800-pages long.

With sadness, much like the robin or the Canada goose, I'm going to have to say goodbye to you all until the weather is warmer. I need to focus on preparing for this test for the next 8 weeks, and I won't be able to give this space the time and attention I like.

I will update after our scans (one in two weeks, the other at the end of April, and--I hope I hope--more in May). I'll try to check in with your blogs at least once a week, maybe on the weekends. But for the sake of my academic career, that's all I can manage for now.

Ta-Ta! I wish everyone warm weather, good cycles, happy pregnancies, healthy babies, and all happy things until I return.

More Telling; or, Unexpected Reactions

We told two more sets of our siblings over the weekend. Their respective reactions are an amusing study in contrasts.

First, we called my Law School Sister (who was out in Santa Fe for spring break at my parents' place) and pulled the same "Check out this bridesmaid dress I found" trick that we did with my Business School Sister a week before (the one who is getting married). It did not go over quite as well, but gave perfect evidence of why my sister is going to make a great lawyer, as only a transcription of our conversation can adequately show.

First, this is the dress that I've been considering (not in that color):
It's unfortunate that the angle of the image is front-on rather than side-on, because her (to me) obvious bump could just be a particularly puffy waistline. (Her smug little side-smile is also unfortunate, but for different reasons).

So I called Law School Sister, send her the link to the dress and initiated the following conversation:

Sloper: Did you open it yet?
LSS: Yeah, I don't like it. The dress [Business School Sister] picked out is better.
Sloper: But I think this one will work. Take another look.
LSS: No. The color is awful and it's going to make you look fat.
Sloper: But why don't you look at it again.
LSS: Look, do you want me to lie and tell you I like it when I don't? I think the other dress is better.
Sloper: Yeah, but did you read the description of the dress?
LSS: I read it. I still don't like it.
Sloper: You read the description to the right of the dress? I suggest you read it again. Carefully.
LSS: [Slowly reading out description, stopping at word] "maternity." Wait, why would you need a maternity dress?
Sloper: Why do you think I would need a maternity dress?
LSS: You're....pregnant?

We laughed about how bull-headed she is and how our clever little plan just went completely over her head. She was excited about the news and agreed that the dress my other sister picked won't work under the circumstances (though she still didn't like this one. Can't win them all, I suppose).

Then yesterday afternoon we went out to Suburblandia for lunch with Lawyer Guy's brother and our sister-in-law and the nieces. We brought the latest Smudgie pic and LG decided to give it to our older niece (she's three) and tell her to ask her daddy what it is. Which happened at the beginning of the lunch.

I really didn't have any expectations for how they would react to the news, so I was blown away by how excited they were. My SIL literally screamed "Oh My God!" when she saw the sonogram, jumped out of her chair, hugged me, and started crying. I didn't see my BIL's reaction, because I was preoccupied with SIL's, but Lawyer Guy said he got choked up and a little teary-eyed, too, and hugged his brother. My SIL was pretty funny: she offered me all her maternity clothes, said she hopes it's a girl so she can give me her daughters' clothes, and was like, "We can have sleepovers! We can all go to the beach together!" They both kept showing the picture to their daughters and saying "This is your cousin!"

This will be their daughters' only cousin, because LG and his bro have no other siblings and SIL is an only child. I know that cousins are really important to their families, so I can see why they're happy their daughters will have one. And they know about the miscarriage, even though they haven't spoken about it with us since it happened, so I guess maybe they were getting worried about our reproductive abilities (or maybe not).

It was nice to have them be so excited. But there was a little feeling of "You're in the mommy club now" to the reaction, which I think has to sting a bit for most pregnant IFers, because it's such a reminder of all those years when you were outside that club for good. And they were so happy and confident that everything will work out, which scares me.

I'm still scared. I'm scared about the NT scan. I'm scared about what I'll learn. I had a dream last night that I went to the bathroom and found blood.

As nice as it has been being able to share some good news for a change, this pregnancy no longer belongs only to us, as I knew it wouldn't once we told about it. Other people now have hopes and expectations. And on top of all my other fears of what could happen to the baby (jeez, I've been having terrible visions of cord accidents and all kinds of things I just shouldn't think about--which I guess is progress because at least they happen in third tri) I don't want to go back to being the couple that brings all the sad shit to the family table, the way we have been for the last two years.

But I can't go backward. The news is out there and I have to accept it. My youngest sister is out of the country for the next week, but she's the last sibling we have to tell. In two weeks, if all is well, we'll tell LG's step-sisters and some close friends. And things have a way of spreading. I can't hide in my house the entire time. Like it or not, pregnancy is a public phenomenon, and I'm going to have to do my best with that.

Meet the Parents; or, Telling

We told all six of our parents (including Lawyer Guy's step-parents) the news about Smudgie this weekend. Before each phone call or visit, I felt my palms sweating and my heart fluttering with nervousness, and after we made our last stop on the Tell Moms and Dads Tour (to LG's mother and step-father), I briefly wondered if now that we'd told them all we'd finally get that bad news I've been dreading for almost 6 weeks (or longer, if you include the 2ww). Still, I'm glad that they know, especially because it's made LG so much more relaxed and calm.

My parents sold our house back East and moved to Santa Fe last summer, so we had to tell them over the phone. LG had taken a cellphone photo of our latest images of Smudgie after Thursday's appointment, and we e-mailed the jpg of that photo to my mom and called her to tell her to check her e-mail. After a moment's silence, she said, "What is this?" I asked, "You don't recognize it?" And she said, "Oh my gosh, [Sloper], it says your name!" I couldn't help crying after that, as she called my dad in from the other room and asked him to take a look, too. We all got on skype soon after, so I was able to see how happy and excited my parents were. My mom insisted on grabbing all the ultrasound printouts (and hospital bracelets) from all four of her pregnancies and showing them to me. First, she has had them all laminated. Second, despite having just made a cross-country move she had them at arm's reach in the new house. I've always thought of my mom as one of the least sentimental people about childhood--she never minded getting rid of our old toys, or kindergarten art, or home!--so this was really surprising.

We told LG's father and step-mother over the phone, too, since they were heading out to their summer home for the weekend and we wouldn't be able to catch them. Lawyer Guy recently received some proofs from a photo session he did at work as a result of his promotion. He had sent his dad those proofs to look at the day before, so he told him he had one more to send and e-mailed him the same u/s shot we sent to my parents. He secretly patched me into the call, but I didn't say anything until after my FIL opened the picture and said, "Mazel Tov!" (No really, that's what he said! I love it). We couldn't get step-mother-in-law on the phone right then, but FIL told her and she called later to let us know how happy she is. She's the one whose mother passed away two weeks ago, and she told us that she'd been thinking there has to be a baby born soon and she has a really good feeling about ours. I hope she's right.

Finally, on Saturday we went up to see LG's mother and step-father in LG's hometown a quick drive outside of the city. My MIL has been extremely suspicious the last month-plus, constantly quizzing LG with "Do you have any news for me? Do you have anything to tell me?" and even hinting at the question of whether or not I was pregnant when we saw them for dinner three weeks ago (I just frowned and looked away). I couldn't figure out why she was asking us these questions, until LG revealed that he'd let her know each cycle when it didn't work out, and obviously didn't say anything after this cycle. (This led to a pretty big fight, because I considered that breaking the spirit, if not the letter, of the law we'd laid down regarding letting family and friends into our reproductive lives). But he was able to throw her off the scent by talking about how stressed he was, which made her think we had another treatment coming up.

My MIL adores our puppy Bella, and we've been trying to convince her to get a Havanese of her own (which she doesn't want to do until she retires in a few years). We're always sending her links to petfinder dogs or pictures from breeders. After we arrived at her house yesterday, LG told her that we had a picture of a puppy we thought she would like and handed her the ultrasound. She was very excited, as was LG's stepfather.

Overall, I'm happy with the way things went. I think we were able to have some fun with telling our parents without going over-the-top with specially made clothing, crazy antics, or attention-seeking maneuvers. We basically just told them what was up, and it was special enough without balloons or dancing bears. None of them responded in any of the ways I was dreading (I worried about comments like, "See, I told you it would all work out" or the like) and they were all reasonably understanding of the fact that they need to keep this an utter secret until we give them the go-ahead, and that our pace in telling people will probably be a lot slower than they want. Both LG's parents are champing at the bit to talk to family about this, but we're being very firm that we are NOT ready for public conversations and they will just have to respect that.

We told one other person this weekend. My sister (who is getting married in Napa in August, as I've mentioned before) has been e-mailing me non-stop about bridesmaid dresses the last 10 or so days. She only has four bridesmaids (me, our other two sisters, and her fiance's sister), so she picked out a different dress in the same color for each of us (all from different designers) and wanted us to order them pronto. The dress she picked for me is cute, but absolutely unsuited to an advanced pregnancy. I had to tell her what's up, so she doesn't think I'm just being difficult in refusing to order it. I sent her a link to a maternity bridesmaid dress in the same color and told her I thought this one would work better than the one she picked. It took her a moment to catch on, but she was really excited when she did. And she agreed that we could wait until I'm (fingers crossed) in second tri before hitting up the bridesmaid dress shops to try to order it.

LG wanted to tell the rest of our siblings this weekend, too, but I was feeling overwhelmed and needed some time off from sharing this. My two youngest sisters are both out in Santa Fe visiting my parents for the week, so I may call in a few days and let them know. And if the ultrasound on Thursday goes well, we'll probably tell my BIL and SIL next weekend. Then it's two weeks to the NT scan, after which (if it goes well) we'll tell LG's step-sisters and a few close friends, but I want to wait until at least the first anatomy scan before letting our extended friends and families know.

There's so much else to talk about: my craftiness at hiding my non-alcoholic beverage orders when out with friends; my fears, which are increasingly centering around the big upcoming scans rather than spotting or regular ultrasounds (though I still fear those, too); my weight-gain and reaction to it; my pathetic academic career. But this post is already too long. And it's good to save some things for later, right?

Please stay strong and healthy, Smudgie. We love you so much and so many people are waiting to meet you.

Post-Thanksgiving Premonitions; or, 11 dpiui

This may be one of those post-every-day kind of weeks. I've just got a lot on my mind, I guess. Right now I could use some bloggie advice.

As the title says, I'm 11 dpiui. And I'm quite sure it didn't work. My boobs don't feel pregnant, which are the only indicators I ever have. My skin is also very, "Ha ha, your period is coming." Everything else is perfectly consistent with getting my period, and after going through this 17 times now, I've gotten pretty good at figuring out when that's going to happen.

Since I would rather whittle my peestick into a shank and plunge it directly into my heart than see one line on a pregnancy test, I won't be testing until AF misses her train. Which usually means not testing at all.

So here's my dilemma. Normally, I start spotting about 14 days after my LH surge and get full flow the following day (I was never positive whether I ovulated the day after or two days after my LH surge, so I counted from the first peak day, which seemed less equivocal). Because of the chemical pregnancy last month, I don't know if being on Clomid will change my luteal phase at all, but as I'm not taking progesterone or any other suppositories, I have to assume it won't. Thus I project that I'll begin spotting on Friday, the day after Thanksgiving.

Now, thanks to Lawyer Guy's parents' divorce, we spend every day-after Thanksgiving at his father's house having a second Thanksgiving dinner (this year, if you count Fakesgiving, it will be the third) with LG's father and stepmother and the infamous BIL/SIL clan. Long-time readers may recall that at this event last year (only about a week after my d&c) I broke down crying and ran from the table, which action was greeted with rather deafening silence. Not the best communicators, that side of the family.

Anyway, this year the event is not going to be at FIL's house. I'll give you three guesses where it was moved. Are you thinking? Thinking really hard? If you guessed BIL's house you are right on the money! Apparently having two small children makes it extremely difficult to take a half-hour trip across the Tappan Zee Bridge on a holiday weekend, and everything has to revolve around making their schedule easier (Sorry, my bitter is showing. Excuse me while I pull down my skirt a little).

LG and I were anxious and upset when we find out the event was moving there. As he puts it, "It automatically goes from a family event on neutral territory to one that is about them and their kids." We thought about telling his father how uncomfortable we are and asking him to switch it back. We thought about doing a lot of things. But we couldn't think of a way to address this issue that didn't sound petty and like we just didn't want to go to their house. Or a way that wasn't basically forcing his father to choose between the desires of his two sons, a position in which he is not very comfortable. We also thought about not going and then decided it would cause too much fuss not to go.

Compounding all this, we learned on Sunday at our lunch in the suburbs that the family has chosen this event as their Channukah gift exchange day, because everyone's schedules are so full in December.

Yes, we found this out on Sunday. Five days before we're supposed to exchange gifts on Friday. And no one would have told us if I hadn't innocently wondered when we'd all be getting together for the gift-giving. Scrambling ensued, and I picked up a bunch of gifts and ordered others online. We now have gifts for all the adults, but the nieces' gifts won't arrive until next week at the earliest.

So to sum up: a post-Thanksgiving dinner at the home of our least supportive relatives where we will be exchanging gifts we didn't have time to procure on the day I'm due to confirm that this most recent IUI failed.

I don't know what to do. I don't want to start spotting in the middle of dinner. How will I possibly handle the devastation around everyone? We'll have to leave and it will cause such a scene. I suspect that if I start spotting earlier in the day, I'll just want to hunker down and be alone to lick my wounds and start the moving-on process. Lawyer Guy said he'd go to the dinner by himself, but I hate when he has to do that. I hate being the sad, fragile basket-case who can't handle ordinary human interactions. And I hate being left alone at home when everyone else is together.

I just wish I didn't have to think about any of this. I wish I were stronger and better able to push forward through uncomfortable situations. I wish LG didn't feel like he had no choice in whether to go or not and I wish that I felt confident everyone would understand our situation--yet I don't want to tell people exactly what is going on. I don't even want BIL and SIL to know we're seeing an RE!

I've got a few days to figure this out, and I'll be tp-scanning (and smelling, which is usually my earliest sign of impending-AF, as disgusting as that may sound) like mad. I'm giving myself permission not to decide what to do until Friday and to just say screw it to everyone's reactions. But a strong part of me still feels like the right thing to do is go and if I stay home I'll be weak and giving in to bad, selfish impulses.

Such a long post to say essentially so little. If you managed to slog through the tedium, I'd love to hear your advice or thoughts.

Saturday and Sunday; or, Reversals of Fortune

Sometimes there's so much to say, I can't find the heart to sit down and write about it. Last weekend was that kind of weekend. We had dinner with friends on Saturday night in the neighborhood and then met for lunch with my BIL and SIL and nieces on Sunday at their country club.

I was dreading the family visit all weekend. My mother-in-law had called the day before and told me that she had lunch with J (the BIL) that Saturday and that he had asked if "there were any babies yet" for Sloper and LG. My MIL responded by telling him he needs to speak with us to learn about how things are going, and he said, "They didn't have another miscarriage, did they?" in a worried one of voice. Again she told him to talk to us about what's going on, but that we're "struggling."

My MIL brought this story to me like it was some amazing evidence of how deeply my BIL and SIL care about us. "See?" she said. "He's thinking about you. I know they want you to have kids."

Yeah, I kind of figured that already. Obviously they want their kids to have cousins, and LG and I are the only way they're getting any. And they're not evil. I know they don't wish us ill.

But hearing that he made what basically amounted to small-talk chit-chat at lunch about our problems (over a year later!) isn't evidence of some extreme compassion and sympathy. I'm not angry that she told me this, but it also doesn't change that I think their reaction to our situation has royally sucked. It doesn't change the fact that I think they are incapable of having real, human connection with us on this point, or that they don't put their own events, needs, and desires over our incredibly deep sorrow. As I said to my MIL, "I don't know what I'm supposed to do with this information." Go out of my way to inform them and make them comfortable with this? Um, no.

So I was not feeling super charitable about this lunch visit and was wondering why we were making the effort to head out to Suburblandia and see them. And yet, it was fine. I held the 8-month-old niece, who is very sweet and smiley, and I saw that she has the blue eyes neither of her parents do (eyes like mine) and managed only a twinge of sadness. Our three-year-old niece was sweet and funny and very cuddly once she got over some initial shyness. LG and his brother disappeared to another part of the club for a while (a sports bar, it turned out, where they could watch some football) and I thought that maybe J was going to bring up the last year and ask how things were going. But he didn't. And LG thought that maybe S (my SIL) was asking me how things have been. But she wasn't.

Still, for all my dread of these situations, I'm very good at getting in and getting out with minimal fuss and distress. And if I wasn't my usual bright and sparkly self, if I was a little more quiet and subdued than usual, I don't think it was extreme enough for anyone but me to notice.

So Sunday was alright, despite my worries. But Saturday...

We had dinner with, among others, our Queens friends and their one-year-old son. These are the friends whose son was born the day we had our first bad ultrasound with the m&m. They are the friends who miscarried their first pregnancy almost exactly two years before we did, then tried to conceive for over a year before finally hitting the jackpot with an IUI. We are very close to them, and while we don't talk about IF and loss frequently, there's a current of understanding that flows through all our interactions and helps make things comfortable.

I noticed at dinner that Queens Wife wasn't drinking, and my radar went up. But Queens Husband was, so I thought that perhaps they designated a "Sober Sister" (as it were) to watch their little boy and drive home.

But as we peeled off from the rest of our party and walked them to their car a few blocks away, they confirmed my suspicions. They were twelve-weeks pregnant, unexpectedly but quite happily. They were due in June, just like her first pregnancy and mine.

I didn't feel that sharp spike of jealousy in the gut the way I usually do. We hugged them both and asked some questions and told them how happy we were. And in that moment, I truly was. Something raw and pointy lay underneath that happiness, but I pushed it far down. Lawyer Guy and I left them at their car and walked home to our apartment, and the night was very crisp and clear, and we both talked of other things and knew we were thinking the same thing, and it felt good to be together, whatever the circumstances.

I didn't let myself think much more about our friends' pregnancy the rest of the weekend. And then Monday morning, Queens Husband texted LG. They just had their NT scan. The results were not good--the baby's skull didn't form right. They had to terminate.

We both cried for them and ordered a basket of food to be delivered to their house and texted and e-mailed and offered to help them with anything they needed. She had the procedure yesterday and tomorrow they leave for Thanksgiving in New England.

As much as I may have felt jealous and a little sad when they told me their pregnancy news, I am devastated that this is the result. It seems so unfair--that they've had to undergo two very different but equally traumatizing losses, and even their beautiful, hard-won son doesn't make up for that. I find myself wondering why this kind of suffering has to be concentrated on the same people over and over again. Why can't it be one miscarriage per customer, no exceptions, and no more than one for everybody? Why can't it be lost pregnancy or IF, never both? I know the world doesn't work that way, and I'm sure people with ordinary, loss-free fertility would be horrified to think I'm "wishing miscarriages" and problems on them. But wouldn't life be easier to navigate if we could all share this burden?

Like losing a parent--it happens at different (more or less tragic) times for different people, but if you live long enough, your parents will die. I think we have tremendous sympathy for those whose parents die because of this sense that it will be us facing the same thing one day. But reproductive troubles aren't like that, so they're easier to dismiss or ignore. It's horrible to wish they were more universal, and yet I do. Hey, I'm surviving them, so Ms. Fertile Franny can too.

I'm rambling now because there's no real ending point to this. Lost pregnancies suck. Infertility sucks. Lack of sympathy sucks. Having to trudge on when you just want to scream sucks.

This all sucks.

Family Affairs; or, They Named the Baby

I spent most of my therapy session this afternoon discussing Lawyer Guy's strange family dynamics (though all in-laws' families are strange, right?) as I have laid them out with more brevity here and here and here. So fortunately for you, I've burned through much of the anger I was feeling yesterday. But at that babynaming, no question: I was pissed.

I was pissed at the situation: AF's early arrival the day before, the beginning of cycle 8/15, trying to schedule an HSG, wondering if my husband's sperm is okay, wondering if we'll ever be pregnant or how much it will take to get pregnant with a baby that sticks. I was pissed about what could have been, mad that the 4-month-old I could have been cuddling is instead a product of human conception in a lab. I was so freaking angry that I--a woman who has always loved children and dreamed of being a mom--was the ONLY childless woman between the ages of 20 and 40 out of the 120+ people at this event (let's not even speak of how many of them were pregnant (I counted at least six)). I was angry at myself for feeling obligated to be there. Angry I had to make small-talk when all I wanted to do was sulk. Angry it was happening in the first place. And angry that the freaking country club reception hall was decorated like this:

You see, it's casual, low-key, and cost-conscious because the centerpieces are elaborate balloon displays rather than flowers. Get it?

So my brother-in-law said hello and nothing more to me the whole time and my sister-in-law barely even did that--she had to run off and get the baby in her dress and put a freaking tiara on her head as soon as they arrived. No time for greeting your ONLY siblings-in-law who came all the way from Brooklyn for your God-awful travesty of a life-cycle celebration, no of course not.

(Okay, maybe I didn't burn off all that anger after all).

I get that they were busy hosting this event. I get that they had a lot of people to entertain. I didn't want them to sit down and take my hand and stare intently into my eyes while asking, "How are you?" I wouldn't have liked that at all, nor for them to pry into how our family building is going.

But it would have been nice if--instead of calling me three months ago to nail down a date when we'd be available because we are "so important to them and it's so important that [we] be there"--my SIL had let me know that it was okay with them if I decided I wasn't up for coming. It would have been nice to receive SOME acknowledgment of the fact that this is freaking hard for us--of the fact that we have been going through hell the last year (well, longer than that, but a year as far as they know). Just a hug, or a friendly and warm look in the eye, or the words "We're so glad you guys are here." That's it. No medals of honor necessary. Just some basic human connection.

Too much to ask, apparently.

And then, during the little ceremony, when the rabbi called Lawyer Guy and all the grandparents up to the podium to read some blessings and I was left sitting all alone at my table and my father-in-law gestured to me to take pictures of them all with his camera (which I actually did for a little while), I finally decided I'd had enough and I hated the world and I left and went to the bathroom where I acknowledged that what I really wanted to do was kick something hard but, nothing kickable being on hand, would have to content myself with a halfhearted and unsatisfying cry in a toilet stall.

And then we ate brunch.

My mother-in-law called later that night to ask how I was doing, because she could tell I was not myself at the party (and she knows that we've started meeting with REs, though she doesn't know all the details of what's going on). I told her it's been a hard couple of weeks and that I've been really sad and she said I seemed more angry than sad at the party. So, yeah, I told her the above--that I'm mad at the world and my life and my body and the party and BIL and SIL--mostly them--right now for not even seeming to REALIZE that we've been in agony for what feels like thirty years.

So apparently my sister-in-law occasionally asks my mother-in-law how I'm doing and how the whole baby-making thing is going. Which my MIL took as evidence that in her own (limited) way she does care. She doesn't care enough to say or do or feel anything, but she cares enough to periodically wonder about us.

(I recognize this isn't fair of me. I'm not in a very fair mood these days).

Ultimately, is that worse? Is it more insulting of them to have just totally forgotten that we ever were pregnant and to not realize that we might be hurting, or is it worse to remember and to recognize that we're in pain but to be too chicken-shit to throw us a scrap of human compassion on a day that anyone with three-eighths of a brain could guess might be a struggle (let alone the other 364 days of the year)?

And then I feel so guilty about it all. Guilty for pinning my impotent anger at a fucked-up situation on two people who aren't responsible for it. Guilty for feeling such jealousy and rage over what they have (those two beautiful little girls I can barely stand to look at any more) when they have never taken anything from me.

I sent my sister-in-law a text last night. It reads (and I quote): "Beautiful party! Glad to be there. Hope to see you all again when we can chat more. I have something for [Niece #2] but didn't want to bring today."

No response yet, and really that's beside the point, right? I did for myself, so I could feel less like a heartless sucky shrew and more like the decent, caring, reasonable person I so desperately want to be. But I'm the real chicken-shit here, pasting over a deep well of anger and hurt with some crappy, barely felt fakery designed to put a bright face on it all.

And yet...what else could I do?

Last night, my dad told me I had three options for dealing with them in the future:

1. Have it out with them over what I need and expect (impossible because a) they never respond well to conversations like that and b) I have no energy for any additional stress right now).

2. Continue to hope that they'll treat me decently and continue to be disappointed.

or
3. Follow my dear, late grandmother's advice and interact with them knowing that it will be unsatisfying but "offering it up for the poor souls in purgatory."

I guess my frustration with liminal states is more familial than I guessed.

I'm more venting than looking for solutions right now. I realize there isn't anything to be done. They will continue to be self-absorbed and unable to reach out to us, I will continue to suffer and resent them for standing outside my suffering. Just your usual warm happy family. If I can avoid them as much as possible until we finally get pregnant again, I'll be okay... but the longer this takes, the less likely that becomes.

Mama Told Me There Shouldn't Be Days Like This Anymore; or, When's It Too Much?

Last night, my mother and I had another one of our unproductive conversations about the miscarriage. They happen like clockwork, once a month, and it's always the same scenario-- her offering well-meant advice that completely invalidates the feelings I've experienced in the last 5 months, and me responding with (I admit) rather hysterical distress.

This one started off because I mentioned that I'm definitely NOT going to spend Mother's Day at my in-laws with the new nieces this year, and followed that up by saying that I really don't want to go out to brunch or do much of anything and I'd rather not spend time thinking about it.

My mom got her panties in a wad over that and told me I should be grateful to have a mother and should think about people other than myself. Which I could have expected. She's always offended when we don't make a huge deal out of Mother's Day, even as she tries to act like she's above it and doesn't care (and for the record, I have taken my mom out to brunch in the city the last three years, alone, because I was the only sister living close to home. Now two of my younger sisters live in the area). But I honestly don't think it's asking so much to be spared thinking about a holiday that makes me so sad!

The Mother's Day issue aside, we launched into a variation on the same conversation we've had multiple times in the past, except my mom was more explicit than ever about telling me she thinks I'm dealing with things the wrong way. She said I'm turning this into a "negative" experience instead of trying to see the "positive" sides of it; she told me I seem to have a "chip on my shoulder" about other people's pregnancies/babies and she doesn't like to see it; she said I never seem "cheerful" any more; I don't seem like myself; I should feel grateful for all the good things in my life; and she thinks I have something chemically wrong with my brain as a result of the miscarriage hormones and I should talk to my gynecologist about it, rather than my therapist. She also thinks I need to find a support group (in real life, the internet doesn't count because there are so many "weirdos" on it) of women who are dealing with this "productively" instead of ranting about their bad luck like "a bunch of NOW feminists who blame men for all their problems" (yeah, I don't know where that last bit came from, either).

She also brought a bunch of people she knows who had a miscarriage (her new friend from her bible group; our close family friend; my cousin) and claimed that none of them have the depressed, despairing attitude about their miscarriages that I have. My mom loves to bring up comparative examples, so she's done this already many times before. And my objections are always the same: a) all of those people have gone on to have other children (sometimes as many as three or four!) so their situations are rather different from mine; b) some of those miscarriages were 25 years ago; c) my mom has no idea how those people actually felt or handled this when it happened to them. All she knows are the stories they tell years after the fact.

She fundamentally doesn't understand what this is like. And I know she's worried about me, I know she loves me, and I know it hurts her to see me upset. But is this something else I have to feel bad about fucking up? I can't get pregnant, I can't stay pregnant, and now I apparently I can't even deal with no longer being pregnant the way I should.

The other really frustrating this is that I'm trying to do all the things she says I'm not! I'm trying to feel grateful. I'm trying to believe that good will come of this experience. I'm trying to be a more compassionate, kind person as a result of this. I'm trying to use this time to strengthen my marriage. I'm trying to redevote myself to my schoolwork. I'm trying to not be jealous or envious or angry.

I'm also really fucking sad a lot of the time.

We "made up" and it was fine. But this is just further confirmation of the fact that people in my life are tired of hearing about it. My friends (with few and rare exceptions) don't ask me how I'm doing any more. My mom and mother-in-law do, but it's because they're not-so-secretly hoping I'm going to say "Great! Life's never been better! I'm walkin' on sunshine, whoa-hoah!" (which I know by the way they are SO FREAKING DELIGHTED when I do anything that denotes "moving on").

Even I'm tired of being depressed. I never wanted to be Oh Woe Is Me Miscarriage Girl. That wasn't on my bucket list. But this isn't the SATs and I can't make myself get over grief by pulling a few all-nighters. What more can I actually do?

It's all confirmation of the brilliant post at Knocked Up, Knocked Down on "When to 'Get Over' Your Baby Loss." Yup, two months sounds about right.

Birth Day; or, I'd Hit the Bottle If it Weren't Still Lent

Niece #2 arrived at 8:55 this morning, while I was in the middle of showing my students an episode from season 2 of Mad Men to cap off our unit on Constructions of Gender. My husband forwarded me the e-mail from his brother. She's here. She has a name. And there you have it.

I'm feeling a lot of emotions right now. Primary among them: anxiety. The queasy stomach, fluttery heart, sweaty palms kind of anxiety. The anxiety I've felt off and on for the past ten years during crappy times with J and S. The anxiety that used to make me shake with the chills whenever I told a friend or a therapist the story I related to all of you last month, the story of rejection and unaccountable cruelty that formed the majority of our relationship with them for so many years.

I'm also feeling sadness. It comes and goes. It's not linked to any particular word or thought or mental image. Every so often it wells up and I get teary. And then it subsides.

I'm feeling annoyed. I just don't want to be bothered with this right now. My spring break starts next week, and I have a lot of things I need to get done. I can't be distracted by depression. Lawyer Guy's father is hosting Passover Seder next Tuesday. I was banking on the baby coming right around then (S was set to be induced the 29th) and none of them showing up. Now the whole evening is going to revolve around the baby and analyzing every aspect of her face to determine whom she most resembles. And I can't even drink until Easter.

I'm feeling angry and aggrieved. I didn't want any harm to come to this child, and yet I resent the fact that S has never known the pain I'm living. I wish she would. I hope they try for another baby and can't get pregnant. I'm actually wishing the sadness of this hell we all face every day on two people who did nothing but have sex and get a baby out of it. How's that for karma?

I'm feeling guilty. This is my niece. She was born today. And all her life I'm going to have to remember the fact that the day she was born, in my heart of hearts I wished that she and her family would pack up and move to Bora Bora and never contact any of us again. I have to look at myself in the mirror and think about the person I am: so jealous and bitter it warps happy things and makes them sad. Unkind, unfair, ungracious and well on my way to being the sort of old childless woman who snipes at little kids for messing with her cats or picking her flowers.

I'm feeling alone. Lawyer Guy's family is happy. Lawyer Guy is happy. Only I feel no joy. And as much as he tells me that everyone understands and no one will hold my sadness against me right now, that doesn't make me feel any less like an outsider looking in.

Lawyer Guy is going to the hospital tonight. I am not. I can. I could. I'm strong enough to handle it, I know I am. But I don't want to. I don't think they will really miss me all that much if I'm not there, so why should I torture myself just to prove a point about resilience that no one but me even cares about and that I've already proven to myself?

But the other stuff-- the Seder, the possible visit we'll have to make this weekend to "see the baby," the gift I've got to buy; that stuff I have to do. And again, I know I can, even if my whiny inner three year old moans, "But I don't want to!" I know I can, even when my heart feels like a big lump of dead meat in my chest.

On the phone, Lawyer Guy said to me, "I know this will be a hard day for you, and I'm going to try to be sensitive to that and not get upset. But you need to not be upset that this is a happy day for me."

That's the part I'm not sure I can do. And of course, that's the most important part of all.

So guys? I'm gonna need some help. Because these are just about four feelings too many for a Tuesday afternoon.

Messages From My Subconscious Mind; or, Family History

In about three weeks I'll be an aunt (by marriage) again, and I've been having dreams that, while not precisely nightmares, are not the sort of dreams a doting aunt should have about her future niece.

Let's take a little trip back in time--and brace yourself, this is likely to get long, but I need to get this family history out so you can understand my current reactions.

I have not always had the best relationship with my brother- and sister-in-law. In fact, for many years I would say I had a terrible relationship with them, one of the worst in-law relationships I've seen. When I met Lawyer Guy ten years ago, he was in the middle of a two-year spell of not speaking to his older brother (let's call him J.). Literally, no words exchanged but "hello" and "goodbye" at the (numerous) family gatherings they both attended. They lived five blocks from each other. Their paths never crossed.

And no one knew why. Not even my husband. J. had slowly stopped speaking to him over a series of months. Had stopped returning phone calls. Had shrugged off invitations. Had quietly but inexorably pushed Lawyer Guy out of his life. There was no fight, no conflagration. He never even mentioned my husband's name to his other family. There was no explanation for this cruel behavior.

Which he soon extended to me, the twenty-year-old, sophomore-in-college girlfriend. For years, I tried to make small talk with this hostile person almost ten years my senior, my palms sweating, my legs shaking, and was favored with responses just barely above the level of grunts. But I kept trying. And when J met my sister-in-law, S (a reasonable and polite, if somewhat self-centered, person), I tried even harder to make the situation better. I would e-mail them invitations to events (like a concert I was singing in, or a picnic in the park on a nice day) only to receive one-line responses: "We can't make it." "We're busy."

Events came to their crisis (as they must) five years in, after Lawyer Guy and I became engaged. Following a series of hurtful actions on J's part, I snapped. I'd had enough. (And let me explain, that I am a hugely patient and tolerant person, but when I reach my breaking point, you know it.) I stopped making even the bare minimum effort with J-- I nodded across the room instead of greeting him at events; I avoided him and his wife at all costs; I fumed in my anger.

And the entire time I was tortured with guilt and anxiety. I began having panic attacks and had to go on medication. I hate interpersonal strife, particularly familial. I can't abide it when people don't like me. When I see a stressful situation, all I want to do it make it better, not worse. So eventually, my kinder self woke up again and I decided to try to improve matters.

I reached out to J's wife, arranged to meet her for dinner. We spoke for two hours about the situation. And I bit my tongue. I recognized that she would never see her husband as responsible for what had happened, she would never agree, "Yeah, he's a jerk." The important thing was to begin the reconciliation. So I didn't defend myself or Lawyer Guy. I just focused on how to go forward.

I think that by making that gesture and controlling my anger I allowed the reunion to take place, and I will always be proud of myself for that. Slowly, over the subsequent five years, the relationship improved. J began speaking to both of us again. Then they had their daughter two years ago. I started visiting S in New Jersey while she was on her maternity leave. And J is very invested in Lawyer Guy's role as uncle to the little girl, so he sends my husband videos and phone messages of her and always encourages them to see each other more.

This is still not the relationship of my dreams, and certainly nothing similar to the relationship Lawyer Guy has with my three sisters. While J will speak with me, he has still never (not once) asked me a question about my life in all the time I've known him (not, "How's school going?" or "How are your sisters?" or even "What's new?"). We meet up nearly always at Lawyer Guy or my instigation, and in two years, J and S have visited us in Brooklyn once (we have met them in New Jersey a dozen or so times).

I can (and do) accept all this. All I ever wanted was a reasonable, polite, adult relationship. I am very different in many ways from the two of them. We will never be intimate. That's okay, I'm genuinely fine with how things are now.

But I'm also still angry. I'm still hurt, and resentful, and aggrieved. And I have a block on my heart where my niece is concerned. She's sweet and cute and I enjoy spending time with her. But I don't love her.

Isn't that a terrible thing to say?

I don't mean that I dislike her or wish her ill or have no affection for her. I do have affection for her. She's a two-year-old kid, what's not to like? But I have no more affection for her than I do for my friends' babies, and in some cases I feel more like an aunt to my friends' children. Maybe this is a common way to feel about nieces and nephews related to you through your husband. Maybe I'm a terrible person. But these are my honest emotions.

And now, very soon, there will be another baby girl. I sobbed my heart out after they told us they were expecting again. But when I was pregnant with the m&m and due just three months after S, I told myself that our children would be friends, that this would be wonderful, that I'd finally feel a real family connection to my nieces.

After losing the baby, I stopped thinking about S's pregnancy. Internally, I pretended that she wasn't pregnant. I didn't look at her belly. I didn't speak about it with her or anyone else (and no one mentioned it to me). I rarely even brought her up here! I could socialize with her without it hurting because I resolutely ignored the elephant (or developing fetus) in the room.

Well, obviously my subconscious is displeased with this course of events. I get the message, loud and clear: THERE'S A BABY COMING AND YOU CAN'T IGNORE IT ANYMORE.

There's a baby coming and I can't ignore it anymore.

Shit.

(PS: Because I am--deep down--a bit of a spiteful person, I need to share that J's behavior in sum hasn't changed, it's just no longer targeted at Lawyer Guy and me. He now refuses to speak to his stepfather and stepsisters. And because I am also--deep down--a fair person, I have to point out that both J and S were very kind and very sad after we lost the baby).

Ring Out the Old; or, 2009: The Year of Suck

I just got home from my niece's second birthday party (husband's brother's child). She's very sweet and I enjoy spending time with her. It was mostly family, and I think I handled it fine. I put on my game face, and whenever anyone asked me "How are you?" with that furrowed brow of concern and oh-so-significant stress on the are, I just gritted my teeth and smiled and said, "Doing okay, glad the semester's over."

It's not that I don't appreciate people's concern, because I do. And it's not that I think I need to hide how I feel about my loss, because if anything I'm too indiscriminate in telling people and unloading my sorrow onto them. But this day was about my niece, it was about celebrating a living baby, and it was a gathering full of my SIL's cousins and aunts and uncles and whatnot--people I could barely pick out in a line up and people who do not need to know exactly how shattered I am. If I let my guard down, it would all come rushing out, the tears and the anger and the horrible self-pity. And I was just not going there today.

All of which is preamble to the fact that I'm tired, I have a headache, I cried on the way home, and I want to bitch a little. So here you go, 2009: The Year of Suck.

- I spent 7 months agonizing over not knowing whether I could (or would ever) get pregnant, turning what should be a happy time into something stressful and depressing.

- My dad spent two weeks in the hospital with a near-fatal case of double pneumonia in June.

- My dad has suffered from cardiac issues all year long (which didn't help the pneumonia situation)

- I have heard 10 pregnancy announcements from friends and family since we started trying to conceive in March.

- My husband didn't make partner at his law firm and was brutally disappointed.

- I felt beaten to a pulp by my teaching/course schedule all autumn--and this was before I got pregnant and started falling asleep at 8:30 every night.

- One of my closest friends lost her mother to cancer; another friend's father was diagnosed with Lou Gehrig's disease.

- I lost my baby, experienced the joys of dilation and curettage, missed two weeks of teaching which I had to make up at the end of the semester, and basically zombie walked through the last month of school.

- Yeah, I think I can repeat it one more time: I lost my baby. The baby I dreamed of for 7 months of TTC and for the two years prior that my academic schedule forced us to wait to start trying even though I desperately longed for a child. The baby I sang to in the shower and whispered to at night. I lost my baby.

I know that in the grander scheme of human sorrow and tragedy, this list is a blip. I know I have SO much more to be grateful for than to resent in my life, and I truly try to express that gratitude every day. I feel rather guilty even voicing my frustration with this admittedly petty list of disappointments.

But I felt those disappointments. I feel them. 2009 had a bitter sting that all my attempts at Pollyanna perspective can't quite remove.

So I write them down and send them into the world. Goodbye, 2009. Goodbye anger and sadness and dismay. Goodbye disappointment and depression.

Hello--something new. Maybe better, maybe not. But something new.

A Tale of Two Thanksgivings; or, When Feelings Become Farts

#1

The date: Thanksgiving Day, 2009
The place: 'Round the dinner table at the Sloper's familial home
The event: The annual recitation of "What are we thankful for this year," in order from youngest to oldest.

I knew I would cry. I did cry. My sisters cried. My mom cried. My husband stroked my back. My sister's fiance told me how sorry he was. I mentioned my gratitude for health insurance. We all laughed and cried at the same time, wiped our tears with our napkins, and ate some good food.

Conclusion: Crying's not so bad.

#2

The date: Day after Thanksgiving, 2009
The place: 'Round the table at Mr. Lawyer's father's familial home.
The event: People just eatin' some lasagna in a traditional product-of-divorce, making-the-best-of-a-split-holiday kind of way.

I knew I would cry. I felt like crying every time I saw my sister-in-law's tiny baby bump (though no one mentioned the pregnancy at all that night, thank God). I was close to tears all evening. And then Mr. Lawyer made some innocuous comment about, "Yeah, it's a real trial taking care of her" (it was a joke and in the context of a conversation). And then I thought about all he's had to see me go through the last two weeks, and all the support he's given even while hurting himself. And I burst into tears.

Silence. Complete, utter silence from every person at the table. Even the 22-month-old niece was silent. It could not have been more silent if I had just let loose the loudest, smelliest fart ever heard or smelled. I got myself under control and took off for the bathroom for about five minutes of nose blowing and pep talking.

Conclusion: Crying sucks major balls.

Thankfulness; or, Counting Blessings

I am thankful this weekend for so many things:

For my family, for the fact that we can all be together tomorrow, that we love each other and are always a stable force in each others' lives, even when we fight. And for my in-laws, who show me the love and kindness they would give to a daughter of their own.

For my friends, who have been so supportive these last two weeks. So many people have shown me how much they care about me, how sad they feel with me, and how hopeful they are for me.

For my education, that I'm paid to study a subject I love, and that I have the opportunity to introduce students to books they may not choose to read, but that they will (I hope) remember for all their lives.

For my home. It's comfortable and big enough for us and our dog and in a neighborhood we love. We have plans to fix up a few things and money to afford the improvements and we're not in danger of losing our place to live.

For our health and (maybe even more important!) our health insurance. I'm so grateful that all of the ultrasounds, doctors' visits, test and procedures were covered by insurance. I'm grateful that I was able to be proactive about seeing my physicians during my pregnancy, about testing to try to find out what went wrong, and that I can trust I'll be in good hands going forward. And I'm grateful to have mental health coverage and a therapist who is helping me through these struggles.

For my husband's job, which is secure (as secure as things can be right now) and allows me to pursue my academic dream instead of working in a better paying industry.

For the pregnancy. Even though it was short and even though I'm sadder than I ever imagined being, I loved my baby for the four weeks I knew I was pregnant. I'm grateful the baby had those seven weeks to live. And if there was something irreparably wrong, I'm grateful the baby felt no pain during its short time alive.

For the moments of hope and optimism, when I feel confident that we'll conceive another child and that we'll have the family we dream of.

Most of all, I'm grateful for my husband. He is my partner, and I couldn't survive any of this without him. I've never felt as loved and supported as I have these last two weeks, and I thank God every day that he is the man I married and the man with whom I will one day have children.

Happy Thanksgiving

Home; or, Hindsight

Home.

I never thought I would feel a sense of dread thinking that word. But walking up the stairs to our apartment tonight--the night outside dark and the world inside empty--I felt my heart sink with sadness as I approached the door. I'm alone and nothing seems right.

I'm waiting for my husband to return from California. He's somewhere between Dallas and New York right now, and thinking too much about his exact location in the sky activates my plane phobia and terrifies me that I could lose him, too.

He shouldn't have gone to the wedding. I needed him this weekend. I was glad to be with my family, glad to have my mom to coddle me and my dad to hug me and one of my sisters to make me laugh. But I needed my husband to grieve with me. I needed him to hold my hand and talk with me about the baby and work through this together.

I didn't even realize I could miscarry while he was gone until the morning he left. I wasn't thinking. My mind didn't work quite right those first few days. And then he was at the airport and I suddenly pictured myself bleeding and going to the hospital and him being 3,000 miles away. And I realized how stupid the whole situation was.

I was a cranky bitch to him while he was gone, but it was only because I missed him so much. And it felt so utterly wrong that I was sitting with my family crying while he was off at a wedding full of happy people. Not that I thought he was one of those happy people--I know that he wasn't. But we should have been together, dealing with this together. Not on some sort of weird marriage sabbatical just when we needed each other most.

I've cried a little since walking back through the door, and now I just feel blue and blah. I have to walk the dog, fix something for dinner, and maybe even get some teaching prep done for next week, though I haven't decided if I'm going to teach Tuesday yet, or not. And at some point, he'll come back home. And I think things will be better then.

November Showers; or, Time with Friends and Family

I threw my best friend her baby shower on Saturday. My mother and I did it together, and for a while last week, I was desperately afraid that I'd be hosting this shower while anticipating a miscarriage. I would have done it, because this is my best friend since childhood who I never see, and she deserves it. But it would have been a kind of pain that I'm afraid to even imagine.

As it turned out, I was able to host the shower in a much different state of mind. My parents knew about the pregnancy, so my mom was really sweet to me all weekend, making sure that I ate and rested and took care of myself. And my best friend also knew--and knew about all our fears and worries of last week--so she, too, was a great source of comfort. She reassured me that even though the doctor wants us to have another u/s this week, everything sounds great and normal to her (my bf is a doctor, as well as pregnant herself, so I take her medical advice with more trust that I would most of my friends').

In all, it was a really nice weekend. Nice to see my friend get so many nice presents to welcome her little boy when he comes in January or February. Nice to spend time with my family and people I love. Nice to be away from the city, from job and school stress, and from the worries that have bedeviled us these past few days. And nice to have other people know what we've been going through.

The one not nice thing: I was horribly sick on Friday and Saturday. I puked three times in the car on the drive down to my parents' Friday night, and Saturday I puked about eight or nine times from the afternoon to right before I went to bed. I also made the terrible error in judgment of eating a carton of raspberries and a carton of blueberries at midnight after vomiting so I'd have something in my stomach. They burned like hell on the way back up ten minutes later.

I've noticed that my morning sickness isn't in the morning at all--it starts about mid-afternoon and is at its worst around dinner time. In the mornings I feel fine! As hard as it is to puke so much, I am so grateful this baby is giving me trouble and causing me symptoms.

Please be healthy and strong on Wednesday little baby!

Trying to Let Go; or The Wisdom of Mothers

I just got off the phone with my mom, after finally telling her about our hopes of getting pregnant and the stress I'm having over it. I share a lot with my mom usually--I've always gone to her when I'm distressed about something. These last few months of wanting to be pregnant and feeling so upset when I'm not have been so difficult to keep from her. I found myself snapping at her constantly and passing it off as general stress because I felt so burdened by my concealment of what was really troubling me.

So I'm really glad I talked to her about what's going on. She reassured me that there was nothing wrong and told me that it took over a year for her to get pregnant with me and with one of my sisters (though much less time with the other two). That after three months, it's absurd to think there could be a problem, and that I need to just (here's the dreaded word) relax.

Except she's right. I do need to relax, and I know that more than ever after last night. I'm putting so much pressure on my poor husband--unintentionally, but he feels the weight of my hopes and expectations nonetheless--that it's affecting his ability to "perform." Last night he couldn't finish. Nor could he this morning--the first time we've had a back-to-back like that.

I feel just terrible that he's psyching himself out like this, that he's absorbing the intensity of my desire to get pregnant and turning it into pressure on and recriminations against himself. He and I both need to learn how to deal with our anxiety and frustration around this issue.

We don't know when we'll get pregnant. We don't know if we'll get pregnant. All we know is that we will one day be parents-whether without help, through intervention, or through adoption. I have to keep reminding myself of that fact: this is not in my control. This is not something I can plan. This is something that comes as a gift, not a reward for effort, planning, and precision.