No Time for Blogging Anymore

And this is why.

The new love of my life, my newborn daughter Bridget. She is keeping her Daddy and me very busy... but I have never been happier in my life. suddenly my world is very small, very demanding, and very, very perfect.

Someday, I'll have a lot more to write about. But for now, I'm just Mommy.

Bless all of you.

So THIS is what they mean by weird preg dreams...

Last night I dreamed I was traveling down south somewhere, someplace with white eyelet curtains, artsy murals on random brick buildings, and 70+ degree weather. My dad was there, and a whole bunch of women I didn't recognize, but who all seemed to know me. I was lounging on a bean bag chair when I realized I was in labor. My dad and I looked at my stomach, and we could see, clearly delineated, little tiny hands and feet pushing out against my belly. Except that there were four hands and three feet! "I guess there really are twins in there," I mused. Looking around the room, I saw a strange inflatable pool-looking thing and realized it was a birthing tub. "This is awesome!" I exclaimed, and in walks Sue. Oh yeah, I realized, I'm in the South, she probably just drove over!

So here I am in a completely strange place, the only man in sight is my Dad, who happens to be a Doctor, and I'm in labor hundreds of miles away from the place I had planned to give birth. It doesn't hurt at all, no pain, but I can feel the babies sort of pushing, trying to get out. All these women around me seemed totally prepared, and they busied themselves about the room preparing to help me give birth. And all the while I can see two babies pushing tiny hand and footprints into my abdomen.

I wondered if I had time-traveled? Women birthed this way all the time several hundred years ago. This was all there was. I wasn't nervous, or scared, or even really anxious. I watched all this happening to me and around me with interest, like an observer.

I know this dream was brought on by the odd number of people - mostly strangers - who are convinced I'm having twins because I'm "SO big!." I tell them I've had three ultrasounds and we've only seen one baby in there, and they look confused. Also my mind has been on giving birth lately, since I'm being followed closely by my medical team. They seem to feel that I'm at risk for pre-term labor. I'm going in for another ultrasound and examination tomorrow morning to see if the "risk" has progressed or if I'm just doing things my own way. (My bet is on the latter.)

Slam is throwing me a shower in two weeks, and I am just PRAYING that this snow will be melting and the weather will be just a TOUCH warmer. Like, in the mid to upper 40's, maybe even the 50's. I'd like some early spring, just for that day. Is that so much to ask? I want to wear this red wrap dress I've been saving for the spring, in a thinner jersey knit. Just for those few hours, I want to wear normal shoes! With heels! I want to embody forward-thinking and positivity, and the rosy future that I am so excited about. I will sit down as much as possible, I will have someone drive me to and from the pub, and in general behave myself according to Doctor's orders, but by the goddess I want to look good doing it. I've been living in pajamas and flip-flops for too long, and I have to admit, it's starting to get to me!

My Mom and I talk almost every day. She is flying out for the shower and will be staying here at the apartment. We are so excited to have some free time together, without jobs or other obligations! I TiVoed an episode of Biography that's about the Nelson family (as in Ozzie, Harriet, David, Ricky, and the rest of the clan), since I know she was a big Ricky Nelson fan back in the day. I want to bring her to the local french bakery for lunch, and the pretty coffee shop across the street. And of course she's looking forward to some snuggles from Marge.

I haven't had a whole lot of visitors during these weeks of "restricted activity," so to see my friends and family laughing and noshing at my favorite place with pretty "It's a Girl!" decorations all around is going to be very good for my soul.

Most of all, I'm hoping that somehow, my baby will pick up on the vibe that this whole party is because of HER, that these people are here because SHE IS COMING, and that she will somehow, on some level, begin to understand how wanted and welcome she is. Even if the only people at this shower are my Mom, Slam, and me, there will be so much love and excitement in the air, and I want my baby to feel that, even now, even this early, still in my womb.

We are in the home stretch now! As of Friday I will be 32 weeks along. Once I get to 37 weeks, I'll be ready for delivery. That's only 5 weeks away! During those five weeks G and I will be taking Lamaze classes and an Infant Care class. Next thing I know it will be Passover, and I'll have the hospital bag packed and ready to go! I'm hoping someone invites us for Passover this year... I highly doubt I'll have the strength to prepare a meal this year.

It's probably clear that I'm just one big bundle of anticipation these days. It's a great feeling, a great place to be.

Imbolc 2010: Grow and Glow

Finally, it's here.

Some women feel this the minute they get confirmation they are pregnant. They are just there. They're excited, they're in love, they are so ready for everything coming. The morning sickness, the aches and pains, none of it really matters, they are full of the joy of mommy-to-be.

I think the majority of women feel it in the second trimester, when the morning sickness and exhaustion abates, and your hair grows thick and long and shiny, and your nails are strong and ladylike, and your skin clears up, and you glow, physically, you actually glow. You start to get all these compliments from people. It makes you feel good about yourself, and you realize it's because of the baby. Pregnancy really is beautiful.

For me, beginning my third trimester, it's just now happening, really. I've been excited all along, since this child has been so eagerly anticipated, since we waited so long, and were so patient. But my internal emotional struggle has been pretty intense. I'm sure that my depression - even though it's medically controlled - played a part in this, since I recognize the self-loathing and self-flagellating patterns as long-held manifestations of my illness. My pregnancy symptoms were simply another source of the same crap feelings that have hobbled me all my life: feeling unattractive, worthless, useless, and like a burden to everyone. Yes, the Prozac helped, and yes, it's totally safe for the baby, but the hormonal changes that pregnancy brings were a wild card, of which no one could really predict the effects. I cannot IMAGINE going through pregnancy unmedicated. I am convinced that, as hard as it was for me, it would have been 10 times harder, not only for me, but for my husband as well. Having my serotonin levels balanced enabled me to look objectively at myself in the mirror, and tell myself from time to time You're pregnant. Not fat. You're making a baby. You have the right to be tired, you can't help being nauseous. Your body is working very hard. G loves you and supports you. Your friends love you. Your family loves you. You deserve to be loved. You are doing the most important work of your life, even if you have to lie on the couch to do it. Forgive yourself.

It's been hard. But in retrospect, I've done much harder things. My pregnancy, objectively speaking, looking back, has actually been very healthy, and very normal. All my difficult symptoms - the exhaustion, the sore back, the edema, carpal tunnel, all of it - has fallen well within normal range. My baby is a healthy, active, (christ she's VERY VERY active) vibrant child growing inside me. I have, I realize, been very, very lucky.

I finally took a deep breath and sat my husband down and had a long talk about how I've been feeling, how difficult it's been for me to talk to him about my feelings. I bit the bullet, and I told him I need certain things from him. I said, "this is your crazy hormonal pregnant wife, and I need you, I need these things from you, I need to know you are still here with me." We laughed, he held me, he told me he loves me, he is proud. He promised to give whatever I need, and instructed me lovingly to be sure and TELL HIM if he's not picking up on my signals. Which, granted, he's damn good at. But he was there for me. He is there for me. We are in this together, and I feel it now more than ever.

Just within the last week or two, a significant shift has occurred inside me. My anxieties are disappearing. I'm beginning to trust in certain ways, and to take control in other ways. I'm focusing more on the actual birth process, how I want things to be, and making a birth plan. I'm looking more critically at my care, and exploring options, knowing it's not too late to make changes, if I really feel I need to. I have that freedom.

Most magically, my child is filling me with wonder. Most evenings I lie on the couch in my yoga pants and a sports bra, my burgeoning belly completely exposed, and I just watch her move, my stomach rippling and jiggling. Sometimes I place my hand on her, and I feel her, just beneath the skin, as though I am already able to hold my baby. I feel her head, her feet, sometimes her little bum, poking through my abdomen. I am utterly charmed. She is already an independent being, a person. She is exploring, stretching, experimenting. That's my girl!

When I go out in public, I am proud when people ask me "When are you due?" I grin and blush and can barely contain my joy. I know people can tell, and I don't care anymore. I know I don't look fat. I know I am special right now. This is truly a rite of passage in my life. I have come to grips with my own body, and feel perfectly ok about sitting on a bench for a few minutes, or making an extra bathroom trip. I don't mind my clunky shoes. I'm just so... amazingly... happy.

Women, especially grandmother-aged women, look at me very critically, examining me up and down, and then declare: "You look good. All the weight is in the right place. Your skin is great." Then they nod satisfactorily. Complete strangers do this. I don't get a lot of people wanting to touch me, but I get the once-over examinations all the time. Some ask flat-out "Are you taking prenatals? Do you work or get out from time to time? You shouldn't just lie around. How is your husband doing?" It's funny, often they are checking to see if I'm doing what their daughter or niece or friend did when they were pregnant, having learned some difficult lessons. Some want to share things they wish they had done differently, and make sure I'm not making the same mistakes they did. They are protective.

Younger women who are either pregnant themselves or raising young children have a whole different tack. Some are reassuring: "You're almost there! Have you decided on cloth or disposable diapers? How's your back?" Some are just a tad condescending: "I know you feel like hell now, but trust me, at least you're walking around. I had to be on bedrest and my husband was an asshole." I smile and let them talk, if it makes them feel better. Everybody's life is different.

The best is when some random strange woman suddenly meets eyes with me, and we see kindred spirits, a sisterhood. We compare notes, we talk about our favorite things, we gush about how exciting it will be to finally meet this creature flopping about inside us. We hug, we link arms, we swap maternity clothing tips. It makes the day joyous, just those few minutes of connection with someone else who's on the exact same page. It's validating. My Mom was right - I am joining the biggest sorority on the planet.

There is a spiritual, metaphysical thing going on here. I do feel more strongly connected with the rest of the human race. I feel more female than ever before. I feel strong, powerful, and beautiful. I feel confident and unafraid. I feel the invisible strings that bind me to other women on this planet, near and far, mothers everywhere. I thank the God and Goddess every day. I pray for my baby, for her health, and give thanks for everything that I have. And I have so much.

Spring will bring my child into my arms - or does my child bring the spring? the ice inside me is already melting, like the snow outside my window. I've survived the blizzard. I'm ready for birth, rebirth, life, and all that comes with it.

Blessed be.

Sick sucks.

The thing about being pregnant that really sucks: If you get sick, you can't take anything for it.

That's not COMPLETELY true. You can take Acetominophen (Tylenol). You can take Sudafed. But if those don't work for you, you're screwed. No Advil, no Aleve, no aspirin. No Mucinex. Certain antihistamines (i.e. THE ONES THAT WORK) are off the menu. And of course, caffeine intake has to be limited to the equivalent of two cups of coffee per day, so that little home remedy is out too.

Basically, everything that works for me, is out.

So I'm back to Tylenol, which hasn't done jack shit for me since junior high. But it's all I got.

The only bottle of Tylenol in our house expired in November of 2008. It's worthless. *flush*

As of last week, McNeill products issued a recall for Tylenol products. NO FING WAY. Way.

The good news is, I can buy generic "store brands" of Acetominophen! Those are safe! So off the the grocery store I go.

Sadly this will do nothing for my sore throat, post-nasal drip, or insomnia. As far as that goes, I'm shit out of luck. And no, Sudafed doesn't help drip, it only helps CONGESTION, which I don't have.

Don't even think about Nyquil or Dayquil or any other alcoholic candy.

The last time I got a simple cold - which should have been gone in 24 hours - it lasted for FIVE DAYS, and just happened to span my entire New Year's Eve vacation visiting friends and family.

So... I'm grateful I don't have to travel or really do much of anything out of the house for a while.

And WHILE I'M RANTING -

My boss at the pub is an old-school workaholic. She has been showing up at the pub coughing her brains out, hoarse as a crow, and looking like she might pass out at any minute. Not only did she refuse to see a Doctor, she refused to stop working. IT'S A RESTAURANT. I had a little talk with her - to no avail.

Thanks Boss. I've got her symptoms.

I learned last Sunday that she wound up in the emergency room, unable to breathe. She's a smoker, so they put her on antibiotics for the bronchal infection, and gave her an inhaler. So thank G-d I don't smoke, but if I caught bronchitis from her BOY AM I GOING TO BE MAD. So far I've only been excessively drippy since Monday, and have lost a lot of sleep, but no other symptoms, other than the sore throat from choking on my own drip. this morning however - oh JOY! I have a stuffed up head, a sore throat, and noticeably decreased energy levels. Starting to feel really sick.

FUCK.

So. I'm seeing my OB/GYN this afternoon. Let's see what he says.

So today's lesson, boys and girls: When you're sick, STAY HOME AND DON'T INFECT THE PREGNANT LADY AT WORK!

Pregnancy Ups and Downs

As of last Friday, I'm 27 weeks along. It's a girl!

I have edema, which is causing carpal tunnel. My left arm just tingles all the time. My right wrist HURTS. I also have been insomniac for some time now, and recently have had a significant loss of appetite. I'm still working at the pub, 6-hour shifts on Mondays and Fridays. When I get home from work, I can barely walk. My heating pad and my chiropractor have become my new best friends.

On my last visit to the midwife, after discussing my discomfort, and how much sleep I've lost, she basically lowered the boom. I have to start walking, 45 minutes every day, at a brisk pace, getting my heart rate up and my breathing heavy enough to limit conversation.

I'm totally fine with this.

The truth is, all my symptoms are normal. The baby is doing great. It's just me that's miserable, and I don't really HAVE to feel quite this bad. If I can get myself healthier, it will result in an easier labor, delivery and post-partum experience, so I'm very motivated to suck it up and do what I have to do. 45 minutes on the treadmill is something I'd enjoy anyway! So no sweat. I went for my first walk today.

Got my heart rate up to about 148, did the full 45 minutes (with one 5-miniute break to pee), and burned around 160-170 calories. I'm tired, and my body definitely feels somewhat worn out, but I feel good. Energized. Nothing is in pain. The carpal tunnel is still here, but hey, I'm typing right now! I took a good shower, and I'm getting ready to make some vegetable soup.

I could so easily just go back to bed right now, and maybe sleep. I might give in to that and have a short nap. Normally I'm afraid to nap, thinking it will keep me from sleeping at night, but since I'm not sleeping at night anyway...

I miss my Mom. She wants to be with me so badly right now, just to be part of the whole experience. I miss my girlfriends a lot too - wish I had someone to have lunch with, stroll around the mall, make hot cocoa, all that stuff. I still often feel very alone, even though I know my friends love me and are there for me in the best way they can be, given how far we live from everyone. I just crave immediate personal companionship. Frankly, I wanted that before I was pregnant too.

Slam is throwing me a shower, and I am looking forward to that. I just need a little party, a little friends, a little fun! I want to hear laughter.

I cannot wait to have this baby. I am so ready for this little girl. I just want to hold her.

Happy News

I wanted to scan in my sonogram picture and be all clever about this, but I'm having no luck with my home scanner or the one in my local library. So, without visual aid, I am finally ready to tell the world:

I'm pregnant!
I'm 4.5 months along
Due date April 16th
it's a girl
We haven't chosen a name yet but are narrowing it down
no I haven't felt it kick yet

Gardiner and I are thrilled. Our parents, of course, are thrilled. I'm feeling relatively fine. The first trimester JUST SUCKED. I was barely able to get off the couch for thee months, I was so exhausted, and nothing was appetizing to me except cheeseburgers. Not any specific kind of cheeseburgers, just beef, cheese, bun, and whatever else I was in the mood for. DISGUSTING but true. My mom craved banana milkshakes when she was pregnant. Me, I get goddamn cheeseburgers.

Finally, after 4 months of feeling like a goddamn nauseous, exhausted whale, I am regaining my taste for other foods, and enjoying healthy food again. But now I get the backaches, the headaches, the everything-from-the-waist-down aches. Plus some other unpleasant physical side effects that I won't bother grossing y'all out with. Also I'm not sleeping well, or much, just plain unable to get comfortable. And the upper respiratory distress - always a problem with me - has gotten worse. And of course I can't take anything for it THAT ACTUALLY WORKS.

All of this is perfectly normal. And, already, I know it's worth it in the end. I am already so in love with this little girl squirming around inside me.

I waited a long, long time for this.

Totally worth it.

Here we go again...

The uncertainty. The waiting.

I don't have the patience to write while this is going on. I'll be back one way or the other.

Survival, Rememberance, Gratitude

It was a workday like any other, and then we lost our internet access. And the phones started acting up. And no cell service. Multiple calls to the IT desk. "We're working on it, something system-wide."

Then the word spread through the office, since someone had a radio. First disbelief. Then anxiety. Then terror. Then a decision: just walk.

The utter quiet on the subway. The apocalyptic absence of cell phones, since nobody's was working anyway. Time froze. My shallow breathing was like a hurricane in my own ears.

We sat in a diner in Astoria eating burgers. Fucking burgers. The ludicrosity of it, doing something we'd do any other day. "Thank G-d my parents are in Arizona," he said, choking back tears, eyes determinedly dry. "That's my neighborhood. My home. My backyard." He stared, jaw hard, silently raging.

"I hope everyone... knows I'm safe," I said, thinking of my family and friends in the midwest.

We sat in silence, chewing mindlessly, a few feet apart, but miles away.

Back at my apartment I refused to look out my fifth-story window at my view of lower Manhattan. I knew what was out there.

When I finally got one friend on the phone, we cried to together. Fear and grief morphed into anger. Ranting, raving, condemning, blaming. Then melting back into fear, and grief, and finally relief. "I though I'd lost you," my friend wept. He was in DC. "I thought I'd lost you," I wept. We sat on the phone, listening to each other's silence, grateful for it.

When I could, I went to church. We held each other and prayed. Random strangers wandered in, telling stories, confessing, breaking down. We listened and prayed and made coffee. We stayed for hours. All over New York survivors were holding each other, praying, crying, standing up and saying I AM STILL HERE.

We still cry for those who were lost on that day. And we will never, ever forget them, or the lessons we learned from surviving.

I vow to make my survival meaningful by living my life to the best extent possible. I will be the person G-d knows I can be. I will be the best Me I can, and give as much as I can to my fellow human beings. I work from hope, not fear. In spite of my frustration and missteps and Prozac and imperfections, I want to be a living example of the triumph of humanity.

I am an analytical person, and over the years rage and grief give way to ponderance, examination, a left-brained attempt at understanding. There is no way to understand. Acceptance comes in, and a new layer of grief, and frustration, and sadness. Finally, true acceptance, and something that feels like healing.

And when I am a black, empty cavern, I realize I am not empty, something remains. I am left with gratitude. And I live.

Jewish Lesson of the Day

From Wikipedia:

shomer negiah

Negiah (Hebrew: נגיעה‎),[1] literally "touch," is the concept in Halakha that forbids or restricts physical contact with a member of the opposite sex (except for one's spouse, children, grandchildren, parents, and grandparents).[2] [3] [4] A person who abides by this Halakha is colloquially described as a Shomer Negiah (one who is "observant of Negiah").[5]

The laws of Negiah are typically followed by Orthodox Jews, with varying levels of observance. Some Orthodox Jews follow the laws so strictly, they take extreme measures to avoid even accidental contact, such as refusal to sit next to a member of the opposite sex on a bus, airplane, or other similar seating situation. Others are more lenient, only avoiding purposeful contact.

I have been wondering for years why so many Orthodox men are so uncomfortable shaking hands with me. Not that tons of them cross my path, here in New York they tend to stay within their own communities, and when I do see them they avoid eye contact with me and do not return my hellos. I understand, and don't take offense, but I have always been saddened that this entire segment of humanity is closed to me, especially since it's segment of a people with whom I identify, who practice a religion that I am joining.

A lot of Christians are exactly the same. And some Eastern faith followers as well. However I have never detected the animosity from Jews that seems to simmer beneath the surface of many religious men. It's just a nervousness, almost an apologetic shug, as they quickly move away, eyes downcast.

It also occurs to me that I'm a particularly disturbing sort of shicksa, since I wear pretty revealing clothing, flashy jewelry, makeup, high heels, I have this bright red hair that I wear like a crown, I have a BIG saucy personality... The one time an Orthodox man spoke to me, it was on a shabbat elevator at a hospital, and I was wearing a very modest dress, and had my hair in a braid down my back, and no makeup or jewelry. His name was Aaron, and seemed to be slightly flirting. I was amazed... and then my colleagues told me afterwards, "well, you're dressed like one of them!" Oh...

The one time I was able to meet, talk to, and believe it or not party with a small group of "frum" guys, it was a thrill for me. We sang hymns together, partly in hebrew, on the sidewalk, in 5-part harmony. I felt loved! And I remember that one of those men was married, and he was he one who most most uncomfortable with contact. The rest of them were single, and one even danced with me. I figured maybe they were less strict than they looked? Now I'm thinking... they were probably a bunch of guys misbehaving just for an evening. Like all normal people! It was harmless, and a lot of fun, and they made a wonderful impression on me. For them - that's a mitzvah.

Now that I'm married to my soul mate, I have calmed down considerably in regards to the opposite sex. I'll always be a flirt, but now I'm all talk. And even my talk isn't as bad as it used to be. I understand this is how I want to be, how I want to live my life, not only out of respect for my husband, but for myself, and the kind of life I want to live, the kind of person I want to be. I want to leave the wantonness, for the most part, behind me. I don't need it anymore. I want to see what's new in life. I like the new me. I feel stronger, more independent. And I do think, arrogantly perhaps, that G-d is pleased with me. Not that S/He was angry or disgusted or anything like that before... but I was a furious, raging adolescent, getting into trouble, and constantly running to G-d in tears, seeking solace. That's over now. And I think S/He is proud of me.

I am proud to be who I am. I'm excited to see who I am becoming. I've accepted who I was. And I love the idea that, in some way, I am all three at once.

BOIL DAMMIT

In the 80's, we waited for the phone to ring.

In the 90's, we waited to hear "You've got mail!"

In the 2000's, we wait for our cell phones to ding, indicating a new FB post, or Tweet, or text.

It never gets better.

Remembering Lucky

Today an old friend reminded me that we once tried to rescue a baby pigeon. We found it alone and forlorn on a busy Astoria sidewalk. It was tiny, still fluffy, and looked very disoriented. Our hearts went out to it, we couldn't just leave it there to die. There were alley cats and stray dogs and taxis and rollerbladers and bike deliverypeople and cruel young men with big boots. We scooped it up and carried it back to my friend's apartment. We found an old shoe box, made a bunch of holes in it, big enough to see in and out of, and set the shivering creature inside while we figured out what to do next.

Sitting at my friend's laptop, I spent about 20 minutes on a bird-care educational blitz. I searched the internet on how to care for baby birds. We read a bunch of great stuff - there is a lot of excellent info out there. We even called a veterinarian who specialized in birds to ask advice. All my sources told us that it was highly unlikely the chick would survive, but I had to make a go of it. I just had to. My friend and I named him Lucky, hoping for some good fortune.

We went to a petstore and bought a cage, some baby bird food and a special tool to feed him with. I consulted at length with the store proprietor, who kept birds himself. He demonstrated how to use the feeding tube, to simulate how the mother bird deposits food into the tiny animal. I practiced using it, and took everything back to my friend's place.

Lucky didn't seem any more comfortable in the cage than he had been in the old shoebox we'd setup for him. he didn't make a sound though, just looked around, his tiny heart beating in his fuzzy breast. I was sure he was terrified. I crooned to him softly, spoke to him, tried to make soothing sounds. It was hard to tell if he even really knew I was there.

I took Lucky back home with me, and I managed to get a meal into him. He was quiet. I was worried.

I set the small birdcage on a quiet table and put a shallow saucer of water in the cage. I know that birds can have heart attacks from stress. I didn't want to leave him. I didn't want to go to sleep. I knew this was the test - if he survived the night, he might survive long enough for me to take him to a vet and possibly find a way to either release him to someone else or give him a home myself. But I knew his chances were slim. I was scared. I felt so driven to save this poor little thing. I placed a towel over his cage, and said goodnight. I tried to give him a quiet, calm, undisturbed night.

When I woke up the next morning, Lucky was dead. His eyes were closed, and he was lying there, on the bottom of the cage. My stomach felt sick. I was so sad.

Did I make his last hours on this Earth better, or worse? Everyone agreed that if I had left him we we found him, he wouldn't have lasted the day... but did I terrify him with the activity? He seemed to appreciate the food. Maybe at least I was able to quell his hunger? Or was he so sick or injured that he didn't feel hunger? Did he feel anything? Did he die peacefully in his sleep? Or did he die terrified?

I didn't know if I had done the right thing. This adorable, fuzzy, innocent creature was dead. I tried my best, but it died.

I'm not one to rescue animals. Usually they are better off left alone. I don't know why I did this one time.

I remember it took me days to stop feeling sick inside, to stop grieving the loss of something I barely knew. I cried, not just for poor Lucky, but for my failure to save him. I prayed for forgiveness, wondering if I had done something wrong, if his death was my fault, if it was silly hubris to think I could help him, if my ineptitude had hasted his demise or prolonged his suffering. I prayed for all lost creatures, knowing that in many ways I was one myself. Eventually I forced myself to think of other things, and the memory faded.

That was six years ago. Today I was reminded, and the feelings all came back.

Who was I really trying to save? Does that justify what I did?

Did I do anything wrong?

Will I ever know?

2009 NYC Gay Pride

2009 NYC Gay Pride
Originally uploaded by patch_ny

I was so thrilled to be a part of this year's Pride celebration. I got to reconnect with my long-lost blogger friends, and made some new friends too. I'll post something more about it later. It was an amazing day.

Photo Credit: Patch_ny on Flickr! Love you hot stuff.

Sunshine, Bagels, and Love

I'm feeling so much better, in every way.

The flu is finally gone, out of my system. From my research, it is entirely possible that I did indeed have the Flu du Jour, H1N1, Popularly known as Swine Flu. Apparently it is a short lived flu, which mine was, and isn't any more deadly or vicious than other common human flus. I was in the city, both Chicago and Manhattan, and I was at the local mall, so I have been breathing air with tons of strangers. It may also have an incubation time of several days, which explains why I was in public on Saturday but didn't feel symptoms until Tuesday.

Oink, oink. I was born in the Year of the Pig.

Also, I released so much negativity a few days prior. Between writing the blog post about my Anger, and later on, confiding in my husband and indulging in a little rage fest in the car on the way home from the gym, I opened myself up and flushed a lot of bad vibes. I feel clean again.

I even purged my closet yesterday. I felt restless, but still not sure it would be wise to go to the gym just yet. So I cleaned out my closet and donated SEVEN pairs of shoes. I am a shoe addict, so for me, that's a big deal. Some of those shoes I've been hanging on to for almost a decade. They look hot, but I never wear them. They are painful. OUT. OUT WITH THE PAIN.

I even indulged in some retail therapy on Saturday, and bought *Confess! I must confess!* TWO new pairs of shoes. Of course this motivated my closet purge. I made a deal with myself that I would buy NO MORE SHOES unless I was prepared to throw out an existing pair. So here I went. But the cool thing: The shoes I bought are far more practical, and comfortable, than the ones I donated. One is a pair of silvery sandals, but they are aerosoles, and super-comfy, and HALF-PRICE. The other is a pair of platform wedge-heel all-black leather sandals with woven leather straps that wrap around the ankle and buckle. They're classy and edgy all at once. And crazy comfortable. And HALF-PRICE.

I also bought some $5 tank tops at Old Navy, and was thrilled to see that they are bringing some old clothes of mine back to life. I have a skirt that I never wear because it doesn't go with much, and it does nothing for my figure. These tanks are long, and layer, and one is the perfect shade of grey. Two of them ruche perfectly, and top the skirt like they were made for it. I have so missed that flippy little skirt... and so has G.

Doing the wardrobe purge always makes me feel re-oriented. So as of yesterday evening, I was feeling relaxed, happy, and clean again, inside and out.

I honestly don't think about my pregnancy very much. I'm in a really good place about it. I'm more grateful for the experience than anything else. Once I was aware of it, it was a truly magical two weeks. This was a test for G and I, and we passed with flying colors. It reaffirmed how well-matched we are, and how perfectly in sync we are about the larger things in life. In a sense it brought us closer together. We have been more affectionate lately, more grateful for each other, and more eager to show it. We know we have come through something very deep, together, holding hands and hearts every step of the way.

G and I attended Friday night services at our local temple last week. It was a "Rock Shabbat," with all the prayers sung in modern musical style, with a band. The Cantor is incredible, and managed to make it sound truly cool and heartfelt, rather than cheesy. She's the Jewish Sandi Patti. I wanted to attend, and G was pretty pooped that evening, but he was happy to attend with me, and I loved the service. It was all music, from start to finish. My language.

Last week, I met with the Rabbi for an hour, to discuss details of my conversion. I suppose it's natural, after all this, that now seems like a good time to get that project off the back burner. Especially after my communion with the Goddess last week. My local rabbi is very cool, rather young, soft-spoken and adorable sparkling eyes and a childlike smile. I'm very comfortable with him. He's sending me the schedule of classes, which I am SO excited to take! G will be attending with me, and I'm thrilled to start this new journey.

I feel like I've gone as far as I can go with my independent studies and exploration of Judaism. All the rest of my question are only going to be answered by embarking on this quest. So... the time is right.

I will also be attending regular Friday night services. That's one hell of a commitment, for G and me! So I'm busy now, every Friday night from 8 to 9. Oh well. The parties never start until 11 anyway. Even the Karaoke doesn't start until 9:30.

I'm back on my feet... and in a couple of hours, I'll be back at the gym. And in four weeks, I'll be back at the beach! And then... hopefully, shortly thereafter... I'll be back to babymaking, G-d willing.

Blessed Be.

GAWD that moon is bright

I feel hungover, like I've been passed out for three days. Meaning, I do feel better, I think the flu is passing away from me. My body is EXHAUSTED.

In spite of this, I'm going to TRY and make it to services tonight at our local temple. If nothing else I know the music is great there.

I feel like I've come through a war. A familiar feeling. I have been at war with myself, in a way. Not wanting to admit to some feelings, finally dragging them out of myself, opening myself up to the rage. Now the storm is passing, and I'm feeling... not exactly less vulnerable, but more empowered to armor myself and get back into life. I made a grocery list, I'm cleaning the house, I'm thinking about slowly, gently, doing a little bit of laundry. If only the laundry room didn't involve going up and down all those stairs. *BAER*

It's nice to have this blog to vomit into, expel all the darkness. Facebook is great, but I need this too.

It's been two weeks since the D&C. Actually, as of last Wednesday, it was two weeks. Meaning I can have sex again. Making it even MORE UNFAIR that I got the flu RIGHT WHEN I COULD FINALLY GET SOME. Just PROLONG MY AGONY for G-d's sake. So if I'm healthy enough to go to shul tonight, I am SO getting some after.

Flu Day 2

Feeling somewhat better. Anything better than yesterday I am grateful for. Yesterday all I could was, to use G's expression, lie under the covers and jitter. I knocked myself out with Nyquil so I could get some sleep, and that seems to have helped a bit. Today I still have a low-grade fever, but the muscle stiffness is better, and my sinuses have opened up. Still have a headache though.

I had to cancel out on a night with Dave that I've been looking forward to for so long... crappy time to get sick. Thank G-d for Bufferin and Sudafed and tea. And soup. And Nyquil.

Influenza

Today, I am sick.

I got the achy-shaky body. I got the upper respiratory distress. WITH accompanying sore throat from choking on phlegm all last night. I got the fatigue. I got the restlessness.

I haven't hardly been out!! I haven't hardly seen anyone!

Christ. I have some work I really wanted to finish today. I can barely fucking type.

Shakes fist at the netherworld HEY! What else you got? BRING IT ON!

Abyss

I'm tired. I don't feel like talking. I feel like I've already talked everything through with G, my parents, and K&L. I'm just tired.

I am angry. I'm really pissed. I was derailed. I was doing SO WELL. And then SHIFT. and then PSYCHE! SHIFT again. And now...

I was feeling better about myself than I have felt in years. I was healthy, strong, happy, and enjoying life on deeper levels than I had experienced in so long, I'd forgotten about them. I was excited to face each new day. I had my life back, my groove back, my Self. I was in touch, in tune, and in control, and what I couldn't control, I wasn't bothered by. It was an incredible three months.

Then, sometime in April, I got sick.

I thought I had some weird flu, or had become lactose-intolerant. All of a sudden my steel-cut oats, which I make with skim milk rather than water, were making me nauseous. Even my coffee, which I take with plenty of evaporated skim milk, made me queasy. I got headaches. I was heavily fatigued. I started taking naps in the afternoon, and switched to tea and toast with peanut butter for breakfast in the morning. I tried drinking lots of water, but I just had to pee all the time.

Three weeks I suffered through this! I would feel a little better for a few hours, then it would come back. One half-glass of wine at a party made me feel hungover the whole next day!

Turns out... I was pregnant.

Well damn!

Should have seen it coming, really. G and I had been "flying without a net" for six months. This was what was supposed to happen. If anything, I had been a bit nervous that it hadn't happened yet. Back home in Illinois, girls and women pop out babies every time they take a shit. Out here in the east, everyone has to have fertility treatments. I don't know what the difference it. It's not age - everyone from 15 to 40 is reproducing like rabbits back home. I have always imagined it's the toxins in the environment out here; in farm country where I grew up, everything's pretty natural. But who knows. I'm allergic to the earth, and I thrived in the toxic city, so I wondered if I hadn't become someone who would need medical help to have babies.

Nope. Knocked up the old fashioned way! And was I ever excited!

And I COULDN'T TELL ANYONE. Riiiight. How the fuck was I supposed to sit on THIS!? I told my parents immediately, and then told them THEY had to sit on it. I told Kristin and Lisa, and then immediately put out the disclaimer that, after age 35, there is a 25% change of miscarriage. So we were all feet-on-the-ground about this.

And then... yup. Miscarriage. Two weeks after I got confirmation of the pregnancy. The tests came back positive, and then two and a half weeks later, I was scheduled for a D&C.

I went for my first sonogram, and I was about 7 weeks along. The heart was beating, everything looked good. Two weeks later, I went for my second sonogram, and brought G with me. I was SO EXCITED. And nothing. Quiet. No heartbeat. The baby was gone. Just a clump of cells stuck in my uterus, doing nothing. Nobody home. the Friday before Memorial Day weekend.

So I had to go back to the office the following Tuesday for a D&C.

That was a surprisingly easy experience. My team of doctors is WONDERFUL. I didn't feel anything, I didn't even feel the needle when they gave me the IV for the anesthesia. The nurses, the anesthesiologist, my doctor, everyone, took such great care of me. My friend Jo came with me, and brought me back to her apartment to recuperate afterward. I spent most of the afternoon and evening sleeping. She made me some dumplings, and gave me lots of water to drink, and eventually, at about 6 or so, G came to pick me up.

I felt fine.

The next day, Wednesday, I went and got my hair blown out. The day after that, Thursday, G and I flew to Chicago for a long weekend with my parents and Kristin & Lisa.

In Chicago, I bled. I had been warned that would happen. I was prepared. It was like a heavy period. I had cramps, but I had plenty of Advil, and I had the antibiotics that I'd been given. Kristin and Lisa were wonderful, letting me basically dictate what we did in the city. They were the best medicine of all, keeping me laughing, making me feel loved, and wanted, being what family is supposed to be. My parents were wonderful too. We did a lot that weekend - shopping, restaurants, a great blues club, a Cubs game, a 50's music concert, and I even used the hotel's gym facilities in the mornings. I had the best support system a girl could ask for.

I was not sad about the loss of the pregnancy, not really. I was disappointed, but it's different... I was not crying hysterically. It did not feel like a death. the embryo had been "chromosomally deficient", meaning it was developing so abnormally that it just petered out. I never felt connected to a little person, never felt like a Mom. I was thrilled at the idea, knowing that was coming next... but we never got to that phase.

However, I did gain 13 pounds. I stopped doing Weight Watchers when I realized I might be pregnant. I had already slowed down my gym workouts considerably, since I'd been feeling so crappy for a couple of weeks. So altogether, my fitness and diet regime was largely abandoned for about 1 month. And during that time I gained back all the weight I had lost and more. And my flat muscular stomach that I was working so hard for? Now it's Flabby rolls.

It didn't mind. I wanted to be pregnant. I was ok with it. But... now... I have nothing. I lost my super-healthy body, and I lost the pregnancy. And now here I am. Starting all over again.

That was incredibly, amazingly, NOT FAIR.

I am SO ANGRY.

That was a really, mean, dirty trick. What am I supposed to learn from this experience? That I shouldn't bother trying to the healthiest person I can? That my drive for self-improvement was... what? Something I'm not entitled to? GODDAMN that's not right! I know what I can be! I deserve to be it! I'm still young enough to have a flat stomach, to be able to run, dance, lift, do all the things that I love doing. So I get pregnant RIGHT AT THAT MOMENT, when I'm feeling so great about what I can do for myself, when I'm feeling at the peak of my own power and ability, when for once in my life, I don't have to work, and I get to FOCUS ON ME.

NOPE! What was I thinking? Baby time!

YAY! Baby! I want that! I'm ready for that!

OPS! NOPE! PSYCHE!

but... wait... why...

What else is going to snatched away from me?

I'm back on Program, as they say in Weight Watchers. I enjoy it. I love to cook. So I'm back doing that. I'm back to the gym. I'm training again. I've gone up in all my weights. I'm doing 100 calories a minute worth of cardio.

I'm angry, and sad. I don't have the heart anymore.

I'm sure this will pass. But I am just... tired, and cranky, and unmotivated. The depressive part of me, the part that I am treating with Prozac, is getting very powerful. I feel it rising up inside me like a demon. It's dragging me to the couch, all I want to do is watch TV, snack, and sleep all day.

I REFUSE TO GIVE IN TO THAT.

I know life is never fair. I do not expect it to be so. But this experience, for all my wisdom, for all I believe I am prepared for, for all my acceptance of the world and the ways of nature, this experience has blindsided me, and left me reeling. I did not expect to be reeling from this.

G has been wonderful. But I know this is another dark tunnel that I must move through alone.

It has been a long time since I had to do this, the tunneling.

This afternoon, I lit a pink and purple candle for love and spirituality, and set my goddess statue next to it. I set a fresh, ripe, red apple on the other side of Her. She stood there, hands folded in prayer, eyes downcast, her hair falling over her shoulders, in her long robes, standing on top of the world, one pointed slipper poking out from under her dress. She prays for me, I thought to myself. She prays for all of us.

I prayed. I thanked Her for the blessing of fertility. I thanked her for my friends, my family, my husband. I thanked her for the experience of being pregnant, for those few weeks were empowering and enlightening to me, in ways I cannot yet put into words. I am so grateful to have had this experience.

I asked what lesson there is to learn? I vowed to remember the feelings, all of them, the joy, the excitement, the disappointment, the anger, the fear, the confusion, and my journey through trust. I will remember them all, for the same reason I remember all my past experiences with horror and joy - so that when I meet others who are going through the same thing, and they come to me, wanting to talk, with fear and confusion in their faces, I can understand them, and hopefully be guided to say the right things. I remember, so I can help others.

I do not want to be angry, but I am only human, and we get angry. I feel like a child whose ice cream cone has been blown out of her hands by a strong gust of wind, screaming and crying in disappointment and frustration. I know I can get another scoop. I know we will conceive again. But why did I have to go through this!? IT'S JUST SO UNFAIR.

I am a child, throwing a tantrum. So I turned to the goddess this afternoon, and I curled up in the lap of the great mother, and let her stroke my hair, and she comforted me.

It is not yet time for you to know the reasons why. I am sorry you are angry, and sad, and disappointed... you have every right to your feelings. You are a precious child, and you are loved, and you will be a mother someday, and a great one. I live in you. Let yourself cry, and heal, and sleep. Rest. You have been strong and brave, rest now, my Amazon warrior. Let me drive for awhile. Trust that I will not steer you wrong.

I tilted my head back to the heavens. I prayed to the father God, to the son and brother, to the sister and daughter. I prayed to the spirit of family, Thank you, as I cried, thank you, it was wonderful, I am so grateful, thank you, thank you, thank you...

The burnt smell of a too-long candle wick wafted to my nose. I heard my cat meow. I still have a life, a home, responsibilities. As the candle burned, I got up and fed my cat, and she ran to me, purring, this tiny furry life who is utterly dependent on G and I. My feline child, with her trusting eyes.

I communed with the spirit a while longer, then I thanked everyone for stopping by and being with me in my hour of need, and blew out my candle. And went back to my day.

I made an appointment to get my teeth cleaned. I made an appointment to meet with my local rabbi to discuss spiritual matters, something I've long been planning to do. I made plans with a friend to have a BBQ next month. I starting a grocery list. I showered and put on gym clothes. I called my client and got the first part of a challenging project finished, so we can move forward with it tomorrow. I had lunch.

I haven't made it to the gym yet. I don't want to go. I don't know if I will. Maybe. If I don't, that's ok.

I am going through the motions of my life, robotically. I feel empty.

And this too, shall pass.

Restless

I can't sit still these days. Even first thing in the morning, while I'm drinking my coffee, I'm walking around the aparment, fiddling at the computer, messing about in the kitchen, usually knocking things over or tripping over things, because I'm still half asleep.

Blogging requires sitting still for more than 10 minutes, so that's why I'm never around here these days.

Facebook requires far less attention, so I'm there from time to time.

I went to Boston two weekends in a row. I went to Chicago for a long weekend. I've gone to parties in the city, jazz jams in my little town, and had a lot of doctor's appointments. G and I are still hoping to have a baby. We're confident. But I've been through SO MUCH that, in years past, I would have been practically living at my computer. But these days...

I need to get OUT. I'm doing housework, I'm going to the gym, I'm grocery shopping, I'm heading into the city once a week or so. I'm not doing really profound things, but I have to get out of the apartment. I hate my neighborhood, so that means either driving somewhere or taking the bus or train into the city.

Not sure where this is coming from, but I'm rolling with it. It's kind of fun.

Haunted

Love no more, I have got a prayer
I ask forgiveness everywhere
Devil unseen, please stop bothering me
I've got a broken man to repair

Brakes aren't working now
I'm trying to stop this train
Of desperation, loneliness and pain

Nothing's up ahead, the lights are supposed to be there
And you probably think I never cared
I hope to God one day you find some peace
With the memory of me

Now it's all in your head, and I'm the one at fault
Maybe I never loved you at all
I'd like to say I did, but I just don't know how
My heart could do the damage I allowed
The victim of my youth, the soldier of my dread
And I left all those tears in your bed
I hope to God one day you'll find some peace
with the memory me

My potential is improving, my reckless days more calm
I know you won't believe me when I'm singing you this song
Damn I wanted to please you, I just didn't have the will
I was never looking for someone to keep me still...
Now I see

So if you pass this way again, if you feel the need
I'd love to hear the words that wait for me
But you don't need my sympathy, you're stronger than I think
I know you'll find your peace with the memory of me.

- Holly Williams, "The Memory of Me"

I'm trying to let go of the guilt. I've been sorry for so long.

Passover 2009

Passover 2009
Originally uploaded by MzOuiser