July 26, 2010


I have thought long and hard about this post.  Even as I write it, I am not sure if I will actually publish it or not.  I have a completely selfish reason for writing - my sanity.  For those with a weak stomach concerning "female issues" feel free to stop reading now.

I'm not sure how to say this with class, so I'll just get it out there.  I recently had a miscarriage.  I wasn't experiencing my usual pregnancy symptoms so I had some concerns, but didn't really think it would turn out this way.

The hardest part for me is the taboo that surrounds it.  When an old friend asks if you are going to have more kids, you have two choices:  (1) smile and say we'd love to have another  (2)  tell her the truth and stop conversation completely.  I am not embarrassed to tell people, but I know it will just make them uncomfortable and there is nothing they can say that will help.

I have searched the internet looking for insight.  I can't exactly place how I feel.  I found a lot of websites with advice on how to memorialize your baby and mourn for the loss.  But that doesn't describe how I'm feeling.  I feel like an alien force has taken a hold of me and they are running an experiment.  Can she chop dinner while sobbing quietly so the kids don't notice then plaster on a smile?

I don't have problems conceiving, so I know I can have another, if I so choose.  I never saw a heartbeat and I said more than once that I didn't really feel pregnant.

But if it never felt real, why am I so depressed?

I blame those darn hormones.  My body barely had time to register the immense change in getting pregnant and now it has to compensate for the hormones leaving.  Not to mention that every time I see the blood, I can't help but think... is that a little part of my baby?  Morbid, I know.

My logical side knows that it happens for a reason - usually something chromosomal.  Then there's the emotional side... did the baby have Down syndrome and the universe didn't think I could handle another?  And of course, there's the fear of what will happen if I get pregnant again.

The only light in all of this is that I didn't tell the kids.  I don't think I could have handled explaining to monkey bear.  I feel confident that with a little bit of time and hormonal balance, I will be myself again.  I just have to make it there.

July 14, 2010


A few weeks ago I read a book and I can't get it off my mind.  The book was about one woman's pursuit of happiness.  She goes on a year long search and in doing so tries all sorts of different things to boost her own happiness.  You would think that this is what has stuck with me.  Unfortunately, that is not the case.  Out of 294 pages, one sentence - really just part of a sentence - has been dancing around my head.

In August, she decides to "contemplate the heavens" and one way of doing this is to read memoirs of "catastrophe".  I think the aim is to become more aware of the preciousness of ordinary life.  Along with memoirs on cancer, brain tumors and death, she reads a book about a woman who had a baby with Down syndrome.  You think of my life as a catastrophe?

It feels like being in middle school and overhearing some girls make fun of your best friend. 

I understand schadenfreude and the thought that things could always be worse.  I just never thought my buddy was worse.  And I can't believe that I take it all so personally.  I've been trying to get it off my mind.  But it's haunting me.

It doesn't help that I had to fill out a medical history and it asked if anyone in my family had:  Down's syndrome (mongolism).  So now I (the person that hides from any confrontation) has to go to my doctor's appointment and let them know that it is now known as Down (no 's) syndrome and the word mongolism is outdated and somewhat offensive. 

There are some things you can prepare for, but there are always those things that sneak up on you just when you least expect if.

July 6, 2010


Monkey bear is three.  It hardly seems possible.  I can remember those newborn days like they were yesterday.  She wouldn't latch, wouldn't sleep unless she was in my arms, and forced me to tears daily.  Oh, the good ol' days.  I remember blubbering multiple times a day, "I always wanted more than one child, but I can't ever do this again."

Now my little monkey bear is as close to an angel as a three year old can be.  She has the biggest heart I've ever seen in a child.  The patience she has for her little brother and endless love for those who surround her is inspiring.  She delights me daily.

I try hard not to brag too much about her.  But man she makes it so hard.  Monkey bear listens when I ask her not to do something, shares whatever she may have, and lets me know when my buddy needs something.  Have I mentioned that she is brilliant as well?

Of course she has her shortcomings.  Don't we all?  When faced with a group setting she refuses to utter a single word.  She won't even shake her head when asked a question.  I would be lying if I said monkey bear never had a single meltdown, but lucky for me she saves them for home.

I have loved these past three years watching her grow and change and I look forward to a lifetime of seeing who she will become.  It is amazing how big your heart can grow when a child enters your life.