Okay so maybe Adam was right...just don't tell him

After spending about six months at home, I have come to the realization that until we have a baby I NEED TO WORK. Let me repeat myself I NEED TO WORK. Although this idea has been stuck in the back of my head for quite sometime, it finally really hit home when I caught myself getting annoyed that Dude would not respond to my questions regarding who really is A on Pretty Little Liars. 

 It was a Tuesday afternoon, and I was sitting on my couch talking to my poodle about a television show, a television that has a target demo of 12. When I was pregnant, I felt like it was kismet. My life was finally lining up the way that it should.  I was going to be a cool stay home mom who worked part-time at gym, but plans have changed. I either have to adapt, or turn this blog into Tuesdays with Poodle. Now, I just sort of feel stuck and that maybe I should have thought the whole quarterlife crisis thing through. 

I was just reading  this blog about finding your dream job and made me real think about what I really want.  Do I want to a trainer, work in HR, or get my masters? No, I want to be a mom. That is all plain and simple. Feminism be damned. I just want a fucking baby.  The one job I want is the one job that just feels so unattainable right now. In my head I know that it will happen someday, but what I am supposed to do in the meantime? 

It's okay to have favorites right?

This past weekend, I made a pilgrimage to my homeland to attend my oldest nephews fifth birthday party. This was a true sign of my love for the kid, because the instant I cross the city limits of McPherson, KS, I feel the sudden urge to pop a xany and turn the hell around.

As much as I hate to admit it though, the real reason for my visit was to see my other nephew; the one that I have nicknamed Favorite. I love my oldest nephew, but I just never really felt a connection with him. With Favorite though, it was love at first sight. Just look at him, he is adorable.  His personality is very similar to mine, and even at 18 months, he reminds me a lot of me.

My sister knows that Favorite is my favorite because I do a pretty awful job of hiding it. I know it bothers her, but should I have to apologize for feeling closer to him than my older nephew? I have a favorite sweater and no one begrudges me for liking it more than the others. I have a favorite sports team and no one tells me that is not okay. I have my favorite shoes, and no one holds that against me.  I know this logic is flawed; little boys are not the same as these things However, knowing something and applying that knowledge are two very different actions.  

Will I have the same issue with my own children? Will I struggle to connect with one and in turn favor the other? I hope not, but I definitely cannot guarantee it.  Among other aspects of parenthood, this in particular scares me. I am terrified that my inability to be fair will eternally fuck up one or all of my future children.

Luckily, I have my nephews. Because of them, I have been able to identify this behavior in myself. The problem is that I do not know how to rectify it.  Do I ignore Favorite and focus on the other one to make up for the blatant favoritism of past? Or do I start tabula rasa with both of them? I don't think either of these is the right step. Honestly, the first step is admitting I have problem, and hopefully I can figure out a solution from there.

7 Quick Takes

1. I finally felt like I had enough energy to work out this week, and it was not pretty.  I barely made it 30 minutes on the elliptical before I felt like I would die, and I was more sore the next day than I care to admit.

2. In case you didn't look at Facebook (or outside) it snowed yesterday. Unlike most dogs, Prince Dude refuses to set foot outside if there is any possibility of discomfort. Adam forced him to go out, but he just stood on the back deck looking pathetic before Adam finally let him back in the house. So far he has refused to go out for almost 20 hours. The snow isn't supposed to melt til next week, so Dude is in for a long weekend.

3. Adam hasn't worked because of the storm, and I cannot take another day of Skip Bayless and Steven A. Smith first thing in the morning (or all day long). I hate ESPN and all of its incarnations. If Adam continues to bogart the remote, I may drug him and drag him to the crew facility myself.

4. I tried watching Downton Abbey this week on Netflix, and I just don't get it. To be honest, it bored me. Why does everyone love this show again?

5. I am pretty angry that Adam doesn't have very much money on his online gambling site, because I love me some Oscar prop bets. My biggest prediction, Jennifer Lawrence will win, but Bradley will go home empty-handed. Gambling addiction aside, I am actually one of those dorks that watches all five hours of Oscar coverage and I cannot wait til Sunday night.

6. Since I have not been able to watch anything on television lately, I have been spending a lot of time on Buzzfeed. Yesterday, I ran across this gem, and it made me really want to start a Myspace resurgence, because my internet footprint would so much better with some Jackson (Micheal or Janet) playing in the background.

7.  Adam deactivated his Facebook, so we are no longer Facebook married. I am very anxious to know how this will affect us. It isn't official until it is on Facebook, so am I still real life married still? Does it work in reverse? Do people think that I am that pathetic person that is "in a relationship" but in reality is a single cat-lady?  Look for more updates on this in the future.

Yes, I read trash, but who doesn't have a vice?

I have really been struggling the last few weeks to have any motivation to do, well, anything. This laziness has led to me reread a lot of books in my Nook library. I wish that I could say that I have been reading Fitzgerald and Hemingway, but sadly I have not been able to stomach anything that resembles actual literature. Besides how could I possibly read a story about a pregnant lady that dies shortly after a stillbirth or a novel about a bunch of spoiled rich people who can't get their shit together?  Rather this is a more accurate sampling of what I have been reading (save the snickering Ryan Laird):

Book snobbery aside, I realize that this list is awful. I accept that none of the last ten books that I have read offer any kind literary presence. I understand that most of these are written for preteen girls. I recognize that the plots are simple and predictable. I admit that I am little embarrassed by this list. However, I also know that all of these books are entertaining, and mind numbing, and that is exactly what I wanted them to be. I am really sad right now, and if I can escape into a world of youthful innocence, I am going to do it.

Despite what the above listing may imply, I am actually pretty well read, and I can usually have an intelligent conversation about literature. Over the holidays, I found myself in a great discussion with two of my friends who are also really well read. One of which is a total book snob. He loves to make fun of my choice to read Twilight over Augie March or that I actually hate Steinbeck.  Which is fine because the joke is actually on him.  He reads because he wants to learn, which whatever I learned enough college. I read because I want to escape, whether it be into the world of 1920s with Fitzgerald or into a post-apocalyptic North America with Collins, and I refuse to apologize for it.

I am not that someone....

I know that it has been months since I last posted, but a lot of life has happened since December, more life than I have probably ever lived.  I know my husband would rather that I just shut this blog down and move on, but I feel like I have a voice, and even if only my mom and mother in law are reading this, I want someone, anyone to listen. 

The line was really faint, but it existed. I was pregnant and I knew that my life would be forever changed.   That first morning was surreal.  I don’t know if anyone has been more excited than I was in that moment, and I wanted everyone to know just how excited I was.  All the baby books, internet searches and midwives in existence will say to wait, but I told everyone in my life that very day. I was not someone who lost her baby.  I was so happy, and wanted everyone that I love to share in that happiness. By the end of the next week, I already had my nursery scheme picked out, names on a list, and had spent more time than I care to admit in the baby section at Target. Come September, I was not going to be left unprepared. I was not someone who lost her baby.

We decided that we would have the baby in Lawrence, because we wanted a real Jayhawk. A good friend recommended a great doctor at Lawrence Memorial. So, when I called to make my first appointment, I was really concerned that she would not see me until I was at least 9 weeks.  Several Google searches later, I had learned that was normal and that I should just start taking a prenatal. The only real downside was my husband constantly joking that there was no way I was really pregnant until I saw a doctor.  My body, however, knew that I was pregnant. I don’t know if I ever had been more tired in my entire life. Overnight, it was like I had been hit by train. All I wanted to eat was frozen yogurt, so I ate my weight in frozen yogurt. By the time I hit the 8 weeks mark, I had already gained 7 pounds, but I was okay with all the weight gain and exhaustion because in the end I would have my own little Baby J.

Most of our friends have either already had kids or are really close to having their own. A little part of me always felt like a curious bystander to their lives, so for the first time, I felt like I could really belong.  I even volunteered to throw a baby shower for a friend, because now I was a member of the club. As her belly grew, I started to see the changes in her body that I couldn’t wait to have in my own.  When she would complain about elastic waistbands, I was actually envious of her being at that point in her pregnancy. 

The Tuesday before her baby shower, I started spotting.   Most women would have run to the ER, but I wasn’t most women.  I was not someone who lost her baby.  My life had sucked enough, it could not be happening to me. Adam was on a trip for work, so when I called him and told him what was going on, he demanded that I go straight the hospital.  Three hours later, I was at home with a hamburger gushing to my sister about how I totally overreacted and that I had seen just seen a normal, healthy baby on the sonogram.  The doctor told me that I had a slight bleed in my uterus, but that if I take it easy it should correct itself.  I spent the next day on the couch, letting my husband baby me, but thinking that everyone was overreacting. I was not someone who lost her baby.

I went to bed that Wednesday thinking that by tomorrow, I would totally be okay. I was not someone who lost her baby. At four am, I woke up covered in blood. I was someone who was losing her baby.  This time when Adam and I got to the hospital, everything was different.  Six hours later, I was at home with a hamburger, bawling and too afraid to call anyone.  Suddenly, I was someone who lost her baby. How could I call all these women, these mothers and explain to them that I had failed. I was someone who lost her baby.

Without my husband, I do not know if I could have survived those next few days.  Adam took on the awful task of calling everyone we know, and not once did he complain. He listened to me cry endless, and not once did he complain. He ate fast food every meal, and not once did he complain. He took care of the dog, and not once did he complain. He allowed me to grieve in my time and not once did he complain. I was someone who lost her baby. He was a father who lost his baby, but he had to be strong, because I fell apart.  

In between feelings of sadness, I was angry, angrier than I have ever been in my entire life.  I was someone who lost her baby. I did not deserve this fate. I deserved a baby. I was entitled to it.  I was mad at everyone in my life that had healthy babies.  I cancelled on my friend, the day before her baby shower, but I knew that I would be awful to her.  As irrational as it was, I was pissed that she was still pregnant and I was not. Mostly though, I was mad at myself. I was someone who lost her baby.

No one really knows how to deal with me now, and that’s okay. I do not know how to deal with me either.  They say things like, “you can try again” or “you were barely pregnant.” What these people don’t understand is that I don’t want to have to try again. I want to be pregnant now.  My baby was alive, I saw it. I heard its heartbeat, it was not “barely” alive it. It was my baby. I was someone who lost her baby.

The hurt is still very fresh, but I am slowly beginning to be okay. I still have moments of intense jealousy. I still look in mirror in morning and fight the self-loathing that bubbles just below the surface. I still cry, but I cry less. I am someone who lost her baby, but I am not someone who will let it break her.  I am forever changed, but I am still me.