Warning – This might be a bit graphic for those of you who are squeamish. Don’t say I didn’t warn you.

i was asked by a few close friends when they found out that I was pregnant if I was going to tell everyone at first. I had always heard that you shouldn’t tell anyone that you’re expecting a baby until the first trimester was over, but I was way too excited to keep it to myself. So after the family was told, I couldn’t keep my mouth shut.
About a week ago, I actually started to worry that my baby might not be a perfect child. I started going through different situations in my head – Imagining that my baby would only have 4 fingers on one hand…Or worse imagining that he or she might have an actual disease or genetic malformity. In retrospect, I think that maybe my body was telling my brain that something was not right.
A few days after the fears starting rising(this past Thursday), I began spotting. I was immediately alarmed and called my doctor. The nurse told me that if I was not cramping or bleeding heavily, they couldn’t do anything for me and that we would have to let nature take it’s course. Because the nurse could tell me nothing, I turned to the internet. The internet confirmed what the nurse had told me. The internet also told me that many people who had spotted during their 13th week(where I thought I was) had found out that they were carrying twins. This made me wonder if my husband had secret magical powers since he had been hoping for twins from the moment we had found out that I was pregnant. I forgot about my worries since I already had an appointment with my doctor the following Monday and started thinking about how I might actually be able to handle twins.
When I got home that night, I noticed that the brown spotting had turned to bright red blood. I again called my doctor and the nurse assured me that unless I was cramping or bleeding heavily there was nothing to be done. Again, I decided not to worry and started making plans for the weekend.
CPH and I drove to Kentucky for the Easter Weekend. We arrived fairly late Friday night. On Saturday morning, we slept in and then went to eat at the new Waffle House in town. On the way to breakfast, i decided to call my insurance company to make sure that an emercency room visit, if needed, would be covered since I was out of state. I actually spoke to a nurse who confirmed what the nurses at home and the internet said. She also said that she was pretty sure that if I visited an ER that was 50 miles away from my home, it was considered out of network but that most of the time, the ER would only charge me the copay. I went home after breakfast and went straight to the couch. I was not looking forward to testing whether or not the insurance would pay for a ER visit to an out of state hospital.
Around 2 o’clock on Saturday afternoon, I went to the bathroom and as I was wiping noticed a fairly large clot on the piece of toilet paper. I immediately called for my mom (funny I still do that after all these years) and she ran to the bathroom. She called for L* and they both told me that they thought I might want to consider going to the ER. I wanted to go to the ER if just for the confirmation that I was or was not miscarrying.
We were at the hospital for a good four hours. While there, I had (what the nurse called) the chevette of transvaginal ultrasounds and then two hours later the cadillac of ultrasounds done. All ultrasounds showed the same – No heartbeat. We were devestated and tired. We went home and I went back to the couch. While I was gone, my family sat and dyed 12 dozen easter eggs. I’m sad that I missed that.
Sunday was supposed to be the annual easter egg hunt but one sister refused to let her children run around in the rain searching for eggs. Instead the grandmothers put on a easter egg hunt in the house (plastic eggs with prizes inside). It was funny to hear my sisters compete with each other, cheering when their child got a weekend away with the grandmothers.
On Monday (of this week), I went in for what would have been my 14 week prenatal visit. I had been looking forward to this visit for weeks because I was sure that CPH and I would have been able to hear the heartbeat and the pregnancy would finally seem real. Instead, the meeting with the doctor consisted mostly of what to do once the miscarriage was confirmed. Did we want to wait it out and let nature take its course? Did we want to take a pill to make the process go more quickly? Did we want to do an S&C (very similar to a D&C, the scary abortion method). The doctor did want to confirm the miscarriage, so he suggested he take a blood sample and run a test to see if my HCG count was dropping. We did the test and I went home to wait for his call. Unfortunately, the test was inconclusive. Spring of hope! He suggested we take the test in two days and if the count was dropping we would know that a miscarriage was, in fact, occuring.
We have taken that test and the miscarriage has been confirmed. I thought that the worst was waiting to see if it was actually a miscarriage. I was wrong. Waiting for the baby to be expelled from my body is much worse. I have no idea what to expect. I have no idea how much pain, physical pain, I will be experiencing. CPH just told me today that he wondered how I would handle the miscarriage emotionally. I have no idea.
What I do know is that I am really glad that I found out while I was home with my family. Girl power and all that. There is something amazing to be said about your girls being there to hug you or cry with you or just to be silent with you. God I love my family.
And my friends – wow. I’ve always heard that you don’t know how great a friend is until you go through shitty times, but – wow. CPH and I are just so funking blessed.

So what does all this mean? Well it means that CPH and I won’t be having a baby. At least right now.
How do I feel about that? It sucks, royally. Even though we had only known about the pregnancy for a little over 6 weeks, we had already started planning for how this was going to change our lives.
Mostly, I feel disappointed. And disappointing. I’m not as sad for what I’ve lost than for what could have been. And somehow I’ve got it in my head that people are disappointed in me. Disappointed that I won’t be delivering a son or daughter, or cousin, or niece or nephew, or grandchild, or playmate this fall. I know that’s a crazy feeling, but it’s my feeling nonetheless.

No words yet. Only pictures. We went for our first picnic of the season last night with our good friends R* and N*. It was a good night.

I want to be able to share my complete feelings about everything on this journal. I feel like I can’t at this moment, so I’m taking a break. But I’ll be back in a week, tops.
Ok, later taters.

On my list of things to do this weekend (besides coloring easter eggs and answering multiple questions about my pregnancy) is to buy some new pants. I am now down to three pairs of work-worthy pants that fit. It’s alright, I’m not depressed. I’m quite excited for the end effect of not being able to button my pants around my stomach. But it’d still be nice to have a variety of pants to choose from.

My family makeup is a bit confusing to the common stranger. My father and mother created two children together. My brother and I are three years apart. My sister is 15 years my senior. She was born to my father and his first wife. I also have a sister that is 5 months older than my brother (She was born in March of 73 and he was born in August of the same year). And, I have a brother that is roughly 9 months younger than I and a sister who is nearly2 years my junior. The last three siblings were acquired when my mom and L* fell in love.

Confused yet?

I have three nieces and two nephews. The oldest is only 7 or so years younger than I. That means that I was just getting acclimated to full days at school and using my name in a complete sentence when my first niece was born.

Nearly four years ago, I became a great-aunt for the first time. I became a great-aunt when I was 24 years old!

Come this September (if all goes according to plan), my mom will welcome her first biological grandchild into the world. But she has already been a grandmother for such a long time.

And Im excited about the fact that my children will not only have the traditional family that every other mother hopes for their child, but they will be blessed with a multitude of cousins and aunts and uncles and even multiple sets of grandmothers (normal amount of grandfathers, thank you very much).

A*, over at Corresponding Shapes, admitted yesterday that she has become infatuated with magazines. And not the normal, highly-educated, culturally-aware magazines/literary journals that we think A* would be reading. No, we’re talking fairly normal, run-of-the-mill, kind of magazines that you can find while waiting in line at your local grocery store. And I think she’s a little worried about her new infatuation. In order to make her feel a little more normal, I have decided to divulge one of my guilty pleasures. I am going to share, with you, one of those things that I do on a nearly daily basis that does not make me smarter or more aware, but it is something that I thoroughly enjoy. I do something nearly every day that I am embarrassed to share with certain friends because I fear that they will laugh at me. This guilty pleasure of mine serves no other purpose but that it brings me joy and happiness.
World, I watch, nay, I enjoy watching soap operas!
There. I said it.

I talked to my mom tonight and her main reason for calling was to make sure I was ok. The reason she was wondering was because I hadn’t updated in a few days. So I figured it was time to check in. I’ve been a little busy at work (where I usually do most of my updating). We’re offering a free training day for our clients and I’ve been working on that. I’ve actually been enjoying work lately, probably because I’ve been doing less of my actual work and have been working on the training. Unfortunately, the training happens tomorrow, so it’ll be back to normal actual work by Tuesday morning. Saturday, CPH and I worked in the church’s nursery/big kid craziness in the gym during a conference. I had a good time, and it was nice to interact with some of the kids whose parents I haven’t had a chance to really get to know. Sometimes, kids are so much more interesting than adults. Saturday night, we met some friends at Yats, a cajun place that CPH adores and I could, at the moment, do without
This morning, we drove down south to visit some old friends. It was nice seeing them and I daydreamed while we were walking through their barn and looking at the silo of the happiness that a commune with my friends would really bring me.
So, the first question that people ask me after I get the congratulations on this thing growing inside of me is what I’m going to do after the baby is born – regarding work. CPH and I had decided fairly on that he would be the one to stay home with future children. My job would be much too important and I would be much too needed to stay at home. I have to admit that those dreams of importance are just that, at the moment. And staying at home instead of going into a job that doesn’t really make me use my brain all that much doesn’t sound half bad.

Cleaning the house is a never-ending task. You clean before friends come to visit and you keep it pretty clean while they are there. Then you slack off, obviously because you were so sad to see them leave.

So tonight is cleaning night….again.

And thank you card night! Because I have soooo much to be thankful for.

This is the first adult birthday that I got more gifts that I can count on my hands. Yay.

My moms have gone mad. And I love it. My mom called last night to give me the run-down of their shopping weekend. I can’t even begin to recap here, it was much too massive. I feel incredibly blessed to have such baby-crazy parents.
Maybe they’ll go so overboard that they’ll give me their summer tickets to Alaska.

I have gained my first few pounds. Just Thursday night, I was talking with N* and A* about how I looked fatter but I had not gained a pound. I was sticking proudly to the story that the baby growing inside of me was using my reserves (i.e. fat already there) – that I was, in effect, losing weight while the baby was gaining it. And then on Saturday, that all changed. I have gained 3 pounds. This is perfectly normal, I know.
But this weight gain has allowed me more freedom. I don’t feel the need to suck in my stomach when I see someone walk by my desk. I don’t feel the need to drink water when I feel a pang of hunger and instead grab an orange.
I’m actually supposed to be gaining weight. This is all so new to me.

I have a picture of my dad that sits in an empty Camel tin box. It’s a black and white picture of my dad standing in front of someone’s house. He’s dressed in a sailor outfit that seems to transcend time and be popular for every little boy. On the back of the photo this is written: I am two or three years old. My name is Randy. Underneath the title of the picture, it is addressed to my half-sister, N* and signed by my great-grandmother on March 14, 1970. Calculating wizard that I am, I’m guessing that my sister was about 8 or 9 when she received this from our great-grandmother. I find it hard to beleive that I never realized that this picture belonged to my sister, but this morning was the first time that I analyzed the writing on the back of the photo.
The description of the photo seems more introductory than explanatory. It makes me feel that my sister was not familiar enough with my dad for my great-grandmother to simply write “Randy – age two or three.” Because she is my half-sister and because I never really thought to ask and then remember details about her life without dad, I’m not sure if this gift from our great-grandmother was simply a gift received as a parting gift after a day long visit or if it was given to N* as a reminder that she still had a dad even though her mom and dad didn’t live together anymore.
Then again, maybe it was written in that way simply because the picture was being given to a child.

Here was the plan for last night. Go home. Take a short nap. Eat dinner. Wake up and clean rooms for guests that are coming in a few short days (YAY!).
Here’s how it actually happened.
Went home. Took a three hour nap. Had dinner at 10:30. Watched the tivoed episode of Gilmore Girls. Go back to bed.

Tonight, I must clean!

Last year, I expected way too much out of CPH for my birthday. I told him I wanted him to plan it and left it all up to him, offering him no ideas of what I would like or dislike. This year, he has forgotten about the anxiety that I caused him and he asked me what I would like to do. So instead of letting him feel bad for not knowing what I want, I laid it out for him. I want this kind of cake. I want a party. I want my friends to come to me.
And it’s all going to happen just like that.
There is a certain satisfaction in getting what you want.

Oh and a side note: something kind of freaky happened to me last night. After dinner with some friends, CPH and I ran over to the grocery store. He ran into the hardware store and the plan was for him to meet me at the grocery after he was done. As I was walking through the produce section, a grocery employee walked up to me, staring at me and after a good 5-10 seconds said (something to the effect of), “I regognize you.” LONG PAUSE WITH MORE STARING AND SMILING. “From Flickr…”

I wasn’t quite sure what to say. So I was looked very closely at the cucumbers and he walked away.

My CPH got another rejection letter today for his phd work. He’s a little sad and rightly so. He has a dream and, for whatever reason, something is impeding him from having lots of choices of where to pursue that dream.
I have to admit that I’m not as sad as he. What’s the age old advice: Don’t cut your hair the day before your wedding.
It’s a bit comforting to think that we might be starting this next chapter of our life amongst friends and family so close by.

My cousin, K*, is 12 weeks my junior. Growing up, we were close. I distinctly remember a picture of my Granny Rob holding K* and I as babies, one on each lap. We were meant to be friends from the very beginning. And we were. I can remember going over to my cousin’s house and falling asleep on the floor watching Nickelodeon and then being woken up my the blue screen (this was before Nick at Nite). I can remember my cousin and I quoting the scene from Footloose when Ariel and Rusty are talking about Ren and they’re eating those big fat french fries with ketchup VERBATIM and I still remember, just a little, the dance moves we created for Beat It, during Thanksgiving festivities at my aunt’s house.
See we were close.
But something happened in high school. Maybe it was our fight over Christian Smith in 8th grade. Maybe it was just what high school students do – move on. But during our freshman year, we fell apart. And we never found each other again.
Since then, my life and K*’s have been polar opposites. I left O* as fast as I could; she still hasn’t left. She had her first kid when she was 17; I’m just working on my first one now. I’ve been married for seven years now; she has never been married.
Sometimes I’m an ass and I pity K*. I pity her for the wrong choices she has made. Sometimes, I’m an even bigger ass and I’m thankful that I didn’t turn out like her.
K* just had twins in January (her 5th and 6th child). This past Sunday, one of the twins passed away. I’m extremely sad for K*, but I’m trying my hardest to love her more than feel sorry for her. Now if I could just figure out how to do that to someone I haven’t talked to, really talked to, in over 10 years….

First off, I’d like to apologize to those readers out there who were so worried about me because of my post yesterday. Yesterday was not a very good day. I was tired and sick and cold. But I slept pretty much the whole night (minus maybe an hour or two of eating dinner, watching some television -without tivo so i could nap during the commercials- and preparing lunch for today.
I think I’ve learned that I cannot leave the house in the morning without eating. No matter how much I prepare and bring with me to work and plan on eating at my desk as I check the news…It simply does not work. By the time, I’m heading out the door, I’m taking deep breaths to combat the nausea. This morning, I woke up a few minutes early and make some scrambled eggs and toast and while I still couldn’t finish the eggs (because of a slight queasiness), I’m feeling much better than yesterday.
I really need to clean. We’re having visitors next weekend (YAY) and I’m going to Louisville this weekend with the mother in law. So hopefully Sunday will be a day full of cleaning. Wish me luck!

I walk about 4 blocks to work every day. The cheaper parking lots are farther from the circle and because I’d rather walk than pay a large amount out of pocket, I endure the distance. Today was the first day that I regretted this decision.
I woke this morning with an uneasy stomach. Because I needed to make up some time at work, I had to be in by 8AM. So I quickly made my breakfast and lunch and headed out the door.
First off, my car wouldn’t start. Wouldn’t make a sound.
Ran upstairs (more like took one step at a time making sure to take deep breaths as to not hurl onto the stairs) and woke up my poor CPH to let him know that the car wouldn’t start. He suggested a solution and it worked. I head to work…late, but not too late.
I’m walking the multiple blocks from my car to my building and thinking that today has got to be one of the coldest feeling days of the year. It’s windy. It’s snowing. And if I was feeling well, I would have loved it.
I get to work on time. Barely. I’m looking at M*’s phone trying to make sure its ring is on silent (he left it in the car last night) and I realize that it’s the first of March. Yep. First of March and I didn’t get a new parking pass.
So I put my hat, gloves, scarf and coat back on and head back out. I start to walk out of my building and remember that I had meant to get cash out on my way out to pay for the parking pass. Go one more round in the swirly door (swirly doors are not so nice for an icky stomach), get some cash out at the ATM and walk the four blocks back to my car. If this had been a sucky college temp job, I just would have walked to my car, got in and never would have gone back. That’s how bad I felt walking in the snow and wind and cold.
But instead, I walk towards the booth and hand the nice old man my money (cash) and he hands it back to me and says for me to just pay tomorrow because he doesn’t have any change. He promises me that nothing will happen to my car today and I trust him.
So here I sit, back at my desk, wishing I was home, in bed.

Oh, on a happier note: Today is my Granny Rob’s Birthday. She’s older than I can count, so don’t even ask.