i'm off

Grand Forks, watch yo'self! Despite Ralph's best attempts to keep me home, I leave for the airport for my trip to GF in a few minutes. After many hours of laundry and packing yesterday (packing, by the way, my most favorite new carry-on sized suitcase) Ralph relieved himself atop of my clothing and suitcase late last night. Not a happy time at our house right about then. So, I got to stay up until the wee hours laundering and scrubbing and trying to get my weekend wardrobe clean and free of the stench of cat pee. Thankfully, the bridesmaid dress was NOT packed yet. Yikes.

I'm probably more excited to go to Grand Forks than anyone has ever been to go to Grand Forks. Trees with colors! Alpha Phi! The Ralph (not Ralph the pee-er, Ralph the stadium)! Canadian accents! I'm sure the wedding will be fabulous, and I could just cry thinking of how happy it will make me to be in the company of my very best friends.

Boring entry, but there should be much more to say by next week.

cleanup, aisle 4

Oh, I'm just so thrilled that Knocked Up is now out on DVD. You know, because it's superfun to watch Katherine Heigl's dumbfounded shock at her accidental pregnancy on the commercials playing over and over and over. "Oops, got pregnant on accident with some schlubby pot smoking loser, and of course it's going to stick and be healthy and end in a baby! What the hell is a miscarriage anyway?" J and I went to see this about a month after miscarriage #1. I thought I was ready and I just really wanted some greasy, salty, tongue-numbing popcorn. I was wrong about the whole "being ready" thing. As the credits rolled (awesome- pictures of the cast members/crew as teeny tiny babies with their moms) I sat there sobbing and gasping and wheezing and J just sat there all helpless because he kind of knew all along that going to this movie was a baaaad idea but had quickly caught on that you don't fight with the hormones, you do as they say, so we went and it ended badly. So you can imagine my joy walking through WalMart today and spying the big huge rack of Knocked Up DVDs. Remember the movie Mean Girls, how Lindsay Lohan's character would have those crazy visions of herself doing inappropriate things? That was me in WalMart. I pictured myself grabbing ahold of the rack, knocking it over with gusto, and jumping up and down and all around stomping the crap out of those stupid DVDs. Then running over the whole awesome mess over and over and over again with my creaky wheeled cart. (How do I ALWAYS get the creaky wheeled cart?) Anyway, I literally had to shake off that daydream and remind myself to keep walking towards the grocery aisle.

I have the same Lindsay Lohan crazy visions thinking about Thansgiving (casserole tossing, wine chugging, platter breaking). Due date #1 was November 27, and I remember not so long ago thinking I would just absolutely positively die if I wasn't pregnant again by then. In my mind, that would be the worst possible thing that could happen. Pffft. Way to go, dummy. See how much worse it could be? I remember imagining our families coming in for the long weekend, watching football and shoving our faces, all the while on alert for possible contractions or sudden rushes to the hospital. I wish life had a rewind/redo button. I want that Thanksgiving back. This Thanksgiving capital-S-sucks.

So I posted on the nest (my beloved and very supportive message board specifically for those going through a pregnancy loss) about feeling a bit down and angry about things today. I've got one fantastic friend on there, a sweet and witty east coaster in the midst of all kinds of adoption craziness who suffered multiple losses of her own. She's upbeat and encouraging and very good at making me feel more normal. I confessed that I'd made the mistake of venturing over to the pregnancy board where I tortured myself by viewing a post from a girl due right smack dab in the middle of April (aka, EDD #2) celebrating the news of her latest and greatest ultrasound and as a result, I had a total damn meltdown (happy for her, devastated for me). In my emotional freak-out I mentioned that while for the most part I'm getting by okay, sometimes there are these wild moments where I feel like I'm thisclose to retreating into a cozy bathrobe and spending my days talking to my cats. This lovely friend offered the following advice, which I deemed so humorous and comforting that it had to be rebroadcasted here for me to read over when I need a giggle (Jill, I hope that's okay): Mandie, You are right. It is not fair. I hate that you are going through this. I have fooled around looking at other boards and usually come away sobbing and mumbling to my stuffed animal (Dudley) the duck who wants to throw himself off the roof to escape my ramblings, but deep down he knows he can't fly. So talking to your cats really is not that crazy. Now, if you lose the bathrobe, and run down the street talking to say, shrubbery, we'll revisit crazy. You are just rightfully upset, grieving, and madder than hell.

Note to self: keep on the robe, don't talk to shrubbery. I think I can handle that. Sometimes just knowing there's a kindred soul out there murmering to her duck makes me feel a whole lot less lonely.

Thankful for: my recipe not flopping tonight, J's excitement over his new finance position, my wreath (yes- still), helping G with his e-harmony/future wife finder, time spent in the yard today with the fancy felines, 47 short hours until GFK touchdown

crafts+margs=monday

Why didn't anyone ever tell me there was a Pottery Barn alternative that would save me about a bajillion dollars AND make J believe that his lovely homemaking wife actually passed Home Ec? Check out my freakin' work of art:

A WREATH! And I MADE it! That masterpiece would have cost me $70+ at P'Barn. 15 minutes at Hobby Lobby, $7, and 10 minutes of assembly.... and presto! A fantastic fall wreath at 90% savings! Forget that it's 92 degrees outside and the neighbor kids are running through the sprinklers, at my house, it's FALL. Look at the calendar, folks. I'm a bit proud of myself, so much so that when I left the house after hanging The Wreath, I swung back around the block once more to check out that house with the bitchin' wreath, as I'm sure we'll soon be known as. I bet before long I've got neighbors lined up asking wherever did I get that beauty and where can they get their own. Just watch. (Or, back in the real world....someone steals it. Probably more likely over here a smidgit to the east of 35.) See, I'm on to the part of my grief where I channel all my misery into doing things. This afternoon, it came down to decorating or eating. As I'd really like to fit into this weekend's bridesmaid dress without investing in Spanx or going into anna mode, decorating seemed the better selection. And so cheap it's almost free decorating? Sheesh. I'm good. And totally not unaware of the fact that I'm attempting to forget that we should be finishing up an adorable primary colored airplane mural or some flowery pink border in what would have been the nursery by maniacally decking out the house for autumnal harvest. Blah. As much as I tried to stomp out that taunting little voice in the back of my head....it's there. And it's not chased away by any amount of shopping, decorating, eating, OR margarita drinking. Which leads me to......

Happier news: tonight, I had my very first friend-blind-date. L and I have been emailing back and forth for months about our respective crappola ripoff totally unfair miscarriages. Tonight, we met for margaritas (and a bit of food to soak up the margaritas). The boys were amused last night when I told them of my plans, smugly convinced my internet friend would either stand me up or be a bore, a loony, or a serial killer.....but little did they know, L is fabulous and lots of fun and very unlikely to kill me unless I try to take off with her fantastic (and verrry real) LV. Although the instigating factor of this new friendship pretty much sucks, I am happy to report she's right up there on the "coolest people I've met so far in Austin" list.

Thankful for: my wreath, if you've been paying any attention at all. A new friend. The Bachelor in all its' tasteless glory. The margarita in my belly. Mom's visit in two weeks. David Letterman.

el television

I'm embarassed on my own behalf. If a stranger were given the opportunity to examine my DVR settings, they'd conclude the user is about 14 years old, lacking anything resembling a social life, and tacky as hell. Exhibit A: The new Josh Schwartz (aka the genious who bettered the earth with my all time favorite.... The OC) show, Gossip Girl. One episode in, and I'm in lurve. There's the Seth Cohen-esque Dan, the Marissa-ish Serena, and her KiKi-clone mother, Serena's mom. It's like Josh realized how he'd broken my heart by allowing The OC to crash and burn in season 4 and bestowed this gift upon me. I feel at ease again, for one hour a week on CW, at least. Then there's The Hills. I can't get enough! Will Elodie tell off Heidi? Why are LC's brows so dark? What is UP with Audrina and that JustinBobby guy? And the lamest of the lame- Kid Nation. YES, the one with the kids. The 8-15 year old kids. Ugh, I'm so ashamed. But it's heartwarming! And my troubles don't stop there. Premier week has also rotted/will rot my brain with the following: The Bachelor (he's from Austin! it would be nearly illegal not to watch), Beauty and the Geek, Dallas Cowboys Cheerleaders: Making the Team (for some odd reason J is totally okay with this one), the Sunday night double punch of Desperate Housewives AND Brothers & Sisters, the obligatory Gray's obsession, the new spin off with Addison, Friday Night Lights (excused- supporting the local economy), and finally, I'm holding out hope that the Trumpster will be back with another type-A packed dramafest Apprentice competition. It's like the tougher my life gets, the lower-brow my TV selections become. Escapism, people!

J's back from the neighbors' and speaking Spanglish. Someone's had a bit too much fun with Carlos and/or a few too many drinks. Buenos noches.

stupid pictures, stupid wine

Who would have thought it possible that pictures of J as a little kid could break my heart? Left alone at the in laws' for the night, I spied an old photo album on the bookshelf. It's one I vaguely remember us paging through years ago as giddy collegiates in a new relationship, snuggled onto the couch late at night on one of my first visits to meet his family. He was merely looking at old photos, reliving his past.....I was dreaming and planning and envisioning our future family (middle names and all) a la Kate Hudson in "How to Lose a Guy in 10 Days". I remember how those photos made me feel back then, 5 or so years ago, when marriage was a distinct possibility but far from a certainty. I knew I wanted to marry J and hoped he felt the same way- but at 21 or 22, we only danced around that topic, neither of us wanting to be the first to jump that gun and send the other running back to greek mixers and random makeouts. Where was I going with this? Oh, the photos. So back then, they made me feel hopeful, made my heart skip a little thinking of the two of us someday creating a little blonde headed monster that looked like the grinning little guy with the mischevious glint in his eyes. It nearly took my breath away to think we may someday be husband and wife and welcome to the world a little version of the two of us. Back then, when having children was a "we will"....not an unsettlingly vague hope or wish or dream. Tonight, the photos knocked me on my ass in a way I couldn't have imagined. Seeing this little guy of 3 or 4 horseplaying with his little sister, momentarily pausing the action to grin at his mom on a slide in Scotland, squirming beside his dad on some urban European street....made me hurt for the babies we've lost. Especially the first one, the one in my heart I know was a boy. Would he have had those same curious curls? The same energetic, glowing blue eyes? It even hurts to look at his young, gorgeous parents- so happy and fulfilled in a way I just always assumed we would be, too, the moment we were ready. I do know in my heart we'll be parents. I know that. But I wish that I could somehow have been prepared for the journey those aspirations would take us on. Wondering about these lost babies and staring down at those photos hurts me in a way I can only describe as a total emotional and physical pain, a proverbial elephant not just in the room but planted right on top of my chest, making it hard to breathe or move or do anything but choke back a sob and get another glass of wine. The pain of that dull lump in my throat, a longing for what should have been ours in two short months. Two months! A pain so insufficiently dulled by the large glass (fine, glasses) of Riesling I poured after slamming the dusty album closed and placing it carefully back up on the shelf, wishing I'd never taken it down. A pain that feels as if my body is hollow, all my hopes and dreams for our family scooped away and disposed of before the anesthesia wore off.

So sad.

hiatus in houston

Going to Houston was a good decision. I miss Ralph and George, but Uncle Geoff seems to have it all under control in the cat-sitting department. (And really, how hard is it? As long as you don't forget their morning Sheba, in which case you'll likely require stitches at some point later in the day.....they're pretty self sufficient.) The change of scenery is helpful, and it broke up my busy schedule of crying, sleeping, and crying more. J has been busy all week with training downtown, so I've had a chance to hang out with MIL and eat chocolate. You may not find balanced meals in this house, but she's ALWAYS got chocolate on hand! It's been a nice week. Still tough to deal with certain things at certain times, but the distraction is good for me.

Morning 1: MIL was up and out early to teach at the college, leaving me and the pups home alone. I woke up around 8 and didn't bother getting changed out of my pajamas before heading downstairs. I'm wearing tiny boxer shorts and a worn and torn old t-shirt (UND Homecoming 1984- this shirt shows its' 23 years of wear and tear). No shoes, no bra, no problem...I thought. Until I stepped onto the back patio to give the dogs their food. The door shuts behind me and because I'm so full of craptastic luck these days....it locks. I know it before I even try the handle. I just know. Oh, *&^%$#@'n fabulous. At that point normal, non-hormonally imbalanced people would have checked the windows or logically figured out an alternative entrance. Not this nutjob! I sat down and sobbed. And sobbed. I'm outside, I'm half dressed, I have no idea when MIL gets home, I'm in the company of three dogs who think we're playing some super fun game, and obviously I have no phone. Even if I had a phone, I have no idea what MIL's cell number is (who memorizes numbers these days?) After about a half hour I decide I've got two options: a) hang out in the yard all day, pee in a bucket in the garage, go into Survivor mode and tough this out as the mercury climbs to 95...or b) suck it up and start knocking on doors until I find someone home with a phone. I went with Option B, found a friend and neighbor of the IL's, and an hour and 20 phone calls to J's phone to get his mother's number later, had the code to the hide-a-key box and, phew, back inside with AC and toilets. And chocolate. I took it as a karmic sign to appreciate the little things- you know, like the fact that I don't live outside or pee in a garage.

I'm in a decent mood today because in exactly 1 week and 7 hours, I get to see:

MY FRIENDS! Sara gets married next weekend and we'll all be back in Grand Forks to partake in the festivities. I can't wait. Since my family has moved around so much, going back to GF gives me that feeling of going home. Although it smells like rotten beets when the weather's warm and ranks right up there with Antarctica when the weather's cold (aka: October through May), that city saw a whole lot of fun times for me in the early 2000s. Briefly- it's where I met my husband, where I learned the true meaning of friendship from girls who were there no matter the time or place, and where I had the fantastic and enviable opportunity to bend over in a miniscule green skirt in front of 10,000 green clad hockey fans as a part of the Chuck a Puck competition. In a trying time when I sometimes struggle to recall who I was or what I enjoyed even six months ago, going back to GF will probably remind me of how much fun I was/how much fun I had before being bitten by the rotten baby bug. I may come home with a hangover, but when that clears, I think I'll be a bit happier too.

raw eggs & aspartame

I'm looking at the bright side and eating for one and indulging my taste buds whenever and however possible. Anything forbidden during pregnancy is now a go-to food. Hot dogs, one of the first items banished from the moment of the test, were all I ate the first week after this miscarriage was diagnosed. Not that I have much of an appetite (and this eating once a day thing, my waistline and I don't mind) but when I do chow, I make sure I eat something entirely artificial and/or off limits to women "in the family way". See today's breakfast/lunch/dinner:

Yum. Washed down with a aspartame-full Diet Coke, natch. Nothing like some cookie dough to start Saturday off with a bang.

I had a D&C yesterday. Yes, the very procedure I fought for 12 long, wearisome days to avoid. I called in early yesterday morning to leave a message for the nurses inquiring about Thursday's hormone levels. Cell phone close at hand, I headed to the store and loaded my cart with all the necessities we've been lacking since my self-imposed house arrest began. My phone rings. It's Nurse K, and she sounds utterly unimpressed with the results of my lab work. My HCG isn't dropping, I'm still pregnant, they want me not to be. "Have you eaten or drank this morning" she asks. Nope. And she tells me they want me in immediately for a D&C. She tells me Dr. S isn't a fan of having his patients sit for too long waiting for a miscarriage to happen, and that after 12 days, they think I've been through enough torture. They want this over with before the weekend. I can't even explain what a relief it is to have a doctor just TAKE CONTROL. I leave the full cart in the greeting card aisle and book it out of there. An hour later, I'm dressed for surgery and J and I finally meet the wonderful Dr. S. And I'm pleased to report, he appears to be just as fantastic as the masses have indicated. Within 5 seconds, I felt a sense of ease I've been longing to feel for weeks. He was sympathetic but at the same time confident in our ability to have children. He assured us he has never seen a couple have 2 losses and NOT go on to have as many babies as they want to have. He has a game plan and we'll figure this out. I'm impressed and inspired.

I'm also brunette. As I awoke from anesthesia, the first thing I ask J is the time. He tells me it's 1:00 and I realize the 4:30 hair appointment I cancelled en route to the surgery could still easily be made. Still groggy, I request (he might say demand) he go call the salon and get my appointment back. He looks dubious but wastes no time leaving the room to make the call. The nurse looked either amused or confused, I don't quite care which, I wanted pretty hair. And I got it. I feel somehow wiser and more mature all of the sudden. Here's hoping brown-hair-Mandie has more fortune than blonde-hair-Mandie.