In Case of Emergency: Break Glass

It has taken me awhile to firmly come to this conclusion, but: I am the emergency glass friend. 

Let me explain.

As an extrovert, I watch relationships of everyone around me with rapt fascination. I chameleon my way about, trying to adapt to whoever I might be around just enough to make sure they "like" me - because we extroverts need to be liked or we'll die. We need human connection to live. And we're drawn into the connections of others like a moth to the flame. 

The state of my friendships and relationships has ebbed and flowed over the years, as it does for all of us. The proximity of close friends during a time like high school or college typically just doesn't exist in adulthood. And as we all barrel through different stages of life, we find connections shift and realign depending on what era others are in versus us. This is all completely normal and a beautiful (sometimes sad) evolution. 

Some personalities (or life choices) drift one towards certain paths. We land more firmly in certain categories than others. For example... Those who have one best friend, and it's their spouse/partner.* Those who have few, but very close friends (either all locally or all completely scattered across the globe). Those who have a wide array of acquaintances, but lack really strong bonds. Those who have a mix of local and long distance fellowship, on a variety of levels. Etc. And, one most fascinating to me: the adult BFFs. 

The adult BFFs are a rare, beautiful breed to me. Often stemming from childhood or young adulthood, they are quite literally two peas in a pod. They are up-to-date on all the goings on in one another's lives. They spend time together (whether in person or virtually) OFTEN. They have inside jokes that span decades, can fight like an old married couple,** and can read one another's emotions so well it's almost alarming. They're the ones who give the best person speech at the other's wedding and legit sob because they know there is a forever shift occurring in their perfect dynamic that they'll have to overcome - but they'll make it happen, because the F in BFF is FUCKING FOREVER. They care so deeply. They are a huge priority to each other. They are something special in a world full of loneliness. 

I am not one of these people. 

But it was in witnessing these people that I realized what category I personally fall into. 

• I am not the ride or die. I am the "I'm dying on this ride - help!"  
• I am not the one who has a standing friend hangout, I am the one you call when you've been left hung out to dry. 
• I am not attached at the hip with anyone, but the one who drives you for a hip replacement. 

I am the emergency glass friend. If you need me: I will show up for you in whatever way I can / you need. You turn on that "need friend!" bat signal, and I will answer the call. We may have not spoken in weeks, even years, but if you say that my support is what you need (or don't have support from elsewhere so need someone to step up), then that's what you'll get. 

And honestly, it works very well for me to help fill this niche need in the friend arena. I wouldn't have the mental/emotional/physical capacity to be "all in" all the time for the net of people I consider friends,*** but I sure can dial it up to 11 for shorter periods as needed. Which maybe sounds shitty but, it's really true that we all just have only so many hours in a day, and limited attention to give to others outside our immediates. How available I am to fill this role can vary by era - for example, when I had a newborn baby and was just surviving, or when it was peak pandemic and I had my own personal demons to fight before helping others with theirs. In these times, I'm still "on call" if the beacons are lit, I might just not be as fast to get to Gondor. 

While I keep referencing this very abstractly, here's some random tangible examples from the past such and such years - more obscure than the usual verbal/emotional support, but, you know, to give you some idea. What being the emergency glass friend looks like has a lot of range. It can look like: 2am memes while holding a screaming baby. Driving you to O'Hare because your connection in MKE had issues and you missed the bus. Going to an apartment showing and videoing you for a walk through when you're too sick to go. Proofing a resume/letter of complaint/two weeks notice email. Helping you practice for a eulogy/breakup speech/interview. Being an open door during a power outage. Long phone calls (always, any time. I love long phone calls). Scraping you up off a bar bathroom floor on a Tuesday night because liquor hits different in your thirties. Roadside pickup when you've got a flat. Being your driver after surgery. Sewing the arm back on your toddler's stuffed animal. "Accidentally" running into you while on your failed date when you text me your need-to-bail safe word. Driving the U-Haul for your move / when you decided to thrift something too big for your car. Cat-sitting even though I'm allergic. Being your unofficial wedding photographer when yours is annoying you (or anything wedding related, really). Helping un-super-glue your hands when a craft project went awry. Providing a spreadsheet with unnecessary levels of detail for simple recommendation requests. There is an endless volume of ways to "show up" - I live in the full realm of possibility, because life is NOT linear and is absolutely messy. 

This emergency glass role wouldn't suit everyone. 

• Some people have a greater need for more constant involvement in the lives of their friends, or feel like friendships get retired when not maintained. One thing I can truly say is that if you have ever been someone who I cared about in life, you will always be someone who I care about in life.**** You're stuck with me for always, even if I'm just lurking in the distance and we never across paths again. I'm still there. 
• I know a lot of people would feel like one gets "used" for support during just the hard times, and misses out on the good times. But, I have enough good times to be getting on with and never want someone I care about to feel like their amongst a fair-weather flock with no one to turn to in the rough waters. It's so much harder to ask for support when you need it when you feel like a burden - you're not a burden. Reach out. 
• Certain eras may be more conducive to taking on this role. For example: as someone who was recently a "new mom," everything of the pregnancy/postpartum era is still very fresh, so I can easily tap in to support new moms in progress. It'd be harder for me to show support in a tactful way if I hadn't had the experience myself. So I'm a much better candidate for glass breaking for traumas or events I've lived through as well - which is part of why I'm an over-sharer in general on the Socials: so friends know they can reach out, that they're not alone, that they have an ally with a shared experience. 
• I'm lucky enough to be deeply supported and connected in my own life, to give time and energy to support others in theirs. 

Hopefully I've not offended loved ones with the more in-and-out nature of my friendships, and they've always felt I was there when needed. My number one wish is that my emergency friend services have been helpful over the years - I have been so damn hashtag blessed to be trusted by people to help navigate the chaotic times. And if you're reading this thinking, "Girl, that's just what I need at this point in my life!" Well then grab the tiny hammer and smash that glass, friend. And I'll be seeing you soon. 

Tissues? Coffee? Wine? A baseball bat?
Just let me know what to bring! 

* There are also those for whom this is not a choice. People in abusive relationships or with very jealous/territorial partners. People who have debilitating physical situations or chronic illnesses, that limit their ability to bond with others. Etc. They may be people who desperately long for a 'village,' but are cut off from having those connections due to a toxic and/or uncontrollable situation. 

** Note that some of the MOST toxic friendships I've ever seen are adult BFFs. The kind that force things to stay a certain way because they've simply invested too much time and literally lack any other form of companionship due to just how much they've only focused on this singular thing. And even if they have longggg since outgrown one another, and bring out the very worst in each other, they'll still outwardly pitch how great it is to be the bestest of the besties. Forever. Whether they like it or not. 

*** I say all this as one very lucky bitch. I have a very wide net of people I consider close to me and I am FOREVER grateful for that. It's a legit privilege to be considered a friend by people, given all the options they have for companionship in this world. 

**** I can think of like... maybe TWO exceptions to this. But luckily, I don't personally have many in my life who have done SO wrong by me that I don't wish them well and wouldn't help them if they needed it. I might not care to the degree I once did about them (especially if they were former romantics, obvi), but I still care enough to hope the best for them and be here if they need support.

BabyMama & The State of the U(terus)

TW: post contains references to miscarriage, fertility struggles, etc.  If any of that is hurtful to your heart in this era of life, please skip. Your feelings matter. Love you! 

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The topic of fertility can be a delicate one. I’ve so appreciated the good vibes, hopeful thoughts, and well wishes from each and every person over the past several years, during my various eras of pregnancy, motherhood, loss, etc. Following my last post, I was overwhelmed by the number of heart wrenching stories that were shared with me from other mothers (and/or would-be mothers) and their partners about all the struggles they’ve faced on the journey to becoming parents. Tiny pieces of my heart broke off to go live with each of them, like little Jiminy Crickets snuggling on their shoulders to help them heal, to let them know they are forever loved, and to whisper little “hey, you’re gonna be okay” sweet nothings at them semi-creepily in the lonely hours of the night. 

Having been so vocal about both my pregnancy, birth story, postpartum ups/downs, and our recent miscarriage, I opened up the conversation door and waved folks in. I was glad to be one voice to help represent a single version of experiences shared by many. More than willing to be a thoughtful ear or a shoulder to cry on. A constant beacon of support for familiars near and far. BUT with that has also come the unfortunate awkwardness of people caring and wanting to know how things are going but also wanting to be delicate about asking for updates. The clumsy conversation that is at the intersection of past trauma and winky "hey how is banging your husband going, ya knocked up yet?" 

So, just to make it easier, I'll do what I always do: spin up an unnecessarily long blog post. 

For Those of You Just Tuning In

• Our beautiful baby girl is now a ferocious and feisty toddler who just turned two. She’s not my *whole* world, but pretty darn close. We couldn’t be luckier to have her – she is a true light in a darkening world.
• Our second pregnancy did not go to term. I had a fairly traumatizing Missed Miscarriage in the spring. One in four pregnancies end in miscarriage. One in four. 

Current State of the U

We are not expecting. I am not pregnant.

Miscarriage is a tricky thing. If you're lucky, when it's through, you're told that your body has returned to a non-pregnant state and there is no reason you won't go on to have a perfectly normal pregnancy. Carry on, dear womb, go try again. "When you're ready," my doctor added, with a kind undertone. "Your mental and emotional health matters and much as your physical health," she assured me.

A lovely sentiment... for a younger uterus. 

Given my "advanced" maternal age, the desired timeline in my head, and the miscarriage that had "set us back" five months, my "being ready" seemed like the least important piece of this puzzle. So I insisted that we get back on the proverbial horse and start trying again. I tried not to put too much pressure on the situation outwardly to my husband, while in my mind the clock was SCREAMING at me about the very finite window of opportunity for another healthy pregnancy (in my preferred timeline*). 

What I didn't realize was that my period had decided to become irregular (not necessarily due to the miscarriage, more likely just due to aging) - meaning that calculating a fertility window was a bit more of a task. Like aiming for moving goal posts. And we kept missing. 

Month after month, when my period arrived, so did a wave of sadness and frustration. More time "lost." The weeks ticked on with my silent alt-history timeline running in my head of just how fat and pregnant and miserable I'd be if our second baby had made it to term. 

This week we'd have been welcoming our new little one to the world.**  We'd be on the brink of a totally new adventure again. A new phase of difficulty and pure joy. 

Instead, we are just waiting. Waiting to find out if the most recent attempt "worked," or if it was another swing and a miss. I know that if it's the latter, given the alt history of where we could be, this month will be exceptionally difficult. (Maybe a little dash of deep-in-my-soul depression to sprinkle on top of one's regular Wisconsin-winter-seasonal-depression, but also with a santa hat on #cuzfestive!) But I'm also a practical woman... I know that two times of "easily" getting pregnant did not mean that was a forever situation. I know just how lucky we are to have gotten pregnant two times, period. I know that a few off months doesn't necessarily indicate a larger problem and that our time may come. 

But now, in addition to those things I know, I'm also learning... About secondary infertility (which I hope is not us). About local options for fertility doctors (to see if something straightforward is amiss - we will NOT being going the IVF or other routes, that's just not a path we want to go down). About how my emphasis of the timeline and my stress around the situation has impacted our attempts and relationship. About how while I say I'm okay with being "one and done," having been on the brink of two, it's clear just how much my heart aches for a second wee bebe, how much the vision in my mind included that second child. About just how many other women have found themselves in this exact same situation, but haven't had people to talk to about it. 

I keep reminding myself that I'm one of the lucky ones. Not to say I'm not allowed to feel my feels and the full spectrum of sadness, confusion, joy, etc. But just that we are lucky. To have an OB I trust for guidance through this. To have access to fertility information and options and be financially secure enough to fund whatever path we end up on. To have a supportive and loving partner, and a village of friends (especially mom friends) and family to openly have conversations about all this with. To still feel GENUINE happiness for all our loved ones who are having successful fertility journeys (seriously - I promise I can feel emo for myself while still wanting to talk ALL the baby things and feel excited for you all!). To have our perfect daughter to bring me constant happiness. And to have my health in all this. 

We're at a strange point in this journey. I'm hopeful for the days ahead, but also working on my mental shift back to total acceptance around whatever our family unit looks like a year from now - whether we stay a trio or expand to a wee crew of four. Sending lots of love and luck in the new year to all those down a similar path, and all those on a totally different one. Life can look so different for each of us, but still be so beautiful. 

* I have mentally set a line in the sand for myself that if we're not pregnant by the time I'm 36, we may just be one and done. Having too big of an age gap between kids stresses me out and at that stage in life, I don't know if I'll mentally or physically be able to restart at the newborn stage, I just don't know if I want to go down that path. Maybe this will change, but right now that means we have until next summer to be successful at this thing for a third time. And given one has only a handful of fertile days per cycle, that is a very tiny window indeed. 

** Via a planned induction, a week before my due date, if they hadn't arrived sooner, given how massive our darling first baby was and her and devastation on my body lol I had already discussed with my OB when I'd found out I was pregnant. 

BabyMama & The Silent Miscarriage

TW/spoiler alert (though the title was a giveaway): post contains details around miscarriage, child loss, etc. If you’re pregnant, feeling trauma from your own loss, or have loved and lost in a way that would make you feel uncomfortable reading this, please stop. Your heart doesn’t need this. Take care of yourself. You have all of my love, just the same. 

Also: never meant for this blog to morph into an anxiety journal - like some sort of captain's log on the good ship adulting - but here we arrrrreeee. 

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The below encompasses several very long weeks. Having added to this post at various points of this process, it's obnoxiously long, and I straight-up didn't feel like editing myself down this time - so please be generous in your reading. And, um, I’ve been going through a thing so… don’t be a dick. 

This is laced with some flippant remarks and bits of levity. It's a coping mechanism. I am not trying to minimize or make light of anyone else’s trauma or loss, I promise. As every birth story is unique, so is every pregnancy journey. Your story is your own, and it matters. And you don't owe anyone your trauma. In a world of oversharing, you decide what you are comfortable telling others, periodt. I'm sharing our story, knowing it's one of many, and that many will never be shared. Sending love to all. 

I want to say off the bat: I’m okay. Really. I’ll explain, but, just know I’m alright, friends. We are alright. 

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The Odds May Not Ever Be in Your Favor

One in four. It’s the kind of stat that you’d hear and think “that’s really high!” If you were told you had a one in four chance of getting struck by lightning, you’d probably be a lot more afraid of storms. And while it’s not actual lightning, it can strike in a way that’s just as shocking… a miscarriage. 

One in four pregnancies end in miscarriage.

A miscarriage is defined as a spontaneous loss of a pregnancy before the 20th week. You’ve probably had many people you know wait to tell people about their pregnancy until after they were “in the clear” – given that the risk of a miscarriage drops drastically after week 12. People are afraid to share the news, knowing there’s such a risk of loss. I used to not understand, but in my first pregnancy, it became a bit clear as to why... What happened if you did face such loss, and suddenly you got a “hey how’s pregnancy?” ping from a friend. Or a knitted hat from an aunt. Or some other slap-to-the-face reminder that you had a shared joy with so many that was taken away?

The chance of miscarriage does increase with certain risk factors (advanced age, certain health conditions, if you smoke/drink/drug while pregnant, etc.). BUT it’s important to know, really know, that most miscarriages cannot be prevented. There’s nothing the mother or birthing person could have done differently. It is not their fault. Most miscarriages simply occur because the fetus is not developing as expected (about half of miscarriages are due to an extra or missing chromosome). The body knows that the pregnancy is no longer viable, and it aborts the pregnancy.*

Odds are that you know at least one person (more likely many) who has gone through a miscarriage. Many miscarry so early on that they may not even fully realize what has happened. Some suffer a miscarriage further on in their journey and go through a very different event. Either way, there is often a lot of trauma, sadness, and pain that accompanies this thing. It blows my mind how just now the subject is finally becoming slightly less taboo but, in the attempts to make it less taboo it’s also being somehow…minimized? Like, oh, one in four, it’s very common. Sorry you went through that very common thing, I’m sure it was bad, but you can try again right??  >> An oversimplification of some of what I’ve seen, NOT directed at me, but at others.

Again: each person will have a different experience, a different kind of feels. The below are mine.

Our Story

Week 4
A missed period. Tale as old as time. A mental review of the calendar, and a quiet wondering if maybe this is it, we’ve signed up for another journey into a very new chapter of parenthood. Ready or not.

I didn’t take a test. I wasn’t ready. It was too soon. I’d been certain that things might take longer to work out, due my darling aging uterus. There was no way we were pregnant already. I didn’t say anything to my husband, and just carried on.

Week 5
Mentally certain. While my period had changed post-partum, it had continued to be as consistent as a damn colonial’s watch (...despite comments made to others about it being inconsistent PP – a narrative that I'd started building as a means of protecting my heart later if we found ourselves struggling with fertility: blame the wonky period, easy, an easy lie, and who could contradict it?) I knew it was time to take a test and make things real. So, Friday morning when my husband had left for work, I did the standard pee in a cup, popped in a pregnancy test, and played with our toddler while the timer ticked on. 

Before I’d even set the test down, there was already the faint two lines. My daughter and I checked the test together as the timer rang, and there it was: pregnant. Ready or not. A few days later, we shared our surprise with my husband (in the form of a "big sister" t-shirt on a very drooly little girl).

Week 6
A few days after my positive at home test, at my OB’s office, peeing in yet another cup. She “checked my homework” to the same conclusion: there was a baby brewing. We put the 8 week ultrasound on the books and back to life went. Work, prep for our daughter’s first flight and a trip to see family, and the usual doings. My body started to hold weight, my boobs were like “let’s go girrrrls,” my hormones came out to play, I was once again perpetually thirsty and waking up to pee in the middle of the night. The quiet exhaustion set in. First trimester was underway, in a familiar rhythm. 

I mentally held the same shield I did during my first pregnancy. “It’s very early,” I disclaimed when telling my husband, “there’s more risk than the last time, I’m not getting any younger.” Labels like "advanced maternal age" were slapped on my paperwork and I jokingly said of my uterus, "Let's hope the old girl can pull this off!" Even our language to each other was laced with caution, things like: "hopefully this is the last time we tell our moms that we’re having a baby" and "if we're lucky, this is the last time we get to do this: how should we share the news?" or "no bad morning sickness, knock on wood, seems like I got off easy for all my pregnancies!" 

I didn’t project personhood onto the tiny cell cluster forming yet: it remained abstract. Logistical things started to play out in my mind, like alerting daycare to put us on the waitlist for March of 2024 (because yes, there's a waitlist that far out, ugh). And really specific things spun about: like our toddler’s transition to a big-girl bed vs the baby needing the crib and me not wanting our toddler to think the baby stole her crib so wondering when to do that and how to reconfigure our rooms to best help her sleep when a newborn was up screaming at night. I cried, thinking about my late December due date and how I’d miss being at family Christmas for a fourth year in a row. I shushed selfish thoughts about how I’d be stone cold sober for a dear friend’s bachelorette AND wedding. In my mind, I organized newborn things we had kept and could reuse vs things we’d want to update/replace. But, I didn’t think about names, or the new person who would be joining us because they weren’t allowed to be real yet in my mind, for my own protection.

Because I knew the odds.

I felt a bit bad about this mental wall, and tried to do little things to start pulling this abstract idea out of the ether and into view. In the morning, when buckling our baby girl into her carseat to go to daycare, I always give her three kisses and say, “One for you, one for me, one for dad” – I started to add “one for the baby” to which she happily would say, “BABY!” (because she likes the word ‘baby’). I found myself doing the default “hand on tummy” position when sitting, giving a little hand of comfort, with a “we got this” whisper when I started feeling overwhelmed at the idea of starting things over again. And of course, the adjustments in my diet and routine, to keep my body safe for bebe. There were little moments like this, but we mostly carried on as if not pregnant.

Week 7
We were visiting family in California and decided to share the news. Because what else would explain my not wanting sushi the second I approached the coast? We warned how it was still so earlier. Too soon to even be saying anything. So risky. One in four. We hadn't even told other close family yet.

In shops, I gently touched tiny newborn clothing, without purchasing. 

Week 8
In my 8-week ultrasound, all was not well. No heartbeat. Our wee little one had stopped growing at six weeks. A “silent miscarriage.”

How that played out in real time:
When I arrived for my appointment, there was a mix-up with the fax and order for my ultrasound or something silly. After much back and forth, they agreed to squeeze me in twenty minutes after my original time. If you’ve ever had an ultrasound, you know it involves drinking an epic ton of water in advance of the appointment and holding that liquid. Sitting in the waiting area, the usual stream of HGTV schlock flashing on the nearby TV. I texted my husband: this felt like a bad omen, and I might pee my pants. (Literally, I almost peed my pants.)

Finally in with the ultrasound tech, answering a pretty standard series of questions: Was this my first pregnancy? No. How many children did I have? One. How many pregnancies had I had? …One. That question had seemed odd to me initially. Like, I just told you I had one child, so duh I had one pregnancy. My brain took a full moment to think about all the loved ones I knew who’d had far more pregnancies than living children, and I gave an open look of sadness. A brow furrow. And then that tiny moment of recognition passed and I was laying down with a wand on my belly.

The thing about an ultrasound tech: they’re not supposed to tell you definitive information. They do the scans, and your OB/doc tells you explicit medical answers after the fact. A good tech has a poker face. A more realistic tech doesn’t. In an 8-week ultrasound, there’s a big three that you need to get from your tech, and anything beyond that comes from your doc later after they’ve seen what the tech has sent over. The big three: Is there a good heartbeat? Is it only one heartbeat? Are things developing on track with the due date predicted, or is there a different due date estimation?

After a few minutes of silent wanding, I knew something was off. “So, how is it looking?” I asked, as casually as possible. A tiny attempt at a reassuring smile flashed my way, with a lined brow prominent above concerned eyes. She wasn’t quite seeing what she needed to, she likewise tried to say casually that it was likely just due to my tilted uterus (something my OB had warned might happen in my ultrasound – a known thing to cause visibility issues with an external look). When I asked what she wasn't quite seeing so gave a pause and an um. She wasn’t seeing a baby…. Would it be okay to do an internal ultrasound? I agreed after confirming what that entailed, if there was an alternative, how it’d feel, etc.** They insist you go to the bathroom before that, mercifully. I quietly shed some tears in the bathroom, taking a few deep breaths. I texted my husband saying something might be wrong. This felt ominous. This didn’t feel like it was going well.

She started the internal ultrasound. A minute later, she still was quiet. I let a few quiet tears drip sideways off my face. 

I left the office soon thereafter, informed that I'd need to talk to my OB - with a side comment that maybe I should prepare for not good news. Yeah. Yeah I'd gathered that already, thanks. I blindly walked to the parking ramp and sat in my car, waiting on a phone call from my OB. After a few minutes, I started driving back towards home, deciding I'd get a shake from Arby's en route. I pulled over as soon as my OB called. "I'm sorry, but we both know what this is..." she began. And there I was, parked outside some random person's house in the suburbs, while my logic brain calmly asked my doctor about next steps, and my emotional brain wept. 

A "missed miscarriage" or "missed abortion" was the technical term. But. It couldn’t legally be classified as a conclusive ultrasound because of certain rules in my state,*** meaning I had to schedule a second ultrasound a few weeks out (assuming my body didn’t resolve things in the interim) to get another ultrasound to prove that I had miscarried, before I could receive any medications to help my body process. I also had the option to do blood work to show if my hormone levels were decreasing in order to help prove that the pregnancy was no longer viable - but since that isn't always conclusive (i.e. your hormone levels can stay pretty high until the actual departure of pregnancy tissue from your body occurs), I opted to not put myself through that as well. 

The phone call with my OB was fairly long: a thorough explanation of all the possible aftermath/outcomes. Necessarily graphic and detailed, I tried my best to absorb the information so I'd be prepared for what was to come. [I'm forever grateful for the partnership I have with her in all stages of my pregnancy journey(s).] After the call, I got that Arby's shake and drove home to lead a retro call for work - I'd only taken the morning off. My afternoon was packed with meetings. 

Week 8-10
A waiting game. Carrying tissue in my womb that was no longer a baby. Waiting to see if I'd start bleeding. It felt very much like the final days of pregnancy with my first: you know that any time of day, no matter where you are, you could suddenly have a bunch of fluid leave your body in a very violent way. Only in this case, the end result was not a baby, it was a lack thereof. A very long two weeks indeed.

After the ultrasound, I was mentally and emotionally fairly okay. I had known the statistics/risks. I knew there’s nothing I did wrong or could have done differently. I understood the science. We knew that it was still very early and there had been a very real possibility that something may go wrong. My logic brain understood it all. But for two weeks I carried around the persistent thought of the wee bebe that didn't get a chance to grow, but that wouldn't leave its mom. My body wouldn't let it go, and so my emotions escalated quietly over the course of several weeks - caught in a limbo, me and the baby that wouldn't be. Neither one of us physically able to move on. 

During this, the real kicker was that my body continued to think it was pregnant. My hormones continued to rage, my boobs continued growing as if preparing to feed a small army, my exhaustion was all encompassing, and overall my body carried on with the first tri like nothing was amiss. Just as I carried on with my day-to-day (through the hormonal brain fog). It's hard to explain that you're going through a miscarriage but haven't yet fully miscarried - most people don't think about miscarriage as a state of purgatory, but instead as an event that happens fairly suddenly. That's how I'd always thought of it as well. 

While about 25% of pregnancies end in miscarriage, less than 5% are silent miscarriages. 

Week 10
Exactly two weeks after my first week ultrasound, I found myself in that same waiting room, with the same HGTV schlock echoing about the room. The ultrasound tech physically braced herself as she opened the door and called my name. I told her it was okay, I knew what we were expecting to see and I was ready for it this time. These things happen. One in four. It was okay. 

I had asked my OB what the odds were that I might march into the second ultra and suddenly they'd find a growing, living baby. "I'm not trying to cling to optimism, just wondering how prepared to be for another drastic emotional swing," I had told her on the phone. She said she hesitated to even say there was less than a one percent chance. Trusting her, and knowing what we knew, it was no surprise to me when the tech one again found no heartbeat, and only tissue pacing at six weeks. 

Conclusive. It was finally conclusive in the eyes of the State.

Once again on the phone to my OB, she already had the news as I rang. She had called in a prescription to the pharmacy before I had dialed. Called instead of faxed, because she needed to explain the situation and confirm that the medication I was getting was for "miscarriage management" and not an abortion, (because pharmacies are skittish these days). We talked through all the steps, what I could expect, etc. 

If you're not interested in that process, or details around this kind of "woman problem" or the idea of abortion methods stresses you out - feel free to skip ahead to the "It's Gonna Be Okay" section. Else, knowledge is power, so the following is fairly detailed, based on my knowledge for my specific experience. I'm not a doctor, or medical expert, so this is paraphrased based on explanations from my OB.

When you hear people talk about "early stage abortions" there are two main methods:

1. A Medical Abortion: typically done at home - i.e. the 'abortion pill'
2. A Surgical Abortion: done in-clinic - i.e. a D&C (Dilation and Curretage) 

Both are also options for "miscarriage management." D&C being the less ideal option, but both being very safe approaches to helping your body miscarry the no-longer-viable pregnancy tissue. In my case, we opted for the pill, with a D&C being a last resort if my body wasn't able to expel the tissue fully with medicinal support. The 'abortion pill' is actually a series of pills typically:

1. Mifepristone : this pill blocks progesterone - the hormone your body needs to support pregnancy (it basically helps your uterus lining implant and support your egg / baby in the first tri) - stopping the pregnancy from growing
2. Misoprostol : this pill causes cramping and bleeding to empty your uterus

Based on my situation, I was prescribed just two doses of misoprostol (since my wee bebe had already stopped growing). The effectiveness is around 85-95% so the second dose was to be on hand in case it didn't fully work with the first round. When to take it was up to me. I could wait, and hope my body figured it out itself. But that could lead to complications if it took too long, and also would stall out our fertility journey in general (because getting pregnant again when your womb is already occupado is a tricky matter). In my case: waiting had already been taking a toll on me emotionally/mentally, and the continued physical toll on my body was not something I wanted to just let drag on. 

I decided to take it the next day. My OB advised that the heaviest bleeding/cramping typically started about 6-12 hours after taking the pills, and could last several hours. It was one of those things you should kind of clear your schedule for. With the lead time, I was also worried about taking it too late in the day and being up all night dealing with the trauma in the wee small hours. So I decided to take the first dose after daycare dropoff. It was a Wednesday. I didn't have any afternoon meetings and I'm WFH. (I had also heard rumor of major changes coming at work so figured it would be a day where people would be distracted - it turned out to be a day of massive layoffs, restructures, and pay cuts - so - the day was very dramatic on EVERY front for me.) 

Additional disclaimer: this is where the TMI comes in - if it's not something you want to read about, please skip ahead. I had NO idea what this process was like prior to going through it myself so - TMYK.

So Misoprostol. You don't take it in your mouth.... :| 

I felt like I was trying to sneak drugs across the border or something bizarre. Because the whole thing was bizarre. Like a sitcom freeze frame on me awkwardly popping pills up my snatch with a voiceover quirkily saying, "so how did we get here? well it all started two weeks and a day ago..." 

Hours later, cramping and light spotting. And then things hit their stride. If you imagine how the flow of your regular period exits over the course of several days, instead it was like… it exiting all within 12 hours. In much larger clots. Terrifyingly large blood clots. Like, when you see a clot the size of a golf ball and think "Oh, it's getting smaller" you know you've been going through a thing. Throughout this, I texted my husband a running tally of how things were going.**** Fun fact: there's isn't a great "period" emoji - and a few days prior we had been discussing a lecture he had watched about emoji development and the conversation around a period emoji (because a bloody undie emoji was not kosh). What a lot of people use instead is either the blood drop, or the Japanese flag (white with a red dot). So... our text history now has a two day stint with an alarming number of Japanese flags. 

Within 24 hours, things should be pretty well done. You may have some period-like bleeding for a few days but you're mostly in the clear. But, sometimes you aren't. In my case, the bleeding continued at a higher than normal, but not alarming flow (there are rare cases of excessive bleeding, which will pop you into urgent care - I was not at that point). Something wasn't quite right. I kept in close contact with my OB and a week later, she suggested it might be prudent for me to take the second dose. Help my body finish the process. Or I could wait it out. It was up to me. 

Week 11
A week and a day after the first dose, with continued bleeding and uncertainty around whether the first dose was fully effective, I caved and took the second dose. With the second dose, you can't just snatch-pop the pills, because your bod would bleed them out. So instead you hold them in your cheek/gums until they dissolve. Also like a drug addict. (I don't know much about The Drugs, but this should all be a pretty good indication that I'd be bad at them.) And then you wait, again. In my case, there was not another mass exodus. It seemed like things might be over.

Week 12
A positive pregnancy test. Still. 

My OB had warned me that this might happen for a few weeks following my miscarriage. And with my prolonged bleeding, I knew it was too early to take one, but I tried anyways. Because the longer this dragged out, the more my state of mind deteriorated. While I had been very sound and certain upfront, each day that I couldn't move forward dragged me down further. Random cries, exhaustion, a feeling of constant overwhelm... all the fun and then some. 

So what next? As I roll into Week 13...
I plan to take another test tomorrow. If I'm still getting a positive test, then I need to call my OB to figure out what we do next, because something could still be lingering. It may be a third round of pills or a D&C, or something else. After I get a negative pregnancy test, my OB recommended we wait until my next normal period barrels through before 'trying' again. If we're emotionally ready, my bod should be physically ready. It could be another week before we get a negative test, or several weeks if I need to take additional next steps, and then maybe a couple more weeks before my period, and then a couple weeks before we hit a 'fertile' window.... all told, it could be 17 weeks out from when my last pregnancy began before we can start trying for the next one. Almost five months of "lost" time. For my aging uterus, that somehow feels like a massive tick tock of the clock. 

But...

It's Gonna Be Okay

Again, PLEASE do not take any of this as minimizing your experience or that of a loved one, if you’ve been close to a miscarriage…

We're okay. Truly. 

• If this had been my first pregnancy, I think a miscarriage would've broken me. But we have our daughter. She is the literal light of our lives. She is truly enough. Anything more is a beautiful bonus. So if a second child isn't in the cards, it'll be alright. We won't just be content, we'll be happy. Sure, we'll try again, but if it's a "one and done" situation, then that'll be perfectly fine for our wee family unit. Our girl has so many people who love her, it's enough.
  
  
• I take a lot of solace in knowing: this ain't my body’s first rodeo. I’ve got a proven track record of both getting knocked up and having a full-tern pregnancy / big old baby delivery. I know my body is capable, and that this whole experience was it being capable in knowing something was wrong and that the pregnancy couldn’t continue. It did what it had to do, and there is no different way things could have gone this time around. There's no blame here, just a sidestep in the journey. (Everything so far also indicates that nothing is awry with my body - this all is not a sign of any overall infertility issues, knock on wood.)
  
  
• We have such a strong village of friends, family, and loved ones. The small handful who we told about this early on literally encased us in a bubble of kindness to protect us from the baddies. And so many others gave support without fully knowing the situation, just based on vibes. We are massively hashtag fucking blessed by the people in our lives, and know that they'll be here for us no matter what turn this road takes. It makes everything in general feel more okay, honestly.
  
  
• There are a bunch of other life things that we had felt rushed on / worried about with a December due date on the horizon, so this unfortunate change does give us time to iron those things out. It gives me time to get stronger, to get into a better groove eating, to support loved ones going through their own big changes right now, etc. There's not a "silver lining" to something sad like this, but there is just knowledge of how the steps forward can dance about a bit in the interim.

There's no point where this all fades from my memory. I'll be grateful to physically move forward, so my logic brain can kick back in and acknowledge this whole situation fully for what it is: an unfortunate thing, that just happens (and happens to SO many). Somehow typing this all out helped put some of the weight of it off my mind, and out into the ether. I hope it gives you some perspective on what some go through and that you never have to experience it yourself. Honestly, silence is just not golden in this case. 

* Yes, a “spontaneous abortion” is one of the other terms for a “miscarriage” - you'll hear doctors say "ab" instead of "abortion" in some cases - probably due to the stigma around the word "abortion."

** "Not as invasive as a pap” she said she’d been told – pretty accurate in my opinion. It’s a big wand up your snatch, but not the duck bill.

*** Because it was measuring at six weeks, and I could just be a silly girl who got my dates wrong and maybe I wasn't certain when my last period was or certain when I'd gotten a positive pregnancy test at home and in my doctors office. So, not to be trusted, it could be I hadn't given it enough time. (Because a six week fetus is indeed very tiny and hard to capture on an ultrasound - which is why you go in at 8 weeks plus typically - and which is why I did go in at 8 weeks.) 

****  I have a deeply rooted fear of ending up in the hospital, unable to communicate, and the staff asking my husband what kind of symptoms I've been having or if there's been anything amiss and him not knowing or being able to help because "she hasn't said anything." My father-in-law passed away very unexpectedly of sepsis, and had the people closest to him heard some of his symptoms as they were happening, he may have gotten to the hospital sooner, may have had precious time on his side, may have been able to give clues to tip off and get him the help he'd have needed. Since then, I sound like a complete hypochondriac, but I insist that my husband know every time I'm feeling out of sorts. I want it said out loud, and in his mind, should something happen and doctors need to know. 

BabyMama Part Deux?

The only thing people are more persistent about asking than "When are you having kids?" is "When are you having another one?" Every time this question is even alluded to, my brain has a loud shrieking warning bell, my body visually tenses, and honestly, I panic a bit. So, let's dig in on the very personal topic of the second child. 

The usual disclaimers apply here: this is from the perspective of a healthy, white, middleclass, cisgender woman, with a supportive partner, family, and friends. We did not have any complexities in getting pregnant the first time, my pregnancy/labor were all fairly normal, and in all these things we are very lucky. All of this colors the convo around a second. Also, none of these points are insurmountable - I'm not saying we will or won't have one more - these are just the stressors my brain is going through when debating the topic. While I'm focusing on the anxieties more than the benefits/good bits, that doesn't mean there aren't any. And of course: zero judgements if you're Team No Kids, a One and Done fam, or building your own Brady Bunch - you do you! (And my heart goes out if you have bodily or other limitations that prevent you from growing your family the way you want to - love you.)

Baseline: kids were never in my "life plan" (more on that here). But once it was decided that we'd give it a go, we were a "Zero or Two" household. We'd try, and if it didn't work out, we'd be okay sans babies. But if it did: we'd like to have two. ('Two' being an easy thing to say when you haven't yet experienced birthing and parenting one.) And in November 2021, we had our beautiful baby girl. 

The primary thing that makes me most worried about having a second is that little girl. 

• During my first pregnancy, I had an overwhelming fear of not surviving labor, of something going wrong. In that scenario, I'd have left behind my husband and (hopefully) newborn child. Now that I've met that child, the thought of voluntarily doing anything that might cause me to have fewer years on this earth with her absolutely cripples me. Why would I ever put myself at such risk and be so selfish as to potentially leave her?*
• Our wee bébé is pretty much my whole damn world. Yes, I'm a working mom and have other things in life I care about / put my time towards, but, she is where I want to put the majority of my energy. She gets the best of me. I want her to always feel like I'm there for her, that she has my full support. Right now I am and she does, but that dynamic obviously will have to shift if another piece of my heart comes out into this world. My time will be divided. And I know that it's just a matter of adapting and finding a new groove as an expanded family unit, I get it. But it WILL be different. It WILL change how our trio is right now, and it hurts my heart to think about our sweet girl feeling any stress during that transition. About her not having my undivided attention. About her feeling second fiddle to someone else. 
• Even silly stuff like: will her room stay a nursery while she moves to a new room? Or is the current nursery her room, and her room forever? How's she going to feel about sharing her space and having some small creature screaming in the night??
• What if they are the kind of siblings who fight all the time? Or are totally different in a way that requires completely different parenting styles? 
• The longer we wait, will it become more difficult for our oldest? To adapt to the change and with being 'close' to their brother/sister?

And what about them, the new bébé ?

• What if (knock on wood) bébé deux is born with some extra nuance (genetically or physically) that requires a lot of additional support? (Also, how does that impact our relationship with our oldest?)
• I don't even want to say this one out loud and jinx things but... what if there's more than one heartbeat in there?? What if we mean to have a second and end up with a BOGO situation? That would literally flip our lives upside down way more than I'm mentally prepared for. FUN FACT: the odds of having twins/multiples increases with maternal age. Scientifically it's something to do with increased production of FSH, but in my personal laymen's terms: your aging lady bits get confused and be like, "Did I already drop an egg this round? I can't remember, better drop another one just in cases!" 
• The temperament and needs of each new human are so unique. What if we end up with a very colicky baby? What if they'll only contact nap? What if they are just a jerk and hate us? 
• And of course, the big existential questions can't help but loom... Looking at the current socio-political-environmental landscape of our planet... what kind of hellscape am I bringing this new life into? What hardships will they have to face with increasingly draconian laws being passed? With a planet that is being destroyed? With increasing competition over resources and wealth? Is it almost irresponsible to add another headcount to this world?

The next is me. I'm the problem, it's me. 

• My fucking career. You know, the thing that I prioritized during my young adulthood so heavily. How does that balance with an additional member of our household? Would one of us quit the workforce to be a full time parent because the cost of daycare is so exorbitant - and would that be me? AND what if I get laid off or what to switch jobs? There are plenty of companies with way better (and way worse) maternity leave benefits than what I got at my current employer, but there are also many where you don't get access to those benefits until you've been with them for a certain time period (many six months, a year, or even longer!) - so if I need, want, or am forced to switch jobs, how does that fit in with our family planning in order to have access to benefits?? ('Murricaaaaa the not-so-great.) And, will that job offer the flexibility I have now, which I've had to rely on frequently when our little one has been sick or daycare has been closed? 
• Pregnancy: 
• This uterus ain't getting any younger. What if this time we struggle to conceive, like SO many do? What if we go through the heartbreak of a miscarriage? What if that ovarian cyst I had last time decides to inflate again and causes issues? Did we get off "too easy" the first time, so this pregnancy will be total hell (plus a bouncing toddler)?
• The idea of putting my body through the marathon that is a nine month pregnancy again is... chilling. The rearranging of my organs, stretching of my body, weight gain, heartburn, all of it. The discomfort mixed with aging doesn't sound fun. I'd want my body to be strong and ready to tackle this again, but, I know I need to do a lot of work to get there.
• Aw man, the hormones. I don't think mine every rebalanced after my last pregnancy - I'm still a weepy mess at the slightest sadness (or happiness). Not to mention the anxiety. 
• The repeal of Roe v Wade. Ectopic pregnancy risks. Access to essential reproductive healthcare. It all weighs heavily on my mind.** As mentioned above (not just for my child and husband, but also for me): I do not want to die due to pregnancy. And I especially don't want to die because of some outdated law limiting my access to necessary medical services. 
• Labor/Delivery: they say the human race has expanded purely due to women "forgetting" about all the bad bits of labor. LOL well, I remember them, so. Here we are. I didn't have a terribly traumatic birth compared to many (luckily), but I won't pretend it wasn't somewhat traumatic for me. And what if this time it's worse? What if this time I end up with a C-Section and totally different kind of recovery? 
• Postpartum: 
• See anxiety and hormones note above.
• What does that even look like with a toddler in the mix?! A newborn is a LOT of work, plus we already have a little darling who is a lot of work. I know people do this every day, but, my brain is just thinking of how exhausting that will be and it feels really stressful. Especially if I breastfeed again (if I can - who knows if).
• Being a parent is hard. It's the hardest (albeit most rewarding) thing I've literally ever done. It's like having a hobby that you're obsessed with (like Crossfit) and it's all-consuming. My identity as 'me' is already blurry as I morphed into 'wife' and then 'mother.' It's hard to settle into a new 'me' with a little-little one, and having another just delays the time it will take me to re-find myself maybe.... And maybe that's not a bad thing? I like my mom-ness. But, it's a thing. It's a difficult thing to process the complete change to your identity when you're so focused on someone else's needs over yours.
• There's also the whole having to kind of sacrifice my bodily autonomy for an extended period of time. First in sharing my body with another human (with my womb playing the role of apartment) and then when breastfeeding (because what I ingest is still being ingested by another human, as their sole food source). My choices are heavily influenced by another, instead of just doing whatever I want with my body. And again, not to say that any of this is wrong, it just...is. While I'm so used to do this already, is it best just to jump right back in now before I get to used to exercising my bodily freewill again? (I don't want to give up ibuprofen and Nyquil again - there, I said it!!)

Also: this is us.

• Besides our dynamic as a trio, there's the core foundation of my husband and me. It feels like we just got into a legit schedule (we fully sleep at night, everything is grooving), and this will just throw a big wrench back in things. Right now we're able to tag team household stuff and toddler watch, so we each get a reprieve throughout the day/night. With two, will we just have to... divide and conquer? Will we just live on separate tracks, each with one child, for a year or so? Having one child completely upended our lifestyle : will that just hit doubly so with another? How far apart do my husband and I drift as we weather the transitional storm - or are we made all the closer, clinging to a life raft, getting beat by waves of toddler attitude plus newborn cries?
• Monnneyyy honnneeey. Anyone who whines "but don't you want your child to have a playmate??"*** when pushing for additional babies: that is one insanely fucking expensive playmate. I could buy our child friends and the local park for that kind of money. We are very lucky to be in a really solid place financially, but I'd be lying if I said the thought of cost wasn't on my mind. With daycare pricing alone, not to mention everything else - the costs are astronomical (and I'm a thrifty bitch). 
• What about the extended 'us' of family and friends - how hard does spending time with them become? Especially re: traveling to see people. It feels like that will take a severe dip again, just as it was starting to renew. 

So now we debate. Are we a "one and done" household? Do we try, see if it works out, and roll the dice? The biological clock is ticking like a damn bomb, and my back certainly isn't Benjamin Buttoning over here. This whole topic becomes a moot point if my eggs decide they've had enough of this waiting and I get hit with premature menopause or something random. Overall: time is not on our side. So, are our hearts ready to welcome a new life and are we willing to sign up for that burden/joy/wild ride? Is our little family unit of three going to make the big jump to four at some point?? We shall see. 

Are we ready to take the next big step, little girl?

*Yes, I get it, even getting in a car could kill me. But. Just don't be a dick - I don't need stats about mortality rates. It's how I feel and no logic is going to convince my soul otherwise. 

**Had my annual OB/GYN appointment a few months back. She is a woman I deeply trust, who supported me in every way through my pregnancy and labor, so I felt comfortable having the difficult conversation with her about pregnancy in a post Roe era. How myself and many others I know are terrified to be pregnant again. Terrified of not having access to essential reproductive healthcare, should we need it. Fearful of ectopic pregnancies, miscarriages, or any complications that might require care that could give a doctor pause in the current state of the U. Am I willing to roll the dice? To risk my life? Will she do everything in her power to help me and not just my fetus? The answer is: I trust her to do right by me. BUT that is based on the current state - what if further legal changes occur? I still trust her, but, it doesn't mean I don't deeply worry about the risks. 

***To be fair, yes, I like the idea of having two kids for the forever-partner concept. So when my husband and I are old / gone, our beautiful girl will have built-in immediate family that she can turn to. But, there's no guarantee that they won't hate each other or never speak as adults or whatever so, that's nice in theory but not essential. We have a lot of friends/family, and they have kids who will be a fresh gen for her to bond with - she will not be alone. 

BabyMama: Weight For It

Note that this post was “written” via very slow typing in a notepad on my phone during late night feedings back in January and February. I’m truly terrible with touch screen keyboards, so the effort to type up even a text message is appalling. So just know that this post took WEEKS, for this old woman to smash out. And then has sat on the backburner waiting for me to find time to edit the ridiculously autocorrected 2am garbles... I’m trying here!

---------------

In America, pregnancy is one of the only times when weight gain is exalted.* Every pound packed on is an addition towards a noble cause. Gone are the billowing tents of yesteryear, used to hide one's now-curvy figure. While everyday-pooches are to be strategically hidden, bumps are to be flaunted. They are badges of honor. Bodycon for bumps is a THING.

As long as you're pregnant, it's fine. But once that baby is out, those extra pounds go back to being judged. ‘Bouncing back’ is a dreaded expectation. You were granted nine months where society allowed you to be larger, but they won’t abide by much more than that. Sure, you have a new human that you’ve grown, and have gone through a massive physical (and emotional) trauma bringing them into this world, and are now trying to figure out how to care for them outside the bump, but, you OBVIOUSLY need to find time to work out and prep/eat healthy meals, too. Else, you’re failing as a mother. And as a wife. And as a woman. And just like, overall. 

And it's a bunch of bullshit. 

Okay, so. Before I dig in, disclaimer:

I am ALL about new moms taking time to care for themselves. They need and deserve that time. And for some, that absolutely is time for yoga, or a run, or to get veggies at the farmer’s market. And if getting back into a certain physical condition more swiftly helps a mom mentally/emotionally, as well as physically, then YAS queen, do as you will. This is more a rage about a societal expectation put on new moms, and how unrealistic and harmful it can be. And how we need to continue to normalize changes to our bodies as we grow as people (whether or not that involves birthing a baby) and embrace feeling healthy and beautiful over a number on a scale.

So let's go down the full weight journey rabbit hole of the last few years: like most women, I gained weight as I progressed into my thirties. Not a substantial amount, but there was a point where I suddenly realized I was in a different decade on the scale (the 140s) and literally my brain thought it was the one I’d “always” been in as an adult (the 130s). Because brains are funny that way. 

When we got engaged in 2018, set to marry in fall of 2019, I thought “this is it - if this won’t motivate me to workout and eat better and 'get skinny' and hit my 'goal weight,' nothing will!” ... And then I spent a year not being motivated. (I was too busy doing wedding prep and other stuff.) Sure, I did more toning, and walks, and made a point to eat/drink out less, and tried a bit harder in random bursts, but overall I didn’t go nuts about it. I also jotted down my weight every single day, just for awareness, without stressing too much over the number. But, with all that minimal effort, when done over the course of a year, I did lose about a dozen pounds before the wedding.

I continued my daily weight tracking, and in the months following the wedding slowly bopped back to my "normal" weight again. Then, 2020 came, and I watched with morbid fascination as the pandemic hit all of our waistlines. And with no where to go, no happy hour calories to be had, and endless at home time to focus on myself, I thought “this is it - I don’t have being busy as an excuse- if this won’t motivate me to workout and eat better, nothing will!” ... And then I realized motivation is often lacking when in deep states of depression and overwhelm. But, for the first several months of Covid, I had an irrational fear that we would run out of food / not have access to groceries. That, plus stress, caused me to lose about six pounds. But don’t worry, I hit my baking and stress-eating stride just like everyone else and rolling into early 2021 I was back up again to that pre-pani weight, plus a couple pounds. But we all were about there. The memes were endless, but so were the ads for online exercise classes and Peletons.

Then I got pregnant. And knowing that the nutrients I was putting in and how I was treating my body would directly impact our precious child, I thought, “this is it - if this won’t motivate me to workout and eat better and focus on my health, nothing will!” Andddd spoiler alert... that motivation just didn't come. I was good about avoiding some bad eats and not always overindulging, but overall I did not massively change for the better. I got more steps in, and did more stretching, and ate my veggies/fruits, but, I was too exhausted to properly dig in on meal prep and things like I thought I should. Shame on me, I know. (But at least I HYDRATED!)

With the weight gain of a new human life came the weight of placenta and fluids and everything else to house and grow that life. And the fun baddies like the almost-outie belly button, horrible back pain, swollen everythings, and just all the discomfort from the additional strain put on my body from rapid weight gain (just as there would be from rapid weight loss). I gained 33.5 pounds while pregnant and hit a number I’ve never seen on the scale. I carried that weight solely in my boobs and belly, which my porcelain skin will never forget. All of which cumulated in me delivering our beautiful (but massive), nine pound bébé, a week past my due date.

And there’s just no fucking way a body springs back quickly from that. Not on any front. Even with breastfeeding - which, people rave about as if it's some miracle weight loss program, but it is NOT. (Don’t get me started about how much I need to consume in order to stay afloat for that life sucking miracle.) The entire process was such a massive shift (to my organs, hormones, and life), that any expectation to return to "normal" in a rapid manner seems just so insane. 

The rare free time I’ve gotten with a newborn is spent scrambling to do laundry, or organizing so my mind feels some semblance of control, or stuffing a pop-tart in my face... it’s not spent at the gym. And maybe there will be a point where that shifts. Maybe when I’m WFH and our baby is at daycare I’ll do lunchtime workouts. Maybe. Or maybe I’ll just embrace the fluff and nap...

UPDATE: it's especially evident in the last paragraph that this post was written prior to my return to work. Having been back at work for a few months now, I can confidently say that working out during lunchtime is NOT a thing, though is not out of the realm of possibility. I also am grateful for having stopped looking in mirrors during the pandemic - it overall means I have the ability to bop out into public and not care at all what I look like, so any additional weight has not bothered my self esteem on a public front. I've embraced the parts of my wardrobe that fit my body as it is, and the fact that my body has a death grip on certain pounds while I continue to breastfeed. After I'm done breastfeeding, will reassess. I'm currently still up about 13 pounds from my "normal" weight (which I used as my baseline for all the gain/loss numbers in this post), so have lost about 20 points since giving birth. Given that it took nine months to gain that weight and I'm now about 7.5 months out from labor and delivery, I feel like I'm doing alright. For now, I'm comfortable where I am (though I miss wearing some of my slimmer fit clothes) - big boobs and all. 

We plan to have our cake and eat it, too.

* Well, that and when celebs are “committing” to a role, à la Batman Bale.

BabyMama & The Baby Boos and Hoos

Surprise: our sweet baby girl is now over a month old! This past month there have been a billion things - big and small - that I've thought to share. But, #NewbornLife has meant very little time and mental energy to string thoughts together, let alone write them out. As such, going to start with another mommy-brain* related topic that is very prevalent in the fourth trimester: baby blues.

Approximately 80% of new moms experience what is referred to as “baby blues.” When referencing baby blues related symptoms, articles often talk about irritability (partly due to lack of sleep), new moms feeling unfit or overall parenting anxiety, sadness etc. Women are told that this is a mostly harmless, short-lived period of hormonal flux that ends within a few weeks of giving birth. They and their partners are told how to recognize if it’s something more sinister - in the form of postpartum depression (which can sometimes surface several weeks later).

For me personally, I had more what I refer to as the “baby boo hoos” - in which my face would suddenly start leaking and refuse to stop for a myriad of reasons. Most of which seemed silly at the time (and still do now). But, this is motherhood, so, I figure I’ll do as mothers do and overshare. Here were a few of the many moments that sparked my Niagara Falls:

• I started off strong by openly weeping at the lovely nurse from the day shift at the Mom and Baby Recovery Ward. She walked us out when we were getting discharged from the hospital. As Andy brought around the car, I sobbed because everyone was just so kind to us, and how could I ever thank them enough, and they were there for us even with staffing shortages and a pandemic, and all the things. But also, would things continue to go well when we got home? Or was it all because of the excellent staff that we'd even made it that far (to day three)? What would become of us without their support?? (Spoiler alert: we're okay.)
• Then, more tears later that day and throughout the following weeks, because I was just so happy that the baby and I were both home safe and nothing bad had happened to us. It had all gone fine. All my worst fears had not come true. All was well.
• All the messages, cards, presents - every single well wish sent me into a spiral because people were just so nice, and how did we deserve such kindness, and how wonderful for our daughter to have such loving people in her life. Alllll the feels. 
• In the same vein of kindness, every time the grandmas left or were set to leave, tears. Tears thinking about the women who raised us, watching us raise a new generation. Grandmas always get me. Always and forever.
• That first week home, laying down for tiny bouts of sleep, feeling my deflated bump, knowing our baby girl was no longer in there. No more kicks or wiggles. After weeks of daily kick counts and being hyper aware of each movement, instead there was just nothing. A squishy void. Because I had graduated from being the vessel. Our little one was now a part of me in a different way, after so many months being as close as one can be. It was also a tissue grabbing affair anytime I left to run an errand or do anything without her - knowing that each trip was the further away from each other we have physically ever been. Even just after delivery, seeing her on the other side of the room, knowing she was only going to continue to get further from me. That she'll have so many adventures ahead without me. It was like some weird Golden Compass dæmon thing, where feeling her so far away was almost painful. Even though like, I was just ten minutes away doing a pickup at Target. Mom tears for days.
• Holding her on my chest for a snuggle or a burp/spit-up sesh. Seeing how small she is. How her entire self takes up such a tiny space on this earth. Knowing that in my lifetime she'll never been this frail or dependent again. That she's at the precipice of a great life. Feeling all that potential as a warm squishy babe. Sobs of awe. Sobs that I hope I'll be there to see her dream those dreams and make them come true.
• Which leads to the big one, that I keep blubbering about every time my husband brings it up as an example of weird things I bawl about... we were talking about how our little one will likely live to see the next century, even though we probably won't. And how fascinating that was. But what struck me most is that, when that happens, she'll be a little old lady. Our sweet tiny baby will have lived out so much of her life and potentially be in the company of kids or grandkids of her own, and we'll be just memories, alive only in her mind. Not likely there to share it with her (we saw Y2K, I'm cool not doing another round). But, the thought of her as a little old lady breakkkks me, for no good reason.**

Overall, I wouldn't call it the Baby Blues, and I’d say I didn’t have just the  Boo-Hoos either. Because in addition to the random cries, I’d also have other flares in the scares. More so paranoid anxiety flares that were likewise related to hormone flux and lack of sleep? Or some such thing. These were what I just call the “Baby Boos” (because scary). Some examples:

• Within a half hour of arriving home, our newborn officially solely in our care, I had a total freak-out meltdown. Due to Covid restrictions, no one had been allowed to come see us at the hospital. So, the grandmas and my sister were set to come see us at home shortly after our arrival. I wanted to get the hospital bracelets off so they could see us looking less clinical. Grabbing a pair of regular scissors and running on very little sleep (also, with my body completely broken/destroyed from the first few days of recovery following a long labor), I went to cut the bracelets off. Our little girl let out a giant shriek and I was completely convinced that I had literally cut one of her fingers off. Like, I was surer I was going to see gushing blood and an actual finger on the table. I threw the scissors down and held her and was completely hysterical until my husband intervened with a much smaller pair of scissors, quickly cut the bracelets off, and assured me I had NOT maimed our daughter.
• The first few weeks, I would wake up thinking I was co-sleeping and panic. I'd think I had the baby in my arms, under the covers, and would wake up my husband, babbling/shouting that he had to take the baby from me and put it in the bassinet. That she shouldn’t be in the bed. All this while gesturing wildly at my phone or a pillow or a stuffed animal, half-asleep, convinced that whatever object was a baby. It was never a baby. It was always just my fear manifesting in a creepy way in the middle of some sleepless night. 

The mind plays terrible tricks at such a vulnerable point in the pregnancy journey. The fourth trimester is a roller coaster of emotions. I tried to ride that wave of boos and hoos with as much grace as I could, but I'm fairly certain I looked like a nutter most of the time. May our newest addition not think her mama is crazy until a future date, when I'm back to normal insanity. And may normal insanity resume someday soon. Til then, let's just all give new moms a break when their hormones fill a scene.

I just want to hug and squeeze and cry all over you, wee bébé!

*This child has literally tapped most of my intelligence and brain power and taken it for her own. I now have the IQ and processing power of a squishy rock. What’s a squishy rock? I don’t even know... Go team.

**Although, if you've ever seen me watch 'Interstellar' - the little old lady scene in that is absolutely just me dissolved into tears. So, maybe this tracks.

BabyMama & The Thought Police

One thing I neglected to note on my to-do list for 2021: get pregnant. 

That isn't to say it wasn't planned, just that it wasn't any of y'all's business at the time. Being a woman of a certain age, and having witnessed many loved ones struggle with fertility, I didn't necessarily know that 2021 would be the year of the bébé, but surprise, here we are! Twenty weeks pregnant, baby! Sorry blog, with all the other announcements, you get the sloppy-second, offhanded remarks. (Still loveee you!)

I never necessarily understood why people played it so close to the vest in the early months of pregnancy, why it was all so hush-hush until suddenly BAM they were SUPER preggers and ready to announce. And while I still think that knowledge is power, and we can all only benefit from sharing our experiences and learning together... I get it now. The missing piece for me had been the lack of understanding around just how risky those early weeks are. Given my age / physical factors, there was about a 20% chance of a miscarriage. TWENTY percent. ONE in FIVE. 

Holy shit. That felt so, so high.

I had no idea miscarriages were that common. The concept blew my mind. Probably because this is one of many "women's issues" that doesn't get talked about as much (though these days, people tend to be more open) - which sucks, because it isn't just a woman's issue. It impacts family, friends, would-be-fathers, and the whole 'village' of people who would have loved that baby. It's a sad and scary thought. 

"So, why the secrecy, Gina, if you are so adamant about people discussing these things?" you ask, rightly so. And, had something happened, I know I'd have needed my people. I know I'd have reached out, had talked to my loved ones in our closer circle. But you know, that's a controlled conversation. 

If you put a pregnancy announcement out into the world, it ripples. The random woman at the grocery store your mom knew in high school suddenly knows that your womb is occupado. It's big news and people are excited. And people want to ask you about it when they see you. And what happens when you're out for a walk and suddenly someone asks about your baby that's no more? A happy query about the little life you lost? How do you react to that sucker punch to the heart? It feels like, it'd be a lot. Like, if it's someone you're close to checking in, it's comforting; but if it's an inquiry when your guard is down, it's a sob fest. I couldn't risk it. 

And honestly, I kept a big set of walls up around my own heart, pumping blood for two, in that first trimester. The more you love something, the harder the loss, was my defense mechanism. I didn't think too much about it, didn't set too many plans in motion,* didn't let my mind wander and wonder about who this teeny creature might become. Mind you, I also didn't  necessarily spend all those weeks feeling constantly afraid or worrying, I did my best to spend them blank. Uninvested. Almost detached.** And some of that remoteness has carried on into the second tri. 

Yeah, I get that that makes me sound like a monster / bad mom, and as if I don't care, but I have a good reason: the thought police. 

As a fairly high-strung person, I've spent years learning how to manage my anxieties, calm my mind, and mitigate the restlessness when it strikes. I've got my strategies for keeping everyone around me from thinking I'm a total nutter and/or off the rails. That doesn't mean my brain isn't still a hive of chaos, but you know, that I've figured out how to work and live in harmony with that. But now there is someone else in there, someone else who is directly impacted by that chaos. A mini person who shares my body and feelings. And gosh, I sure don't want to scare them.

So, I find myself dealing with a side effect of pregnancy that I hadn't thought about previously: keeping my chill so this wee one doesn't have to feel my worries. I knew having good physical health would be important, but I hadn't considered the massive importance of mental health. I want this womb to be a tranquil getaway, a place of peace and comfort, before our tiny human has to violently exit said womb and come join us in this frenzied world. And yes, sometimes I just have a wave of hormones and start sobbing for literally no reason, but beyond that, serenity is the absolute objective. 

I'm certainly not at the point where I have this all figured out. I don't know the best way to keep a positive vibe internally 24/7 to keep this child in that zen mode. I know I am approaching this imperfectly and will have some major fluxes in anxiety that surely are the opposite of zen,*** but this has been a good perspective shift for me in the long run, too. If I think that my mental chaos isn't "good" for the baby, why would I think it's fine for myself? Because, while I'll surely adore this little spawn, it will only be dependent on me for a certain period of time. I am going to be with me literally til the end. So some of this care and energy that I'm so willing to funnel towards another, it's gonna need to come back to mama. Because mama matters. And right now, doing good for mama is also doing good for bébé. We're literally in this together, and we're going to tackle it with a calm AF smile. 

Wish us luck. 

Good vibes and ice cream only.

* And now I feel completely behind on things lol damnnnnit.
** Even on the way to the twenty-week ultrasound, when my husband was just a bundle of excitement and joy, I felt just numb. Because I was terrified we'd get there and that the ultrasound would show no movement, no heartbeat, that something was wrong and I just didn't have the motherly instinct to know it. I couldn't get myself excited, because the more I thought about it, the more I worried. I even took a photo with my bump before we left for the appointment, just in case that was the last moment where our baby was in there. It was a pretty effed up thought, and as soon as I snapped the pic, I immediately shifted my brain back to blank. It was okay if I didn't feel joy, as long as I didn't feel scared as hell and sad. Blank was better... I don't tell this story to make everyone worry about my sanity, but because I'm sure I'm not the only woman who has ever felt this way. We're all just doing our best, and we're all doing okay. 
*** Like, did the baby freak out when I woke up after having a nightmare last night?? Did my accelerated heart rate and panic cause that little floating fetus to bob about like "ahh what's happening" and now it's traumatized? How could I possibly even know?! Ahh. 

Hindsight Is: 2020 Edition

Woof. 2020. We've (mostly) made it through.

Every year before I write this post, I go back to read my previous "Hindsight is" posts. (Linked here, if you feel like a trip down my memory lane: 2016, 2017, 2018, 2019). The stark contrast of this year to prior ones was almost laughable, but mostly sadable. Like, so sadable. The state of the union left something to be desired, putting it lightly!

2020 was like looking both ways before crossing the street, and getting hit by a plane. But funny enough, when also looking back at my goals post for this year, I felt an odd sense of calm. Even though I came at it much more sideways than I intended, I really did accomplish a lot of the vibe I set out for. It was to be the year of clarity - and even though things were extremely unpredictable, after I went through all the stages of grief for this "year of loss," I did come through the other side with a better understanding of my personal feels, relationships, etc. It was a real trip reading that post and reflecting.

Anywho, onto the 2020 recap...
((Note that this more or less completely fails to capture the dumpster-fire nightmare and wholesome wonderfulness and terror and joy that was 2020 - but, it's what came out when I typed.))

• We survived. Literally the biggest accomplishment. Surviving a pandemic, political turmoil, civil unrest, and everything in between. My car window was smashed in at one point, just to ice the cake. And while it seems like a lifetime ago, it was only February when my husband was in a tragic active-shooter situation at his workplace. I was so thankful for his safety then, and am grateful every day for the health and safety of so many loved ones during these trying times. 
• We moved up and out. We purchased our first home, moving up to the northern burbs and out of apartment living. I moved up to (another) a new role at work. And, our plant family expanded at an exponential rate.
• We celebrated life. Before the world shut down, we had a roaring 20's themed new years, a memorable Leap Day party, wing night, baby showers, lady pal movie night, happy hours and brunches, and of course the Shamrock Shuffle viewing before the lockdown. Weddings, showers, bachelorettes: everything looked different in a year of masks and Zoom gatherings. During our self-quarantine, we turned to virtual events like everyone else. Sidewalk visits and awkward video calls, with a constant theme: we miss each other and love each other and care so much about keeping one another safe. I also excessively celebrated the hatching and fledgling weeks of the baby falcons atop Miller, with the live cam feed that got me through the longest spring of my life. From watching space launches to getting video messages about random nonsense, ever little virtual moment felt like a big moment.
• We donated. Since it was more difficult to physically donate time, we did a lot of donating via straight-up cash. Being financially lucky during this time, we were able to put funds towards causes that matter to us, to try and help in the way we felt we could. We also volunteered to do absentee ballot processing on Election Day, which made for a good distraction and was really cool to be a part of history.*
• We escaped. Even though our honeymoon and several other trips were cancelled, we did take several days away in August, just to get out of our small apartment. Cooking and staying at an AirBNB in lake country was just the ticket. We also escaped through countless hours of television and movies, much like everyone else. I also meant to take up reading and failed, but did really get in a puzzle groove.
• We tracked. In January, we tallied up and realized we were eating out too often. So, in February, we foolishly did a month of NOT eating out - sigh, if only we'd have known. My bullet journal turned into a way for me to be more mindful of the days - noting if I'd gone outside, or spoken to friends or family, or eaten. Counting the hours of sleep lost or gained. And a daily note of the number of Covid deaths and infections, which kept my heart in a constant state of mourning, but also in a state of deep resolve - staying inside, not seeing my loved ones: that time lost could be time gained in the future. It could be a life saved. It was worth it. 

This summary lacks a lot of the depth of this crazy time, but it's been hard to put into words this turning point in history we've all experienced together. And how different we've each experienced it. I'm sad, mad, grateful, hateful, and every other feel, all at once, when thinking back. These months taught us all so much. Some of those lessons, I'm not at all happy about. And others, I really needed to learn. May this all help us grow and make a better world as we move forward. May we be stronger together, even when physically apart. May 2020 be a watercolor in the rain, and 2021 a blank sheet. A fresh start.

Slap some paint over 2020. Gloss 'er up a bit.
Time for a fresh start.

* I highly recommend volunteering to help at the polls or with absentee ballot processing to anyone who wants to better understand the election process. It was absolutely fascinating and it felt really good to contribute and help. (And, we ended up on the homepage of the New York Times!) You can contact your local elections commission for more info. 

Too Much Thyme On My Hands

It started off innocently enough... 

It was January 2020. I was feeling in a bit of a slump, so decided to spruce up / redecorate my desk at work. This included some brief research into fluorescent light tolerant plants, some pink cloud screen-prints, a Roger Sterling Funko, and several hidden Baby Yodas. The viney pothos I had inherited from a former coworker (and had delivered a slow death to) was replaced by a couple of spry ZZs and a pretty leafy thing that I was sure would bring me happiness and deliver additional productivity (spoiler alert: it is no longer with us). My black thumb and I knew we needed more greenery to make that cube life seem more exotic. It all looked so lovely.

Fast-forward to mid-March, after hours, as I haphazardly ripped out my monitor cords, threw my keyboard, mouse, and various electronics into a backpack, and scooped those green girls into my arms in a mad dash out to my car. The post-apocalyptic landscape of the cubicle jungle was eerily quiet, with miscellaneous cords snaking about half-cleared countertops. Half eaten snacks and partially drank cups of water still sitting, frozen in time. A gym bag still hanging from the hook. A sweater over the back of a chair. Two weeks of working from home was the edict. Just a precaution. No need to grab your things. We'd be back soon. 

I knew that was a fool's hope. I took everything I could carry and ran with it. Leaving a little trail of potted soil as I went. 

And suddenly in was May. Two weeks had turned into two months, and the latest from corporate was "mid-September" - which meant another four months on the horizon. Working from home had come with several perks, of course. Rolling out of bed mere minutes before my 7:30am calls. Being able to slowly become human / dress as a person as the day progressed instead of before leaving for a commute, a commute which no longer existed. Instead of spending any spare moments between meetings chit chatting with coworkers, one could pop in laundry. Instead of preparing an easily microwaveable lunch, one could bust out a pot on the stove. All those little perks were certainly there. But one can't ignore that confining an extrovert into a two-bedroom apartment all day, every day, with little separation between work space and living space, well... it's bound to come to a head at some point. 

As that cracking point loomed, I looked up ways to make a space less stressful, to add layers of joy, to brighten one's day. And time after time, the lists highlighted one constant: light and greenery. Light we had in buckets, but greenery was lacking. In addition to the desk ones I'd brought home, we had an inherited (giant) snake plant (which was half burned from having fallen on the radiator), an oxalis that I had been gifted after my short stint as a  middle school librarian (and had somehow kept alive for years), a few half dead bookshelf pothos, an overgrown succulent, and a stray cactus or two. We weren't plantless, we had about six living non-human things, but we certainly were no oasis. So, I decided to start my indoor landscaping journey.

With a mandate to use up vacation time, I found myself with many many half days in May and June. Being afraid to interact with the general public, I instead took drives to various gardening shops and nurseries where I could mask-up and explore options outside, or get curbside pickup. Each time, just quickly grabbing one or two plants that I had researched (and assumed I could keep alive) and dashing back home. After adding the first few, it occurred to me... my husband didn't realize I was welcoming new green guests to the apartment...*

It was the day he proclaimed, "Oh, I see you moved your office plant into the bathroom. It looks nice. Bet you thought I wouldn't notice!" with a note of pride in his voice that I knew. As I glance into the bathroom at the completely different variety of leaf, in a completely different pot, and gave him a kind "well done, you!" smile, I knew. And the game was officially afoot: how many plants could I bring in to the apartment before he began to notice? The answer: a lot. SO many. Maybe too many. This went on for months. It wasn't until three months after that day that he officially began to suspect and I finally confessed. 

Would it be shady to say that my sneaky plant routine got me through? That it brought my isolated-soul massive amounts of entertainment?** That this greenery game was sadly one of the highlight adventures of my year? Maybe. Probably. But regardless, I felt like I won. I somehow incorporated twenty or so leafy friends into the various nooks of our thousand square foot apartment before the game ended in August. And I certainly didn't stop expanding from there - our total tally upon moving*** in November was up to 43 greenies. And she's still growing, our little plant fam. 

Perhaps my want to add little pots of calm got a smidge out of hand over the months. Maybe one shouldn't simply buy a new bit of foliage every time they reach a tipping point. It's possible that flora isn't the only way to bring joy to a space. But all I know is, these plants have given me something to care for, on those days when I was too exhausted and worn out by the year to want to care for myself. They unfurled new leaves when it was time to push out the old. They wilted when they needed attention, reminding me that it's okay to communicate your needs. They adapted. Together we kept hydrated, we leaned towards the light, we breathed, and we continued to grow. They made 2020 succ a little less. 

Did you really think I wouldn't get a photo shoot with them? 
This pandemic is also sponsored by disco balls and Freddie Mercury.

* While he is an extremely intelligent man, well-learned and witty, his observation skills and awareness of his surroundings are sometimes laughabley bad. We once were at a stoplight, windows down on a summer evening, just chatting, no loud music on or anything. And the person in the car right next to us recognized my then-boyfriend. They rolled down their window and were yelling his name and waving at him. This happened for at least a full minute before I was finally like, "Um, are you literally not hearing/seeing this, I think they're trying to get your attention." And he literally had ZERO awareness that they were there. He often misses people saying hello. Doesn't always notice when I've added furniture or artwork, or rearranged things, etc. His brain is just preoccupied somewhere outside the corporal space of the here and now. Bless his heart.

** Like the time I could only get a later curbside pickup timeslot, so had to physically run down an alley, my arms full of green, to avoid being seen by my husband as he was arriving home from work - and then secretly repotted said plants in the second bathroom tub later that night. Or the time I brought home a comically large leafy monster and put it in a really obvious space and just stared wide-eyed at my husband for several days like, "SURELY you see it?!"

***Oh yeah, we bought a house. In case you didn't gather from the above, being trapped in a small space by myself all the time lead to me demanded more space. Because in 2020, a gal deserves a larger cage!