I can feel another black hole on its way in. This isn't supposed to be happening, the last one really wasn't that long ago. And everything is working with it, pushing me further in. The dogs are extra-needy (they can probably sense that there's something wrong with me), the neighbor dog broke their fence today so I had to lock him in our yard, which meant Argos couldn't go out until R got home to take the neighbor dog home, which made Tiffany and Argos an even bigger pain in my butt. And my damn computer chair is going to hell, randomly it just gets shorter, whatever it is that holds it up is going out. I'm currently 4 inches shorter than I was when I started typing.
I knew it was coming, there were signs, I just pretended they weren't real. Like the entire past week when I haven't cared to eat at all, when food has lost almost all flavor. I didn't even enjoy the Taco Bell nachos I had last weekend, usually they are an indulgence (because I refuse to eat crap very often, but it tastes sooooo good). And I've been tired, not just slightly tired, I mean unable to focus on anything and so lazy I go 3 days without showering tired. This thing is about to suck me in, and I have no idea how to get away.
On top of that, I have commitments. This weekend R and I are staying with a friend of mine, her fiance (as of last weekend, yay them) just left for 2 1/2 months of military training and she doesn't want to be alone this first weekend. So I have to entertain her, and be all smiles and sunshine for her baby boy- my godson. When all I really want to do is lay on the couch with random packages of instant food around me (like tostitos and salsa, and lunchables pizza) and only get up to pee all weekend long. I'm not going to actually enjoy the black hole, but fighting it doesn't work, so I'd might as well just do what I can to get myself through it easiest (instant food is the only option, if it requires any effort beyond opening a bag or box I will not eat until the black hole is over in a week or so).
I sound fucking mental. Sometimes I think I must be. How can I be normal if this sudden depression hits me like this? I know that it's only about 2 weeks start to finish (including the few days of crankiness before I realize it's happening and the few days of quiet and crying after I start coming around), and I can completely function the whole time (the first time it happened after we got married, R never knew, he thought I was PMSing or something), this just makes me feel out of control. I want some sort of protective cage to hide myself in until it's over, where can I find one of those?
27 September 2007
18 September 2007
No more stealthiness, the truth is revealed (kid mentioned)
OK, so I wasn't being all that stealthy, I'm sure some of you figured it out. But now for the details.
Yesterday we went to court over custody of Little H. It was intended to be an emergency hearing (which was scheduled over a month after we asked for it), but it's going to end up being an all out battle. Little H and his mom (aka: womb host) plus her boyfriend (who does not rate a name) and the other 3 kids (products of an unworthy mother who will forever suffer needlessly- POAUMWWFSN) lived in a tent over the summer. Womb Host claims that they just stayed there 1-3 weeks per month all summer, but Little H doesn't remember ever sleeping in a house from the time the first "camping trip" started until after CPS got involved 3 months later.
Other things eventually came up, like Little H's lack of dental care (he will be 6 in November and had never been to a dentist, he finally went last week and needed 2 root canals- if anybody can explain how teeth get that bad in 5 years, please let me know because I'm apalled) and his attendance record in Kindergarten (21 1/2 days absent, 14 tardies, the only reason a truency officer wasn't called is that truency doesn't apply to Kindergarten, at least not in our area), plus 5 previous CPS complaints that CPS didn't look at or even know existed when they started the most recent investigation.
We ran out of time yesterday (were only scheduled for 1 hour, and we went over by 20 minutes with 2 witnesses still waiting, and a list of a dozen more now that we have time to find/subpoena them), so we're waiting to hear when the next court date is. So far, every point scored in that courtroom is on our side, and Womb Host dug herself one big hole. She dragged Little H there, thinking that she could force him to testify against his father (she's coached him), but instead got an ass chewing from the judge for it. She got mouthy back at him and got scolded again. She is showing them her true colors, and it's gonna get us custody. I'm so happy. Little H deserves a stable environment, not moving every few months or missing school an average of over 2 days per month.
Keep your fingers crossed everybody. We can't think of any ace in the hole she might have (because we've already pre-empted the ones we knew about, and Little H won't be testifying at all- which was half of her strategy from what we can tell), so now it's just riding it out and getting ready to be full-time parents. We can't wait.
Yesterday we went to court over custody of Little H. It was intended to be an emergency hearing (which was scheduled over a month after we asked for it), but it's going to end up being an all out battle. Little H and his mom (aka: womb host) plus her boyfriend (who does not rate a name) and the other 3 kids (products of an unworthy mother who will forever suffer needlessly- POAUMWWFSN) lived in a tent over the summer. Womb Host claims that they just stayed there 1-3 weeks per month all summer, but Little H doesn't remember ever sleeping in a house from the time the first "camping trip" started until after CPS got involved 3 months later.
Other things eventually came up, like Little H's lack of dental care (he will be 6 in November and had never been to a dentist, he finally went last week and needed 2 root canals- if anybody can explain how teeth get that bad in 5 years, please let me know because I'm apalled) and his attendance record in Kindergarten (21 1/2 days absent, 14 tardies, the only reason a truency officer wasn't called is that truency doesn't apply to Kindergarten, at least not in our area), plus 5 previous CPS complaints that CPS didn't look at or even know existed when they started the most recent investigation.
We ran out of time yesterday (were only scheduled for 1 hour, and we went over by 20 minutes with 2 witnesses still waiting, and a list of a dozen more now that we have time to find/subpoena them), so we're waiting to hear when the next court date is. So far, every point scored in that courtroom is on our side, and Womb Host dug herself one big hole. She dragged Little H there, thinking that she could force him to testify against his father (she's coached him), but instead got an ass chewing from the judge for it. She got mouthy back at him and got scolded again. She is showing them her true colors, and it's gonna get us custody. I'm so happy. Little H deserves a stable environment, not moving every few months or missing school an average of over 2 days per month.
Keep your fingers crossed everybody. We can't think of any ace in the hole she might have (because we've already pre-empted the ones we knew about, and Little H won't be testifying at all- which was half of her strategy from what we can tell), so now it's just riding it out and getting ready to be full-time parents. We can't wait.
11 September 2007
Being on a break does not give you a break
No energy to tell you the frustrating news about Little H, the fact that our lawyer has almost no hope now (it's amazing how one little dentist appt takes biomom from unfit to parent of the year). I don't want to talk about it. Today I need to talk about even more dreams, the kind that you can't get away from, the kind that hurt that part of your heart that is supposed to feel only true happiness.
Saturday was the big party at the tattoo shop. R had to work, so it was my job to take pictures for the website. It was a long day, making sure I got shots of the bands, all the sponsors, the owner and artists having fun, etc. And then my little brother (CML) (who had been there most of the day) starts seriously looking into the design of his next tattoo. That tattoo will be his memorial for Goofball. As I walk past with the camera, on my way to get a few shots of the band jamming away, I see his go.ogle image search- gorilla. Goofball's collection of gorillas pops into my head, and I blink back a few tears and walk faster to get outside. The sun is glaring down and I'm instantly hot and wishing I was still standing in air conditioning, but afraid to step back inside for fear I would break down. An hour later, as I'm watching a group of college students get matching tattoos (and the girls in the group getting pierced), CML comes up to me with a few sheets of paper. "Which do you think is more like Goofball?" I have to look, I can't hide from it forever. One is a big silverback gorilla pounding his chest and roaring. That's not Goofball, he had no need to act aggressive. The other is standing on all 4 extremities, but with a serious look on his face, like he's protecting what he needs to, but not beyond the ability to comfort "his" children. That's Goofball, every bit of his personality, it says so much more to CML and I, because we know what that gorilla is thinking, we can see it in his eyes, and we miss it.
What does that have to do with the dream? Nothing really, there's no real link, until you get really deep into my brain. Somehow, Goofball is so linked to my desire for children that it felt like I lost more than him when he died. He was my link to hope that we'd overcome IF, he was the person I wanted to give a baby to, almost more than I wanted to give R a baby. So crying over Goofball suddenly feels like a precursor to my terrible dream. A dream that I could never imagine living through in real life, one that I am devistated that any of you have had to.
I don't remember how it started, but the beginning isn't important anyway. The part that keeps replaying over and over in my head, that kept me awake most of Saturday night, is the important part. I was in some sort of office building, not sure if it was a medical office or not. The dreaming me didn't realize that I was pregnant, but the me in my dream knew. I remember the feel of my stomach, how soft it was, a little bit squishy, a safe place for my little one to grow. And then the baby started talking to me (inside my head). I was so happy to have that small conversation, it felt like the purest connection two beings could ever have. And then my baby told me the news, that it was about to die and there was no way to stop it. The baby asked me to call R over and tell him, so that he would know. I started feeling the baby's heartbeat, right through my belly, I knew that he/she was putting everything left into making it beat so hard we could feel it, to give us the comfort of saying goodbye. And then it stopped and my baby whispered goodbye to me, and I moved R's hand away from my stomach because the heartbeat was gone. We were still standing in the hallway of an office building, quiet, knowing that we'd still never be parents.
And then, in my dream, I woke up and felt my belly. Felt that it was still big and squishy and holding a baby. And then I woke up for real, knowing that the dream -and the dream it was apparently inside of- was fake. That I've never made it past 5 1/2 weeks, never long enough to bloat, definitely never long enough to feel the baby or look pregnant, or even find a heartbeat. And even if I did, Goofball won't be there to share any of it. Go ahead subconcious, kick me while I'm down.
Saturday was the big party at the tattoo shop. R had to work, so it was my job to take pictures for the website. It was a long day, making sure I got shots of the bands, all the sponsors, the owner and artists having fun, etc. And then my little brother (CML) (who had been there most of the day) starts seriously looking into the design of his next tattoo. That tattoo will be his memorial for Goofball. As I walk past with the camera, on my way to get a few shots of the band jamming away, I see his go.ogle image search- gorilla. Goofball's collection of gorillas pops into my head, and I blink back a few tears and walk faster to get outside. The sun is glaring down and I'm instantly hot and wishing I was still standing in air conditioning, but afraid to step back inside for fear I would break down. An hour later, as I'm watching a group of college students get matching tattoos (and the girls in the group getting pierced), CML comes up to me with a few sheets of paper. "Which do you think is more like Goofball?" I have to look, I can't hide from it forever. One is a big silverback gorilla pounding his chest and roaring. That's not Goofball, he had no need to act aggressive. The other is standing on all 4 extremities, but with a serious look on his face, like he's protecting what he needs to, but not beyond the ability to comfort "his" children. That's Goofball, every bit of his personality, it says so much more to CML and I, because we know what that gorilla is thinking, we can see it in his eyes, and we miss it.
What does that have to do with the dream? Nothing really, there's no real link, until you get really deep into my brain. Somehow, Goofball is so linked to my desire for children that it felt like I lost more than him when he died. He was my link to hope that we'd overcome IF, he was the person I wanted to give a baby to, almost more than I wanted to give R a baby. So crying over Goofball suddenly feels like a precursor to my terrible dream. A dream that I could never imagine living through in real life, one that I am devistated that any of you have had to.
I don't remember how it started, but the beginning isn't important anyway. The part that keeps replaying over and over in my head, that kept me awake most of Saturday night, is the important part. I was in some sort of office building, not sure if it was a medical office or not. The dreaming me didn't realize that I was pregnant, but the me in my dream knew. I remember the feel of my stomach, how soft it was, a little bit squishy, a safe place for my little one to grow. And then the baby started talking to me (inside my head). I was so happy to have that small conversation, it felt like the purest connection two beings could ever have. And then my baby told me the news, that it was about to die and there was no way to stop it. The baby asked me to call R over and tell him, so that he would know. I started feeling the baby's heartbeat, right through my belly, I knew that he/she was putting everything left into making it beat so hard we could feel it, to give us the comfort of saying goodbye. And then it stopped and my baby whispered goodbye to me, and I moved R's hand away from my stomach because the heartbeat was gone. We were still standing in the hallway of an office building, quiet, knowing that we'd still never be parents.
And then, in my dream, I woke up and felt my belly. Felt that it was still big and squishy and holding a baby. And then I woke up for real, knowing that the dream -and the dream it was apparently inside of- was fake. That I've never made it past 5 1/2 weeks, never long enough to bloat, definitely never long enough to feel the baby or look pregnant, or even find a heartbeat. And even if I did, Goofball won't be there to share any of it. Go ahead subconcious, kick me while I'm down.
06 September 2007
Late Night Reruns
There comes a time when husbands finally "get it." After the frustration and cluelessness about IF, eventually they just understand. No more "let's keep trying, I just know it'll happen naturally this time," no more "I don't know why you're so upset by a BFN, you said you didn't think it had worked," no more "I'm tired of having sex when you're fertile, let's just do it for fun." At some point, they have that epiphany, a sudden understanding and empathy for what you've been through. And eventually, they show that knowledge and curse at Sex and the City.
Late at night, there really isn't anything that great on, even now that we have cable again. So, you end up watching random episodes of SATC, with all sorts of words omitted because it's on TBS or some wimpy channel like that and they don't allow any cursing. You don't really pay much attention to the TV, you pet the dogs and just leave it on as background noise. And then you hear "just because we can't have a baby doesn't mean we can't live our lives" or something very similar. Your husband's mouth drops open, and you suddenly realize that he's no longer an IF idiot.
Later in the show there's a cardboard baby, the whole "I can't give you a real one, but here's one to look at and make you 100X's more depressed" concept. R yelled at the TV, called the guy an inconsiderate douchebag, promised me to do whatever it takes to give me a real baby and never do something that cruel to me, EVER. I told him that if he ever did, I'd pack my stuff instantly, and use the cardboard baby as kindling to set his truck on fire. He agreed that it would be suitable punishment, that actually somebody as ass-ish as that deserved way more than a flaming truck.
I think I kinda like this husband of mine. Now that he's grown a brain, he might be worth holding onto.
Late at night, there really isn't anything that great on, even now that we have cable again. So, you end up watching random episodes of SATC, with all sorts of words omitted because it's on TBS or some wimpy channel like that and they don't allow any cursing. You don't really pay much attention to the TV, you pet the dogs and just leave it on as background noise. And then you hear "just because we can't have a baby doesn't mean we can't live our lives" or something very similar. Your husband's mouth drops open, and you suddenly realize that he's no longer an IF idiot.
Later in the show there's a cardboard baby, the whole "I can't give you a real one, but here's one to look at and make you 100X's more depressed" concept. R yelled at the TV, called the guy an inconsiderate douchebag, promised me to do whatever it takes to give me a real baby and never do something that cruel to me, EVER. I told him that if he ever did, I'd pack my stuff instantly, and use the cardboard baby as kindling to set his truck on fire. He agreed that it would be suitable punishment, that actually somebody as ass-ish as that deserved way more than a flaming truck.
I think I kinda like this husband of mine. Now that he's grown a brain, he might be worth holding onto.
04 September 2007
Still being vague, but I can talk about the weekend
Little H was up for the weekend! R went and got him on Thursday after going to a few appointments in town (one of which was CPS to get the "real" story, because the biomom isn't always the best at relaying information), but the pick up time is rather late, so Little H went straight to bed when he got here.
Friday morning was all on me- getting him used to being at our house again after being denied so many of our weekends this summer and spending the ones we got with my parents, introducing him to Argos (which went great, they love each other), and getting ready for R's birthday. We made a couple invitations on the computer (very crappy ones, "somebody" decided I didn't need Paint or any other fun programs on my laptop, so I had to make them in Word) and took them to our two neighbors. R's office closed early so he came home around noon. I ran to the store with Little H, then took him next door to meet the neighbor boy (ummm, I'm gonna call him Shamu, because that's the toy he was obsessing over all weekend). That's the last I saw of Little H until it was time for R's party. A couple times he rode past on Shamu's bike (we live on a dead end, between the two driveways is totally safe because there are no other houses on our road), but that's it.
Shamu ended up spending the night at our house that night. R spent a little time fixing the neighbor's computer (umm, they need names- I could never think of their names when I first met them, always thought they were Bruce and MaryAnne), so they were over too, and of course their other kid, Hello (2 1/2 year old girl). 3 children and 2 dogs on my hide-a-bed trying to watch a movie, 4 adults in my kitchen huddled around a laptop, and a feeling of chaos overwhelming everything. It was perfect.
Little H and Shamu played all day Saturday, too. I'm so glad that kids can become "best friends" instantly, and that the novelty of a new best friend doesn't wear off that quickly. They never once fought, and Shamu was an angel while he was here (he can be a bit whiny and throw tantrums on occassion with his mom). R even got up and made them pancakes. It was like those old cutesy calendars, with the "perfect" family, the ones that hint about how life was "back in the day." Dad flipping pancakes, two boys with messy hair and mismatched pajamas waiting eagerly, dog trying to sneak under the table to catch scraps. Turning the page you see a little boy riding a bike, stopping at the mailbox, laughing at the cat stalking him as he rides. Next is Mom, Dad, and the boy cuddled on the couch to watch TV, a pair of dogs at their feet, heads resting on laps and begging for attention. That's my life. I can't believe it.
And maybe this time next year we can add a page, one with the big brother listening to Mom's belly, trying to hear his baby brother or sister inside. Wouldn't that be the perfect picture. You never know what's coming next...
Friday morning was all on me- getting him used to being at our house again after being denied so many of our weekends this summer and spending the ones we got with my parents, introducing him to Argos (which went great, they love each other), and getting ready for R's birthday. We made a couple invitations on the computer (very crappy ones, "somebody" decided I didn't need Paint or any other fun programs on my laptop, so I had to make them in Word) and took them to our two neighbors. R's office closed early so he came home around noon. I ran to the store with Little H, then took him next door to meet the neighbor boy (ummm, I'm gonna call him Shamu, because that's the toy he was obsessing over all weekend). That's the last I saw of Little H until it was time for R's party. A couple times he rode past on Shamu's bike (we live on a dead end, between the two driveways is totally safe because there are no other houses on our road), but that's it.
Shamu ended up spending the night at our house that night. R spent a little time fixing the neighbor's computer (umm, they need names- I could never think of their names when I first met them, always thought they were Bruce and MaryAnne), so they were over too, and of course their other kid, Hello (2 1/2 year old girl). 3 children and 2 dogs on my hide-a-bed trying to watch a movie, 4 adults in my kitchen huddled around a laptop, and a feeling of chaos overwhelming everything. It was perfect.
Little H and Shamu played all day Saturday, too. I'm so glad that kids can become "best friends" instantly, and that the novelty of a new best friend doesn't wear off that quickly. They never once fought, and Shamu was an angel while he was here (he can be a bit whiny and throw tantrums on occassion with his mom). R even got up and made them pancakes. It was like those old cutesy calendars, with the "perfect" family, the ones that hint about how life was "back in the day." Dad flipping pancakes, two boys with messy hair and mismatched pajamas waiting eagerly, dog trying to sneak under the table to catch scraps. Turning the page you see a little boy riding a bike, stopping at the mailbox, laughing at the cat stalking him as he rides. Next is Mom, Dad, and the boy cuddled on the couch to watch TV, a pair of dogs at their feet, heads resting on laps and begging for attention. That's my life. I can't believe it.
And maybe this time next year we can add a page, one with the big brother listening to Mom's belly, trying to hear his baby brother or sister inside. Wouldn't that be the perfect picture. You never know what's coming next...
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