Love's Labours Lost

I feel most comfortable describing something that happened to me a few days ago in a narrative style. It helps me feel some control over the event, and gives me a safe distance.

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It was one week before Halloween when I miscarried. I had only known of the pregnancy for two weeks, and had been trying to work out all the details, such as finding a midwife and chewable prenatal vitamins. I was eating anything that contained folic acid (orange juice, multigrain fortified cereals, leafy green veggies) and drinking nothing with caffeine, despite Mountain Dew being the blood in my veins. I bought a dozen used books on natural childbirth, breastfeeding, healthy eating during pregnancy, and personal accounts of the mother experience. I was prepping and feeling happy despite lingering issues in my life, and my partner and I were really delighted. We both wanted this baby, which is a new experience for me.

Kidlet was not a planned pregnancy all those years ago, and I did not ready myself for her arrival, but rather steeled myself against the ensuing chaos of birth. I was scared from point A to point B. I was very alone during that experience, very isolated. I was pregnant on my 17th birthday and he had dumped me again, my mom and stepdad were going to seperate and we would be forced out of the house I had known since childhood, my judgemental father and brother discovered my pregnancy that day and both pressured me to abort, etc.

Worst birthday ever.

I'm with someone new now, and we are on the same page about what we want for our family. We want to have children together, and we wanted this baby. I kept this happiness hidden because I feared some people's cruel reactions, but I no longer care. I have the right to express my sorrow here.

So on Thursday night when I felt a sharp pain in my abdomen I was afraid. The next morning when the faint tinge of pink stained the toilet paper I was panicked. When the bleeding really began I was too ill and wracked with pain to do anything but lie in bed and beg the baby to live.

I had already felt the baby to be a boy, and called him Henry. "Please Henry, please live. The world is so wonderful. There are trees and roller coasters and good books, comics and movies and mountains and sunsets. There is a big sister waiting to meet you and a daddy who loves you. There is a mommy who is working to make all of our dreams come true and who really, really wants to know you and hold you. Please Henry, don't die."

By the time I was begging, it was too late.

I know it isn't my fault, I know that chromosomal abnormalities are to blame for most miscarriages. I was doing everything right, eating so healthy, not stressing, being the perfect pregnant mom. I was paying extra attention to Kidlet and making sure she was happy. When I saw the spotting I checked the internet to see if it could be anything but a miscarriage. The most likely possibility was a urinary tract infection, the back pain could have been my kidneys failing.

I wished it was my kidneys and not my uterus expelling the child I longed to keep. I'd rather be seriously ill than lose my baby. I admitted this to the lab tech who drew my blood to check the hormone levels, and asked her if that was stupid. She didn't think so. She understood my sadness and desperation.

~~~~~~~

My Mom just brought Jetboy, Kidlet and I home from the pumpkin patch earlier tonight, and Mom and Kidlet are carving theirs tonight. I'm still bleeding, but most of the tissue passed on Friday night. I wept all of Friday, wept until my face was puffy and sore.

Tomorrow morning I get my blood drawn again to check how the hormones have fallen, in 2 weeks I see the midwife again and discuss the aftermath. My heart hurts. I'm so tired. I just want this happiness, something I've tried for and lost once before. I just want my little family to grow.

I just want this crack in my heart to close, and my love to stop leaking out.

Moving, Part 1

I have been in the process of getting approved to move for about a week now. It's too much stress, too much agonized waiting, and a load of malarkey, but I'm dealing with it. My mother is co-signing because I lack a job in Portland, the city I'm moving to, and the Apartment People want to believe that they will get rent from me. However, me mum has been emotionally difficult and didn't fill out all the information on the form, which has made my waiting go on longer. Yay.

Jetboy and I have been packing up the home, well, mostly him. I've been waffling between depression and boredom, being generally less than helpful. I've gotten bursts of energy and sorted my stuff out, making piles of KEEP and GIVE AWAY. I realized how many of my old clothes my mother had bought me, and how I liked so few of them. I feel empowered getting rid of them. It's perverse and enjoyable.

My brain power is limited, so this post will be short and without purpose. But moving is happening, moving is here to stay. I turn in my 30-day notice to my current housing folks tomorrow, despite still not being confirmed in my new place. The world turns, and I just hope I'll be able to live somewhere warm and dry.

ARG! Me Speak Angry Words!

Normally I don't blog while pissed off, but here comes the return of the Few Minutes Hate!

I just had a stupid argument with Jetboy about Language. As in the uses of spoken and written words. So I said I hate when people don't use Language correctly, and essentially I mean that when people misuse words, use irritating slang, and generally make no sense, it annoys me. I don't respect people who use "like" 300 times in a sentence, and I do my best not to overuse the word. I want words to mean what they do in the dictionary.

I am not claiming to be perfectly proficient with the English language. I use slang, I sometimes use words incorrectly, etc. But I work to amend those mistakes, and I really respect the language in its official form. I do not think that the organic outgrowths of language, such as dialect, are wrong exactly, just less correct, because they are NOT agreed upon universally, and it is the universal agreement of a group consensus that creates official language.

I was saying it's a pet peeve. But Jetboy latches on to things I say sometimes and drags them out for a very long time, until I tell him repeatedly that I am done, but he keeps hammering away, and it really sucks. I just don't CARE that much. I don't like arguing with him, and I told him so. He likes arguing.

What am I supposed to do? Now I feel so full of rage that I want to punch things, but that's a waste of energy and time. I pointed out that he argues as if he is Right, and usually he has no more valid a point than I do.

So why am I with a person that makes me feel so mad? At the moment, I frankly don't know. I do every single favor I can think of for this person, and at times like this I feel like taking them all back.

Later I may take this post down. But for now, this agression will stand.

Fat is Where it's At

So I've been doing lots of reading on fat acceptance as a movement. I'm always trying to understand my feelings via a semiotic lense.

My boyfriend loves fat ladies. I am the second-skinniest girl he's dated, and it actually weirds me out sometimes. Instead of feeling ugly and worrying that my body disgusts him the way I did with Ex, now I've had the silly feeling of Am I Fat Enough?

Yeah, that's just as ridiculous as Am I TOO Fat?.

It gives perspective.



I showed the original Fat Rant to Jetboy, who laughed at Joy Nash's wit and nodded with her serious points, and when it was over said, "Don't take this the wrong way, but she is so hot and I want sleep with her."

I asked why? And he said her confidence was very attractive, and she was so cute, too. I am OK with Jetboy thinking Joy Nash is cute. I do, too!

~~~~
I told my Mama about the awesome Fat Rant videos, even sending her the link. She loved what she heard, but also said something that sucked.

I mentioned that I currently weigh 179 lbs. (I was weighed at the doc last week) and she said how she thought I had been looking thinner since I went off my meds... But she hasn't SEEN me since I did. The truth is, I have no idea if I've lost or gained weight, and I don't care, but my Mama means I look more beautiful when she says thinner.

And it's sad, but it's part of her personality. She was forced by her mom to diet since childhood but could never be the thin girl her mom wanted, and in response made sure she never controlled what my sisters and I ate, but she also gave us a bad example of bodylove by hating her own body.

~~~~~

Sometimes jealousy pushes you into dark places. The hardest thing for me was knowing how to feel when Jetboy slept with his ex, here known as the Queen. I felt overshadowed by her coolness. I thought she was more confident than I. She seemed to always be more bad ass than I, more hip. She is a visual artist like Jetboy, and I freaked out (still do) when they get along well. And she weighs a lot more than me.

At times when I was pissed off about them screwing around it wasn't just because of the act, but because she was FATTER than ME! Horrible to think, but true.

Why would that even matter? Because when I was angry, I tried to demonize her, and fat was easily available. I'm no fucking skinny princess but I hated her and wanted to make that hate about her as a person, make everything she was something I could loathe. It was juvenile and stupid and I didn't feel better.

The Queen isn't more bad ass than I. She isn't braver. She isn't ugly. She isn't my enemy. She's just a person like me, making mistakes and being real.
~~~~~

Jetboy and I have been better recently, and these thoughts don't come with huge angst at the moment. I've been eating bacon daily (insane! delicious!) so I'm obviously not worried about gaining weight. Last night I had him tell me I was fat and cute, and it was fun and silly, because I want to be a round little goddess.

I am fat and write amazingly. I am fat and raise a kick ass cool kidlet. I am fat and have awesome sex. I am fat and get what I want (mostly, lots of bacon and sex).

Play Dates and WriterMamas

July 12, 2008
It nears 3pm on a Saturday afternoon, and I have spent much of my waking hours reading a blog by a fellow writer and mother who is currently watching my daughter. Youngling and her friend (both of whom have the nickname Jellie) are having a play date (why must we schedule our children’s lives? She’s already ‘dating’ and it can only get more complex) and I should be doing Something Useful, or at least frivolous.
Instead I have read another mother’s angst for hours, with a break to converse with my father via phone about the trials of my life. Another writer friend, Southern Gentleman, stayed over last night because he and Jetboy and I hung out last night until it was too creepy and late to walk home. We watched two horror movies, ate junk food, I cooked corn oysters (really a corn fritter, no oyster, but they are supposed to be shaped like the bivalves... nevermind), and then we all crashed at 5 AM.
I set my alarm for 10:30 to get Youngling washed and dressed for her 11:30 playdate pick up, but when I woke she had already showered and dressed. Sheesh. I forget that I raised her to be self-sufficient.

HipMom showed up, and we randomly discovered that we are both writers, and she is awesome. I want to be her friend. I really need a cool fellow writer/mom friend. I hardly knew they existed.

It’s great to have my BFF Jessica, and the Faerie Poetess (whom I hardly see because she is with the nice but overbearing Manly Poet) and my new friend, Southern Gentleman. But these people are not Mothers, were never Married. I talk about pregnancy and sleepless nights, sleeping on the couch to avoid a spouse, sleeping with another man and leaving the Husband for him, and these are not shared experiences. Obviously, not everyone will share these moments, but there is no chance of overlap with Singles or Youngsters.

So I really want to be cool enough to know this woman. I want to be part of her friend group. She is a decade older than me, and a professor now, but she is still living closer to the poverty line than above it, according to her blog, and that makes me feel like maybe at least that will be a defining similarity for us. That, and the whole kid thing.

Friends and the Grouping Thereof

I have different groups of friends. This is inherently amusing, because I used to have a total of one whole friend (plus a fuckton of imaginary ones). Now I don't have just one, or just one group, but several groups. At least three.

They are:

Clark Honors College Student Association Group: I am now a Co-President of this organization. Most of us were on a trivia team together and played on a local PBS game show. We've organized trips and BBQs. We hang out at least once a week. I was very tight with Samantha in previous terms, but this one we've both been too busy. She's a total science nerd and very cool and is my Co-Prez. :) She likes sci-fi and dream imagery and strange philosophical ideas.

Honors College Poetry Class Group: This is a class that is spilling over into everything. Joey is an undergrad teaching a poetry class as his thesis for HC, and he's constantly quoting or reading to people. It's cool except when we're eating Thai food together and he won't stop quoting and saying, "Where's that from?" and I say, "Dude, I'm gonna stab you with this fork if you don't quit it." But then we (Joey, Caitlyn, Nicole, etc) go up to the big green woodsy park, play frisby, put up hammocks and then relax and Joey reads us P G Wodehouse stories until I fall asleep in the hammock listening to a funny British voice saying funny British things.

Courtney, Etc: This group doesn't have a title yet. Courtney and I met in French class, became friends, went to Seattle together to see the Edward Scissorhands ballet, and then I began to hang out with her and her friends, most of whom are bisexual bipolar semi-pagans, like moiself. I wrote a 13 couplet alphabeticon about monsters for her, and she's illustrated them and is making it into a book for an art class. We saw Pirates together the other night, we went to Queer Prom as a group and had a sweet time, we watch movies and have dance parties in her room and smoke hookah. It is the shit, as they say. I feel most relaxed around this group. They are all as goofy as me, and don't judge me. I pretty much love them. :)

And soon my bestest friend will come visit me, and I can show her all my cool places (oooh, art museum! oooh, library! oooh, another library! ummm... that's it!) and we can stay up allll night and I'll make corn oysters and we can TALK TALK TALK and maybe she'll sleep most of the one day that I have class (and I really really really want to take that class and then I feel GUILTY!!) and it will be so wonderful to have a shot of Vitamin J, which is the Sunshine and Sarcasm one.

Because when I told her I was bipolar, she said, "Shocking!" in the most deadpan voice ever, and when I told her I was bisexual back in 9th grade she said, "Yeah?"

That's why she's the Bestest Friend Ever. Shout-out to J!

Time for Revolution

So I've done the Teen Mom thing, and I've done the Egoist thing. I've been depressed and anxious, overwhelmed and tired. I've jumped through hoops and tried to be what people expect.

And I think I'm done.

But not in a down and out way. No, more like a vision of myself as New and Improved. More free. More me.

So I'm looking into changing to an Art major. Yeah, I've changed my major a few times. Whatever. C'est la vie, n'est pas?

Oui.

So Art, and doing the Kidd Tutorial next year (because I got a Yes in the mail, a Yes, You Are A Writer letter) and that will be awesome. Then in a few years I will graduate and go off to Chicago or New York or Connecticut, and do my art and writing in Grad School for a few years, get a degree in one or the other, and maybe be a prof afterward, but making the art, too, until I pay off my student loans, I suppose.

And yeah, I did use a recreational substance last night. And it was good for me in some unexpected ways. I talked so much (what a surprise for me) and I really thought about what makes me happy. Making art, telling stories, playing with color, dancing and singing, seeing ballets, plays, concerts, reading my poetry aloud. My happy place is a place filled with these things.

What will happen to Husband in this new world I'm entering? Who knows. Right now I do know that he didn't kiss me goodnight last night, and today, Mother's Day, he has spent in bed, claiming to feel sick in some way, but not saying how. Whatever. I hardly care. I'm still vaguely in the happy ether, and I was on the swings earlier, which was nice, and later tonight I'm going to poetry class to work on sonnets. I've let Kidlet play outside for hours, and hung out with her, too. She made me a picture this morning when I told her it was Mom's Day. It was sweet. :)

I do know that Kidlet will come with me wherever I go in life, and that is a happy all its own.