Prayer. And sweat.

I was talking to a woman at the gym earlier today, and she was griping a bit about how she's working so hard and not seeing much progress. She said she gained another pound (and I helpfully piped in the cliched but often true, "maybe you're just transforming the fat to muscle" which she knew), and yet doesn't seem to see any shrinking in inches. And this time I kept my mouth shut, because I've never been in my early fifties with menopausal hormones crashing in and the body changing, again, before my eyes and in my almost 30 years, perhaps I've finally learned to keep my trap shut when I don't know what I'm talking about. But then she said, "But hey. If I hadn't been working out, maybe I would have gained 3 pounds instead of just one."

And that just got the wheels spinning. Exercise seems to be a lot like prayer. Putting aside the myriad of comparisons to be made between physical and spiritual discipline, it just occurred to me:

Sometimes we pray and we pray and we pray... and nothing happens. And we say, "But God, I prayed and prayed and prayed and nothing happened."

And He says, "That was the gift."

Exercise keeps us from all manner of disease and illness and injury that we can't have known we're being saved from because they don't happen.

This is nothing new. No new revelation here.

Just once again, I'm marvelling in the gift of incarnation. Not even just THE Incarnation, but mine as well. I woke up in this incredible thing one day almost 30 years ago, this body, and it's infuriating and doesn't work right, and even the few systems I'm intelligently in charge of I don't run properly a disappointing percentage of the time. But I find Him here. In the first gift He ever gave me.

Nadia

You would have been due a year ago today, child. You might have been a sturdy, drooling, adorable one year old today.

I mark this day, today, in some deep silent part of myself. I thought about telling someone, reminding someone, saying, "Hey, today is..." Today is what? It seems like a marker of nothing. But for you and me, my sweet lost little one, we know it's not nothing. I treasure you still, even if it's only me and your Father above who remember.

Everything is different today than it was a year ago.

I live in a different house, and your father and I have barely spoken in months. He has the little bunny I bought for you. I didn't fight him when he told me he was keeping it. He loves you and wanted it. And I surrendered it. I had as much choice in that surrender as I did in yours, and child, I miss you...

I grew up a lot this past year. It was a year of life lessons. But I would have rather been your mother than this much older and this much wiser.

We are told to give thanks in all things, and little one, believe me, I do. I'm thankful I had you those weeks. I am thankful that the God who gave me you and took you home is so near to me. I am thankful for the friends He has given me and the family He has given me. Your grandparents are uncle are amazing people and I am thankful that we have become so much closer.

Little one. I don't really know what to say.

I'm remembering you today.

The race

We got up at 4:45. We left for the city at 5:15.

There were thousands of people milling around, waiting for the bathrooms, pinning numbers to their chests, warming up, chatting. It was exciting. I was nervous til I got there. Then, I just wanted to run.

The weather was perfect. The morning was perfect. Gorgeous. Perfect.

We were led to the start line in waves, according to our predicted finish times. I was in the purple group. And then we started running.

It took about 10 steps for me to fall in love. I felt great and the atmosphere was exciting. There were thousands of runners and even more spectators. The sun was rising, and around mile 1, I realized it was Sunday. And yes, there was more than a little Shabbat Shalom coursing through my veins.

Miles 1, 2, 3, and 4 just fell away. I felt mile 5, like I thought I would. There were a few ups and downs in mile 6, and at the water stop in mile 7, I asked what mile we were on. Seven was where I thought I was, and it was just about right. Mile 8 was as hard as I thought it would be, and there was a "Holy hell, who the heck put this here" hill in mile 9 that most people walked up. I muttered "Not walking a step of this" in my head and plugged my way up. The leg stretch, relief and exhilaration of the downhill on the other side made it totally worth it. I'd earned that downhill float. I almost cried when I passed the 10 mile mark. I'd never been farther than that before, and the satisfaction there went so deep. The realization that there was only a 5k left made me almost drunk through mile 11. Mile 12 hit like a train. The road curved back and forth, and the side-to-side grade made first my right leg and then my left leg burn. The sun was in my eyes and I got grumpy, wanting only to sit down for a damn minute. But there was that low steady voice in my head saying, "You've got this. You're strong enough. You've got 10 minutes of this left. Easy." So I put my head down, listened to what I knew was true, put one foot in front of the other and then the mile 13 sign was visible, the road curved up and to the right, and I started to hear the announcer at the finish line, the roar of a crowd and I ran. And I was in love again. Before the finish line even passed below my feet, I was in love. I was stunned at the finish line. It was one of the sweetest things ever.

I ran the whole dang way. All 13.1 miles. It was worth it every mile, even the ones that burned, the ones that ached, and the ones that about knocked me on my butt. I think the hardest ones were the ones I loved the most.

I am alive and it's a really good thing.

One thing that was amazing was that our bibs had not only our numbers on them, but our names. The race route was almost entirely lined with spectators, and so many of them cheered for you by name. There's nothing like hearing someone belt out, "You've got it! Good job!" at about the moment I was wishing I had one of my buddies running by me. We can stand in for each other sometimes and it counts. It counts more than I could have imagined.

I don't think about my own name much. But you know how it is. Or is there anything more encouraging than the sound of your own name shouted when you're about to drop over? Is there anything more comforting than the sound of your own name spoken by a person who loves you?

It was a great race.

Oh. Finish times. I went into it with a 3-tier goal. Anything under 2:05 would have left me delighted. Anything under 2:10 would have been satisfying. Anything over 2:17 would have been disappointing. I finished in 2:04:57. :)

Without a doubt, one of the very best things I've ever done.

Nerves

It's Wednesday night. On Sunday morning, I'll run a half marathon.

I'm nervous. It's not like it's something I've never done before (but it is - I haven't). It's not that I think I'm going to fail (I don't). I know I'm allowed to walk a tenth of a mile here and there if need absolutely be. But need, real need, won't be. I've run 10 miles before, and I know I can do another three on top of it. I know it'll hurt, and I'm prepared to deal with that. I know where to file away the "ouch" and the "tired".

I know which voice in my head to listen to. The one that says low and steady, "You are stronger than you think you are. You are ready and I'm proud of you and you can do this."

I just want to be there. I want to shiver in the early morning chill. I want to stretch my quads and touch my toes and line up my playlist. I want to hear the siren and take the first step. I want to feel the first two miles fall away and know I have another 4, easy, before I hit another wall and have to "easy", "breathe", "drop your shoulders", "look at the sky", "breathe", "breathe", "breathe in now", "breathe out NOW". I want to be in that moment when I remember the choice I've already made to run the whole way and choose again, when it hurts, to do it. I want to be a body moving, carrying a mind, sorting out the wrinkles in a soul. I want to taste what all this work is for. I want to be stunned at the finish line.

I want to be there.

And when...

And when I look at myself today, I find that I am drastically different than I might have been. Every now and then I have moments like this. I remember almost 2 years ago, I went on a trip with my brother to VA, and I realized while there who I really was at that point, and realized who I might have been had things worked out differently, and I realized that the two different possible "me"s would hardly have even been able to converse.

And today I find a similar experience in my hands.

I would have been due today.

Instead, I am lean, leaner than even my wedding day. I bought new bras today because the girls have shrunk with all my running. I am capable of running ten miles.

I have new virtues, and I'm coddling a new set of vices as well. Those are the biggies - bigger even than defined muscles and disciplined endurance. The who I am has changed over the last seven months for good and for ill.

I want a priest and I want a blanket.

Today I'm missing someone I never got to meet.

Maybe two someones. Maybe I'm missing the me I might have been as well.

The body

A few weeks back, I took my stepkids down to my brother's Nazarene church. He's a youth pastor there, and he was preaching that Sunday. Before I go any further, I have to say, his sermon was brilliant. My baby brother has turned into quite a guy, and I'm very proud to know him.

And while there, the wheels started to seriously turn. I've been mulling it over ever since.

One thing that was weird was how foreign that service felt to me. I grew up in an Anglican church, then went Evangelical non-denom for quite a while before quitting church (though not the faith) altogether for a while and then becoming (though not official yet) Orthodox. It was strange to struggle to find goodness and truth in a church, but I did in his. Struggle, that is. And find it, actually, eventually, also. I told myself over and over at the beginning that it's not for me to be a connoisseur of churches, that all goodness and truth is God's goodness and truth, and not to miss it by it being buried in a bunch of "stuff" that I just don't understand anymore. But it was hard and uncomfortable and foreign, and so much of what they assume is so far off the mark as to be downright harmful to a person trying to learn to love God and neighbor.

But the first thing that hit me is this. We sang the song "Breathe" which at one time was a very meaningful song for me. And I have to say, my heartstrings immediately shot down to a little town in Virginia to a woman who is very far away and so very very dear to me. And I said a prayer of thanks for her - for who she is and who she is to me. She is a giant in my life and in case you're reading this, B, I love you. Consider yourself hugged. But my dear friend, that song is empty for me now. God is simply not so far away, and I can't pretend He is, and I won't imagine He is, and I couldn't sing a song that created more space than it had ever diminished. Desperation is not an emotion I experience when it comes to the presence of God.

And that was the first stunner.

And then I started thinking about what redemption is, and how it happens. Or rather, how it's happened for me.

And I've come to this. Bodies are very important things. Holy things, even.

I sat in the church, listening to my brilliant brother, with my stepson under one arm and my stepdaughter's head on my lap, and I thought about the miracles that were nestled up next to me. It is hard to parent them. It's not what I imagined in all my rosy daydreams, and stepparenthood is not what I had planned for myself. I wanted my own children. (Silly thing, I had to lose one to learn that she would have only been "mine" in a very limited sense. She would have always been God's first, her own second, and mine only third, and only for a while.) But those two little people in those two little bodies are absolutely essential to my working out my faith with no small amounts of fear and trembling. They are the rolling pins that are working out so much of the selfishness and impatience that wrinkles me up inside.

And I thought about my own body, and what I know about it, and how I'm learning to forgive it for failing me, and love it for carrying me, and be in amazement at how much it can actually do. I ran 5 miles yesterday - the last one for fun. For fun. My body has yet to give birth to a new life. But it is presently birthing itself, and it's amazing to watch.

And I thought about the Body of Christ that I am finding growing up around me. I don't have a church right now, but I am surrounded by the Church anyhow. My friends are incredible people, and each random one of them is absolutely beautiful.

The body is a holy thing. I need to remember that these days.

And, I'm just now coming to this. I think I've figured out a way to better explain why that song fell so flat for me. When God is searched for only in a certain set of experiences, and even when those experiences are so carefully constructed and perfectly presented, we certainly may find Him, but we only find a part of Him. How can we expect to find the fullness of the infinite in only one of the gifts He has sent? We can't. And we will be left unsatisfied, desperate. We are found, saved, redeemed, made whole, made joyful, made ourselves, made His when we seek and find Him in all the gifts He has sent. He is certainly in the the wistful beauty of a sunset and the power of a song. But He is also in the drops of sweat that roll down our back, evidence of the body that is breaking and being made new. He is in the friends with the wrong background and the wrong lifestyle choices. He is in our bodies, the Body of his Church, the body of gifts he sends, and (Christmas is coming!) His own Body. We are complex creatures and can no more survive on one kind of spiritual nourishment than we could survive on only apples, healthy and delicious and good as they are.

God is not so far away.

O world, as God has made it
All is beauty
And knowing this is love
And love is duty
What further may be sought for?
-Robert Browning

Living with the absolutely idiotic

Or rather, living in the absolutely idiotic. :)

Backing up a little bit... We're allowed to "try" this cycle. All that means is that we're allowed to do what we've already been doing all summer, which is absolutely nothing to prevent pregnancy. Really, we've not been holding our breath. We were instructed that for two cycles we were to be absolutely vigilant about preventing pregnancy. Abstinence at certain times, and protection at all other times. Friends, with our combined fertility, having sex at all is having sex with protection. If 33 months of concentrated effort has yielded us nothing, I'm pretty sure we're good. Haha.

But we're "eligible" for the next IUI now.

But anyhow, we're on cycle 3 since ye olde miscarriage, but because J might (read: he thinks he will, but his wifey is pretty certain it's not going to happen) take a group to Italy next May, and if it worked right away, I'd be due in May, we're waiting one more cycle.

This cycle, if last cycle is any indication, will end in approximately 3 weeks and a day or so.

I'm on CD 18 right now.

Enter the idiotic.

I do not want 41 day cycles and I am irritated at this body of mine.

That's all. :)

Permission to Fail

Granted.

Bits and pieces of this post have been popcorning around in my brain for the past several days. Maybe weeks. I'm wondering if I can make this make as much sense here as it does in my head.

So for a long time, back in the day, in my earlier life, I thought I had to be perfect. I thought it was expected of me, and that was partially true. There were sources of that expection. I was one of them. The pressure from that intense self-scrutiny had me turned so far inward that I imploded on a fairly frequent basis. It also made me fairly self-absorbed. Funny how self-loathing is self-obsession in an ugly dress.

Thankfully, I had a lot of the shell that I had built around myself shattered for me. There's no such thing as a pleasant shattering, but as my good friend Gandalf says, "not all tears are an evil."

But, you know. Old habits die hard. That sort of thing. I still have a very hard time taking criticism. If the bathwater isn't sparkly, perfectly temped and fragrant, I'm strongly tempted to just toss the whole dang tub, baby included. (I'm the bathwater and the baby, you see...?)

There came a point, perhaps as recent as last fall, when I realized that I had to give myself permission to fail. I'd been moving towards that point for quite some time, mind you. There was the day some 5 years ago when I traded in my GPA for an apron and went to work waiting tables. I still occasionally feel from some sources that my only redeeming move was to have married a professor. At least I still have some "status." Whatever to that, I say.

But I think it was last fall that I actually articulated to myself the principle that had already blown the lid off my life: "You are allowed to fail." In keeping a house, raising children, learning how to be a wife, etc, I had to literally give myself permission to fail at one thing per day. Perfection is not a goal I can reach, and insisting on it in myself was going to set me farther back from real virtue than an honest, trip-and-fall, approach to the daily grind of loving ever could.

That doesn't mean that I don't strive to be the very best me I can be. On one hand, I strive. On the other hand, I say, "Relax." Life is a thing that must be carried with both hands.

So what got this whole train of thought out of the station was an invitation that bounced and bounced and bounced around inside my head. "Hey, why don't you run a half marathon with us in November?" November. The month that sends gong-like reverberations of "ow" vibrating through my chest. Not to mention the 13.1 miles that constitutes a half marathon. Surely not. Surely not. I run 3-4 miles three times a week. I do not cover vast distances.

But it's to benefit Connor's House. I believe in this project, and I love and admire the people who started it. And I realized that I can certainly walk 13.1 miles. And I can certainly run 4 miles. So between now and November 21, I can probably work up to, say 10 miles. The fundraising isn't contingent on running the whole way. I can walk any or all of it and they still get whatever funding I raise. I can fail and still achieve my real goal.

*nibbling lip*

And then a funny thing happened. Giving myself permission to fail took the pressure off. I signed up. I have a training plan in place, thanks to my fantastic brother in law (BIL).

And I think I can do it.

And I'm pretty sure I'm going to run across that finish line.

And I'm pretty excited about it.

BIL and I talked a lot about running in the past 2 weeks. Enough that other members of the family learned to roll their eyes and wander off the moment we got started. But we view running in much the same way. It's almost sacramental. The more you use your body, learn it, get to know it, and use it in an amazing way, the more it gives back. It shouldn't be a surprise. We kneel to pray. We fast to prepare. Our bodies teach our minds and souls things all the time. This is yet another activity has become a grace-bearer in my life. Perhaps I'll write another entry about it sometime.

But I guess what I'm trying to say is that by granting myself permission to fail, I've given myself the freedom to not lose sight of my actual goals.

This is carrying over into my parenting too. We spent the last 2 weeks on vacation in NJ, and my stepson was a major challenge. He was negative, mouthy, mean, contrary, hyperactive. Ugh. This child is a good child. He's a sweet boy. He's always had traces of what we saw while away, but never so much. The actual details of how he was/is is subject for another post. It's too much for here. But both of my sisters in law, who were enormously helpful in their observations and suggestions, were also so encouraging. At the same time that I felt like I was falling on my face, over and over, when it came to dealing with him, they kept telling me how good a job I do with him. "What?" "But you don't know," I kept wanting to say, "You must not have seen when I failed here and here and here." But they saw something else. I'm still not sure what, but I do know one thing.

I know that before he left our home last night to go back to his mother, he came over to give me a hug. He usually bounces over, gives my knees the obligatory squeeze, and trots excitedly out the door to go see her. It's fine - he's supposed to be happy to see his mother. I don't mind that. But it always stings a little too. But yesterday, he wrapped his arms around my neck and didn't let go. Even he seemed surprised at his own reaction. He just held on. And we chatted a little bit about what he was feeling. "Are you excited to see mommy?" Shrug. Nod. "And you seem a little sad. Are you sad to leave too?" Nod. "You know what? I think that's OK. It's exciting to see Mommy after so long. But it's OK to be a little sad to leave too. You'll have a great time with Mommy and we'll see you in a couple days. I love you always." Nod, "I wuv you too." And then he went happily trotting out the door.

What if life turns out to be like that? What if it's just fail, fail, fail, fail, fail, fail, until you find that, somehow, unbelievably, all the grace-bearers that seemed to hint at another interpretation of all those failures were right? What if all the fairy-tales and folk lore are right? What if there really are pots of gold at the end of the rainbow? What if they're in the puddles along the way?

(This can't be completely right. But I think there's something worth hanging on to here.)

Heaven and hell

Heaven.
My brother is getting married on Saturday.

Hell.
I will be wearing a strapless teal dress in front of 250 people. I was so white as to be blue a week ago. So, I purchase a 6-session tanning package. I burn the first day. Can't go back the next. Then, I run outside twice, read outside in the sun, and then stand around outside at a picnic. All in different shirts. I have 5000 tan lines and look a little like Neapolitan ice cream. Not the plan. Sigh.

Hell.
I ran my second 5K this past Saturday. My time? 32:14. That's a steady 10:20 mile. I actually ran a steady 10:20 mile. No speedy gonzales presto-chango-ing into the tortoise. No walking. Solid running. Two thirds of the course was up"hill" (not uphill in a car, but DEFINITELY uphill running). It was over 75 degrees out by the time we finished. This little sissy indoor air conditioning treadmill with the TV on runner had shin splints from hell for 2 days after. They're gone now.
Did I say hell? I mean heaven. Planning my next one for September. I'm gonna do it in under 30 minutes next time.

Hell.
The thing my husband used to be married to has been stealing money from us via the kids school tuition for the last several years.
Heaven.
She committed fraud (and possibly tax fraud) to do it. :) The smile? Finally, someone is going to tell her "No. You can't act like this." And it might even be a judge.

Heaven.
The people in my life.

Hell.
My cats are fighting like raccoons. They are where I go when I get stressed. I am experiencing way too much anxiety about this.

Hell.
Peeling wallpaper off the bathroom walls. UGH. I'm ready to never do that project again in my whole life.

Heaven.
The way the finished bathroom will look. :)

And there it is. Life as it currently stands.

Back to the CDs

And here I am on CD2.

It's hard to ignore that I would have been 19weeks yesterday.

But oh well. Water over the dam, under the bridge, spilled milk and all that, right?

So we've got one of the two mandatory cycles down.

But the good news is that my body did it all on its own. That, I suppose, is something deserving a small smile.

Things that I can (and cannot) fathom

I may have mentioned that we had our priest over for dinner last night. While he was here, I was able to ask him about a question my brother and I have been chatting back and forth about. It's something I have some experience in and have dealt with before, but experience makes it no less hard. Namely, forgiveness. It's easy to forgive someone who asks us to. Or it ought to be. Love always hopes for restoration. But how do we actually, actively, deliberately forgive someone who does not ask for it, and who continues to harm?

In my life presently, I'm talking about the Ex, the "Un" I mentioned a few days ago. The harms just keep coming and I walk a very fine line between anger and hatred. I don't want to fall from one, which is just, into another, which is never, at present, just.

He used an interesting image. He said, "Imagine that every wrong she does you is like a flaming arrow. It's going to hurt. It's going to burn. Of course it is. And of course you're going to be angry, and of course you might rant to J. But you have to let those little fires go out." Don't keep fanning the flame. In one sense, we have to keep a record of wrongs. We have to keep track of the relationship, especially when it comes to the kids. But in our internal life, we have to leave each rock thrown wherever it lands. We can't pick it up and carry it with us. We certainly cannot throw it back. And we must actively hope, not only for our sakes, but hers, that the arrows and rocks stop coming.

I can fathom that. I can learn to do that.

I have a harder time with the dictates of biology. My stepdaughter started her period this week. She is nine. Nine. She still believes in the tooth fairy. She is in every way a child and yet nature already makes it possible for her to bear one. WHAT? Does that sounds incredibly young to anyone else? I mean, I'm no yardstick of normalcy. I was sixteen. But nine?

I feel like a baseball bat just collided with my head. Not in a painful way, but in a sit-down-on-a-step-and-let-my-head-spin-for-a-sec way.

Now really, where in my mind do I put that?

Oh. I ovulated 12 days ago. Right smack in the middle of a 3-day "stint" (if you catch my drift). My doc would throttle me if she knew. I was told in no uncertain terms that we were to avoid such a thing. In my defense, virtually none of my typical preovulation symptoms showed up. Aside, ahem, from the "drive" that brought about the "stint". :-D So I didn't know it was coming and didn't know it had until a couple days later when my temperatures started to rise. Eight days later, I registered a significant temperature dip. It's risen every day since then. I've been tracking my temperatures for a year and it's only done that twice. Once led to nothing. The other was on February 28th. I'm only barely hoping and not really expecting anything. But, well. you know how it goes.

Sigh.

It feels like second best. But hey. :)

Hey M! GUESS WHAT?! No, not that. Not this time.

But we had Fr. Nicholas over for dinner tonight. About 15 minutes before he gets here, J casually says, "So, we'll tell him we're ready to be chrismated?"

I was chopping things. I am glad I only froze, and didn't start jumping up and down.

:-D

We're going to be Orthodox. For real.

Oh yeah, and M, there's a something I want to talk to you about. I was trying to wait until you were huge and pregnant before requiring you to play another major role in my life, but J went and mucked the timing all up. You're partially off the hook.

What a funny blog. It's more of a letter, isn't it?

I don't know when. We don't have a date. But I've been ready for this for at least 3 years.

Oh, and B. Wanna drive up for it? Just for fun?

Just wanted to put these somewhere...

"Imagine yourself as a living house. God comes in to rebuild that house. At first, perhaps, you can understand what He is doing. He is getting the drains right and stopping the leaks in the roof and so on; you knew that those jobs needed doing and so you are not surprised. But presently He starts knocking the house about in a way that hurts abominably and does not seem to make any sense. What on earth is He up to? The explanation is that He is building quite a different house from the one you thought of - throwing out a new wing here, putting on an extra floor there, running up towers, making courtyards. You thought you were being made into a decent little cottage: but He is building a palace. He intends to come and live in it Himself." - CSL

"A silly idea is current that good people do not know what temptation means. This is an obvious lie. Only those who try to resist temptation know how strong it is... A man who gives in to temptation after five minutes simply does not know what it would have been like an hour later. That is why bad people, in one sense, know very little about badness. They have lived a sheltered life by always giving in." - CSL

It turned into a post on insanity

You might have noticed a certain crumbling in my last post. There's no more of that going on. Heh. Not that certain people aren't still infuriating and certain losses aren't still making themselves known from time to time. But I'm feeling better about it. Thankful for that.


Had an encounter with the Unwoman. (J's ex. If you've ever read Perelandra you'll know why I call her that.) I don't even know how to begin explaining the conversation. Basically, we need to get the summer schedule with the kids nailed down. (Nailing anything down is something she balks at. She always wants the option to change her mind, so we never know anything about her schedule until the last minute. It's a bastardization of the notion of liberty. She wants to have so much freedom that she can't choose anything, lest she be obligated to live by that choice. But then, of course, she can't ever actually do anything. She'd be a fascinating case study. In a book. Have I mentioned that she is a real live, diagnosed Narcissist?)


So she and J have been screaming over the phone at each other. Because they can't talk about anything.


So J and I decided that we would take another tack with her. Basically, I talked to her for about a half hour the other day. The approach I took is not typing fodder. It would take pages. But it worked. But I left feeling like a nuke had gone off in my brain. It defies explanation - the way she sees the world. I have never, ever, ever seen anything like it. I basically took every insult and insanity she dished out. Every bullshit nonsense totally crazy thing she said, I granted. And we were "allies" by the end. But, she is in charge of this alliance, don't you forget it. *roll eyes*


I used to be manipulative. I squash that tendency in myself every time I see it. But I played her. And I hate it. But what are you supposed to do with someone who will not use reason? She would deny the sky is blue if she thought it would suit her purposes.


I made the mistake at one point of saying "we", referring to J & I regarding the kids (like, "we have them on this date"). She informed me in no uncertain terms that, "There is no 'we'. This has nothing to do with you." I said, "But I am married to him." And she said, "Maybe you're 'married' to him, but this has nothing to do with you. There is no 'we'. You're not mentioned in any of the paperwork and you're not one of their parents."


sigh. Silently granted. (But REALLY?!?!?)


Have I mentioned that she has told the kids' friends to call me Miss (maiden name)? That she refuses to use my married name when she talks about me?


OK. Here's an example of just madness. My brother is getting married in 3 weeks. The kids are in the wedding. She was wanting to get the kids after the wedding on that Saturday. I'm like, "well, the reception might not be over until late." And the conversation went like this, verbatim.


Un: Affronted: "See? I don't even know when this this will be over. Nobody has even told me when the reception is going to end."
Me: "Well, I don't know when the reception will end."
Un: sneering "Nobody ever knows when the reception will end." Like I'm an idiot.


*blink*


Ugh. Anyhow. Enough poison. At first, driving away from that conversation, I felt so sick. Like I'd just bathed in something vile. Badness that is as deep as hers is bewildering.


But now I'm feeling more empowered. There's something about seeing evil so clearly that's almost a comfort. It's clear what it is and what it isn't. And it's so ugly that there's no question of being drawn in by accident. She's been personally attacking me for weeks and I'm not gonna lie, it gets stuck in my head. I start wondering, almost. Or at least responding. When I dress the kids in the morning (or help them, rather) I found myself saying to myself, "See, their clothes are just fine. They're not all wrinkly or full of holes. They fit. They're clean." Which is the opposite of what she's been saying to me via text message for weeks. She actually brought a change of clothes to my stepson's school and changed him in the middle of the day because the dress shirt and khakis I'd sent him in weren't good enough. And I know she's wrong, but still, I found myself wanting to justify myself to an insane person.

Having spoken to her, face to face, for even 20 minutes has cured me of that.

I hadn't meant to write all of this. But here it is written. Maybe some things need purging?

The other crazy lady is still refusing to pay me. *pursing lips*

I changed the blog background. Years of brown were fine. But hey, why not pink for a little?

I have more to say, but methinks this blog is long enough. Maybe another time.

The days have gotten progressively better since Wednesday.

Pieces

I am having a hard time.

First, there's all that. Which we hardly need to go into, because you already know. Oh, but today I found out another dear friend of mine is pregnant and due in November. Thrilling, and I'm truly ecstatic for her. Truly. But I'm not going to lie. I got in my car and cried.

Then, there's J's ex wife. She is giving me fits. Personal attacks on me, using the kids, harming them to get at us, etc etc etc. She is evil, and far beyond the misfortune of a few months ago, she is the greatest thing in my life that makes me wonder about the justice of the universe. How are such people to be tolerated? How does God go on, watching them, unblinking? I'm buzzed. I know the anwer to that. But I'm angry, strike that, furious, and I'm hurting, so stuff bubbles out.

Then, there's this crazy woman I do work for. The long and short of it is that she's not paid me since February and is presently withholding that money until she gets out of me all the contacts, data, etc, I use to do my job. I know she's replacing me from other sources. Not from her. I don't care. She's a pain in the neck and I'm up for something new anyhow. But she's like a lite version of J's ex and I'm slowly going mad dealing with the both of them.

And my kitties are at each other's throats, literally. They're my babies, and one is always trying to kill the other and it's breaking my heart.

I am not a conflict-happy person. I feel totally under attack from all sides and I'm tired.

So again I say,

give us this day our daily bread...
and forgive us our trespasses...
as we forgive those who trespass against us...

Resolved

I've been going in for blood work every Friday for the last... how many weeks? Six? I'm not even sure really. I'm not sure why they wanted to monitor my hormone levels so closely, but they wanted to be certain of when the pregnancy had "resolved", or when my hcg levels were below 5. Recall, they were at 70,000 on April 14th.

My results from last Friday are 4.6. The pregnancy has "resolved". For the first time since the end of February, I am no longer in any way pregnant.

I'm not sure why they call it "resolved".

I don't really want to talk about how the sadness lingers still, though not constantly. I don't want to sit here for too long and say how hard it is to pass silly landmarks in time. I don't like to realize that I'd be showing by now. The word "missing" is one that hardly needs saying.

So I'll say that it's nice having my energy back. That's what took the longest. Between the hormones and the sadness, all of April and most of May has been a bit of a whammy. But, I can finally run without thinking seriously of just laying down on the moving treadmill. I actually ran 2 miles on Tuesday. I haven't done anything close to that since my 5k at the end of Feb. I've signed up for another 5k on July 3rd. There's a half marathon in November that I might shoot for. Being honest, I don't care a whit for it at the moment, but maybe by then I will.

We start trying again in September.

Blessed

I had to have more contractions induced earlier this week. Severe pain over last weekend brought me to the ultrasound room again on Monday. There was still a huge piece left to pass, and my body just couldn't get it to go on it's own. Contractions all Tuesday night and I think it's finally over.

I'm generally OK. Still quite sad, but taking day by day by day, and finding mercy every morning and comfort when I need it.

But. A dear friend of mine found out on the same day I did that she was pregnant. We were due the same day. She found out last night that the baby had died at 9 weeks 3 days.

Ache.

And yet we both find ourselves singing this:






I would be remiss if I failed to mention that we have been friends since 5th grade, but we didn't speak for 5 of the last 6 years. We failed each other, miserably, deeply, my Junior year in college. We were fully reconciled this past fall, and the resurrection of this friendship is one of many big reasons that I believe that anything can be redeemed.

Three years ago

Three years ago today I was on a plane heading to Savannah, GA, with my brand new husband.

Three years ago yesterday, I walked down the aisle and got the best gift ever: him.

Nadia

I've not been feeling very "wordy" lately. But I want to mark this all down, in case I want to remember someday, and today is not a heavy day so far, so perhaps this is a good day.

I've been thinking a lot about loss. I've been lucky so far in my life. All my grandparents are alive. My parents, sibling, aunts, uncles, cousins, and friends are alive. I've not suffered any sort of loss that would require this sort of grief process. So I'm finding it surprising. It's very weird how I can go days and be fine, fine, fine, and then suddenly ka-wham I'm not fine. And sometimes the not-fine sticks, and sometimes it just keeps rolling by.

I'm looking at this experience and I'm glad I chose to go this route. The medically induced otherwise natural miscarriage route. I'm still glad I didn't have a D&C, even if I'm still bleeding and cramping 8 days later. I'm proud of myself last weekend. I drove for over an hour through one nearly constant contraction. My mom said to me the day after, "I don't know, but that sounded a lot like labor to me. If you ask me, if you can drive through that, you'll be fine when there's a baby at the other end." Hwah. Yeahhhh. *flexing biceps* (although the biceps were the most unaffected set of muscles, haha)

An hour of hellish driving. 7 more hours of Vicodin-relieved cramping, heavy bleeding, and sleeping. 7 more days of bleeding. That's the losing.

That's the easy part.

It's the loss that presses in at unexpected moments, keeps rolling, keeps emphasizing its own finality that's hard to carry. The losing was over quickly. The loss is a road that disappears over the next hill.

(Thankfully, though, my body doesn't seem to be about to drag it out ad infinitum. I went in for bloodwork on Friday, and while my hcg was over 70,000 last week, it had dropped down to 10,000 a week after the miscarriage started. 1000 would have been awesome, but 10,000 is OK. It's a good indication that I'm looking at weeks, rather than months, before my hormones drop back to 0. Yay.)

But I'll say this. I have a friend at work who lost a baby 3 years ago under very similar circumstances. She named what she imagined was a daughter. I've thought about this and I don't see there ever being a time when I refer to this lost child by name. I don't think I'll ever hear myself saying, "Back before (name) died." Or any such thing. I talked to J and he wasn't keen on the idea. He said, "What if you give it a girl name and you meet it someday and it's a boy?" Men. :)

But this child gave its mother something in the short time it was here with us. It gave me hope. And hope is a virtue traditionally depicted in the feminine form. So in the deep places of this mother's heart, I have named her a slavic name (I studied Russian in high school and have always loved the language) which means hope. It's a small whisper of thanks, a nod as I aquiesce to the dictates of biology, and a reminder, always, to hope.

(And if it was a son, I hope he forgives me the sissy girl name. (Haha. Makes me think of that song, "My name is Sue. How do you do?!"))

Moving on

It's over, and that's a relief, really.

It's very odd to consider that a month ago I was pregnant. Technically, I was pregnant 3 days ago as well. But to be pregnant with what you believe is a live baby is very different from being pregnant with what you know is an empty space. Not physically different. But different. I miscarried at 10 weeks. But that was a fluke. I lost that little life at about 5 or 6 weeks. I guess what I'm trying to say, badly, is just that it's weird.

But it's over now, and that is a relief.

What follows is blood work til my hcg gets back to 0. Then, 2 cycles where we're not allowed to try. Then, we go back to the IUIs. Each cycle will likely be about 6 weeks, give or take. So that's 12 weeks til we can try again. Three months. July, probably August.

I'm going to say it. Only once. This sucks.

I'm trying to figure out now what I'm going to do with myself between now and then. I've started running again, so perhaps a few races are in store. I'm just hesitant to do long races outside in the heat. (sissy) (I know) But I'll probably do them anyhow.

I need to get my house in order. It's a disaster. That'll probably take all 3 months, hahaha.

Maybe I'll paint the bathroom! (yes, that warrants an exclamation point. It's been needing paint! since I moved in 3 years ago)

The time will pass.

But that's part of the problem. Time keeps on passing.