Where Whine Meets Wine

Love The Ones I’m With

This last week, I have been a terrible mother. Ok, so maybe not like worst mother in the universe, terrible, but the kind of terrible where if you knew me, and you witnessed my mothering this last week, you’d think I lost my marbles. Maybe I have.

This week is the 3rd due date anniversary to our sweet baby we have yet to meet. I have been preparing myself for about a month, and this week I have been so busy busy-ing myself and being so wrapped up in my own inner stuff. Grieving a life not known, but not unloved. I became so focused on what I had lost, that I’d all but forgotten to pay attention to the ones things I still have. I don’t mean that to say they take the place, or make up for, the baby we lost. Because as any parent knows, one child can never replace another. No matter how much you love any of them.

This week, I have taken my loves for granted. I have cried, and moped, and yelled, and been all around cantankerous. I did not explain it to my husband, until yesterday, because I was in my dark place, and in that dark, cavernous room, I expect him to remember and to know, even though his body doesn’t remind him the way that mine does. I have wanted all my closests to just know what I was going through, and to not have to explain it. So instead, I spent my days in the dark place and cried to myself.

And then there’s the people kids things that are too young to understand, even had I explained why mommy was behaving like a crazy person… when my irrationality, my irritability, my lack of patience… none of that was their fault, although I’m sure, at least at times, it must’ve felt that way to them. :/ Although they do understand so much more than we give them credit for. Littlest has been in a mood that can only be compared to my own, and yet I still wonder why he seems so out of control. (Hello, pot, I’m kettle.) Miss, well she keeps looking at me, with a look that can only be described as one that says, I will be tiptoeing around this crazy lady. And she has asked me repeatedly, You’re just sad, aren’t you? And Biggest… well, he’s always been the most intuitive. Last year, around this time, he came up to me crying, big, crocodile tears. When asked why he was crying he said, I just really miss my sister. When I was very confused and said, but she’s just in her room. To which he replied, “No, not Miss, the sister that was the baby in your belly that went to go be with God.” Yeah, that happened. A little Heaven is For Real, right? {sidenote: we do not know the gender of the baby we lost, but I have always felt that it was a girl, but Biggest did not know that.}

Ok, so back to me… I’m out of control. I finally told hubbyman yesterday. He came home with a big thing of bright, cheery flowers for my table. I love them. And him. And strangely, as soon as I told him…I felt so much more at peace. Maybe the whole problem was that I’d convinced myself I was in it alone, and I’m not.

But in the midst of all the emotion, I was so focused on what I didn’t have, what I couldn’t have, that I lost sight of the blessings that I do have.

Biggest's teeth are falling out! It's so cute!

Biggest’s teeth are falling out! It’s so cute!

oh, my Miss.

oh, my Miss.

Littlest. He's not staying so little. But he's still napping. Hallelujah!

Littlest. He’s not staying so little. But he’s still napping. Hallelujah!

My E's

My E’s

Today, I’m going to just love them, hug them, encourage them, support them, laugh at with them, chase them, run  them ragged with them, hide with them, seek with them, and enjoy them. And then put them to bed before they can drive me too crazy early.


Live To Love Another Day

I opened this tab and sat here and stared at the blank screen, willing thoughts and words to come. I stared at the screen some more. I opened another tab. I checked my facebook notifications. Nothing terribly interesting there. Although, it turns out, I am not alone in my enjoyment of the combination of red wine and snickerdoodles. But maybe that’s because they didn’t know that was my dinner. Whoops. (I don’t care.) It turns out, that the emotions I’m feeling, that I’ve been feeling, they’re not fleeting. Apparently I have to deal with them or something lame like that. I spent the majority of the day in tears.

Now I know that I talk of my love of wine and it’s powerful healing and relaxing properties, but the truth is… I’m not a big drinker. I don’t need a glass a day; I don’t even want a glass a day. I certainly enjoy a good glass of wine (my father in law just made a new batch of plum port, and wow, is that good!), but it’s just more of a eh, if it’s here I’d have some, maybe. Unless I have an already cold can of Pepsi, because more likely that yells my name a little louder. And I kind of have a “rule” that I don’t drink before hubbyman gets home. It’s not really a rule, and truthfully, hubbyman wouldn’t care. I just don’t feel like it (I’m still pumping myself full of caffeine to survive until he gets home, I don’t need anything that makes me more tired!), plus I feel like it can be a slippery slope once you go there. However, there have been days when things have happened or bad moods have occured and I’ve texted the hubbyman to say Is it too early to start drinking? To which he always responds, Nope. And then he gets home and finds that I never even poured myself a glass of anything. Or if I did, it just sat there on the counter. Well, yesterday, I poured myself a glass of wine. And while I only had a couple of sips by the time hubby came home, he took one look at the wine on the counter, and immediately looked at me, and asked what was wrong. I shrugged and shook my head. He immediately came over and gave me a hug, and said, last night you cried and today you’re drinking wine… what’s going on? And I couldn’t even respond. The emotions were too fresh, the pain too real. And then he quietly said, You want another baby. And I just cried. I know, we have three children and our oldest is only 5. We are crazy, busy. But I love it. And I love them. And I am not saying that we would actually have another baby, but I would love another one. But that is not an option. And it’s not a choice I get to make.

While I was terribly disappointed that hubbyman had to drop the kids back off after Tae Kwon Do to head back in to work, I was very surprised to see him return with roses, for me. For the second time in a week! (This is unheard of in our household! Truly, unheard of! I asked if this was his way of getting out of paying the higher prices for flowers when it’s Valentine’s Day. He claims he didn’t think about that until after he bought them. I think I believe him.) I’m sure at some point, we’ll probably talk, with words. But for now, the support of him just holding me, of just acknowledging why I’m sad, and showing his love and concern. That’s pretty powerful. The truth is, I don’t know that I’m ready to talk about it. It’s one thing to type it out, but it’s another thing completely to use my own voice, to have to hear those words. I woke up today, and felt…exhausted. Emotionally spent. I’m hoping it’s a step in the right direction, at least.

In the midst of all my grey skies, I am still surrounded by the humor and excitement that is my children. I wish I could have gotten it on video, but I forgot my camera at home… during Madonna’s halftime performance, my MissE (who loves all things dance and singing) was glued to the TV. When the cheerleading part came on, she stood directly in front of the TV, mimicking their moves and even singing along. (And I promise she has never heard that song before.) It was hilarious and amazing all at once. And further proof that we need to get her tiny little behind in a dance class.

And my oldest just informed that I am making him freak out due to how much annoying I’m being… on that note, I think I have some children to annoy, I mean play with.

my dinner... Red Wine and Snickerdoodles


Good (a)n(d) Sad

I  have a confession to make… everyone I know seems to be pregnant. Or has someone under one in their house. Or talks about wanting to be pregnant. And I’ll admit, with my biggest boy reaching school age years, I’ve had thoughts of how fast they’ve grown and how soon Littlest will leave the Toddler-Baby years, and be a full fledged Toddler-Boy. And gone will be the days of babies in my house and in my arms. No tears had been shed, just a heart, hanging a little heavier. And then yesterday happened. I was way overtired, and the kids were way over-wired. Not a good combination. On the way home, hubbyman and I were talking about people who can’t put aside their own feelings to be happy for other people. Or something along those lines. And I said something about how much time had gone by and moving on in life, and he countered with, I can see you feeling that way. And at first, I was annoyed, because he was wrong. I would never display my emotions so publicly, especially in a way that would take away some of anyone’s happiness. But that’s me, and we all feel differently and express ourselves differently. And I had no right to judge someone for their feelings. (And if I’m really honest, I’ll own that I feel a little guilty about my judgmental thoughts.) After being annoyed for him being wrong, then I just felt sad about him being right. I still hold to the fact that I would not have behaved in the same manner, but he is right in the fact that I would have felt the same way; I just wouldn’t have shown it. But that’s because it’s not my way. My way is passive, my way is to hide and continue on. My way is probably not healthy. Even writing this, I find myself, opening new tabs and looking over things to organize closets on pinterest. And a fabulous sweatshirt that not only would keep me warm, but actually looks cute and not just another jeans and oversized sweatshirt outfit. Because those things are easy and feeling things are hard. And if I’m really honest, I’m afraid once I start feeling things, I won’t know how to stop.

And that’s precisely what happened.  I started thinking about why the evening’s incident had rattled me, and what I found surprised me. I expected sadness, but I had not anticipated all the anger. As I think happy thoughts of my friends and family that are carrying their growing babies in their growing bellies (my sister in law is looking so cute as her baby belly is growing and becoming more pronounced and I cannot wait to see my friend as her belly grows as well!), I cannot help but feel a bit… of everything. I feel nostalgic thinking of when I had my biggest boy in my belly, I feel sadness when I think about the baby I did not get to meet, I feel happy when I think of how much I enjoyed my growing belly (even thought I felt miserable) with my girl, I feel anxious when I think about how scared I was during littlest’s pregnancy. And then it finally hits me. I feel angry that I will never experience any of that again. Maybe a better choice of words is that I feel angry that I cannot experience those things again. Maybe explanations are necessary, but just to clear up any misgivings (and should hubbyman happen to be reading this), I am not angry with him. This is not about him being happy with our three, or the fact that he had a vasectomy. This is about the fact that I had that choice taken from me, by a Dr. who was more worried about being able to make his other patients’ birth than the care I was receiving. Is it possible I could carry to term, well, I am the first to admit that miracles happen. But the more likely outcome is that I would lose another pregnancy; I would lose another baby. And I know that enduring another miscarriage would be more than I could handle as I cannot imagine a day where I wouldn’t give everything just to see and hold the baby I never got to know, just for a day, an hour, even just one minute.

I knew these feelings would come. I knew that one day Littlest would be grown enough that I would start to miss the days of newborn things. I knew that one day I would have to face the fact that I cannot carry anymore children, no matter if I were planning on more or not. I knew one day I feel the feelings I am feeling now. Anger, loss, sadness, and more anger. I’ve only allowed myself to think of it as our choice until this point. But now that I’ve gone there, I’m having a hard time gaining my control back. All I can think of is the emotions of getting to tell the people you love that you’re adding another person to the group, the look on hubbyman’s face the first time he feels the baby kick, the look on his face the first time he holds his babies, the first cries, the first kisses, the first hugs. I look at my three sweet babies and it’s not that they are not enough, it is that they are so overwhelmingly wonderful that I can’t help but imagine it would be that way with any number of children we should have. It’s the knowledge of how it could be. And the knowledge of how it can’t. And I didn’t get to make that decision.

I don’t know how to get past that. I don’t know if it’s something I can get past. But when Littlest woke up in the middle of the night, I brought him into bed with me, cuddled him close and whispered sincere prayers of thankfulness. It’s not fair that I don’t get to choose. It’s not. It’s not fair that I have one baby who’ll remain in my heart, but never in my arms. But was it fair that despite all the medical failings, along with my own body, that my littlest boy is here, alive, and so healthy? I don’t know about its fairness, but miraculous, yes, it is that. My boy who they didn’t pay the proper attention to (multiple medical professionals knew that he was not growing properly and that his cord wasn’t inserted by much and yet no information was shared with me, nor was complete bedrest mandated as it should have been, among many other things that accured before and after his birth), my boy that my body couldn’t provide for (his cord wasn’t inserted at all and my placenta was crumbling), my boy that has his sweet, soft, chubby little cheek nestled in my neck. His birth ended in the ending of birthing for me, and obviously I would never trade that for his sweet self. So maybe that’s how I get past it. Maybe that’s what gets me through the anger. I’m still sad. And I still think it’s unfair. But I am thankful that I have my boy out of that whole awful situation. And maybe that is what will get me through. That and probably a few glasses of good wine.

(To read more on the birth of my miraculous Littlest man, go here.)