Miscarriage | Heir to Blair

Something I hate

25 Jan posted by heirtoblair

more than celery with effing peanut butter & raisons (it’s not cute, camp counselors) — knowing that I might be a crack in the heart for another woman out there.

That my positive pregnancy tests & little apple seed of a babe might feel like daggers of injustice to another woman. That I have made another woman sit in a hot shower, sobbing “Why not me too, God?” (By the way, our water bill was almost double than usual in December. I have no shame in the fact that I spent almost an hour a day in our bath tub for a month after losing Harpie.)

If you are one of those women, wrapping your arms around your belly to make yourself feel whole as you read my blog — my heart aches for you. I have no adequate words but to tell you that I am sorry. I have been there, clawing through bitterness that threatened to choke me until I screamed. I know what it feels like to be so empty you are numb; I never wish that upon anyone. I wish I had a cure, or a salve to make the hurt stop. I wish I could reach through the internet & hug you until you had hope, like my friends did for me. But my words are inadequate, & I know that. Man, do I know that.

So just know that I pray for you & think of you — whether I know your name, know your face, or simply know you as a screen name on a comment or an internet board. As I said in a previous post — we are never alone.

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Filed Under: Miscarriage, Things that aren't perfect despite my best efforts, Unpopular opinions

This awkward moment brought to you by Blair.

14 Jan posted by heirtoblair

I am about to both a) regale you with a tale of awkwardness and b) make you very, very awkward and then c) inspire you with a story of my own awkwardness. All in one post. Because I am awesome like that.

If you remember, back in October we purchased our stroller (the glorious Bumbleride Indie) from a lovely boutique in the area. This afternoon, I slipped into the store to speak with the owner on her return policy.

Blair: “Hi, I’m Blair & I bought a Bumbleride from you about 3 months ago.”

Owner: “I remember you! How are you doing? How is the baby?”

Blair: “Errrm…unfortunately, we lost the baby.”

Owner: “Oh, okay.” ::pause:: “oh.” ::realization as my words sink in:: “OH. Oh, sweetie. I’m so sorry.”

Blair: “It’s okay.” (OMG, why do I say that? It’s not okay. Why can’t I just say thanks?)

::awkward pause, shuffling of feet::

Blair: “I was wondering what your return policy is. We love the stroller, but should something crazy happen…you know, like more than one bun in the oven…what should we do? Would you prefer us to return the stroller now, or wait & see?”

::sigh:: Only I could drive a cart without a horse, dragging someone behind me in a chokehold of awkwardness. Thankfully, she said that we would waive the 30-day return policy & she will work with us should Nate fertilize two eggs.

Speaking of egg fertilization…nah, hasn’t happened yet considering my ovaries have yet to spit an egg out. But in the spirit of getting knocked up, Nate & I knocked boots last night & laughed the entire time, mostly because of Nate spent 75% of the time talking like the Ladies Man.

tim meadows the ladies man 002 This awkward moment brought to you by Blair.

Jokingly, of course. & ever the jokester, he asked if switching sex positions mid-romp might hinder/confuse our baby’s sex considering the Shettles method suggests specific positions for specific sexes & we switched up on Mr. Shettles several times. Oh, Nate. Thou art so silly. But at least he did not instruct me to RECEIVE HIS CHILD like he previously threatened.

lol, have I made you uncomfortable yet?

And now my very, very squidgy tale of awkwardness imposed upon my person without my consent. I suppose it is karma for all the socially horrible experiences I have imposed on others (i.e. the two previous paragraphs). In the locker room at my local YMCA, I am slipping off my black slacks & pulling on an old ADPi tshirt when I hear lockers slamming beside me. I can’t help it — I look. And see my client, STANDING ASS NAKED AS THE DAY IS LONG while she changes into her swimsuit. Oh, sweet Jesus. I have seen my client’s box. & I swear, I almost gauged my eyes out with my iPod, just to distract myself from the horror.

What do I say to her, next time she stops by? Do I address it immediately — “Hi, who does your bikini wax because I need a referral?” or “OMG, are those real?” Do I ignore the fact that God and I both know exactly what she looks like without her Talbots sweater set? AWKWARD.

So yeah. I am Blair, bringing you socially uninspired situations since 1983.

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Filed Under: Life in General, Miscarriage, Random

A dose of reality, brought to you by E-Slap.

6 Jan posted by heirtoblair

My cry for help:
I need you to slap me. I’m serious.
I’m having issues today with finding out she is pregnant again.
They’re a loving couple, really wonderful. & I am so effing jealous I could scream & I don’t want to be that person. But I might actually cry today.
Holy shiit, I’m turning into a crazy m/c girl. Help.

Little J’s response:
I can’t slap you, but how about I e-yell at you? DON’T BE THAT GIRL.
You aren’t jealous OF them. Don’t project your own feelings of want and need onto what other people have. You’re longing for what you don’t have anymore. Keep the focus on yourself and what you want and do your best to remove other people from what is completely separate from you. What they do have does not equal what you don’t have.
In my own times of ugliness, I pray that God will A) forgive me for being so ugly and B) make the ugliness go away. Then pray for hope and faith in the future bc that is what you need to focus on more than anything else.

She is so wise. & praise God that my friends are not enablers.

When I lost Harpie, I made a pact with Little J that if I ever became a bitter, shrew, nasty “miscarriage” girl, that she would throw me to the wolves & eat me alive. Thank you, J, for holding up your end of the bargain. I feel appropriately gnawed upon.

About a week ago, I promised more blogging regarding bitter miscarriage/infertile girls vs those with wombs that procreate like Golden Retrievers. So I went for a run, trying to collect my thoughts. I ate lots of chocolate, followed by a good beer or 5. & I spent a good 30 minutes browsing the baby section in Target…to no avail. I had no wisdom or insight that I felt worthy of blogging.

So I break down baby-making females into two definitions:
Miscarriage/Infertile Girls — One who has difficulty conceiving, or loses a child in the baby oven. Usually marked by bitterness, membership to a “club” they despise, & self-loathing as they instill trepidation into the Fertile Girls.
Fertile Girls — A female blessed with a uterus that knows no bounds. Usually marked by a grossly swollen belly, stroller, & self-worth as they are unfairly forced to walk over egg-shells among the Miscarriage/Infertile Girls.

I have been both. Nate’s super-sperm knocked me up in 2 cycles, equivalent to the speed of lightening. My babe grew & had a strong heartbeat. & then I lost it. I am lucky; I know I will get pregnant again, so thankfully I am not in that last half of the Miscarriage/Infertile Girl group. Although I do not claim to be an expert or speak for any other female out there but myself, I have been both. & in both mindsets, both are equally unfair.

Today, I think about being a MC Girl. Many ask “How do you move on?” after losing a babe. It’s like being in 3rd grade, having a chair pulled out from under you by the popular boy, & even the teacher laughs at you. So you scream injustice in a burning hot shower, let yourself have a few good cries, & then pull yourself up by the bootstraps & start living your life again. Live your life for the present, not for the baby that is no longer there. No amount of begging will bring it back (trust me, I tried bribing God with 2 dozen Oreo Truffles & no dice). It’s not easy. But I realized that in some ways, to ever be happy with the future Harpie Jr, I needed to be able to love life without Harpie.

I love Harpie. I wear a little pendent around my neck every damn day to remind me & everyone else in mylife, just in case the memory starts slipping. But I realized that I was only hurting myself & torturing myself with my own thoughts & actions — hence the incredible self-loathing I found comes with a miscarriage. I felt like everything I did in my life revolved around this little baby that would never be — while shopping for clothes, I cried that I shouldn’t be able to fit into them. While planning a vacation, I cried that I shouldn’t be allowed to travel at the end of May. Every beer I drank tasted like acid because…guess what? I shouldn‘t be able to drink.

SHOULDN’T. What a shittastic word. Like we took SHOULD NOT and to ease the sting of its opression, merged it into one word as a rationalization that it’s a decent action or thought process. The word became my own mental oppression, forbidding me from moving on until I said, “Blair, you’re right. You shouldn’t be shopping for new clothes, but you know what? You are. So suck it up, & love that new navy skirt you just bought. Because that is life in this moment & it’s wonderful.”

Blair, meet life’s bootstraps.

& let me tell you…it feels good.

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Filed Under: Miscarriage

Apparently someone didn't get the memo.

6 Jan posted by heirtoblair

Because another buddy just announced today that his wife is due in June.

And so this is how I feel:

HAHAHAHAHA kill me now.

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Filed Under: BA is effing crazy, Miscarriage, Unpopular opinions

If you are secretly pregnant in June

31 Dec posted by heirtoblair

tell me now, mmkay?

Because if one more person that I am close to in-real-life comes out with their secret June pregnancy, I am going to throw myself upon a bed of nails.

I am very, very blissfully happy for each & every one of them — zero bitterness, truly. How could I ever resent anyone’s happiness or the sweet blessing involved? But SWEET JESUS I thought I was done with June announcements. I thought we had moved on from there. I thought my post-miscarriage-psychosis was now contained to masochistically awaiting big u/s results.

And on that note, sometimes I wish I miscarried Harpie earlier, since the miscarriage was inevitable. Then I would have more than five weeks between the loss & my current masochistic situation — the girls I was pregnant with are now finding out the sex, planning the nursery, & showing off their darling bumps in front of Christmas trees. If I had miscarried earlier & had 10 weeks between the loss & these events, I might have a better grasp on it. Or TTCing, or potentially pregnant with Harpie Jr. Little salves that might ease the sting. Five weeks is not enough time for me to wrap my head around the fact that I am no longer a partner in crime in that scenario.

Unfortunately, I realize that this post may bring red faces, resentment, possibly guilt that is NOT YOUR FAULT should you be a reader that a) just outted a pregnancy or b) was one of my first-tri homegirls. My intention is not to “call you out” or cause you any pain. Let me repeat — THIS IS NOT YOUR FAULT and this post is not a result of you — it is a reflection of my insanely selfish character. I hesitated in even posting this because I knew that it could be misinterpreted as jealousy or bitterness — I doubt there is anything I could say that would deflect those opinions of my tangents. But I felt it was important to stay true to what is happening right now, and to even let someone else going through the same thing know that she is not alone.

Because pregnant or not, trying or avoiding, we are never alone.

Once I get my thoughts collected, there will be more blogging to come regarding the epic battle of the “miscarriage vs. pregnant” and the interpretations that follow. But for now I have to go tie up some loose-ends at work.

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Filed Under: Miscarriage, Things that aren't perfect despite my best efforts