Sanctuary

“Remember the entrance to the sanctuary is inside you.” – Rumi

I don’t like that I’ve stepped away from this for so long, but such is life. And life makes it hard for me to dedicate myself to anything entirely. At least, it feels that way with the hours I’ve had to keep. I am making some changes in the near and foreseeable future, and am hoping it brings in the results I’d like to see.

And it wasn’t just life, it was the unnerving that came with knowing that two people in particular were paying such close attention to my life. A woman where I work – the self-proclaimed dirty fairy creature congratulated me when I announced I was pregnant. I hadn’t said a word to anyone at work. And if you’re reading now, Fairy Creature, there was never a doubt in my mind that it was you who trolled my blog. And then some guy I briefly dated kept looking at one of my online profiles not long after I announced I was engaged. It was creepy. I contacted him on Facebook, letting him know that it was creepy and that I literally got a notification every time he did that. His response was to go in incognito mode or whatever it is that LinkedIn offers and block me on Facebook. I just have one question for you both:

I have another announcement: I am pregnant. Six months. It’s a girl. I found out in January. Apparently the day I took the test was the very day it could have a positive reading. She’s been hitting the marks on the timeline quite nicely and I’m looking forward to meeting the little one face to face. A friend dubbed her ‘Belly Being’. I like it and that’s how I refer to her when I write my ridiculous weekly updates on pregnant life. It’s definitely a joyous experience, but it’s also a hilariously uncomfortable one, too. I hope to make her a book on all of this someday.

Belly Being's very first gift was an awesome girl power book and a Wonder Woman teether. Compliments of a lovely co-worker. 

I feel like nearly every inch of me as widened, including my feet. I’m hoping it’s not permanent because I hear some women never go back to their original size and  . . . . Dancing. I need to fit into my dancing shoes! I have stretch marks. I have gas. I have a constant halo of grease on my face from the hormones. But hey! It gives me that glowing look that everyone says is so lovely. And I can’t say that this has been an entirely joyful experience, either. I’ve heard that before about women who have had a miscarriage. It’s really messed with my head, making me nearly afraid to be happy about it. Yet here we are and she’ll be here in just a few months. It’s not that I didn’t want to be happy, I was just afraid. And as we’ve progressed further along I’ve taken a small sigh of relief. And now I can feel her kicking every now and then and it reassures me that everything is okay.

This perfect tiny little being. I loved her from the moment I saw her as a tiny cluster of beating cells. 

She's been a positive influence on my life already. I was ready to walk away from a familial relationship entirely - and then I learned I was pregnant and knew that it wasn't a choice that I could make for someone else. So Belly Being has actually improved my relationship with my adopted mom. We still keep in contact, but I keep it at my own terms and that's made this whole dynamic run much more smoothly. 

The thing that amazes me most about this entire experience is the calmness that pregnancy has brought on me. I have felt small instances of anxiety, but nothing lasting. I have lived with PTSD and depression for so long I’d literally forgotten what it was like to not feel those awful things.  I don’t know that this will last after pregnancy, but it would be beyond wonderful if it does. And don’t get me wrong, I have plenty to be losing my sh*t about; it’s just not phasing me as it would have prior to pregnancy.

I’ll be changing jobs. It’s a step down and a cut in pay, but I am so done with the surgical department at my hospital. Bonus points because it shaves a little from my commute. And then Micheal decided that it was time to look for a house after we learned I was pregnant (insert overwhelmed and nervous laughter here). The housing market in the pacific northwest is beyond f*cking ridiculous. We qualify for a $200, 000 loan . . . . which can pretty much get us a frame of a house that’s been burned down from a meth lab gone wrong and is now housing ants. Anything that seems attainable is always going to go to a higher bidder who has cash on hand. Who are these assholes that have this kind of money? I confess, even looking at manufactured homes has been a challenge. Granted, it makes us feel like we have a fighting chance, but its’s still vicious.

We even got close once. The offer was accepted. Everything fell through last minute because the HOA didn't follow through with a letter for the lender and that was it. Then the seller took a cash offer and we were left with nothing but frustration. 

Maybe I should be grateful? I've never been fond of Portland or the Pacific NW in general. 

And despite how impossible this has felt and proven to be, it still seems like a good idea because we really need the room. Currently we live in a modest 2 bedroom apartment with 2 dogs. Technically we have an extra room, because it’s only used 3 months out of the year at most if the step son comes to visit, but it’s off limits. I didn’t feel even remotely panicky until I realized we don’t even have room for a rocking chair. And then I feel Belly Being move and realize there’s an actual tiny person living inside of me. Oh. Em. Gee. So I have a few moments of worry and then I’m done with it. Prior to pregnancy all of these things: job change, change in pay, looking for home to buy, insanely dumb commute, etc. All of those things would have resulted in me setting something on fire.

We’re taking all of these birth prep courses, too. And for these ice breaker exercises they had couples ask one another what they’re doing to prep for their nursery. LMAO!!! I’m not sure I’d have time to work on it even if we had one. Up until a few weeks ago I was still working 2 jobs. So these women with their unswollen feet with husbands who supported them fully wanted to know what I was doing to get ready for baby. I joked that I mostly just cried in the corner about it. That’s a half truth, I guess because sometimes I certainly feel that way.

I'm not at this phase yet, but I pray for Grace for those who are near me when this starts. 

Honestly I can’t complain much. Compared to what I’ve heard from other women, my pregnancy has been relatively easy. I haven’t had too much intense cravings, either; that’s also a benefit for Micheal because I’m not driving him too crazy.

I envy this little girl already because she has an amazing dad who is just as happy about her as I am.

Loss and Love

“There is no greater agony than bearing an untold story inside of you.” – Maya Angelou

It is with deep and mixed emotions that I write these words. I didn’t know if I ever would share, but I can’t deny that I write to process things. And I hope that any woman with this experience will find some comfort in my words – if only to know that she’s not alone in her grief.

2 weeks after finding out we were having a baby I started bleeding. I had been out running errands, came back home and saw that my cotton pants were soaked.  Naturally I was freaking out. I called The One in hysteria. While he was on his way to see me I called the local hospital (and also where I work) in hysteria. We spent the next couple of days in and out of doctor’s appointments and diagnostics. The end result was that it was too soon to tell anything and we’d have to wait and see.

The doctor did observe the interactions between The One and I. He said we were obviously very supportive of one another and to take some comfort in that because he rarely sees couples on our level. Looking back on this experience, I still take comfort in this.

I waited. I was worried, anxious, and even neurotic at times. There were more visits, more diagnostics; even more blood drawn. My HCG levels had not gone up as they should have. It was not a viable pregnancy and I had experienced an incomplete miscarriage. I had to be scheduled for a D&C and wait another week before the procedure would be done. I guess my body was trying to hold on because psychologically I wasn’t ready to let go.  

I give him as much credit as I could possibly give another human being. The One was as supportive as he knew how to be. He acknowledged that he couldn’t quite relate to how I felt. It’s true . . . one can only really relate if one has experienced it – the slight changes my body was making: the mood swings, the increased heart beat due to a vascular system working even harder to pump blood down to a growing cluster of cells, the random cravings and the tiny little things that were uncomfortable and inconvenient – yet still brought a smile to my face because I knew it was all for one tiny growing baby bean sprout. Sure, it was just a cluster of cells; but it was my tiny little cluster. Sure, it’s a common experience for women; but that doesn’t make it any easier.

The One didn’t question me when I’d sob uncontrollably before drifting off to sleep. I never had to explain myself. Part of it was hormones and part of it was grief and sadness.

I had missed a considerable amount of work. I knew that life would carry on and I would need to carry on with it. When I’d start crying I looked at the clock on more than one occasion and told myself I had 5 more minutes to be sad. Five more minutes to allow myself to cry. Five more minutes to grieve and feel sorry for myself. It took a couple of weeks and an unnecessary amount of retail therapy before I stopped needing 5 more minutes.

It’s a form of sadness that has been genuinely difficult to describe. It’s a loss of the feeling of life and a loss of the excitement over what could have been. It’s a form of sadness that is understood only by other women who have experienced the same kind of loss. It was through this experience that I felt a sense of sisterhood I had not yet found among women. In fact, I had doubted that type of bond even existed. And it was this grief that somehow served as a conduit.

“And when the night is cloudy, there is still a light that shines on me. Shine until tomorrow, let it be.” – The Beatles.

It was on my last memorable night of grief that I finally finished Women Who Run With the Wolves. For the public record, I’m reading the footnotes . . . and then I’ll probably start the whole thing over again from the beginning. Clarissa Pinkola Estes wrote a footnote on the 2^nd or 3^rd chapter about a figure in Mexican folklore that is known for collecting the souls of miscarried babies and planting their seeds in another womb. So the little one never really goes away, it’s just given a new home. It’s a nice thought. And maybe Baby Bean Sprout just wasn’t ready to join our world yet. I’m ready when you are, Little One.

I lit a candle for you. Until we meet again, Little One.

And it was through this experience that The One showed me just how many forms love can take. Love is when he held me because he knew why I was crying. Love is when he held me and had no idea why I was crying. Love is understanding my need for writing, biking and retail therapy. Love is accepting a cantankerous old hound because he knows how much I love that hound. Love is his amusement when I offer him a key to my bike lock instead of my car because I’m not paying attention. Love is picking me up on a rainy night because I managed to get lost on my bike. Love is finding the best possible attributes for my worst idiosyncrasies.

Love was dealing with my hormonal mood swings of tears and bouts of anger. Love was telling me I’m beautiful even though my breasts were tender and overly engorged. Love was (and is) checking me out when I’m cringing in the mirror at my stretch marks. Love is joking about how when we were young and cute and thought we’d stay that way forever.

Love is choosing to see me in the best possible light and this is a choice he makes every day. Rather than chalking my forgetfulness to an air-headed person, he tells me I’m forgetful because I’m a writer and I’m too busy remembering the very important details that most others won’t notice. And obviously there’s only so much memory one person can hold. 

"The best love is that kind that awakens the soul; that makes us reach for more, that plants the fire in our hearts and brings peace to our minds. That's what I hope to give you forever."  - Nicholas Sparks, The Notebook