To Have a Child

Earlier this summer, a girlfriend of mine lost the baby she was carrying when she was fourteen weeks pregnant. Ironically, early last week, Nik and I were emailing about how she was doing, and she said that having her daughter (who turned two in June) made things so much easier this time. (Sadly, this was not Nik's first miscarriage.)

Boy, was she right.

Petunia is the best thing I've got going right now, with no disrespect intended to my wonderful Basil or any of my supportive friends and family. While she seems to have finally processed what we told her (on Tuesday night, as we were all riding in the car she said, out of the blue, 'We're not going to have a baby.'), she doesn't understand enough to be sad. I don't think she likes the fact that we're not having a baby right now, as she was very into the idea of being a big sister and, especially, having a baby brother. (She says 'baby brudder,' which is about the cutest thing ever.) She's been cranky and combative at school and not sleeping well, but I think a lot of that may just come from confusion at the things happening around her that she doesn't understand.

But for her, life keeps right on truckin'. She's been to preschool every day last week and this week, and she is getting very excited about her birthday, coming up in just two and a half weeks. Her bunk beds arrive on Saturday, and she can't wait to put her new ballerina sheets on.

And she's very matter of fact about the baby we're not having. Last night, I dragged her out to Potomac Yard to run errands, and I decided that I should return some of the maternity clothes that my mom had bought me for a birthday present. I kept the jeans and black pants (hoping that someday I'll get use out of them) but decided to return the black sweater set and the houndstooth suit. When Petunia asked why I was taking those clothes back, I explained that they were special clothes that mamas wear when they have babies in their tummies and I didn't need them since I didn't have a baby in my tummy. She just said, 'Yeah, those no fit you. You should take them back.'

Focusing on her upcoming birthday has been a good thing, though I feel kind of behind on everything. Thank goodness for the massive party store at Bailey's Crossroads, where we just roamed the aisles until we settled on a theme. Chicken Little? Great. Invitations, thank you notes, plates, cups, napkins, favors, birthday banner...done. Instant party. We ordered some figurines online to top the cake I'll bake, and we bought the soundtrack last night to have a dance party during the festivities. (Is there something wrong about letting three-year-olds dance to Joan Cusack in character karaoking the Spice Girls' 'If you wanna be my lover,' which Petunia thinks is 'If you wanna be my mother'?)

And with the aforementioned bunk beds coming, we have some furniture-removing and room-rearranging to do in the next two days. So that will keep us busy and the end result will be exciting, I'm sure.

But mostly, it's just been great to have a tiny, energetic smiling face to see several times a day. It's uplifting to have a little body that crashes into me excitedly at the end of a day at preschool. It makes me smile inside to hear small feet thundering down the hall in the morning on their way into our room. It's nice to have a high-pitched voice that sings nonstop, even if it is that G-D Barney 'I love you, you love me' song. (I think they do Barney on the computer at school, because he has never darkened our door.)

Checking in on her when she's asleep at night fills my heart with an immense peace, even if it's only temporary. And having her around during the day makes me smile. Petunia is, indeed, making this easier for me.

The Motions of Working

It was harder coming back to work than I thought it would be. I don't think it really had anything to do with the timing...I could have taken two more days off, and it would have been as tough. It's just that for five days, I lived in a little bubble where every person that I interacted with (aside from the always anonymous store clerks) knew that I had just lost a baby.

For five days, everyone cut me a wide swath. Friends and family gave me the time I needed to process what I was going through (and I think that it's still ongoing, as I have a lot more recovering to do, both physically and emotionally) without making me having the same conversation over and over again. People asked how I was doing but let me take the lead on where the conversation went from there. No one asked me to do anything at all - except to let them know how they could help. I was completely in charge of what I did with my time, which felt good because I felt so wildly out of control of my life otherwise.

But at work, where only a few coworkers even knew I was pregnant, it's been harder. I work at a trade association as a lobbyist, and none of my association members or government contacts knew I was pregnant. If they happened to call or email during the three days I was out, they got a message that I was on personal leave. That's it.

And while no one was overly demanding or obnoxious, just the simple act of being asked to do things on someone else's schedule was very hard. It jarred me. I closed my door and teared up and thought, 'I can't do this. I have to go home. I'm not ready.' It didn't help that my cramps were really, really intense yesterday, giving me a constant reminder of the nightmare I'd lived the past few days.

But I didn't go home. I stayed. I didn't take phone calls. I did everything through email. And I kept my door shut for three hours. Basil graciously met me for lunch, and it gave me some strength just to see him and be with him in the middle of a long, hard day. By the end of the day, I actually got the teeniest bit of work done and even answered a few phone calls.

I made it through the day without having to cry at work, but at the end of the day, I laid on my bed and cried a little before dinner.

This morning was a little easier. I put earrings in. I did my hair a little bit. I remembered my prescription ibuprofen (yesterday I forgot it and had to ask my boss for several pills from her over-the-counter bottle). My door has been open all day. I said, 'Hi, how are you?' to our department's administrative assistant. I participated in a conference call. I returned some voicemails.

I don't know if and when I will get to a point where it just feels like I'm working again and not telling myself to go through the motions just to get back in the habit. But for now, I'm here.

Grief Soup

I think they call it 'comfort food' for a reason. Every magazine laying around my house has a picture of beef stew on it, and my mind just instinctively said, Yes, that's the right thing to do. Cook. Bake. Make soup.

Going loosely on the magazines I had and on some cookbooks I yanked off the shelf, Basil, Petunia and I charged into Whole Foods with fall vegetables in our sights. I bought five sugar pumpkins, two butternut squash, four turnips, four pears, a bag of red potatoes, a bag of white potatoes, a five-pound bag of carrots, a bag of celery, a couple red onions, four boxes of chicken broth, milk, cream, two bags of egg noodles, some shallots, some garlic, fresh parsley, fresh sage and fresh thyme.

Then I went to Williams-Sonoma and bought myself a Rolls Royce of an immersion blender, a mesh sieve, a new swivel peeler, a Y-peeler and a Microplane grater.

Since then, I've spent almost two full days in my kitchen, which is good because it's one of my favorite rooms and one of the primary reasons that we sold our organs to get this house. I turned some comforting music on the house stereo system (although when Sarah McLaughlin's 'Angel' rotated up in the shuffle, I had to stop and lean on a wall to keep from crumpling) and got to cooking on all the ingredients I had purchased in the past two days.

I started by roasting three of the pumpkins and making puree. I ended up using this to make two loaves of ginger-pumpkin bread and two pumpkin pies.

Then I roasted some vegetables, which turned out incredibly delicious and will be part of a fall vegetable and ricotta pizza later this week.

I shouldn't have been surprised that the Martha Stewart Living recipe for creamy pear and autumn vegetable soup turned out to be woefully underseasoned and have an odd consistency, given my track record with Martha. It seemed like a lot of work to be so underwhelmed, but it was really more about the act of making the soup than the soup itself.

Thankfully, the split pea soup and the chicken noodle I made turned out really, really well, and there are two giant tupperware tubs of both in my freezer right now.

So...in two days, I've churned out two ginger-pumpkin bread loaves, two pumpkin pies, pear-vegetable soup, split pea soup, chicken noodle soup, roasted fall vegetables and chicken-sausage-white bean gratin (tonight's dinner, made with Basil's help).

I can't say that I've cooked away my sadness, but it has been nice to have something semi-mindless - yet incredibly productive - to do for the past two days. It's given me a little momentum to get through the rest of the weekend. I've even gotten myself out of bed to go walking with our fat dog the past two mornings, though I am not going very far or fast due to the cramps I'm still having from the D&C.

We'll see how it goes with going back to work and trying to resume my normal routine tomorrow, but it has felt good to just get through the past three days feeling semi-normal. And given that Basil and I have decided our goal is to just take it one day at a time, I feel relieved to have made it three whole days.

Thanks so much for all the support and condolences. It makes me tear up a little to read each new comment, but it's mostly from being so touched at how you all care. I wish I could give each of you something from my kitchen therapy session. Apparently, grief makes for good food.

Untitled

This morning, I left an empty house (Petunia was staying with friends) on an empty stomach (no food or drink after midnight) to go to the hospital and have my womb emptied.

Even time seems to be hollow, as the events of the past two days swirl around in my head out of sequence.

The emotionless face of the ultrasound technician as she looked at the screen and asked if I was sure of my dates.

The voice of the doctor I had never met before telling me he was so sorry and that nothing I did caused this and that there was nothing I could have done to prevent this.

My own doctor explaining my options, which amounted to having my head cut off with an axe (a D&C), a chainsaw (prescription misopristol) or a steak knife (nature).

Being forced to actually say the words 'missed abortion' to the hospital admittance clerk who asked for my diagnosis.

The incredulity of the intern assisting my obstetrician, as I told her that No, I hadn't had any cramping or spotting or bleeding.

The four phone calls that I forced myself to make (because I couldn't handle any more), in which I had to say to my mother, two friends and my boss the hardest four words of my life: 'I lost the baby.'

Waves of sadness that grab me by the throat unexpectedly and choke sobs out of me until my eyes hurt.

A friend stopping by to leave dinner and a sweet note on our doorstep without disturbing us.

Trying to get Petunia to understand that it wasn't the right time for us to have a baby.

The cruel injustice of still being nauseous, having heartburn and not being able to button my pants.

Wearing home the same disposable mesh underpants that women wear in the maternity ward after giving birth.

I hate this. I hate this. I hate this. I hate this. I hate this.

I hate this.

A Valentine in April

I toyed and toyed and toyed with the title of this post: 'Two Blue Lines,' 'Some Big News' or 'The Reason I've Stopped Walking the Dog and Have Started Seeing an Acupuncturist.' I don't have the graphics skillz to pull off what Gus and Val did. But I wanted something clever, pleasant-sounding and joyful to let the Internet know that I'm having a baby.

In the spring, Petunia will be a big sister, we'll be down a guest room and up a nursery and I'll be hoping and praying that I have an easier time with the postpartum healing and breastfeeding this time around. Basil and I are really, really excited. This was clearly a very planned pregnancy. (Do I do anything without planning?) And even though it has sucked thus far, with the nausea, heartburn and occasional puking, everything seems to be going well. Textbook, even.

It's funny how things are different this time. Like, my doctor has me on a new prenatal vitamin with DHA, and she recommended a first trimester ultrasound (scheduled for tomorrow morning!) to measure the nuchal folds of this baby and determine the risk for Down syndrome, etc. On a personal level, I feel less nervous...about miscarriage, about getting all the right baby gear, about what it will mean to have a baby. I'm actually most worried about how the dog will take the new arrival, as Lilah is the neediest, most people-focused retriever you have ever met.

I'm sure that as the months pass, there will be plenty to think about. And, of course, of course, I get to play the name game again! And I guess, in the spirit of pseudonymity that we Valentines maintain, I will get to choose a fun online handle for Baby Valentine.

Since this baby will be born at the complete ass-opposite time of year as Petunia's birthday, I will need all new maternity clothes (many of which have already been purchased) and lots of new baby clothes. And while it may be a tad extravagent and incredibly indulgent, I am totally getting this breast pump.

I think it will be nice to be on maternity leave during the spring and summer. To be able to go outside for walks without bundling up, to not have to worry about the icy sidewalk or bad roads, to not have to try to get all my holiday shopping, baking and decorating done around the schedule of a two-month-old...I'm looking forward to the second quarter of next year.

And really, I'm looking forward to getting to know the little person growing inside me. I can't wait to see how he/she will be like Petunia and - more likely - will be different from Petunia. Last month, Martha of The Random Muse had a great post about the differences between her two boys, and I must say that I'm sort of hoping for the mellow, easygoing, cuddly child this time around. Not so much because I don't like Petunia's personality, but because I think it would be nice to have a different experience with kid number two.

Finally, I do hereby solemnly swear that despite the reference to a breast pump in this post, this blog will not turn into a one-topic 'pregnancy blog,' boring you all to tears with the tales of my changing body and my mushy emotions on having a baby. But it sure is going to be a lot easier to say, 'Because I'm pregnant and tired, I stopped walking the dog and she got fat' or 'Morning sickness really sucks, and so I've started seeing an acupuncturist' instead of being all veiled and vague about what's going on in my life.

I'M PREGNANT, INTERNET! Boy, does that feel good to say!

The Big Empty

My association just had a big meeting in New Orleans, and boy was it weird. We stayed at the same hotel that my previous employer used for its big trade show four years ago, but the differences were stunning.

First of all, this time I did not get drunk and wander off by myself the wrong way down Bourbon Street, only to be saved by a gay, Taiwanese coworker who saw me ambling in the rainbow-stickered-windows part of town and saved me from myself.

Second of all, I did not throw up in my hotel room this time.

But mainly, it was eerily quiet in the Crescent City. You could see it everywhere. In the French Quarter, some restaurants and nightclubs had never reopened after the storm. Many of the shops there kept irregular, unpredictable hours because they didn't have the staff or the business to support reliable 9-6 hours each day. In the hotel, which is situated near the convention center and River Walk and within a short walk to the Quarter and the Warehouse District, things were also strangely quiet. The bellmen, taxi drivers, front desk staff, bartenders, etc, seemed bored. You could tell they didn't get much business these days. The hotel banquet staff was woefully untrained, and you knew that many of the servers were brand new and still learning. And everywhere around town were giant billboards for 'high and dry' real estate, insurance claim adjusters, law firms offering to help with 'wrongful Katrina deaths' and stores having sales on sheetrock and furniture.

It really felt sad. Like much of the great life, spirit and culture of the city had been sucked away when the Army Corps finally pumped the flood waters out. The people that I met were resilient and optimistic, but you could tell they were damaged and scarred by what had happened to them individually and to the city as a whole.

There were some things that reminded me of our trip to Jazzfest 2003 - amazing food at every turn and great local bands played each night at the parties associated with our meeting. Damn, did I hear some good jazz, blues and zydeco. And also some amazing local high school marching bands. I met people who were friendly and happy to see you, people who made their livelihoods on tourists and welcomed them with open arms.

I definitely will go back to New Orleans, but hopefully the city will regain more of its former vim and vigor in the coming months. I think as more and more people go - for business or pleasure - and come home able to report that the touristy areas (French Quarter, CBD, Warehouse District) are clean, easy to navigate and basically crime-free, other people will feel more sure about going themselves.

At this point, I don't know that I could endorse New Orleans for a restful vacation, because there's still so much rebuilding and recovering going on. But I certainly think the city is ready for business travelers on expense accounts, looking to sneak in a reservation at one of Emeril's notable restaurants or get a deep discount on a recently refurbished hotel.

Here's hoping New Orleans gets it glory - and some people - back.

(Also, I promise that this blog will get its glory, vim and vigor back.)

Poor, Fat Lilah

In the remnants of Tropical Storm Ernesto last Friday, Petunia and I took Lilah to the vet for some vaccinations, a heartworm test and some heartworm pills. While we were there, the vet went ahead and gave her a checkup, including a weight check. 'I think she's put on a few pounds, doc,' I said as we wrestled our poor flat-coated retriever mix onto the rising exam table/scale.

When the digital numbers stopped tallying, my eyes bugged out. Lilah weighed 69.8 pounds! In February, when we got her from the shelter, she was 55 pounds! And we thought she was a little chunky then. Holy cow, she had porked up.

The vet was all, 'Yeah, that's waaaaaaaay too much for her to weigh. She probably should be 55 pounds, 60 tops. I can't even feel her ribs under here.'

We saw a very nice vet, who gave us a diet plan (no treats, switch to 'large breed' formula food and feed the bottom of the range on the food bag for the weight Lilah SHOULD be - not the weight she is) and told us to pick up the exercise level. I used to be really religious about briskly walking with Lilah for 30-40 minutes 5 or 6 mornings a week, but I have really fallen off the wagon lately. And Basil is the first to admit that he is just not into walking the dog for more than the 10 minutes it takes for her to do her business.

So Lilah is fat. On the summary sheet the vet's office sent home, they typed 'OBESE' in all caps. And I am a seriously embarassed pet parent.

I keep waiting for Dr. Lisa Hark to show up and give me a video simulation of how Lilah will look in 10 years if we continue on this path of too much food and not enough exercise. I'm sure she'll get bald, have bad teeth, be monstrously round, have terrible skin, be incapable of smiling and generally look borderline homeless, as the kids on Honey, We're Killing the Kids always seem to look.

Thankfully, Lilah isn't quite as bad as Sessa from Phoenix, who weighed in at 75 pounds - and is a Sheltie! The folks at the Arizona Humane Society are slimming her down with swimming and an underwater treadmill, and she's lost 20 percent of her body weight in three months!

I had the same idea for Lilah, but the Doggie Day Swim in Old Town is one day only - today. And wouldn't you know that it's been in the 60s and raining all day? Doesn't really seem like the best weather for a doggie swim workout, but maybe Lilah would like it anyway.

But swim or sit tonight, we've got to do something to get our pudgy pooch moving.