Refrain

Since Eva died, I've been schizophrenic.
I have seventeen different thoughts every second, but some thoughts have become refrains.

Grief is a relentless predator.
My third child died three weeks before my thirty-third birthday.
There is no "survivor" without Eva.
The FACT of her suffering...
What if I'd waited to deliver?

Invisible and Unspoken bonds

About a year ago, a heard of a former co-worker whose wife was due to deliver their first child. Tragically the baby was stillborn due to a cord accident. I had never been very close to this colleague, but the story of this baby really stuck with me. How could one not empathize with someone in these circumstances. All these months later, we've been through our own scare related to cord accident. We lost one of our beautiful babies. We're bonded now in a way, though he likely doesn't know it and we haven't even been in touch in many years.

And Islands of Sanity

The complexities of this pregnancy have required some emotional acrobatics. In order to avoid being a total nutter each and every day, I create what I call small islands of sanity for myself. These are the places to which I retreat, my private fall back positions. It's fine and I'm relatively okay, as long as I don't lose any more ground.

Well, if I can't have a normal, healthy pregnancy, at least I can rest assured knowing that I'm doing everything I can to bring these girls to viability.
Baby B has a long, hard road ahead of her, but at least it looks as though Baby A has a good shot.
I have to be here in the hospital away from my family, but I'm getting the best possible care -- a level of care, in fact, that most people in the world in my circumstances could never imagine.

And that brings me to a a topic that I'm not even sure how to address. After many weeks here with little to do but think, I've come to realize that I am getting an extraordinary level of care. I will be in the hospital for over 10 weeks when all is said and done. The reason: to have the babies closely monitored in case the start to show signs of distress. In most places in the world, women in my situation would be sent home and told to hope for the best, if they ever got the mono-mono diagnosis in the first place. I did a little back of the envelope calculation and figure I've blown through the amount we have paid into the healthcare system in the form of insurance possibly within the first week or two of my stay here. Although hospitalization is the current standard of care in this country, I can't help but think about the inequities this leads to on a global scale. I'm in no way suggesting that the best care shouldn't be had, I'm just feeling guilty and confused about being one of the very few who can attain it.

A Thousand Indignities

I have been here in the hospital for 7 weeks. Usually, there is not much more to do than think (or brood or obsess, as the case may be). For me, adjusting to my stay here and maintaining sanity to the extent possible has required a slow but determined relinquishment of the illusion of control.

If you've never been in the hospital yourself, be aware that hospital rooms are not havens of privacy. Anyone with any pretense of business in your room will knock and enter, enter and knock or just plain enter.

Early in my stay a flurry of entrances would habitually occur and happened to coincide with the time of most satisfying sleep 6-8 a.m. or so. The first visit usually comes from the resident or med student. "Any cramping? bleeding? leakage of fluid?" At least 3 times per day, these questions are posed. The only deviation took place one day when a med student asked, "Is anything coming out of your vagina?" [insert *pregnant* pause here] Some days, the questions are even accompanied by a physical exam, featuring frozen sardines in the role of fingers.

These visits are followed by the delivery of breakfast, clean linens, fresh water, morning meds, etc. etc. Strangers in your room while you're sleeping? Yeah, at least initially, these visits were highly jarring.

One kindly resident once asked me how I was adjusting to my stay here. I told her I felt like a project that was being managed in pieces by many people, but that no one was assigned the role of project manager. I certainly didn't feel like the manager.

A long time coming

How does one bridge the gap in 6+ month hiatus? Especially when those six months have been pretty darn significant in the course of my family's life. I guess it's fitting that my last post was about parenthood. And butt sniffing.

I am pregnant.
With twins.
Who are monoamniotic.
One of whom has Hypoplastic Left Heart Syndrome.
And I've been in the hospital for nearly 6 weeks so that the twins can be monitored closely. I'll be here until the twins are delivered, which will hopefully be on February 28th.

Pheww. I'm plumb tuckered out. See ya next year!

Parenthood is....

Dela-won't

This is a short, grumpy, self-indulgent post on the state of Delaware.

It is, perhaps, much like the state of Delaware itself. No matter -- my main point is this. Delaware is an anti-democratic leech on the side of its neighbors and anyone so unfortunate as to pass through its boundaries.

You see, I never go TO Delaware, only through it. I don't even go all the way through it, really. I just graze about 11 miles off the top (on my way to places I prefer), and yet it manages to cost me at least as many dollars and at twice as many minutes. And, this just doesn't seem fair. So, they have no sales tax, and they have no income tax, and every other corporation is incorporated there, so what? Is the purpose of this largess to its own residents (at the expense of anyone just looking to get the heck out of there) a sign of some inferiority complex? Some overcompensation, maybe? I am so stinkin happy for the Delaworons who -- like parasites -- get to suck the blood of interlopers for the benefit of their state coffers.

I need to find a detour! Pennsyltucky, here I come.

Results Not Typical

Like many of my fellow Americans, I have had a long and sordid struggle with weight. I guess I am an addict -- a food addict -- in the sense that I will never truly be thin. The most I can hope for is to become a recovering lardass. Well, I'm not there yet. I am about halfway to my goal and it has been a long journey. So long, in fact, that I am not above considering less independent means of achieving my goal. What started out as a "noble" pursuit of general health and stamina is slowly descending into the depravity of number (weight, BMI, etc.) chasing. There are so many options to choose from (please tell me if I've missed any) and I'll leave it to your judgement whether any of these merit consideration:

-Low fat dieting
-Low carb dieting
-Pills, Speed
-Laxatives/colonics
-Surgery, gastric
-Surgery, plastic
-Exercise
-Starvation
-Purging


It is in consideration of these options (most of which seem, frankly, vulgar) that I happen upon advertisements for various weight loss schemes. They invariably feature a women transformed from doughy to divinely formed. The only problem is in the (again, invariable) fine print... "Results not typical." In fact, the fine print on one advertisement I read indicated that the woman pictured actually lost her weight before going on the plan advertised! What then, I wonder, is typical?

Unfortunately, I know the answer. Typical is "fries with that" obesity.

Take That

I've been at a loss for what to write, but much has happened since I last wrote. I got back into running and have worked up to a decent distance -- for me. Take that, high school P.E. teachers!

I got a new job, incorporating my love of photography with my boring career in IT. Take that, Gartner!

I have started helping my friend Sheila address the invitations for her wedding. That that, invitees!

Who's more insulted?

In the dance of the smart people, sometimes the trump card is to say that you are insulted by something. This indicates that you are deeply feeling and sensitive and your radar for unsophisticated thought is highly refined. If you are on the receiving end of this comment, best to lay low. For if you admit that you don't see what's so insulting about X, then you confirm what your friend has always suspected; that you are an ignorant and uncivilized slug.

Mother's Day

It's my third, actually (and not my best, I dare say). This weekend my child showed the terribility of his two-ness. Usually this means one thing; he's sick. But he's been sick for the past 6 weeks or so. We are all ready for everyone in the house to be healthy for the first time in a long time. I really, really want this.

But I dread the alternative as well. Perhaps he is not sick. Perhaps there is no excuse beyond this phase (if I could make the word reverberate as you read, I would, because PHASE! has that kind of weight to it).

But, wait! There is more. Yesterday, my babydaddy (yes, I know I can't really pull that off) converted the crib into what the good people at Pottery Barn Kids described as a "toddler bed." Um, yeah, maybe if you're not fond of your toddler, apparently. The relatively simple conversion accomplished, we three stared at the new sleeping situation (cuz from here on out, I refuse to call that thing a toddler bed!) and wondered if without any barrier to hold toddler in, toddler would be falling out of toddler sleeping situation. We soon got our answer. Down for nap (with a little trepidation on all fronts) and not 45 mins later, ba-thud! Toddler down. He's fallen out 3 times so far. We have now installed a dining room chair against the edge of the toddler sleeping situation, making it look like a much uglier version of what existed there before yesterday -- a crib.

A bowl for voices

My iPod shuffled today to a song by Joseph Arthur called In the Sun. Its bridge is simultaneously ethereal and dark, brooding but with a flinty quality. I couldn't help but think that if purgatory had angels, they'd sound like this bit of harmony, like voices poured through a sieve.

This is why we can't have nice things

There's a permanent stoop to my back and a new texture to every plane in my house. We like earth tones now, because sooner or later all things will muddy. You might recognize the crud on my windows about two feet off the ground as the precious, sticky fingerprints of a toddler. Everything I own is marked indelibly with his whims, his snacks, and yes, his boogers. In his exploration of this world, he loves everything he sees...for a split second before it lands nowhere near where it started. He is one deranged interior decorator. His design sense is an alternate version of the universe we've tried to create.

Like a cross between Sisyphus and a fish with no memory, I circle through the rooms and sunken treasures of this tank with my cordless vac and my rags and sprays -- spraying, wiping, sweeping, disinfecting. Yesterday, I swept and mopped the kitchen floor. Today the floor mocks me with its crumbs and bright stains. Yesterday, I walked through the house to see it looking okay. Today, scores of tiny two-year old tracks have been made, crumbs have been spread like fairy dust off his sweet little piggies and every shiny bauble has been tossed without a care onto the floor. I write this post and let the whole thing go to hell.

Say What?

Do you ever see something written and misread it? It's been happening to me with increasing frequency. I used to see signs for this band in college called "The Instigators" as "The Investigators". The other day I saw a Florida license plate that said Seminole as Shithole (no comment). And just now, I saw an add for a "Portable Hammock" as "Portable Hemlock" (wouldn't that come in handy?).

Picture Day

Today is spring picture day at preschool. So, kiddo is dressed to the nines.

One Fine Day

Today was one of those days that we live for as parents and as people. The weather, though grim in the morning (too bad for the race D ran), turned beautiful by the afternoon. Our son, though cranky on Saturday, was a downright deity on Sunday (that's actually the general pattern with him, devil on Saturday, deity on Sunday... go figure).

D ran his first trail race (the subject of many a conversation and even blog post) today, the last in a triple threat series called the Backyard Burn. He came home from the race on cloud nine and with this cool t-shirt. Running has made a profound impact on this man (much like the transition from Saturday to Sunday does for our kiddo) and I realized that the next step is for all of us to find ways to enjoy these activities together, particularly as they consume more free time and D becomes more serious and competitive about it. The next trail race is coming up and D will be running with our friend, B. That leaves her husband to hang out with my boy and me. I see a picnic in our future.

After I was done with my exercise, we got cleaned up and went to the libary. My boy was totally overwhelmed. It was his first trip and he had never seen so many books. He just ran around not knowing quite what to do with himself. He made friends. He made noise. We quickly ushered him out. A library is not always the best place for a free-spirited kid. We each selected a few books and went to our next stop....


This was our first visit to this particular park this year, and we were delighted (The boy was downright elated) to find a new jungle gym in just the right size. He has this sorta sideways shuffle that he does when he's super excited about something, and there was no dearth of the funky stuff yesterday. We were at the park for about an hour and a half, a new record. We finished out our day with dinner out, which went swimmingly, and ice cream (this time the only thing swimming was our boy, in chocolate ice cream). Too bad for his new t-shirt.

DQ Desire

I have had a problem lately. Here it is. In the past couple of weeks, I have sampled the creamy delight of

-Mint Oreo Blizzard (600 calories for a small)
-Peanut Butter Oreo Blizzard
-German Choclate Blizzard (twice)
Oh, and some kind of choclatey, nutty goodness whose name escapes me. I got it because I thought it might have fewer calories. Yum....

I must make a clean break. But, but! The DQ! It has such a hold on me!!

My Budding Photographer & Genius

Photographer: Like any parent over the past 150 years, I have a maniacal urge to record my son's every breath, shimmy and burp. Digital imaging only accelerates the pace. Knowing I don't even have to worry about photo chemistry being dumped into our environment means I can snap shutters with a truly reckless abandon. So, my son is naturally accustomed to being photographed. He poses and has known to do so since before he hit his first birthday. But, in the past few months, my desire to photograph him has been tempered by his desire to mess with my precision instrument, which is strictly not cool. So, in an attempt to head off the confrontation towards which we seem to be heading, I bought a disposable film camera. He took to it like a fish takes to a tasty bed of sticky rice.

Or did he...

Genius?: As a first-time parent, I am aware that I have a maniacal urge to obsessively fret and analyze ever breath, shimmy and burp. [Aside: I love being a parent. It's like a rebirth of sorts, but I'm am mentally drained from all my worrying. Worrying can seriously wear a soul out!] I also am very concerned about raising a child with a strong, positive self-image, something I lacked. I am starting to think, however, that I can lay that fear to rest. Witness his "Daily Sheet" from his preschool teacher from earlier this week:

[Your son] is just not humble. Today he told me that his artwork was beautiful and that he did a great job (but he was right). Then he told me that he's a handsome boy. And he was right again....

Later that night, he told us that he's a genius. Apparently positive reinforcement is effective!

Seattle Redux, Part 4: The dream (or at least the decision) deferred

I've been dreading this post, but it should be written.

I found out on Monday that no decision has been made regarding my employment by Uncle Bill and none will be made for several more weeks I'm told. It's disappointing, more because of what it says about the organization's orientation than any reflection of my own worthiness. The "communications" I've received have been so obtuse and indecipherable, that I simply need to let it go. Hey, I'll just chalk it up to good interview practice (7 interviews over 8 hours on the other side of the country, piece o' cake!) and a free trip to see a beautiful city and some wonderful friends.
I [finally] started applying to other jobs today and found one that I am truly excited about. Particularly now that my period of severance is over, the pressure is on to figure it all out.

Spring

What a relief the tulips and daffodils are after a long winter, especially one that seemed only to gain momentum, as this winter did.
I took this completely unremarkable photo on Monday at Meadowlark Gardens, where our friends will be married later this year. The garden is beautiful and varied and I am tempted to go over there for a walk and a few more [well-composed, hopefully] photos. Perhaps a trek with the camera and tripod in hand would burn a few extra calories.