Killin' Time...

So I don't really have anything particularly important or witty to say -- just lookin' forward to my three-day weekend (NO PLANS!), and counting down the days until David gets home (15!).

I'm just kind of in a good mood, so I wanted to blog about it so it wasn't lost forever! I feel like the next few months of my life are going to be really fun and exciting. I have two concerts lined up in October (Brad Paisley with David and Bonnie Raitt with my mom and sister), a trip to Disney World to have the baby's hair cut at the barbershop in the Magic Kingdom (hmmm, whose idea do you think that was?!), Halloween (Samuel = monkey, David and I = characters from "Mad Men"), a possible visit in November from our good friends the Frazers, Thanksgiving, Christmas, New Years, Ireland (for that awful made-up holiday in February!)...that's a lot of life to fit into five months, and I couldn't be happier about it!

Another thing making me strangely happy these past few weeks is that I am feeling very committed to my newest effort to get back in shape. Together, my mom and I joined Weight Watchers (the only program that I think is truly workable for your whole life), and I have been really trying to incorporate some form of physical activity into every day. So far, I've lost more than four pounds (which, when you're only trying to lose 15 or so, is a big deal!), and I feel pretty awesome. I'll keep you posted on my progress...maybe putting it all out there on this blog will help to keep me honest! 135 lbs or bust!

It's 9 p.m. and I promised myself I would get to bed early tonight (a promise I break about...oh, every single night). More to come ;)

Happy 1st Birthday, Sam!!!

So we celebrated quite the milestone a couple of weeks ago -- SAMUEL TURNED ONE! I can't believe it, it still makes me tear up a little bit. A whole year has gone by since the day they put him in my arms and said "Say hello to your son." A whole year has passed since the hardships and struggles of the early days -- the postpartum pain, the shockingly traumatic colic, the soul-breaking sleep deprivation. A whole year, which taught me and changed me in ways I didn't know possible...a whole year, more full of surprises and magic than I could have imagined, has flown by. A whole year -- it is impossible, and yet it's happened. My baby is officially a toddler.

We had a great little party -- my family was here, my neighbors (the lovely Striplings) came by, and my best friend Melissa came in from out of town. There were burgers and hot dogs and a monkey cake (read on for photos of that one!), and presents galore. Daddy even called right in the middle of the festivities, and got to sing "Happy Birthday" to Sam with the rest of us. It was a lovely, easy, fun afternoon. Thanks to everyone who came, and everyone who helped me pull it off. Enjoy the photos!!

The birthday boy in all his glory!

My monkey cake...Mom made it all by herself (and for those of you who are acquainted with her in the slightest, you know that this is quite the accomplishment...and quite the surprise!!).

Smash cake...

Balloons -- new favorite thing.

You want me to do what?! But you're always telling me NOT to play with my food...I'm confused.

Testing the waters...

Um, are you sure I'm allowed to do this??

Wow, this is awesome!

There just aren't words for this kind of cuteness...

Hey you! Get me some paper towels or something!

Here comes the sugar rush!!

What a mess!!

Changed and playing on my new toy...

Beep, beep! Get outta the way, suckas!

Post-party fatigue ;)

Alright, Mom...enough pictures already!

Thank you, thank you, thank you...

I just want to thank everyone out there who reached out to me over the past few weeks, whether on this site or with an email, a phone call, a card...I can't say enough about what you did for me. I may not have always responded in the best way (or even at all), but to know that there were people out there thinking of me, praying for me...it meant the world to me. To those of you who shared your personal experiences, words are not enough. You helped me feel less alone, and you made me believe I was strong enough to recover. From the bottom of my heart, thank you.

It has taken me awhile to start to feel "normal" again. But I'm getting there. Physically, I feel stronger and less tired. Emotionally, I take it one day at a time. I think about him (I'm convinced it was a boy) every day...sometimes I think about how far along I would be now (15 weeks), sometimes I think about seeing his little heartbeat on the screen of the ultrasound. Most of the time I just think about how much I loved him already, and how much I wish I could've met him. But strange as it sounds, it doesn't always make me sad. Life is always precious, always meaningful, always beautiful...and to me, his was no different. But I do miss him...I miss him all the time.

I'm sorry it's taken me so long to get back on the horse...or on the blog, as it were. I promise to do better from here on out. I have lots to update you on (like Samuel's first birthday!), and I will get to it over the next couple of days. Stay tuned :)

Loss, Pain, Grief

To lose the baby you are carrying is like losing one of your fingers. You can manage to make it through a lot of the day without thinking too much about it...until you need to thread a needle or tie your shoe or type. And then you're reminded, and it all comes flooding back.

It is so much worse, so much more traumatic than I thought. Even the word -- miscarriage, as in "I couldn't carry you." I don't know why I couldn't do it. I wanted to. I tried. The feelings of helplessness and failure are almost too much to bear.

Tomorrow is my first day back to work, and it feels like facing a firing squad. I dread it. Everyone is going to have their "I'm so sorry" face on, and I just don't feel like I can take it. I know people don't know what to say, but I don't either. I always end up feeling like I have to comfrot them. They say "I'm so sorry" and I end up saying something like "Thank you, me too. It's been really rough, but I'll make it through..." I feel like soon they will all expect me to start feeling better. When they ask how I'm doing, I'll have to reply "A little better," because that's what they want to hear.

Will I make it through? Does it get better?

At times, the grief is a wading pool; at times, a riptide. At times, I am buoyed by hope; at times, my lungs fill with the pain of it all and I am flat on my back on the bottom, held down by the tons of water above me, feeling as though I will never reach the surface.

Hemingway said, "The world breaks everyone, and afterward many are strong in the broken places." My heart is a broken place. I hope Hemingway is right...