I cannot think of a suitable way to tell people that I have had a miscarriage. Lost the baby. Was pregnant but am not anymore. I am not in denial, it is just that I have a problem with the words failing so miserably to convey the way I am feeling.
Firstly 'miscarriage'. It seems to imply that I was, initially, capable of carrying the most precious thing in the world, then I managed through ignorance, stupidity or naivety to mis-carry, let the little dot slip from my grasp. Surely medical terminology can come up with something kinder than that word? - then again, perhaps not, if the medical description of 'not viable', (a term surely coined by a middle aged man with a business degree) is anything to go by.
Then there is 'lost baby'. Like I put it down somewhere in my absentminded-ness and cripes! I just can't think where I jolly well left it!? Lost and gone forever.
But it isnt lost - it's still with me. And I will carry it in my memory, 7 weeks of joy are worth remembering and celebrating. In a similar way the term 'grieving' sits badly. Do I have the right to grieve for 7 weeks of joy? I know this is a light load to carry in comparison with the millstones of many on this planet.
The meaning of the words, and the words are, irrelevant. Its my personal feeling that I am entitled to feel. And if I need someone to know how I am feeling, I need only think of the women who also know this feeling. There are many of us, and somehow, knowing that is soothing.
Tuesday, October 28, 2008
Saturday, October 18, 2008
Beware of the Dog
Little Brother is obsessed with them, and Big Brother has up until now been petrified of man's best furry friend.
I think it started for BB on his first docking expedition, where he experienced firsthand the pandemonium of sheep, dogs, noise, mud and motorbikes. Spot at the Farm books were just no preparation for the real thing. The farm dogs are a long way on the scari-ometer from any miniature rat like poochy he's seen in a handbag in town. And it probably didn't help his slightly older boy cousin is a natural farmer who draughts the pet lambs for fun and was in the docking pen tackling everything that baa'ed. My wee towny child had no idea what was going on, and refused to get off the motorbike. For hours.
But that was a year or so ago. He's made great improvement and will now reach out to pat a friendly pooch. On the tail.
But isn't if just ironic that the first time he decides to 'Feel the fear and do it anyway' he strides bravely up to the fence and reaches out his tender little hand to pat a friendly pit bull terrier!
He also seems drawn to dobermans. All that positive reinforcement of Dogs being Lovely seems to be coming back to bite me. I hope that I am the only one thats ever bitten!
I think it started for BB on his first docking expedition, where he experienced firsthand the pandemonium of sheep, dogs, noise, mud and motorbikes. Spot at the Farm books were just no preparation for the real thing. The farm dogs are a long way on the scari-ometer from any miniature rat like poochy he's seen in a handbag in town. And it probably didn't help his slightly older boy cousin is a natural farmer who draughts the pet lambs for fun and was in the docking pen tackling everything that baa'ed. My wee towny child had no idea what was going on, and refused to get off the motorbike. For hours.
But that was a year or so ago. He's made great improvement and will now reach out to pat a friendly pooch. On the tail.
But isn't if just ironic that the first time he decides to 'Feel the fear and do it anyway' he strides bravely up to the fence and reaches out his tender little hand to pat a friendly pit bull terrier!
He also seems drawn to dobermans. All that positive reinforcement of Dogs being Lovely seems to be coming back to bite me. I hope that I am the only one thats ever bitten!
Monday, October 13, 2008
Promise lost, this time
On Saturday morning I was feeling sorry for myself because I was pregnant. Nauseous, hung over feeling like I'd inhaled a bottle of rum (which I hasten to assure you I hadn't), tired, full bladder, and that was before I'd even got out of bed.
On Sunday morning I was devastated because I'm not pregnant any more. Just as we started yelling from the rooftops news of our wee no.3, our cherry on top, our possibly pink addition, our piece d'resistance, the last of the Mohican's, the end of the line, the littlest pea in the pod, (it even had started a catalogue of pet names e.g. brucetta, aka cheryl moana maree)...the story ended with a few stomach cramps, bleeding, and a rather broken heart.
Only 7 weeks into pregnancy I know the stats, the chances, the possibility of Mother Natures highly efficient selection process deciding this one was not 'viable'. But didn't she know I had already seen a life intimately intertwined with mine, a long life of possibilities and loving and mothering for my little mass of rapidly dividing cells?
I'm not questioning that there is order in your chaos, Ma Nate, I just find it hard to let go of all the promise contained in that beautiful + on the preggy test.
I am so grateful for what I have - my beautiful sons and their wonderful father, my health and my family and friends who rise up so seamlessly to catch you at time like this when you are free falling without even knowing it.
Quotes from W. George, 3 years old man wise:
Overheard from the toilet as he did his independent business..
'That stinks GOOD'
Talking about numbers and ages, he said ' I'm three'
I dumbly asked ' And how old am I?'
Grin. ' You're sixty-two'.
'WHAT?'
Laugh. 'No, you're forty six'.
Hysterical laugh.
Fancy helping to improve third world conditions while sitting on your couch reading a good book?
For this type of VSA (Volunteer Services on your Arse) check out www.goodbooksnz.co.nz - great books great prices and all the profits go to Oxfam. Yah for consumering with a conscience.
On Sunday morning I was devastated because I'm not pregnant any more. Just as we started yelling from the rooftops news of our wee no.3, our cherry on top, our possibly pink addition, our piece d'resistance, the last of the Mohican's, the end of the line, the littlest pea in the pod, (it even had started a catalogue of pet names e.g. brucetta, aka cheryl moana maree)...the story ended with a few stomach cramps, bleeding, and a rather broken heart.
Only 7 weeks into pregnancy I know the stats, the chances, the possibility of Mother Natures highly efficient selection process deciding this one was not 'viable'. But didn't she know I had already seen a life intimately intertwined with mine, a long life of possibilities and loving and mothering for my little mass of rapidly dividing cells?
I'm not questioning that there is order in your chaos, Ma Nate, I just find it hard to let go of all the promise contained in that beautiful + on the preggy test.
I am so grateful for what I have - my beautiful sons and their wonderful father, my health and my family and friends who rise up so seamlessly to catch you at time like this when you are free falling without even knowing it.
Quotes from W. George, 3 years old man wise:
Overheard from the toilet as he did his independent business..
'That stinks GOOD'
Talking about numbers and ages, he said ' I'm three'
I dumbly asked ' And how old am I?'
Grin. ' You're sixty-two'.
'WHAT?'
Laugh. 'No, you're forty six'.
Hysterical laugh.
Fancy helping to improve third world conditions while sitting on your couch reading a good book?
For this type of VSA (Volunteer Services on your Arse) check out www.goodbooksnz.co.nz - great books great prices and all the profits go to Oxfam. Yah for consumering with a conscience.
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