Jaaaaay! Ohhhhh! Beeeeeeeee!

Huz got the job!
I'm so excited, you'd think I got the job or something...psssht!

He starts on the 19th.

To celebrate, we had lunch at Jack in the Box.
(I know, living the dreeeeaaaam.....)

We're both nervous though, as this is a very different position for him, as it is ALL sales.
He's had sales jobs before, but this takes it to a different level.

We were kinda skeptical about sales jobs in the beginning, because we've both experienced the seedier side of sales, and the hell that is working for commission-only....shudder...


BUT, this company is reputable, established and is NOT comm-only.

Pay is salaried plus commission, so we can live with that.
Also? The base pay is more than he was making before and they offer benefits.
Yippee!

He gets a gas stipend, work laptop/phone (a smart one, even!) too!. 
Faaaaancy.

He'll be working much longer hours than he was before, like 60 hrs a week (but as we all know, it's hard to get anywhere career-wise working only 40)  and for the first 30 to 90 days he'll have to commute from Rancho to Burbank every day....kinda gross, right?

But, hey! It's a paycheck! A glorious, steady paycheck!

Still, it'll be a tough transition. For all of us.
Especially with Huz having been home for the last 4 months.

We will adjust though (like you do), and be fine, I'm sure.
 Please keep us in your thoughts as we do all this easy-breezy adjusting though, kay? Thanks!

We are over-the-freaking-moon...
Hopeful that maybe this will be the start of some good things for our family.
We could really use some good things...

HUGE THANKS to all of you who've cheered us on, sent us job links, and were generally awesome in our lives! It means a lot, and your support is invaluable!

Much love!

3 Isn't Always a Magic Number.

As soon as I heard my OB's tone, I knew it wasn't good news.

I think I hit the floor before I finished hanging up the call.

It was 3:15 in the afternoon on a Monday and someone was telling me that I would lose my baby.

It just didn't seem fair.
But life is not fair.
Life just is.

I had tried to steel myself for bad news, because as soon as I had  started spotting, I KNEW.
I didn't want to believe it, but I knew.
This was not my first time at the rodeo...

Everyone sent me such encouraging anecdotes and shared personal stories of spotting while pregnant that I wrapped myself up in them and prayed that they would be enough to stop what I felt coming.

I pictured what it would be like to have another child in the house.
What O would be like as a big brother.
The 4 of us as a family.

It was too early to get so excited, to plan, but I guess I hoped that might keep the bad at bay...

But as these things do, it came anyway.
And I shut down.

I crawled into bed and didn't get out for over a week.
Didn't answer my phone, or check my email.
I didn't want to see anyone, talk to anyone, or do anything.

I just laid in bed.
Sometimes sleeping, sometimes crying, sometimes just staring at the walls.

I felt completely empty.

I kept trying to get angry, so that at least I could feel something other than the overwhelmingly sad emptiness, but there wasn't anything/anyone to be angry with.

It wasn't my fault, or anyone elses'.
I could get angry at G-d, but even that seemed useless.
As I'm not even sure there  is a G-d, it seemed silly to direct anger that way.

Besides, if there is one, and I actually hope there is, I doubt he gets his jollies from ripping children away from my womb....

Just a theory.

I think this miscarriage was harder than the other two because I have O.
You would think that having a child would soften the blow, but for me, that made it all the more intense...

Because I know what it's like now.
To feel that child grow to full-term.
To birth that child.
To hold him.
To watch him grow.

I didn't have the knowledge/gift of that the first two times.
Now I do.

So the hurt is deeper.
Because I could see the life of this child unfold in my mind's eye.
I could feel her tiny little hands in mine.
(in all my dreams, the baby was always a girl)

Instead, she is gone...or to some, never was.


Eventually the sorrow gave way to guilt.
Guilt for being a bad wife.
Guilt for being a neglectful mother.
Guilt for being a selfish woman.

My husband had lost something too, yet I couldn't move to comfort him.
My son needed his mommy, but after a couple hours with him, I had to retreat back to my tears.
There are women out there who've yet to conceive, those who've had stillbirths, who've buried their infants--

Who am I to wallow in pain?
I should be grateful, right?

I am, and I'm not, I suppose....

I am eternally gratefully for my son.
But I want another child, desperately.

My husband has told me every day since we lost:
We will try again, We will have another baby.
Will we? Can we? I hope so. I have to hope.

I keep hanging on to that.
But I keep asking myself:

Is it wrong? Shouldn't I just be grateful to have one? Shouldn't one be enough?

Sigh.

At this moment, it's not.

I am grieving for the loss of not just this child, but of the others before it.
3 children I will never get to hold.

I cling to the fact that I am blessed to be a part of a little family of 3...
but still I'm yearning to become 4.





Thank you to all of you who called/texted/messaged/tweeted me, and even went the extra step and called the Huz.  You guys are so genuinely lovely and compassionate. I am so appreciative and lucky to have each of you. Your words of love, understanding and encouragement helped me to feel less alone.


Thank you to my husband who knew I needed to retreat for awhile and never made me feel bad for it. Thank you for holding me up and keeping me out of complete darkness. You are such a good man/father, and I am lucky to have you.


Thank you to my in-laws, who are like true parents to me.



As for the days ahead, I have no idea....
Some days I feel good, and other days I want to crawl back into my hole.

There has been an issue this entire time with my hormone levels rising rather than dropping, so I keep having to go into my OB's office for blood draws every couple of days to monitor the situation.

He's really trying to avoid doing a D and C, which I agree with, but walking into his office is torture. It digs at the wound a little bit more each time.

The bleeding doesn't help either. Each trip to the restroom is another glaring reminder of what ISN'T.

My levels have finally started going down, so hopefully today was the last blood draw. If the results come back not at zero, they'll schedule the D and C.

In the meantime, I'm trying to keep my focus on getting back on track with just day-to day life.

Which has mostly involved a lot of cleaning and laundry, and oddly, paperwork.
(That and the 2 hrs it took to go through my 3 email inboxes...)

My husband is a beautifully loving and compassionate man...

But he is a shit housekeeper.
Piles of laundry, trash, toys, mail, bills, Oh, MY.

It was a HOT MESS up in our living space.

I don't know how things can get so out of control in 2 weeks, but they can....let me tell you, they CAN.

Normally, I would have been majorly pissed, but it gave me something to do, you know?

Thankfully for his sake and my sanity, things are finally back to normal, and clean.

Although, I can still feel that empty space that grows a tiny bit bigger each time...
That piece of silent space that will stay with me always.
...and never fails to hurt whenever I stumble into it.

Three's Complicated....

This summer, we will have been living with my Husband's parents for 3 years.

That's shocking to me. Even though it shouldn't be.  

In the least.


When we arrived on their doorstep in August of 2008, we were confident that it was just going to be a 3 month transitional period.

3 months became 6.
6 months became a YEAR. 
I got pregnant.

The plan was to be out after O was born and I was healed.

Snort.
Riiiight.
Because we would so be financially flush after having a child.
We're thinkers, we are!

Then?
We would be out by O's 1st birthday.
Yes!

He's just about 6 months away from turning 2, we can all see how well that went...

At the turn of this year, I found myself angry and desperate.

Overwhelmingly so.

For all of the reasons and more that I have blogged about in the past...

It is not easy living with another couple.
Particularly when that couple happens to be your Parents (in-law).

Not only are there the usual expectations that you would face while learning to coexist with roommates, but the the additional expectations that all children feel the need to meet (and exceed) in order to please their parents.

The most crushing element in this equation is the societal pressure.

Americans are a nation of  islands.
If we find ourselves in a position where we must rely on another (especially in any financial sense), we have failed.

Every nuclear family for themselves!

Even with the changing tides of the economy forcing people to move in with Ma and Pa and for households to become multi-generational, there is still the general sense of embarrassment and the pungent smell of perceived failure hanging around the topic of  "going back home."

My husband and I wrestle with it probably more than anything else in  our marriage.....

Why?

Why do we allow ourselves to be labeled as failures?
Why do we berate ourselves for things beyond our control?

Why can't we look at the marriages we've built and the beautiful son we're raising despite the chaos in the world as TRUE signs of success?

Sigh.
We're trying.
I'm trying....

In the last couple of months, as I've stopped to take in certain moments of the day, I realized that while this situation is not ideal, it is actually quite the gift.

It goes deeper that a financial woes and cheap rent.

In our time here, I've gotten to be extremely close with my MIL, and love my FIL as if he were a father, which is big for me.

They gotten to know me better, but more importantly, they've started to get to know their son better.
Not just as their child, but as a man.
As a husband.
As a father.

He is no longer the irresponsible teenager they tended to remember.

He's gotten to know them beyond their title of Mom and Dad.
He's gotten to see them with new perspective, as he is now a fellow parent joining the ranks...

Creating bonds I don't think they had before.

The best by far, though?
Being a team of 4, raising my son as a family.

This little is flooded with love.
He gets to truly grow up with his grandparents.

His grandparents (who in the beginning, were definitely reticent about the idea of us having a child under their roof) have been blessed to be present for every single step of this child's life, from the first movements in my belly to the flying like a diapered-dervish through the house on his own two feet...

And are as utterly in love with their grandson as he is with them.

He likes them better than Mommy and Daddy. Not that Mommy and Daddy are bitter, or anything....ahem.

I don't know how I would've gotten through my pregnancy without the support of my ILs.
I don't know how the Hubs and I would've survived the first couple of months when we brought the baby home...

Frankly, I don't think O would have been born at ALL, had we not been living with them. No exaggeration.

That ALONE makes bunking with the 'rents, totally worth it.


Someday, we will be in our own place.
Someday, we will be separate.

For now, we're at home. 
In all the ways a family can be.















[Peeps? When you get a chance, head over and visit the lovely Jaime over at The Story of Us.
Today's beautiful post helped me really gather my thoughts for this post. AND? Her children are just delicious!]

Suitable for Consumption

Remember when I gifted you all with this fantastical blog?

[If you haven't clicked your way into her world, you are MISSING OUT.]

Well, she has written a review of  my dinky-little-blog-that-could in her weekly  
"Featured Bloggers" post.
Do me a favor, and head on over to read it....Go! Go! Go! Ha!

Honestly? I'm floored by the inclusion.  It bought tears to my eyes and validation to my heart.

And I mean that in the most non-cheese ball way.

I respect her work so much, and each of the bloggers that she has featured thus far have been so diversely special.  To know that she respects me?  That she feels that I need to be shared with others?

Is fucking rad.
 
As of late, I've really tried to push myself with this blog.  I want to be honest. Of the brutal, reaching-out-to-others, staring-down-myself sort.  Not that I have ever lied in these pages, but I have omitted and sugar-coated form time-to-time.  I have censored myself, not saying things that needed to be said and/or not writing posts that should have been written because I was afraid.

of  Rejection

of Mocking

of Anger 

of Judgment  
of FAILURE

Afraid that I would not be believed, understood, or supported.
That no one would want to hear me.  Insecurity and Self-Doubt, reigning supreme...

Mostly, though?

I  was afraid of hearing MYSELF.  Of facing monsters that I've tried to hard to keep at bay.  Of opening up my stores of memories/pain/thoughts/perspective to the light of public view.  Because once I did that, I knew there would be no going back.  Nowhere to hide and pretend to be what I thought people might want.

But here I am.  I have crossed the threshold.

Thank you to all of you who've supported me thus far. I love you all.
Thank you to Kris over at PrettyAllTrue. A Million Times.
Thank you to the new readers who have/may stop on by. Please continue to do so, and feel free to pass me on to others. If you have a story to share, share away!



I will do my best to let you all in...


and let myself out.