zoralee's month back in montana

- getting reacquainted with the chickens -

just after this photo, Z broke into a high squeal of fear;

enclosed spaces aren't very good for reintroductions

but she loves the eggs!

a cool speckled one

This red rocking chair belonged to my Grandpa Gene when he was a baby.

Z is the fourth generation to play with it. How special is that?!

Zoralee LOVES Grandma Rena. She's saying "Gah-ma" with ever-increasing clarity,

and she'll nearly always choose her over me (HER OWN MOTHER). It's a bit ridiculous.

Here, despite Grandma's protests, Z knows she's got milk-making goods somewhere in there.

Zoralee is a phone talker. Boy, howdy. A phone yeller is more like it, just like Grandpa Larry. Some imaginary conversation partner somewhere in the cosmos is getting an earful. Z talks on whatever cell or cordless phones she runs across, as well as remote controls and calculators. Perfectly reasonable. Smallish, plastic squares with buttons. But she also talks on toys, balls, dishes. Recently she held a pair of pants to her ear and said "Ah-lah," her hello. Is she imaginative or confused? How can I blame her for not knowing which household items are embedded with electronics when she found her birthday card from Nana the other day and opened it up to hear Nana's voice? It's one of those recordable cards. I tell you what - kids these days are going to grow up thinking absolutely anything is possible, anything is believable. Let's hope they put that no boundaries mindset to good use solving world puzzlers like poverty, disease, and convincing people to drive in the right lane unless they're passing. I mean it.

double-fisting

trying to figure out who is this clean shaven guy in a suitstory time with Crazy Uncle LukePeek-a-bowlI'm not sure how frogs end up in our bath pics - it's not planned that way.fingers

cardamom (this does not refer to IDing your ma for alkeehol)

I had an English instructor in college who talked a lot about cardamom. I mean, a lot. If you're like I was back then, not knowing what cardamom is, let me save you the google step: it's an Indian spice used in everything from curried dishes to baked goods to coffee. So anyway, this instructor was in love with cardamom. Her grandmother had used it all the time in family recipes, and she planned to write an entire cookbook featuring it. By now, maybe she already has. Any of you fellow Warner Pacific-ites remember her? I hated to print her whole name online, but at the moment I can't remember any of it anyway.
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But speaking of spice, she got engaged to another professor, a guy from out of town who wrote a human sexuality textbook, in use at Warner. It was all the scuttlebutt when he came to campus to visit after their engagement. A scandalous development for a Christian college, even a liberal arts one, because what could a single man possibly know about sex ed?!
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So for the past decade plus, cardamom has caught my eye. It appears in the darndest recipes, and I usually have some on hand, though I've just read that it's better to keep the whole seeds available to grind as needed. Not sure whether or not I'll Martha Stewart up for that one (kind of like cowboying up).
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All of that is my intro for the photo you're about to see. You can bet your bippy I bought this gum.

One Sock Z, Fastest Cowgirl in the West

(too fast to even get a good picture)

sneeze, freeze, threes, my main squeeze, & tease

SNEEZE
I saw one of our hens sneeze. It startled me just how classic a chicken sneeze looks. Its neck was stretched out, its head nearly frozen, and all the world paused for those few seconds before the release. It sneezed four or five times in a row. Sounded about like you'd expect. I wonder which critters don't sneeze. Bugs? Do bugs have noses?

FREEZE
Our big freezer in the garage quit working sometime over the last few days. We were fortunate enough to find out before everything had thawed completely. An entire 1/2 cow is in there, hundreds of dollars of meat. Ughhh. The internet says this model was last made in 1976. That could have something to do with it. Dad joked that surely we could squeeze a little more use from it, and we actually tried the old electronic trickery of unplugging the device, plugging it back in, and waiting for a day. But, nope. So we loaded all the meat into the regular refrigerator freezers, one upstairs and one down, and took a load into town for my grandparents to freeze.

THREES
Last week I dumped a load of dirty diapers into the washer and heard some unnatural thudding. I looked in to see three eggs nestled about the diapers. I instinctively blamed Jason. Why would he do something like this? What a waste of good eggs. I asked him about it, and he instinctively thought I was crazy for assuming he would put eggs in the hamper. He did remember something though - seeing three eggs on the bottom stair a few days back. Ohhh, right! I'd set them there temporarily as I came in from outside, because I'd needed hands free to take off my coat. Then I'd forgotten about them. It seriously took us that entire line of reasoning to recall that we have a mobile toddler who loves to find and move objects. It made me so excited to introduce Easter egg hunts to Zoralee. Oh man. I am getting short of breath thinking about how fun that will be! Note to self: you wouldn't have to wait until Easter.

MY MAIN SQUEEZE
Jason has been working out two times a day, strength training and cardio stuff, for the start of his upcoming job. We have another week and a half with him before he leaves for several months of training. Boooooo for that. I'm trying to pre-adjust mentally. Like, if I go to bed before Jason, I envision him just not coming in after me. Then I get a real big knot in my stomach and change the mental subject. Every moment of time together is now extra precious. I guess each season is always precious, but you don't necessarily value it as such until you see it ending. We bought a computer camera to get set up for Skype. It was cheap. I already have a grudge against it, for one because it'll be my best link to Jason for days and nights and days and nights, and for another because it feels like cheating. I see the round ball of a camera - haven't even had the inspiration to take it from its box yet - and I know how lucky we are to live in a time when we can communicate that way. But it's not fair to the people who haven't been able to do that for ages and ages. Does anybody know the name of the psychological malady whereby you constantly feel horrid for living such a privileged life? I think I've got it.

TEASE
Pics of Zoralee are next on my agenda for blogging. Ooh, I may be able to get one on now, real quick.

you know another season of 24 is playing when...

• ...your dad offers this tag-on after the supper prayer and Amen have been said: "And please help Jack Bauer to kill about a million bad guys."

• ...you're no longer a simple stay at home mom walking down the stairs with a laundry basket in arm; you're a disheveled, jaded, under cover spy between gigs, wondering who might be watching you through the windows.

a few sweet memories of the pregnancy

Back when I was pregnant with Zoralee, I'd sometimes see another mom leaving the midwife's house as I was arriving for an appointment. She'd be really pregnant and have a toddler or two in tow, and I'd think she was so beautiful and amazing. During this recent pregnancy, I got to feel that way too! Whenever Cousin Autumn was checking for a heartbeat, I'd think, "I'm that lady. I'm the one having babies and raising babies at the same time, and the baby I'm raising gets to be part of my baby-having process."

Autumn and Zoralee playing on a birthing ball at the birthing center where A works

Here's Zoralee being weighed on a real scale (other than a bathroom scale).

Just shy of her first birthday, she was 17 pounds.

This could seem like a sad post at first glance, but I swear, I am having the best time thinking back. Being pregnant again was warm and life-ful, even though it didn't end in the birth of a baby. I day-dreampt of having children, plural. And of being a "young family," by virtue of the fact we'd have two very young kids. Ha ha ha. And of having one for me to carry and one for Jason to carry as we hiked. And of seeing in another child variations on the Zoralee theme and, of course, new themes altogether. I couldn't wait to try EC again with my hard-earned wisdom!

Even though those hopes won't be fulfilled yet, the feelings and memories don't disappear. They rattle around inside my heart from time to time. They have added to who I am. My friend Tamie sent me the Chinese proverb, "She who returns from a journey is not the same as she who left." True as can be.

being pregnant with my sister - I feel so lucky that we had this time together. So lucky!

our lost pregnancy - part III

Okay, wonderful you-people. Here is the final long post about the pregnancy I lost before Christmas. It has drug on only because I haven't had the desired time to blog. But I am not continually sad about this, as you might think by me writing on and on! There have just been too many thoughts. Sure, there are reminders that make a small, sad lurching in my stomach - today I met a woman whose baby is due 10 days after mine would've been - but I am very well.

And hey, I so appreciate your comments and emails. This ongoing conversation has been a source of mutual healing. Here are some after-thoughts, and then I'll post another email with a few happy memories of that pregnancy.

greatest comforts
Having Zoralee has been, in soooo many ways, my main comfort. I know that my body can make a baby! She is living proof of it. She also brings me/us so much impossible-to-ignore joy. Caring for her daily needs and being fascinated by her growth certainly balance out the time I'd otherwise be able to spend grieving. (I must say though, if I miscarry again before birthing another child, my grief and anxiety will probably grow exponentially.)

Getting pregnant a second time was as miraculous to me as the first. It was amazing.

saddest thoughts
Remember how in mid-November, when I would've been considered eleven or twelve weeks along, we posted the picture of Zoralee with the kumquat sign? By then, the heart of our little womb-dweller had already ceased its beating. It never reached kumquat size at all. Thinking of this specific sibling and Zoralee not getting to know each other is probably my saddest thought. I love my siblings. During childhood, I thought a lot about the other siblings I'd never know, the five my mom lost before, between, and after the four of us kids. Oddly, I remember the miscarriages, the later ones anyway, more than her successful pregnancies.

When I was 13 or 14 weeks pregnant with Zoralee, we had our first meeting with Marcy the Midwife. I told her that I would probably miscarry this baby, but that I was just so glad I could get pregnant and was glad to be in baby realm and midwife-meeting mode. I still remember her stare of confusion. She said, "WHY ON EARTH are you assuming you'll miscarry this baby?" Her look, and her explanation that it would be rare to miscarry as far along as I was, together jolted me toward reality, although I wasn't buying it 100%. Actually, until I had a baby in my arms, I assumed something would go wrong. Call me a loony toon or a pessimist; more realistically, call me somebody who has a hard time believing I could have something as cool as a baby human.

Last sad thought: wow, there were myriad mental adjustments to make, one by one, day by day. No early summer baby for us. I won't be carrying my naked little one in a sling as I do summer chores. No tandem nursing of this little one and Zoralee together. No baby cousin to match Rachel and Cam's Poppy. Booo!

Most unexpected thoughts
Several times I have started to lift something heavy and then paused out of habit. My thought process is 1. Careful, don't endanger the baby! 2. Oh....there is no baby. 3. Well, then who cares if I hurt myself? When I'm walking on ice, I'll rightly reason that slipping and hitting my bum isn't such a worry anymore. But then I go further to wonder who cares if I even survive the fall. I will occasionally even feel like my family might disown me because my productivity is slipping. Isn't this strange? I mean, being pregnant was fulfilling, but for Pete's sake, I've never considered Pregnant Lady to be a noticeable slice of my identity! I've only been pregnant for 13 months over 34 years of time. So where are these thoughts coming from about my self-worth being tied to pregnancy? Jimminies.

THE END!
(I reckon)
(Other than the next post, which'll tell my happy memories)

our lost pregnancy - Part II

After a long wait back in our profoundly austere room, the sheet curtain in front of the door moved. The doctor came in and placed his hands on the table at end of the bed. "Unfortunately," he said slowly, "The embryo has died." And that was that. Sixteen weeks prior, an impersonal white stick had told us that I was with child, and now a stranger in a white coat was telling us that I wasn't. Like most journeys though, there was a lot of color and beauty in the middle. That'll be another post.

I was sad, yes, but disappointed more than that, let down. And I didn't feel like processing it right then and there. I mostly wanted to know what was supposed to happen next. The doctor offered a D&C (Dilation and Curettage), a procedure which dilates the cervix and scrapes out the uterus. He didn't push it though, suggesting that my body was readying itself for the miscarriage naturally. Though I'd read nothing about natural choices in miscarriage, everything I'd learned and experienced about live birth told me to go with my body unless it started to fail. What do you readers think about the fact that I'd gone EIGHT WEEKS without miscarrying? Does that seem like forever? If it's unusual to go that long, then I am especially glad we didn't know earlier or I may have been forced to undergo a D&C. (???) Of course, I can say that now, having avoided infection or other complications. I'd love to hear from any of you with experience in this.

We might still be in the E.R. today had we not packed ourselves up and stood at the nurse's station until they got their paperwork done and signed us out. It was endearing to hear one nurse say she was waiting on another and have the other say she was waiting on the first, but after four hours, we were tired and hungry. We stopped by the grocery store, and I stocked up on sanitary napkins. Then we sat in Bob's Big Boy, a chain hamburger joint, and looked across the table at each other, Jason and Zoralee and I, suddenly just "we three" again. I gave in to a random Root Beer craving, something I've done about once a week since then. I don't usually drink sodie pop, so I don't know what this is about. But anyway.

The cramps increased in intensity and frequency just as soon as we got home, home for the moment being Jason's uncle and aunt's house there in Cincinnati. And I wanted those cramps, wanted to get this over with. Again, it occurred to me that my body was progressing toward this new goal in part because I was accepting it. Don't get me wrong; I was scared. I had no idea what a miscarriage would be like, time-wise, size-wise, pain-wise. Clueless. And unlike the birth, this time it was just Jason and I.

So, the way it happened was this. I took three Advil and sat in the living room with the family for a couple of hours, making frequent trips to the toilet when I'd feel a heavy menstrual-like flow. Then, I sat on the toilet for a couple of hours, a position that had also appealed to me during Zoralee's birth. I hear it's a common, though not particularly romantic, laboring place. The cramps were familiar, like menstrual and labor cramps. If labor cramps reached a 10, these reached a 7. Jason leaned over me and pushed on my lower back as I needed. Zoralee took a bath, and once or twice she moaned with me. I couldn't wait for her to be done, because I longed to get into that tub of warm water, same as during birth. Jason took her out, and I nursed her there on the toilet. That was strange. I was giving life to my nursling even while I was letting go of my unborn. There are some experiences you just can't plan for.

Weird thing: while Jason was out of the bathroom, dressing Z and putting her to bed, I noticed I felt stronger, more focused. When he'd come back into the room, I'd feel antsy, like I needed to show him I was making progress. This wasn't because of anything he said or did. I think it was a carry-over feeling from my looooong labor with Zoralee, during which I felt I was letting down those who'd come to see the birth. A sense of obligation does nothing to help a birthing woman, let me tell you. Ha. But this time I was in tune with it. I recognized it. In many ways, I felt more in touch with my body this time. And Jason was just amazing. I wish I could loan him to birthing women who don't have a partner. For a small fee. Okay, just kidding about the fee. (Maybe.)

The shape of the cramps changed all of a sudden; they became localized lower in the pelvis and burned, like when you're exercising a muscle. It was a more comfortable feeling than the previous cramps. At that point, I jumped into the bathtub. What relief! I could still tell when I had contractions, but they were so much lighter. I would let three or four contractions happen, then get into a squatting position and push out whatever contents I could. Then repeat.

I didn't know what I was looking for, so I examined all large clots, thinking maybe it was the placenta surrounded by other material. But I kept contracting, so I knew I wasn't done. After maybe 1/2 hour in the tub, I pushed into my hand the little sac, and I knew right what it was. It was clearish with tiny, veiny webbing over it, the size of a hackey-sac. Through a window in the webbing, I could see a pink thing floating inside that instantly reminded me of those plastic pigs we played with as kids, the ones that were part of toy farm sets. It was about 3/4 of an inch long.

I was in awe. I was holding something that had been sacred, maybe still was sacred, but that was also just plain fascinating. I let out a startling swear phrase and held the placenta carefully for awhile. My cramps quit. I started to tear at the sac with my fingernail. It was very tough. Jason stopped me. He was worried that it would be too strange for us to see, or that it would stink, or that it was against some rule for us to do this. Jason, the Biologist! But I was set on examining this being. And do you want to know what it was like? It was really, really cool. It was attached to the inner placenta by a short umbilical cord. It had two dark spots for eyes. There was the teensiest of red spots, a mouth. It had a spine and tail, and sproutings of arms and legs. It looked like it could have turned into any number of creatures.

But I knew it wasn't set to be any creature. It was set to be my son or daughter. At last I began to sob. Grief was released from my soul and mouth. I sat in a tub of blood, Jason on the floor beside me, and we mourned. How sad it was for a life to be so short. But even this life, I felt, deserved the kiss of a mother. So I kissed it three times, each of my kisses the length of its whole body. It was so very soft.

I didn't want my time with the baby to end so quickly, but we knew I should get out of the water to better monitor my blood loss. I was dizzy. When I laid down on the couch, the dizziness subsided. Jason brought me food, chocolate, water, and Emergen-C for the electrolytes. I was done with it. I felt relief and peace and gratitude toward Jason for his care.

to be continued again . . .
(sorry - I hate to drag this thing out, but I'd like to talk further about my after-thoughts)

a mystery

Zoralee is in that stage of bringing us items from the floor or from inside purses. As we're unpacking Christmas luggage to get settled here in Montana, her found treasures are often candies. Suspiciously, they look like this,
and she walks away chewing.

our lost pregnancy - Part I

I am sad to tell you that in mid-December, at exactly 16 weeks along, we learned by ultrasound that my pregnancy wasn't viable; the baby had died back at eight weeks. That night, I miscarried. Most of you know this from the emails or face book emails I sent out, but maybe a few folks read this blog who I'm not in touch with otherwise.

We have received lots of messages of love from y'all. Thank you! It has been most touching to me to hear back from women who've miscarried too, especially before ever bearing a child. That has got to be crazy discouraging. But they've kept trying, mustering up the courage to believe that they can indeed carry a pregnancy through. For these past couple of weeks since the miscarriage, I have been wondering if I'm brave enough to try again. I've been leaning toward "no" emotionally. That has some to do with the general state of the world; dang that History Channel story about Nostradamus. But cognitively I've known that stopping at one would be ridiculous for me; I've always longed for a family of multiple children. And come on - I've just started getting my mommy groove on. How could I let all of this new knowledge go to waste? So, now that the bodily effects of the miscarriage are wearing off, I can't imagine not trying again.

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Anyway, there's the fly-over version, but I'd like to write further for the sake of the interested, especially those who could gain strength by hearing another woman's story, as I have from hearing some of yours. If you're squeamish about details, or you're of a generation that considers miscarriage talk to be taboo, the following photograph marks your jumping off point.

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"Embryo"

image from http://www.ao-art.com/freestuff/index.htm

For the rest of you, here goes. I'm starting with mostly the facts, and tomorrow or soon, I'll finish the story and add more of my emotions. There's just too much to it.
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So, this baby died at 8 weeks, but I stayed pregnant until 16. Or did I? Was I still considered pregnant for the last 8? That thought has weirded me out a little. Looking back, there were some subtle clues that I feel really dumb for not getting. Most importantly, I reached a point somewhere in there where most of my symptoms stopped. I must've said a dozen times to people, "I might be making up this pregnancy in my head, because it sure doesn't feel like I'm pregnant." There was less getting up to pee at night, less almost-nausea, and less creative and insightful thoughts and feelings. Also, early on, Zoralee had noticed a change in the taste of my milk. She would latch on, then unlatch, look at my breast and smack her mouth together, trying to figure out what was happening. She would always continue nursing, but clearly noticed change. I read that this could happen. Then, suddenly, she went back to not caring. So yeah, adding it all up now, it's like DUUUUUH. But you know, I wasn't ever heavy on symptoms, neither in the first two months of this pregnancy nor during my whole pregnancy with Zoralee. So feeling less of nearly nothing is hard to gauge. I just thought it meant I was having a boy this time.
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As for concrete evidence, my cousin listened for a heartbeat with a Doppler during my 11th, 12th, and 13th weeks. We didn't hear anything the first two times but wondered if I wasn't as far along as I thought. This coincided with a negative pregnancy test at several weeks along (however I'd also taken that test in the evening, not an ideal time for measuring pregnancy hormones in the urine). She encouraged me to get blood work done, which I sort of blew off because of the busy-ness. When we listened again during the 13th week, we all thought we heard a heartbeat in the 120's for about three seconds. Then it was gone and only my heartbeat was heard again. Well, that lined up with not being as far along as I'd thought and possibly the baby being very low in my pelvis.
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Weeks 13 - 15 included my family's arrival from the States, preparing for Z's first birthday party, packing up our household, leaving Alaska, and embarking upon a coast-to-coast holiday travelfest. Being busy was the excuse, but really, I didn't want there to be trouble. Naturally. Sometime in there I should've felt the baby's movement, but honestly, I thought I did. Nothing consistent, but enough that I was reassured. I also had one or two random bouts of almost-nauseousness during meals. And this time, unlike my first pregnancy, I wasn't paying a lot of attention to when I should be experiencing what. Know what I mean?
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At week 15, while we were at the airport to fly out of Anchorage, I started lightly spotting and very lightly cramping. This continued for several days, and again, I assumed the best. I'm just tired from all the craziness. Maybe I overdid it moving boxes at the house. I should lay low, and all will be well. A few days into it, the cramping got stronger with nursing. I called Marcy the Midwife back in Montana, and she wanted me to go and get an ultrasound right away. Because we had heard the heartbeat (actually, just thought we had), she wasn't as suspicious of miscarriage as she was of the placenta being attached to my cervix.
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We decided to go to the Emergency Room, because we were in Cincinnati where I couldn't get a doctor's orders to have an ultrasound in a timely fashion at a clinic. The night before, I sat on the bathroom floor while Zoralee took a bath. I prayed "Thy will be done," in sincerity. After Z's bath, I nursed her, and within ten minutes had stronger cramps and bleeding than ever. I wondered if my mental assent was finally allowing my body to let go.
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The next day, we spent several hours at the E.R. I could go on and on about that experience. I am not a fan of hospitals in the least bit, and I will admit a lot of it is fear-based. Hospital people do a lot of things I am afraid of. I begged not to have an IV put in (what was the point? we were simply getting an ultrasound), without success ("Hospital policy, honey - we don't see anybody without doing this." Fine, sweetie, but WHY?!). I couldn't talk my way out of being wheelchaired down to the ultrasound room, despite having walked into the E.R. in perfect health, and despite their own reading of my blood pressure to be exemplary. But when the doctor told me he was going to examine me vaginally before the ultrasound, I stood my ground. I told him I'd consider it if the ultrasound showed something bizarre. If the baby was fine, I didn't want to risk introducing infection. I did all of this with respect and humor, but he seemed a bit taken aback by a person asserting their will.
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Zoralee got fidgety waiting in our room for the ultrasound machine to open up, so Jason left to walk her around. He held her nearly the entire four or five hours, afeared she'd touch something and contract a disease. Gosh, we must've seemed like crazies. While they were gone, I turned on the t.v. and watched a station that showed a snowy nature scene of trees and a flowing river while soothing music played. Maybe it was a weather station that was between reports. It reminded me to breathe and to relax. Then I found a catholic station and listened to a Christmas reading given by a young priest, a reading about Mary and what was being asked of her. I found immense comfort in that too.
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In the ultrasound room, we surmised that things were bad. Upon seeing the first couple of images, the technician was kind but very professional. No excitement. No pointing out of things. This wasn't what happened in the movies. She told us she couldn't say anything, but that the doctor would discuss the results with us after they came in. We couldn't tell jack squat, having never had this done. So we sat in the dim room in mostly silence, Jason bouncing Zoralee around, the technician lady rubbing the doo-lolly around my oily lower belly and then clicking buttons on the computer keyboard. Once I asked her what the dark oval was at the top of the screen, and she said it was the sac. We could see a tiny, non-moving thing in the sac, but it was not zoomed in upon, so it was impossible to decipher. My only other comment was when she determined I'd need a trans-vaginal exam also, and she got out the camera. "HOLY CATS!" I said, "That thing is large and in charge!" She just smiled sweetly.
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Maybe we were supposed to be looking in the great triangle of fuzz in the lower 2/3 of the screen? Later, while we waited for the results, Jason and I told each other we'd each seen a face and a general baby shape in that triangle. But we hadn't. We had no idea of the scale we were viewing. The sad part was whenever she'd run a function which I imagined was to detect heartbeat. Each time, it produced a solid line across the screen.


To be continued. . .

Thanks for reading so far. xoox