Uppercase Woman

Dudes--Video Post!

So, I got the new computer today. So Tori and I made a video post, which you can watch here if you like.

Or you can go here and watch it on youtube.

This is SO awesome.

A Lame Friday Post

Ah, here I am, another year older. At first I thought my birthday was going to be kind of lame and sad because I had to work and I wasn't feeling very well (I have a stupid cold that won't quit). But then Charlie sent me the most beautiful boquet of flowers (the only thing I'll miss about having an office job is getting flowers at work), then a couple of co-workers brought me a cake and sang me happy birthday, and then Sarah told me that she got me tickets to see Jon Stewart. Yes, tonight I will finally be in the presence of my TV boyfriend. I will bring a cloth to soak up the drool.

And then today I got flowers from Tanya, which was lovely, although I've now discovered that apparently Tori is afraid of roses. I tried to get her to smell them but instead she just made that scared kid face--you know, where the lips go down and begin to quiver and the eyes get big as saucers and stare at you in horror--that look. It would be sad if it wasn't so fucking adorable.

Today I'm home (working Saturday-gah), and the cable guy came and moved our internet connection from the now-sodden basement office to the new used-to-be-the-guest-room office (Dave, I hope you like air mattresses). So we then had to move furniture and other fun things about and now we have a lovely, light filled work space for Charlie that has nary a bit of cat box odor. Charlie should be very pleased. I was able to get a lot of work done myself (new job is very busy!), although my office will actually be in a corner of the dining room eventually.

Now all that we have to do to finish the two-working-from-home-parents makeover of the house is buy a couple of computer desks, some office organizing stuff, and my new computer. Then I'll be good to go, or, not go as the case may be.

My old job finally got things taken care of so that it will be in good hands when I leave, which is awesome. Only two weeks left, people. Finally. I'm so ready. Giving six weeks notice might be the right thing to do, but it sucks ass.

That wraps up this lame ass post. I'm gonna go take a shower. If you are up for it, there are a few more photos here of our adventures at the park last weekend...oh, and my dear friend Katie posted photos here (my hair was actually pink there, and the braid blue) and here of me in highschool (that second one is my senior portrait). Can you believe I thought I was fat? If I only knew then what I know now...

So. Damned. Busy.

I know I should do a post that's not related to abortion. But I'm just too damned busy, I'm sorry. Working the two jobs right now is tough, and this time of year the regular job gets C-R-A-Z-Y.

But I've really enjoyed the discussion, with a few rare exceptions (Mary, I'm sorry, but you were no longer contributing to the discussion, so I banned you. Please, please go see an endocrinologist about what sounds like PCOS, and please, please see a therapist so you can stop blaming yourself for your miscarriage). I will write that op-ed piece, just as soon as I get that copy of my chart so that I have my facts straight.

In the meantime, can you content yourselves with new Tori photos? There are some here, including photos of me, Charlie, Sarah, and others. Charlie posted a couple here. And if you're super bored, or a weirdo like me, you can enjoy my nerdy hobby of wildflower identification here.

Oh, and I turn 39 years old tomorrow. Yikes.

Just A Little More

I thought I was done. After writing that last post, reading and responding to all of the comments (well, the ones without fake email addresses anyway), I thought I had nothing more to say on the issue. But apparently, I was wrong.

At church yesterday (yes, I go to church), the pastor asked if anyone had joys or concerns, as he does every week. My hand went up in the air, almost without me meaning it to, and I spoke about the news of the week and how difficult it had been.

I spoke about my anger. Not anger, actually--more like intense rage about this issue. I asked for the ability to find forgiveness for the five men that made a decision about my life and my body, even though they gave no thought to me or my life or my worth as a human being. I said that I wanted to be an activist and an advocate, but I knew that real change comes only from being in a place of quiet hope and having an open heart, and I don't yet have that. I found myself shaking and crying as I asked for the ability to forgive.

I was more upset than I realized.

I'm willing to talk about this until I'm blue in the face, because every time I do, someone else tells me that they didn't realize the implications of this issue, and they've found that they've changed their minds. Truth is, those of us who have had a late term abortion often don't want to talk about how that pregnancy ended. We say, euphemistically, that we've "lost" the baby or babies. Only women who have gone something similar know what that might mean. That's why I talk about it.

But sometimes it's hard. Each time I post about this some new person says that I killed my baby (or babies, because they didn't actually READ what I wrote, and don't know that one twin had already died), or says they just don't understand why I didn't deliver the surviving baby and give him "a chance," or even graciously acknowledge that it's just so sad that I was pressured into making this decision by my doctors.

Over the two years I've been speaking openly about this, I've developed a bit of a shell to protect myself. But sometimes, when I'm not being careful, something in me slips and I realize that I'm absolutely fucking furious. I just cannot believe that people don't get it. I cannot accept that FIVE MEN made a decision for everyone with a uterus in this country. I find myself looking at my daughter, knowing that my mother had preeclampsia, I had preeclampsia, and it's highly likely that she, too, will have to battle that disease. I want to run to Washington and stand in front of the court and shriek my rage at the building. I want to curse those men, wish terrible things on the women in their lives, just so they fucking GET IT.

But I won't.

Instead, I will pray, and pray furiously, that I can continue to keep my heart open to those that disagree with me. I will continue to explain what happened to me, over and over and over. I would do it on Good Morning America if they'd let me. I want people to hear my story, and to rethink what they believe. I want to fight to keep choice open to all women, everywhere.

One anonymous commenter accused those of us that are Pro-Choice of "hiding" behind our tragedies, of using our tragedies to keep abortion legal. Of course we are! No one--NO ONE--thinks using abortion as birth control is a good idea. But when you start placing limits, when you start CRIMINALIZING A MEDICAL PROCEDURE, suddenly there are no doctors willing to perform that procedure, and then there is no fucking choice, and women start dying. You cannot claim to be Pro-Life and then devalue the lives of women so much! You just can't.

The scripture lesson at church this week was John 21:1-19. Basically (and forgive my paraphrasing) it discusses Jesus' third post-crucifixion appearance, in which he asks Peter to tend his sheep three times. According to my pastor, in the original Greek Jesus first asks him to attend the lambs, then the older sheep, and then, as my pastor put it "the big old sheep."

If you ask me, that makes it clear that Jesus wanted all of us protected. It's doesn't say just the lambs, or the lambs above everyone else. It says, right there in the bible, that Jesus wanted "a big old sheep" like me protected too. And this law does just the opposite.

HEALTH vs. LIFE: Trying to clear things up

Healthy discussion going on over in the comments of my last post (person with fake emails and all caps not withstanding). But the core of the issue is the line between life and health and who gets to choose.

First off, let's talk about some different terms.

Technically, the term "Partial Birth Abortion" does not apply to any currently known and used medical procedure, as Maura stated in her comments. However, it is "assumed" that they are usually referring to the procedure known as a D&X.

D&X refers to a procedure called an Intact Dilation and Extraction. The benefits on this procedure are many, including the fact that having an intact fetus allows the family to view the remains if they choose. Remember, also, that this method is used often when a baby has already died. And, as Aurelia pointed out, "is quite often needed for babies with hydrocephalus or severe cranio-facial disabilities who cannot be delivered vaginally with their skull and brain intact."

According to this survey, this procedure is performed in 0.17% of all abortions. In other fucking words, HARDLY EVER.

D&E is a different procedure, a Dilation and Evacuation. This procedure is done between 12 and 20 weeks gestation. In this procedure, the fetus is usually, well, separated to allow for easier evacuation of the uterus. 11% of all abortions occur in the second trimester, according to the same study above.

I hope that clears up some confusion for folks about the terms.

Now, the problem with the ban is that the language is NOT CLEAR about which procedure is being banned. Part of the issue is the fact that there are many medical terms that fall into this category--this New York Times article refers to both "intact dilation and evacuations" AND "intact dilations and extractions". The line between the two procedures is very small--and doctors now face, as Maura mentioned, CRIMINAL prosecution for crossing that line--and sometimes they don't know what procedure a woman need until they've actually started the surgery.

Do you see the problem? They are taking a medical decision out of the hands of the people involved--the patient AND the doctor.

Personally, I do not know which procedure I had. At 22.5 weeks gestation (when my pregnancy ended--and that is based on my last menstrual period, remember, not the date of implantation, so the fetuses were really 20.5 week along) I was right on the line between trimesters. Plus the fact that there where two fetus (one barely alive, and one dead) could have impacted which surgery I had.

Other than having a medical termination, the options open to someone in my position are usually either a) emergency c-section, and b) induced delivery.

My doctor believed--given my particular circumstances--that it would be better for both my short term and long term health to not cut open my body if at all possible. My health was in a precarious state, and the option of a medical termination was the fastest, safest, and least complicated procedure to use. It also preserved the health of my uterus for future pregnancies.

Also, my doctor (you know, the man in the room with me, the one with a medical degree and my chart in hand? that guy) knew that inducing me, with my insanely high blood pressure, would be likely to cause me to have a stroke.

Please remember that even if my twins had both been alive, THEY WOULD NOT HAVE SURVIVED. Do not tell me they would have, because you are wrong. There have been NO DOCUMENTED CASES of babies born that early surviving--I don't care what pro-life websites you send me links to that say differently. THEY ARE LYING.

Trust me. Don't you think that I wanted those babies and would have done anything I could to save them? And don't you think that my doctor--who knew about my struggles to get pregnant and called the day of my surgery "the worst day of my professional career"--would have told me if that was possible?

Lastly, let's discuss, using me as an example, the difference between HEALTH and LIFE.

Where do you draw the line? Was my life actually at risk at the moment they chose to terminate the pregnancy? Well, my blood pressure was going higher and higher and they weren't able to get it under control with the medications they had available. My kidneys has begun to shut down and I'd stopped producing urine. But I was alive. I could have remained alive, possibly, under those circumstances for a while. Maybe they could have pushed it until I actually began to have seizures. Or maybe until I had a stroke. Or, maybe, since even after a stroke and having seizures I would have still been alive, maybe they would have to wait until after I felt into a coma. But wait! If I'm in a coma, I'm still alive, right? Even if my brain has been irreparably damaged, I'm still ALIVE. Right?

So, my point is, sure-- the "Partial Birth Abortion Ban" has a provision for the LIFE of the mother. But there is NO PROVISION FOR HER HEALTH. Or the health of her uterus, or her future children.

To sum it all up, if I hadn't had the procedure that I had, Nicholas, Zachary, me AND Tori would all be dead.

Got it?

With A Sinking Heart

I don't know why I'm surprised. But I am. I'm shocked, horrified, and dismayed.

It's finally begun. The long war waged against women's lives has finally scored a huge, awful, horrid victory.

Thank you, fucking Supreme Court, for wishing me dead. Thank you so fucking much.

I'm actually crying as I write this. I just can't believe it. God. Let me remind you: there is NO EXEMPTION for the health of the mother. NONE.

Fuck.

How To Sound Like An Ignorant Ass

1. Have a big flood.

2. Have a big flood that fucks up your Internet access.

3. Have a big flood that keeps you in the basement for half the day.

4. When you're not in the basement, be in bed cause you're sick.

5. If you watch any TV at all, make it PBS Sprout to entertain your daughter while you moan on the couch.

6. If you aren't watching PBS Sprout, watch only TV shows you've DVRed.

7. Go to bed before the evening news.

8. Wake up in the morning and turn on NPR.

9. Realize that a horrible school tragedy happened the day before.

10. Feel like a complete ass for whining about your waterlogged basement.

How To Have A Crap Ass Day

1. Live in Pennsylvania.

2. Live in Pennsylvania in April.

3. Live in Pennsylvania in April when it rains for 24 hours.

4. Live in Pennsylvania in April when it rains for 24 hours two days after it also rained for 24 hours.

5. Own a house.

6. Own a house with a basement.

7. Don't own a wet vac, or a sump-pump, or anything handy like that.

8. Have your home office in the basement.

9. Watch water burble up into your basement from a crack in the cement floor.

10. Watch the water burble cheerfully up into your basement, as if from a lovely little steam.

11. Buy a shop vac.

12. Realize a shop vac isn't going to cut it, after you and your husband suck up and dump over 500 gallons of water.

13. Go to 16 stores to find the one lone pump that you can use without digging a hole into your basement.

14. Get the pump home, get it working, and then have it stop working.

15. Take it apart to see why it's not working.

16. Spill all the oil out of the central body of the pump.

17. Go out and buy more oil, put pump back together, then finally have it clear out the basement.

18. Be sure that you do all of this with a chest cold so that you are coughing constantly while standing in cold water trying to save your basement.

19. Because of the chest cold, keep having to lie down for a while so your husband has to do all the work.

20. Finally have it stop raining, the basement stops having a stream running through it, and go to bed exhausted but grateful that you didn't fight with your husband (much), you didn't make you daughter cry because the shop vac scares her (more than once, anyway), and that you already quit your job so they can't fire you for calling out AGAIN.

How was your day?

Friday Noodlings

I have no great wisdom to share today. My head is swimming in a great morass of fogginess due to being put on beta blockers for my incessant fucking migraines. I've pretty much had a headache non-stop for the last ten days or so (with some days being better than others). I've exceeded the amount of medication my insurance will pay for for the month (after the 22nd I can get more--thanks, fuckwad insurance company).

The beta blockers seem to be helping, but now I have a headache and feel stupid and tired and like I'm trying to breathe underwater.

Sigh.

I'm pathetic, aren't I?

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I have been horribly remiss about this... a while back, Bluepaintred nominated me for a Thinking Blogger Award. So did Tiffany.  So did Melessa. 

Thank you all. Apparently there is an award badge I could paste in my sidebar but since I've been such a brat about mentioning it, I'm not going to (plus, I don't have time to find it and paste it--working two jobs right now, remember? Ack).

But it's nice to be told that I'm a thinker. Cause sometimes I feel like I'm just speaking out my ass.

I know I'm supposed to nominate someone in turn. But how to choose from all the many, many blogs I read? All you guys are big thinkers and tackle big subjects now and again. I don't want to choose. Please don't make me choose. You are all just too awesome to select just one.
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Once again, I need y'alls advice. I want to buy a domain name (cecily.com is taken--damn it--but cecily.org is still free!). Any suggestions of who what where? I don't want to get ripped off. Or pay much. Heh.

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As a present to myself (heh) I'm going to be buying a new computer. Ok, it's really so that I can work from home effectively. It will have a webcam (cause I'm buying this--hopefully in the next week or so--and it comes with it) so video posts are definitely in my future. :)

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My boss just called me to go over the job requirements for the job posting for my current job (did that make sense? damn beta blockers). It feels really real now. I'm so excited.

Tori is doing more and more cool things every day. Her top teeth are breaking through (fun for nursing!) and she is seriously considering crawling or walking or cruising. All at once. I can't believe her little brain hasn't burst open from all the thinking she's doing as she figures stuff out. In the last ten days or so her rolling over ability has become so fast and fluid that she has taken to doing WHILE SHE'S NURSING. Yes. With a boob in her mouth.

Can you say ouch? Luckily, my boobs are so damned saggy that she can do it and still keep on suckling. Seriously.

And with that lovely image in your minds (just call me twisty-boob) I hope you have a great weekend, folks.

Moving On

I know, I know, I've been a rotten blogger.But I'm straddling two jobs and feeling the strain a bit; my computer time has been dedicated to the new job and my work hours are filled with trying to clear projects before I leave there (in four weeks!).

But I haven't forgotten you guys, and I hope you'll be patient until things level out.

By the way, the other day Tori learned how to high-five AND how to bop her head to music--while I was at work. I've never been so sure that I was doing the right thing by quitting my job.

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After I wrote this post--and then read all of your comments--I had to do a lot of thinking. Was I really ready to find out what happened to the boys after my surgery? Did I really want to look at photos if they exist (being fully aware of what I would see--a 22 week fetus is not a full-term baby, after all)?

I'm still not sure, but I've taken some steps to provide myself with the option. With the help of a friend, I'm getting my hospital chart. Whatever questions remain after I look at that, I'll ask Dr. Mama directly.

I still feel sad, more sad than I've felt in a while about the boys. I feel very raw about it too, but that's good--I know that healing is hovering in the shadows. Or, I should say, further healing.

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Because I'm not the first woman (sadly, nor will I be the last) to lose a child before or shortly after birth, I'm happy to pass on a link to an amazing site that Kristie (no blog, Kristie?) told me about. Before you click on the link, be prepared: this is a site that connects families with photographers that are comfortable taking photographs of babies that have recently died. They are willing to come to the hospital, at short notice (and in the middle of the night), and give you mementos I wish I had (sort of--I wish I had lovely photographs of full-term infants, which wasn't an option for me, since the boys weren't full term. Actually, I wish the boys had been born healthy and full term, but you get what I mean).

The site is a wonderful resource, but there is a video clip on the front page that will have you bawling your eyes out. So be prepared. Here's the link.

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The last thing I'll say in this definitely-lacking-something post is, WHAT A DUMB ASS. But as someone I know pointed out to me, Don Imus says nasty-ass shit like that about women all the time. Would we have even heard about it if he hadn't also been racist? I would love to live in a world where an idiot like this man didn't have a job because no one wanted to listen to his vile hate filled jabbering.

Monday Miscellany

I totally forgot to tell you two things about Tori in that last post--no, wait, three!--I'm so sorry. They are:

1. She waves now. Not enthusiastically, but intentionally.

2. One of her upper two front teeth has broken through. As soon as that second one comes in, we're praying that might mean an end (or at least a reprieve) to the drooling with means an end to the drool rash.

3. She loves, loves, loves swinging. No, not that, you perverts. You know, at the park, in the baby swing. She starts out laughing and then immediately she escalates to shrieks of delight. It's hilarious and awesome. Here's proof .

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Before I forget, if you are a nurse, please email me or post a comment here with your email address. I need to interview a bunch of nurses for my new job. :)
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Saturday night Charlie and I went to see the new blood and gore fest that is Grindhouse. Now, THAT'S what I'm talking about. It was AWESOME. Like, in that whacky lingo the kids use today, it was totally OFF THE HOOK.

Let me say this, though. You will only like this movie if:

1. You enjoyed 70's horror and B horror movies like Halloween and every zombie movie made ever. Even the bad ones. No, especially the bad ones.

2. You can set aside things like believability, sexism, and oh yeah, believability.

3. You can tolerate gore. Lots and lots of gore. Like, car tire cuts off a girl's face gore. Or dripping, oozing zombie pus gore.

Now, I haven't loved every thing Quentin Tarantino or Robert Rodriguez has done. But I have liked the bulk of their work, so I was pretty excited when I heard about this movie. And as soon as I saw a preview featuring Rose McGowan with a leg made out of a machine gun, I knew this was THE movie for me.

It did not disappoint. If you haven't heard, it's set up basically as a double feature, with each director doing a separate film. It's long--three hours--but honestly I had no idea that it was that long until it was over and I looked at my cell phone and realized I needed to call my mom and tell her we were running late.

The first half, "Planet Terror" is Rodriguez's. Here is where you find the zombies and Rose McGowan's shot gun leg. It's gory, sure, but MAN it is also so. fucking. funny. Belly-laugh funny.  I thought Rose McGowan was great, honestly, and everyone else did a fantastic job. Lots of great cameos and great crazy stunts (like Cherry--Rose McGowan's character--shooting a missile at the ground with her leg which then enables her to "fly"). Warning--there is one stupid and needless scene where a child is killed. Really pointless, and I don't know why it was included.

The second half, "Death Proof," is all Tarantino, and this part really shines. This is Reservoir Dogs or Pulp Fiction-style Tarantino. That means lots of quick and snappy dialog that uses the word 'motherfucker' constantly (ah, a writer after my own heart). The twist is, though, that the cast is almost all women--with the exception of Kurt Russell (who clearly had more fun than anyone should be allowed to with his role). The women are all great. The brilliant inclusion of stunt woman Zoe Bell in her first acting turn deserves some sort of award. Watching her do the stunts she pulled was AMAZING, and she held her own acting-wise as well. So much fun. I will say this--only Tarantino can make a movie that manages to both uplift and demean women at the same time. Be prepared for that.

Between the movies are fake previews that will have you rolling in the aisles (my personal favorite--"Don't Scream"--done by the guy that made the classic Shaun of the Dead. If you haven't seen that movie, even if you don't like zombie movies much--see it now).

For me, this movie is what going to the movies is all about. A lot of laughing, a lot of cringing and wanting to cover your eyes, and a lot of women kicking ass in a big, big way. It was great, great fun.

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Lastly, my dears, I will end this pointless Monday post with the funniest music video I've seen in a long, long time. Here is the rather offensive original song, and here is Alanis Morrisette's hysterical rendition.

Ten Months

My darling baby girl,

You are ten months old today! This month flew by so fast. For the first time, I feel like you are growing up too quickly, that you are changing every minute, and if I don't watch you constantly I'm going to miss something, some magical moment of your babyness that is precious and perfect. It's driving me crazy. Tell time to slow the heck down, would you?

You are so much more expressive these days. You make a lot of silly faces, including my favorite one where you scrunch up your face and then blink your eyes several times for no reason. You must have seen one of us do it, but it's oh so much funnier when you do it.

You vocalize a lot more now too. You are very serious about talking, and you can both yell really loud and you can talk very softly in a near-whisper. When you talk you make even more funny faces. You say da-da-da, ba-ba-ba, and something that sounds very much like dog. You have a specific noise that means, "kitty, come here now!" and another one for "why did you take my toy away?" and yet another one that means, "where the hell is the food?"

Speaking of food, you have eaten your last meal of baby food. With no warning to your parents AT ALL, you just suddenly and irrevocably stopped eating from a spoon. You shut your lips tight and nothing would pry them open. Your Daddy and I jumped around like crazed monkeys trying to make you laugh so we could jab a spoonful of something into your mouth, but you weren't having any of it. You are  just done, done, done. Luckily one of the baby books says this is normal, and you have a ton of Internet aunties to tell your hapless parents what to feed you now. Yesterday you ate a grilled cheese sandwich. Almost the whole thing! At a restaurant. It was awesome.

Also, right along with wanting to feed yourself, you've suddenly decided that you can hold your own bottle and sippy cup, thank you very much. For ages we've been trying to get you to hold your own bottle, but you always figured why bother, when Daddy will hold it for you instead. But now you're a pro, spinning them around in the right direction, doing a trumpet hold so you can get every last drop. So funny, how it happened so suddenly like that. Great leaps, my dear.

We're working on turning you into an outdoor baby. Something you may not know about your parents since we've been mostly big worthless slugs since you've been around (both inside me and out) is that we love being outside. We love hiking, camping, and canoing. We've taken you out some in the little mini-blasts of spring we've gotten around these parts. It's slow going, because we're out of shape, and it turns out that even though your stroller is the one of the most awesome things ever it's not great at off-roading so if we go on a trail we have to carry you. And guess what? You only have a one-hour or so tolerance for being in the backpack. We have to work on that, cause we like to hike for more like the two to three hour range.

Just wait until we take you camping. That's gonna be AWESOME. Very soon, my dear. Very soon.

You still aren't crawling, although the last few days it's clear that you're considering it. You do, however, love to stand for extended periods but you haven't figured out cruising or even getting yourself into a standing position. You do try to pull yourself up, but you aren't there yet. I don't mind; I'm happy that I can put you down anywhere and trust that you won't move. I realize that's only temporary, so I'm going to enjoy being able to sit on the toilet for extended periods for now. When you sit, you are much more balanced these days--you rarely fall over unless you want to, and you can kick your legs or bounce on your butt without losing your balance at all. You can also lean all the way forward with your head between your knees without tipping over. You learned this in the tub because you are obsessed with the drain.

We have been taking you swimming every week and you love the water something fierce. You thrash and kick and splash with great joy, often going past laughing all the way to squealing with delight. You've charmed everyone at the YMCA except the nasty ladies at the counter that almost didn't let us in last time (turned out I'd read the schedule online wrong, and we didn't have the proper membership to swim then--sorry about that--but MAN they were nasty). It is a really, really fun thing for the three of us to do together and we're trying to contact someone at the local swim clubs (apparently, they are closed in the winter--how odd) so we can find out if we can join and go swimming together every day this summer.

The reason that we can go swimming every day this summer is because I finally found a way to come home. I'll be able to work early in the mornings and late at night which will free up the middle of the day for all the Tori-time I can stand. This is awesome. In fact, it might well be the most awesome thing in the universe. Other than you, of course.

I swear over the last month you've gotten even more gorgeous than you were before. People now stop us on the street to exclaim over your beautiful eyes and your sweet, sweet smile. I've begun doing silly things to your hair, which I love very much, and it makes you so cute sometimes I think my head is actually going to pop off from the cuteness. I know that we are going to have to cut your hair at some point because it's in your eyes all the time, but not yet. I'm not ready.

To further enhance your cuteness, I've bought you some awesome new t-shirts. Hopefully you won't have to talk about what this one says later in your life in therapy. If you do, I'm sorry in advance. It's just that bringing you to this world was a group project--and I don't just mean the doctors at the fertility clinic, but all these people here on the Internets that got me through the sadness after your big brothers died. Without their hope and encouragement and prayers, I'm not sure I could have opened up my heart enough to let you in.

But I did, and you're here, and my life and my heart are more full than I could have ever imagined. I love you so much, my darling, darling girl. I will cover you in kisses every day that you let me. You are the  best and most perfect thing I've ever seen. I love you, baby girl.

Compassion

You guys are really awesome. The comments have been wonderful; thank you so much.

So many of you said amazing things:

Catherine said:

You were cheated of a lifetime. There are going to be moments when you are keenly aware of that...there are always going to be things that remind you. Having a living child changes the grief somewhat but it does not eliminate it. Now you know what you lost. That is a blessing and a curse all rolled up into one.

So true. That's really the crux of the issue, isn't it? Being cheated of a lifetime.

I haven't begun to process what Aurelia said:

I'm betting the hospital has photos and mementoes anyway. Standard practice for over 20 years in many hospitals is too take photos, nice ones, putting the infants bodies back together and wrapped up in blankets and hats so parents can get photos later.

I will look into that when I'm ready. I think it will be soon.

Maura mentioned a great point:

I'm so grateful that you were in a hospital that had doctors who were trained and willing to treat your preeclampsia in a way that saved your life and preserved your health so that you could go on to have Tori.

Me too, honey. Me too.

Car also said someone dead on:

You know it wasn't your fault, that you had no choice in the matter, that the hospital staff weren't callous towards the boys so much as they were frantic to save you, that sometimes things happen and no one can say why. You were the best mom you could be for them, as long as it was possible.

She's absolutely right. I'm not angry at the doctors, not really. I know they were frantic to save me, and they did the best they could. I'm hoping that I can get more information about what happened to the boys, and also speak with someone to see if there is some way I could be of service to other moms going through this (yes, Elena, I heard you. Heh).

What everyone said touched me so much. I feel much, much better. And I'm thinking that out of more pain comes more growth.

At this rate I'll be ten feet tall in no time.

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On a happier note, ok, AN INCREDIBLY HAPPY NOTE, my venture has proved successful.

Did you hear me, internets? SUCCESS!

Yes, I found a job. Working from home. Full time, or close enough for aces (is that an actual saying? I have no idea). Can you believe it? I'm not going to tell you much about it, except that it's AWESOME and should provide just the thing to get my freelance writing career launched.

Special thanks to those of you who read this and made it happen. Thank you, you two.

I'll be still working where I am through the end of the school year (mid-May). Leaving them now would be cruel. But after that? All Tori, all the time.

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Speaking of Tori, I could use your suggestions.

Finger foods.

Help!

Tori decided that she prefers to feed herself, thank you. So we're exploring finger foods and I'm trying to find a way to get her to eat, oh, ANYTHING.

So far, she eats meatballs, french toast, cheese, and puffs (you know, the dissolving kind for babies--oh, and remind me to tell you all about the time Charlie decided that the puffs needed to be pre-dissolved before he'd feed them to Tori so he was putting them in his mouth first. Ye gods. Ok, I did just tell you about it, you don't have to remind me).

She will sometimes eat bananas and pasta. She has rejected mango, pears (the canned kind), squash, tofu hot dogs (I know, ew), broccoli, blueberries, raspberries, and anything else that's sweet.

She's drinking a ton of breast milk, so I'm not totally worried, but seriously. Any suggestions would be helpful.

Oh, and you'll find new photos here, here, and here. And there are even some of me and some of Charlie and Sarah and Pete. Enjoy.

You don't want to read this (and I don't want to write it)

I've been really haunted the last few days after watching Zinnea's film offering in the International Infertility Film Festival. After struggling with infertility, Zinnea finally got pregnant in 2004, only to discover that her daughter had a fatal birth defect called Congenital Diaphragmatic Hernia (CDH). Instead of terminating (as her doctors recommended), Zinnea and her husband decided to go to term. Mia Marvelle passed away six days after she was born.

In her film, Zinnea includes the incredibly private and deeply wrenching images of her holding her daughter and weeping. And photos of she and her husband holding their daughter after she's passed and saying goodbye.

After watching the film, I found myself gasping for air and sobbing inconsolably. This isn't a shock; many, many things have made me cry here on the internets. So many of us have suffered and lost, and I've cried right along with many of you.

But I couldn't stop thinking about those photos. I couldn't sleep that night; they kept drifting into my mind and I would start to cry again. The strength of my reaction took me by surprise.

It wasn't until about 3am that I finally figured it out.

I was jealous.

Every time I think I've done all the processing I need to do about losing the boys, I find a new area that I haven't dealt with yet. Of course I'm not jealous of the horrific loss they suffered; what I'm envious of is the fact that they got to see their baby, to hold her, and to say goodbye.

I've had inklings about this before. A few months ago I allowed myself to wonder what, exactly, had happened to Nicholas and Zachary's bodies. But as soon as I had the thought, I shut it down. I wasn't ready.

And I'm still not ready. I don't have any desire, whatsoever, to again probe the grief that surrounds the loss of my sons. There's a lot of shame there, and anger, and guilt. Oh, God, so much guilt. But God doesn't agree, apparently. I am supposed to deal with it.

Not long after I lost the boys, I expressed my rage and anger here in this blog. I hurt some people in my anger and one person pointed out that others had lost "live babies" after all, so I shouldn't be---well, honestly, I'm not sure what I wasn't supposed to be. I guess I was being reminded to keep my grief in perspective. But I still feel pissed off that things went the way they went. I still feel ripped off. I feel like the randomness of the universe, the luck of the draw, or worse, "God's plan" doesn't make any fucking sense and is completely and utterly unfair. I don't care what others suffered. My "lot" in relation to the boys SUCKED.

Thinking about the day we lost the boys now, all I can remember is that it all happened so fucking fast. Remember, I went from going in for a routine anatomy scan to having to terminate the pregnancy in less than 24 hours. I was so ill that I didn't get to participate much in the decision making process. No one at the hospital said to me, "Yes, delivering your sons will be more risky, but at least you'll get to see them and hold them and say goodbye." No one said, "Do you want to make arrangements with a funeral home?"

Instead, they just said, "You are dying." This was all Charlie could hear--that not only was one son dead, and the other was dying, but so was his wife. No one came to him and said, "Have you thought about what you want done with their bodies?" All they said was "We have to terminate. NOW."

We were alone, afraid, and sick. Options weren't offered. I was the patient, not the boys. No consideration was made for Nicholas and Zachary.

Instead of getting to say goodbye, to look at their faces, I was just knocked out and the boys stripped from my body. I'm left with the shame and guilt of--God forgive me--treating my sons like standard medical waste. My sons. My boys.

I wish, oh, how I wish, that I'd done things differently. That I'd gotten them cremated and been able to scatter their tiny ashes. That even if it would have been awful, the worst pain in the universe, that I would have been able to see their faces just once.

I wonder if Zinnea sees reflections of Mia's face in her (living) daughter Naima? I often wonder if the boys would have looked like Tori does; if they would have scrunched up their noses like I do when I laugh, like she does, or if they would instead use their eyebrows like Charlie does. I know I wouldn't have been able to tell that from their tiny and unfinished faces at only 22 weeks gestation. But, oh, god. I wish I'd tried.

I know I'm one of the lucky ones, now. I do have a living child. So many of us don't. But this--this sadness--will never leave me, I'm afraid.

It's never over, is it? Even while I was sitting on my front porch last night, holding Tori, watching her extend her hand as she tried to reach up to the wind chimes Anne gave us, I felt the deep wound that the loss of the boys caused. Even while I find myself sinking deeper and deeper into joy because of Tori's magnificence, I still find myself the owner of a bruised and battered heart.

I guess I always will.

Palm Sunday, and I'm a fool *edited*

So, on the way to work this morning, I heard this story on NPR.

And I totally fucking fell for it. I told nine people and then was so incensed that I went to research it to post about it here only to find out it was a hoax.

I should have known. I mean, the sanctioned ring tones were the most annoying things I'd ever heard. Give 'em a listen. I can't believe how annoying they are.

Sometimes I'm so gullible.

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Do you know what we infertiles have been missing? A film festival. Dramalish  turned me on to this. Very fucking cool! I'm working my way through all the films. Enjoy, but be warned; some of these films pack a serious emotional punch. A few left me weeping very hard.

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Speaking of film I'm planning on buying a webcam so I can do audio posts with Tori. How cool will that be? I just need to find a webcam that will work with our EMac (no, it doesn't come with one. EMac, not IMac). Oh, and one that will make me look really, really skinny. I'm a little nervous about it because I'm sure once you all hear my tone of voice, you will realize that I'm not nearly as nice a person as you all seem to think I am.

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I went on a little Tori-related shopping spree recently. I'll have her model these later, but I got her these shoes (oh my god, how fucking cute are those?). I wanted to get her this t-shirt, but I decided to pass for now. I do think it would be an excellent gag gift for my Christian friends. Heh.

Instead, I got her this, this, this, and this.

And I bought this dress I've been dreaming about since before Tori told us she was a girl. I think she'll wear it to her first birthday party.

Nobody should let me have access to a credit card.

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Tori's little unexplained fever decided to explain itself by leaving a bright red rash all over Tori's neck and chest (thanks, anonymous commentor, for pointing THAT out). The "What to Expect The First Year" book (the only parenting book I haven't tossed--by the way, why does the UK version have a less insipid cover?) was helpful for the second time in a week (it also had great suggestions re: finger foods. I would NEVER have thought of meatballs) in providing a diagnosis, confirmed by our pediatrician's office: Roseola. Thankfully, she's already over it.

Our little girl. Getting diseases with names. Yikes.
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How is your day going?