Afterglow

We went to a wedding. Eric was the best man and gave an awesome speech and song.

A spong.

He splang.

Congratulations Ethan and Christina. You complete me... Us.    Mus.

Northport Long Island

Is where I'm at.

I've been up since four this morning. I cannot form thoughts, much less sentences. And I can't get my phone to connect so I can't share the pictures that I meant to post in lieu of words.

I will do better tomorrow, I promise.

Haiku

packing with headache
still don't know which shoes to bring
leaving before dawn

Bad Days

(I never really planned to write about this, but I'm hormonal and alone. So here I go.)

Today should have been the thirteenth birthday of my first child. He was never born. I lost him at four months. I don't even know if he was a he. But I called him Gus.

Some people think that a pregnancy loss that early is a blessing. They assume that you didn't really have time to become attached to the child. But anyone who has been in that situation knows the truth. That you have picked out names and cribs and colleges by the time the pee on the stick is dry.

When I started to hemorrhage I couldn't be grateful that I hadn't started to show or that I hadn't bought any diapers.

The miscarriage was bad enough. I wanted that child. But I think worse than the loss of the pregnancy, was the lack of support I got. The callousness, carelessness and even cruelty of the emergency room doctors. The coldness and distance of my husband -- we were young and he was as lost as I was. He didn't know what to say, so he said nothing. My family was far away, and I had no close friends. I didn't talk about it. I learned to never mention it because it seemed that whenever I did someone would say some asshanded moronic thing like "it just wasn't meant to be" or "you can try again" or the utterly ridiculous "God wasn't ready to let him out of heaven yet."

But that was ages ago. It occurs to me that if the same thing happened to me now, I would have someone to listen. The internet is a treasure trove of understanding. Whole communities of women who have suffered the same loss, and are willing to be honest about how it affected them.

I think, back then, someone suggested I go to the library and check out a book on loss and mourning. That was crap. No book would tell me it was OK to cry and yell and swear and hate the universe. Books suggested things like going to church or having a mock funeral for the child, then putting on a happy face and getting back on the horse.

There are people now, strangers to me, who would have fully supported my drinking binge, crying jag, and/or tri-state crime spree. They wouldn't allow me to blame myself.

But like I said. Ages ago. I do think losing Gus shaped the way I mourn and the person that I am.

There were other losses but I am a mother now. And I have recovered. Mostly. Although I haven't ruled out the tri-state crime spree.

All By Myself

Eric and the boys left before dawn. And my kids woke up sick so I had to stay home with them today. So it was just me and them. All damn day. And it brought me back two years to before I met Eric. Snuggling with them on the couch watching cartoons. Rearranging furniture for fun. Feeding the kids real food, putting them to bed and then eating cold pizza or popcorn for dinner. Sitting on my bed drinking wine, folding laundry. Watching The Runaways.

I lived like this for a year. Longer, really. And it was the first time I had ever lived alone. I mean, I had the kids half the time, but I was doing it on my own. I don't miss it, I'm glad it's over, but I'm kinda glad I did it, too. Proved to myself that I could. Without losing my ever-loving mind.

And I'd be lying if I said I didn't like a little taste of loneliness once in a while. A reminder.

The house is quiet. Lydia is snuggled under the covers with me. Goodnight.

Bon Voyage

My kids are sick and Eric and his kids are leaving at 5 in the morning for NY. So I'm just going to say this one thing. You should go read the story Eric wrote today. It's great.

Wrinkle Free Knees

I walk into the bathroom where Merry's in the tub.

Me: Merry! How many times have I told you not to use my expensive old lady face soap on your knees?!

Merry: holds up three fingers... looks at hand.... holds up fourth finger.

Tomorrow is the anniversary of us.

Sort of.

We've never decided if we should celebrate the day we met, which would be tomorrow, since it was just a quick workday lunch, or our first real getting dressed up nice and going out to dinner date, which would be Friday.

But since we'll be in NY next weekend for a wedding, today Eric made tiramisu (my favorite) and got me a massage, which he watched. Which was not weird, I promise. And we went out for sushi and now we're going to go climb in bed and watch a movie while we eat ladyfingers soaked in chocolate and coffee deliciousness until we barf.

Ah. Love.

The Tongue

In the Beginning (I was drinking when I wrote this, forgive me if it goes astray)

Two years ago today. I was talking on the phone with a dude with a funny New York accent. We over shared. (He says I over shared. I do that. Even more in person than here on this blog.) We agreed to meet for lunch. Lunch is safe, right? I didn't know if I wanted to get mixed up with a guy with a weird East Coast accent. I had been on a string of very bad dates and my deal breakers had become odd and arbitrary.

See, we had hooked up through an online dating service. That's how you meet people when you're in the latter half of your thirties, and newly single, in case you were wondering. So. This is how it started. And somehow it has turned into a marathon blogging nightmare. Nights like this. All the kids. Arguments about who peed all over the seat. A couple glasses of wine. And now I have to write.