Bittersweet Decisions

So, it looks like two lines it's going to be. Starting my next cycle, we will be actively trying to conceive. Unfortunately, this decision comes in the wake of terrible news. The job I was waiting to hear about is no longer available, as the person for whom I would have been working for has been diagnosed with a terminal illness. It would be awful news whether I knew her or not, but it's especially saddening because she is a family member of a friend of mine, a friend whom I would consider in my "inner circle", even if we have only been friends for a short period of time. I care about her and what happens in her world, so I am sad for her. And for me, too. Not on the same level, but I am disappointed that I won't be given the opportunity to work for this person, because I believe she would have been the perfect person to help me on my way in my career.

I wasn't sure that me not going back to work right away was going to push me to make a decision about getting pregnant, but after several days of mulling it over, talking it out with my man and weighing the pros and cons, I figured why the hell not. Let's face it, waiting another 3 months or even 3 years isn't going to take away any of the fears I have about pregnancy. I am going to make an appointment with my doctor, but I know she will tell me the standard stuff....not to worry, I will be monitored, blah blah blah. I know she will give me the go ahead.

So I was feeling pretty good about this decision and then I remembered something, something huge. In some sick sense of irony (the story of my life), the day that I made this decision to have another baby, today, January 7th, is also my daughter's 15th birthday. Fifteen years ago today, when I was only 15 years old, I was laying in the hospital, alone (my mother having literally dropped me on the curb outside the entrance doors because she was late for work) and I was riddled with fear. It's almost funny when I think back. I was scared of the pain of labor and delivery. I was nervous about whether or not I would be able to take care of my tiny, fragile newborn baby because I was still a baby myself. Fast forward fifteen years and nothing much has changed. I am a grown woman now, but I am still unable to care for that very same child. Despite my best efforts, I was incapable of making my daughter's life a good one. She is on a path to self destruction and I am a helpless bystander. I have failed horribly as a Mother and yet here I am, ready to bring another child into my life.

What the fuck is wrong with me?

A Tale Of Two Lines

So last night at about 10pm, I decided I was pregnant.

I am late, but my cycle has been whacked for months, from stress I am sure. But my boobs are so sore. Like big, heavy, sore watermelons hanging off me. Ok maybe cantaloupes, but whatever. They're sore. So anyways, I call my man at work and ask him to bring home a HPT. He knows the drill, we have done this LOTS. He gets home an hour later and he has the test in the package, but not in the box. I guess he took it out and threw it away after he paid for it because he didn't want any of his gossip loving staff to see the box through the plastic bag. Good idea, except that the test he bought wasn't the one I usually take. So, I peed on the stick and then waited.....

Two lines. Two lines. TWO F*CKING LINES. No, no, NO! This is not happening to me, not right now. I had a meltdown. A sobbing, ready to jump off the nearest bridge, raving lunatic needing medication, m-e-l-t-d-o-w-n.

As it turns out, the test was one of those ones that turns to a + sign if you are pregnant, so I mistook my | as the "2nd" line, when in fact it was a - meaning negative as in not pregnant. Now there's a sick cruel joke to play on someone. Perhaps ONE day I will laugh about this, but definitely not today.

Anyways, this really got me thinking. Why was I so upset? The idea of another baby doesn't scare me, on the surface of it. It's what comes with pregnancy that terrifies me. My track record is horrible, having had more losses than babies, ranging from 8 weeks along to 20 weeks. To add insult to injury, half the time my body doesn't realize it's not pregnant anymore and I have to have a D&C. My pregnancies have been far from "normal" - my doctor actually laughs about it. Not in a mean way, but in a shaking her head, baffled kind of way.

My 3rd baby M was born with Down syndrome. Please don't get me wrong, he is the love of my life....but that's not what I signed up for. Nobody wants that. My entire world has changed, I have been forced to become this whole other person I never intended or knew how to be. Does it scare me that I might have another baby with Ds? Honestly, not really. That doesn't mean that I don't feel an immense amount of guilt that my body did that to me. I know it wasn't anything I did. I know it wasn't anything that could be prevented. I know that it happened at the moment of conception. I know all of these things, but it doesn't take away the fact that I feel like my womb is a failure. I can't explain it, it's just how I feel. I could write an entire novel about my experience of having a baby with Ds, so I'll leave it at that.

My 4th baby M pregnancy was a roller coaster ride. I was diagnosed with Cholestasis, a rare (of course it's rare, this is me we are talking about) but serious liver condition that can cause stillbirth, especially if the pregnancy goes further than 36 weeks. I existed day to day, wondering if my baby was going to die inside of me. How does a person deliver a baby they know is dead? I lived in fear for months and drove myself crazy if the baby didn't move. The poor boy was poked and prodded and jiggled around several times a day, just to be sure. I battled with my doctor as to when we would deliver. She felt it was safe to wait until 38 weeks as long as we monitored carefully, I completely disagreed. After weeks of harrassing talking to her about it and printing off every statistic and medical article on the net, she caved agreed to induce at 36 weeks. Of course the induction(s) resulted in nothing more than 4 days of mild labor and no progress and ended in a c-section. The likelihood of me having Cholestasis with subsequent pregnancies is as high as 90%.

It always strikes me as strange that my first 2 baby M's were pretty much textbook pregnancies. They were also completely unplanned pregnancies when I was 14 and 19, with the same loser guy (apparently I never learned my lesson the 1st time). 3rd and 4th M's were planned, oh how they were planned. Temping, charting, timed. Very planned. Mother Nature sure can be a b!tch, eh?

So I'm scared. I'm not the kind of person who is scared of anything. Not heights, not spiders, snakes, death. Nothing like that. Just pregnancy, it terrifies me right to my core. And yet, I just don't feel like I am "done" having babies. I want one more, just not right now, not right this minute. Not that the fear will change months or years down the road. Will I be more mentally prepared? Probably not. So I don't know what the f*ck I am doing, whether I am coming or going. I am waiting to hear about a possible job opportunity and that will probably be the deciding factor for me, or maybe not. The waiting is exruciating though, I just want the god damn phone to ring already so I can get on with my life, whichever path it may be taking. I will truly, honestly be fine with either path. They will each be rewarding (yet frightening) in their own way. But I would like to be able to make a decision. Knowing what I am facing will help. Maybe I do have another fear, fear of the unknown. I need to be in control of something right now. A career and a life with the babies I have or a life with babies and then a career.

Two paths to choose from. One line or two lines? I just don't know.

A bad day? Try a bad year

So this is my first post, which was inspired by a friend who recently started blogging. I have tried (more than once) to blog over the years and have always, well, sucked at it I guess you could say. Strange really, considering I have A LOT to say. I guess it all boils down to time management. My New Year's resolution is to take the time to do it, at least once a week. I figure let's start with small potatoes, right?

I must admit I am secretly hoping that blogging will help me sort out my feelings and maybe put my ridiculously stressful life into some sort of perspective. I really, really, really need some perspective right now. Because of this, I have a sneaking suspicion that sometimes, my blog will be a negative one. OK maybe not negative, but I highly doubt it's going to get any laughs. Heck it may not even get any views, and I am completely ok with that. I can be charming and funny (modest much?) but I'm not sure how much of that is going to come across on here. Hopefully more than I'm anticipating. Just not today, today is a bad day.

I hate stress. I hate drama. And yet, they both seem to find me, grab hold and try to suck the life out of me. I do my best to fight it, honestly I do. I have given up even talking about my life stresses with anyone except my man, because quite honestly, if I was my friend, I'd tell myself and my nasty problems to take a hike. I could literally write a novel, a very loooong novel, about my life misfortunes. I am the poster child for Drama, with a capital D.

Let's break it down. Right now, at this moment in time, this is what I am dealing with, in order of importance in my mind:

~A 14 year old hooligan for a daughter who has run away from home, dropped out of school, gotten into drugs & alcohol and is breaking my heart with her refusal to accept help.

~A family member who sexually abused another (child) family member and is now tearing this family apart with people taking sides. There's much, much more to this story, but I'm going to leave it at that for privacy reasons.

~Emotional battle of having another child. I desperately want to start a career in Real Estate, but I am hesitant to establish myself and then put it all on pause to have a baby down the road. I have suffered many miscarriages, including two back to back in the year following my youngest son's birth. I'm pretty sure I am physically ready, but am I emotionally stable enough to deal with yet another possible loss? It honestly might send me over the edge. And, I'm going to throw this out there, even though I know it's utterly selfish......I spent the last year ridding myself of 50lbs of fattening depression, which poses the question - Do I want to spend the next year gaining it all back, only to have to lose it again?

~A new house with a basement that leaks like the effing Titanic, with a repair cost of up to $50,000 oh and let's not forget the $20,000 in legal fees to sue the guy who sold it to us and made no mention of water issues. Let me tell you how thankful I am for the 28 below zero weather this week, never thought I would hear myself saying that.

~A court battle with the ex, who is quite honestly the single most unreasonable human being on this planet. I'm waiting for my day in court and my god if I don't prevail, I am going to kill someone. Perhaps I shouldn't be writing that on my blog, but there it is. Whatever.


There are many more things going on in my life, but those are the doozies. They consume my mind all day, every day and let's not even talk about at night. My mind is reeling when it should be resting. I am not sure how much more I can take. I am thankful to have an extremely supportive man in my life who listens to me rant and wipes my tears when I cry, but the bottom line is that there is nothing anyone can do to make me better. These are issues I have to deal with head on and I just pray that they won't break me.



Someone grant me some strength. Please. I am begging.