The Long Road

All day today, I've been thinking about life with Hayden, and life before. Neil and I waited so long to have a baby. We were married six years before we felt ready. We decided to start trying in September of 2000 and I got pregnant right away. My due date was to be June 21st. The day we found out, we told all of our family and all of our friends, despite a few people's warnings about spreading the news too early on. I just felt certain that since we waited so long, and since it was so, so planned, and since we were so definitely ready, that this pregnancy was meant to be. I was only 6 and a half weeks along when I miscarried the first time. It was an ugly, horrifying moment and I fully realized I had just lost our baby. I went to the emergency room and the doctor who treated me was about six months pregnant herself. She seemed so cold the way she used terms like "materials of conception" instead of "baby" or "fetus." We had only known I was pregnant for about a week and a half, but that was plenty of time to believe in the pregnancy. It was very painful, but we were sure the next time, things would work out.

When my body had healed, we tried again. I got pregnant right away that time too and we found out in January of 2001. That due date was to be September 21st. I had started seeing a very well respected Ob/Gyn in the meantime, and went to see him right after we had the positive home pregnancy test. He was very reassuring and had me take progesterone as a precaution to help the pregnancy along. At my 8 week appointment, we saw the heartbeat on an ultrasound. That seemed to be a sure sign that things were going well. The first time, it had been so hard to call everyone and relive the experience over and over each time we broke the bad news. This time, we decided to wait until we made it to twelve weeks before we told anyone other than our parents. At eleven and a half weeks, I started spotting a little at work. I tried not to panic, but couldn't help but think the worst. I went in to see my doctor. He did an exam, and said that he was still optimistic and that an ultrasound the following morning would probably confirm everything was fine. But, I wasn't convinced.

I had to have the ultrasound at a hospital early the next morning. The ultrasound technician didn't say a word during the procedure. I asked her to tell me if the baby was okay and she said she couldn't give me any information. So, I pretty much knew it wasn't good. We went back to my doctor's waiting room. My doctor and the others in his practice also provided low cost prenatal care to teens and low income mothers. Which is a very good thing. But, at that particular time, the last things we wanted to see were very pregnant 16 year olds smoking cigarettes outside the office. So, we sat and waited and overheard these girls complaining about missing parties and the boyfriends that left them and we felt so wronged. We felt so furious that these people had healthy babies and felt judgmental enough in those moments to decide they didn't deserve the children they had.

We were finally called back and the doctor said that unfortunately, it was not a viable pregnancy. The baby didn't have a heartbeat and looked like it had stopped developing somewhere around the 9th week. Since I hadn't miscarried, I was to have a D&C and it was scheduled for a few days later. For those long days, I was profoundly depressed and angry, and conscious I was now carrying our dead baby. Every time I saw a pregnant woman or happy family, I felt myself die a little more. It was my lowest low. When it was all over, I couldn't even go back to that doctor. Neil and I both felt so defeated and really thought it might not ever work out for us.

In April of 2001, we went to the best infertility practice in our city. We met with an endocrinologist who did a few tests on me, but basically just told us to try again. He said that my two miscarriages were very different, and didn't seem to be results of a single recurring cause. We found out we were pregnant the third time in June. Since I was considered "high-risk" we were seen at very regular intervals and my progress was closely monitored. We had a fantastic Ob/Gyn and lots of ultrasounds to check for irregularities. Our 12 week appointment was on our 7th wedding anniversary. We heard the heartbeat with the doppler and finally felt like we could believe in this baby this time.

I just can't believe that was Hayden. There was so much pain and worry leading up to such great happiness and relief. And happiness like that can make you forget the pain. It's like I don't ever think about it anymore, and in those months, I could think of nothing else. I just want to remember that I am living the part of my life I was afraid I would never have. And I shouldn't ever forget that.

Happy Birthday Hayden

Today, Hayden is three years old.



It is just so hard to believe.




This morning, it is rainy and cold and I can't think of anything fun (and indoors) to take him to do on his "actual" birthday. I don't think he really cares. At his party yesterday, he got enough magnetic letters to spell words with more than one of the same letter. When he opened them, he yelled out, "Now I can spell baby." He got plenty of numbers too, and he just ran in here, holding up a plastic three and four zeroes and said "Look, 30,000."

Family

My Mom has been writing about her family memories. She has been working on it for a few months now. She just gave me the second part to read over. I hope there will be much more to come. Here are a few paragraphs about my Mom and my uncle - two of the most original people in the world...

My brother Mike and I spent a lot of time riding in his 1966 Volkswagen convertible, a red cutie with a black top. Mike said it looked like a baby buggy when the top was down. Mike’s car was as unique as he was. One rainy day, we drove over to a store in our neighborhood called Pic ‘n Save, a store that sold cheaply-made merchandise that they couldn’t unload in dime stores like Woolworths. We found a package of Colorforms, those vinyl cartoon-like things that stick by static to another vinyl sheet. I think Mike paid a quarter for one with bugs and animals. We took it home and he brought out the superglue and glued these vinyl stickers all over the interior of his car. The ones I remember most were the family of ladybugs marching across his radio buttons and the slithering snake right above the “fasten your seat belt” insignia in his car. At this particular time, Mike had quit smoking, something he would do a thousand times during his life. So now that Mike was no longer a smoker, there was no need for the ashtrays in his car. He turned them into planters, placing gravel at the bottom for proper drainage and his African Violets thrived in the front and back seat. The VeeDub was not in the best condition, and during this rainy winter, one of the windshield wipers had flown off while we driving. The little arm that held the wiper blade was still there, creating a nasty scratch on his windshield. Mike pulled over and we ransacked the car to find something (Mike suggested something like a little sponge – which of course, he didn’t happen to have in his car) to cover the end of the wiper arm so it wouldn’t scratch the windshield. What we found was a glove, which Mike slipped over the wiper arm and we were pretty pleased with our impromptu repair. As Mike started the car, we both laughed hysterically as the glove was now “waving” as we drove along.
Once while cruising in the VW, I found a Marine Band harmonica in the glove compartment, a souvenir from almost everyone’s attempt to play a little blues on the harmonica. As we goofed around with the harmonica while driving down El Cajon Boulevard, Mike put the whole thing in his mouth. Which meant, of course, that I would have to give it a try. I put the harmonica in my mouth and instantly discovered that I have a much smaller mouth than my brother. Even though the harmonica went in, it definitely did not want to come out. As I turned and looked at Mike, I started to laugh, which produced the typical “eee-haaa” harmonica sound and the harder I laughed, the more harmonica noises I made. My brother had to pull the car over because he was laughing so hard. Another side effect of the laughter was the clamping down of my jaw, further cementing the harmonica in my mouth. The more we tried to calm down so we could try to pry this musical instrument out of my mouth, my panting and laughter kept the harmonica medley going. I had tears streaming down my face. We finally realized that if we didn’t get this harmonica out, we may have to go to the emergency room and face real doctors who, while they might get a laugh out of my situation, probably have more serious things to attend to than someone with an instrument stuck in their mouth. By now I’m completely exhausted, and I guess the fatigue helped me out. I relaxed enough for Mike to get his fingers between my cheek and the harmonica and angle it out.

>>>I miss my uncle and I love my mom. Mom, keep writing!<<<

Out with the Old

Farewell 2003 Honda Odyssey. You served us well for the eighteen months we had you. We will miss your power sliding doors and substantial cargo capacity. We really did appreciate your no-nonsense practicality, unmatched safety, and general convenience, you just weren't that cool.

Sorry.

Embarking on our minivan's final journey; a one way trip to Gardena.







Here is the new car in town (a.k.a. "The Stormtrooper")





I was totally kidding when I called it that, but it may very well stick. I tried to nickname the Odyssey "Silver Bullet," but sadly, it was only ever really called "the van."

For this maiden voyage, we went to the desert to hike and see the wildflowers.

Since Neil and I have decided to try for a second baby this summer (after his graduation and a well earned vacation), my body is pretending to be pregnant. A trial run, if you will, complete with sudden fits of intense sleepiness, severely heightened sense of smell, and voracious appetite. Yesterday, I was almost overcome when I walked in the kitchen by the pungent stench of Hayden's dry Cheerios. They smelled so unbelievably bad I wanted to eat them immediately but I was too tired.

I haven't had my period in 52 days now. Two negative pregnancy tests and a lack of unprotected sex say I'm really not pregnant. I am on constant period watch now. I'm convinced every day will be the day I start. I don't go anywhere without making sure there are tampons in my purse. I don't know if my emotions are my own or my hormones gone awry. I don't know if Neil is the greatest man who ever lived or if he really does leave the bottom edge of the blanket showing beneath the comforter when he makes the bed just to torment me.

What is going on?

Hayden is obsessed with letters and numbers. Though I am very, very proud of him, it is strange to have a not-even-three-year-old who can read. I mean, as in actually read. Words.

Most kids haul around stuffed animals or blankets everywhere they go. Hayden brings numbers and letters. We have various magnetic fridge door ones, some wooden puzzle piece ones, some kind of plastic-y-foam ones, and even stickers. They go for rides with us in the car, come along for walks, take showers and baths with him, and he even sleeps with them.

Today, driving home from the grocery store, Hayden was arranging his letters into words. I heard him say "H-O spells Ho. What's 'Ho' mean?" I couldn't just ignore him, so I said that it was a tool you use in the garden. So, then he said, "Well then, what does H-O-E spell?" He had me. So, I said that "h-o-e" was actually the correct way to spell hoe, the garden tool. So, then he was back to asking about the other variety of "ho."

I told him "ho" is like "ho ho ho", like Santa says, and left it at that.

hiking at mission trails