Weezy is back!

Gah! My friends, I have missed you.  I'm back in action, but with sad news.  Aunt G died the day after I wrote my post.  It was all very sudden and it's difficult to process still.  We miss her so much.  The Weezys gathered and threw her a fantastic party.  Casa de Noodle catered the ..wake?  Reception?  Anyway, fun was had by all.  We told stories of Aunt G (some started at 'and then there was light', so I mean, the stories could be long) and all drank Pinot Grigio in her honor.  I'm part of such a fabulous family.

So other than all that, things have been mostly quiet. Lots of baby happenings in my world and it's tough to not feel left out.  I'm in a strange place and I'm trying to process all my feelings.  Even though I've decided to create a family by "alternate means" (for the record, I hate that term) by adopting, I still feel pangs of jealousy from all the baby announcements and births.  Does one every overcome this feeling of inadequacy?  Maybe I'm not at the complete acceptance stage of this journey.

If we're counting (and I'm only vaguely doing so), this is cycle day 2.  I was thinking that if I keep ovulating every month (haven't missed a month for 3 years now..high five!) I could run the risk of getting pregnant.  I'm not going back on birth control, ever, so I guess we'll see what happens.  It'd be freaking weird if I got pregnant.  Like super duper freak out, call one of you and cry weird. 

A word to the wise, Fift.y Shades of G.rey is not about shades of color in any way shape or form.  I read The Hun.ger Games, but have heard mixed reviews about the movie. I've heard there's too much shakey cam in it.  I'm so pleased that The Real Houswives of New Jersey are back.  I missed that freak show (guilty pleasure!).

How are y'all?  I've missed you guys so so much.  Tell me what's going on with you.

Life gave us lemons this month

I wish I could say it's been quiet in the world of Weezys, but alas, that would not be so.  My  aunt collapsed on Friday and is currently in the hospital.  Things got quite worse today, but I'm not going to go into details here.  Suffice it to say that things are very, very serious and I'm spending a lot of spare time at the hospital with our family.

I had my sister's mail forwarded to me, so her bills are beginning to roll in.  Fun, fun.  Due to the current situation, I haven't done any further research on adoption and I left my adoption book in my uncle's car.  This past Saturday was our five year anniversary and Sunday was my birthday, which we did not celebrate due our aunt being so ill.  Maybe eventually, but celebrating doesn't seem right at the moment.

Anyway, things are difficult right now and prayers are needed for Aunt G.  Thank you in advance.

Mind your beeswax

I've been stewing on this for a few days, trying to figure out if I was going to give this woman the traffic she doesn't deserve.  Mel said it best when she wrote that this should be a pain campfire and not the pain olympics.  If you don't feel like clicking on those links, all good. The woman posted about how  miscarriage is nothing at close to baby death.  She is entitled to her opinion, however stupid I think it is.  That is my opinion. Mel is the blogger I would like to be when I grow up. While I don't know her personally, I admire her.

Here's the deal, folks.  I've had three miscarriages.  There is no way in hell that you are going to tell me that the grief that I felt and still deal with is unfounded.  I am not mourning a dream, I am mourning the children that came out of me.  To imply that women should somehow take comfort in the fact that it wasn't a real baby is preposterous.  Four years ago, if you would've told the 26 year old Beth that was standing over the toilet in the hospital, looking at the fetus that had just kerplunked out of her with a rush of blood that the pain she was feeling wasn't real, she would've taken you out right there.  I'm sorry for the image, but dammit. 

I've mourned all the miscarriages.  Yes, I've mourned the hopes and dreams for those babies, but I also mourn the souls that I will never get to know.  I mourn the hair I won't be able to brush, the snotty nose I can't wipe, the hugs I can't give.  I mourn that I never got to see their faces and they never knew how much their Dad and I love them.  That shit is real, it's not a dream or a hope.  To have someone minimize that is hurtful and cruel. 

Y'all, pain is pain.  Devastation is devastation.  Loss is loss and mine runs deep.  It's not my place to judge your reaction to loss.  However, it is my place to offer love and support when you need it.  It's my place to help pick the pieces of your heart back up and put them together because I needed someone to do it for me. I've been there.  I've had days when I can't get out of bed because, well shit, what's the point if my baby is gone? 

I've lost both of my parents and my sister.  Does this somehow make me an expert on grief and loss?  Absolutely not.  Was my father's death any less devastating than my mother's or sister's? Eh, no it was just different.  Just because it's different doesn't mean it doesn't hurt.

All I have to say to that woman is to mind her own business.

Happy Easter.  I turn 31 in a week.  I like cupcakes.

Kinda throwing in the towel

I told my husband on Monday that I'm not interested in any further fertility treatments.  We were sort of leaving the door open and I know he'd like to go all the way with IVF, but I'm done.  The more I think about it, the anxiety starts build.  I've put my body through three surgeries, three miscarraiges, countless rounds of Femara and Clomid, the mindfuck drug Gonal F.  I'm just done.  I have enough scars on my body.  I have enough scars on my heart to last a lifetime and I don't want anymore.

Husband has always made it clear that I'm the one driving this boat.  He'll voice his opinion and I'll always have his support, but the final decision lies with me.  He seems fine with moving on to adoption.  I'm tired of fighting my body.  We've been trying for a baby for our entire marriage.  Enough.

We're researching our options, but international adoption is really tugging at my heart.  I've always wanted to adopt.  When I was small, I used to beg my mother and father to adopt a little brother for me.  My mom would answer by saying she was too sick, but I'd protest and say that I'd take care of him.  Adoption was appealing to me at five, it's so much more appealing at 30 (erm..31 on the 15th, but that's not the point).

Are you guys ok if this turns into an adoption blog?  Can I still complain about my body and the lovely effects of PCOS?  I'm not sure if I turn in my infertile card or what.

So who knows how we'll end up with our baby.  But our baby is coming, have no doubt about that. 

I'll leave you on a Damn you Autocorrect moment.  I texted Husband earlier this week, asking how he felt about fondue.  My phone changed fondue to gunfire.  Husband answered with "I'm generally opposed to it, especially when it's directed towards me.  Why????'  HA!  Damn you autocorrect!

Focusing on the positive

I've been struggling with thoughts of my sister lately.  If we're going to be really honest, I have trouble reconciling the facts that I know about my sister's life with the sister that I knew when I was younger.  She was eight, almost nine years older than me.  She had a completely different take on our parents than I did, but she spent a lot more time with both of them, which is good and bad.  She had the strong positive influence of my mother, but she also bore the brunt of my father's anger.  Things were very screwed up in our household for such a long time, she could never recover from it.

My earliest memory is that of my sister.  We were at this Ol.an Mills photo shoot, you know the kind.  Your parents stick you in these dresses that you wouldn't have worn willingly and expect you to smile. Anyway, I remember being freaked out because no one was with me during my solo pictures.  I have always been a very social person, I don't do alone very well.  I was screaming, afraid of the photographer and no one could calm me down. My sister finally came over and pulled me onto her lap and I remember feeling safe.  She was there.  Everything would be ok.  They were never able to get a picture of me by myself.  .

Things changed when we got older.  She was physically abused, and gave it back to me.  That kind of stuff can change a person.  She never got over my mother's death and actually believed the horrible things my father said.  I always chose not to believe him and I would escape to my best friend's house.  After our father died, I was able to leave Pennsylvania and get some therapy.  I grew up. I'm not sure she was emotionally ready to be an adult, but she was forced into it..  She so desperately wanted to be nurtured and cared for, I'm sorry I couldn't do that after I got back into contact with her.

My sister was many things to many people.  I'm going to choose to remember the comfort that she gave me in that photo shoot and after our mother died.  I can't focus on what I didn't do for her. 

Below is a picture from that photo shoot.  I look just like my mother and she favored my father's side.  I think I was three and she was 12 or so.  My mom dressed me in pink.  I hate pink.