oct 12

I skipped Thanksgiving today at my parents’ place. I didn’t think they’d hold the gathering on the holiday Monday, since they usually want it Sunday so they can work on the yard the next day. Yes, they are really that obsessed with their stupid yard. So crap, DH and I came back a day too early from our babymoon. Mom and Dad had phoned/texted to find out where we were. I texted back: “Busy doing home renos, sry.”

This is such a dumb fight; I’m embarrassed to be a part of it.

It is true that we have to do the renos, though. DH will be away next month and probably December, too, and before he leaves, we have to get the house and backyard winterized, plus get rid of the mold we found under the drywall (it’s all over the place: insulation, support beams, etc.). I’m allergic to mold, so it does have to be done ASAP. January will not be a good time for that.

Anyway, the babymoon was fun, though no boinking was involved, sadly. DH is afraid of hurting me and the baby. It sucks. We’ve only had sex once, really, since the BFP, and that was early in the first tri. Our RE put the kibosh (sp?) on any more vaginal probing (ha ha, the irony!) in the first 12 weeks – argh for me, since my hormones were jacked up as though I were 15 years old – and then I wasn’t in the mood for most of second tri, plus we were too busy moving to our new house. So now I’m back in the mood, but DH is too scared.

We had a good time, though. We lounged in the hot tub – though I kept my core out of the water – walked, shopped, watched TV (which we haven’t done since June), cuddled, ate at some of our favourite restaurants, chatted with new people, drove around, etc. I read aloud a big chunk of Sherman Alexie’s The Absolutely True Diary of a Part-Time Indian: what an amazing book. Reminded me of Angela’s Ashes, in that it made me laugh and cry and feel horrified, all at the same time. I highly recommend it.

And on the way home, The Contours came on the radio with ‘Do You Love Me’ (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=x43vK0k6A2I&feature=related). DH and I like all kinds of music, including Motown, so we cranked the volume. And the baby started dancing. Really. He was throwing his elbows around in a way I hadn’t felt before – just bopping away – and as soon as the song was over, he was done. DH was thrilled at this turn of events because he is devoted to the ‘50s and the ‘60s, and so he decided that this must be a baby after his own heart. :) I loved it. We grew up in a time and place where moving one’s body in time to music was taboo, and so I hope fervently that my child is never dissuaded from dancing.

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This afternoon, DH was busy barking into my belly; every time he did it, the baby responded with a jab. This was cause for great hilariosity on DH’s part.

I said to DH, “Quit that; he’s scared of you! Or else you’re turning him into a fighter!”

“Mm-hm,” said my smug DH.

Later that day, though, the meanie father-to-be gave the baby a Thanksgiving ‘hug’: he cradled my burgeoning belly in his hands and squeezed gently and said, “Hi, Baby.”

Beneath his gruff and goofy exterior, he has the softest heart in the world.


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Just before midnight

It’s extraordinarily painful to think of that miscarriage, one year ago today. It started on the 11th, but really I still had hope until the 12th. I wouldn’t say that I forgot, at least not in the conventional sense. I’ve had so much on my mind during the summer and fall – a viable pregnancy, new job, moving, new house, cleaning and renovations, family problems, new business – and 99% of it good, that I allowed myself not to think about it, I guess. Earlier today, though, I did remember that day, even though I didn’t recall that it was the anniversary. I remembered for a fleeting moment how much my heart and mind and body hurt. The worst thing that has ever happened to me. I don’t remember what triggered that memory, except that it was prompted by looking at myself in the bathroom mirror.

Now, thinking of that day as an anniversary of sorts, the first image that came to mind was the actual scene in the bathroom. Worse than any horror movie, and I was only 4 weeks and 4 days pregnant. Me screaming in the bathroom, and DH slumped over beside me, leaning against my legs.

Strange to think, if that hadn’t happened, where I’d be today. The feelings surrounding this are so complex; I don’t know how to talk about it further.