Day at the Arboretum...again

We went to the Arboretum today.

No face painting this time, though. We'd (the mommy group) had forgotten it was Columbus day. I didn't even want to see the face painting line. The big kids were out in droves. There was a Eddie Coker concert going on too -- he was a riot! Schepps Dairy was there giving out free cartons of chocolate milk. Adrien got to have his first taste of this crack-for-kids. He loved it. Surprisingly, he managed to drink straight from the carton and not spill any. WOW. I'm not even sure I can do that, and I'm over 11 times his age. Check out some pics:

Chocolaty goodness in every gulp.

Here, Mom. You try!

I'm smiling because I'm checkin' out a hot chick.

We had fun. We visited the petting zoo this time and of course we got to play in the fountain. The fountain at this place is really cool. It has four humongous frogs at four corners that shoot water into the middle. In the middle there's a globe with other little things that shoot water up. The little ones have so much fun playing in it and getting all wet. Only in Texas would it still be 95 degrees out in October. Isn't it supposed to be fall? Remember the farm I said I thought I saw them setting up last time we went? Well it turns out, I was partially right. They have a hole walk-through exhibit featuring a "chocolate tree". There are different interactive stations that show the kids how chocolate is made from the tree all the way to the factory. You get a pass for a free sample of Dove chocolate at the end too. I guess that's a bonus.

I hope it starts to cool off soon. I bought some Perfect Autumn Pumpkin candles and other home fragrance stuff from White Barn Candle Company the other day. So now the house smells like Autumn -- but we still have the AC on 75. When will it end?

Everything here in the household is slowly getting back to ordinary (ordinary as in my own personal definition of it). I'm finally getting around to getting some things cleaned up (with the help of Andi, of course). I think I'm going to have to take Adrien back to the doctor though -- we've finished the round of antibiotics (last Thursday) but he's still tugging at one of his ears. I hate ear infections. I feel so sorry for him. I really don't want him to be in pain. But all in all, everything is good.

But really, I hope it cools off soon.

Things that go CRUNCH in the night

As a friend and I were leaving a Pampered Chef party this evening, we heard a distinct CRUNCH CRUNCH sound as we walked down the pathway from the hostess' home.

The hostess, being polite, walked us out with some brief conversation to go home on.

As she heard the crunching she commented, "Oh those snails. I guess they come out of the ground."

The leaves I thought I'd heard crunching were in all actuality snails being smashed beneath my feet.

I've taken a note from Missy in illustrating the event.

...I tiptoed the rest of the way down the pathway to my car.

Five steps to grief

I think I'm stuck between 3 and 4. Step 3 and step 4.

Step 1: Denial, numbness, shock

Step 2: Bargaining

Step 3: Depression

Step 4: Anger

Step 5: Acceptance
http://www.uiowa.edu/~ucs/griefloss.html

Those are the most common reactions to grief, and all in all the steps in the process to accepting the loss you've been faced with. I linger between depression and anger on most days, mostly in and out of depression. I'm over the anger -- mostly. There wasn't much to the denial part of it. There's no denying what's happening when you see it all being flushed down the toilet. Even when the doctor wanted to wait a few days to see what was happening, I was sure. I knew the moment I saw the spot in my panties. I knew I was losing the baby. It was hard to swallow at least, and at my worst I'd curl up in a ball on the floor and scream. I remember slipping in and out of numbness and pain...always in shock. The physical pain was easy to deal with. It gave me something to focus on other than the emotion of the situation...and my son, Adrien, gave me something to hold onto rather than the intangible bits of tissue I was being forced to flush away.

Bargaining isn't something that comes easy, but it's most of what occupies your mind while you're lying in bed at night and your brain refuses to rest. You replay the scenario countless times in your head. You wonder what you did to cause it: you're sure that you in some way caused it to happen. And even when your OB swears that miscarriage is such a common occurrence that it will happen to nearly every woman during her child-bearing years, it's hard not to feel like you're the only one. When you find out about others, and how many others there are, it seems like some cruel joke...or even worse yet, like a downplaying of your grief. I know, personally, that when someone would hear of my situation and they felt the need to relate an anecdote (be it their own loss or someone they've known), it only played further into the thought that it was inevitable and it would, inevitably, happen again. It seemed like around every corner there were more and more women who hadn't just suffered this experience once, but multiple times. At other times, it felt like my sadness was being passed off as a common occurrence, and therefore minute. I know that isn't the case, but one becomes very self-involved at these times...and that's alright, too. I remember all too clearly the blaming of myself. After all, who else's fault could it be? It had to be someone's.

And then, there's depression. I'm no stranger to it, having been diagnosed with clinical depression early in my life. There's nothing about this sort of grieving that can be fixed with any medication. Medications are for chemical imbalances and other neurological misgivings -- not miscarriages. My in-laws took Adrien for a few days so I could have time to myself. I felt selfish sending him off that way, but I was incapable of taking care of another human being. I could barely take care of myself. Those two and half days are such a blur: I spent them on my anxiety medication, in and out of bed...most constantly in my pajamas. I tried hard not to sit still for too long. I attended a play date without Adrien that was being held at a friend's house. It was good to sit and talk. I remember the coffee being exquisite. I went to Burger King with a friend afterward. It was good to keep going. Too long alone and I'd start to think too much. I push myself so hard and so fast those few days that I think I ran myself into the ground. If I kept going, nothing would have time to catch up with me...and it only recently has.

Anger was a constant for a while there...in more ways than one. I was angry that it had happened. I was angry that I couldn't find out why. Sometimes you don't get any closure, and I'm not sure if that makes it a harder pill to swallow...but it sure as hell feels like it. The weight of uncertainty and guilt push down on me every day. Back to the bargaining again -- the constant guilt that maybe I did something wrong. Or maybe just the fact that it was my bad genome that caused the death to occur. I was angry that my sister in law could so easily become pregnant so soon after my loss -- in her first month of trying. I think "jealous" may be more suited than "anger". I was angry that she was plastering her pregnant status all over MySpace for the world to see. I was angry that she would have the new baby and I wouldn't. Why did she get joy when I was getting pain? Short lived was my anger, and it soon turned to shame. Although I feel my anger was founded and her actions were brash, she too soon learned what loss was all about. There's a horrible part of me that things her blighted ovum was a blessing to our family: we won't have to endure as she and her husband rejoice in new life. We'll all grieve together, respectively. Maybe she has a new perspective on how it felt for me to read her constant I'm Pregnant! updates via bulletin on a networking site. Maybe now she'll understand why I asked her to change her screen name when it read (nothing less than) Pray for a healthy baby. She refused to change her screen name and insisted I should pray for her: she was praying for me. It was easy to channel my anger at her. So easy to throw things and want to hurt myself when I found out she was pregnant. It was harder, however, to deal with the anger I felt for myself...and for my husband who's feelings I couldn't understand. I could hardly see outside the scope of myself, how was I supposed to understand anyone else's feelings? Anger was the easiest step. Being angry is easier than hurting.

Finally, acceptance. I'm not sure if I'll ever get to that point. I'm sure it will become easier to deal with, but I'm not sure I'll ever accept anything that happened. How can you accept something when you're not even sure why it happened. I wish I could say I had some sort of worldly perspective on how to achieve this heightened state. Somehow, I just think it's like Nirvana: something to strive for, but impossible to reach when you're not at peace. I don't think I'll ever accept; merely learn to live with.

So here I sit, perched between depression and anger. I'm only just now letting it catch up with me -- sitting still long enough to allow the pain to seep in. Lying in bed with my husband earlier, I started to cry. I want my baby back, I sobbed. He asked if I as ready to try for another. I'm not. I'm terrified it will happen again. Besides, I'm not through grieving yet. I think I've just begun. I keep running away from it, and it's finally catching up. I've resorted to buying things to try to block it all out. Maybe If I buy enough possessions, I could build a wall to keep it out. Maybe If I find enough things to keep myself occupied, I'll be able to outsmart it. I doubt it though. I think it's catching up with me very quickly...and I'm afraid.

Oh, yes.

I just went shopping.

I just spent entirely too much money.

It was amazing.

Attack of Hydrogemommy.

Okay, so I'm not on an eternal quest to be the perfect mommy. I think that went out the door long ago. I'm also not on any sort of quest whereby I pretend to be a perfect mommy the whole way through. Why? Well I'm fallible for one, and second, I don't like to pretend to be something I'm not. That takes too much work...and I -- my friends -- am a slacker.

I've got it clear with myself that I am not perfect, nor do I try to be. Or do I? I always end up feeling horrible about the most trivial things. Things that all lead to one sum: lack of perfection. For instance, I've been sick a lot lately and as a result have been lacking in the culinary department. I readily admit that I'm not the mom who always cooks the most nutritious of meals, but I do cook every night (generally). Well not lately. I can't count how many times we've went out to eat or had fend for yourself night the last few weeks. I most likely can count (on one hand, no less) the number of nights I've cooked: two. I would say three, but I'm more sure it's two. I've cooked two nights out of the last how many? Not only does that make me feel like a crappy mom, but a crappy wife to-boot. Mommy guilt and wife guilt. Does it get any better? Another example is painted picture perfect right before you -- or rather before the screen in front of which I'm sitting...wearing my pajamas...at 3pm. I'm still in pajamas. At 3pm. I amaze myself. My kitchen is a mess; a jumble of dirty dishes and mail we forgot about...little bits and pieces of electronics and uneaten baby carrots turned projectile that were long ago lost under the fridge. What else do I have to feel less-than-perfect about? Ah, yes: the laundry. What laundry does get done almost assuredly is washed and dried by my husband. What's worse is that it then sits, laundered, unfolded in some basket in my bedroom. When it does get folded -- out of annoyance by either myself or my husband -- it generally gets flip flopped from laying on the bed to back in the basket. I mean, how hard would it be to hang it up or put it away? Apparently very.

But mostly, I feel bad about not cooking. Last Wednesday before Wednesday night church I dropped by Sonic to pick up a kids' meal for Adrien so that he could actually eat. I never thought I'd be doing that. I never thought I'd be offering a corn dog and french fries to my son as a viable meal. We have dinner served at church on Wednesday nights, but I'm so busy with my assistant director duties that I can't do that and keep up with a toddler...so I guess a corn dog was a good solution? Then on Sunday night we had the new member dinner at church. We weren't sure what was going to be served so we stopped by McDonald's to pick up a happy meal for Adrien beforehand. He was happy -- I was guilt-laden. I mean, I used to never even eat McDonald's myself...and feed it to a child? Well that was just blasphemous! But it's something that happens frequently now. Not frequently as in every day -- just frequently as in a few times/month. I used to be the mom who was astonished when I heard of someone feeding a 9 month old Eggo frozen pancakes for breakfast...oh wait, I still am. I was at McDonald's once not too long ago and saw a mom feeding her child who was under a year old french fries...you have to know what I was thinking at that point. But then I realized that I was feeding my just over a year old kid french fries.

That's it -- I refuse to turn into hydrogemommy.

I wonder how it is that my journey toward raising a child not chemically altered by the likes of fast food or growth hormones took such a sharp careening turn straight for it? I'm not sure, but one can only assume I was driven there by sleep deprivation and good dose of reality.

Poop Stamp

Max got out of the fence last night. I called the micro chipping company to report him missing. About 30 minutes later we got a call from someone saying that they thought they had our dog. They did. Andi met the guy at the elementary school across the street to retrieve the beagle. Thank goodness the guy who had Max was nice enough to want to meet us to return him at 11 o'clock at night...and nice enough to call the number on his tag. But seriously: I was so afraid he was going to get hit by a car. Ohmigoodness.

So anyway, Adrien and I went to the Arboretum today. It was so much fun! Generally when we go with the play group, we've always gone on Mondays -- Mommy and Me Mondays. Mondays are always packed. This time, however, we went with the group on Tiny Tot Tuesday and there were not many people at all. Generally the face painting line is a mile long, but today we only had to wait a very short time. Actually, I hadn't planned on getting Adrien's face painted at all because he's so little, but my friends talked me into it. I'm glad we got it done, it was too cute! It lasted for about 45 minutes or so until we went to play in the water fountains, and then of course it we running down his little face. It was cute while it lasted though. Take a look!

My little Punkin' head. Everybody say awwwwww.

The Arboretum was fun. They have pumpkins set up everywhere and all sorts of fall-themed decor. The flowers are, of course, great....and it looked like they were setting lots of new fun stuff up. From what I saw, it looked like they were getting ready to set up a little farm area complete with grain silo -- but I could be wrong. All the little kid-sized buildings of whatever they were getting ready to set up -- silo or no silo -- were wrapped in plastic and crews were getting ready to assemble whatever it was. So much fun. It definitely looked like Autumn, but it sure didn't feel like it. It was hot as all get-out.

So I was getting ready to leave for the Arboretum this morning, packing up a picnic and snacks; cutting up strawberries. I had heard some rustling in the living room, but didn't pay much attention. Adrien was busy watching The Koala Brothers in the living room. Suddenly, Adrien walks into the kitchen -- naked as a jay-bird -- and hands me his diaper...which is full of poop. I was astonished. Before I could grasp the situation at hand and dispose of the diaper, Adrien was on his merry way back into the living room to watch more TV or something. He was on his way toward my carpet. No sooner than I could grab him and keep him on the tile in the kitchen, he's already made his way onto the carpeting, apparently falling, leaving a poop stamp right in the middle of my floor.

What was it I was saying the other day about Adrien generally not pooping on my floor?

So I'm still recovering. Adrien is just dandy though. I don't remember if I blogged about it -- I don't think I did -- but Adrien had/has two ear infections. I took him in for his wheezing, and low and behold found out he had ear infections. Another round of Amoxicillan. Yay. He seems to be doing better. As for me? Although I don't think I'll be dying any time soon (from my gallbladder anyway), It sure as heck feels like it. I'm at least functioning now...and so far I haven't barfed since last Wednesday. I'm just getting these horrible, debilitating pains at the bottom of my sternum/top portion of my tummy randomly. They strab straight through to my back, and as it's worst travels all the way up my throat. I guess I should get in to see the doc...but I really don't want to. I'm going to have to. I only have three pain pills left for the pain -- and they're technically outdated...although they still seem to work. As you can see, it's been a while since I've been in for my gallbladder. I just get sick so frequently, I figure what the heck, ya know? About a year ago when all of this started, no doctor seemed to know exactly what do about it. As I said before, it was mentioned that I should maybe get the tiny useless organ removed...but I don't want to go through surgery. No fun. But this pain and nausea isn't fun either. Oh well, it's an easy way to lose weight.

I am not.

There are many things that I am not. I am not super organized. I am not a complete neat freak (any more). I am not obsessed with the way I look. I am not good at math. I am not as well traveled as I would like to be. I am not a person who likes Brussels sprouts. I am not an avid reader. And, perhaps, I am not a pet person.

I've come to discover this over the past few days.

It's a strong possibility that I am just not cut out for a pet. My father rather forcefully gave Andi and I a chihuahua puppy when we were still in college. His wife had gotten it and then decided she didn't really want it, so therefore I just needed it. After all, I'd had a chihuahua growing up who had died right after I'd moved away to college. So I took it in. When Simon (the chi) was about 7 months old and I was about 4 months pregnant, Andi and I decided we couldn't take care of him any longer. I worked long hours and so did Andi. The poor little guy was alone all day...and he just didn't deserve that. Simon had bonded with Andi's dad, so we sent him to live with Andi's parents. He still lives there to this day and is very content. He had 17 acres to run around on, after all. So, then, Andi and I thought perhaps we were more of the cat type. While visiting my Mom one January afternoon, Andi was outside and heard the cries of a kitten in a tree. He climbed up, saved it, and soon we had a cat. A little black cat named Freddy (short for Freddy Mercury). A cat -- great! we thought. The perfect pet from all perspectives: self sufficient, perfectly capable of self potty training; not the most needy of animals. We had to get the one cat that had separation anxiety. After we'd had Freddy about two weeks or so, he had to go. The straw that broke the camel's back was when Freddy yowled all morning long after Andi had gotten in the shower. The darn cat was upset because he couldn't be in the same room with Andi for 10 minutes. It sounds very sweet -- but let me assure you, at 5am when you're 5 months pregnant and have a job where you're on your feet all day, it is anything but sweet. Freddy went bye bye. We haven't had a pet since...and I've been very reluctant to get one. I didn't want pet odor in our new house. I didn't want dog or cat hair everywhere. Adrien, however, loves dogs. We thought the dog would be the perfect addition to our family.

Last night, that perfect addition vomited over and over again all over our carpet, woke us up repeatedly overnight and escaped from the back yard at 3am after he'd woken us up and we assumed he needed to potty...the 3am waking was right after the midnight waking. I called the vet about the vomiting, by the way. They said beagles just get "worked up" sometimes. I think he vomited a total of five times or something. We had to remove his water and food dish because he'd go drink water and then throw it up three minutes later. I'm talking copious amounts of doggy vomit...all over my white carpet.

That's how many nights in a row now that I haven't gotten any sleep? I think I've figured it out: I am not a pet person.