The Light at the End

I feel terrible for not posting this earlier. I mean, how could I forget?! I suppose the same way I forgot to post Monster’s 12th birthday letter until well over 16 days past his birthday. I think it was the unemployment thing, the stagnation of life that happens and enfolds you when you’re scrabbling to search for that light at the end of the tunnel. The long ass tunnel I was stuck in for 2 months. That was torture.

My last post, on the 5th, was at 5 in the afternoon. Hey, that’s kind of neat. Anyway, I posted shortly after returning home from an interview wherein I got the job. I can’t believe I didn’t mention it or anything, but I guess I was high on life and feeling goopy with emotions towards my son. I’ll never know. The past week was a blur of activity and happiness.

I can honestly say that for the first time in a year I thorougly enjoy what I’m doing. My first job was taxing and frustrating, trying to squish a 40 hour position into 20 hours was too much to ask of one person. My second job was easy, but boring. I guess it was a nice break in the monotony, though. My third job, the most recent past one, was trying in its own way – a personal way.

This job, however, is brilliant. I’m transcribing dictations for two lawyers and helping around the office as needed. I love my boss, even if he is batty, and I love the office manager and other lawyers here. It’s relaxed enough to not make me feel stressed, I don’t have to battle 7 a.m. traffice since I start at 9 a.m. and lunch isn’t a thing to plan around, it just happens. I can’t say it’ll always be like this, what if it won’t? It doesn’t matter. I didn’t fall into a position that was overwhelming in its duties and priorities. I’m easing in, slowly taking things on as they come at me, learning the programmes and systems as things flow. I’m just starting to answer the phones on a more regular basis, with slightly more confidence than last week.

I’m looking at long term employment here. I’ll work here through my transcription degree and transition into a part-time medical transcription job while continuing to work for this law firm. I hope that after two years, I’ll have accrued enough in-field practice to bid the firm adieu and focus full time on my medical transcription job. So I’m going to be insanely busy.

One thing I realized, with great sadness, is that we will be living in our same apartment for another year. Which means Monster is stuck at the same school for another year. Which means we’re stuck in our crappy neighbourhood for another year. Tihs also means we wait another year to get a dog. Which kind of destroyed me for about three days. I want a dog with such a ridiculous passion, I imagine every dog I see on the street as being our dog and how it would work out. Sometimes it does and sometimes it doesn’t. Another year to plan isn’t too bad, though.

The last thing on my mind right now is TTC. It’s still there, though, gnawing at my brain. Every time I see a little baby, my heart gets that fluttery feeling and I wonder when our relationship will get back on that track. Not any time soon, and I’ve accepted that. I cherish that knowledge and hope that when we are ready, we have everything we need to hit the ground running. This includes a dog first. And a bigger place – a rented house, maybe? Who knows.

Right now, I’m happy. I haven’t been happy in months. My last job was sucking my soul straight from my body, and unemployment just made me feel terrible about myself. This job seems to be restoring a huge part of my personality to ‘right’. I’m also spending a lot of time with my best friend, and that seems to be helping substantially with my cabin fever.

My next post will be about the hardcore/awesome/amazing weekend I just spent with her. Let me just say that we communed with nature.

(Also, yesterday was my cat’s birthday. Nefertiti turned 6 years old. I remember the day I got her, she was only 8 weeks old and tiny as can be. It was the middle of summer and she used to cry because she couldn’t get onto the desk to sit with me. She learned how to crawl up the side of my bed, using her baby claws, just so she could sleep by my head. I miss the tiny, sweet kitten who watched Law & Order: SVU before bed and slept with her favourite toy mouse betwee her paws.)

Spring

It rained this morning in Austin. Hard and heavy, thick droplets of rain smashing down onto cars, echoing off of tin and splattering against windows. These early Spring rains bring not the sticky warmth of late April, but cool breezes from the north where Winter is still queen. Yet somehow, inexplicably, these cold rains nourish the Spring bloom. Set against a grey, dismal sky the once barren trees of Austin’s Winter are now resplendent with feathery crowns of vibrant greens. The stark contrast between what my view once was, spindly trees with blackened leaves, and is now is amazing, brilliant swaying giants with shocks of bright green leaves.

This part of Spring is my favourite part, the early breaths in Texas are the most beautiful, when the air is still cool but the trees have already donned their Spring attire. As it warms through the day, the green becomes more lush, the sun cooking off the water making tendrils of steam rise against the canopy outside of the office windows. It’s so hard to concentrate, the vast view of Spring birthed before me.

Today is not a work day, not for most of us. About 45% of the office is actually concentrating, focusing on getting the last leg of work done. Most are too busy flitting around, chatting on the phone or with co-workers, grabbing lunch or taking long bathroom breaks. No one wants to be here, when the sky is still grey but the sun peaks through, hinting of the weekend to come.

I’m so thrilled for the rain, because it comes in thick diagonal sheets, blanketing our newly planted herbs and tomatoes on our porch. Because of the intermittent rain followed by heat and bright sunlight, our tomatoes are growing faster than we expected. Their little shoots shot up through the coconut husk planter so fast we quickly removed the plastic bag serving as a miniature greenhouse over the weekend. Our little herbs aren’t doing so well, two sprouts – Italian parsley and chive – have popped up and remained at the same size since then. The wait is agonizing, but soon our little porch side garden will be in full bloom.

It’s always been a big dream of mine to grow a lush, fruitful garden in my backyard. My mother grew tomatoes in an old claw foot tub in our backyard and they were so delicious and wonderful I wanted to grow thousands of tomato plants in my own first home. The good news is, Fil shares the same dream. In my imagination, I see swaying trees, ripe with plump Mexicola Grande avocados, fragrant lemons, heavy red apples and firm loquats. I see long rows of green onions, cucumbers, tomatoes, squash, beans … all kinds of vegetables and fruits.

My desire for a garden, I think, I deeply rooted in my connections to the country. I’ve mentioned my family’s roots before, I believe. My father’s side of the family, the side I know best, is from a small town in a Western county in Ireland. There, our family (my direct family, lots of cousins etc.) still owns a farm and a bed and breakfast. They were farmers, probably owned some sheep too, and I own that past with pride. My mother’s side, however, is made up of farmers, ranch workers. The land has fed, clothed and put a roof over many of their heads. My great-grandmother was a chicken farmer, her husband raised watermelons. There have always been cows, on both sides, and gardens that flourished with all sorts of delicious fruits and vegetables. When I was younger, my grandmother had a little garden, as well as a chicken coop. She had fresh eggs, cabbage and squash and I thought it was the neatest thing ever. I set it in my mind, that image of a bountiful garden replete with life giving goods.

Now, on our humble porch, the beginnings of an urban garden are taking root. Little chive, parsley and oregano struggle up through black soil, while tomato sprouts stretch and turn their leafy heads towards the sun. Every morning we check the progress of our little seedlings, wriggling with excitement to see how many new tomato stalks there are. Soon we will transplant them in a hanging basket, grape tomatoes will grow on top while plump big reds dangle below. When our first tomatoes ripen, I will pick them and some parsley and go inside to make a tomato salad with homemade mozzarella and vinaigrette.

I love Spring.

TTC… SRSLY?!

Everyone makes a New Year’s pact to do something… not eat greasy foods… not eat chocolate every day, only on Saturdays… stop drinking… stop smoking.

All good, valid resolutions with simple plans to keep them in effect.

This year I have the standard resolutions: get back in touch with my body, restore healthy eating habits, try exercises to return normal function of left ankle, etc.

But I have a few new ones.

Like, drink water at every meal. I do that now, but I mean at every meal. No more diet Pepsi or iced tea. Only water. Especially if we’re eating out. It will not only save us money but it will save my body, too.

Also, I won’t snack at work. Lately the early mornings and late nights have made me ravenous at 11 a.m. I was snacking on carby salty crackers and throwing back a Diet Dr. Pepper at noon, but no more. I will bring a sandwich and water bottle every day and eat only that.

Sort of a side resolution to that, I will eat breakfast every morning, even if it kills me. No diet/exercise schedule will work if I don’t eat at least 3 meals a day. It’s also really bad for my blood sugar that likes to plummet after a few hours of constant monotony.

And I will meditate… because 20 minutes a day helps keep the doctors AWAY.

I will talk to my doctor about my various health concerns. Namely, a possible thyroid problem, gas pains before ovulation and during my period and my damn hips. I will also see the dentist and have my wisdom teeth removed before they destroy my perfect orthodontics.

I will take care of myself in every way possible. I will only buy clothes that fit me right and that make me feel like I’m on top of the world. I will straighten my hair whenever I want because it makes me feel good. I won’t wear make up because I’m beautiful without it. And I will find a pair of pretty, comfortable flats to wear to work.

I will work hand in hand with Fil to help JT through therapy and medication so that he can get better, happier and healthier.

I will work on this relationship with Fil so that we are safe and sound and confident in ourselves as a couple. We will be the amazing couple we once were and I will help her kick cancer’s ass.**

I will keep thinking like we’re going to start TTC come next November and by then I will be serene and Earth Mother Goddess about it.

We will find our donor. He will be perfect and wonderful and beautiful and will be so much like Fil you’d never know the baby wasn’t part of her, and part of me.

(First we have to, you know, make FRIENDS in order to find that perfect, wonderful donor I talk about. How do we do that, huh?)

And on that TTC note, I will try to convince Fil to start a nest egg fund over the summer, since we’ll hopefully both be working.

On that working note, I will try very hard to be a valuable asset to this department. I will be so damn valuable that D, my boss, will want to make me full time and give me a raise and it.will.be.glorious.

Just wait and see. The new me? The NEWAtt is going to take the freakin’ world by storm.

** That totally includes WAY more sex than we are having now!

Michael

Lately I have thought on Michael. How the flicker of his fitful little fists and feet would have felt stretching the confines of my insides. What his angry hiccups would have done, jiggling my belly about. I wonder what he would be doing now, rolling about in his crib, giggling as he amused himself with his hands. Blue, blankets and crib sets, first smiles and the first time we see his face. Memories, things that could never happen, hopes that I delivered, a massacre, onto a bed at Motel 6. A loss followed by an aching, never ending pain.

Becoming unpregnant, like Calliope said, is a long process. It is never ending torrents of blood, a six week period, a mockery of post-pregnancy, when there is no child to ease the ache in your uterus. My process trickled through months later, when my uterus clung to a piece of him, and I became infected and sore, I ached not for the loss of him, but for the part of me that wanted to keep him. Now I am forever altered, my periods coming in slightly more painful jabs, and the fear of being rendered barren always in the back of my mind.

Sometimes I step back to wonder how my son would be now if we hadn’t lost him so early on. Life would be drastically different, I would feel more complete, I think, with him in my arms. He was hope, a small flicker of butterfly wings, stirring to life within me. He was not only an almost, he was a possibility, he was a future.

I know that there are hundreds of women right now who are struggling through their 2nd year of trying to have a baby. Women whose wombs have stood barren and run red each time they tried. Couples who have searched and tried and exhausted thousands of dollars and still bear no fruit. I am not one of these women, I am young, and on our first shot-gun attempt, I conceived. So for them, I mourn their losses, their bloody deliveries into the palms of their hands. For them, I mourn my lost son even more. For them, I must always remember him.

I am hopeful, now, that perhaps Michael is more than a lost hope. That he is an indication of precisely how strong my wife loves me. I am hopeful that those pregnancies that follow him are bursting with life and possibility. That he is the only one who does not live. And for those women who have come before me, shouldering the burden of infertility and loss, I hope that they too find their happy ending.

I am sorry, Michael, I truly love you and think of you constantly.

A Dream about…?

** Just to let you know, this dream was very, very weird. I often have vivid dreams where I’m acting out the life of a character in a novel. It has nothing to do with my life as it is now, and resembles none of my core beliefs. It’s like the itchy writers part of my brain bursts forth with a frothy vengence in one hot, scary and dark dream. This is one of those dreams. **

If you still feel like reading, follow the jump!

A very random post

Photos of the new place.

The other night I was crazy bored, so I took some photos of the common areas of my new house. It is, at best, a semi-permanent situation. But for the moment, it retains some semblance of home, and thank god we have a door.

My dad sent this link to me in an e-mail earlier this week (for PC users, hit ctrl+f and search for ‘Right-wing warriors who crave war with Iran have suddenly developed’). To summarize, it’s about how those who hold anti-gay sentiments in the U.S. have turned over a new leaf and are lauding the rights of gay Iranians. But it goes much deeper. Do, take a look!

And now onto the real reason for posting this. Bear with me as I know most people HATE dream posts.

This dream was very much like a pilgrimage to some massively life-changing locale. The location? An enormous tree-house like structure called ‘the Playhouse’. The pilgrimage was to ‘save the Playhouse’ and millions of people were, in complete reverent silence mounting this enormous thing. The tree-house structure was just layer upon layer of slanting wooden platforms, stairs, rooftops with different coloured shingles, straight climbs up rickety stair-like things. And it was some sort of enlightening religious experience to make it to the top.

There I am, sweaty because of this very humid, thick air and I’m climbing this thing with millions of other people. As I’m scaling higher and higher I see someone who is alarmingly familiar – Angelina Jolie. I’m thinking “whoa, what’s she doing here?!” She looks so depressed and is just mournfully moving up this monument. As I’m gaining altitude, I see that she’s below me, struggling up a slippery slanted platform, and I stretch out an arm and help her up above me. From that point on we finish the pilgrimage together, holding hands and talking in low, hushed tones. You know, like we’re two normal people just sharing this deeply religious experience.

After we’ve reached the top we see that there’s this educational centre as well as an aquarium and a gift shop. We move through these various rooms, looking at the animals and experiencing strange things. We make our way into the gift shop where we hug and exchange the a farewell kiss and part ways. While I’m mulling around the shop looking at the startling amount of Celtic stuff, Angelina is rooting around trying to find a gift for me. I’m fully aware of this as she’s talking in rather loud tones with the clerk looking for name tags “Elizabeth” and “Doyle” and they’re having huge arguments over how my name is spelled and pronounced.

After I pick out the proper names and hand them to the clerk, I continue about my way. As I’m about to exit, finding nothing to purchase, Ms. Jolie comes up to me and puts her hand on my shoulder “Lizzie, I just want to thank you for today. Your kind words and help have made me feel much better about things.” And she hands me this SWORD. I kid you not, a basket handle sword from the French 1800s or something. And then she kisses me.

When I open my eyes? Not in real life, in the dream, it’s my Fil with her arms wrapped around my waist and her lips on mine.

Weirdest dream ever, and a little frightening, but I guess if I were to think about it longer and harder I would come up with a simple explanation. Or maybe the dream means something more?

I often have dreams where I’m going through deeply religious rights of passage. A lot of the time I’m basking in the wet heat of a meditation cave while powerful words vibrate through my bones. Whenever I wake up I’m bathed in sweat, a feeling of peace has taken over my body and I can’t remember those words for the life of me. I feel like if I dream again and again the words will stick, eventually, and I’ll find enlightenment.

The Angelina Jolie part has to do everything with watching an Angie movie on T.V.

But it was weird to have physical people in the dream that touched me, communicated with me and were important to my life. Having Fil there at the end must mean I was thinking deeply about her. Interacting with Angelina was weird, because in those reverent dreams I’m surrounded by devout followers, but none of them even notice me.

Hmm…

I wonder, wonder, wonder.

I think it may be a sign…

A few nights ago.. or whenever I was asleep.. I had a dream.

Odd details aside, the basis of the dream was as follows:

A man informed me that I looked pregnant. I went to the pharmacy (that was in the front of my house), bought a pregnancy test, and tested positive.

Do you think my body/mind is telling me that I seriously want a baby?

I think so.

I just put my son to bed (he’s a night owl), and a few hours ago I carried my goddaughter to her bed. She was all tired and limp on my shoulder. In the car, on our way to Wendy’s with the kids, my goddaughter was signing along to Regina Spektor’s Samson and I wanted to cry. I just plain want more. I have a selfish want to fill up Siggy (my car) with car seats and Cheerios and long forgotten sippy cups.

I feel like this places an enormous amount of pressure on Fil. Because she senses this … longing. This thing that I’ll never get with Monster, this maternal yearning to carry. Maybe I’m just a little hormonal.

I suppose this longing ache is brought on by nerves. I’m so sketchy scared of being infertile that as WonderSperm’s visit looms closer and closer I get even more sketchy and more scared.

I have to remind myself that yes, we will have a baby. I will fulfill that driving need, and all will be okay.