May Day

     My birthday is in early May so I've always been a fan of May 1^st since it means my birthday is right around the corner.

     In my opinion, May is the best of the spring months. It is, usually, not too hot and there are still lots of flowers all around but the pollen is usually under control . May 1st is the beginning of one of the most glorious months of the year.

     In Germany, as in much of Europe, many towns celebrate the first of May with a huge festival and something called a May Pole (and, I suspect, beer drinking but I was only 6 or 7 when I saw this celebration so I can't be certain). I remember seeing such a festival and watching the dancers in their traditional German folk costumes holding long ribbons and dancing a wonderful jig of sorts around the pole, starting from quite a ways away and ending right next to the pole with the pole wrapped in a gorgeous plait of ribbons. Cool memory. May 1^st =something to dance about.

     When we lived in Hawaii, May first was the day of a big school festival, aptly named, May Day. At Kailua Intermediate School May Day meant a pageant of Polynesian dance performances and I think some singing. I can distinctly replay in my mind Karen and Kristin and Laurie doing a hula performance and thinking it was so cool that these three haoli chics could do such honor to a non-haoli tradition. I remember how hunky (that was the exact word that came to mind back then) the boys looked all shirtless and barefoot doing the Hawaiian and Tahitian dances that showed off both their physical strength and rhythm. I also remember how May Day meant malasadas and shave ice and not a thing that resembled school work or classroom time. I recall that my sister's elementary school had a similar pageant on May Day as well and her learning a song and dance about going to a Hukilau. I missed May Day celebrations after we left Hawaii and thought Florida was seriously lame for not recognizing what an important festival day it was. May Day=awesome.

     Seventeen years ago today, May 1, 1995, May Day, I stood in a conference room in Fairfax, Virginia doing my audition presentation to join the team on which I continue to work to this day. It was an exciting day for me. I'd finally convinced the sales consulting team manager at the time to take a chance on a 23 year old with little industry experience and to give me an opportunity to show I had the skills necessary to be an asset to her team. I'd taught myself how to use PowerPoint (it might have been Freelance, it was so long ago) and built a slide deck to present on the most effective way to submit an expense report (I was working in accounting at the time and processing the expense reports during a time we didn't have a standard policy). I presented to a packed room of sales people, managers, sales consultants and a VP or two. I totally rocked the presentation. I felt fantastic.

     Apparently, while I was presenting, the front desk was paging me. I couldn't hear the page in the conference room. My boss at the time, a wonderful lady, knew where I was and took the call. She met me outside of the conference room. She had news for me. It was not good. My mother, who had been battling a vile cancer called melanoma, lost the fight while I was doing my presentation.

     Here's the thing about losing a loved one, there is no way to prepare for the loss. Hospice was coming to our house and my sister and I still believed she would get better, even though we fully understood the purpose of hospice and why they come around. Losing someone you love knocks the air right out of you and creates a hole that cannot be filled (though you can, absolutely, learn to navigate around it).

     At first I was so upset that I hadn't been there with her in her last moments. But, the truth is, my mother would not have had me be any other place. She wanted nothing more for us than we valiantly pursue our passions. She had an amazing work ethic and she would have insisted that I go do my presentation even if she had known exactly what time she was going to die. Through her, I can accept I was where I was supposed to be. The "audition" did lead to a job I have loved for years, a job that afforded me a life of travel and adventure and amazing friendships.

     But now, May 1^st, May Day, always finds me in sloshy mess of mixed emotions. It will undoubtedly always be remembered as one of the saddest days of my life. And it is a day that is associated with so many wonderful memories. It is also the day that led me to a career I truly enjoy. And this morning, May Day 2012, I danced in the kitchen with my girls to E's new favorite song, the ABBA hit, SOS. I cannot adequately express how fun it is to have your child really enjoy the music you love. This song is the reason I bought my first album, ABBA's greatest hits with my own Deutsche Marks (I also bought Best of Blondie) over 30 years ago in Germany, the place I first learned about May Day.

May 1^st=May Day=awesome (+random bursts of tears).

Lesson from E #240

good times with good friends

Last weekend the girls had a big weekend, especially E. She attended a birthday party of a good friend from school in addition to the rest of the activities. After the birthday party, I took E and B to get their pictures taken a mall portrait studio. They behaved remarkably well. So, I rewarded them with rides on the little coin rides (I don't know why they love them but they do), ice cream cones, a spree at the dollar jewelry store, and some candy shopping. On Sunday, after church, we went to a local festival called the "Chicken and Egg" festival. We went with their beloved Opa and Gigi and started with lunch on the fairgrounds (chicken, naturally). Just as we were checking out the rides, we saw some familiar faces, our good friends and neighbors. The girls squealed with delight and got in line to ride all together. The rest of the festival involve four little friends running around giggling and included a pony ride and a petting zoo. It was, indeed, a packed weekend.
On the way to school, on Monday morning, I asked E what were the fun things she did over the weekend. She said, "Play with A--- and C----." That was it.
What? She went on her first pony ride that Sunday and all she could think of was the playing with her friends who live down the street. She didn't even mention the fair at all. When I asked, "anything else?" She replied, "and E's birthday party." Nothing else. I was a little irritated—all that time spent running around trying to do things that would be fun for the girls and they only remembered playing with their friends. Sheesh. I knew it wasn't cool to get too frustrated with a 4 year old but she knew I was annoyed, even if she didn't understand why. The irony of the situation was I was one who had forgotten something.
Today, the message at church was about Martha and Mary. I'd read the story and had heard sermons on them before now and thought I understood the passage, but today something finally clicked.
The passage is from Luke 10:38-42.

As Jesus and his disciples were on their way, he came to a village where a woman named Martha opened her home to him. ³⁹ She had a sister called Mary, who sat at the Lord's feet listening to what he said. ⁴⁰ But Martha was distracted by all the preparations that had to be made. She came to him and asked, "Lord, don't you care that my sister has left me to do the work by myself? Tell her to help me!"

   ⁴¹ "Martha, Martha," the Lord answered, "you are worried and upset about many things, ⁴² but few things are needed—or indeed only one.^[a] Mary has chosen what is better, and it will not be taken away from her."

As I listened to the message, beautifully delivered by our good friend, Jack (the father of the girls with whom we shared the festival), the events of last weekend played through my head. I thought about my sweet, little girl and how out of all the fun happenings of the prior weekend, from her perspective the best, most important part was being with the people she loves. And I'd gotten irritated with her. Doh! Mommy fail.
An important lesson from Luke 10:38-43, is that, time with Jesus, their friend and loved one, was more important than all the preparations or tasks at hand. The lesson from E, the best activity is the one shared with your friends. E is a little Mary.
We are tasked to love God and told that one way to do that is to love each other. E has already figured that out. Hopefully, now her mama will be able to remember that.

Reality Check

I looked in on my sleeping girls and thought, "they are really such agreeable little things most of the time, but, dang, if they don't have the fiercest of stubborn streaks."
Then, it occurred to me that most people I know, even the ones who love me best, might describe me the same way and realized the "stubborn phase" was never going to end.
So I said a little prayer of gratitude for my beloved babies and for wine and chocolate and all things that make life a little sweeter.

Quilted Pendants for the Girls

Once I got my sister's sewing machine out of my attic and started using it I became obvious that I reasonably capable of sewing I started looking at patterns and taking sewing projects on pinterest more seriously. Mostly though, I want to do things with materials I have around the house. I made a few doll quilts out of scraps of fleece (from blanket making activities) and burp clothes (we have a ton of those since my first daughter was especially spitty). Then last week, the morning of the day I left for a four day business trip to Montana I saw a cool little pin on pinterest http://pinterest.com/pin/120963939961468112/. And I thought, "hmm, I could do that for the girls. I can do that for the girls today." So I thought about what fabric I had around the house and remembered a giant pile of receiving blankets (again, with a really spitty baby you just have a bunch). I decided I'd make monogram necklaces for the girls before I left and they would have them when they came home from school and know how much their mommy loved them even though she wasn't there.
Here's how I did it:
I found two blankets with pink patterns and cut out little squares, four from each blanket. Then I cut hearts out of some scrap felt I had left over from the doll making. My plan was to iron the hearts in between two pieces of the smaller squares I cut, to give the top quilted piece some textural depth. I had some stitchwitchery for hems, a perfect fit for what I wanted to do.

I didn't really like the idea of simple ring jump like the inspiration pieces had. I know that the girls would tear something like that off in 30 seconds without even trying. Plus, I didn't even have any handy. But what I did have was safety pins. I used pliers to crimp them shut so they wouldn't accidently open under the fabric and ironed the safety pin between the larger squares of fabric.

After that, I painted the hearts I'd ironed into the smaller square with silver nail polish. It took a few coats to get the metallic shine to really come through. I let it dry between coats.

After letting it dry I used embroidery thread to give the hearts a monogram with each girl's initial.

I cut two mid sizes squares of felt I sewed the largest squares together with a small zigzag stitch around the edges. Then I sewed on the felt with a larger zigzag stitch, then I added the smallest square with the hearts, again using the zigzag stitch again.

I added some colorful silk rope and viola, two easy to wear, practically unbreakable monogrammed necklaces for the princesses in about 90 minutes total.

I've got ideas for more, but for now I'm going to write in permanent marker on the back "mommy loves you" just a little reminder.

My Daughter Thinks I Can Do Anything—I can’t let her down

My daughters received La La Loopsie dolls for Christmas and they really like them. However, while the dolls are designed to look like ragdolls, they are made of hard plastic and are not good for snuggling with at night. So my eldest daughter, my four year old, asked me to make her a “soft Loopsie doll.” I have not sewed much more than a hem or a button in nearly 20 years, but I’ve been feeling pretty crafty lately (thanks Pinterest), so I told her I would try. I had my sister’s sewing machine in my attic and if I couldn’t figure out how it worked, figured I could always just hand sew one.
I took the girls to Michaels to get the supplies I thought I might need. I really like Michaels as a craft place and the one in Huntsville has awesome sections for baking, candy making, painting and canvases, and even jewelry making. It does not, however, have a real fabric or sewing section. In hindsight, I should have gone to Hobby Lobby. But I had already committed to making the dolls and having the girls (4 and 2) pick out their colors and whatnot. I can only brave one crafty store with the girls per day and we all wanted me to get started on the project. I had in my head that the dolls should have yarn hair and button eyes and that felt might be easy to work with (any real seamstresses are now laughing at me). So the girls picked out their yarn for hair, my four year old was set on multi-colored yarn and my two year old wanted pink. I got some inexpensive skeins and looked for buttons. Since this store was definitely more for crafting than sewing I found the best bang for my buck and just about the only way to get plain round buttons was in a bundle pack. I figured I can always find a way to use the rest later. I got some black embroidery thread for the mouth and sewing on the button eyes and creating eyelashes. I looked for filling material and found some natural cotton quilt batting that I liked and it jibed with my idea that I didn’t want to use traditional stuffing material (I really don’t know why I thought this way). I found a large sheet of white felt, I’d planned to make the head and body with and let the girls pick out smaller sheets of felt for making clothes. I was pretty sure I had the thread that I needed at home. So with the supplies I purchased I headed home and started on the project.
It didn’t occur to me to record the process until I posted a picture of the first doll on Facebook and was encouraged to pin it. Even when I expressed out utterly amateur the project was, it was suggested that it might inspire other people who don’t really sew or craft to feel like they could do something like this, too. Hopefully this does. Keep in mind this is more of a “how I did this” than a “how to do this.” I am sure there are many better ways, I tweaked the process for the second doll and will improve it again if I do another one. The pictures below are from the second doll I made.
I had no pattern so I traced the doll on to the white felt giving myself extra room for sewing (I gave the head a lot more than I needed, and not sure how to make I perfectly round head, I decided I could create more depth with an band sewn between the front and back of the head. Not necessarily the best way to do it but it worked well enough for me. I cut small circles out of pink felt from the cheeks. When I started cutting the white felt I decided it wasn’t very soft and cuddly and the quilt batting that I got was and the natural cotton was a prettier color. So I decided to make the body out of the batting an use the white felt as a liner to give support and strength to the batting. For the belly, I wanted the finished shape to be thinner at the top and rounder at the bottom, like the inspiration dolls bellies, so I created an inner belly for stuffing by layering multiple belly shaped pieces of large and small pieces. The stuffing for the legs and arms were layers of batting and felt cut smaller than the outer “skin.” Below are the pieces I started the project with.

When I took home economics, almost 30 years ago, I was taught the values of basting. I hated basting. I liked to pin and sew. This project does not let you just pin and sew. I basted like crazy. The best thing about basting is that it doesn’t have to be neat. Perfect for a girl couldn’t hand stitch a straight line if her life depended on it (I still marvel at the masterpieces of fashions that people used to sew completely by hand). Anyway, I started with the belly pieces layering them to get the shape I was going for and then basting the pile to one of the largest pieces (of the stuffing part, not the outer belly, then I did a tighter blanket style stitch to join the two large pieces, leaving the neck open. After sewing the outer pieces were together, I flipped it all right side out and tucked in the neck and whip stitched it closed. I wasn’t especially neat with it because it is the stuffing and no one will see. I also sewed on the facial features, this meant I didn’t have to baste the batting and felt for the face—yay, one less thing to baste. I did, however, do a quick stitch on the buttons with regular white thread to lock in placement of the eyes before sewing them on tight with the embroidery thread. The cheeks were sewn by hand with pink thread. The inspiration dolls have a look of visibly sewn cheeks so I kept that look by not trying to hide by thread. I gave the cheeks a more quilted look by tucking the needle under the felt just a little bit as I pulled it back through the face. For the mouth, I just drew lines for a smile with pen and followed it. The eyelashes are also done with embroidery thread. I drew them on to look like the inspiration doll’s and filled them in with the black thread.

Next, I sewed the shells for the arms and legs. I used my machine for this. I used a rather tight stitch to make sure the doll stayed together. Because I was sewing such small parts I used my sewing machine’s foot as guide to create the selvages. I left the top and about 2 centimeters worth of one side open to make it possible to turn them inside out. After sewing the arms and legs right sides together, I trimmed the ends a bit closer to the seam and turned them right side out.

After turning the arms and legs right side out it was time to stuff them. I figured out an easy way to get the stuffing pieces into the tight fitting arms and leg pieces. I ran a needle and thread through the tip of the stuffing piece and knotted it, keeping the needle and thread attached. Then I held the outer appendage pieces and dropped the needle and thread to the bottom of the “tube”. Once the needle was at the bottom, I guided it to the tip (finger or toes) and pushed the needle through. Then I gently pulled the needle and thread through, pulling the stuffing along with it. Then I cut the thread close to the seam and worked the end back into the fingers and toes.

The results—two arms and two legs. I trimmed the stuffing to be about a centimeter shorter than the outer sleeve of the arms and legs and hand stitched the sides all the way to the top. I think the stitch is called a whip stitch, if done well, it essentially disappears, closing up the seam neatly. I won’t say I did it well but fortunately that high up on the leg, that part is covered where it’s attached to the body.

Next I basted the arms and legs to the right side of one of the belly pieces. This basting job was a little more serious, making sure the arms and legs were well attached before sewing on the back side of the body. I folded the arms and legs across the body piece to make sure they wouldn’t accidently get stitched into the seams where I didn’t want them to be.

Then I placed the other body piece right side down on top of the pile of arms and legs and basted it down, checking to make sure I didn’t snag any fingers and toes. Running through the machine can be tricky but not impossible or even really difficult, you just have be confident and willing to push a little.

Next I turned it right side out and stuffed in the belly stuffing. Once again my arms are a little uneven. Like I said, I’m a total amateur so this is far from perfect. But I can tell you, my girls have not noticed it at all (the clothes cover it well and the girls are looking for the imperfections).

Next I worked on the hair. How you approach this will depend on the style for this doll my two year old wanted the hair down. The first doll has ponytails so the direction of the seams were vertical, instead of the horizontal seams you see here. To create bulk and keep the “scalp” from showing I used a lot of yarn, almost the whole skein and I’ll admit after trimming there was A LOT of waste, but I’m happy with the results. First, I pulled a bunch of yarn from the skein, looping it around both hands until I felt I had enough. Then I stitched three bands in the center of the strip I used to join the front and back of the head. On each edge I overlapped the yarn just a little bit since it was going inside. The center band, I uses a longer stretch of yarn and sewed it on across the middle. How did I sew it on? This part I’m proud of, I spread the yarn out to where I wanted it to lay for the doll and then I took a piece of tap and taped across where I wanted to sew. This held the yarn in place and gave me a guide for sewing (I stitched right down the center) and kept the yarn from getting tangled in the foot and needle. You will want to use a very tight stitch to make certain the hair is stable. Once the hair is sewn on, then I remove the tape. The tape tears fairly easily from the seam.

On the right side of the back of the head I did two additional bands of hair one in the center and one along the top, both were sewn horizontally. There is, indeed, a lot of hair on this doll.

I centered the band on the right side of the face and once again basted it together, then ran it through the machine. My sewing machine wasn’t thrilled with bulk but I pushed it through anyway.

I turned it right side out to check my work and give her bangs. Bangs on dolls, like bangs on people, hide little imperfections.

I basted on the back and ran it through the machine as far as I could –with all the hair there was quite a gap at the bottom. Time to add the stuffing for the head.

I had a roll of acrylic batting. I pulled back the back to the depth I wanted for the doll head and cut right across the roll, giving me this. Then I stuffed it in and sewed up the opening with a whip stitch.

Once all stitched up, I cut a hole in the center to tuck in the neck and attach the body. The inspiration doll has a very floppy head that rolls around and flops side to side. So does this one. It’s not quite the same but it works. I hand stitched the neck and head together and then closed the hole completely.

And then the doll was almost complete. Now all she needs is clothes.

First, some underpants. I used felt and simple shape. I basically traced the her bottom half and leg spacing then cut it slightly wider then sewed up the sides on the machine. I used embroidery thread to add decorative stitching along the waistband and add a heart similar to the one on the inspiration doll. I also added my daughter’s initial.

Now for the dress. I started with a piece of felt and folded it in half.




Then I traced around the doll again leaving enough room for sewing. Then I cut out the dress and cut a neck hole.

Next, I stitched up the sides and cut a slit in the back of the dress and turned it right side out.

Then I added some flair.
Here is the finished doll and her slightly older sister. The second doll was easier to make than the first, since I wasn’t spending so much time figuring things out. Each are totally unique. They are definitely rag dolls but the girls love them. Mission accomplished.

Why I love my church, from the girl who never thought church was necessary.

For as long as I can remember, I have subscribed to the school of thought that one’s relationship with God is personal. I have often eschewed organized religion and consequently church because of this belief. And I still believe how one comes to and relates to God is a deeply personal thing.
That said, today, I was reminded of the value of church and the community that comes with it. That got me thinking about what being part of my church’s community has meant to me and why and what that all means. And now I’ve to write about it so it can stop floating around my head.
I continue to believe a person’s relationship with God is personal. How we communicate, connect, worship, give thanks—all those things ultimately come down to what we feel in our heart and the choices we make in our lives. A building or a set of rules and regulations, what other people see us do are really not key.
However, after searching for and finding a church home, I began to better understand why I needed it in the first place. Initially, I thought it would be a good way to meet people, especially in a culture deeply rooted in church related connections, and to get more formalized guidance in learning the bible.
What I have learned is that finding a church home is much more than finding a place to show up, hear the good word and meet a few people. For me, it was about becoming part of a community and not necessarily a community of people who share my demographics and chosen faith, but rather a community of people who share my same interests in how to pursue a better relationship with God and our community as whole.
My parents taught me God is Love and God is in us. It is concept that has fundamentally stayed with me all my life, whether or not I’ve always understood it. Over my life I have made connections and formed communities of sorts that provided me with great support and many good lessons about love. But I must admit, very few of these communities have really directly helped me further my connection to or understanding of God. The understanding love part, they helped me with in abundance, but the God part, I was still really pursuing on my own. And I was pretty much okay with that.
By finding a church community and investing myself in a church home I have found much more than a place to go on Sunday. I have found people who inspire me to learn more, teach more and say more about God. It has help make clear that my path to God is to follow Christ. And for me that has been a really cool thing.
 My favorite teaching from Christ is from Matthew 22:36-40:
“Teacher, which is the greatest commandment in the Law?”
Jesus replied: “’Love the Lord your God with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your mind.’ This is the first and greatest commandment. And the second is like it: ‘Love your neighbor as yourself.’ All the Law and the Prophets hang on these two commandments.”

Basically, the lesson is, love God and love each other and everything else will fall into place. An awesome lesson and one I try to follow.

What I particularly appreciate about my church community is that the people in it really take this lesson to heart. It is frequently repeated in services along with a related piece of scripture, 1 John 4:20. The gist there, again, is we need to love each other (for another essay but important to note—regarding that love each other part, it really means everyone, no caveats). And while I have been blessed in this life with an abundance of love, despite my many flaws and regrettable transgressions, I have never before experienced such a genuine feeling of love from casual acquaintances or even veritable strangers. Your family is fairly obligated to love you and your good friends know you and have made a conscious choice to love you, warts and all. But people who don’t know you, technically, have no obligation to even be nice to you, much less love you (Christians, actually do, but that’s for yet another essay). So when you have community that gives you love whether or not they know you well, it is remarkable and helpful and can, ultimately, bring you closer to God. There is a type of closeness that can only be found from community, not in study or even prayer. That is not to say you can’t get as close to God by study or prayer—it’s just a distinct type of closeness. I am so very grateful to have found that type of church community.

I found this church home through friends and have developed more friendships at this church. However, it is a good sized and growing church, so I don’t know everyone and some of the folks I know, I don’t know as well as I’d like. Still, I must express, how much I appreciate the feeling of walking into a place filled with love. Whether you walk into this church wearing sweatpants and a dirty t-shirt or a dress shirt and tie, or your grandmothers pearls and a tea length dress, or a micro-mini and stripper stilettos, you will be welcomed with the same smiles and the same open arms. This community will pray with you and for you and for people they do not know and will never meet, if you but ask—you don’t even have to tell them why. They will fill your house with boxes of diapers and bring food for days when you have a baby. Some in this community suffered significant losses due to the tornados last Spring, yet those same people were out organizing and providing helping hands for other tornado victims outside of the church. This is a really great community. I am so thankful to have found it.

Today, I was, once again, reminded of the importance and value of community in one’s life and humbled by demonstration of God’s love by this particular church community. Today, I did not even want to go to church. In fact, yesterday, I’d decided I would take a break and maybe just catch the service online. However, when I tucked my daughter in, she asked about the progression of the next day and what we would be doing after church so I felt that was good reminder I really should go. And even though I was up before 7am, I puttered around long enough to actually be about 10 minutes late to the 9:30 service. I was not motivated to get there. My mood was a grey as the weather and it showed on my face.

Yet, from the moment I walked into the building, I was greeted with love. Friends walked up to say 'hello' and rightfully, tease me about the ridiculous mess that is my purse. And the service's message, coincidentally, was perfectly suited to my current state of mind. But most notably, a woman, of whom I’m quite fond but primarily know through working with her in the children’s area, tapped me on the shoulder during the final songs and gave me the biggest, most needed hug. She said I looked like I needed it, and I so very much did, though I hadn’t realized how desperately until I got it. She didn’t ask me to explain why I might need it, didn’t stop to wonder whether I deserved it, she just gave it freely, with love, the way we’ve been all been tasked. And I am grateful. I am grateful to her and to the community filled with people just like her and for a church that teaches that community that to love God is to love each other.

On the topic of miscarriages

On September 26, 2011, I watched the monitor as the technician measured the tiny fetus inside me and somberly acknowledged what we were seeing. There had been no growth since the last time and there was no sign of a heartbeat. That was my second miscarriage in 2011 and the third of which I am aware of having in my lifetime. For a variety of reasons, my feelings regarding this miscarriage are different from my first experience having miscarriage and different still from my second. Nonetheless, each occurrence continues to cross my mind and I am writing to put my thoughts somewhere besides the auto-play cycle in my head and in hopes that just “talking” about it will do good for more than just me.

In the age where many people have spent a good bit of time preventing unplanned pregnancies and the publicity of teen pregnancy and unwed motherhood is so prevalent, it is often difficult to comprehend that it actually isn't really easy to get pregnant.

Under ideal circumstances, the average, healthy woman, during her most fertile time in life has about 24 hours, 10 to 13 times a year during which she can conceive. Most of us aren't as average as the word suggests and there is really no telling when our most fertile time will be or how long it will last.

Then add to it the fact that some doctors believe as many as 50% of all pregnancies end in miscarriages—many times the pregnant woman is unaware she was even pregnant and just thinks she’s having a period. That is not to say that statistic applies to all women or that the late period of a sexually active woman is always or even often a miscarriage. The point is conceiving isn't easy and getting a viable baby from conception isn't any easier.

However, it isn't until you are actively trying to get pregnant that this bit of very important information becomes so obvious.

I got a prescription for “the pill” when I was 18. I was in a serious relationship but I had zero desire to derail my college career with a child. The birth control had the additional fortuitous effect of regulating an obnoxiously irregular menstrual cycle; so even when the only chance for pregnancy would have been immaculate, I continued to take the pill. As I got a little older I checked with my doctors to make sure continued use would not have any negative consequences when and if I ever did decide to have children. I was assured there would be no problems.

Prior to getting married I’d imagined that I would give the marriage at least two years of fun married couple time before adding children to the mix. However, I was 33 years old by the time I got married and my husband was 40. Both of our biological clocks were ticking. We agreed to wait a year before we’d actively start trying. I think we were about 10 or 11 months into the marriage when I stopped taking the pill, a decision made after being told that the effects of the birth control could remain in the system for a month or two after ending use. I began taking prenatal vitamins immediately and I was very conscious of any alcohol intake, to ensure my body would be a healthy place for a baby to form and grow.

All that time, I thought I was in control of this biological process called pregnancy. It wasn't that I was ignorant of the potential challenges—I’d had friends who’d had initial problems conceiving (even some that had miscarriages) and even a couple of friends who went the route of adoption. I wasn't concerned when we didn't get pregnant right away. Since I’d really wanted those two years of child-free wedded bliss, I wasn't feeling too much pressure.

Once I was off the pill my cycle had gone back to its natural state of irregularity. Since I couldn't rely totally on a calendar to tell whether I missed a period, I bought pregnancy tests in bulk. One factor about actively working on getting pregnant is that you become aware of your body and your cycle. You notice things like changes in your sense of smell, sleep patterns and emotional state.

One night, on something of a whim (really more a strong feeling based on seriously sensitive sense of smell), I took a test and to my shock and delight, it said I was pregnant. A sprint down the stairs to show my husband—woohoo! Thirty minutes later I tested again and the results read “not pregnant”. Disappointment. I decided I’d test again in the morning before I made an appointment. Woohoo! The morning test results were positive. Appointment was made as soon as the office opened.

The pregnancy was confirmed and measured at 5 weeks and I got my little sonogram still shot of a tiny little pencil tip sized evidence of good things to come. I was told to come back for my first official prenatal appointment at 8 weeks. My husband and I were excited and even though we’d agreed to wait until 12 weeks to tell people by the end of the day we’d told our parents and our siblings. I’d bought healthy pregnancy and motherhood books and a “father 2B” father’s day card for my husband.

At week 8 my husband and I went to the appointment eager to see the progress of the baby. The sonogram revealed the expected alien shaped fetus and a little heart beating away. My husband remarked that he thought the heart wasn't going all that fast. I told him to hush. But the doctor said he was right it was a little slow. She took a closer look with the sonogram and drew more blood from me and told us not to fret—she’d seen that sort of thing before and it turned out fine.  She said it could be a sign that the fetus wasn't thriving but really, we shouldn't worry. We made an appointment for 10 days later and worried but tried to be positive.

I was sure we would be fine. We prayed and asked our family to put out good thoughts. I knew in my head that things could go wrong but my heart just knew it’d be fine.

We went for the follow up appointment. They couldn't pick up a heartbeat. They sent us over to the specialty radiologist. The radiologist just shook his head. Not viable. I couldn't believe it. I couldn't breathe. The obstetrician called and said they could do a D&C right away. Whatever they thought would be best, I thought. I was still in shock.

I’d chosen the OB/GYN practice based on a recommendation of a friend and the fact that it was clinic staffed by all female doctors. Their motto was “women for women” or something similar.  The OB was very sympathetic and told me how sorry she was and how I needed to understand these things happen and how it wasn't my fault. Okay, if you say so, I thought, still numb.

I called my boss to let him know I would need someone to cover my demo that afternoon. I’d let him know I was pregnant and now had to tell him I wasn't. He was amazingly compassionate.  He told me to rest and not to worry about my schedule the next day, he’d take care of it.

After the D&C, my husband and I went home. My cousin was supposed to meet us for dinner.  We’d told him the day prior I wouldn't be able to share a bottle of wine with him and why. I held it together when I called to cancel dinner. My cousin was so great about it, offering to bring us dinner if we wanted. Right after he called, my poor brother-in-law phoned to congratulate us on the pregnancy. Talk about terrible timing. Bless his heart, I actually felt sorry for him. I handed the phone to my husband and went to bed.  

I didn't want to talk to anyone. I didn't want to have to tell anyone else. I didn't want to accept what had happened. I wondered what I’d done. I wondered whether or not my husband could forgive me and whether I could forgive myself. He wouldn't get his ‘father-to-be’ Father’s Day card. I actually told my husband that if he wanted a divorce so that he could marry someone who could actually give him children, I would understand. I really said that. He really looked at me like I was crazy and said there would be no need for that, children or no children he was in it for the duration. At the time it only made me feel slightly less awful. The sense of catastrophic failure was overwhelming for me.

Fortunately for me, unfortunately for her, one of my very close friends had very recently had a miscarriage. She was not the first person I’d known who had endured one but she was the first person with whom I was close enough that we were really able to talk openly about it and how we were feeling. It helped me immensely to walk that bridge, between what you know from a logical and clinical perspective and what you are actually feeling, with someone else.

Interestingly, once you have a miscarriage you find out that every other person you know has some experience with it. People are willing to share their story when they know you've had a similar experience. Prior to that people don’t really talk about it. It’s as if you have to join the club before you can be allowed to know there’s a club to join and it’s not a club anyone wants to join. Knowing I wasn't alone helped mostly and sometimes just frightened me all the more.

Even with the outpouring of support and commiseration, I was pretty distraught and a little self destructive—I figured if I couldn't get a baby belly, I’d just get fat and since I didn't have to give up alcohol for nine months I’d have a glass or two of wine or champagne every night (ordinarily if I have that much in a week, it’s been a party week). And, wow, could I cry—about anything and everything. I was on my way to becoming a big fat, drunken, cry baby. So not cool.

Fortunately, I was able to pull out of it. Family and friends and faith are amazing resources.  Everyone’s experience with miscarriage is unique. I think, the circumstances surrounding one’s pregnancy has a significant effect on how one responds to a miscarriage. That has been my experience and from other “club” members’ stories it certainly seems the case.

I have a friend who was unmarried and debating whether or not to terminate the surprise pregnancy when she miscarried. Her response was to want to get pregnant again right away. At the time, I was not a member of the club and I thought it was an extraordinary reaction—though on some levels I could get where she was coming from.

Now, I get it even more. One of the most distressing things about the experience for me was the realization that I did not have as much control over my body or the viability of the life inside me as I expected. When her “choice” was taken away she wanted to get it back—a feeling I can relate to completely. Prior to this last miscarriage, we had gotten our heads around the idea of having three children and were excited about it.  Now that we’re back to just two, I wonder if we should actively try for a third.

One of my friends reported in a short email that she was pretty sure she had one while at work and figured it was something that was not meant to be and simply went on with her shift. Being a nurse and a person of great faith in God probably helped—understanding the science and believing strongly in God’s will can both be sources of comfort. I’m certain it also helped that she’d already had two healthy children and hadn't been aware of the pregnancy until she miscarried.

I know that was what crossed my mind with my second miscarriage, since I didn't know I’d been pregnant and I have two little ones already, it was much easier to put it aside and deal with company and a birthday party than spend time moping. And even with this last miscarriage and my excitement, it is easier to keep from drowning myself is sorrow because I have been blessed with two healthy babies. That isn't to say I wasn't sad. I was, very much so. But it is so much easier to see the positive and have faith that things happen for a reason, whether we will ever understand it or not.

Another friend of mind spoke rather nonchalantly about having had THREE miscarriages before successfully carrying her first child to term. I was both amazed at how easily she spoke about it and that after three miscarriages she continued to try. Frankly, I was horrified by her story. I was still so raw and sad that I wasn't sure I wanted to try again and was certain that if I suffered another loss I would give up entirely. At the time, I thought she was a little cold in the casual, matter of fact way she told her story. I realize, now, that my friend was two healthy children and years away from those difficult losses and time and motherhood makes it much easier to talk about these things; plus she is a very pragmatic person with great personal strength and tendency to roll very well with the punches.

I know another woman who after two healthy pregnancies, a week before the due date of her third pregnancy resulted in a stillbirth. She actually continued to try for another child afterwards. I can say with some certainty that I would never be that strong. Then again, I am constantly amazed at where people find strength, so I should never say never. And the good news in her case is that she did have another healthy baby.

Knowing that others have walked in your shoes helps for many reasons, but for me, one of the things it helped combat was bitterness. After I had my first miscarriage, I was still able to be happy for my friends and relatives who were pregnant or recently gave birth (though I can sympathize with women who have a hard time with that after a loss) but I could not bear hearing about another idiot, barely legal, unwed celebrity having another baby. And it was maddening to wrap my head around how junkies could go to term with a reasonably healthy baby when I, who had done all the right things to prepare my body for a healthy pregnancy, could not. I really wanted to punch people. Having real evidence that good, healthy people who did all the “right” things and wanted a child could still have problems was helpful.

After the first miscarriage, I went to the doctor for one of my scheduled follow up appointments—the doctor at the clinic that was “women for women.” The nurse checking me in asked me how far along I was. When in shock, I asked her to repeat the question, she repeated herself as if I was an idiot. By the time I actually saw the doctor I could barely breathe. Then the doctor asked why I was even there. I told her the appointment was suggested by another doctor in her practice. Generously, she then suggested that since I was there she would answer any questions. I told her I was physically doing fine but emotionally I was still very sad. She looked at me and said, “well, it’s been almost two months, so you really should be over it. Would you like me to prescribe an antidepressant?” I couldn't even answer. I just shook my head. So much for “women for women.”

After a reaction like that from a doctor, a female OB/GYN, no less, I can understand why women are so reticent to share their experiences with miscarriage with people who were not in the “club.” But I think the silence is one of the things that make the experience so very challenging. Outside of TV dramas, you don’t hear much about them. Culturally, we just don’t think it’s something that happens to regular people.

With all the medical understanding and compulsive sharing of too much information, a miscarriage is still a hush-hush topic. With all the books you get for guiding you through your pregnancy, few have significant information about miscarriage or still birth. A paragraph or a very short chapter is about all you can expect. I realize it’s not the best part of pregnancy and no one likes a “Debbie Downer,” but openness leads to understanding and understanding leads to better coping skills.

That said, when I had my second miscarriage a several months ago, the original draft of this essay was the first I told anyone and I only sent it to my sister. Until then, the only one who knew was my husband. The experience was different entirely, yet guilt and sadness and natural tendency toward secrecy are all still present.

I had two, beautiful daughters. My husband and I were very happy with the size of our family and we were not planning on having any more children. Between my age, PCOS and being on the pill, I wasn't really worried about getting pregnant. In hindsight, after the month I unintentionally let my prescription lapse, I should have been more careful, but I took a test before I started back on the pill and it said I wasn't pregnant. I forgot about oral contraception requiring a full month before full potency.

I didn't even know I had been pregnant until I miscarried. I had family and friends in town for a birthday celebration while it was happening and I told no one.

I waited until everyone had left to tell my husband. I was ashamed. Had I not been so careless it would have never happened. I was relieved; we really had not planned on anymore children.  And I was ashamed of my relief. The loss of something you didn't even want can make you feel extraordinarily conflicted. The guilt I felt was awful. And I was very sad. And the sadness was compounded by the memories of the first miscarriage.

I apologized to my husband again. Again, he said there was nothing to apologize for. He’s good like that.

With the news today, I am filled with a new sadness, one I am still processing. We had been surprised by this pregnancy but were not unhappy about it. My oldest daughter is a great big sister and her little sister would be too—you should see how loving and protective she is with the younger babies in her class. When I asked them what they thought about having a new sister or brother, they both clapped and my older daughter said “let’s have both!” My husband had started mapping out plans for building out a room over our garage for a playroom. I’d started thinking about names. We’d kept the news pretty close to home, knowing that it’s best not to announce too soon. Still, I’d gotten excited. It was difficult to contain such fun news. And now, as I share it publicly, it’s not even a little fun. But for me it might be necessary. If I’m not holding on to a secret then it might be easier to let go of pain that comes with it. And it’s a sucky sort of pain, so I want to let go of it.

The decision to write about this is, honestly, an indulgent and cathartic one. But it is also sourced in a desire to share, just in case there is someone out there who is quietly internalizing a similar experience and might find a little comfort in knowing she isn't alone and pretty much anything she might be feeling or not feeling is pretty normal. Despair, relief, loss of faith, renewed devotion, self-doubt, self-loathing, fear, anger, depression, guilt, apathy, mad desire to party, wanting to be alone, lack of appetite, increased appetite, compulsive exercising, power sleeping, and just about any other emotion can be experienced and often many of them at the same time. In short, it sucks. But you will get through and move past it and while the loss will not likely be forgotten the olio of emotions will pass. Know you are normal and not alone.