The last time I was at Winterlude I was 8 weeks pregnant. I would lose the baby 3 weeks later.
I’m ok.
I’m not dwelling on this, I promise. It’s just the way it is. It’s a small thought that worms its way matter-of-factly into my brain. It’s just there. What can I say? It’s a part of the way I measure reality.
Your Valentine’s Day Playbook. I’ve split it into 3 Lessons so you don’t have to take in too much at one time. Read it. Breathe it. Live it.
‘Hut hut hut!’
Lesson 1: Cover All Bases
If you’re going to book a weekend away, don’t just pick a date and reserve the hotel—make sure you take care of childcare arrangements too. Same goes for dinner reservations, or any other activity where you’re going to be away from the kidlets for more than a few hours.
I was finally at the office of the new fertility specialist.
I thought I was going to throw up. Instead, I busied myself with conducting a design critique of the waiting room. Just a thought, but maybe lime green and sky blue in every variation of stripe and polk-a-dot is a bit too much. Just a bit. Ok, breathe Kat, just breathe.
Have you seen the movie ‘Say Anything’? You know at the end when they’re sitting there on the airplane waiting for the ding? That’s what I was like.
When the Girls’ Night Out Blitz I had my heart set on for the weekend was cancelled, I felt more depressed then I initially thought I could. I just really needed an outlet. I needed to let off some steam; to bond; to dance..to apply smoky purple eye shadow without fear of judgement.
I have an appointment with a new fertility doctor next week and every time I think about it, I feel sick. She’s got a great reputation and she specializes in multiple losses. That should make me feel pretty good, right?
I confess, I didn’t pay much attention to the whole Beyonce pregnancy story this year. Even all the hype around the cute Blue Ivy Carter moniker didn’t really grab at me, but when I saw the words ‘Beyonce’ and ‘miscarriage’ pop up in our own Mummy Buzz, I couldn’t stop myself from taking a peek.
There are a few things that make me wonder whether I could actually handle a second child. The stomach flu is one of them. Seriously? It took me 3 days to get the smell of vomit out of my nose. Amazing.
I was enjoying a bedtime cuddle with my 2-year-old when it happened. There was a gurgling from deep within her. She seemed to sway and lurch, and then there was barf everywhere.
The other day I asked my parents if they’d had a chance to read my blog.
Eyes shifted, feet shuffled, lips pursed, and the excuses started to flow. My parents are many things—supportive and loving are high on the list—but they are not subtle. And they really suck at lying. It’s kind of endearing, actually.
I have one of those bodies that packs on 10 lbs as soon as it sees 2 lines on a pregnancy test. It’s just the way I roll. No pun intended. Ha.
My first pregnancy I packed on 57 lbs. It was very noticeable. That’s just my body, and what it wanted to do over 9 months and I’m cool with that. I lost all the baby weight by the time Vee was about 10 months. It wasn’t entirely effortless - there may have been a lot of Jillian Michael’s involved - but that’s another story.
A couple of days before my D&C I headed over to Home Sense, to lose myself in some holiday décor shopping. I got some festive ornaments, throw pillows, and these awesome 2’ x 4’ typographic canvases that pack a lovely graphic punch to our living room wall. Because we all know nothing says Christmas like random pop art. Especially when it’s on sale.
Not kidding. Actually it’s more like a bizarre case of Schrodinger’s Kat. Depending on earlier random events and the Copenhagen interpretation of quantum physics, I am simultaneously both pregnant and definitely not pregnant. Let me explain.
"Okay, fine, but I didn't dump my purse out on the couch and invite everyone into my problems."
You know that line? It's in The Breakfast Club. Emilio Estevez says it to Ally Sheedy during their first 'getting to know you' teen-angst fuelled conversation. And it's how I feel right now.
