But the sparkly part of everything left us for a while. First, we were instructed by the world police not to talk about it. And now, we’re instructed by the world police not to talk about that. Oh, goodness. Don’t talk. Hide from the world. Give me some kind of super religion blanket that allows me to forget reality. That’s not for us. That’s just weird. It’s real. Now. Here.
It’s a struggle. We want children so badly. The thing is—have you met my husband? Have you met Mr. Husband who is commonly known as “Super Husband”?? This man deserves children. Totally. He is so kind and understanding and the children of our friends flock to him like he’s some kind of Lego disciple.
He deserves children. Next weekend, we’re going to take the Loaner Son for the entire weekend. We told Mrs. Loaner Son that we have an emptiness that is hurting us. Mrs. Loaner Son, in her continuous and ever benevolence agreed to go skiing. Good woman. Give us your son! We need to fill the emptiness somehow. We are ever thankful to that woman who is also going through pain (divorce) who continues to share with us when we are in need. We are lucky on many different levels.
But not baby lucky. No.
And we couldn’t talk about it from the start. How painful is that? We cannot share. We cannot sing out loud. That’s nuts. But we understand now. We miscarried. It never really was—well, it was but for a very short time. I told my best friend, Debs, that we were telling our inner circle because when and if we go through a miscarriae—the circle will go through it with us. And they did. I had already had a miscarriage eleven years ago, so the idea, the possibility, the potential was always with me. We celebrated too early. Frack that! We’re going to celebrate! We did. We are. And we will. You cannot stop us.
We will celebrate. With wild abandon. Every step of the way will be a victory. And when we encounter pain, we will turn it into something not-pain. Somehow. We will. We can. Stupid life--we shake our fists at you!
We got pregnant. Mr. Husband’s glorious sperm came to meet my egg and they got it on. They did. It took Clomid (50 mg) to make it happen. But we did it. We documented the process all along the way for our families. And what are we left with now besides an empty uterus? Hope. We got pregnant. We did it.
We can do it again.
And we will. We are aggressive. We will continue to be so. We will bring baby Klusendorf-Stewart into the world one way or another. I’ve found that My Mr. Husband, the main subject of this blog, is even more worthy than ever of someone penning his amazing abilities. This man held me up and took care of me in ways that I never expected. I’m a strong woman. He’s a much stronger man. He went to the doctor and asked her a million questions. He helped to build a plan for us going forward. He even sat in on my pelvic exam after the miscarriage. He now knows what the cold
silver duck is. Wow. He didn’t flinch. And I was the one who put him there. The doctor asked if he’d sit in, and I said, “Yes, he will. “ And he did. It wasn’t his decision, but I wanted him there. Mr. Husband for president. Was there ever a better man?
3 comments:
Was wondering where you'd been for so long. I miscarried between Leah and Neal. Everyone already knew I was expecting, and all I wanted was for people not to give me that look of pity and discomfort when they tried to figure out what they were supposed to say. Which is completely unfair to them, of course. What I have found, over time and through discussion, is that it's a lot more common than I ever realized. But it takes talking about it to know that.
Now I am going to try to get that cold silver duck out of my mind until my next appointment....
Heather, this post was beautiful in its searing honesty.
--Deborah
Everybody deals with these events in their own way. It is a touchy business. For myself, I agree with your choice of means. You keep trying, because that is its own fun.
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