staring down an elephant.

For anyone who’s wondered if they’re the only one that has had to stay silent and focused on something while someone else was around so you wouldn’t start inconsolably crying? You’re not.

To anyone else who has wondered if they’re the only one who has held their breath while being hugged so that they wouldn’t have the breath to let a muffled sob? You’re not.

Choking back tears is exhausting. But sometimes letting them go is even more tiresome because once they come they won’t stop and most of the time you’re just left with itchy puffy eyes and a cry headache.

I’m not sure what’s happening to me this time around. Weather? Holidays? Pregnancy? Honest to goodness chemical imbalance knocked even more off balance by the previous three troubles?

I’m not afraid to ask for help and I’m not ashamed to accept it.

I just really wish I didn’t need it.

out back

six.

Today at 6:23 p.m. EST you turned six years old.

To be honest, the day could have ended better.

Thankfully, there are pictures that tell the story of a good day.

addie's sixth birthday

A story of balloons, sunshine, pancakes, pink cake and a little girl who received every gift her little heart could have ever dreamed of.

addie's sixth

six candles

Hopefully these pictures will overshadow the grumpy ugliness and tears that ended the day. And next year you will look back at this year as your best birthday ever and you will go to sleep in anticipation on December 13, 2011 wondering how in the world your seventh birthday could ever outdo your sixth.

addie's sixth birthday

Until then, I love you, my beautiful, strong willed and spirited little daughter.

more sick than the sickest sick.

April 15, 2004, approximately 8:33 am began one of the worst sick days of my life. It was the first day hyperemesis kicked in while Miss AddieLaRue was cooking away in my tummy. The day involved several projectile vomits (one on a nurse who deserved it) an IV and an assurance that I had never, ever been that sick before in my entire life.

December 10, 2010, approximately 10:22 pm began what will hereto forth be known as the worse sick day of my life. Miss Mozzita (which let me assure you her real name will be far more elegant than her nickname) is the one currently cooking away when I am suddenly and overpoweringly hit with nausea.

I won’t be eating ice cream or olives anytime soon. I can assure you of that.

I dosed myself up with Zofran, chased it with a Phenergan and sent myself to bed.

What happened next, well.

Let’s just say that by 8 am the next morning I had already vomited every hour on the hour.

Final barf count at 1 pm? 17.

Seventeen.

I can assure you that vomiting seventeen times while twenty weeks pregnant will lead you to discover muscles you didn’t even realize you owned let alone used for things like breathing.

Or swallowing.

Or blinking.

What happened is gastroenteritis, which for most people means you feel pretty gross for about 24 hours and as long as you don’t eat or drink anything which exasperates the condition you’re golden albeit seven shades of green for the day.

However I am a pregnant lady who doesn’t do so well if I don’t eat.

Talk about damned if you do, damned if you don’t.

I wonder if Cody even remembers what his healthy wife looks like anymore.

Long story short I made it out alive and spent today feeling as though I had been run over by a bus and then beat up by a hundred very angry people. Mozzita? Bounced away the entire time, as if to say “SEE MOM? I’M FINE! BOUNCE BOUNCE BOUNCE! ARE YOU BEGINNING TO BELIEVE ALL THOSE NURSES THAT SAID BABIES ARE LIKE PARASITES? FEEDING OFF THEIR HOST BODY EVEN IF THEIR HOST BODY IS DYYYYING?”

The day ended with a fever, half of a bagel and a late night showing of “Meet me in St. Louis.” I have a very soft spot for old musicals.

My award still hasn’t arrived for surviving yesterday but I figure it has to be the weather that’s slowing everything down.

Yeah, that’s it.

the one about the infertility title lost, but not forgotten.

I can never ever forget where I came from that got me to this point.

Jealously that almost ruined my best friendship.

Anger and bitterness that drove people away.

Friendships lost because the hole in my heart was too big to manage.

Nearly alienating my only sister because of one comment.

Almost losing my marriage and my own life to a medical treatment because I was so desperate for a baby.

If I didn’t have my archives to go back and read I may be able to think about the past five years differently. I know a lot of you had hope for me, you knew this would happen for me when I didn’t. There were even a few of you who sent me “I told you so’s.”

There are also those of you who have come forward to admit that you stopped reading my words because you felt guilty for having what I longed for so badly.

There have also been some who have pegged all of your hopes on me. “IF YOU CAN DO IT SO CAN I!” or “WHY YOU AND NOT ME?”

And then there are those of you who have lost much longed for babies. I can’t even pretend to know the pain associated with such a loss, I only know the fear, and the fear on its own is crippling.

When a painful five year journey ends in an instant, and suddenly your entire life is about to change in less than 36 weeks? Five years doesn’t seem like such a long time.

I know I was guilty of turning my back on my friends who became pregnant when I couldn’t. I am so deeply remorseful for this. I was so busy licking my own wounds that I lashed out at those who didn’t deserve it. I can’t thank God enough for giving me the last year to realize my mistakes, rectify some of them and come to peace with what may or may not be in store for me.

I feel like a hypocrite writing the following words when I know that I was guilty of doing the same thing. As soon as I announced my pregnancy I could feel a two handed shove, the kind that whips your head back, shoving me out of the classification of infertile and into unfamiliar territory.

I’m not sure I can ever take my rightful place among the other side. It took way too much to get here to ever take this pregnancy for granted. I mingle with the other side. Make jokes about cravings and poop. But I can’t ever truly turn away from that other group, the one I was a part of for so long, the one I spoke up for and the one that supported me when I couldn’t support myself anymore. I feel as though when I look back at them, their backs are all turned to me. “Traitor” they mumble.

“But…but! You guys! I get it! I know how you feel!”

They turn for a moment, look at my swollen belly, roll their eyes and turn away.

Maybe I know their mannerisms so well because I did the same thing for so long.

It’s lonely out here in the middle. There’s very few people out here with me. Or maybe there’s more of you, we just haven’t talked about it yet.

I don’t want to be the story someone tells to an infertile friend, “Well there’s this blog I read, she tried for years…surgery…hormone treatments…she had finally given up and then WHAMMY! it happened!”

I know how it feels to be on the receiving end of that conversation. I know how to mechanically smile and nod in response, not letting on to how frustrated and hurt I am inside.

I am so deliriously happy that I sometimes forget that there are women around me at the grocery store or online that are giving me the same dirty look I’ve given so many women in the past. If I were to catch one of them and hear their story and try to relate I wouldn’t be taken as a credible source, simply because the stars aligned and I was fertile for one magic moment.

I don’t know why this has been so hard for me to write about. Maybe it’s because I can still feel the shove to my back while the sting is still on my hands from shoving others.

I don’t have an answer.

But I know I’ll never forget. Especially since I’ll never quite belong here or there.

an open letter to mozzi, no. 2

Hey Moz,

We’re almost halfway through annoying each other! You’ve been making me sick, pee, eat, barf, sleep, not sleep, fart and grunt like an elephant for the past 20 weeks while I’ve subjected you to my car singing, your sister,  barfing and possibly one too many Subway chicken sandwiches with a few too many pickles and banana peppers. I’m also kind of sorry for poking at you so much. But seriously, I want to feeeel you in there, even more I want Cody and Addie to be able to feel you in there. Apparently I was kind of stingy with the tummy touches the first time around. I’m pretty sure I felt you at dinner on Friday night, it was either in celebration of the Chinese food I had just eaten or in rebellion for the Chinese food I had just eaten. Or it was gas. Which is totally possible.

Look, your sister has a really strong personality, so I’m expecting the same from you, even if you are only the size of a mango. I am also expecting you to be a boy. I refer to you as a he, I call you Addie’s little brother…I’m fully expecting to see your twig and berries this Friday. And if I’m wrong and we end up seeing little hamburger buns in the ultrasound? Sorry about that. Guess we’ll have it on public record how keen or crappy my maternal intuition is.

I officially look pregnant. I haven’t barfed in over a week and half and I’ve only taken three Zofran in the last seven days. I also gained two pounds in the last four weeks. I’ve never done that while pregnant before!! Yay us!! I am so in love with you and I don’t even know what or who you are. I feel a little cheated that I never felt this way with your sister while she was still in me, but oh my, I am so in love with her. You officially have the coolest big sister ever. She’s currently in this phase where she wears the most ridiculous outfits ever, so ridiculous in fact that they are flawless in their mediocrity. We were at the circus last night when I realized she and a clown were wearing the exact same thing minus the pink hair and face paint (yeah, mean mom, I know.)

((ZOMG!! I THERE YOU WERE AGAIN! I TOTALLY FELT THAT ONE! I hope this doesn’t mean you’re a Steelers fan seeing as Cody just switched over to the game, we’ll have to have a nice long talk about Roethlisberger later on and how no son of mine will ever disrespect women. You know, assuming I’m right about you being a boy. Again, if you’re not? Sorry, we’ll have the talk about how nice girls don’t go for boys like Roethlisberger.))

You’ll like it here. We’re pretty fun people. I make sweet birthday cakes and Dad is amazing at making dragons out of Legos. We’re all really happy you’re on your way here. Promise I’ll do my best to get you here as safely as possible.

xoxo, mama

the one about the second time I was positive.

Over the last year I had become so laid back with this getting pregnant business that I barely even bothered to keep track of my periods. (look away daddy!) Besides, I have an app on my iPod that does it for me. It even has an icon of flaming boobs for those few days of fire before your period comes. Boobs set on fire, period comes three days later. Easy right?

Well towards the end of August my chest had been set aflame but I didn’t bother to tap it into my app right away for whatever reason. When I finally got around to entering my teats of flame and fury into the program I noticed my period was supposed to have started three days earlier.

2005-2009 Casey would have lost her mind and already peed on seventeen pee sticks had she even been seven minutes late on her period.

2010 Casey’s first thought was “Oh crap. My endo and PCOS are totally back because my period is being all wonky again.”

The next morning I hemmed and hawed over peeing on a stick. I hadn’t peed on one in a really, really long time and I wasn’t sure I was up for the disappointment, however, I knew if I peed on the stick my period would start exactly four minutes later.

Murphy’s Infertility Law.

So I peed. I haven’t even bothered with the whole bravado of hiding the stick with the wrapper or a tissue, counting down the requisite 180 seconds and then doing a big TA DA! reveal of the answer in years. Nope. I just sit there and stare at it. In my nine years of marriage I’ve only passed one pregnancy test, I’ve failed hundreds. So my expectations?

Low.

So I sat there. Staring at the stick. Yep. There was that first “control” line. Boring! Like I haven’t seen this one before. Then all of a sudden something else appeared. A SECOND LINE. What the! NO! I DON’T MAKE SECOND LINES APPEAR! I AM THE ANTI-SECOND LINE! It wasn’t a very dark second line, but there was totally a line there. I think.

I checked it in different lighting.

I then scanned it in and emailed it to Emily.

Emily furiously googled and then Emily confirmed, yep. I MADE A SECOND LINE APPEAR!

There was only one thing to do after that, buy more pregnancy tests.

I went with the dollar store version first. However I made the mistake of running out to the dollar store in such a hurry I forgot to comb my hair, wear a wedding ring or show any form of self care whatsoever. So when the old man behind the checkout counter asked the jittery disheveled lady buying eight pregnancy tests at eight a.m. if she was okay, I shouldn’t have been surprised.

SUCCESS! I OWNED THOSE DOLLAR STORE TESTS!

Then it was time to google due dates and how far along was I and ZOMG CHINESE CALENDARS!!1!

Oh, where’s Cody during all of this? At work.

I of course had Full House type fantasies in my head of making him a meal of baby carrots, baby corn, baby back ribs and Baby Ruth for dessert but that all kind of flew out the window when I discovered that for the second time in my entire existence I had the power to make multiple lines appear as if from nowhere with my pee.

I found out I was pregnant with Addie using one of those digital tests. Truth be told when you’re dealing with one pink line and one I think it’s there but I’m not quite sure let me scan this in and send it to my best friend lines? Digital tests are worth every penny.

Moment of truth. I bought a digital test (okay 3) and went to Cody’s office where I secretly peed on one before he knew I was there.

I MADE IT SAY PREGNANT! THOSE SUCKERS CAN’T LIE! PWNED!

I walked down the hall to Cody’s office and instead of doing some grand gesture of celebration and togetherness, I threw the stick at him across his desk. I ooze romance and surprise.

His reaction will be up for debate for the next hundred years, next time you’re at our house for dinner we’d love to tell you the story.

But he knew right away what it was and what it meant.

*****

I haven’t barfed for a while. In fact I haven’t taken a Zofran in over 36 hours. Doing this with Addie would have put me in the hospital. This time? I should have thought…18 weeks! I’m better! The morning sickness has passed! NORMAL PREGNANCY FOR ME!!! However my thoughts went more like, 18 weeks, I’m not even the slightest bit sick. Something is wrong. I miscarried. Mozzi is gone. How am I going to tell Addie? On and on worst case scenarios until 2 am when I finally passed out from exhaustion.

I called my doctor first thing this morning (I’m insured WHEE!!!) and they got me in right away.

I wish I would have timed how long it took for the nurse to find the heartbeat because it felt like an eternity when in reality it was probably only 22 seconds.

Mozzi was there. Lower left quadrant beating away at 152 BPM.

I cried. (Then silently scolded Mozzi for scaring me again.)

I knew when I got pregnant that this was going to end in one of two ways. No baby or baby.

And for the moment all signs point to baby.

big sister.

doughboy pokes, depression and my belly.

I have felt pretty fantastic for the last few months, emotionally at least, physically? Not so much. And when I say I’ve felt emotionally fantastic I mean in regards to depression because to be honest there was a three week time between positive pregnancy test and chilling the chill out that I wasn’t so fun to be around. And when I say I wasn’t fun to be around I mean that Cody hated being around me because he was the one I would emotionally unload on.

And there was that one teensy tiny (enormous) panic episode when I landed in Canada after almost dying/barfing/crying in the plane getting there, followed by me being held by customs, followed by an unexpected bus ride…other than that! Golden!

Cody told me the other night that my belly button gets sad when I’m pregnant.

sad bellybutton.

I have such an innie that it never became an outie or even a flattie when I was pregnant with Addie. And unbeknownst to me, it apparently looked sad.

Currently it appears as though I am smuggling a Homer sized donut under my shirt from the front and from the side it appears as though I am in a perpetual state of doughboy poke.

pilsbury has nothing on me.

I can only assume it is revenge on Pilsbury’s part.

you push, he giggles.

But back to my emotions, my feeeeelings.

Yesterday as I plunked my weary body in front of my SAD lamp (as is my morning ritual during Indiana winters) I started to think about how depression and pregnancy share so many symptoms. Loss of appetite, exhaustion with the inability to sleep or the ability to sleep way too much, not to mention aches, pains, random crying sprees and lethargy. I began to panic that maybe my depression was seeping back in and pregnancy had been hiding it and suddenly BLAM I’d be hit like roadkill by a Mack truck out of nowhere by it.

But I know depression well enough. Or at least the way *I* do depression. I still want to talk to people. I still want to be around people. I can still laugh. I can see all the things going right in my world. I can get excited about this Mozzi in my belly (Which if you could move around soon so I could feel you? I’d appreciate it.) And I am really excited about spending Christmas in my house with my family for the second year. (We moved in a year ago next week…)

So nope, depression isn’t getting the better of me (at least not yet.)

But I know it’s getting a lot of you out there.

Holidays, weather changing, stress…

I keep a very special place in my heart for all you. I believe anyone who had dealt with depression does. Just because I’m feeling awesome doesn’t mean that everyone else is too. Some of you are struggling, some privately, some openly. And just as you’ve been there for me when I’m in ugly places, there’s hundreds of people out there who want to be there for you while you’re in your ugly places, me included. Even if all I can do is tell you that it will get better.

Or draw a picture of Santa on my ever expanding belly.

ho ho ho, who do you know?

Then there’s also the ladies who are left without their babies. I mean, I’ve gone through phases where it seemed as though everyone and their un-spayed cats were pregnant except for me. Well I am pregnant and it still seems as though everyone is pregnant.

But I know that’s not true.

And I’m sorry it can’t be true for everyone who wants a baby.

Messy, this real life stuff is.

Hope everyone is hanging in there and that you and the people around you are taking good care of you.

xoxo

the moosh in indy gift guide of 2010.

I’d like to think I do a darn fine job at gift giving. My biggest problem is that I get TOO! EXCITED! when I am in possession of the perfect gift for someone to keep it much of a secret. This little personality quirk drives Cody batty when he his peckled with questions of “So you want to know what I got you right? AREN’T YOU EVEN A LITTLE BIT CURIOUS? If you open it now your life will be that much more fulfilled because it will have my amazing gift in it for 23 extra days!!” I once managed to keep such a supremely amazing present a secret for SO LONG that I presented it to him naked, just to see which one excited him more, his wife finally keeping a gift secret after a decade together or me naked.

It was a toss up.

Continue reading “the moosh in indy gift guide of 2010.”