Wait and See

Mo and I finally got the opportunity to talk on Saturday.  He suggested taking a drive, getting out of town for a bit, relaxing and having a meal.

It was what we needed, without a doubt.

I'm not excusing his behavior -- it was inexcusable, and I told him so.

But I also got a chance to listen, something I haven't done so much lately.  Mo confessed to being under a tremendous amount of stress at work, not as an excuse either, just as a "here is how I feel" sort of thing.  As he talked, I realized that he isn't entirely to blame for the current state of our marriage (just 95% of it!).

Anyway, no decisions either way have been made, really.  Just that we both are going to wait and see where the next few months take us.

We're not separating, at least not right now.  I made it clear, though, that I will not continue to be treated the way I have been.  I am not his verbal punching bag, and I told him so.  He needs to learn to approach me with respect and concern and not fly off the handle when the pressure gets to him.  He isn't, right now, willing to go to counseling, so all I can do is let him know what I will/won't tolerate.  I'm getting much better at that, and will continue to draw boundaries as necessary.

After telling me all the things weighing on his mind, Mo finished up with "I don't want to be without you.  Are we okay?"

For the first time ever, I told him that I wasn't sure.  That the baby thing HAD to be something we were on the same page about.  Maybe not right now, maybe not for a year or two.  But, absolutely and unequivocally, I had to know that we would try again in the next few years.  Being a mother is not something I'm willing to negotiate.

He said that he really and truly does want to be a dad.  He has just felt a tremendous pressure this past year to do our IVF's, on my time frame, and financially it has cost us.  And he's right.  I may never have come right out and said "It's a baby or I'm leaving" before now, but it has definitely been an undercurrent in every decision we've made.  I pushed him to move forward, because I'm tired of waiting.  After our first loss, I insisted on trying again as soon as possible, despite it not being the soundest financial decision.  Now, after two losses, I'm willing to wait a while.  I keep reminding myself that I AM "only" 29, and that it will be possible for me to have children for several more years.  And, if Mo changes his mind, (which I don't kid myself COULD happen), then I still have time to proceed without him.

I WILL be a mother, someday.  I hope it is with a loving partner.  I hope that Mo can be that loving partner.  But, if not, I'm comfortable pursuing this alone.  And I believe that it is only fair that Mo realizes this.  Maybe not in the way I told him this past weekend, but in the end -- it's good that we made our positions clear. 

I know my husband.  I know all his faults, and rarely hesitate these days to post them for all the world to see.  Like a specimen under a microscope, some things have been magnified.  This is not entirely a bad thing, as sometimes I need additional perspectives to reassure me that I'm NOT crazy.  However, it's not entirely fair to Mo, either.  He CAN be a good man.  He can also be an utter asshole.  I know this.  But I also know that, deep down, we share many of the same core values -- or, at least, we used to.

Only time will tell if that remains true -- or proves to be the biggest illusion of all.

The Head Vs. The Heart

So, apparently, someday came a lot sooner than I expected.

On Friday morning, Mo and I had another knock-down, drag-out fight.  It started over something trivial (doesn't it always?) and escalated into a screaming match.  I stayed as calm as I could while he blasted me with obscenities and told me, over and over, to get out.  I said okay.  He kept at me until I eventually responded.  And what came out wasn't pretty.

For the first time ever, I told him that he wasn't enough.  That if he made me choose between him and a chance at a child, I wasn't choosing him.

I left that morning bawling.  He called me within the hour, not apologizing exactly, but telling me that he loved me and wanted me to have a good day.  He said he knew it didn't fix anything and that we would talk later.

Fast forward to yesterday.  He had an away game about three hours north Friday night, so we didn't see one another.  He was asleep when I got up Saturday, and I headed over to my mom's to let him rest.  When I got home he was still sleeping.  A few hours later, as he gets up and starts moving through the house, it is clear he is ignoring me.

I finally ask him if we are going to talk.  There's nothing to talk about, he says.  It has all been said.

Indeed, it has, hundreds of times.  I suppose that's why I was so surprised -- he has never meant it before.  I guess this time he did.

Our conversation the next few hours was jumbled, and messy, and I cried.  A lot.  Hating myself for it, I could not just agree with him and walk away. Yes, I know that we are unhappy.  Yes, I understand that it may be best for us to cut our losses and start fresh.  Yes, I get that we may have been through so much together that it is impossible to recover from it.

But when I walked into the bedroom and saw him snuggled up with Fat Girl and Big Boy, all I wanted was to curl up into his arms and pretend that everything was fine.  We've been a family for so long, just us.  I can't picture my life without him in it.

I can't picture it childless, though, either.

I pushed, and pushed, like I always do.  I asked him, other than a divorce, what was it that he thought would make him happy.  Some solitude, time by himself?  I just can't bring myself to think that this is really it, it's over.  One minute we're cuddling and the next we're divorced?  The incongruity of it all is hard to fathom.

I don't know how he feels this morning.  He reached out for me in the night, and we spooned, but I'm not naive enough to think that means anything.

There's a part of me that knows he is probably right.  I'm not sure we CAN recover from everything life has thrown at us.  I don't know if we should even try.

My head, jumbled though it is, understands his logic.  It's just that my heart, stubborn and foolish, can't quite seem to get on board.

For My Babies

Today is tough.  Not only is it my first EDD, but it also marks what would have been 21 weeks with my 2nd. A double whammy, so to speak.  A year ago I had been TTC for seven years and had never been pregnant. I also had no idea what loss truly meant.  Today, though no one else IRL will remember, I do, and I'd like to dedicate today's post to my lost little ones, my precious lights who are never far from my thoughts.  I love you, my dearest ones.



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To My Babies,

You are my heart.  I miss you every single day.  I think about you often and wonder if I will ever meet you, in some cosmic time and place.  I don't know if I will, and yet I feel as though I already know you, for you are a part of me, now and forever.

I love you, more than you or anyone else will ever know.





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To My First Child,

You started out as two, though we knew right away that one of you wouldn't make it.  I clung desperately to the hope that you would.  It's funny, but I always thought of you as one -- maybe because we were never given the hope that you might bring a brother or sister along with you.

The two brief weeks that I knew you were with me were the happiest I have ever known.  I had waited so long for you, and couldn't wait to get to meet you.  The first sight of blood caused me a terror I had never known before.  The thought of losing you was something I couldn't bear.  And yet, somehow, I did.

I feel like I failed you.  I wanted so badly to protect you, to keep you safe. Yet, despite my best efforts, you were gone before you even began.

Even in such a short time, though, you taught me so much.  Losing you reminded me of how important family truly is.  It spurred me and your daddy into action, and moved us six states away to be closer to your grandparents, aunts, uncles, and cousins.  We are so much happier here, and I like to think that your short stay had a purpose.  You brought us home, and for that I will always be grateful.

Had you stayed, today (or near to it) would have been your birthday.  I still wonder what you would have looked like.  Whose nose would you have had?  Whose feet? I wish I could have had the chance to gaze into your big brown eyes and see both your father and I in them.  To tell you how much we loved you, how long we waited for you.

As long as I live, I will never forget you.  You will always be my first baby, my love, my heart.

Love,
Momma




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To My Second Baby,

Somedays I wake up and I still can't believe you are gone.  You were my rainbow, my second chance at happiness.  I watched you grow from this tiny bubble into an actual little bean with arms and legs and a beating heart.

That sound, so beautiful to my ears, still haunts me.  Though it never beat as fast as it should have, that thumpa-thumpa-thumpa was the most glorious sound I had ever heard.  I couldn't help but grin for days afterward.  The smile on your daddy's face as he listened to you was more than worth the cost of trying to bring you to us.

Please forgive me for having to put your pictures away.  Trust me when I tell you that I carry your image with me in my heart every day.  I still imagine what it would be like to tickle those tiny feet and to hold that tiny hand in mine.

My heart broke on the day yours stopped beating.  I would do anything, absolutely anything, to have you with me today.  At 21 weeks, I would know if you were a precious little girl or a handsome little man.  Your name, already chosen, would be hanging in your nursery.

You were my little fighter.  I knew that from the get-go, and even before you were transferred into my womb, I knew that you were going to stick around.  I don't know why you left -- perhaps I never will.  The doctor tells me that you were perfect.  So why did you have to go?  Why are you not still growing, and thriving, while we wait oh-so-impatiently to meet you?  I don't have any answers when it comes to you, my little one.  Only grief, and sadness, and sorrow that your cousins will grow up never even knowing you existed.

I am your mommy, though, and I will never, ever, ever forget.  I hope that you know that.  I don't know how that is even possible, but I hope that you do.  I love you, and I miss you, and I always will.

Love,
Mommy