Our Lives are Different. And that’s okay.

Growing up the baby of the family isn’t all it’s cracked up to be.

There is this idea that being the  youngest means you get away with everything your older sibling/s ended up grounded for weeks for.

Was I my mothers “wild child”? Yes, I’m not denying that. But my sister didn’t grow up doing all the things typical kids and teenagers do.

My sister is disabled. She didn’t go out with friends to the mall, to see a movie, to go shopping. She didn’t date. I love my sister very much and we have amazing memories growing up even though we have a significant age gap of 7 years. We didn’t have the traditional sister relationship where you older sister passes on her experiences and wisdom. But I don’t fault my sister for that. Never really thought about it till now.

I’ve never thought about any of this until recently. There have been a couple things brought up that made me realize that people think my sister is an innocent soul and that I’m the terrible child.

One terrible mistake people make is to assume that disabled means innocent. While it may seem sad that my sister missed out it doesn’t mean that I had it easier. It only means that my experience in life has been different. And that’s okay.

I’m sure I gave my mother one too many gray hairs. I wasn’t a perfect daughter back then and I’m certain I’m not a perfect daughter now. Only in addition to trying to be a decent daughter I have to balance being a wife and a mother to my children.

These are all roles that have their overwhelming moments. I’m nowhere near perfect in any of these roles. I do my best.

I consider myself to have grown up with a good life. I know I wasn’t an easy one to raise but I didn’t turn out too bad.

I didn’t give my mom any crazy trouble until I turned 18. It’s not like I was a promiscuous teenager who ended up 16 and pregnant. I didn’t date anyone in high school. I wasn’t a drop out. When I was 18 I took care of my grandmother until I couldn’t handle seeing her deteriorate each day. I didn’t slack off after I stopped taking care of her. The day my grandma died I was at work. It’s pretty easy to realize whats going on when you drive up and see vehicles from every family member parked along the street. Not easy.

My mom had cancer when I was 15 years old. From a young age I knew I’d grow up to someday take care of my sister or watch her die due to her health issues. I already have a dead father, to think your mom might die, and know that someday you might have to watch your sister die too. That’s rough stuff. But I’m the baby of the family so that means my life was easier, right?

My faults are easier for people to recognize.

Much was and still is expected from me because I’m not the one who is disabled. I don’t feel burdened with it. But I do get bitter when people think I’ve had an easy life.

 

My Husband Made Me Angry. But He’s Not Even Home.

My dear husband has managed to piss me off without even being home.

I woke up this morning ready to take on the world. And it didn’t even take a cup of coffee to get me feeling that way. I was motivated.

Because of this motivation I had going on I wanted to keep that momentum going so I decided I was going to put on my workout clothes and running shoes and REALLY get down on this place. Spic and span, son!

Well, it’s been about 15 minutes and I can’t find my workout leggings that I just purchased. I’d wear my other pairs but these are the new pair I bought because I finally admitted I had to buy a size bigger. My fat pants don’t even fit!

As I search in my closet I take notice of all the crap my husband has decided to throw on the floor. He’s always been a tidy and clean person so the fact that he has this pile of crap on the floor is odd. He’s been doing that a lot lately.  And I know if I tell him he will come back with, “Well, you have all your crap on the floor *As he gazes around the whole house wide eyed* so for me to have this tiny amount of square feet that’s messy isn’t a big deal.

He’s right. (Come again?)

But after the argument I’ve already played out in my head I’ve come to this simple reasoning: Just because I throw crap on the floor doesn’t mean you can! I mean, come on, I clean this place up(sort of). I actually have a bin in our closet that I throw my crap in so at least it has a “home”. This guy just has a mountain of stuff. Most of it will be gone when he take his stuff to the cleaners but I’m still flustered because this visual of mess is cramping my style, man!

I’ve managed to take a deep breath. I checked on the girls and they are playing together in their room. They are laying on the floor saying they are sick. Which of course made me smile. Of all the things they could have imagined to be they imagined they were sick. I love it.

I took one last look, found a pair of leggings that I forgot I still fit in. Managed to get pissed off at myself for now losing the shirt I was going to wear but found it quickly.

Now I’m pretty exhausted mentally because I played out that big argument in my head. Time to find the motivation again. But maybe I’ll check my facebook first.

Wal-Mart.com USA, LLC

Nothing says Fall like a Slightly Depressing Song and Dirty Dishes

Today I’ve decided that a week is far to long to have avoided doing the dishes. Could I have continued longer? Of course. The fact that I’ve been cleaning the rest of the house and it still looks the same is depressing. At least if I get the dishes done it will look beautiful for a few hours.

Right now I’m listening to Adele’s new song, “Hello”, so I can feel a bunch of mixed emotions which in turn will make me want to avoid those emotions by doing something such as WASHING THE DISHES!

I  win! MUAHAHAHAHHAHHAAH!

If you’d care to join me in making the best of this beautiful fall morning I’ll be listening to “United States Top 50” on Spotify. Have a wonderful day and as you shake your ass and sing, “Can’t Feel My Face”,  know that I’m with you in spirit and somewhere in my kitchen shaking my shit too.

But I love it….but I love it. ohhhhhhh.

Yesterday.

I lost my baby.

This would have been my third child. We were very excited.

“What if it’s a boy?!”
“I hope it’s twin boys!”
“If it’s a girl we can name her Christiana.”
“If it’s a boy we’ll name him Leo.”
“We’ll be holding a baby when we have our next wedding anniversary”
“Now we’ll have birthdays 4 months in a row, May, June, July, and mine in August.”
“How should we announce we’re pregnant? We can do it on Thanksgiving again.”
“Just think, Honey. We’re going to have 3 children now.”

Over the weekend we celebrated the baptism of my friends son. It was a beautiful church and a beautiful message on the importance of baptism(of course), and the importance of teaching your children to seek Christ. A great reminder that it is important to bring them to church to receive God’s great gift of salvation through Jesus Christ through their little ears.

We haven’t been to church much since Isabella was born. As we started to get a few church attendances in back to back I soon became pregnant with Sofia. I was exhausted and again the bad habit of missing church soon came. Time passes so soon. I’ve held my children back from hearing the gospel. But on Saturday, October 17, the baptism was a great reminder that God is always with us and not to neglect the good gifts He has blessed us with every Sunday morning. Witnessing the baptism was a blessing to know that despite our poor church attendance that God has been and always is with us.

We came home that Saturday afternoon. I had a terrible headache that lasted for hours into the evening. We were hoping to attend church that Saturday evening but I was feeling terrible.

Sunday morning came and went. My whole body ached. I thought I had done too much on Saturday and that because I slept on the floor in the girls room that my pregnant body had enough and demanded rest.

I challenged my fatigued body and went on a family walk. Leo pushed the stroller this time. I could not believe how sore my body was. One lap around is less than a mile and as we walked up the tiny incline up our street I could not believe how hard it had become for me. That’s what I get for not being as active as I should be. I decided to listen to my body and get back inside to rest.

Evening came and we realized that “The Walking Dead” was going to start in 30 minutes and we needed to get the girls to bed ASAP! They fell asleep fast. We even had 10 minutes to spare to grab and ice cream that we didn’t have to share with anyone, and could cuddle and watch one of our favorites shows, together and uninterrupted. During a commercial I went to the restroom and noticed a little blood. Spotting. Nothing alarming but something I knew to monitor. The next morning it seemed to have calmed down. Still spotting but not as much. My second trip to the restroom that Monday morning was what made me concerned. More blood. And this time it was a brighter red. I laid down as much as possible. My husband came home early since he had concerns from the moment he woke up.

We ended up in the emergency room at 5:08pm since I now noticed blood clots. It was packed. We didn’t get called until almost 9pm. The nurse was nice, the doctor was trustworthy. I had an ultrasound done. I had already done my research on what to expect to see in the monitor to indicate that the pregnancy is not viable. I googled what an ultrasound with and without a fetal pole looks like and tried to remember as much as I could. I should have been 9 weeks along. The ultrasound tech said the doctor would tell me more and that it might be too early to see a fetal pole. That possibly the dates are wrong and maybe I’m earlier than expected, around 6 weeks.

The doctor had ordered blood work to check hcg levels. I knew that my hcg level on September 26th was at 6226 miu/ml. When the doctor came back with results from both the ultrasound and blood work he said it wasn’t great news, but hopeful. He said the ultrasound showed no fetal pole and again said it might still be too early. He informed me that my hcg level was in the 6400’s, which was still good. That is when I knew. I told him at that point about the previous hcg level being about the same. It is supposed to double every 2-3 days. He apologized and told me it is likely the pregnancy is not viable.

I followed up with the Nurse Practitioner the following day which would have been my first OB visit for this pregnancy. I cried there in room 39. I cried again as I walked towards the ER lobby. A nurse stopped what she was doing to get me a box of tissue. I held back tears as I walked through the mass of people in the ER waiting room. I tried not to cry as we waited for our car. Leo opened the car door for me. As soon as the door shut I cried and cried. The hopes and dreams we had for our new baby stopped.

I kept trying to make sense of it searching for one last piece of hope to cling to. So that is when I cried and begged God to save this baby. I begged God on the baby’s behalf as I remembered the prayer Jonah cried out to God:

In my distress I called to the Lord,
    and he answered me.
From deep in the realm of the dead I called for help,
    and you listened to my cry.”

I knew that if a miracle would happen that it would. With the evidence given to me it was clear the baby stopped growing at an early stage. God spared us. It was slightly easier to cope knowing that no fetal pole might mean that there may never have been a heart at all that once beat. It’s hard to explain and understand that.

After our appointment yesterday, October 20th, the nurse gave us the option of a natural miscarriage or D&C. Both my girls were csection and I have felt bad that my body never felt the pain of labor and would never birth naturally. I didn’t want the D&C. Not against it, but felt like I really needed to do this naturally. I felt like if I didn’t I would have failed this child. The nurse said I was not dilated at all and that it may take a week or two for my body to understand what was happening. I felt like I could finally relax my body because I felt like since the bleeding started I just kept clinging to the small bit of hope. As we drove back home I felt like I accepted what was happening and my body felt less tense.

Later that evening around 7pm I passed what would have grown into my third child. My body felt better and I felt okay mentally. I accepted what was taking place as much as I could. I know that it’s okay to cry and I do cry here and there.

From the excitement of getting the positive pregnancy test on September 13th, the excitement I had on September 28th when I saw my updated medical record showed “Pregnancy”, up until yesterday, all the excitement of a child, dreaming about his or hers future; I’m somehow thankful. I’m thankful that there was no worry during those few weeks. I’m thankful for the renewed love of my husband. I’m thankful that I am able to grieve with my husband.

We will miss what would have been. But we are as okay as we can be.

Seeing the smile on our girls faces makes things better. They lift my spirits. Even through this tragic event my heart still feels grateful. I’m not sure how and maybe I’ll feel angry at some point but for now I feel okay.

Mrs. Loopy von Loopinstein

The last 3 days I have wanted to die. If it were not for my children I would be totally fine leaving my husband a widow…er, widower? I’m too lazy to google the correct word. But you get it.

At some ungodly time of the morning I woke up feeling like I had done 1,000 sit ups. I thought I may have had food poisoning. But I was not throwing up. My husband went to the store and bought me Pepto Bismol which thankfully helped. But the pain was still there only this time it felt like my insides were raw. That ended and later that evening I suddenly had a sore throat. It only worsened the next morning. Then that went away as quickly as it came. But I was soon welcomed with a terrible headache. Maybe it was a migraine because the little bit of sunshine that peaks through the blinds was making it worse. Luckily my husband had Monday off. On Tuesday I asked him to please call out because I just couldn’t take care of these girls. And again thankfully his day off is Wednesdays so again he was able to be here for the girls.

This morning I woke up puffy eyed with a headache. My body was begging for Sudafed hoping that it would ease just a tiny bit of the pain. It did but it did not take care of the feeling as though I’d been hit in the back of the head with a bat. Then I had a flashback of 2008 explaining to the ENT that I had that exact pain! The other time I had such terrible headaches was in 2001. Both time it was nasal polyps. The doc said it most likely was NOT the polyps causing the pain but that it was possible. He even referred me to a neurologist to make sure I didn’t have anything else going on. All the neuro did was give me medication. No thanks!

I had that minor surgery to remove the polyps and what do ya know?!! No more headaches. Now, I know for certain that the nasal polyps grew back by 2009 but since they were not causing problems there was no need to remove them. It has now become a problem.  In the words of Bruce Buffer,

“ITTTTTTTTTTTTT’S TIMMMMMMMMMMMEEEEEEEEEE!!!!”

UFC on Versus 6: Cruz v Johnson

Until then I’ll try to be ok being looped out on Sudafed, extra strength Tylenol, and of course CAFFEINE!! Maybe it will give me the strength to clean up this wreck of a place I call a home.

Misconception: Late Night Rant

I’m having a God help me moment where I start to think too much and end up pissing myself off.

I have too many thoughts. I go from pondering about religion to marriage to friendships to the way people perceive me. Round and round. I’m not dizzy, just pissed.

I wonder who really knows me. “Oh her? Yeah, that’s Erica. She’s a mom now.”

I swear I can almost feel the judgement stuck to my skin. I feel that people view me as a girl who fell from God’s grace. A girl who could be redeemed if only she sought God again. A girl who needed to try to grasp God’s will for her life. A girl headed down the wrong path and had to hit rock bottom to see she needed God to make life better again. Poor Erica. Poor, poor, Erica.  That poor girl.

I remember feeling like everything in my life was wrong. Begging God to take away my hurt so I could feel assured he was there and working on things for me. I feel as though I’m viewed as that girl still.

I look back on those days so sad that no one assured me God was with me always. So sad, so alone, and to have someone who is there to help you tell you that it’s because you really need to be still and listen to the signs God is sending you, because he’s calling you, and you’re not obedient enough.

What I felt was very real. What I would learn to overcome was incredible. But I don’t think those around me really know that. It’s viewed as growing out of a rebellious phase. I hate knowing that the aching of my soul was minimized. What was viewed as my aid in my downward spiral was just what I needed.

In my “disobedience” is where I’d be blessed. In my failures, past, present, future, I would grow confident in the fact that God was, is, and always would be with me. I never felt God’s presence wash over me in a heap of joy. I had my questions, I did my research and connected the dots. I’m sure I’ll rant further into theology at some point.

I’m a wife and a mother. I’m a person with something to offer. I know my mistakes don’t define me. But there is something about the minimization that shocks me. I wasn’t a bratty girl. I was a real woman, in my mid twenties, facing life’s harsh realities.

I had too many people telling me who I was and who I needed to be. Now, I’m learning to embrace me. I still struggle, I will always struggle, and there is nothing wrong with it. Only difference is I accept it now. I’m not always okay, but I will be fine. I’m certain.

So yeah, thinking about people’s misconception of me pisses me off. THAT and the fact that I never tried to get on “The Real World”.