doing better, but still not a great "waiter"

I wrote yesterday's post just before I went to work, where calling people and probably crying would have been incredibly distracting and inappropriate. I also wasn't feeling quite myself, mostly disoriented.

After a few hours of trying to work, I went home with a fuzzy, echo-y head and in a light sweat. I promptly passed out in bed for three hours and woke up with a slight fever. Rob fed me and we spent the evening cuddled on the couch, watching movies. I then slept until 10:00 this morning.

Something's off, I've called my doctor though I'm not in pain, and through the counsel of a dear woman who has been in this wretched place, I'm asking for the surgical method (called dilation and curettage, or D&C) to end the waiting game. Thank you for your calls and texts and visits with flowers and beer. There are people out there who know me alarmingly well!

My heart is better today, but I'm aware of how quickly I can swing from "fine" to "emotional wreck," so I'll try to blog less in the extremes. It will help us all feel better and help me feel less bipolar.

discouraged today

For a number of reasons, most of which revolve around waiting. Rob's surgery site is not healing nicely, due to a condition called "proud flesh," which are words I'd never use to describe my beloved, but apparently his flesh is not with the program. Warning on that link: there is a really icky picture that you may not want to scroll to.

I cannot help him treat or dress his wound due to my still-fragile stomach, which leads into the next discouraging thing: being pregnant-yet-not-pregnant. It's now been five weeks since the baby stopped growing, yet my body isn't quite ready to acknowledge that, I guess. It's hard to pray for a miscarriage to complete, hard to use some of the words that describe that process, hard to wait for, hard to contemplate the surgical option if I simply cannot wait any longer.

Though we're approved on the construction loan, there's been no news on the sale of the condo. No good news, but no bad news either, and again, I just have a hard time with the waiting of it.

It's been difficult for me to get out of bed the last few days, which is a shame, for it's lovely and finally summer here and rather abruptly so. My heart's just not into it lately, and being this vulnerable to actual people is scary and emotional right now, so I'll write it to the faceless internet and trust for prayers and hope it all means I won't cry very much.

i hate last week, it is dead to me... moving on

Last week pretty much sucked, and even though I do not love Mondays, I love this Monday because I am claiming it in the name of "gotta get betta from here!"

• The condo did not close last Monday. BOO.
• We still haven't heard on the buyers' financing. BOO.
• We discovered that we'd lost the baby. BOO BOO BOO.
  
• The doc won't just let me be because of other possible complications. BOO.
• Telling people who care deeply is more daunting than the miscarriage itself. BOO.
  
• Rob's minor surgery site is infected. BOO.
• With staph. BOO BOO BOO.

• The buyers are pursuing local financing to hopefully buy faster, with more energy. YAY!
• We've been approved for a construction loan, so we can move right forward once the condo check's in the bank. YAY!
• I do not have to deliver a baby during the same time of year that my first husband died. Yikes.
• I get to do a better job of mentally preparing for a pregnancy this next time. YAY!
• The possible complications are life-threatening, but only a 1 in 30,000 chance of being real complications. YAY!
• People care deeply about us and understand my heart even when I make them laugh as they want to cry. YAY!
  
• Rob's minor surgery was to remove non-malignant skin cancer. YAY!
• There's really nothing good to say about staph.

There have been worse weeks, but the series of bad news was pretty consistent. Even so, I can see the mercies of God throughout nearly everything but the staph. That's just a fly in the ointment. A sturdy bacterial fly in the ointment, yes, but one that will die via the sturdier antibiotics (poor Rob).

I'm almost confident that God will bring the condo to closure with these buyers, but I still covet prayer over that. I'm ready for people to treat me normally, because I feel almost normal, but I still covet prayer to protect my heart and body. And I want to feel physically better so that I can enjoy the tiny shred of summer with my family before it's gone and I'm cold again.

God is good, our hearts are well, and we're surrounded by love

From an email I had to send yesterday morning:
Though I should be about eleven weeks along, Baby Bedford #1 stopped growing at about seven weeks (four weeks ago). We found out the likelihood of this on Thursday and it was confirmed by hormone levels in my blood yesterday. The doctor also wants to keep an eye on a cyst I have on one of my ovaries (there's a very slim chance of ectopic pregnancy on top of the now-failed intrauterine pregnancy), but otherwise it's just now a waiting process. Hopefully my body will get with the program soon, because the anticipation/dread of the physical manifestations of miscarriage is no fun.

Blake took the news very well, handing me tissues and mostly just assuring himself that there would be another baby soon. "Do you and Dad have to go back to Hawaii then?" Wouldn't that be great?! No, we can make this happen here at home. ;) He also noted that his first baby brother or sister got to meet Daddy Blake before he did, which made him grin. And I love that: Daddy Blake is caring for baby Bedford in Heaven, and Daddy Rob is caring for baby Blake down here.

So... there you have it. Our hearts are doing as well as can be expected, considering we didn't see or hear a heartbeat, which helps keep the pregnancy in the realm of esoteric "idea" for the time being. We are still confident of this: we will see the goodness of the Lord in the land of the living. We will wait for the Lord. We'll be strong, take heart, and wait for the Lord. (Psalm 27)

What I didn't put in the email: we thoroughly enjoy the process of trying for a baby, so that part will be great. I will also enjoy a glass or two of wine once I feel a bit physically better (just headache at this point). Blake is already praying for another baby and hasn't skipped a beat in his joyfulness. We trust that the reason this happened is that something was wrong with the baby, and a bit of heartache now compared to the potential for great heartache later is okay. And otherwise, hugs, prayers, warm words are welcome, but I don't really care to talk about it much. You may not like what I have to say anyway!

selling the impossible dream

We have probably sold the condo. I say "probably" because it evidently takes an act of God to sell a condo in this market. Especially OUR condo. Because everything I do must take an act of God. I'm very godly or something.

We have a buyer. We have a buyer who is VERY interested and loves our property and made us an insultingly low offer a few weeks ago. We (and when I say "we," I mean "I," because legally, Rob does not own the condo, it's the monkey on my back alone... legally, even though he pays for it every day in a myriad of ways, by virtue of being married to me. Legally.) laughed at this offer that was $18K less than our asking price, which was already so reasonable! and low! and countered. They came back with their final offer that was still $10K less than our reasonable counteroffer. I snipped to our lovely realtor that they must not really want OUR condo, and that was that.

The next day, I peed on a stick. The day after that, we called our realtor and asked her to go begging on our behalf. She could use whatever tricks were at her disposal to wheedle the buyers into being interested in our condo again, but she should really emphasize that pregnancy makes people desperate. We came to an agreement on pricing and an option to live in the condo, rent-free, for six months after closing. We and these buyers agreed on almost everything! It was perfect! A match made in heaven!

Then we had the inspection. After fixing things the ORIGINAL BUILDER or his crew or his subcontractors had done (to the tune of $1500), we again agreed on almost everything! It was perfect! A match made in heaven!

Then the banks got involved. Right now, the bank is reluctant to approve the buyers' loan because of - get this - my neighbors. That's right. Something I cannot fix. Cannot change. Cannot whip them into shape, though it's not for lack of hissing epithets in their general direction. So many of them are late on their HOA dues ($80-85/month) that the bank sees it as problematic for a loan. The good news is that the buyers still really want it, love the property, are willing to wait on the lender to figure things out and are even pursuing a local lender to see if that speeds things up.

Even though these buyers have kind of put me through the ringer, the fact that they have not lost interest despite the hurdles in buying our place means I love them and will be the BEST free renter EVER. Because once I can tie a bow on our place and present it cheerfully to them, we're hoping/planning to have Matt build a wonderful house that will work for our family for years to come. WITH A GUEST ROOM!

Please visit. I've now taken away all your excuses. We'll have room, a yard, a yowling baby in the wee hours, I'm a great cook and now Rob's learning how to brew his own beer.

BEST HOSTS EVER. I would like to be valedictorian of that.

i just love nph

surrounded by testosterone

Last week I marched into work grimly and declared to the men there:

"I'm warning you that I took all my bitchy pills this morning, and I'm a little miss crabby ass. To protect you all, I plan to put my headphones and not unleash any of (motioning over myself) THIS on any of you poor souls."

Sam, known more for his deadpan sarcasm than his empathy, promptly stood up and said, "You do what you need to do, and it's going to be okay," and then hugged me warmly.

Naturally, I burst into tears.

Ryan walked out of his office with his phone in hand and pointed to it, saying, "Based on my calculations, we shouldn't be in this phase of the pregnancy until June 21."

I wiped my nose on my sleeve and fired off a double-barreled bird to my boss, my friend, the man who is like the brother I never wanted.

photo phlurry

We got back from Hawaii in time for Blake's spring music program (two days later). He wasn't really prepared after missing nearly two weeks of school, but it's hard not to love a passel of singing kiddos. I have video that I'm hoping Rob can edit a bit into one short "best of" rather than five longish examples of what not to do when shooting video.

He was so cutely awkward about the actual singing alone, but shone like a star afterward.

The rhubarb we pulled out of the garage in early May. It's like it had said, "Forget this 'no sun' crap, I'm growing anyway, dammit!" Within a few days it had green (not neon yellow) leaves and red stalks.

The massive fort Blake and Rob made. The wall on the right is being scaled by invaders and lots of them. There's a table for a game of Go Fish!, a kitchen in the foreground, a jail you cannot see behind the wall, a lightning tower with a balancing Storm Trooper, and a Storm Trooper in a barrel. I let him keep in intact for over two weeks, the lucky dog!

Rob's "We're pregnant!" shirt. Two of his closest friends had children within days/weeks of each other. I happened to come across both families' photos within minutes of each other. Each father (the dear friend) was wearing this shirt during labor and delivery of their sons. One was in Chicago. One was in Spokane. It became Rob's "That's how I'm going to announce we're pregnant!" shirt. So I talked his sisters into giving it to him for Christmas and told him no one would get it until I explained it.

He was cool with that.

It's from the sadly short-lived television show, Firefly. And if you don't get the reference WATCH THE SHOW. It's excellent, but not so excellent that I have agreed to name any daughter we have "River."

"Hold it like this? With a face like this?" Rob wanted to buy a onesie in Hawaii that read "Made in Maui," but I foolishly pooh-poohed the idea, because I sincerely doubted we'd get pregnant that quickly, and it wouldn't make sense otherwise, and it was just wishful thinking on his part.

I finally took the pregnancy test after we'd been home a few weeks, just to shut him up because he kept insisting I was, and I kept insisting otherwise, and I was going to pee on that stick and show him! Humph! The first test was so faint I was sure it was just a trick of the lighting. The second test was equally faint. The third test the next morning was still really faint.

The fourth test, six days later, was a bit more pronounced. Bethany now thinks we'll have as many babies as pregnancy tests. I'd argue with her, but I decisively lost the last battle I had with a Bedford, so I'm keeping my big trap shut. (We got a hold of the cute little onesie - and only ONE OF THEM - by telling friends who visited Maui a few weeks after we left that we had made a big mistake by leaving without one, and other than family, they knew about our little bun in the oven first. By necessity, you understand.)

no cousins were harmed in the making of this story

We spent some time in the sun at the Schuyler home yesterday. Blake came running up, deeply concerned, and waited until I was done speaking to address me:

"Mom, the twins are playing with the axe and one of them said 'Kill the cousin,' and I'm scared because I'm the cousin."

Reese and I looked at each other and couldn't help it. We burst out laughing.

bunko girls

So last Friday, after my hard and sparky post, I got to hang out with my Bunko girls. I'm only finally getting around to this, because one of the side effects of pregnancy is the exhaustion (this past week I grew another person's teeth, so it's pretty understandable) and the foggy head that comes with it. The girls had to remind me to write down the funny things they said.

H: J. has never sworn. He has that much self-control.
A: Wait, has he ever climaxed then? (half to self) Of course he has, you have two children...

*****
S: Have you seen... ALL OF THIS?!

*****
S: So, you're pretty anal, right?
A: .... Ok, fine: yes.

*****
M: I'm rubbing your belly.
A: WHY?! It's not a hard baby belly, it's the squishy original version! Wait until I flex.

*****
L: They're going to play poker.
N: Poke her?

*****
M: Don't show your neighbor what's in the bag.

*****
A: What are you doing?! You're not supposed to look!
L: WHAT IS YOUR PROBLEM?!

*****
K: My favorite quote from my bridal shower was from A: "What goes up must come down."

*****
C: THEY LIKE IT HARD.

*****
C: If they "accidentally" grab your butt.

*****
M: H is going to go pump.
C: I'll go with you.

*****
C: I should just apologize before I throw something to someone.
A: By walking it over instead?

*****
S: I think I found my g-spot finally.
M: WHY would you announce that?
?: Yeah. I've known where mine is for a long time.

*****
M: L's chest is getting a lot of attention. (I have to clarify this one: L brought a prize contained in a big floral-covered treasure chest sort of thing.)

*****
H: There was a male server at MRPC that was wearing a bright pink breast cancer awareness shirt last night. It was hilarious to me. I don't know why.

*****
M: Ooh! The chest! I get to look in the chest!

*****
L: (gasping) You're the one I don't want to do it against! If you snoop my stuff...

*****
And finally, just one from the Blakester:
B: I drew our family and put an X through me, cuz it's not about me, it's about you and Dad.
A: Uh, thanks?

queen for a day

I won't lie, I'm all over the place emotionally these days. And it's hard not to succumb to the "Oh, I'll write about it on the blog," because then this happy (hopefully funny) place becomes a vale of tears where I only write about the painful stuff and garner lots of sympathy and maybe even attention. I love attention. Too much, probably.

Nutshell: in finally applying for little Blake's Canadian citizenship by virtue of his dual-citizen father, I'm having to round up paperwork and lots of it. Some of it is easy to find; I'm almost numb to the sight of it (big Blake's death certificate - I can simply see what it is without reading it and hurting). Some of it is very hard to find (I have a lot of stuff in the garage, and some legal papers are apparently buried deeply), and it requires looking through many things that bring memories flooding to mind.

For the life of me, I cannot scrounge up big Blake's most recent driver's license. I am fairly confident it's in a beautiful eelskin wallet that was a gift from his mother. I have found his Social Security card (that he kept with a small photo of his mother, which is deeply endearing to me), I have found notebooks full of his handwriting, I have found his stack of old ski passes (adorably, Rob has also kept most of his passes, and the two stacks are in the same drawer, mingling minimally but in my mind), I have found our diplomas and many photos, and no driver's license or wallet. They are probably in his shaving kit, which I have never been able to do anything more than look at and cry over, then zip up and put back intact. And now I can't find it, but all the other things are sweet and bitter and then I cry.

Being pregnant is so magical. I'm perfectly fine today, in fact in a better mood than usual, feeling a little sassy and sparky and like singing along loudly to my favorite songs. It might have something to do with a note I got, in reply to a note of apology I sent to a former employer. God is recovering a relationship that I tossed in the garbage nearly seven years ago, and He is doing so with a very gentle and very gracious conviction of my own sin, finally turning my eyes from how I'd been wronged to how I had wronged. She wants to have coffee. So do I. We'll probably hug, and I'll probably CRY LIKE A BABY, but that's okay...

... because today, there were three western tanagers on my bird feeder, and I'm singing along to my anthem.