Accepting

I am interrupting the post on people who have accepted me and called me friend to write about our heart attitude of accepting others.

If you have ever read the Gospels you see Jesus hanging out with all kinds of people. Nicodemus was reportedly wealthy as was Zacheus. There were prostitutes, homeless people, sick people, needy people, people who struggled with sin, and people of means. When I read about the people with which Jesus hung out and when I read Jesus's words about caring for people, I believe in what is written. I believe in Jesus's actual message. I don't believe it's a metaphor or just a story. I believe we are to care for the people Jesus calls The Least Of These. I believe Jesus when he says to care for widows and orphans. When he says to feed the hungry, clothe the naked, visit the sick and those in prison, and give water to the thirsty. I believe these things but I haven't really acted on my believes. I have given money to organizations who feed the starving and give water to the thirsty. We even support a child through Food for the Hungry. But it's rare when I get to actually, physically help someone in need.

On our way to church there is a man who sits at a stoplight. He holds a sign that basically says he is homeless and hungry and can someone help. Some people give him money. Most people ignore him. He has been on Bob's and my hearts for weeks. Last week Bob said we should give him a birthday card. So we filled one out, put some birthday $ in it and gave it to him when we stopped at the light this morning. Before I gave it to him I asked his name and when I handed it over I said, "Happy Birthday HisName." He seemed thankful and he said, "God bless you!" Then we drove on to church.

Before the service I felt like God was saying we should invited HisName to Sunday dinner after church. I didn't share this with Bob...I just pondered it as I waiting to see if HisName would come to church. He has come to services in the past but I didn't see him today. At the end of service Bob came up to me and asked if he could invite HisName to Sunday dinner. I was surprised since I hadn't seen HisName enter the auditorium. I said Bob could indeed invite him but now I was nervous. It's one thing to believe something and another thing entirely to put hands to it and act it out.

Thankfully our pastor's sermon was all about letting God be God. If He sets something in our hearts or calls us to something He is sure to supply what is needed to see it through. Bob went to invite our new friend to Sunday dinner and he accepted! I prayed and told God I was horrible at small talk and didn't want to feel awkward around our new friend. God seemed to say I shouldn't worry and just let HisName tell his stories. That was an awesome answer to prayer because HisName was a talker! And he had several amazing stories to tell. It was as if a floodgate had been opened and he was just so thankful to have people to talk to.

We drove him to our home and he came right in and made himself at home. He was respectful and kind and polite and our kitties loved having an attentive guest who would pet them. He was delighted to oblige. He petted the kitties and chatted with Bob while I finished dinner.

Once dinner was served, I made sure he knew he could take as much or as little as he wanted and he was served first. He said our invitation was a huge blessing and answer to prayer because he couldn't remember the last time he'd had a hot meal for dinner. He said many many people blessed him by giving him sandwiches but he never got an honest to goodness home made hot meal. I felt he didn't eat enough but he said he ate his fill and had a happy belly.

After the meal I asked if there wasn't anything else we could offer him...a hot shower? A nap? Clothing? I could wash the clothes he had with/on him if needed. The only thing he asked for was socks and extra pants if we could spare them. I managed to find 2 pairs of warm pants, 2 long-sleeved shirts, and 4 pairs of pants. Since he carried everything he owned in 1 bag, I couldn't get him to take more than that but you can bet I tried.

We sat and talked for a couple more hours until he asked if we could please take him to the place he had to go to spend the night. We said we could but would he please join us next week for Sunday dinner as well. He agreed only if he could bring the ice cream and cribbage board. We agreed and then took him to where he directed us. I am already planning next week's Sunday Dinner menu.

After HisName left I looked around our apartment and realized we are so fortunate. We have SO much. There is so much stuff here we even have to store some of it in closets and shelves. It almost seems wasteful even though I know we JUST paired down this fall. Also, Bob and I work on having an attitude of gratitude. We work hard as seeing everything we have as directly from God. What we have is only ours to share with those around us. We set out to bless HisName with Sunday dinner and yet we ended up blessed by getting to know an interesting character...another child of God.

When we think of the house that may one day be ours, we don't see it as a place to store more stuff. We see it as a place we can share with others. Whether that be people like HisName, single moms, pregnant teenagers, families who've lost their own home, or women on the run from abusive men...we just want our home to be a place of peace and refuge. A place to rest and get back on your feet. We want to bless others the way we have been blessed. We want to live out what we read in the Bible every day. I won't say it's not scary...it definitely is. But we want to live the radical Gospel of Jesus and if He says feeding hungry people is the same as feeding Him...well, that's what we want to do.

I guess I wanted to write this out because I've been struggling with my own acceptance. Instead of looking to be accepted I should be looking for others to accept. If we hadn't stepped out today and invited HisName to dinner, I would have missed encountering a really nice man with an interesting past to share. I would have missed offering something I've been longing for and finding it in return. Maybe there is something to these radical teaches of Jesus. I look forward to finding out more. May He let us love on more of His children in the coming months and years.

Accepted

OK enough navel gazing. Yes, yes I struggle with rejection and wanting to feel included. Big surprise, right? Oh no, I'm human and am seeking love, belonging, and understanding. Who am I and why am I here? It's so unusual isn't it?

Today I want to talk about the friends who've been there for me. The friends who stood by me and loved me and helped make me who I am today.

My first best friend was someone I met in pre-school. Her name was Julie Brand. We were in pre-school, Indian Princesses, and grade school together. Once we moved to Wisconsin, I lost touch with her and have always wondered about her. Who is she? How did she grow up? Where is she now? If anyone reading this knows of Julie Brand from South Saint Paul and Lincoln Elementary please have her contact me. Julie, for God's sake, Google your name girl.

I would be remiss if I didn't mention the Oldfield girls from across the street. Barb, Jill, Kathy, and Jenny were my friends and playmates. They were also my teachers and competitors. I learned to ride a 2-wheel bike because they told me I couldn't. I got on one of their bikes and rode it to the end of the alley and back. No one was more surprised than I was that day. I learned to play Heart and Soul on their piano. I learned that the cheese their mom cut into cubes and served as a snack was actually Velveeta. I learned to call my butt bubbles. Their mom would watch me on occasion and would let us watch Brady Bunch, The Monkees, and Gilligan's Island reruns. The Oldfield family also took me to their land where they grew their vegetables. I got my first tick there. They also took me to Vacation Bible School and taught me where Massachusetts was (their grandmother lived there). They had a white cat and a honeysuckle bush. I loved this family and their 4 girls. They made me feel homey and welcome.

The next friends I had were our neighbor girls Theresa and Tracy. Their parents owned a drapery store. We played together, walked to school together, were taught to crochet by our elderly backdoor neighbor, and had sleep overs. I don't remember much more than that, however.

I guess my next best friend was one of the girls that made up the trio I was in. Jenny lived in the subdivision across the street from ours. When we weren't fighting, we were sleeping over, singing into our hairbrushes, playing kick the can, riding bikes, pretending to be characters from Grease or Charlie's Angels, reading inappropriate books or watching inappropriate movies for our ages, studying together, riding the bus to school, and practicing in a play together. Jenny's glasses were the glasses I wore to check to see if I could see better with them. I could! (I got glasses in 4th grade.) Jenny was an only child of older parents. They were nice but either they left us alone a lot or just weren't home very much.

My next best friend...and oldest friend to date is Mary. She befriended me in 8th grade and we are still friends to this day. There were issues of jealousy because of another trio thing but Mary made me feel welcome in my new school/home. We did so much stuff together. Before we could drive, we walked or rode bikes all over town. We used to sit on the steps of her house and watch the older kids drive by on our town's main street. We had sleep overs. We were silly and had crushes on older boys. We would hang out with her cousins and watch movies. We would go to the movies downtown. We would pass notes, take silly pictures, and go to football & basketball games. She was smarter than I was in school but didn't lord it over me. She overcame countless odds and is one of the best people and greatest mothers I've had the privilege of knowing. When we were juniors, she had a baby. We stopped doing as much stuff together but in our senior year, I was in her wedding when she married Paul, the father of her son. She had 3 babies and I spoke to her on the phone the night before 2 of them were born...before she was even in labor. Or maybe labor had started? I can't remember. But throughout all these years, we kept in touch. Mary is the person I always think of as my best best friend. She knew all the boys I liked. She knew my deepest thoughts and secrets and sometimes she would even share her own. When I think of my home town and our high school, I think of Mary. I love her like she is my sister. I hope I'm just like her when I grow up.

More friends tomorrow.

Acceptance

There has been a topic rolling around in my head for a couple of weeks now. I have wanted to write about it but I'm not sure that I can write about it as succinctly as I would like. I'm not sure I can put into words exactly what it is I've been feeling lately. However, everything has been building up to a point that to not write it would just leave me struggling more so this is my attempt to get it down and work through it...however it turns out.

Some background on me. I am the first born of 2 children. I have first born-itis. I grew up thinking it was my job to tell my brother what to do and how to do it. And honestly, that job wasn't just relegated to telling my brother. I thought that if I knew something, I should tell it. I thought if I knew something...it was right, law, the WORD. It has taken me 40 some years but I am growing out of that...mostly. There are times I still suffer from foot in mouth disease but for the most part I am learning to only give advice when asked.

Add to first born-itis the fact that we moved a lot. I attended 3 different grade schools and 2 different middle schools. Each new school meant making new friends, finding a new niche, making a new name for myself. As pliable and resilient as kids are, each new school was a difficult adjustment for me. I am, by nature, an outgoing extrovert so I look for ways to get to know people. I look for clubs I can join, groups in which I can partake, and people to befriend. I also have a huge capacity to empathize with others. This leads me to want to befriend and help and get involved. However I tend towards over sharing and easily emotional so again...not easily accepted.

I don't remember having problems with being accepted in Kindergarten or 1st grade. I remember being friends with Julie Brand. She was my best friend. And somehow in 1st grade she and I hooked up with Susan Haines (Hanes? Haynes?) and Jeffrey Rosen. Then we moved. I had ready-made friends next door with the Anderson girls who were just a little older and a little younger than I was. But in school, I had a hard time making friends. I really, really wanted to be this girl Kristine's friend and I tried but she didn't like me. Looking back, I can't remember any having any good, close friends in 2nd or 3rd grade other than our neighbor girls Theresa and Tracy.

We moved again before I entered 4th grade and while I remember having plenty of neighbor kids to play with, I also remember really struggling with the friends again at school. I ended up in a trio of girls, which most people know is not ideal. In a trio, it's often 2 against 1 and more often than not, I was the 1. Add to this, the fact that I was one of the early developers. While most of my friends remained thin, lithe, little girls, I grew curvy taller and curvy. I was teased and made fun of. Even if I had started to fit in...all of a sudden I didn't. I just remember 4th through 6th grade being a roller coaster of acceptance and rejection.

7th grade was my salvation. Most people find their jr. high years a living hell of hormones and horror stories. I loved 7th grade. I found a group of friends where I finally fit in. I found a niche in choir and acting. I had a boyfriend. I started to realize I loved English (I could diagram a sentence better than anyone.) I found out I was funny, creative, good at art, loved books, and just generally a likable person. I was still struggling with my body and my looks but I was finally beginning to feel comfortable in my own skin. Then we moved again.

8th grade was hell. We moved to a small town in the middle of summer. The only kids my age I met that summer were kids from church. They were nice but seemed to be comfortable in their group the way it was. When school started, it was just as hard to make friends. In this small town, most of the kids in my class grew up together since Kindergarten. Their social networks were pretty well established and entrenched. I did make some friends but still felt out of it. Try as I might, I could not recreate the self confidence I'd been building in 7th grade. I found solace in books and read all the time.

High school began in 9th grade. High school was better but still hard. I was still learning and making tragic mistakes. I was a gossiper and loved to pass along juicy tidbits of stuff I'd heard to others. This does NOT go over well with the people you are talking about. Also, I just didn't know when I wasn't wanted. I would try to entrench myself into a person's life or into a group and would not pick up the signals and signs that my presence wasn't wanted. Also, there was a small group of people that mercilessly teased, taunted, and tormented me regularly. Add to this the fact that my younger brother seemed to be a lot better at the friend thing than I was. At least he was perceived as cool. I was perceived as not cool. He came to high school 2 years after I did and became friends with many of the people I had tried so hard to get in with. I will say that most people were friendly towards me. I could have a conversation with the prom queen or the quarterback and come out unscathed and feeling pretty good. I just wasn't invited to their houses or their parties. There were other kids who would use me when they needed something, based on my need to feel needed and my ability to empathize but after they had used me, they would ignore and tease me again.

I thought college would change all of that. In some ways it did but in others, it was way worse. I loved how college was a built in community. I went to a small private college and thought faith would be an important part of the community there. It was to a degree but mostly, college was like a high school where you now had to live with everyone. To be honest, I am still friendly with people I went to college with so I have to say that I was able to make some friends and fit in somewhere. But again I had not yet learned how to read the signs from people that just did not want me around. I longed to be friends with certain people and would just insert myself into their lives. And again, I would allow myself to be used and then ignored.

I think college was somehow the worst in wounding me. I still remember the shuns, the spurns, the teasing, and the mean pranks. I remember one time there was a dance at school but instead of being there, I was at a church function. The phone rang at the house we were at and I was told the call was for me. It was someone from the dance saying the guy I had a crush was wondering where I was. Why wasn't I at the dance? He wanted to dance with me. I pretty much knew this to be the gigantic lie that it was but hope exploded in me and I drove to the dance only to find...nothing. He wasn't there. I don't know if he knew his friend had called and told me this but the hurt at that moment was intense. It still stings a bit to tell it.

I wasn't without malice at college myself and am embarrassed by my own snubs and ignorance. Who knows what friendships and connections I could have made had I been open to all who sought me. Not only that, I KNOW the pain of rejection. How could I have caused that same pain to others? That is something I wish I could go back and change if given a chance.

In the 20 years since college I've had lots of opportunities to make friends and be rejected. I've learned a lot about myself but I have yet to learn how NOT to seek approval and acceptance. I've not learned how to hold back and let connections happen. I still have the tendency to rush in like a puppy, all tongue and tail ready to be petted. When the petting doesn't come, I still get hurt.

This was all brought back to me in living color a couple of weekends ago. There was a gathering of online personalities here in the Twin Cities. These are people I've never met in person but have had contact with through their blogs, websites, Twitter, and Facebook. They were descending on my town on a weekend filled with family, church, and business obligations but I was sure I could find time to catch up with them. This is also the weekend my cell decided to partially die. The screen went out. I could dial out if I knew the number and I could receive calls but I could not return a call that came in if I didn't know the number nor could I retrieve my voicemail messages. Still, through a complex system of calls, tweats, and Facebook entries, it was decided that someone would call me at noon on Saturday to let me know where they were and how I could meet up with them. My window of time to meet them was small (noon-5 on Saturday). So I waited for the call. And waited. I tweated and FB'd. Nothing. Instead of waiting for the call, I decided to do laundry. And on my way to the laundromat, the old feelings of rejection washed over me. Familiar feelings of being left out, not good enough, and sadness just filled me. Of course I found out later that the gang had just been out too late the night before and ended up sleeping during the time they would have normally been out and about. The adult in me figured that to be the case but the little new kid in me thought for sure I'd been utterly rejected. I was never so happy to find this wasn't true.

Attending our new church has been an interesting lesson in acceptance as well. Not only are we still somewhat the new kids, we are coming in to issues of culture, race, existing community, and other issues. (For instance, people with kids just gravitate naturally towards others with kids and people who are neighbors already have an edge.) We are making friends and connections. I find Facebook kind of helps, as does my photography. But for every mis-step and mis-communication I make, I struggle with those old fears, failures, and frustrations. I long to be known. I long to be accepted and liked. I long for community and connection and I don't know how to do it. I am different. I am not cool. I am just trying fit in...but I think that once again, I'm trying too hard. When will this be a lesson I finally learn?

New Blog

I'm not sure why I'm not writing...here or anywhere. Maybe Twitter and Facebook have filled the need for my sharing my life with the public. Maybe I just don't know what to say. Still not pregnant...probably never will be. Bob's still disabled. I have the summer off from school but am toying with the idea of not going back. I've been enjoying the summer though I feel a little aimless and off so maybe school is good if only to have something scheduled.

A comment I made in my Facebook/Twitter status led 2 people to mention that I write a book. I don't know that I can write a book but I can write a blog. So I am starting a second blog. I am going to write stories of what we have been holding on to/hoarding to tell our children. Since they aren't here, maybe others wills find some whimsey, wisdom, and worthiness in what we have to share. I think I might ask Bob to join me...maybe every other time he can share something from his heart. I don't know.

I do know that I need to write down all the things my mind conceives to tell the children we don't have but dreamt of. Things about their family, our lives before, things we learned that we wanted to teach our kids so they (hopefully) wouldn't struggle as we did, things that are just silly or amazing, and things that just come to me as I load the dishwasher or stand in the shower.

So, I will post the link to the new blog here if you want to join us. Thanks! http://parentstonone.blogspot.com/

Summertime and the Living is...

So today began my first full day of summer.  Since I'm not taking any classes at school this summer and my full-time job is to take care of Bob, I am home for the summer.  I haven't had a summer break/vacation in 20 years.  I've looked forward to this for months but even so, I'm kind of nervous.

I've been telling Bob for weeks that he only had to wait until summer and then he'd get me all to himself.  We've both been looking forward to it but I'm a bit apprehensive as well.  I'm an independent woman and like to do my own thing.  Bob likes having me around and doing things together. Being at Bob's beck and call this summer may bring some interesting challenges for us.

Taking care of Bob was something I forsaw as soon as we received his diagnosis 7 years ago.I remember falling to the kitchen floor sobbing and grasping for something to hold on to.  Seeing it then weighed on my like a huge burden I not only was unable to carry, I had no desire to carry it. Back then I saw it as a duty and something that would completely consume my freedom and independance.  As Bob's MD progressed, it has progressed slow enough for us both to get used to the changes and challanges together.  The longer we are together, the more I fall in love with the man Bob is and the more I want to be there for him.  I want to help him maintain his independance and his abilities.  I want to do what I can to help him stay free and do things on his own.

Still I am wondering if spending the summer together might bring me to a place this fall where I am reluctant to return to school.  Bob says we need to do things together now while we (he) still can.  There may come a time when we (he) can't travel or fish or go to our favorite parks and places.  So while he still can, we do what we can to enjoy life, the outdoors, and each other. On the other hand, maybe we will have had enough of 24/7 togetherness and I will be anxious to get back to class.

So far the care I give Bob is mostly maintenance kind of care.  I cook, I clean, I do laundry, I feed the cats, I drive him to appointments and meetings, I sometimes help him with dressing and undressing, and there might be things I help him with today that he doesn't need help with tomorrow.  But there are days he can barely move on his own.  There are days he is in so much pain all he can do is still in his wheelchair and look out the window.  He doesn't usually allow the pain to take anything away from him, but there are days he doesn't have a choice. Neither one of us looks forward to a day that may mean I have to do things for Bob that he is able to do himself now.

The other day I dreamt Bob died.  And in the dream, at Bob's death, something died inside of me. I lost my sense of purpose and it felt so real.  I woke up and realized that by making Bob's care my job, I don't have a lot to fall back on if he goes before I do.  We don't have children.  My home is really here because this is Bob's home and I fell in love with it when I fell in love with him.  If he were gone, I don't know that I could stay here.  What would I do?  Where would I go?  I continue to ponder these questions. No one has ever loved me or treated me the way Bob does. I don't think anyone ever could.  I hate to think of a time when either one of us might be left behind due to the other's death.  Maybe God will be good and take us together?

In the meantime I am looking forward to what this summer brings.  It's been a long, cold winter and I want and need warmth and sunshine.  I need as much as I can get. You know, Memorial Day is the earliest it can possibly be and Labor Day is the latest day it can get so it's like we get nearly 2 extra weeks of summer.  I am going to do what I can to make sure Bob has a great time.  I've already planted our patio garden, we are going to a training session for follow-up to the Rock the River event coming up in August, and we are feeling more at home in our church and making friends there.  In addition, there will be fishing, maybe some camping, and hopefully a short trip to the Black Hills.  When we look back on this summer, it will hopefully rank up there as our best.  I am going to do my best to make this a summer of memories because that is what I can hold on to if Bob does go before me.  Maybe there is nothing to worry about after all.

Ignoring It doesn't make it go away

I have known that this week is National Infertility Awareness Week for some time.  I wanted to write something about it earlier in the week but as the week flew by, I found myself hestitant to write anything.  After all, what could I say that hasn't already been said by me and others familiar with the pain of infertility?  Besides, I am already aware of infertility.  I don't need a week to refamiliarize myself with it.  By writing about it, does it make you aware?  Were you not already aware?  Now that you are aware, so what?

Infertility is a painful medical condistion and yet isn't something that is noticible.  You don't see women and men with a big purple I painted on their foreheads.  If our bones were broken, you would see a cast or splint or some kind of impliment wrapped around the broken area.  But with infertiliy, our reproduction is broken and there is nothing to wrap around us to heal us.  And the pain is intermittent.  Some days there is no pain.  Other days the pain suddenly sneaks up on you and clobbers you with intensity.  And still other days there is just little pains that remind you of your brokenness. 

Last night someone kindly mentioned to me that she was sorry for our struggles and I was so grateful for her kindness and yet it was all I could do to not just bawl all over her as I thanked her.  The grief and tears came out of nowhere.  Prior to her empathic outreach I'd been laughing and having fun doing what I love to do.  As soon as she mentioned our infertility, the tears came as though she had physically pressed on a broken body part.  Which I guess she did.

Later last night I was in Target and I think it was tiny baby shopping day because I heard no less than 4 tiny infants crying the cry of a newborn baby in the hour I spent in the home of the bullseye.  Also, I saw a dad shopping with his son in the toy aisle.  The boy had to be 5 or 6 and was dressed in fuzzy feetie jammies and flip flops.  All of these scenes pressed painfully against that spot inside me that is broken.

One of the reasons for the stop at Target was to pick up Mother's Day cards for our moms. Again, another sharp and painful press on a broken place.  Mother's Day has been especially painful for me for the past 5 or 6 years.  I tend to avoid churches and Sunday Brunch places that particular sabbath day in hopes of lessening the sharp, throbbing pain of failure, loss,  and brokenness. 

I still don't know what God's plan in all of this is.  I am no longer angry with Him nor ignoring Him or pushing Him away.  I am still struggling to get answers and see what this means.  His word says to be fruitful and multiply.  He speaks of children being a blessing.  He created my body to conceive and bear children and yet it has not happened.  We tried to become foster parents and that is not possible either.  I don't know how to reconcile what it seems God's word says with our own reality but I am not giving up on finding understanding at some point.

So maybe at the end of this National Infertility Awareness Week you can go ahead and just give someone a hug and say you are sorry for their pain but have hope in a God who heals.  And then maybe ask if you can bring your kids over for a playdate.  Big people like to play with kids too.

Oh, hello there.

Yes I realize it's been a while.  Let's dispense with the pleasantries shall we?

My friend had her baby yesterday.  Remember me writing about the friend who, more so than any other friend, has stood by me believing Bob and I would one day actually be parents? Remember me writing that she had gotten pregnant?  With her 4th child?  Accidentally? And her other three kids are ages 15, 16, and 17?  Yeah, that friend.  

Her baby came at 8:38am, weighed 6lbs, 12oz, was 19 inches long, and is the most beautiful little girl I've ever seen.  She's a tiny little peanut who came out just lovely due to the C-section her mommy had.  Her name is Jaina Marie and I've changed 2 of her poopie diapers.

I was actually doing very well with everything considering...until today.  While I was at the hospital today, my friend was visited by another friend who turned out to be pregnant with her 8th child, a girl.  This will be their first girl and she is due in June.  Before my friend's friend left, she exclaimed that she can't wait until their girls are older and can be best friends and play together.  As soon as she left, I burst into tears.  I didn't mean to.  It just happened...like some kind of grief bomb.  My friend was so consilatory.  She immediately handed the baby to me and held my hand while I cried.  Sometimes I am good with how things are and sometimes it hurts so much I don't know how I will endure it.  Tonight was the latter.

It doesn't help when I watch TV shows like the Duggars.  This past Tuesday, the eldest Duggar kid, Josh's new little wifey turned out to be pregnant.  Four months into their marriage and she is pregnant.  She spoke of how hard it was to read this pregnancy test because so many of their other ones had been negative.  Yeah.  So many of them.  Like all 3 or 4???  It's not that I begrudge the new Mrs. Duggar her disappointment because I sooooooo know that feeling.  The elation and expectation of hope only to crash hard on the disappointing reality of a negative pregnancy test.  But come talk to me after you've tried for 7 years and taken who knows how many pregnancy tests that all say, "Nope...not this time sistah."

It also isn't easy when Bob looks at the pictures I took of this beautiful little baby and says whistfully, "I want a baby.  I want to be a daddy."  Oh, I know honey.  I know and I wish I could give that to you.  More than anything I wish I could bear a child with Bob's red hair and my brown eyes.  I wish I could see Bob fall in love with his new little girl or sweet baby boy.  I wish when I am buying baby clothes at Target they are for our child, not someone else's. I wish I could know the mystery of carrying a pregnancy and birthing a child and nursing.  My friend is supremely generous with her baby and loves me so much but it's not the same. Duh.

Yesterday, after visiting my friend and her baby, I came home sick and had a bout of vomiting. Today Bob told me he had secretly hoped it was morning sickness.  He hadn't wanted to share that with me but after I told him about the grief bomb at the hospital, he just felt it right to share.  Truth be told, I kind of hoped so too.  More truth is it's not likely and I won't have any positive idea for another week or so but the odds are high that it was just a bug, not a baby. Although at this point I never allow myself the luxury of hope. I actually don't even keep track of my periods any more so I'm not sure the exact date it's due.  I've even been toying with going on the pill.  My periods are so painful the first 2 days or so and last time I was on the pill, the pain and cramping significantly decreased.  I just can't get there yet though.  Although I don't allow myself hope, I can't give it up totally either.