You are currently browsing the category archive for the ‘so ironic’ category.

i’m helping the famous maddie potty train when i’m with her three days a week…she a smart cookie and under ordinary circumstances would probably take to going on the potty like a fish to water….or something like that.

 

but these are not normal circumstances.  as much as we love each other, i’m not her mommy.  and now maddie’s adjusting to her mom heading back to work part-time, so the potty training is a bit of an overload it seems.

 

but the little cutie pie is trying her hardest to make it happen.  the other day she was sitting and sitting and waiting and sitting and trying and waiting and sitting.  but nothing was tinkling, if you know what i mean.

 

i asked her what she was feeling.  she threw her head back in utter exhaustion and said,

 

“i’m so tired of trying!”

 

well, i can certainly relate to that!  i was feeling a bit desperate to help her, grabbing for straws…anything to make it happen for her–anything!

 

and that was i said those six little words.  in the midst of my desperation and deep desire to say or do something to help her i said the thing i hate to hear and vowed i’d never say to anyone—ever.  i said,

 

“just relax and it will happen.”

 

immediately, i heard the irony.  i could not believe i said those words!  i hate hearing people say i need to relax…try going on vacation…blah, blah, blah.  and now i’m the one who, desperate to help someone i love so dearly, said those ridiculous words.

 

in that moment, i think we both knew that a little relaxation was not going to make it happen.

Advertisements

the little ten year old who was the star of a previous post has struck again today! 

 

a few scenarios to bring you a smile:

 

first, on the way home from picking her up from day camp i was being silly and singing a teeny-bopper song as we were driving along (can’t even remember which one, but that’s not important is it?).  as soon as i took a breath, k said, “that’s not your real voice, is it?”

 

do let me tell you, i lied through my teeth in response.  without pause, i said “no, no, of course not.”  but of course it was and she knew it, too.  thankfully she let it drop.

 

next, k and i were sitting in the waiting room at her dentist’s office waiting for her name to be called.  naturally, we got to talking about teeth and suddenly she said, “you have beaver teeth.”

 

let me assure you, i do not have beaver teeth, no matter what she says.

 

and finally, the most tender and adorable thing she said today happened a bit later in the evening when we were making brownies together.  i sent k to the fridge to retrieve two eggs.  after distractedly milling around and several reminders, she brought the egg carton to the counter.  as she was cracking the eggs into the bowl she spontaneously said, “oooh, i feel sad that these eggs had to die when they could have been chickens.” 

 

i am not making this up.  and can you believe the irony of such a comment?  i’m convinced she’s reading this blog and i just love that girl.  i feel sad when eggs die, too.

…of new jersey, that is.  i would never dream of watching any trashy reality tv shows, but if i did watch them, i’d have really been surprised when if i saw one of the episodes that aired tonight.

 

a housewife, jacqueline, was talking about her recent recurrent miscarriages—four in a row.  they showed footage of her at the specialist’s office talking about the blood work they’ve done, etc.

 

i was would have been thinking (if i’d seen that trashy show), “what the heck are the chances of this?  i literally just flipped the tv on to see if there was anything worth watching and here is this woman shedding tears about her fourth miscarriage and the difficulties in not-knowing if it will keep happening…”.

 

i’m so glad she’s talking about her experience even a little bit…she said (i’m paraphrasing) at one point that she’s not one of those woman who can have a miscarriage and brush it off as “oh well, something was wrong with the baby; i guess it’s for the best.”  i don’t know if there’s a woman on this planet who is truly able to brush it off and keep going, unfazed…no matter what she may look like from the outside.

 

i think it’s sad the way we seem to feel the need to apologize for loving, for hoping, for dreaming, for desiring, for grieving, for raging, for missing.  whether something was “wrong” with the embryo/fetus/baby or not—it hurts deeply.

 

so, don’t apologize, jacqueline…i know it hurts…let it out.

 

p.s. okay, okay, i watched the show…three episodes in a row and i set our tivo to record the new episode which airs on tuesday…i admit it!  but my favorite is the real housewives of new york.  so there.

so painful (expectably, as h would say) to hear a woman speak of abortion in the midst of holding my empty womb…painful to hear of one woman’s choice to empty her womb clashing with my deep desire to fill mine again – to somehow take the baby she rejected and fill my womb, my arms, with its sweet, sweet life.

sure, she was too young, too not ready to have another baby, too, too, too…but it’s so hard (expectably, as h would say) to think of a mother choosing not to receive her baby, while my body chose for me.  if a woman should have the right to choose—why didn’t i?

 

expectably, it hurts.

 

 

**i wrote this a while ago, just weeks after my first miscarriage.  i was in the midst of contemplating the irony of a woman’s right to choose juxtiposed with this woman’s lack of choice and the desperate feelings that lack creates in me…

so i was out rummaging with two friends…beautiful day, view of the mountains, chatting with fellow-women-folk…all the makings for a fun day.

do you have any idea how many very pregnant women go to yard sales? i mean really. at the first stop i must have seen at least three pregnant women….out of the four groups who were there…those are pretty big odds.

but i get it…saving money—especially in this economy—by finding good deals on gently used baby goods…i applaud you all for your thrifty genius.

that is not my beef. (this time.)

the thing is, when you least expect a baby/child/mom comment to come flying at you, one will. i guarantee it or your money back.

so there i was, gingerly rummaging through one family’s goods…i’d gone ahead of my friends to see what was at the next house (it was one of those really promising neighborhood/community sales—i get all excited just thinking about the possibilities!)…i found myself contemplating buying something as benign and non-kid related [in my world] as this:

brita kids

(notice the kitty mug in the background—a dish set purchased for me by my mom…which is exactly why we’re still using those dishes after all these years! no way i’m parting with anything my mom gave to me…but i digress…)

yes, it’s true…deciding whether to buy a brita water pitcher at a yard sale solicited a kid comment.

me: i’m not sure i need this…we have one, but it’s smaller i think. i’m always refilling it…

her: well, you could keep them both. you always need to have enough water around for the kids.

me [mumbling to myself as i turned to go find my friends]: yeah, if i had kids i suppose that would be important…

the good news: i’m starting to find these moments slightly funny…i mean, really, i never ever remember getting comments like this before we started along the miscarriage and fertility hunting path, so this either means one of two things [i’m notorious for thinking in black and white, pregnant/not pregnant, fertile/infertile]:

1. people said these kinds of things to me before, but i just never took much notice because i didn’t have this gaping wound back then to be poked and prodded with seemingly harmless, yet very cruel comments…

or

2. it’s a conspiracy

i’m probably onto something with the conspiracy thing.

my huz and i do very few things together well (mild exaggeration, but we want this to be worth reading, do we not?)…hanging a picture on the wall, for instance, nearly has us running to divorce court (shhh, don’t tell anyone i said the “d” word!). 

 

or take us cooking together in the kitchen–this kind of thing rarely goes well, usually culminating in something that sounds like this:

 

me:  oh, huz!  don’t cut that on there.  it will leave a mark.

 

me, again:  wait!  don’t put that in the dishwasher.  that’s a special knife from my dead mom.  i don’t put that in the dishwasher anymore–well, i did, but now i don’t, okay?

 

me, yet again:  can you just go watch tv while i finish this, please?  you’re stressing me out.  [never mind his stress level right about then.]

 

so, you see, the saddest irony is that while we do few things well together, there is one thing we do very well—we are virtually unmatched when it comes to getting a sperm and an egg to find each other.  no, i’m not talking about the sex part.  while talking about sex does have a way of getting people’s attention, i would never want to embarrass the huz-man (that would be unthinkable to me!).  

 

no, i’m talking conception.  we’re so good at this that we don’t even bother trying to conceive unless we really mean it because history has taught us we’d better be prepared for it to happen.  

 

the thing is…we haven’t yet been able to prepare ourselves for the seemingly inevitable miscarriage that follows. 

 

[insert picture of wailing-not-me-women here:]

 

woman-crying