The baby that almost was but wasn't...

After our day yesterday, all I could do was cry. And cry a lot. And then more. And even more still. Today, still more tears. A lot. Out of my control. And then some.  They won't stop. And I'm sure for the rest of the week, the tears and sobs will be intermittent.

I woke up yesterday feeling something off.  Couldn't quite put my finger on it but I knew this wasn't going to end well. I woke up and felt...next to nothing. Other than dread. Which is never a good feeling at all. I tried to put it out of my brain but I couldn't because I knew.  I knew this day wouldn't end well before it even began. I laid in bed hoping the feeling would pass but it didn't.

I knew.

It started with spotting. Which is normal in the first trimester (from what I've read and hear from others). But I knew.

So I did the sensible thing and called the doctors. Because I'm a new mom, and that's what was suggested by the ones I'm closest with.  But they didn't call back. Then it got worse.

I knew, in my heart of hearts and in the pit of my stomach, the unshakable feeling that something was off...I didn't feel sick as I had been for the past week. I didn't wake up as tired even though I had slept for 10+ hours.

I asked Zach last night if it was okay if I wrote about this. He's a very caring and understanding person and knows it easier for me to have it all out, rather than have the questions being asked over and over and over again. I'd rather not. Something so personal and taboo to discuss. Something so private it's hard to explain. I'm sure if you've read this far, you also have a pit in your stomach. And that feeling is correct, you know. You know where this is going.  It always helps getting my feelings out in the form of written words. If you know me at all, you'll know I have a lot more finesse behind my fingers than I do from my brain to mouth. My filter is practically non existent and although my words usually come out a jumbled mess of adjectives and profanity, I am far more eloquent when it comes to writing. It makes me seem as though I know other words than "fuck". Because eloquence.

I miscarried yesterday.

I'll spare you the details of the mad dash to the store to buy a pregnancy test to pee on...and the change in lines, the downright sobbing and despair that escaped my mouth as I called my mother before I called my husband who was frantically texting, trying to find an answer for the last text I sent. I could utter no words except loud sobs and hyperventilation because I couldn't breathe. She instructed me to call my husband...have him come home. I should have called him first but I had no words. Only wails. Call a friend, don't be alone right now. So I did.

Zach rushed home, my person rushed over from her shift as soon as I called because the guttural sobs could only be mistaken for one thing and one thing alone....the loss of an unborn child. The loss of the baby we've worked so hard for. The one we had just found out about a week ago.

I knew it wasn't going to be easy. I didn't want to tell anyone right away because I felt as soon as I saw those two pink lines, it wasn't going to be easy. Why would it? Nothing else has been. So far, the only thing that has been easy on us is us. Which I am very fortunate and thankful for. We don't have to work to love each other. We don't have to work at our relationship because it's natural for us. There's so much love exploding out that most days I'm so overwhelmed at how lucky I am. How incredible it is to be loved by someone with the capacity to love a full and wholeheartedly as I do.

It's been no secret that we've been struggling to make a baby. I've felt that if I share the struggle, it will make it less so. Less temperature taking, less monitoring my "junk" (I won't get into that because I find it gross and that's just my personal opinion), less "Let's do this now, the window is small", less invasive, less...everything. Just relax, it will happen. Less hearing the doctor tell me we aren't trying hard enough. But it didn't make it less anything. Until a week ago.

And for one whole week, I got to be a mom. Even though there was no tangible evidence. No physical evidence besides the bloating and morning sickness...nothing to tell that there was something growing inside me other than sheer pride and utter exhaustion with a side of vomit in my car (in my lap to be more precise) between showing houses. For one whole week, I got to feel...like my dream had come true. Like I had finally given my husband the only other thing he's wanted except for my love (the cup runneth over in that department). I didn't want to tell everyone because I felt like it shouldn't be so easy. But I did.  I wanted to share our excitement. I wanted to finally give us and our family what we've been trying for for over 3 years. And I did.  For a week. That's a week more than it's ever been.  I celebrate little victories.

You know what? I'm okay. We...are okay. Well...all things considered.

You wanna know why?

Because I know it's possible.  Because the rates of carrying a baby to term next time are 75% and after the second miscarriage (Heaven fucking forbid), the rates go up to 95% of carrying a baby to term.  I know we can do this and as awful as this sounds, I'm rather relieved it happened so early. I'm relieved because I didn't have more than a week to get attached.

I wanted sooooo badly to be angry as we waited for the ER doctor to come into the room to tell me what I already knew. "Pee in this cup and bring it to the window for testing." I had to write the reason for our visit...miscarriage. I couldn't even spell the word properly. It made me sick to my stomach. I made Zach take my intake paperwork to the window while I walked with shame to the bathroom. My head down, face red, swollen and snotty from crying so hard. I heard the nurses talk about me "Her pregnancy was confirmed, she's here for miscarrying".  (The nurse finally called back and told me to go to the ER make sure everything was happening as it should after I informed her of my negative test...all things considered). I sat on the hospital bed and cried...while Zach rubbed my cold feet and wrapped them up in my sweater. We made inappropriate jokes because how else do you deal with the fact you're there to be told you lost your "baby"? Zach wanted to be angry, I wanted to be angry.  I wanted to be so mad at the world all I could see was red and red alone.  But I couldn't.  All I could see was my blurred surroundings from the tears in my eyes. I can't be angry. We can't be angry...because we have one answer. It is possible.

I'm not mad at the world. I'm not jealous I have other pregnant friends. I am so completely elated that these amazing people I've chosen to have in my life are spreading their love and making things from that love (not that I think your babies are things, bear with me...I'm on a controlled substance for the pain so brain isn't working entirely correct, my apologies). Their struggle is not my struggle so I have no room or bearings to judge a situation I am not completely immersed in. I'm the farthest from jealousy and anger that I think I have ever been in my whole life.  I feel...sad. Also at peace, but still very sad. And I will allow myself to feel sad....for a short while. Because I deserve it. We deserve it. It has been one hell of a week.

So I'm going to put on my big girl panties and deal with it. Why? Because we have at the very least....ONE answer that's been plaguing us since we started this venture into trying to make a baby...which for those of you that have also fought this same (but different) battle...isn't pretty. Even if it isn't possible naturally...we can share our love through adoption (which we've discussed), fostering (which we have also discussed) or we can drink expensive champagne and travel the world...either way, the world is our oyster and just so long as I have that absolutely incredibly amazing man by my side...I can tackle the world.



With that being said, it's far past my bedtime for the amount of anything.

Xoxo,
Riley Writes

Are you f*cking kidding me?!!!

Ahhh, the sweet sound of profanity in the Riley Manor.

If you don't know me (which you should because I'm kind of amazing), I am a very sarcastic and foul mouthed little lady with a penchant for good beer and unsavory comments. Somewhere between pig tails with sugar and a pinch of spice, God wasn't reading his recipe for me correctly and added more piss and vinegar than anything else.  That's okay though. I like myself alright.

The Almighty also added a dash of laziness for good measure.Which is actually what this post is about.  That and the fact that Mr. Riley and I constantly use the phrase "Are you f*cking kidding me?!!!" Usually a fit of giggles ensues and it's usually on my part. We don't do it to be mean or hateful. We're just really sarcastic people living in a home of love, dad jokes and crude humor.  Whatever, it works for us. I'm not judging you.

Recently enough, I lost my shoes. I had worn them the day before but couldn't for the life of me, find them.  I looked all over the house (kind of) and enlisted the help of my sweet and wonderful husband. He agreed to help because we were getting ready to do a workout and I'm sure he knew that I would find a way to weasel out of it if I couldn't find my shoes. (Not that I don't have a bajillion other pairs I could have worn.)

"Babe, will you help me find my shoes?

"Have you even looked for them? Where was the last place you had them?"

"I checked in the kitchen and the bathroom downstairs...I don't think I checked the bathroom very well though. " (Which is completely ridiculous because it's a tad bigger than an airplane bathroom...nowhere to hide shoes at at all.)

"Why would they be in the bathroom?"

"Because I'm lazy and my thought process is to take them off as soon as I can no matter where I'm at?"

"Did you check upstairs?"

"There's no way I would have worn them all the way up there, I'm too lazy. On second thought though, I'll go check."

"Were they upstairs?"

"I dunno, I didn't see them. But I'm not going to lie...I didn't look really hard either. I kind of just glanced in each room but I definitely didn't see them."

"Rachele...seriously?" 

*Zach goes upstairs and I continue to look in places where I would never take my shoes off at.  Like the shoe rack. Or the dog room. Behind the couches, you know...stuff like that. Then Zach comes back downstairs to check outside because I have a tendency to take my shoes off in the car then walk into the house barefoot. 7 times out of 10, if I can't find my shoes, they are in my car.

"ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME?!!!"

"What?! Did you find them? Thank you so much! Where were they at?!"

"Rachele, where's the laziest place you can take your shoes off at?"

"I told you I already checked the bathroom! Wait, did you seriously find them in there? How could I have missed them? The bathroom isn't that big."

"Even lazier than the bathroom? Babe, they have literally been RIGHT by the front door the whole entire time. How could you have missed those?"

"Well I told you I didn't look that hard."

He looked like he wanted to strangle me so naturally I started laughing so hard I cried a bit. I don't know how he remains married to me other than I'm moderately charming and I can cook a bit. I like to keep things exciting.

That's it for this episode of Riley Writes.

Xoxo,
Rachele

 

Oh Hello Again/How To Adopt a Dog

Well hello you cheeky little bastard. 

Did you miss me? I've missed you. Unless I saw you not too long ago, in that case, I probably still missed you anyways because I'm needy.  So needy and full of love that I'm going to tell you how to adopt a pet in like 15 steps or less (I haven't got to the steps yet and don't have them written out at this juncture so I don't actually know how many steps it takes).  Not the actual adoption process but how to decide if getting another dog is right for you.

A back story. 

As most of you know if you know me, I'm a bleeding heart for animals.  Always have been, always will be.  If you're my friend on the book of faces or have been to my house, chances are Luke has most likely stolen your heart. He stole mine from the moment I laid eyes on him in his concrete cell...ahem I mean kennel.  Some questions I constantly ask myself, or you may have for me:

Is three dogs a lot? Yes.  Do they make me irritated or angry? Absolutely.  Is it fun watching Luke fall off the couch because he's the most awkward dog anyone has ever met? You betcha. Do I ever look at my carpets with shame because there's probably another dog's worth of hair on it but I'm tired of vacuuming? Only ever single day of my life.  Do I regret any of these things? Not even for a second.


Step 1: Eat champagne for breakfast. With some bacon....everyone loves bacon.
Step 2: Browse the local animal shelter for cute animals because you already have enough.
Step 3: More champagne.
Step 4: Significant other asks if you both should go see a particular dog.
Step 5: Get dressed because you aren't wearing pants because pants and champagne don't mix.
Step 6: Go to shelter, play with dog. Play with the dog that caught your eye on the way in.
Step 7: (This step is critical to adopting another dog when you don't need one) Ask shelter employee about dog's past. (This step is crucial because you're drunk and you have all the feels right now. If you aren't drunk...maybe this step won't mean so much. But if you had a champagne breakfast you should be. And if you aren't...you're not doing something right.)
Step 8: Cry because this dog has never been indoors and is terrified of people from lack of human interaction.
Step 9: Cry and walk out to the car because you don't really have the space or time for one more.
Step 10: (Also another critical step) Have significant other ask "Can you live with yourself if we don't adopt this dog and he gets put down?"
Step 11: Start ugly sobbing because this puppy deserves love as much as the next one does.
Step 12: Get out of the car and proceed to the front desk in the office with your puffy red snotty face and tell admin you would like to adopt a dog.
Step: 13: Pay for the adoption fee and go home to more champagne to cope with the fact that you just added another animal to your already small home and busy life.
Step 14: Pick animal up from vet (because responsible pet parents spay and neuter).
Step 15: Bring puppy home to his new family. And cry a bit because you're overwhelmed with love knowing you just saved an innocent animal from being euthanized. Then give all of them lots of treats because love.

And that's how you adopt a dog.

Xoxo
Riley Writes

P.S. Don't drink and drive. Make the sober one do it.  The one who wanted another dog in the first place and asked you while your inhibitions were non existent. :)