Put a rug on it; now with better pictures!

You guys know my dog, right?

Silly me, did I say dog?  I meant horse.

*Who are you calling a horse?  I'm a teeny cuddly lap dog.*

Sure Maya, keep telling yourself that.  

And I'm still 29.

Maya and I have had our ups and downs, but for better or worse she's a part of our family.  We've come a long way together and after I outed myself, there was really no going back.  Maya is a very good dog, but she's still a dog.  I still hate picking up her poop, and I still very much hate all the dog hair that I have to vaccuum just about every other day.  I'm also not the hugest fan of her stink.  No matter how often you bathe your dog, they just have a smell.  It's not so much the fur as it is the dander and I hate it.  Which brings me to our latest decorating foray.

As long as we have Maya in our lives, we will have hardwood floors.  Carpet grosses me out anyway, but smelly dog carpet is the absolute worst.  Therefore it's all area rugs, all the time in this house.

This was our old rug.  We got it from Overstock about two years ago and it fit perfectly in our old house.  We had lots of light, so the muted colors were a nice balance.  However, our new house doesn't have as much light so the living room looked kind of dark and depressing.  Additionally, the rug was Maya's hangout spot and much like our old sofa, it stunk.  I regularly vaccuumed it, Febrezed it, sprinkled baking soda, but it didn't eliminate the doggie smell.  It was gross and I'm always paranoid about my house smelling like dog.

I'd been saying for months that I wanted a new rug to brighten the living room and because I couldn't get the stink out of the old one but Drew wasn't sold.  We actually bicker over it all the time:  The man can smell the slightest hint of oak or berries or what-the-hell-ever in a glass of wine, but can't smell 110-pound dog stink.  I'm always like "HOW can you not smell that?!  Are you nuts!?" 

Dog?  What dog?

All I detect is a hint of blackberries soaked in lavender,

 then sun-dried near a field of strawberries with a slight

oak-y texture and a buttery finish that lingers

with a whiff of licorice. 

One beautiful day, he relented and faster than he could change his mind, I ordered a new rug.  Now, rugs in our house have a shelf life of about two years, so I don't spend a lot of money on them.  I wish I could find a decent looking large rug for $100, but that's pretty much impossible.  So I try to keep it under $300, which is still more than I want to spend for something that's going to get thrown out in a relatively short amount of time.  The waste hurts my feelings but even professional cleaning doesn't get the stink out.

So far, we've gotten most of our rugs from Overstock, with the exception of the rug in Sofia's room, which came from Ikea.  That one is the next to go - we've had it cleaned twice and the shag just holds that dog smell.  It drives me nuts when Sofia rolls around on it and I hate getting on the floor to play with her because if I turn my nose in that direction, the dog smell assaults my poor nostrils.  But changing Sofia's room will have to be another post, because we've done some switching around in there too.

I finally got the fancy camera to work.

It might help to change the camera battery when it's dead.

This bad boy came from Rugs USA and I'm super happy with it. The navy is really rich and the stencil part is a soft cream that doesn't smack you in the face.  The bold pattern really changes the look of the living room too, which of course meant that we needed new pillows for the sofa.  Of course. 

 I raided Target's pillow section and came home with a little 

Nate Berkus bling.  The subtle chevron pattern echoes the pattern in our yellow pouf ottoman thing.  It's like I did it on purpose.  Which I absolutely did not - I just liked the sparklies.

It also pairs nicely with my sofa, which is now stained beyond belief.

I will never again buy a velvet sofa - they are not at all kid-friendly.

If I could do it again, I'd get something slipcovered but you live and learn, right?
The others are randoms that I thought might look good on the sofa.

The buffet also got an upgrade, of sorts.

Drew got a pretty major promotion at work and the new TV was his congratulations

gift to himself.  The damn thing can practically read your mind; it's kinda creepy

but I do appreciate being able to sit anywhere on the sofa and see it.

With the old TV, you could only sit in one spot to have a good view.

Oh, and how about the zig-zag ottoman?  Cute, right?

My girlfriend Shunta was getting rid of it because it was too big for what she wanted

and I was all, NO!  Sell it to me!

Sofia loves it, and it was originally for the basement playroom but Drew

loved it too so it lives upstairs now.

Also, the mirrored buffet is a complete hit.
Sofia loves to watch herself make faces and dance around.
Yeah, she puts her hands on it and it gets smudged, but it's no big deal to clean it.
Sometimes I can even get her to clean it, so it's all good.

We still have a super long way to go towards being able to say any room but the kitchen is 'done' but getting a new, non-stinky rug was a major win.  Now if we can just get the balls to pull the trigger on that brown chair and ottoman and get it reupholstered.

Our chair could look like this and I would sit in it 

every day and tell it how beautiful it was and how much I loved it.

I wouldn't even care that it's too big for the room.

source

Because really, doesn't she look so pained to have to be laying on 
such an unfortunate looking ottoman?
Also, you get an idea of how big they both are if 
my 110-pound dog can sort of sprawl on it.

I'm kind of feeling like the front door needs to be painted too.
I'm thinking some shade of blue?

Unfortunately, reupholstering the chair is kind of low on the list as we have also rearranged all three bedrooms in preparation for The Situation.  PS, I really didn't think that name all the way through, as I am NOT okay with referring to it as Snooki should it turn out to be a girl.  I'm going to have to come up with something else.

Anyway, I'll show y'all the bedrooms next because I think you might be pleasantly surprised with what we've done - I know I was.

OH!  Do y'all know where I can get some more pillows for cheap?  I feel like I need more pillows on the sofa but I've maxed out Target's selection and I'm sure as hell not paying $80 for a throw pillow like I see on Joss and Main all the time.  Or do I even need more pillows?  I'm not sure.

Also, I'm still obsessed over what to do with the TV wall.  Do I do a shelf over it like Young House Love did?

source

Or do I do pictures around it?

I love this picture - the symmetry soothes me.

source

Refreshing things around the house always makes me happy and it has done a lot for my mental health to be able to feather our nest.  It makes me feel safe and secure and besides, who doesn't love to play with pretty things?

OH!  One more thing!  Would you leave your Pinterest URL in the comments for me?  I'm scouring for house ideas and I'd love to see what you guys think is pretty.  

Thank you!

I will break these chains

One afternoon, Drew and I were sitting at the dining room table and I asked him what he thought about spanking.  It hadn't occurred to me to ask him before we had a kid and I suddenly found myself getting nervous.  I had no idea where he stood on the subject and in my mind, I began planning how Sofia and I would steal away in the night, should he answer wrong.  It seemed like a long time, but it was no more than a second or two when he looked me in the eye and said,

"Belts are for keeping your pants up."

No lie, it was the single most romantic thing he has ever said to me.  I'm not the mushy gushy type, but I never loved him more than I did in that moment.  I felt safe.

That's how I know the cycle stops with me.  I have already made different choices than the ones my mother made.  My daughter's father is different from my own.  Her childhood is and will be completely different from mine and I did that.  I am breaking these chains.

For one thing, I respect Sofia as a person.  The parent-child relationship is the only one in existence where the balance of power is so skewed.  Actually there is no balance; the parent has 100% of the power 100% of the time.  Sofia didn't choose me or Drew.  She didn't choose this life and she is completely powerless over her world.  Plus, as a brand new person on this Earth, she doesn't have the skills and knowledge that I do; she is learning as she goes.  Unfortunately, you don't hear enough talk about people respecting children because too often they are treated like second-class citizens in our society.  This notion that they should be seen and not heard is not as old and out-dated as I'd like it to be.  Children are seen as objects to control and break and conform to some idea of what a person should be.  There is no thought to the fact that they already came into this world as fully-formed people and as parents, it's our job to keep them safe as they discover their place on this planet, just as we do everyday.

I certainly wasn't raised that way; I had no opinions, I wasn't respected and I was definitely controlled.  I try not to blame my parents because I want to believe that they simply didn't know better, as we all only have one story to tell.  I'm not always successful and I still have a good amount of resentment towards them.  However, I do know better so I'm going to do better.

I tell Sofia I love her a million times a day, and more importantly so does her father.  We are breaking these chains.  She is safe and happy and because her environment is positive and encouraging, she is confident about exploring and she knows that when things get too big or scary, she has a soft place to land.  When she falls, she is quick to get up and brush herself off, saying "I'm okay Mommy."  And when she isn't okay, she knows that she can come to me for hugs and kisses and reassurance.  A lot of it seems like a no-brainer but a lot of times it doesn't happen, and I certainly remember times when I could have used a hug after falling, physically and metaphorically.

We don't hit or yell either.  Again, it seems like a no-brainer but we all know it's not, and I will never understand those who think that those are effective teaching tools.  Sofia is 100% dependent on me/us for everything in her world, she has nowhere near the maturity, coping skills or knowledge that we have, yet it's her fault for doing something 'wrong?'  It's her fault if she has a meltdown in Target?  Never mind that it's past naptime, or she's hungry, or this is the fifth store I dragged her to, but no, she's freaking out just to piss me off?  Really?  And so she should get smacked for that?  Really?

I have the power; I have the control.  It's up to me to keep my cool at all times in all things.  It's up to me to know her limits, read her cues and act accordingly.  And God knows, sometimes I have to drag her to five stores and sometimes we have to be out past naptime and God KNOWS I've been the Target meltdown mom because sometimes life happens like that, but it's never her fault.  

It's not easy and I've had to put myself in timeout to catch my breath sometimes.  It's frustrating and there sure have been times when I fantasize about escaping just for a few days just so I'm not on call 24-7.  But that's usually when I'm sleep deprived and the house is dirty and the laundry is a mile high and she just won't take a nap so I can get stuff done.  Actually, that's how I spent this past week.

But then, just as I reach the end of my rope, she'll go down for a nap and I can breathe again.  Or I hang out with one of my girlfriends and she's going through the same thing with her son and we draw strength from each other, just enough to get back in the ring.  And a new day begins.

My daughter is the coolest kid on the planet.  She's smart, she's opinionated, she's funny, and she's an absolute joy in my life.  I wish she wouldn't fight me for diaper changes and it would be cool if she wouldn't pee on the floor, but I just remember that she's figuring things out and she's definitely not doing it on purpose.  I respect her, I will keep her safe and not a day will go by that I don't kiss her a million times and tell her I love her.

It's my job and I love it.  The cycle stops with me; I will break these chains and I will do better.

................................................

Thank you for listening and I think that we should lighten things up around this joint, and what better way to shake off the old than to get down with some new?  Check it!

First there was this.

Then there was this.

Then came this.

Let's talk decorating, shall we?  We've been switching and changing all around the house and I have some fun and happy stories to tell!  It's about time for that, right?  Anyway, I'll be back soon with all the details and I hope you like them.  

Have a wonderful weekend!

Love the sinner, hate the sin

One of the things that happens when you're tired is that you stop caring.  You don't care what your house looks like, what your hair looks like, what you wear when you leave the house, and your patience is paper-thin.  This means you might say things that you wouldn't otherwise say if you were well rested.

Ladies and gentlemen, I am tired.  I'm solo parenting this week, which usually isn't a big deal.  I've solo parented before and it's just a part of my reality.  Drew has traveled for work since the day we met and I knew what I was signing up for.

However, I have never solo parented while pregnant and holy shit, this is a whole other level of tired.  I'm only 8 weeks and change but so far The Situation has been kicking my ASS.  I don't remember my symptoms being this intense with Sofia and boy do they suck.  Thank God in Heaven the nausea has subsided but the fatigue.  Good Lord, the fatigue.  Is it because I'm older?  Because I'm chasing after a toddler?  Because I'm more out of shape? Because it's 12,000 degrees outside and the heat sucks the very life out of me?  Who knows, but I dread taking Sofia outside because we don't have a fenced yard and her favorite game is Mommy Come Get Me.  I try to keep up because she deserves that, but after about five steps I'm dizzy, my heart is pounding and I have to make a concerted effort to catch my breath.

I have never in my life wanted to drink more than this week.  Sofia hasn't had her Mom's Morning Out school this week because they're doing Vacation Bible School so she's been all mine 24-freakin-7.  But nope, no wine.  And to add insult to injury, no coffee either.  I mean, I know I could have one cup but unless that one cup was poured directly into my eyeballs or injected into my veins, there's no point.  So it's just me and what little energy I can muster.

That's also why I've been absent from the blog.  Because I know the next step in the progression of this story is to discuss my parents.  I don't want to, plain and simple.  I want to pull the covers over my head and pretend none of this happened because it's really just too much to comprehend and I'm too frickin tired.

But I can't.  I lay awake at night, replaying scenes from my childhood, none of them good.  My mother calls and wants to talk about regular mundane things and I want to scream at her "How could you?!?!?!"  But I don't, because what's the point.  I called my dad to talk to him about this and he hung up before I could say any more than "Hello."  I called back four times and he didn't pick up.

So I have some processing to do, and THEN I'm going to put this shit to bed.

Initially, I wanted to give a lot of thought to how I would address this issue with my parents.  I wanted to be objective and mature and try to see how they could behave the way that they have.  But I'm tired and I just want to type.  So once again, here goes nothin'.

.......................................

I don't want to write this post so much I just took a ten-minute break and read other blog posts so I wouldn't have to do this.  Thank God I did, because this here post just got a lot shorter.

This post.  Read it now.  It's important.

That right there, is the crux of why this hurts so bad.  My parents were my heroes; they were my idols and even at 37 years old, to find out that they are just seriously flawed and fucked up humans stings like no other.

My father is abusive.  

My mother has no self-esteem.

Victimizers find victims - it's like the Law of Attraction in the most sad and fucked-up way.

I could go into details and tell the stories, the ones that wake me up at night because I didn't forget them like I thought I did.  But what's the point - there is no redeeming value to pointing out all the ways they failed as parents and how it affects me even now.

However I will say:  Don't hit your kids.  Don't EVER hit your kids.  They will remember and you will mess them up.  They'll be able to function in society, but the memory of how you betrayed them in that moment will not ever fade and it will wake them up at night, because there is no way to look your child in the eye, tell them you love them, get them to believe you in that pure and innocent way that only children can do, and then hit them.  There is no way to get them to believe that you love them so much that 'you wouldn't even want a stiff breeze to touch their skin' and then stand by while they are spanked with such force that it rocks both their body and the one holding the belt.  It's not possible.

But before I slide off the bed and onto the floor in the fetal position and before the memories take over, I will stop.  And please for the love of all that's good and holy, do NOT tell me how spanking/swats/pow-pows are not the same as hitting and how some kids need to get spanked because that's the only way they'll learn.  Just don't.

And it sucks that finding out about my sister stirred up all this other shit, because I don't want to deal with it.  I had a front row seat throughout my childhood and I don't want to see this show again.

But here I am, watching the worst rerun in the history of ever.  As an adult, I've tried to change the story.  I've tried to tell my mother that she's better than this, that she deserves more, that's she's worth more than what she's given.  But years of abuse and brainwashing are so much stronger than my pitiful words.  Even when I use the words that my many (many many many) therapists have used with me:  Has he even apologized?  If your recognize that he doesn't respect you and won't give you what you need, what benefit do you find in staying in this situation? When you ask for what you want and don't receive it, what do you do next?

Nothing changes.  It hurts so much to bear witness.  As a child, I didn't know.  I mean, I knew but I didn't understand.  As an adult, I understand perfectly but it doesn't take the pain away.  I don't want her to be weak.  I don't want him to be a dick.  I want her to stand up for herself.  I want him to stop being such a dick.  I want him to acknowledge just how wrong he's been, how he failed us and I want him to apologize and ask for forgiveness.

But even as I type that, I know it'll never happen.  Narcissists are scary people; they will charm your pants right off and toss you in the gutter without breaking their stride.  You only exist for what you can do for them and as the ultimate accessory, we were the 'perfect' family except no one knew what went on behind closed doors.  No one knew about the lack of affection, the personal devaluation that happened on a regular basis (What do you know, you're just a snot-nosed brat.  I remember saying "I'm 32, I'm not a snot-nosed brat.  Stop saying that.")  No one had a voice, no one was respected.  Behind closed doors, we weren't a family.  We were accessories that were not to step out of line without dire consequences.  And while there were physical incidences, it's not like we were locked in a closet for weeks on end; it was much more subtle than that.  It was not listening when I spoke, not respecting me if I didn't want to go somewhere, making fun of me for being sad or upset, never feeling loved.

My father has never told me he loved me. Isn't that something?

And when it's that subtle, it can happen nearly every day and you begin to just think that's how things are.  But it chips away at you and you start to think that maybe you are invisible, that you don't matter.  And one of two things happens:  you become weak and you bow under the pressure because it's easier to just give in because you don't want to fight and you'll keep the peace at the expense of your soul.

That's what my mom did and that's why she has been married to her abuser for 38 years and counting.

Or you become a fighter and you go DefCon five at the slightest indication that you aren't being respected or heard because I'll be good and GodDamned if I ever in life let anyone think I'm a doormat of any kind.  Get into epic fights with every guy you've ever dated because they dared not acknowledge that you spoke that one time on that one day.  See: every fight I've ever gotten into with Drew because I'm deathly afraid of turning into my mother and even the slightest tiniest inkling that he even might maybe be treating me like my father does her, is cause for war.  Even though my therapist tells me on a regular basis that I'm not my mother and I could never be her even if I tried, I'm still scared.  Because I've seen what happens.  You still function in society, even holding down a pretty major job with a secretary and everything, but I've seen.  There's no light, there's a heaviness, there's illness and pills.  God, more pills than I've ever seen and you can't tell me that they're not interacting with each other.  The sheer number makes that impossible.  It makes me so sad.

And I'm tired.

I'm tired of carrying around these secrets, I'm tired of pretending to the world that my parents are people that they're not.  I don't know what happened in their lives to bring them to this point.  I don't know what made my mother believe that she wasn't worthy of the highest love and praise and that she didn't deserve any better than what my father dished out.

I don't know what happened to my father, plain and simple.  He never talked about his past, but I can only imagine coming of age in the Deep South smack in the middle of the Civil Rights movement affected him.  Lynchings, separate entrances, fire hoses, getting dragged behind trucks - those were all a part of his reality and perhaps something broke inside.  I'll never know.

I'll never know what makes my parents tick and I wish they were better people.  I can only speculate as to why my father pretended my sister didn't exist and it's not that hard:  A failed first marriage didn't fit with the picture of the perfect family that he wanted.  And a daughter certainly didn't, especially when he could 'replace' her with me, his most adoring fan.  It sickens me to think how much I idolized him and how much he took advantage of that, and most of all, how quickly he tossed me aside when I stopped drinking the Kool-Aid.  But I'm not surprised - as soon as anyone in his life gets too close or stops being what he needs them to be, they're gone.  He always made it out to be that they dropped the friendship ball, but I know better.  It's because they were no longer his #1 fans, and he has no use for anyone but #1 fans.

I'm pretty sure none of this makes sense, but you're seeing me work through this as it's happening.  My mom calls, wanting to check on me, telling me she's thinking of me and I want to have compassion for her.  She's broken and you never ever pick on the little guy.  Not that I'm perfect - I'm so afraid of turning into to her that when she's been particularly weak, there was one time that I looked down at her and told her to 'dry it up.'  I regret that to this day.  

Picking on the little guy just makes you a dick, and I've been a dick to my mom and my dad has made a 'marriage' out of being a dick to her.  These people were my heroes.  I credited these people with giving me a 'solid upbringing.'

She actually left - she's had her own place for almost a year now and I've never been prouder of her.  I know how hard it was to make that step and before this sister nonsense, I was sure to randomly call her and tell her how proud I was, to reassure her that I was there for her, that I would never turn my back on her, that she's strong and worthy.  I've never told her not to go back to him because I don't want to alienate her.  Instead I just ask if the reason why she left is no longer a factor.  When she says it still is, I just ask her why she's going to go back to the same situation, what's the benefit?  She has no answer.

She still sees him; she was actually with him when I called to tell her that I had spoken with my sister.  It kills me because he's not even trying to get her back.  He's not contrite, he's not trying to win her over, he's not changing.  He just says she 'needs' to come home.  To cook and clean for him.  It's disgusting and I wouldn't piss on him if he was on fire.  

Yet, he was my idol.  He was my hero and he wants nothing to do with me and has had no problem going for years at a time without speaking to me.  If I ever went that long without talking to Sofia, I would go mad.

This time, we're going on a year and I have a feeling that this is it.  It wouldn't surprise me at all to end up getting that phone call many years from now to come see him on his deathbed or that he's already passed.  I'm near positive that's how this is going to play out and it sucks.

I want better for my mother, but I'm having a really hard time accepting her in the face of such blatant disrespect and betrayal.  She said she 'forgot' talking to my sister all those years ago and even now, my dad is trying to turn her against me saying that I just want to stir things up and make her life hard, how he should be the only thing that matters in her life.

"You know that's classic abuser behavior, right Mom?  You know that's what they do, right?  They isolate you and make you think that no one cares about you but them, that no one will ever care for you like they do, except you know he doesn't care, right?  You know that, right Mom?  You know you deserve better?  Right?  Right?"

Most days I feel like I'm fighting a fire with an eye dropper.  I feel like I've already lost and it makes it hard to have mundane conversations with her about how I'm feeling, or what Sofia is saying and doing that day.  And I realize that I have no idea how to love the sinner and hate the sin.  I don't know how to pretend that the abuse isn't happening, but even I know you can't love away an addiction.  You can't love someone more than they love themselves - believe me, I've tried with my fair share of guys and it never ever works.  You alone can't lift someone out of a real live depression.  No one can fix another person.

I know these things; my brain tells me these things but my heart just sees my mommy hurting and I want to make it all better.  

And then I just get tired and I want to close my eyes and pretend it never happened.  I want to go back to the times when it was good, because it wasn't all bad.  There were good days, fun nights and I would rather remember those times than wake up in the middle of the night because I heard the screaming just like it was still happening.  

I don't know what else to say.  I had hoped that through writing this, I would figure out how best to deal with my mom, but I'm no closer than I was when I started.  She called today because I had a doctor's appointment yesterday but all I wanted to know is what she's going to do when her lease is up.  All I want to know is how she can continue to see someone who is........such a DICK.

But I don't, because what's the point.  I've already had my ranty moments, where I told her that he could burn in hell; she already knows how I really feel.  

She just needs me to be her daughter but man, I sure do need her to be my mother.  


*It's late and I'm tired and I'm just hitting publish on this one because I kind of just want to be done with this whole thing.  I apologize for being all over the place and if it's hard to follow, but I really just can't go back and edit this one.  Thanks for understanding and as always, thanks for being here.*

In process: The sister

The last time I went to KC, I got into a huge fight with my brother the second day I was there.  It was awesome. \sarcasm\  We didn't see or talk to each other for the rest of my visit and we didn't talk for several days after that.  I don't have the greatest relationship with my brother, but it's not horrible.  At least, it *wasn't* horrible.  After all, he photographed and took videos of Sofia's birth and was the only non-medical person in the room the entire time I was in labor.  We have a familial bond but like any other sibling relationship, we've had our tough times.  

So one Sunday afternoon, I sat at the computer to send him an email, as I do much better with the written word than I do over the phone.  Plus, things between us were still kind of tense and a phone conversation might have been too close for comfort.  I wanted to cover all my bases and make sure my email reached him, so I opened my Facebook email to send him a message.

For whatever reason, my main inbox didn't come up.  Instead, some other inbox opened with only a few emails in it.  I didn't think too much of it, as I was already composing the email to my brother in my head.  But I did notice that there were only four emails in this folder, and I knew I had more than that in my inbox.  

The first one was from someone with our same last name.  I figured it was from a relative reaching out, wanting to say hi or something.  I opened it, thinking I'd just see who it was and then get on with emailing my brother.

"Hello.  My name is... and I'm your older sister."

My mouth literally fell open as I read the rest of the email from this person claiming to be my sister.  It was a short email and she gave me her phone number, so after I paced the house about twenty times, I grabbed my phone and paced the house twenty more times.

After I looked at her pictures on Facebook and Googled and did a public records search and looked at her LinkedIn profile, because of course I did, I determined that she was a real person and she seemed legit.  So with my heart pounding, I dialed her number.

Voicemail picked up.  WHEW. I left a perfectly ridiculous message with all sorts of stuttering and managed to give her my number.  Then I resumed pacing the house, randomly grabbing my phone and being on edge waiting for her to call me back.

Drew had gone to a bachelor party in the Poconos the night before, and he'd stayed the night so he didn't get home until a few hours later.  "I'm really sorry you're hung over and tired but I've been sitting on this since this morning and I REALLY need to tell you something."  Mind you, I was barely pregnant as well, so I'm sure he was bracing himself for the absolute worst.  I told him and he was like "WHOA."  "I KNOW RIGHT!!!"

A few hours later, the phone rang.  It was her.

Holy.  EFF.

We ended up talking for over an hour, with her telling me her life story.  When my dad was in his early 20s and in the military, he came home once and met her mom and sparks flew.  They   hooked up and hung out for a minute, but then he had to go back overseas.  She ended up pregnant, reached out to him and told him.  He came home and married her in the chapel at the military base and they were married for two years. (!!!)

However, he started acting like, well, him, and her mom couldn't take it and divorced him.  After that, they went their separate ways and that was that.  There was no support or visitation or anything and my father went on to pretend it never happened.

But this isn't about my father - I'll get to him later.  This is about my sister.  

As in, okay you're my sister.  Now what?

She's nine years older than I am.  She and I have both lived quite full lives without each other and I haven't the first clue how to proceed.  Many of you have been so positive about it, and see this as a blessing, but to be honest I'm not so sure.

I mean, we're strangers as are my 22 year old nephew and 19 year old niece.  We're going on vacation to Hilton Head next month and that's within driving distance from her and when I told her that, she was super quick to be like We'll be there.  I about fainted.  She wants to meet?!  Next month?!  I'm not ready!

I'm barely wrapping around my head around this gigantic lie my parents told me, because oh yeah BOTH of them knew about this, and I'll get to my mom later.

She seems like a nice person, I mean whatever you can determine from such a major phone conversation but I just don't know what our first step should be.  She's in such a different place in her life and had a completely different upbringing than I did and who knows if we have anything in common.  I mean, I feel more sisterly towards my cousin.  I talk to her almost every day and I just don't see myself getting to that place with this other person.  I mean, I can't even say 'sister' without feeling all kinds of weird.  Interestingly, I'm ten years older than my cousin but we have a ton in common, which is more of a testimony to my immaturity than anything else.

Which is a whole other thing.  I don't do well with strangers.  I'm set in my ways, I have strong thoughts and opinions on things and it's just all-around harder to make friends when you're older.  And while we have the same dad, that doesn't mean that we're going to be automatic BFFs.  I have her email address, because again, I do better with the written word, but I haven't emailed her because what the heck do I say?  What's your favorite color?  What do you do for fun?  Sorry my/our dad is such a dick but really, you lucked out not having him in your life?

That's probably not appropriate.  SEE!  I don't know how to do this!

At any rate, we're going to meet each other next month and I'm going to do my best to eek out at least one email before then, awkward and stuttery or not.  I'm trying to tell myself that she's a regular person who puts her pants on the same way I do, that we're both innocent parties in this great effed-up train wreck of a story.  

It could turn out to be a blessing, or like many of you have said, it might not work out.  Even though we have a bond, that alone is definitely not enough to build a relationship.  There might just be too much distance and time between us to make it work.

I guess only time will tell.  Now if only I can figure out what to say to her in this email.  I already feel guilty that she probably thinks I'm avoiding her, which is an awesome feeling.  A complete stranger is making me feel guilty for not doing better.

Just like an older sister.

This is the situation

Thank you all for the overwhelming support and love after that last post.  It means the world to me and I'm going to answer every email I received.  I've read them over and over again and I'm processing your words as much as I am my feelings.  More than anything, I'm comforted that I'm not alone in this situation.  For better or worse, there are more than a few of us who have really hit the parent jackpot. \sarcasm\  My only hope is that I'm able to do everything possible so that Sofia doesn't end up feeling the same way about me.

And speaking of kids...

Let me tell you a quick story...

When I last saw my doctor after my most recent miscarriage, we talked about next steps.  I was thrown because I found out I was pregnant the day before I was due to have my period, I did my Heparin within seconds of getting that positive test, yet I still had a miscarriage.  Unfortunately, even if I did everything right, if a poor quality egg gets fertilized it doesn't matter when I do the Heparin; the pregnancy won't last.

I told you it wasn't my fault!  

I'm the innocent party here!

*Yes uterus, I'm sorry.  You do good work.*

*Look.  Somebody has to take responsibility for this.*

I don't have a fertility issue; that much is clear.  But my eggs are old and blind and run into walls and don't know what they're supposed to be doing with themselves.  There are a couple in there that still have their shit together so it's really just a crapshoot every month.  If a smart one breaks out of the ovary, I might have a chance.  You know, if they can make it past the high FSH, the clotting disorder and the Old Hag-itis.  We're talking about a major uphill battle from the jump.

Yet somehow, four weeks after my miscarriage I found myself staring at a pee stick with the word 'pregnant' on it.  It was two days before my scheduled period and I was supposed to continue with my testing at the RE, and they really didn't want me to get pregnant before they figured out what else might be causing the miscarriages.  I shoved the stick in Drew's face and said "You're going to get me in so much trouble with my doctor!  I told you I was going to get pregnant!"  He rolled his eyes at me and kept on making his lunch for work.  

I called the doctor that afternoon, all apologetic.  "Hiiii, it's Desiree.  So um, funny story!  I know we were going to continue with testing my eggs and whatnot and haha guess what!  Turns out I'm pregnant, don't be mad!  So um, I guess I need to come see you? Okay, byeeee!"  They called me later and we set up a time to come have my first ultrasound.  I wasn't yet going to be six weeks and I was certain I was going to have another miscarriage before then, but we kept the appointment just in case.  Commence the pins and needles.

From that second, I was on high alert.  Every twinge, every cramp and of course every bathroom trip was Miscarriage Watch: June 2013.  It sucked and my nerves started to fray and it was in that state that I arrived for my ultrasound.  I was 5w6d.

Of course I brought Sofia with me, which seemed to bother the ultrasound tech. 

Her:  Oh, you've got your little one with you.  

Me:  Yup, it's the two of us today.  

H:  She's not in school? 

M:  No, this isn't a school day for her. 

H:  You didn't get a babysitter or something?

M:  (Damn bitch, what's your problem with my kid?)  No, she's with me. 

H:  No daycare-

M:  NO.

So yeah, she was weird.  I felt like she was unnecessarily brusque with the wand and kind of shoved it up in there but Sofia was with me, so I bit my tongue.  After taking pictures of my ovaries, she got to the main event.

  

It's kind of blurry, but doesn't it look a little like a wedding ring?

She took her measurements and said that I was measuring 6w1d, which is a good thing and she settled on the teeny tiny flicker that was the heartbeat.  It still trips me out to see that stuff but she was quick to bring me right back down by telling me it was slow and she was less than professional about it.  I was like "Is that the heartbeat?"  "Yes but it's slow.  It can go either way at this point.  Because it's slow.  The heartbeat is there but it's slow which means it can stop.  Because the heartbeat is slow.  The embryo has a slow heartbeat.  It's beating but it's slow.  I've seen them speed up, but it could stop.  You know, because it's slow."

I wanted to punch her.  Like I don't know from losses.  Like I don't know enough to keep my hope in check.  But I said nothing as I got dressed and went to the talk with the nurses.  They gave me the regular spiel - rest, drink lots of water, don't eat deli meat, all that.  I wanted to be like, You see my healthy two-year-old sitting here right?  I've done this before.  

And then the Mack Truck of Nausea slammed into me and dumped its contents all over me:  Cramps, Headaches, Loss of Appetite coupled with Ravenous Hunger and that's where I've been since then.  Nearly every afternoon I get terrible nausea with migraine-like headaches and I've been having intermittent cramps like my period is about to start, which of course freak me the F out, because I don't remember having that with Sofia.  I'm down for the count from 3pm until I go to bed.  

One night, I begged Drew to make his own dinner as I couldn't get off the couch.  The man went and made fish.  FISH.  I wanted someone to rip my nose off my face.  But I don't vomit; I just stay nauseated and that was one of the worst nights ever.  Another night, I was laying in bed, praying to die when I'd just found the perfect spot.  The covers were right, my pillow was in the perfect position and my body was nestled in for what promised to be a restful night's sleep.

And then I had to pee.  And then I *had* to have some fettucini alfredo.  I literally burst into tears because I didn't want to get out of bed, but *you* try telling your fetus-hijacked body not to pee or eat fettucini alfredo.  So I got out bed, sobbing, and got in the car at 9:30 at night to go to the store to get some Pasta Roni, crying nearly the whole way.  Good times y'all.

The passing days meant more hunger, more nausea and more worrying that I was going to miscarry any minute.  It was also during this time that the other bomb dropped.  I was a mess and my follow-up appointment was supposed to be this Friday, but yeah right.  I called them yesterday and begged them to fit me in, which they did and that's where I was at 11 this morning.

Why does my doctor's office have to be at the end of this 

ridiculously long and unnecessarily dramatic hallway?

It makes me feel like I'm walking to my doom.

I was alone this time; Sofia had dance class at 11, so Drew took off from work to take her.

Please die from the cuteness of the dad taking his daughter to 

Mommy and Me dance class.

Anyway!  It's the same ultrasound tech and I was ready to fight her.  Let her say something about my kid not being with me!  Let her!

Lucky for her, she didn't but she still wasn't gentle with the wand.  I actually gripped the table was like "Jesus!  Why does it hurt?!"  Bitch didn't even apologize.  I'm done with her.  Ovary check and once again, the big show.

I give you:  The Situation.

Or Snooki.  Not sure yet.

I completely blame the mainstream media for this fetus name; I take no responsibility.  I have never seen even a part of one episode of Jersey Shore, but I saw that picture, and that looks like a teeny tiny fist pump and that's what immediately came to mind.  It is the media's fault that fist pump=Jersey Shore=The Situation.  Sorry fetus.  It is what it is.

I'm 7w3d and still measuring two days ahead and my miscarriage risk has dropped to 2%.  I know better than to dance in the street but I do feel a little bit better.  I will go back in another ten days and if I'm looking good then they will release me to my OB.  I'm nervous as hell that as soon as he lets me go that I'm going to miscarry again, but none of it is up to me.  I can only be thankful that I've gotten this far.

As for the family situation, of course my dad doesn't know, but neither does my mom.  I guess I'll call her this afternoon, but it's so weird.  I haven't talked to her since the day I called and was like "So!  Hey there!  I don't know what you've done today, but I just got off the phone with MY SISTER."  My brother also doesn't know and I haven't spoken with him since we got into a huge fight when I went back to KC.  We've since exchanged a couple of terse emails and I don't know where things are headed with us.  I do hope that we can have some semblance of a relationship but there's a possibility that we won't be able to.  That remains to be seen.

But for now, in this moment, I have a teeny tiny fist-pumping fetus inside me, giving me wrinkles and gray hairs of worry when it's not giving me migraines and nausea and hunger pangs that make me want to chew my arm off.  My dear friend Gem told me I have permission to fight this baby when it makes its appearance.  I just might.

Just as soon as I eat something.  I'm starving.

Here goes nothin'

You guys are amazing.  It's like I put up the Bat Signal of Pain and you responded.  For the first time since all this shit went down, I sat at the keyboard and cried.  Not like the little tears I cried with Drew; the big nasty snot tears that shake your shoulders that you NEED to let out because sometimes that's all you can do.

I don't know if God knew that I needed to do this, but Sofia is currently taking a marathon nap right now.  Long enough for me to have a good cry while chatting online with an angel of a friend (I love you), long enough to even find a chuckle at the sheer absurdity of this nonsense.  You have made a safe space for me and like Sin said,

to answer your question, " Who wants to go visit a friend when their friend is all down in the dumps?"...a FRIEND does. I've tried blogging and it just hasn't worked for me, but I have been reading yours for a long time and responding more as of late. So maybe I'm not in the blog friend space yet, but I AM in the friend space for a lot of people. And I am BLESSED with some amazing friends. And when things are great and happy go lucky, its easy to get lost in living our own lives now that we are all in the real grown up part of life (marriage, kids, ect). But when a friend is down in the dumps? THAT is when we have like, a gravitational pull towards one another. Because the question isn't who wants to visit a friend when they are down...obviously no one does...bc who wants their friend to be down? Which is why you go, and whether you cry together, kick/scream/curse, stare into space, whatthefuckever...the important thing is you have someone there to do it with who wants to share that burden with you to lessen your pain/frustration/anger and help you come out stronger and better for it on the other side.

My point is, don't NOT write here what your heart is yearning to release because you feel like you owe anyone a bucket full of sunshine with every post. Yeah, not everyone is going to get it. But whatever is weighing on your spirit right now needs to be set free because I promise you aren't the first the last or the only one. So there will be those who have come from it too, who will feel your words and sentiment echo through their hearts like their own. There will be those who can't commiserate from experience but will be empathetic nonetheless. And like you yourself said, your words can help someone else seeking the same healing you are. And if anyone is really a jerk about it, well, ain't nobody got time for that and they can go scratch. 

There are plenty of times and opportunities for puppies and rainbows. But the truth is, a rainbow comes after the storm. And some storms are doozies and we have talk about that tough shit before we can really appreciate the rainbows that follow. 

PS, best comment ever.  

So, I'm taking a deep breath and I'm dumping my burden(s).  It's too much for one post and I'm going to do my best to stay up at night and get it out, because indeed, my heart is yearning for release (so frickin poetic and spot on.)  

Initially, I thought of everyone else.  I absolutely do not choose to hurt anyone with my words; my only goal in this is to get back to center.  I don't want to cry anymore; I want to feel happy again.  However, I feel that old pull of my childhood - what goes on in our family stays in our family.  That was drummed into us from so early, and it's so damaging because only people who have dark shit to hide say things like that.

So no more.  I won't be silent anymore (that sounded way more dramatic than necessary.)  I'm not holding anyone's secrets anymore.

It's JUST like that.

Sofia just woke up so I have to go, but I won't leave you with a ridiculous cliffhanger.  But seriously, it's way too much for one blog post so I'm just going to put it out there and I'll sort through it in the coming days.

Fuck.  Where do I start........

Ugh.

Whatever.  I'm diving in.  Shit.  Fuck it.

....................................

Eight days ago, I found out I have a sister.

My father pretended it never happened.  That his first wife and his first daughter, never happened.

My mother knew.  She lied to me.  All this time.  They lied to me.  To us.  She stood back and let my dad make my dating life a living hell, knowing that he was just as dirty as he made me out to be.

There was no reason to lie; I've spoken with her (my SISTER.  I can't even deal with this shit.  I have a NIECE and a NEPHEW.  WTF.)  She seems like a perfectly decent person; it's not like she's some back-alley crack whore.  She's a regular person and he turned his back on her!  And she let him!  I just can't. *Coming back to clarify:  When I say 'she let him' I'm talking about my mom.  My mom let my dad turn his back on his first daughter, not 'she' my sister.  She was two when they got divorced, she had no say in the matter.

So there's that.

And oh yeah, because that's not enough, I'm also pregnant.  Precisely four weeks after my miscarriage, I found out I was pregnant again.  You could have knocked me over with a feather.  I've had an ultrasound and there was a heartbeat but it was slow.  I have another ultrasound tomorrow to see if it's gotten stronger or if it slowed down and stopped.  Every time I go to the bathroom - EVERY TIME - I look for blood, certain that I'm about to have my fifth miscarriage.  EVERY TIME I feel another cramp or twinge, I'm convinced that this is it.  Since I found out, I've been on pins and needles and my nerves are shot.  I've been so ridiculously sick that I don't even want to think about food or smells or anything, but every second I'm not sick, I'm convinced that it's dead.  And since I'm not bleeding, well of course that means I have to have another D&C.

I feel like my family has fallen apart - I don't even know my own parents anymore.  And what the hell am I supposed to do with my life if I have another miscarriage?  A FIFTH miscarriage?  

And what the F do I do with a SISTER?

So yeah, this is some straight-up Maury Povich-Jerry Springer bullshit happening 'round these parts.

At any rate, you are not the father I thought you were.

For real though.

Ok, so now I've put my garbage out there, I must ask a few things:

This is some ridiculous dramatic bullshit right here, and I fully understand the desire to curl up on the sofa with some popcorn to watch the train wreck.  However, if that's all you're here for, please stay quiet.  It may be your entertainment, but it's my life and I'm taking a gigantic risk putting this much out there.  Please respect what I'm doing here.

But by all means, if you have some words of encouragement or coping skills that have helped you, please speak up.  My head hurts from trying to process all this crap and I'm open to all advice that will make this less painful.

Thank you in advance for being there for me.  I already feel a little better.