Hear It

The stapedotomy experience was so peculiar. I was so nervous going in. When I finally got back into pre-op, I had to undress and put on this space-age hospital gown. It was made from thick paper, kind of like a vacuum cleaner bag, and similar to said bag, had reinforced circular holes in several places, along with various slits and vents. I also had to put on crotchless socks: knee-highs with no toes, and had my IV drip started. I felt very strange by this point, and even weirder when they hooked up my gown to an in-wall heating unit; a vacuum-cleaner-esque tube was attached to one of my holes and hot air was pumped in. That was the last good sensation I had for about 6 weeks.

Mark and the Manling got to join me, and we chatted and I knitted a bit on my Dashing gauntlets. We were separated from other patients by only a curtain so as we sat and sat and sat and waited for my doctor to arrive at the facility we heard such gems as "let's go ahead and wash your neck" - what kind of procedure was that guy having done? The anesthesiologist came in and went over a bunch of paperwork with me then asked me if I had any chipped teeth. At that point I asked frantically why and whether they were going to stick a tube down my throat. He looked surprised by not as much as I was when he informed me I was going to be put under General Anesthesia. At that point I freaked the fuck out, literally, since Mark and I had been under the assumption that was not the case. So the guy left and verified that it was indeed the case so I told him I was definitely going to need something, i.e. sedation because i was freaking out so badly. He gave me a shot of something, I said goodbye for what I was convinced was going to be the last time ever to Mark and the Manling, then was rolled down the hall and transferred to the operating gurney.

The next thing I recall is waking up in the recovery area, shaking so badly that my teeth were chattering involuntarily about 500x a minute, vomiting several times, and generally being so nauseous that I received a patch and several IV doses of every anti-nausea medication they had on hand. I also received a container holding my now modified stapes bone, a bone which I later learned is the smallest in your body. I spent that night puking but didn't feel too bad on the whole, although I was disappointed because another assumption I was laboring under was that my hearing would be dramatically improved at this point and it wasn't. Another gift I came home with was a couple of scratchy self-dissolving (riiiiight) stitches just behind my ear on my skull where the doctor had taken some tissue to pack in my new, robotic piston prosthetic.

The next day, I was escorted like a 900-year-old woman to a holiday tea, where I sat on a chair and felt the world spin and tilt all around me. Noises felt like they were being broadcast from inside my head and amplified fuzzily, but in general I felt ok. The noise thing didn't wear off for weeks, but the general good feeling wore off the next day. The contents of my head felt like it was expanding, rapidly, while my skull bones were shrinking even faster. I made it through the weekend, barely, the got steroids prescribed on Monday, and a fouler, more bitter-tasting medication there never was. They did the job, though.

One of my myriad post-op instructions involved how to keep my ear canal dry during bathing. I was supposed to coat a cotton ball in vaseline (my least favorite substance ever) and ram it down the canal. I waited 6 days to wash my hair, since I couldn't stand erect until then, and proceeded to get about 50 gallons of water down the tube. My 1-week post-op appointment was the next day so I had the nurse demonstrate the proper technique and was sent home with an equally useless shower cap that fit daintily over my ear. She explained to me then that my hearing would not necessarily seem like it had improved until the packing was removed 6 weeks post-op. At this point I was so frustrated and feeling like I had made the worst decision in my life to have this operation: no discernible improvement, the amplified broadcast noise, the dizziness, the exploding head sensation, the miserable showers and filthy hair.

After 2-3 weeks, my physical sensations seemed lessened so I only had the potential lack of hearing improvement to worry about. The solstice celebration we had helped my spirits improve dramatically, coinciding with the miserable year of abject depression and shit-luck, AKA 2007 nearly being over. The Manling really understands presents now and was a champ-een unwrapper. We didn't really get him many toys: a wooden train set, art supplies, a toy cell phone that made noises/lights (so he'd leave ours alone), and a few odds and ends. My parents got him a kid-sized table and chair set from Ikea and an art easel. He loves the "pretty lights" people hung up in the neighborhood and asked Mark to turn on the ones on ours every night.

But 2007 wasn't done giving me the stink-eye. Mark took my car to work just 2 days before it was finally over because it had snowed a lot and rear-ended a van on an acceleration ramp, which luckily sustained no damage. My car had extensive front-end damage, compounded by a damaged wiring system plug, dirt in the new paint, and a delay in the finishing touches, so it is still in the shop. Thank goodness for rental car coverage in our formerly inexpensive car insurance.

2008 hasn't been too much better and has already given me the biggest fuck you. But that's another blog post....

You've Got To Learn To Live With What You Are

I don't even know where to begin to catch up. I have been on the thyroid 75mcg dose since the 1st week of October, and although I am not at rock bottom anymore, I still feel just blecch and depressed. I go for another thyroid blood test this next week. I am very curious to see if my dosage will be adjusted, and to what amount.

In a little over 2 weeks, I go under the knife. I have conductive hearing loss in my right ear, with at least 55% loss of hearing. It's so annoying, yet I'm terrified of the procedure (stapedectomy/stapedotomy) not working or getting infected with MRSI, that I'm having extreme anxiety about this as well. Apparently I have otosclerosis, and if I don't do anything, or if I get pregnant, it will get worse. But if I do get pregnant between now and then, I can't have the surgery. I don't think that's going to be an issue.

On the pregnancy front, there is still no good news. I didn't chart at all last month, nor for the past few months, so I don't even know if I ovulated or not. We did try though, so the arrival of my leetle friend was, as always, devastating.

Luckily I have the greatest kid in the world to partially make up for all of this. The Manling has really started talking a lot lately. He's putting together 2 and 3 word sentences, and what he talks about is amazing. He's so observant, and the way he makes connections between things is sometimes very illuminating or hysterically funny. I knitted Mark a stocking, and before I felted it, I laid it out on the ground to take pictures of it. He stared at it, the said "big sock", so I guess it actually resembled what it was supposed to; this was my very 1st sock/heel construction. Then he screwed up his little face in deep thought and looked down at his feet and said "baby sock." It was quite more impressive than it sounds here.

A better story follows. The Manling has been obsessed with balls and bats for a very long time now. He typically says "kick!" after he sees a ball or anything remotely ball-like, says the word ball, or hears anyone talk about balls. We're working on potty-learning, and the other day I took off his dipe in the bathroom before a bath, and a fresh round poop fell onto the ground. He announced "poop bawl!" He also knows that the litterbox is where "caht poop bawl" are located, put there but "Wee-wee" and "Gile." But I digress.... We were eating sausage pizza for what was his first time, although pizza is one of his favorite foods that he requests several times a week. He kept taking the sausage off his slice and wouldn't eat them. He was saying something about it, but it was loud, and he was on my deaf-ear side, so I missed what he said. When we got home, I told him to tell Mark what we did that day, and what we ate for lunch. He said "poop bawl pizza" or "pizza poop bawl," and I nearly died laughing. Also in his lexicon, is "pizza" instead of penis. He's a riot.

We started taking a weekly art class at a local community center. He generally enjoys the activites, but doesn't like getting paint or glue on his hands. He's also very fastidious in eating, and must have spills or drips immediately cleaned up with an imperiously announced "towl!"

My parents came out for 10 days. Vidalias went hunting with Mark for the weekend; they didn't even see any animals, and my mom hung out with The Manling and I. It was great to see them. We opened birthday presents, and ate a birthday cake. We also went to the very disappointing corn maze with them; apparently the hail we got multiple times in the summer really stunted the growth so the corn was only about 4' tall. This summer wasn't so good in many ways... We hadn't made a big deal out of The Manling's birthday, so I'm glad we got to do something a little festive for him. He blew out all his candles ( a big 2, plus 4 standard ones just for fun), and really enjoyed "birfday cake." He refers to any gift he got as birthday chairs, or birthday digger, etc to this day.

I think the highlight of their visit was that we went to the Westminster Promenade ice rink and he got to see some kids play hockey. He loves loves loves ice hockey, or "haw-hee" as he calls it. We took him to an Avs games last month which he really liked, and I record all the games so we can watch a few periods at a time. I've really gotten back into hockey, and Mark has discovered an affinity for it as well, but not nearly as much as the Little Man. He will point out "icesh," the go-wee," the "mashk" they wear, as well the "stick," "kates," and "hat" or "hehmeh" (helmet) the players use. I almost forgot the "buck!" We had talked about taking him to start ice skating lessons when he turns 3 (only 10 months away!) but we saw something this week that makes me think he might like just to go go ice skating this year: he placed 2 rectangular blocks, (and today 2 brochures) under his feet and called them skates while swinging his pirate sword ("bones") at a styrofoam ring (puck).

I am making a distinct and concerted effort to enjoy every bit of his life. I'm trying not to get too caught up in my problems so I can live in the moment with him. I am relishing each precious moment for itself, appreciating the great kid I have, and trying to ignore, yet fully cognizant of, that this might be the only time I get to go through this stage in someone's life. And so I have no regrets for breast-feeding for so long, or for using cloth diapers, or lying in his bed every night cuddling him or just lying there until he falls asleep, or letting him walk down the hallway in the middle of the night to come into our bed, etc. Although I must confess I sometimes can't stand the nights when he just won't sleep, or the weeks where he would just spit out food onto the floor, and I would get so mad and over-react. Then of course I feel so guilty and self-recriminating and feel like it's no wonder I can't get pregnant.

The only things keeping me relatively sane are that Mark has switched jobs to another big box retailer, and my knitting. So Mark is at a smaller big box, but he'd finally a general manager, making bigger bucks, and in charge of his schedule. After a few weeks of training, he'll get his own store and no more entire weeks of terrible mid-shifts so I get burned out; no more Mark missing impoertnant doctor appointments or art classes with the Manling. Though we are switiching insurance companies in January. Luckily I get to keep my existing doctor and hospital, and they are re-imbursing us the nearly $900/month COBRA bill.

I've become a knitting addict. I've made a few minor projects, changed my mind about the sweater I was dying to make and have settled on the Rogue, even completing one sleeve, and completed Mark's stocking, and am working on my stocking. I love cables, and my invitation to Ravelry finally came, so I've been poring over hundreds of great projects and patterns and yarns. Knitting has become so therapeutic for me. I never would have thought I'd ever be saying that.

Sick Of Dreaming

After receiving a BFN on the pregnancy test, I got the Black Demon on CD35. I scheduled my thyroid test, due in July, soon thereafter. My TSH is up over 9 so I am back on the meds. Here's what I have to say about that:

i went to the dr last week, before the Manling, then me, and now mark have been stricken w/ explosive poo&puke disease, and he told me that my thyroid was back to broken. which is kinda sorta cool bc i am back on the meds, which MAY help alleviate my utter depression and dispair. he said if i don't start to feel significantly better in the next 2-3 weeks, we are going to start talking about anti-depressants. i don't know why, i mean it's not like the meds have kicked in, esp since i puked one day's worth up, but i feel much better already. i think bc there's hope at the end of this dark tunnel. HOWEVER, this also means i'm pretty certain i am not and will not be ovulating until my thyroid has been beaten into submission again. so that's depressing that i have to wait even longer, but gives me a little hope that the thyroid thing might be the only thing wrong with me. we shall see.

i hope you got to listen to the cds (some compilations I made for a friend) by now. i was jamming out to one of them recently. maybe today, as i finally escaped the house of flying puke w/ the Manling and did errands. which was great except i schizzed at every store and then the Manling puked ALL OVER the olive garden. it's been a hella week.

I need to talk about my utter lack of hope prior to this, the Manling's art class, his 2nd birthday (!!!!!), our 5th anniversary (!!!!!), and maybe a few other topics soon.

Wiggle Stick

I've had lower back pain for the last couple weeks. I have a potentially strange taste in my mouth like I did with the Manling, but no implantation cramps like I did with the Deuce. Maybe the back pains are a kidney infection. My period is 3 days late, IF I can rely on a 27 day cycle. Do I pee on a stick and find out when I start bleeding in a day or so, or do I start bleeding in a day or so and not know I was pregnant? Am I pregnant? Would I stay pregnant? One thing for sure is I'm definitely off my rocker about this.

I went to see a newborn 2nd-child the other day. She was hard to see since she was conceived by accident last fall. Then I went to my first baby shower since this stuff happened, and I had a pretty good time. This baby was also an accident, and extremely: the couple had only been dating about a month or so. I can't blame them.

I think I will break down and buy some tests tomorrow, but I don't want to end up with just a collection of slowly-fading positives which are my only proof that the Deuce actually existed, albeit for a little bit. A negative would be better than that. The irony is that one of my cousins is getting married in the summer, and I really want to go to this wedding. If I am pregnant and stay pregnant, I won't be able to fly out there for it.

Learn How To Knit

It gets better, sometime, right?

My parked car got hit by a lady swerving to avoid someone else who ran a stop sign a few weeks ago. Her insurance company isn't paying for the damages because she didn't cause the accident. There were 2 recent births and 1 second pregnancy announcement from my friends in the last 2 weeks. Someone under the age of 2 has stopped sleeping through the night. No matter where I am in my menstrual cycle, I feel depressed, irritable, and on edge, and without provocation.

On the upside, my brother-in-law, Grant, came to visit for a few days and we had a pretty good time. We saw the Railbender's play outside at Stapleton, or rather heard them since we were hidden behind a kiosk, while we ate some frou-frou mexican and got blasted on margaritas. Then we went to Lora's pirate-themed 30th birthday party. We ate sushi with Danea, Jason, and Ralph the next night. Mark and Grant went to Water World, and the 4 of us went to Mt Evans where we nearly got into an altercation with a very rude Park Service man (can you believe it?) over the semantics of the "no use" non-fee; apparently if you don't pay, you can't even slow down (not stop) to take a picture, nor can you go around the loop at the top of the road more than once. So he stopped us, gave us some grief and an envelope saying we were using the area and must pay the fee. I'm not above paying the fee, but we weren't exactly using the area. But since he was making us pay, we stopped and climbed to the top, including the Manling. So he and I now have the same number of fourteeners under our belt. The Manling has a very endearing habit lately where he sees a rock, names it , distinctly "ROCK!!", and outs it in his pocket. He will soon have a collection like mine.

We're hearing a lot more speech lately, and I'm starting to think about doing some more potty training. He's more prone to notice he's wet if he's wearing the Bummi's training pants than the Fuzzi Bunz dipes, but not consistently. I'm not pushing it in any way, but am trying to be more consistent myself in getting him to the potty.

I am still working on the Teva Durham Ragmuffin sweater for the Manling, but I am stuck at the neck. I grafted both shoulders instead of only the one, so now I am forced to do the neck on circular needles, which would be ok except I only have 40" needles AND until yesterday I didn't know how to translate pattern-speak from straight to circular. But for my first sweater, and only my 2nd knit piece ever, I think I'm doing alright. I'm not a masochist though: I did omit the patch motif from the pattern - that would have made me nuts. I went to some yarn stores this weekend to take advantage of Labor Day sales and scored some good stuff. I got some orange alpaca for the Manling's next sweater; some variegated black wool to make myself a killer scarf and mitten set or maybe something else; and I found and ordered the alpaca that I will use to make MY first sweater, once again a Teva Durham design, the slinky rib bark tunic which I will be lopping several inches off of. That Loop-D-Loop book is the best! That and Knitting Nature are the reasons I learned how to knit.

I'm hoping that since my summer went to crap on Memorial day that it will stop sucking today, on Labor Day.

These Dreams Are Dark

I forgot to mention a critical milestone for the Manling in my last post: in late July, he was just starting to jump, with one foot at a time leaving the ground. He's gotten extraordinarily better since then, and has now started jumping with both feet off the ground. He looks like he might be an amazing ollie-er. More words including "pees" please also have been added, but thank goodness for the signing or I wouldn't now what to interpret!

Friday and yesterday, we went to see some great shows: Harry and the Potters with Draco and the Malfoys at the Denver and Boulder Library sponsored shows. The little man and Mark had a blast at each one, and the Manling actually kept his earplugs in the whole time without complaint. Between songs, the Manling would sign "more music" which I thought was great.

On the fertility fronmt, this has been the second month in a row where I haven't had any spinn, but my temps have spiked, so I'm assuming I've ovulated. I didn't make any concerted effort to try; still trying to get over my grief, and fear that I'll miscarry again. And there's been 2 recent pregnancy announcements amongst family and friends which have been debilitating blows. I need to pull myself together a little more.

Friends Back East

Where to begin...

The Manling is now 21.5 months old. Starting from the beginning of this month, he has really been incorporating more speech into his communication, along with his signs. He says "kees" keys, "gaaa" grapes, "baabaah" Pepper, Daddeee but still only the very rare "mahmah", "deedee" penis, dee!!! plane, "cay" cage, "no". and possible a few others. He is still learning more signs, though at a much slower rate since we are not going to sign class anymore.

Also starting at the beginning of this month, has come the tantrums and frustrations that typically start around this time. Sometimes it's been a challenge not to freak out back when he's being totally irrational. but since I know what it's like to be irrational since I had a wicked case of PMS this week, i try to cut him some slack. I have been trying to help him out with what I can, and if it continues, then telling him he can go freak out in his room and come out when he's done. Nothing really is consistent though.

He also finally outgrew the size medium Fuzzi Bunz. 17 months was a great run, and he's nowhere even close to needing the size large waist, but his height means he's way too tall for the medium's rise. He's such a bean pole like me, but eats everything like his dad. He has such a funny sense of humor, too, and if I updated this regularly, perhaps I'd have some examples for you.

I taught myself to knit this month, which was difficult. I started out trying to learn to throw continental, but couldn't get the hang out it, so I went to Posh, my LYS, where they told me I was twisting every.single.one of my stitches, and I couldn't get anyone to show me how to purl continental, so I switched to english style. My mom gave me some pointers, and I started making a basic rectangle in stockinette which I then felted and it's to go under our plants and fishtank to absorb spills. Probably about 6" through that, I knew enough about the anatomy of the stitches that I decided to try continental again and voila! I can do it! I'm so excited! I can't wait to make my first sweater, but I need more practice: I have yet to increase or decrease or do anything besides stockinette. I was going to take a class, but.....

The main reason I haven't updated in quite some time is because this month something terrible happened. On the 4th of July, my lovely and talented friend Jackie was killed in a car accident. She had moved to California last fall to go to grad school for acting, and she decided to go to Vegas for the holiday with one of her friends from school. On the way home, the driver, her friend, hit the median, and the car flipped over, and Jackie was killed.

She was supposed to come visit here for a few days this month, too.

The Manling and I went back east for the funeral. I first stayed a few days with Joe and Christine who showed the kid and I a good time and were more than accommodating of our needs. It was about time I had visited them since they come out here all the time. They live in a suburb right outside of Baltimore, which despite its reputation looked to be a cool city.

We handed off the Manling to my parents en route to Gettysburg for the funeral events. The viewing was especially hard. She had been dead for 9 days by this point and maybe it was that or maybe because she didn't have any eyeliner or makeup or jewelry on, and she was wearing a sedate looking baby blue twin set, but it didn't look like Jackie; she looked like a 50-year old matron. A whole bunch of our college friends came to the funeral, so there was some drinking, a lot of melancholy, and a lot of reminiscing. I tried to stay positive and have a good time since I hadn't seen some of these people in years, and it made me realize how much I miss my friends. Plus I knew Jackie would've wanted us to enjoy it, or at least that's what I would want in the same situation. The funeral the next day was equally rough.

Since I am still grieving, although it's not quite as immediate or sharp anymore, I think I handled Jackie's death without too much freaking out. This has just extended my time of sadness and introspection. I can't quite articulate it; I just feel like the loss of my baby so recently put me into grief-mode where I could "easily" shift into grieving for another. But man it sucks. Once again I had to think about the now cut-off opportunities that Jackie will never have. I completely lost it talking to her mom at the viewing. I had never met her before and all I could say was that I was so sorry; as a mom as well I was just so sorry. Then I broke down and cried heavily for the first time. I can't imagine losing a child. I lost a child-to-be, and that was hard, but a living child must be so much harder. I'm crying now just thinking about it.

I spent a few days after that visiting my parents. I was in PA for my birthday. A whole bunch of the Vidalia's clan went to Knoebel's Grove that day, a family-run family-oriented small amusement park. That was the first time the Manling has been on any rides. He looooooved it. I wish Mark could have been there to see it all, but he had to stay here that week. We went to see Mark's aunt and uncle at the hatchery. His aunt just got diagnosed with scleroderma, which was what my step-sister-in-law died from.

We finally got home and I tried to relax for 2 days, then Mark was off to Vegas for 3 days. He claims not to have enjoyed Vegas without us there but I don't know if I entirely believe him. He got back, and we went camping with Pepper and the Manling. We went to this great campground in the Pike National Forest near Fairplay. I needed to get out of the million-degree heat we've been having all summer, and it was nice to see some greenery and wide open vistas.

My trip back east led me to really appreciate my friends and family more. I am more receptive to moving back there when the time comes. It's just not been a happy summer.

The Funeral Party

When I went to the doctor last Tuesday, he said I only needed to do a thyroid test and a beta hcg test; no ultrasound because there wasn't really any point to one. He told me to come back in 8-12 weeks if I wasn't pregnant by then. My test results came back the next day and my beta hcg was I believe close to non-detectable, much as I had expected, but my TSH is back up to 5.4. The upper limit of normal is 5.5, so I wonder what it will be the next time. I have noticed how quiet and depressed and sluggish I am feeling lately, I'm sure primarily due to the miscarriage, but maybe exascerbated by the hypothyroidism I'm heading towards.

This past weekend we had a rather large bbq and Mark had a great time. I drank a little but not enough to not feel sad at the 1 pregnancy, 2 babies, and 10 toddlers/preschoolers we had over. I had no idea we knew so many kids. I managed to tell 3 of my friends about the miscarriage so far. Only the one who has had 2 miscarriages herself hasn't said anything stupid or unknowingly hurtful, and I didn't really get a chance to talk to her about how she got over them.

I was only able today to get around to taking down the pregnancy ticker I had posted here. It sucked having to do so.

Then on Father's Day I ended up getting into yet another screaming fit w/ my dad, culminating with me telling him fuck you and hanging up. It hasn't been a very good couple of weeks around here.

The Manling is getting into mischief and I should probably go figure out what it is.

White Lines

I took a 6th and final hpt on Saturday, which came out with one solid line and the other area so barren (hah) that I knew there was no chance that I was still pregnant. Oddly, I've felt better (used loosely) since seeing it; almost as if my psyche can deal better with no chance than a slim chance. I go to the doctor tomorrow still. I wonder what he will say.

I keep feeling depressed about this miscarriage. I'm fairly certain that nothing I did caused it, but I still have those black whispers running through my brain that something I did made it happen. Like I'd get frustrated with the Manling or think how I'd never be able to handle 2 kids and the self-incrimination says that I deserve another baby. It's truly the worst thing I've ever felt.

And I feel numb half the time; I haven't cried more than a few tears at a time. I feel deflated and limp. I have been not a great mom to the Manling either. I let him do anything around the house while I laid on the counch and watched the entire Roots miniseries. Luckily my friend Dara made me get out of the house a few days; she's the only local person who knows.

Mark had been planning a big party this Saturday on the same day as our local street fair, and I told him we could still have it. I'm less depressed when I'm staying busy, and maybe I'll get hammered to dull the pain (it's amazing how I feel so much pain yet feel so numb). I want to tell my friends, not to get sympathy but just to acknowledge that I was pregnant and this child-that-wasn't means something to me. But what do you say? What's new? Oh, I had a miscarriage. I'm sure that would go over like a lead balloon. I read that grief for a miscarriage is one of the hardest things to be acknowledged by society because what was lost was so internal and unnoticed. The possibilities lost are what is tearing me up. It plain sucks.

In Sadding Around

I go see the doctor on Tuesday for what I'm guess will be bloodwork for my thyroid as well as beta hcg numbers, and then perhaps an ultrasound. I'm trying to stay positive, that there might be a chance I'm still growing a baby, but nothing this time is similar to my last pregnancy, other than getting a negative test first. Last time I immediately had a weird metallic taste in my mouth, my boobs felt weird, I got morning sickness/nausea around now, and most importantly, no bleeding.

We are finally back home from what Joe called our Bataan Death March rather than a vacation. All in all, I had a really great time, if I completely ignore this miscarriage thing. We spent 2 days on the farm at the hatchery, and we were even there for a hatch. The Manling was unsure what to think of all those baby chickens, then finally decided to hold them, which meant squeezing their necks very hard until they were liberated by one of us. It was really nice to see Mark's aunt and uncle and brother. I know Mark really wants to move back to the farm. I just wish it wasn't so isolated for my immediate daily needs, like friends and libraries etc. The farm is where I first started bleeding; luckily we hadn't told anyone that I was pregnant, but unluckily, I just had to smile and pretend nothing was happening.

We next went to see my parents who graciously took the Manling for the weekend while Mark and I went to visit his brother in Manhattan!!!! Apparently the Manling had a terrific time with his cousins and all of their assorted tractors, four-wheelers, and the like, as well as the toddler-sized car my parents bought for him. They were all amazed at his sign-language, but I think they felt like it is delaying his speech. Speaking of which, the Manling has started vocalizing 10x what he had been over the past few weeks. He's hardly ever quiet now.

New York City was the best! We took the bus there to avoid parking hassles and met up with Grant, Mark's brother. He was able to get us tickets to see the opening night of his ballet. Unfortunately, the part that he switches off with another dancer was danced by that other guy that night, so we only got to see him in 2 smaller roles. It was still awesome though because I had never been to Lincoln Center, and this was a world premiere of the ballet. Before the show we ate at this great Italian restaurant near Times Square which was very reasonably priced, had delicious food, but had an arctic blast of air on us. I thought I was over-reacting until Mark's food came and the steam was literally blown sideways from this blast. Grant lives up in Harlem, and has a terrific studio apartment. Sleeping there was quieter than sleeping here in Denver! The next day we traipsed all over lower Manhattan from Washington Square down to Battery Park. We must've hit over 25 shops and locations I had painstakingly mapped out, from yarn stores to Jack Spade to historical sites to Ground Zero. It was amazing to see so many things. It makes me realize how provincial Denver is for a big city, yet the cleanliness and charm of Denver have a big pull for me. After the performance Saturday night, we met up with Grant and his girlfriend Ashley and then met other ballet dancers as well as one of Mark's friends who just moved from Denver to NYC a few months ago at a bar, where Mark and his friend looked "morbidly obese" as I put it around all these dancers. Even I felt fat. I had 1 beer there to take the edge of my aching legs and my mind off the continued bleeding. The next day the 3 of us went to Rockefeller Center and the MoMA store before getting back on the bus. I was so happy to see the Manling, and even happier to hear he was extraordinarily well-behaved while we were gone.

We spent the next day with my mom because it was her birthday then drove to Harrisburg to see Mark's dad and sister, and her boyfriend. We spent the next day with them and it was probably the most pleasant time I have spent around Mark's dad who usually drives me nuts.

Wednesday we stopped off at IKEA before heading to the airport and then realized we were horribly late for our flight. That is, until we got on the plane and they announced we were going to be delayed due to high winds in Denver. We were delayed about 3 hours total both in Philly as well as on the tarmac in Denver, until we finally got home. The Manling was very well-behaved through-out, luckily.

I must say, each day I appreciate and fall in love with that little guy more and more. Which is kind of making it harder to cope with the lost possibilities that this child would have been like. I really just don't feel pregnant. Deep down I feel like it's over; I want to stay positive but I just can't. This not knowing is killing me, and I'm just very very unhappy.

And in other news, Mark just found out that in the 9 days we were gone on vacation, his big box retailer has fucked him over again: they posted a store manager position, interviewed for it, and filled it. These things never happen this quickly. One of his friends got it, so there's hope he can go to this new store as an assistant and hopefully leave this hellhole he gambled to go to and lost. I know he's feeling very betrayed and angry right now, and I am too. This is yet another hurdle placed in front of our financial stability. And yet another weight on my perilously burdened mental state.