How I can tell I'm getting better

• I'm yawning. I first yawned a few days ago in yoga. I mean, i've been so tired, but no yawns. Yawning requires relaxing. I've not been relaxed lately. So, it's nice yawning again.
  
  
• I'm dreaming crazy dreams. I'm a crazy dreamer. I've posted about it on the 'dream exchange' before. In the last few nights, I've finally started dreaming again. It's fantastic.
  
  
• I am down 8 lbs and my double chin is started to recede. I am transitioning from size 16 to size 14. I have size four pantalones. They'll have to wait 'til winter though. This will take a while :) Yay weight watchers!
  
  
• My eyes don't feel like they're going to bleed. I feel rested this morning. Really, really rested.
  
  
• Mr. Hall and I are talking more about losing the pregnancy. We're bringing it up and sharing our emotions. I weep- but not spasming, choking sobs. Just crying and being sad.
  
  

Things I need to work on:

• Caring for Mr. Hall. He has the sads too. But not like me. He carries it differently. I need to massage and give lots of non verbal love. Scalp massages are especially important. I need to take care of me and stand tall. According to the bible, Eve was created to sustain Adam. I must remember this. I sustain him.
  
  
• Stop obsessing. Slow down. Be present here and now.
  
  
• Continue my yoga practice and start to make pleasant small talk. My yoga studio was new to me when I started back up. It seems there is a good group there. I am a newbie and people are making overtures to me. I can't hide. I need to make nice and be open. Smile. Talk. And work those poses like a red redheaded step child.
  
  
• Ask God for help with all of this. Healing is a possibly. Getting through this, to the other side, is possible. But not alone. So I pray. And pray, and pray. And through Him, anything is possible.
  
  

DOWNWARD DOG BIATCHES

Went back to yoga tonight.

The last time I saw my yoga teacher,

I'd just turned positive on the pregnancy test.

So, she knew when I walked in.

She did the tilted head,

hand on the heart

OH, i'm so sorry thing.

Which again, is ok.

And I felt a little bit ok on the mat.

But it was tough because

JEBUS I AM CHUBBY

The poses don't go so well when you are

'bigger'.

my friggin yoga stretchy pants

were vedy vedy tight.

eeek.

THAT BEING SAID.

I KICKED OPEN THE MAT.

GOT BACK TO MY PRACTICE OF SOME 9 YEARS.

I DID IT.

I BREATHED.

I LAUNCHED

SIX LBS OF SWEAT CAME OUT OF ME.

I FELT SLIPPERY

I BENDED

STRETCHED

and i felt my sore spots.

It was like my back and belly were made of hammered down soil.

i've forgotten how to move them.

i 'm relearning though

BUT I DID IT.

I got back to my mat.

to my beloved hot yoga.

because i am

because i can

because i know this heals me.

It calms the hyper in my head.

It heals the sad in my heart.

I feel the hands of God on my mat.

And for this, i am so thankful.

And it may not feel that way now

but in a few more classes

it'll feel awesome.

To the doctor that frequents strip clubs

I've never been one to sit still and let life happen. I have unending ambition.

So what am I to do now, now that I'm done trying for more babies?

The first part is getting comfortable with saying it all out loud. I have lost the baby. This affects people. Most people at work know now. Lots of women come up to me, tilt their head, put their hand on their heart and reach out to touch my shoulder. They say, "I'm so sorry for your loss." or "I heard you lost your baby, I'm so sorry."

Then there are the women that say, "Now your baby is in heaven." Which really, that's a sucker punch to me.

When they say that, I have visions of my babies in heaven. Like some alternative plane of reality or something. Then I start to think I can reach out and hold my lost babies, if I just cross over to that plane. Then I stop. Because my babies are dead. As in not living. For me to reach them I would have to be dead too. THAT'S when I stop thinking like this. It catches me completely off guard.

I don't fault anyone though. I can't imagine how tough it is to be near me, knowing and then having to say something. Part of my hurt smudged off on them. I want to say things that ease their pain. So I say I'm getting better. I try to model the 'healing with dignity' stance. And really, I don't take offense to any of it.

Some have been pushy with asking what happened. I don't want to tell them so I don't. They can shove off.

But, I told the whole story to the doctor who frequents strips clubs. This man is sometimes special to me. I've written about him here. Basically, he's my mentor. However, he's not that appropriate of a man to keep company with. I still like him though.

He didn't tilt his head or try to touch my shoulder. He just said, "Hey, how are you?" Then he listened. He didn't flinch or look sad while I talked. The entire story came a tumbling out.

Then, I said, "If I'm not adding babies to the family, what the hell am I suppose to be doing?"

Which is what I am facing these days. It's a whole new layer of suckage. There are no goals right now. So, I am still. Pain is seeping in all over my body. I have this cantaloupe in my chest, just in there. It's pain and loss and it's making me cry.

I could come up with ambitions, like running a marathon or climbing some mountain. I mean, I have physical goals. Back on the weight watchers. Lost 7 lbs so far. Down to size 14 pants.

I don't want to have these kind of goals. These goals can suck it. The more I tend to my health, the more I admit I had a miscarriage. It's taking care of my pain. It's hard and it sucks and I no want.

So I'm telling this to the doctor who frequents strip clubs. And I say, "My ambition level hasn't changed but I'm not sure what to do with it. What am I to do now?"

"Holly," he said with at twinkle in his eye, "You can do anything."

And with that, I knew I had told the right person. And OH!, I felt so much better. :)

Magical hanging fruit

This will, I suppose, be a hard day. thoughts are repeating and my heart is breaking. But I'm still needed as a mom and wife. I'm still have the next three days off and I want to function as such. It's a fight of the baby loss sad. I don't want to embrace the sad today. Today I want to be happy. Enjoying my crazy kids and all the magical hanging fruit around us.

So that's the question, can I direct what rises within me?

Here's hoping.

Losing it (a book review)

I am a big fan of memoirs and autobiographies. I like listening to people's stories. No surprise there, consider I work in mental health. I listen to people's stories all day.

That being said, I am also cheap and am resigned to read whatever I can find at goodwill. This is how I came upon "Losing it" , as noted above.

Overall, it is an easy book. Ms. Bertinelli is not overwhelmingly smart or all that deep. She seems a good gal who likes to share her thoughts. The first part of the book is devoted to how distorted her self concept was. At 100 lbs she thought she was fat. Blah blah. Most women have no idea how beautiful they are. This goes on for a few chapters.

I mostly skimmed through that.

I did thoroughly read the Eddie Van Halen parts. As suspected, Mr. Van Halen was a prodigy. There is no way someone can play like that without special gifts. He thrived in his inner world fueled by alcohol and that thing that can drive geniuses from reality. It's an interesting phenomenon among prodigies called 'the creative rage'. There is so much fuel to create that it drives them constantly.

His drinking and cocaine addictions are documented. It's typical of addict stuff. It's different with rock stars though. Most addicts eventually run into consequences of their addiction. The law, running out of money, overdose and/or near death. The destruction of family relationships. None of this really happened to Mr. Van Halen. Rock stars have endless money and people who enable to no end. His wife was one of them. This goes on for 20 years of their marriage and a good 100 pages of the book.

It kind of fascinates me, how Ms. Bertinelli just stood there. Standing by her alcoholic husband while she did movies of the week, absorbed herself into motherhood. It's like she was sleepwalking.

Which is how she gained some hefty poundage and then Jenny Craig called. The last 10 pages document her journey with that. Like the rest of the book, it's breezy.

SO the reason I picked this book up was that I am now back on the weight watchers. Down 5 pounds so far. I am 176 at this point. Like everything else, it's bizarre.

But, I've been through this before, the weight watchers. Only this time it's going to be easier. I don't have so much to fight in my head. I welcome the weight watchers, it's me taking care of me.

It's a process of reclaiming my body. All the chub is a blanket. One that I need to slowly dissolve to start to reveal myself. Then, in a few months, I'll start to be hot again. I'll be standing taller and wearing stuff that shows me off versus 'hides the trouble spots'.

I'll get there. And document the whole shebang here too.

but first, i give you one of favorite songs and one that I feel fully demonstrates the genius of Eddie

Hot for Teacher

:)

I'm shutting the door for a reason

So.

Much as I feared. Went back to work and . . .


NOONE READ THE FLIPPIN EMAIL.

The email that announced my miscarriage. So I spent the day traumatizing people with the news as they looked horror stricken and then tried to lean in for hugs or something.

Spent the day hiding. With my office door shut. I'd open it for patients of course. But I didn't want coworkers to stop by. Some ignored the shut door and knocked anyway. I gave minimal eye contact and said cliche things.

Then, Mr. Hall and I talked when I got home. confirming our plans to not get pregnant again. Then we talked about adopting. Foster to adopt. He wants to wait. Which I understand. I'm not anywhere near ready to start researching yet.

Except I have. I've been reading books on the subject for years. Even back when I was fully fertile and exploding with babies. He said we have to wait six months. It's true. I'm nowhere near the healing.

Then he said, "ya know" "we'll eventually have to stop somehow." Meaning we just can't be adding children forever. Which really sucker punched me.

What the hell else am I suppose to be doing if I'm not adding children to The Tribe Called Hall?

Develop more flavors?

Alright, off to dinner with some women from my church.

ttfn

Remainders

Fun was had by all yesterday. There was drinking and card throwing and pool swimming and fun. I think I was drunk for like 5 hours straight. That was awesome.

Today, I did more cleaning. I am finding the weirdest remnants. This great purge of baby stuff is endless. Each time I turn around I find a new pile. The kids have permeated our lives. I'm probably be finding baby stuff for years.

Kids have permeated my brain too. I still find myself analyzing names I hear. Trying to figure out if it's a good fit for the baby. Then I remember. gah. Stupid remainders in my brain.

Found a tape in a mess of old cd's in the garage. It was Fugazi. Made for me by an ex boyfriend. I can say cassette tapes do NOT hold up well. The quality was absolute crap. It was all warpy and wonderful.

Memories of being stupid and young and naked and so passionate come bubbling up when I listen to this. I was ~20 at the time. I can say that I've had great life so far. It's still a great life. I just have to wait out this sadness.

And now I give you the waiting room . . .