tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33724997115940468822024-03-13T12:22:30.916-04:00Blessings in Disguise"Turn your wounds into wisdom." Elizabethhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04427608278914315657noreply@blogger.comBlogger162125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3372499711594046882.post-15048215018436284742014-10-13T14:05:00.000-04:002014-10-13T14:05:00.314-04:00If I Could Be Happy, I Would. I had a "friend" recently tell me that I need to "snap out of this depression" I'm in. Wouldn't it be nice if we - those of us suffering from depression, anxiety, PTSD, ADHD, what have you - could just "snap out of it"? Not only was it one of the most insensitive things I've ever heard, it actually enraged me. I told them, "If I could be happier, don't you think I would?"<br />Anger is no stranger to me. It's always there, even when I don't realize it. Something as simple as my cat snoring next to me, distracting me while I'm trying to focus on a paper for school is enough to make smoke come out of my ears. It just builds and builds inside of me, but unlike a volcano, it never erupts. I'm actually waiting for the moment where it all comes to a head and I snap. But I haven't yet. And I don't think I will. It's hard to describe feeling claustrophobic inside your own body and mind. <br />I've always held the fact that no, I'm not suicidal, as if it were a badge of honor on my chest. I've been through more than some could handle, and I'm still here. Whenever I meet a new doctor or therapist and that question comes up in the first session, I've always been happy to honestly say "no," and actually mean it. I don't have thoughts of seriously jumping in front of a train or swallowing an entire bottle of pills at once. I don't want to die; death terrifies me. Who knows what actually happens when we die? Does life just go on as it is now, only in space, forever and ever and ever? An eternity of feeling the way I do now? No thank you. <br />Recently, though, I've come to realize that I need to address something that's been there for years (and I mean YEARS. Going through the adoption process might've brought these issues to light, but it certainly did not create them. I've been <i>this way </i>since I was probably twelve or thirteen.), but I've ignored. Or I've talked about it lightly. I actually am killing myself. Slowly. After I had (and placed) my daughter, I felt like I had no one. While that's not true, it's still how i felt. No one was there for me the way I thought I needed them to be, and no one...try as they might...could understand. I wanted to talk to someone all day, but I didn't want to talk to anyone at all. I wanted someone to hold me and be there for me, but I wanted to be alone, isolated in my bedroom. I wanted someone to ask how I was, and I wanted to throw my phone across the room when someone texted me to check on me. But then there was food. I didn't need to get dressed and put makeup on and brush my hair to eat. I didn't need to shower to eat. I didn't need to make actual plans; food was always there waiting. And if I didn't feel like cooking, well, most restaurants these days do carry-out orders. <br />I became that girl who stayed inside and literally ate her feelings. I became that girl who could eat a small cheese pizza all by herself...three nights a week. When I was sad, I ate. Then, because I ate an entire two-course meal in one sitting in my bed, I felt sad all over again. Guilty. I was so secretive. If I throw away all of the trash or packaging, no one will know what I do. No one will know I cancel plans to stay in my bedroom and eat an obscene amount of food that I would never actually eat in front of people. After I had my daughter, I lost more weight than I had gained during the pregnancy. I was smaller than I was before becoming pregnant. Now, slowly but surely, I've become bigger than I was <i>when I was pregnant</i>. I'm miserable. I'm making myself miserable. I may not be suicidal, but this behavior is killing me. <br />Now that I've accepted it myself, admitted it, and am talking about it (even though I'm talking to a computer screen), I believe I can start working on it. It will take time. It took time to get to this point and it will take time to get back to where I know I need to be. I want to be healthy. I want to be here on this earth the day my child decides she wants to see me again. And I don't want to be on medication for high cholesterol, diabetes, or heart disease. Or any other illness that comes about when you eat the way I have eaten for the past three +/- years. I might need help, but I'm too proud and simultaneously self-conscious to ask for help. So I'm giving it a go and hoping that, by putting it out there, I can change. Elizabethhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04427608278914315657noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3372499711594046882.post-7018910050012548392014-02-05T14:06:00.002-05:002014-02-05T14:17:59.513-05:00"The only way out is through. You have to let it in & then let it go"Lately, it's been a struggle. When it started getting worse, I'm not sure. What triggered it....I'm even less sure. But what I've quickly learned from it is that I don't want to live my life on autopilot anymore. I'm being forced to realize that things have changed SO much, but at the same time, things are still SO much the same.<br />
I don't let negative emotions surface. I just don't. I feel them lurking around, light as a feather, for days. Sometimes weeks. Then they get a little heavier, like a pebble. That's manageable, right? You can push a feeling that weighs on you with the strength of a tiny pebble down, down, down, until you can't feel it anymore with little to no effort or exertion. But in retrospect, dealing with an emotion or thought with such little emotional weight to it is far easier than dealing with the monster that emotion can turn into if you let it sit there and grow. I feel as if I have small, impulsive thoughts on a regular basis. I'll be sitting at work, and someone with a toddler comes in and without warning and without control, I'll find myself starting to think, "what if that was me and A holding hands and chattering right now?" See, that thought stings. So to avoid the sting, I push the idea out of my mind in mid-thought. I make the pain vanish before even fully feeling it.<br />
I have spent YEARS, <i>years</i> pushing emotions that I felt were undesirable down. I've pushed them so far down that I don't even recognize them anymore. My feelings of sadness, unworthiness, and just plain depression have become so commonplace deep down inside of me that I do not even recognize them anymore. Ignoring something doesn't make it go away. In fact, it just makes it build and build and creates a snowball effect until you have no choice but to look it square in the face. I ignored my feelings of guilt and the hole in my heart and the emptiness in my arms until it turned into something almost tangible.<br />
Lately, I've been held prisoner in my own mind and body. Something almost physically stops me from getting out of bed. It's as if there are invisible restraints on my body, and I'm the one that put them there. I've held myself back from being happy in SO many aspects of my life. I don't know if I'm scared to feel happy or I simply just don't even know how to feel anything anymore. When you become an expert at hiding - or THINKING you're hiding - sad feelings from your own self, it only makes sense that you wouldn't recognize other emotions as readily either.<br />
This isn't a 'pity me' post. Not in the least. This is me realizing that the only way to 'get over' something, is to go through it, as they say. I will never GET OVER my daughter not being with me physically every day. Nothing will ever replace her. Not a degree, not my dream career, not a husband, not 8 more children. Nothing. That fact remains and always will remain. Do I miss her? There are no words that would even dignify that question. I wish she were with me. I wish she called me "Mommy." I wish it was she and I against the world, even if we were against it alone. But I also wish for her to be surrounded with love. I wish for her to be a daddy's girl. I wish for her to not have to watch her mother struggle and wonder where money for her school clothes will come from. There are days I wish I could go back in time and run out of the hospital with her and never look back. Those are the tough days. But when you know something, you know it. I know my daughter is well taken care of and I love her parents for providing her with a life I still, to this day, couldn't dream of providing her with. <br />
I have a choice every morning when I wake up. I can wallow in depression and sadness and ruin the rest of my day - and before I know it, the rest of my <i>years</i> - or I can embrace the fact that I have the rest of my life to live and that I plan to do it to the best of my ability.<br />
Too much of my life for the past three years has been spent being held back by my own mind. I've focused on my shortcomings and punished myself for not knowing then what I know now. NO ONE gets to have a crystal ball. NO ONE knew then what they know now. We only get so much energy in this life, and we only get so much time. I believe in my heart that I did - and am still doing - the best I could for my child, and until the day comes that she tells me otherwise (which I PRAY it never does), I will start there and move forward. It's high time I stop beating myself up over "being a birthmom." I am SO much more than that. I am a woman who has the capability to work through my struggles until I've broken my own chains; I just need to dig deep down and pull the strength out of the rubble inside me. Elizabethhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04427608278914315657noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3372499711594046882.post-69919656495353232672013-11-11T14:47:00.001-05:002013-11-11T14:58:36.661-05:00Home of the Free because of the BraveHappy Veteran's Day to all those who have served, are serving, and will
serve. <br />
<br />
The
day after I last posted, my Grandpa passed away. He had a very rough
two years prior to his passing so while it was a peaceful moment for
him, it was hard for those of us left behind. The doctor had warned us
that death from renal failure could be "tough to watch," as in the
patient's body can swell up, they may be in pain, thrashing, etc. But
for my Grandpa, it was the opposite. If you recall in my last post, I
wrote about how he was too weak to even eat or drink so the doctors
ordered that he did not have any food or beverages. After two and a half
days of that, needless to say, he was starving. My mom finally caved
and gave him a sandwich. He ate it and was happier than ever. Oddly, he
had been very sleepy and listless on Thursday and Friday, and we didn't
expect him to live through the night on either of those days. But on
Saturday, the day he got to eat lunch, he was full of life and
talkative. We were shocked...and thought he might be well enough to go
back to the nursing home for his final days rather than staying in the
hospital. Anyhow, my mother gave him the sandwich and after eating it,
he fell asleep. He never woke up. About two hours into his nap, he just
stopped snoring. If he had to go, I can't think of a more peaceful way.
He had a full belly (his favorite thing) and took a nap (his second
favorite thing). No pain, no gasping for air, nothing but peace. <br />
<br />
His
wake was the following Tuesday, and I had a hard time with it. Everyone
else around me seemed to be keeping their composure, but I just
couldn't. I cried from the second we walked in until the second we
walked out. It was so difficult because he only had two children; my mom
and my uncle, and one grandchild, me. So we stood in the line by his
casket and with each person that gave their condolences to me, I cried
all over again. Then I spotted my daughter's preschool portrait on the
mantle alongside my graduation photo and some pictures of my grandfather
as a child, and I lost it. <i>I</i> didn't put the photo there. I was
so honored that someone decided her picture should be included as well.
She was also listed in his obituary, which meant the world to me. He
would have wanted it that way. After all, while he only got to meet her
once, he <i>was</i> still her great-grandfather and he loved that little girl to pieces. <br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgaasOPOtOMVW5PZDkTiYk29Rp4GOrSb5SLgVSDpOtIitXXRsyTt63uNm0TsAMnbMi6Ui9f_oVl8e8RwCi6ckmY7yP0fCdWCbHhUh7h-e79F1_3O-XFBAoo4lx_u3OzLkfF3blinsyTUY/s1600/veteransday7.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgaasOPOtOMVW5PZDkTiYk29Rp4GOrSb5SLgVSDpOtIitXXRsyTt63uNm0TsAMnbMi6Ui9f_oVl8e8RwCi6ckmY7yP0fCdWCbHhUh7h-e79F1_3O-XFBAoo4lx_u3OzLkfF3blinsyTUY/s320/veteransday7.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The sky on the way to the funeral. I don't usually believe in "signs," but I sure felt like the sun rays were my Grandpa saying hello. </td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiB63gE1obwDL6r_ai6b_mqLed4c5cmcZnSuVcvytYR9F2kPhDw8tRhsl9fLF0oRyva5uMIUoG1TEGX_t6y3H01JSYFr5dOCAdlTnyIdMGKIkZCq1dJAWS95Fc_MtMT1UHthzavxnBhqMU/s1600/veteransday6.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="315" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiB63gE1obwDL6r_ai6b_mqLed4c5cmcZnSuVcvytYR9F2kPhDw8tRhsl9fLF0oRyva5uMIUoG1TEGX_t6y3H01JSYFr5dOCAdlTnyIdMGKIkZCq1dJAWS95Fc_MtMT1UHthzavxnBhqMU/s320/veteransday6.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Beautiful ceremony. </td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWdbNOYk7UGNwzIIAFEmlDwJhD2SR77EnEEpKTwDkPjcsOq_wpjOOtivZ_nEkavOMJrxt5ZX90bVbotv1G5GbWPcRWxCmFC7dlgRyOK1237sCL-_Kh8bS1E1pZhCeuvV1OT7smkF-Xmn4/s1600/veteransday4.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWdbNOYk7UGNwzIIAFEmlDwJhD2SR77EnEEpKTwDkPjcsOq_wpjOOtivZ_nEkavOMJrxt5ZX90bVbotv1G5GbWPcRWxCmFC7dlgRyOK1237sCL-_Kh8bS1E1pZhCeuvV1OT7smkF-Xmn4/s320/veteransday4.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I took a drive back to the cemetery yesterday to wish him an early Happy Veteran's Day. This was the sky on my way down the second time. More sun rays...hi, Grandpa. (Sorry about the very unsightly electrical wires. I was driving!) Right as I took the photo, a flock of birds came out of nowhere in the top center/left. Thought it looked pretty. </td></tr>
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<img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgW0x9I_1FQBGZotNOi5HpjyvrkyvbVPl3bIdzPVHS8rBBESZtLTGrScmmZ5FkGK5r_-dmr3Zw1-EEymKy4sORiDVph8vWVkOnbTX_1kZHvqkb80Vg9SavoaubF2D3UIZ5qfWa4XxhBeww/s320/veteransday1.JPG" width="320" /><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtwIt0fE89Ysdcz7mjxGVg7oX_NqHYyAxE_RHJo6_5mEy11XiStwSKud1MneJhCf8F9XzoHu_b3paWeNaeJIRjiB7LwORXlCX9rl5a4DCWpMpbMXWVF_PYL_b0CNcSW7BPqEJDRkgGjzM/s1600/veteransday2.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtwIt0fE89Ysdcz7mjxGVg7oX_NqHYyAxE_RHJo6_5mEy11XiStwSKud1MneJhCf8F9XzoHu_b3paWeNaeJIRjiB7LwORXlCX9rl5a4DCWpMpbMXWVF_PYL_b0CNcSW7BPqEJDRkgGjzM/s320/veteransday2.JPG" width="226" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Volunteers placed over 50,000 American Flags on each of the graves, as well as outlining the columbariums.</td></tr>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxxSrRoCtxo75UlAJAi7xXWvPRcaLIZDawg1pvwQ5BDHNGI_JzrA-6kh94gyBJidVGwZHX6rSv5RFiPo9Qr_Kod2uq50ikld8TBgUVO_58RG9aUV8fGTWNz4GF6d0-pYOCChGLjce-VJQ/s1600/veteransday3.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxxSrRoCtxo75UlAJAi7xXWvPRcaLIZDawg1pvwQ5BDHNGI_JzrA-6kh94gyBJidVGwZHX6rSv5RFiPo9Qr_Kod2uq50ikld8TBgUVO_58RG9aUV8fGTWNz4GF6d0-pYOCChGLjce-VJQ/s320/veteransday3.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEie3ZyXbl-Bk07L27-CZ2Mjwx6F-56KL7N_OWtd7VlA3azIOIMTeDyk0T4-PioEnIbRl-z6LiVPs5UuKTeFIx0yj1VoX0cCEtmeFaAyMnQoe1eif83FdiL__t3-MKH3N8p7psfxokMVX4U/s1600/Grandpa2012.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEie3ZyXbl-Bk07L27-CZ2Mjwx6F-56KL7N_OWtd7VlA3azIOIMTeDyk0T4-PioEnIbRl-z6LiVPs5UuKTeFIx0yj1VoX0cCEtmeFaAyMnQoe1eif83FdiL__t3-MKH3N8p7psfxokMVX4U/s320/Grandpa2012.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span class="fbPhotosPhotoCaption" data-ft="{"type":45,"tn":"*G"}" id="fbPhotoSnowliftCaption" tabindex="0"><span class="hasCaption" data-gt="{"timeline_og_unit_click":"1","app_id":"124024574287414","action_type_id":"282366618453208","object_type":"instapp:photo","unit_id":"447280888645770","og_ref":"ogexp"}">"And when he gets to heaven, Saint Peter he will tell, 'one more Marine reporting, sir. I've served my time in hell.'" </span></span> </td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgD2nUCwGYXN0yFDL4_9ptP7vEVh4fWwEeoSdXSlepWg0SEuzWHxPr-7v2pIEsSDh9e4IDsY1JsCccijxt-zSldy9LdYTRdY4_StnGVkhUTD8LK0VZ4eCY6qHUlxCmbTThys5Kwve8j9-A/s1600/veteransday5.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgD2nUCwGYXN0yFDL4_9ptP7vEVh4fWwEeoSdXSlepWg0SEuzWHxPr-7v2pIEsSDh9e4IDsY1JsCccijxt-zSldy9LdYTRdY4_StnGVkhUTD8LK0VZ4eCY6qHUlxCmbTThys5Kwve8j9-A/s320/veteransday5.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br />The Avenue of Flags on the way in to the cemetery</td></tr>
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<br />
He was cremated and buried in the Massachusetts National Cemetery which was where he wanted to be laid to rest. He was a Sargent in the US Marines during the Korean War. You would never have known this for years and years...he was very modest about his time served. However, within the past two or three years, he became extremely proud. He had his Marines pins on all of his shirts, and he wore his "Korean War 60th Anniversary" hat every single day since going into the nursing home. We had the hat cremated with him. The service was absolutely beautiful and chilling. There were three active duty Marines present...two to hold the flag, and one to play the Taps. I was able to get a great photo of one of the Marines handing the folded flag to my uncle. I haven't looked at it since that day, I just can't yet. But I'm very happy to have it. It was a hard day, but an amazing tribute to him. After coming back home, I really sat down and thought about how the day of the funeral service was the same day that I went into labor three years ago. It put me in a bit of a funk, which I've yet to snap out of. But October and November are always a little tough. I navigate through those two months like I'm wading in quicksand. Hopefully one day, it'll get a little easier. Speaking of, I will post about her birthday later!<br />
<br />
So, again, Happy Veteran's Day to those who were brave enough to risk and sacrifice their lives for the freedom of our country. <br />
<br />
<br />
<br />Elizabethhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04427608278914315657noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3372499711594046882.post-7931581467048656252013-10-18T21:03:00.003-04:002013-10-18T21:33:51.398-04:00The Good & The Bad<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8VzTIQncYHciIEnybmrTxlLK2hVtHURAjIlYAsO4S-v844ZLSLY5vEcau53d_haXqtIp6GOWNeS6E9DENvHLVYCuwe8Ql7mbM1KbqZ1vAtMLVnsOV7xpfpaREavo7niM5EsJAXHWsFqg/s1600/septvisit.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a>I always sit down to write, but rarely do I ever know where to start. I am a broken record each and every fall; specifically, October. Such a bittersweet month. Six years ago this month I fell in love. Love that wasn't meant to last and ultimately didn't. But that doesn't stop me from remembering most of it like it was yesterday. Three years ago this month I made the choice to find out the sex of the baby I was carrying. I looked through books of hopeful parents with my unborn child's father. I met with the people who, almost three years later, are lovingly raising that child into an intelligent, polite, curious little girl. I remember every day of the month of October 2010 as if it were yesterday. I wonder when those memories will fade....yet, I don't want them to. It stings every day when I'm at work and realize what the date is. See, I have to talk about the date all the time. Being a receptionist entails scheduling appointments upon appointments. October 12. October 15. October 19. October 28 (one of the worst. Due date). October 31. Oh, don't even get me started on November. We are having a work party for someone who has been with the practice forever and is leaving next month. I was so excited to go (I just started this job less than a month ago, and was looking forward to getting more acquainted with everyone) until I asked what day it was. "November 2nd." OH, SCRATCH THAT. Yes, I could go. But I don't want to make any commitments on her birthday. Her third birthday.<br />
<br />
You might remember me mentioning here that my grandfather has been very ill for quite some time. He has survived by going to dialysis four days a week for five hour stretches at a time, and lives in a nursing home. This is a drastic change for a man who still has all of his wits about him and used to travel and enjoy life. I had thought about asking A's mom to bring her by to meet him two summers ago, when she was 8 or 9 months old, because that is when he started getting really sick and that's when I finally told him about her. I'm ashamed to admit that I didn't tell him up until that point, but that's water under the bridge now. Nothing I can do to change that. I was afraid of what he would think, and I let that fear control a lot of my actions while I was pregnant. I focused too much on what her father said, which was that my family was "racist" anyway and wouldn't want to meet her. Couldn't have been further from the truth, however. He asked me each and every single time I saw him (a few times weekly) how she was doing, or told me how beautiful she was in the photos I showed him, or told me how much he saw me in her. Anyhow, I never asked, because I thought it was a very far-fetched request. <br />
<br />
Fast forward to this past September. My grandfather was talking about how he didn't really have much to live for anymore and thought he might discontinue going to dialysis. In all reality it was the sole thing keeping him alive, and it was keeping him alive so he could go "home" to four boring walls in a nursing home. None of us blamed him, and we told him that if he was ready to stop and understood the consquences, no one would try to force their opinions on him. He mentioned, again, that he had accomplished all he wanted to accomplish in life...except for meeting my daughter, his great-granddaughter. <br />
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I asked a friend - whose opinion I highly value - what she thought about me asking C if there was<b> any</b> chance that my grandpa could meet A in the near future, as his time was unfortunately short. She told me to go for it, but don't get my hopes up. So, I asked. I asked and I received. She wrote back within the hour asking if I could give her a day to think about it. Of course, I said. She wrote back a day or two later and said that she would be more than happy to bring A to his nursing home so he could spend time with her. I can't even write this without the tears flowing. We mutually agreed that I wouldn't be there - it would be just about her and my grandpa. We have an open adoption in every sense of the word, but we don't have in-person visits. So I didn't expect one. I wasn't trying to manipulate her into coming so I could see my daughter. She was 100% honest and said she wasn't sure if she was ready for me to see her again in person and felt that I might not be ready either, and to be honest, she was right. As much as I would LOVE to see my daughter, I would want to see her and never leave her again. Had I been there, it would have been about me, not him. I would have lost it when they walked away. I know I would have. So it was decided that she would go alone. <br />
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I still haven't wrapped my head around the miracle that she made happen. She drove an hour to visit a man who could do nothing for her in return, within weeks of saying yes. She made it happen. This was for a man she had never met before and would likely never meet again, just because she believes in family and roots and wanted him to be able to meet the child of his only grandchild. <br />
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She emailed me photos that very same evening. You can see the love in his eyes, and she warmed right up to him. She told me all about the visit; but my grandfather's version was much, much more heart-touching. I went to see him the next day, and he told me every detail that he could remember. He told me he was "simply amazed" by her and how smart and beautiful she was. He said when she walked in, she said "I'm ____, your great granddaughter." How could I hear that and not burst into tears? He told me she was a little shy at first, but then she warmed right up to him and even walked him to lunch and pulled up a chair beside him. He was over the moon because of one simple gesture: she asked him to hold on to her stuffed bunny (the one she has slept with since she was an infant). He said "that's something, you know. That's really something...that she trusted me...kids don't give their most treasured belongings to just anyone." He was so, so proud of her, and just as proud of me. This was literally his dream come true. His "last wish." And to think, it was all because I had the courage to ask, and her mom has a heart big enough to see how important this was not only to my grandpa, but to my whole family. <br />
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I am the first to admit I have sometimes gotten frustrated with the waiting. With the promises to send photos on a certain day and then they don't come and I am heartbroken. But this was a huge, huge moment for me. This made me look at the big picture. No matter how late the pictures are, they still come...and she <b>does care</b>. I will never be able to put into words what this meant to me. I have a whole new level of respect for her and as hard as it is, still, to this day - I have been reassured sevenfold that I chose the right parents for my beautiful daughter. I didn't need her to prove it, I already knew it and felt it in my heart. But the fact that she went above and beyond in this way has spoken volumes to me. <br />
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And as if that wasn't amazing enough, in one of her emails to me about the visit, she said that my grandfather was an absolute delight and that she would be happy to bring A back to visit him again if time permitted. She volunteered to come back! And scheduled it for the 8th of November. Just shy of a week after her 3rd birthday. <br />
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Sad to say, though... I don't think my grandpa will get to see her again. He took a turn for the worst yesterday morning, and his body is too weak not only for dialysis, but even for food and drink. He chokes on everything he tries to swallow. Doctors have said that they have done all possible for him, and from here on out, we are just taking measures to keep him as comfortable as possible. He's been moved to a private room in the hospital with no commotion, no machines. Just him and us - his family. I knew this day was coming, but I'm still not prepared.<br />
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I'm heartbroken that there is an opportunity present for him to spend more time with his great-grandchild, and he won't be able to do it. But at the end of the day, I am still floored that he got to spend the hour + that he did with her on September 20th. Something he never thought would happen in his wildest dreams, happened. A little girl who he so desperately wanted to know and spend time with, introduced herself to him and hugged him. He has been declining for over two years now. I am not sure it's a coincidence that he was sick all that time and has reached the inevitable "end" less than a month after meeting her. I'm not the most faithful person, but I do believe in fate, and part of me wonders if somewhere, deep down, he was waiting for her. His wish came true, and I owe it all to her adoptive mom. I will be forever indebted to her for that; but when I told her that, she said the same back to me. We have both done something immeasurable for the other (although I see my adoption as giving<i> them </i>to my daughter, not the other way around).<br />
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So with tears in my eyes, it's time for bed. Tears of happiness for the beautiful visit, and tears of sadness for my grandpa who is not long for this earth now. I'm lucky to have had my grandpa for 25 years. Some people aren't as fortunate...and I consider myself fortunate for that and for the fact that I can see, clear as day, my daughter running towards him.<br />
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Elizabethhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04427608278914315657noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3372499711594046882.post-27648142041812206512013-08-10T16:01:00.001-04:002013-08-10T16:14:31.172-04:00But Know That You're Here in My Heart, While I'm Out of Your Sight <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
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As always, so much to write about. But today is a day I have been looking forward to for over three months. I'm going to see <a href="http://media.wickedthemusical.com/?gclid=CObmzuzN87gCFcef4AodMh0AhA" target="_blank">WICKED</a> tonight! On the list of people who enjoy musicals, I'm probably last - or very close to the bottom. For whatever reason, though, I have always been drawn to the soundtrack of this show. I've listened to it since high school and now I am <i>finally</i> going to go see it live. I've tried in years past, but I've always researched ticket prices too late and they've been way too expensive. This time, I was sitting at work when I saw a commercial saying that Wicked was coming to the Boston Opera House August 7th - September 15th, and without thinking twice, went online and bought the tickets. </div>
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I <b>know</b> I am going to cry! 'For Good' has managed to bring me to tears on more than one occasion in the past few years. I mean, not to mention the fact that their voices are so amazing they give you chills, the lyrics are brilliant. I listen, listen, listen to the words and they bring one person to mind every time: A's birthdad. "<i>I've heard it said, that people come into our lives for a reason; bringing something we must learn and we are led to those who help us most to grow if we let them, and we help them in return.... Who can say if I've been changed for the better, but, because I knew you, I have been changed for good.</i>" </div>
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I'm still navigating my "new" life without my daughter. And she wouldn't be here had it not been for him. There's no doubt that he changed my life forever. And while I will never deny that he did at least do that <b>one<i> </i></b>good thing for me, I'm not sure yet whether or not I can say he changed my life for the better. My daughter's birth was a wake up call, for sure. A wake up call to love unconditionally, never take anything for granted, and better myself. But until I have learned from the pain I felt from her birthdad, even before A was even thought of, then I can't say that my trust issues and apprehension of almost every man I've met since is a good thing. </div>
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Then we have just one line from one of the very first songs in the musical: 'No One Mourns the Wicked.' My sweet baby girl, "<i>but know that you're in my heart, while I'm out of your sight...</i>" Please. Please always know that you are in my heart. Nothing, no person, no amount of time, nothing will ever take you from my heart. You have the biggest corner in there. In fact, you might just be my heart in it's entirety. I could go on to have 16 more children, and you will hold steady in your spot. I pray that when you are old enough to understand...to comprehend...that I will have a spot in yours even when I'm out of your sight too. </div>
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I went to get my nails done today in honor of the show (I know, HUGE dork!). I usually will get the Shellac gel, but haven't in a while because a) it's expensive and b) it weakens your nails. So I've been taking a break from it and just painting my nails myself. There's a nail salon in my town that I have been going to for years. I want to say I have probably been going since 2008 or 2009. They know me pretty well there, and they're all so sweet. I went in for my appointment this morning and the morning kind of unraveled from there. Seated to my right was a very pregnant woman getting a pedicure. I could see her huge belly out of the corner of my eye and was glancing at her every now and then with envy. I could overhear the conversation she was having with the nail lady (who I know has a 6 or 7 year old girl) because they were literally all of three feet away from me. As I'm sitting there, another woman walks in with her daughter who looked to be about four. The little girl was adorable; dressed in a cute little tutu and had a huge bow in her hair. My heart hurt but I couldn't help but smile. When the little girl and her mom walked back outside, the pregnant woman said "seeing that makes me SO excited to be having a girl. I can't wait to dress her up like that." Ouch. The nail lady just smiled and nodded, and then Pregnant Lady said "what was your favorite age for your little girl?" I tried to daydream about something, anything, to not have to continue hearing this conversation. But no, thanks ears, for always being there for me. The nail lady says "3!" Ouch again. Maybe it hurt to hear because A's 3rd birthday is in a few months, or maybe I was just plain jealous of both of them; the nail lady for being able to witness first-hand the joy, inquisitiveness and major milestones of her three-year-old, or Pregnant Lady for expecting a little girl any day now that she would get to take home from the hospital. Maybe both. I'm aware of how bitter I sound right now. I'm aware that it is neither of <i>their</i> problems and I am, in fact, the one who needs to adjust my emotions. But damn, did that sting. </div>
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Then, to pour salt in whatever one of the wounds had opened, this song comes on in the salon:</div>
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'Look After You' by The Fray. This has been another song that has always gotten to me, but even more so recently. "<i>If I don't say this now I will surely break, as I'm leaving the one I want to take. Forget the urgency but hurry up and wait, my heart has started to separate</i>" It came out right around the time when A's birthdad and I were becoming more serious. Not that that really has anything to do with it, but it reminds me of that time in my life. </div>
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Somehow I tuned that out, only to have this come on next:</div>
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"<i>I have died every day waiting for you. Darling, don't be afraid, I have loved you for a thousand years. I'll love you for a thousand more.</i>" </div>
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It was like the universe was testing me to see if I could <i>not</i> cry at 10:00 am in a nail salon. And guess what? I didn't! I remembered that I have something amazing to look forward to tonight, and that's all I needed to help me get through these little tiny tests that I was given this morning. I have to take it one day at a time, and today, I was able to do it. </div>
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Elizabethhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04427608278914315657noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3372499711594046882.post-11447398431257906342013-05-10T18:20:00.001-04:002013-05-10T19:59:16.978-04:00Never Forget the Invisible Mothers<div style="text-align: center;">
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Maybe Mother's Day weekend would be a bit more bearable if it weren't so commercialized. Maybe it would be easier to navigate if every talk show, advertisement, and radio segment wasn't discussing it. I guess in the end it all comes down to the fact that it would be easier if I could hug my baby on Mother's Day. Or if I could do her hair, paint her nails, or color with her on Mother's Day...or any day of the week, really. </div>
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The entire "holiday" is such a catch-22 for me - as I can imagine it is for other birth moms (or natural moms, or first moms, or whatever you may refer to yourself as. I personally prefer 'mother,' no adjective or qualifier necessary, but society seems to require an extra word to be able to differentiate). It's hard to be a mom in your heart and be a 25 year old childless woman on the outside. I'm still new to this. This is only my third Mother's Day. And while enjoy a day where I can celebrate motherhood - because, yes, I am still a mother - it's also gut-wrenching to say the least when I can't celebrate it in the way I want to. I can't celebrate it by taking silly pictures with my daughter or hanging her little scribbled pictures up on the wall. Her father isn't going to make me breakfast in bed while I snuggle with her. No, not at all. Granted, for the past two years he's given me a card, but it's far from the same. Mother's Day, like most other holidays as well as her birthday, are beautifully happy as well as painfully sad. </div>
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I'm grateful for the chance for this day to mean something to me. In my heart, I know I'm a mother and as tough as life can be sometimes, I thank God every day for her and I'm in awe that I am a part of her, as she is a part of me. What did I do to deserve playing a part in a beautiful, happy soul such as herself? Yet - as grateful as I am - this day is also torture. It's hard to escape. It looms everywhere, to the point where it's almost downright taunting. </div>
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The way I see it - I can look at it one of two ways. I can be bitter about the fact that another woman is celebrating and embracing motherhood with my child because <i>I'm </i>not, or I can look at it like my child is loved by two mothers; two mothers who reflect on the day in different ways. That being said, I'd be lying if I said I wasn't jealous that her adoptive mom gets to spend the day with her. In reality, it's just another day...it's just Sunday. It's only 24 hours, ten or eleven of which I'll be sleeping.</div>
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There's no black and white answer. One 'birth' mom will not always share the same views as another 'birth' mom. So let me say this: if you know someone - anyone - who has lost a child for any reason (adoption, death, estrangement, etc.), acknowledge that they might need a little extra TLC on Mother's Day. Or acknowledge that they may not. They may want to deny that the day even exists. Or maybe you could read <a href="http://www.boston.com/lifestyle/health/mdmama/2013/05/for_the_women_who_dread_mothers_day.html" target="_blank">this article.</a> I've had friends who have come right out and asked me (and believe me, I appreciate the straight-forwardness) how they should handle Mother's Day when it comes to me. Should they wish me a Happy Mother's Day and therefore acknowledge my child, or should they just treat it like any other day, because they know it's hard for me? If you know someone who is an "invisible mother," you aren't reminding them of something they aren't already aware of. Commercialized holidays such as this are <i>everywhere</i>. Chances are, you won't do any damage by saying "Happy Mother's Day;" in fact, they would probably appreciate the recognition. I totally understand why people feel as though they are on eggshells
around birth moms or moms of children who have passed away. Personally, I don't mind either way. I do appreciate the gesture but I am not offended by it's absence. <br /><br />Remember: being a parent means doing what's best for your child, even at the cost of your own happiness. So birth parents are parents no less than traditional parents. It's just a different kind of mother & fatherhood. </div>
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So when you think of the mother in your life who, for whatever reason, is no longer raising their child or sharing this day with their child physically, remember this: </div>
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and never forget the "invisible mothers." </div>
Elizabethhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04427608278914315657noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3372499711594046882.post-63321314397862660592013-05-06T10:28:00.000-04:002013-05-06T10:30:31.752-04:00"The weak can never forgive. Forgiveness is the attribute of the strong." <br /><br />When will I be strong enough to forgive? I'm in tune enough to realize that holding onto anger and resentment is hurting me far more than it's hurting the people which I am angry toward. I just want to know when I'll acquire the strength needed to forgive. It's been over two years. Such a short time, but also such a long time. How do you forgive when the issue that you're so angry about is a recurring issue? How do you move past something that makes you angry when that "thing" is ever-present? What if it's not one simple action that angers you, but someone's constant choices and entire state of being that frustrates you? <br />
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I live every day of my life with anger in my heart. I don't want it there anymore. I never did, but now I desperately don't. I'm living in the past, in a constant state of anger and jealousy. Then I get to thinking about how the person I'm angry at isn't angry at all. Or at least he's never shown it. That fact alone gets me even more angry. <br />
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I got to Skype with my baby this past weekend (the 4th). It was my belated-birthday Skype date and it was simply amazing. Miss A is two and a half now...two and a half going on twenty. She speaks in full sentences and carried on a few conversations with me. It was surreal! Last time we Skyped, it was for her birthday, and she had a pretty diverse vocabulary but not many of her words strung together to make sentences. What a difference six months can make. Her hair is longer and curlier than ever, and she is already miserable when it comes to the maintenance of it (sorry little one, but that's your birth father's fault)! It's so crazy to see her mannerisms 'live' and in real time. Her personality mimics mine in so many ways. She loves to draw and thinks she's a singer. Her mom told me that when they put her to bed at night, she's very quiet for a while and they think she's fallen asleep, but then they hear her little voice singing herself to sleep. It's so bittersweet to hear these things. On one hand I feel so grateful to be informed; on the other, my heart hurts because I don't get to be the one experiencing these things with my child. <br />
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She told me that she was going to go to a "birfday" party, but her friend got sick and had to go home with her mommy before the party started but that the party would be next weekend instead and then said "do you wanna come to the party miss Elizabef?" TEARS! Oh my precious little girl, I wish I could come to the party with you. Soon after, she found a piece of paper and a pink marker and started doodling all over it while her mom was telling me silly stories about her. Suddenly, she interrupted and waved the paper in front of the camera and said "I MADE A PITCHA FOR YOU! I made a pitcha for you Miss Elizbef!" ...more tears. Her mom promised to mail it to me (I'm crossing my fingers as we speak). <br />
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After she proceeded to undress and show me how she "makes peepee in the potty," (you guessed it...more tears being held back), her mom asked if my mom wanted to see her and say hi to her. Of course she did! So I went to get my mom, and she sat down in my seat in front of my laptop. I was standing right there, and could see the screen, but I was out of sight. Suddenly, my little girl stopped coloring and looked at the screen and got a really confused look on her face and said: "but where did Miss Elizbef go?" Oh my goodness. Who knew your heart could break and fill with happiness at the exact same time? It was, hands down, one of the most adorable moments in my life. I'll never, ever forget the sound of her voice when she said it or the look on her beautiful little face. <br />
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The call lasted nearly an hour and I cherished every second of it. Last night, I got a text from her adoptive mom that said "Great to chat with you." I wish she knew how great it was for <i>me</i> to chat with them. Of course I've told her, but it's impossible to put into words just how much it means to me.<br />
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Throughout all of the happiness I felt this weekend, there was a part of me that was sad. Not the obvious part of me that is sad because I'm only seeing my child through a computer screen or because I don't get to see her every day or do her hair or be the one she calls "mommy." I was sad that her birth father has the opportunity to have these same exact experiences - he knows he can write her, he can email, he can get his own set of photos, he could probably even Skype with her - and chooses not to. <br />
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Let me rewind a few months: I haven't seen her birth father since October (when we gave her babysitter her power wheels car for her birthday) and haven't spoken to him since January. The last time we spoke, which I'm not going to sit here and mull over or summarize, was a real eye-opener for me and within an hour of hanging up the phone, I had changed my number and have since safe guarded it pretty well. As far as I know, he may not even know that I changed it. We mutually agreed that speaking, even if just about our daughter, wasn't in either of our best interests anymore. This is the longest I've gone without speaking to him and I remember, way back when, knowing that this day would come. I thought I would wither away and perish if I couldn't speak to him, but it's proven to be the opposite. A weight has been lifted off my shoulders. I do still miss him at times. I do still have to stop myself from sending him a text to tell him something cute she did, or sending him a cute photo of her. But what matters isn't that I need to go through the motions of telling myself "DON'T." What matters is that in the end, I DON'T. <br />
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It just makes me so frustrated to think that he is missing out on this <b>by choice</b>. I know he's his own person. I'm not him and he's not me, and my feelings are not his and his are not mine. But the fact remains that she is just as much him and she is me, and I can't fathom having the opportunity to be involved in her life in the way that I am and not taking full advantage of it. He hasn't seen a photo of her since October, to my knowledge. Her adoptive mom has told me that he hasn't reached out but he is more than welcome to. <br />
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I try my hardest not to let these things bring me down. I'm over our relationship and I've let go of what it used to be and realized that it's not like that anymore. Too much has changed, and it will never be the same. I don't even want it to be the same. I just want him to wake up and realize the opportunities he has before it's too late. I don't want him to come crying to me for pictures, but I want him to grow up and develop a relationship with her parents. I don't know if that will ever happen. <br />
<br />
I want, more than anyone will ever know, to send him her professional preschool portrait or the picture I got of her skiing. You know, things like that. It feels twisted that I am more excited to show my friends, who never even met her in the hospital, her photos than I am to show her own flesh and blood. But then again, my friends are the ones who deserve to know. They're the ones who are happy for me when I'm happy, and sad for me when I'm crying. They're the ones that ask about her. They're the ones that get upset or angry for me when I don't get my promised updates. Her birth father did a great thing in terms of bringing her to this earth, but my friends and family have been the ones to pick up the emotional slack. So, when it comes to reaching out to him, I always stop myself. He doesn't make the effort and therefore doesn't deserve to know. I'm fully aware of this! But that fact in and of itself makes me angry. It's a vicious cycle that I feel trapped in the middle of. I'm trying to work through it, but I really don't know how. When will I be able to look at her, and not be flooded with thoughts of him? <br />
<br />
I've heard people who claim that birth moms must be some kind of super heroes. Super heroes usually have the ability to fly and have the strength to lift entire communities up to save them from disaster. So why can't I have the basic ability to forgive? Elizabethhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04427608278914315657noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3372499711594046882.post-17302741337117474932013-03-21T18:06:00.000-04:002013-03-21T18:14:32.267-04:00Beam Me UpI was listening to my iHeart radio the other night, as I do every night as I'm trying to fall asleep, and I heard this song by P!nk called "<a href="http://www.azlyrics.com/lyrics/pink/beammeup.html" target="_blank">Beam Me Up</a>." Her voice in this song is beautiful. The chorus, "<i>give me a minute, I don't know what I'd say in it, I'd probably just stare - happy just to be there, holding your face. Beam me up, let me be lighter, I'm tired of being a fighter," </i>made me think of my daughter and my adoption experience as a whole. "<i>I hear your voice and I, I break in two. And now there's one of me with you.</i>" It's exactly how I feel about her. If I were to be able to see her in person this very instant, I don't even know what I'd say if I only had a minute. I can imagine holding her beautiful face in both my hands and just reveling in the moment. <br />
I assumed it was about a boyfriend or some other adult she lost that was close to her. Then I found out what the song is about. She wrote the song to her baby that she lost in a miscarriage - now the tears fall even harder when I hear the song. I've played in on repeat for two days and it's actually been therapeutic. I hadn't cried in a while (months, even) and it actually felt good. <br />
<br />
Here's the video in case anyone wants to listen, but birth moms or moms of other loss beware; you may need tissues.<br />
<br />
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<br />Elizabethhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04427608278914315657noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3372499711594046882.post-8668336231388095382012-10-06T11:42:00.003-04:002012-10-06T11:42:56.451-04:00TriggersFall is officially here and has no qualms about bringing back all of the memories from two years ago. I wonder if those memories will ever fade. Not that I want them to, but I wish they wouldn't sting quite so much. I stepped outside this morning to go grab a coffee and it hit me like a ton of bricks, in a way that it hadn't in a while. I saw the leaves all over the ground, the same leaves I've seen for the past week or so, but for some reason, today they brought tears to my eyes. I suddenly remembered walking through the leaves to get into the car when I was in early labor. The smell in the air, for whatever reason, somehow filled my entire body. Smells are my worst fear. I know how crazy that sounds. Smells trigger the most distinct memories for me. You can block something from your sight, you can block something within earshot, you can even block something from your mind if you try hard enough. But smells hit you hard and fast and by the time you communicate to your brain that you don't want to think about it right then, it's too late, because it's already there. And once it's there, you can't get it out. The other day, sitting in my car driving home from work, I could smell A's birth father. I could smell the way his sheets always smelled back when it all started, in the fall of '07. In reality, I'm sure they always smelled that way (unless he switched detergents!) but I distinctly associate that smell with that particular time. This morning, it was the autumn air. It crept up on me, and suddenly (and all at once), I saw myself in his driveway, covered in leaves, working on his Impala five years ago. When it was all new. I saw him and myself walking into the movie theater to see <i>The Secret Life of Bees</i> four years ago. He so did not want to go see that movie, but I begged and begged him to go with me. I saw myself walking into the emergency room doors of the hospital, with a huge belly, the walkway covered in leaves, two years ago. I saw myself walking to class with an apple cider in hand, through the parking lot covered in leaves (also with a giant belly), two years ago. The smell of fall somehow sneaked into my nose and morphed into these four images all at once in my mind.<br />
I guess Fall is so hard for me because I think of two of the things (people) I loved the most and how they are no longer "with" me. My daughter is with me in my heart always. And I know she is only a mere hour or so away; not that I can go see her whenever I please or anything even remotely close, but I know she is still "with us" literally. But not in the way I would like her to be. Her birth father is only a mere fifteen minutes away now, and although my feelings towards him have changed drastically over the past two years and I no longer yearn with every fiber of my being to be madly in love with him again, he is still not "with" me in the way I would have wanted. No, I don't want that now. I want "us" back. But I want the "us" that we were five years ago back. Too much has changed, and too many true colors have been brought to light, so I know we never can be and never will be that "us" again. I've accepted that. I've let go of him, but I need to let go of the old "us." I guess people can change, and I'll never say never because I haven't a clue what the future holds for either of us. But once you've broken something fragile, even if you have all the teeny tiny pieces, you can glue them together but something will always be different.<br />
Speaking of her birth father, his grandmother just passed away. If you could please keep him and his family in your thoughts, I would appreciate it. He had taken this upcoming week off from work to go to NC to visit her because he had heard that she had gotten very ill, very quickly. I feel terrible that now he will be taking the trip down there for a different reason. We spoke last week and he was really excited that we had gotten new photos of A (Yes, I got new pictures!) and he was going to take his copies down there to show her. There was one picture in particular, where he said she looked exactly like his mother. He was floored. He was so excited to show his mom and grandmother. He can still show his mom, but he was more focused on showing his grandmother. I know he has his ways, and I don't agree with a lot of his actions (past or present) but he will always have a special place in my heart and I truly feel for him now.<br />
Well, I'm off for now. I volunteered to work from home here and there for the long weekend, and I'm not doing anything right now, so I may as well put an hour or two in.<br />
But before I go, look at this little princess! She has grown so much since I last saw photos. I can't believe she will be two years old in less than a month.<br />
<br />
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Elizabethhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04427608278914315657noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3372499711594046882.post-58405908307204501042012-09-24T20:46:00.000-04:002012-09-24T20:50:31.205-04:00Officially 2 Days Into Fall Oh, so much has been on my mind lately. Contrary to all of the things I spill in my blog, I'm a pretty private person by nature. I have a few close friends that I tell all to, but even then, I sometimes hold back. <br />
When it comes to blogging, I have to hold back a lot to protect the privacy of some people involved (i.e. A's adoptive family, my family, and her birth dad). But you know what? I can say what's on my mind and still be respectful. I don't know what the point of having a blog is if I am not going to use it to get these weights off of my chest. I never name names.<br />
That being said, I think I will be writing (or some may call it 'venting') a lot more in the next few months. My little one's second birthday is coming up, and my head is already spinning thinking about that.<br />
A lot has happened over the past couple of months between her birth father and I, and I've kept quiet because it's easier to vent to my friends via text than it is to sit down and write coherent sentences. But, you know what else? To him, I say:<br />
<br />
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On Saturday, I got a new tattoo. It's something I drew up at work a couple of weeks ago (I know, I know, I broke my own rule - my "one year rule," which was to decide I want a tattoo, wait a year, and if in a year I still wanted the exact same tattoo, I'd go get it. Yeah, this decision started and ended all within a month). In order to explain it, I have to give away the first letter of Arianna's name - her name now. We both share the same first letter in our names - "E." It's also really the only letter that you can turn into the shape of a heart (besides "M," I guess). So from a forward-facing view, it's a cursive "E," and from a side view, it's a heart with some little swirls in it. Either way, it's both the letter and a heart and it is drawn with no 'breaking point,' showing how we are connected as "one." I absentmindedly drew it at work one day while I was writing my name. I loved it, so I went with it. Here it is:<br />
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This photo doesn't necessarily do it justice - it's an Instagram'd picture I took, and it makes it look as if the lines are bleeding. They're not, though. How do you guys like it? Elizabethhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04427608278914315657noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3372499711594046882.post-77656446994074969092012-09-02T15:15:00.005-04:002012-09-02T15:17:07.634-04:00Sarah McLachlan ~ Fallen<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<br />
<i><br />
</i>Heaven bend to take my hand
<br />
And lead me through the fire<br />
Be the long awaited answer<br />
To a long and painful fight<br />
<br />
Truth be told I've tried my best
<br />
But somewhere along the way<br />
I got caught up in all there was to offer<br />
And the cost was so much more than I could bear<br />
<br />
Though I've tried, I've fallen...
<br />
I have sunk so low<br />
I messed up<br />
Better I should know<br />
So don't come round here<br />
And tell me I told you so...<br />
<br />
We all begin with good intent
<br />
Love was raw and young<br />
We believed that we could change ourselves<br />
The past could be undone<br />
But we carry on our backs the burden<br />
Time always reveals<br />
In the lonely light of morning<br />
In the wound that would not heal<br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><i>It's the bitter taste of losing everything<br />
That I've held so dear.
</i></b></span><br />
<br />
I've fallen...
<br />
I have sunk so low<br />
I messed up<br />
Better I should know<br />
So don't come round here<br />
And tell me I told you so...<br />
<br />
Heaven bend to take my hand
<br />
Nowhere left to turn<br />
I'm lost to those I thought were friends<br />
To everyone I know<br />
Oh they turn their heads embarrassed<br />
Pretend that they don't see<br />
But it's one missed step<br />
One slip before you know it<br />
And there doesn't seem a way to be redeemed<br />
<br />
Though I've tried, I've fallen...
<br />
I have sunk so low<br />
I messed up<br />
Better I should know<br />
So don't come round here<br />
And tell me I told you so...</div>
Elizabethhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04427608278914315657noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3372499711594046882.post-90882083507450688942012-09-01T13:05:00.001-04:002012-09-01T13:06:26.797-04:00Fall: Emotion-packed Fall has been such a tough time for me ever since A was born. It always has been and always will be my favorite season. I love just about everything about the months between and including September and December. The cooler weather, the smell in the air, the leaves all over the ground, the days getting shorter and nights getting longer. Halloween, Thanksgiving, Christmas. My favorite holidays. Fall of 2007 was the "best time of my life," or so I thought. Now this season brings on bittersweet emotions that I sometimes wish I never had to deal with in the first place. That's not to say I wish I never had my daughter, not at all. I mean to say that I wish I could look back on my pregnancy and remember feeling joy, with no fear, sadness, or guilt....I wish I could look forward to planning her 2nd birthday party in November. I know it's for the best, I really do know this. But that doesn't make me happy about it. I lived through it, but I am not yet sure that I survived it.<br />
I am excited that it's September. I am not excited about all of the tiny Halloween costumes that are already starting to be sold in every retail store in every city ever. I'm not excited about Christmas this year, even though it's my 2nd favorite holiday (next to Halloween). I am very scared about her birthday. I handled her 1st birthday better than expected, because we Skyped with her and I am pretty certain (no, actually, I am sure) it was the best evening of my life. Her adoptive mom suggested it last year. So now here we are, approaching her 2nd birthday, and I'm not sure if I should ask if we can do it again, or wait and see if she suggests it. If I ask and she says no, I will be crushed. If I don't ask and she doesn't bring it up, I'll beat myself up over not taking the risk and asking. I would <b>love</b> to make it into a tradition with them.<br />
I think I will wait until mid-October and when we chat about gift-giving, maybe I'll bring it up then. I know she already knows I would love to do it, and I know she already knows that no matter what my schedule may be that weekend, I will make time to do it. I would do anything for that little girl, although it seems silly to say that because she is only two, and the Skyping would be 99% for me. So, I guess I'll have to go with the flow and see what happens...I'll pray that she brings it up, and if she doesn't, I'll hope for a good opportunity to throw the idea out there myself. Elizabethhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04427608278914315657noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3372499711594046882.post-38665495977456756052012-08-30T18:52:00.002-04:002012-08-30T18:52:35.980-04:00Trying Something Different...I have been a TERRIBLE blogger. So I've decided to write to all of my faithful readers (hahaha) to see if anyone has any questions they are dying to ask of me...anything you've been wondering or have wanted to know! Meaning anything about me personally, or my adoption story (I will share anything that doesn't invade the privacy of her adoptive parents or birth father). After all, if I'm answering questions, I should only answer those which are mine to answer!<br />
<br />
Maybe this will prompt some writing ideas! You can ask here or <a href="mailto:elizabethanne02@gmail.com" target="_blank">email me</a>. Elizabethhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04427608278914315657noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3372499711594046882.post-90597453861179140712012-07-17T18:21:00.000-04:002012-07-17T18:21:05.318-04:00THIS JUST IN.Yesterday, I showed up to <i>what I thought was</i> my 12:15 appointment at the OB/GYN office. After sitting there, waiting to check in, amidst a sea of pregnant women and infants, I was finally called to the desk. It was then that I was told that my appointment was at <i>11:15</i> and they couldn't fit me in. I have never, ever missed an appointment or been late to an appointment. Maybe it's the veterinary hospital receptionist in me, but I think it's one of the rudest things to stroll in an hour late or to blow off an appointment altogether. The receptionist was understanding, and said they could squeeze me in today at 4:00.<br />
I don't know if I've said this before, but I absolutely love my doctor. She is the sweetest, most amazing woman I've ever met - and it's funny, because she says the same about me (see how sweet she is?)! She's been there for me since my first prenatal visit and she is still just as attentive and caring now as she was then. She never fails to make me cry, but it's in a good way. I'm one of those people who will be on the verge of tears until you hug me or console me, and then all hell breaks loose and I'm bawling. It was one of those things. She is going to do some research and find me a support group in the Boston area because she feels that it would do me a world of good to talk to others in person and she also thinks I'd be a great "counselor" for birth moms who have just recently signed, or expectant moms who plan to sign their rights over. How flattering is that?! She always asks if she can see photos, which makes me feel so happy inside...knowing she genuinely cares not only about me but about my little girl (theoretically speaking). I've been so blessed to have found her and to have had her helping me through this. While she is a nurse practitioner in the gynecological field, she's still been more support to me than any of my therapists have. She's extended the offer for me to come in if I ever just want to talk (and not be probed by metal wands and scopes) and has told me that if I ever need her, to just call and tell the receptionist who answers that she has given me permission to ask them to personally come get her to take the phone call. Not many doctors will extend that offer, and she has, in fact, followed through. <br />I've been meaning to write her a hand-written card, and I think I will do just that tonight. Maybe I'll ask A's aparents if I can have their permission to send her a photo or two. I don't think they'll mind.<br />
Anywho, I've gotten off track. The point of my post was to share that I've lost <b>21</b> pounds since my last visit with her in January! So that silly IUD <i>was</i> the culprit! Downside: I don't <i>feel</i> like I've lost weight. My clothes still fit the same way and I don't notice much of a difference in any other areas...BUT!...I would rather have lost than have gained! This must have been some "behind the scenes" weight or something. Either way, I was shocked when I saw the number on the scale. My doctor was thrilled for me.<br />
So, even though I went in there biting my nails and left wiping mascara off of my face, it still was a good visit. I will see her again in January and hopefully by then I will have lost another 21 pounds (or more, please)!Elizabethhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04427608278914315657noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3372499711594046882.post-27497435486255113692012-07-16T18:14:00.003-04:002012-07-16T18:16:55.983-04:00Dear blog, I have missed you!I've missed writing. No wonder I've felt all pent-up and frustrated for the past couple of weeks...I haven't been blogging! I've been so focused on trying to keep busy in ways that don't involve me being confined to my room that I've barely spent more than 20 minutes or so at a time on my laptop. Well, I'm here now, so bear with me. <br />
I've been contributing to another <a href="http://www.birthmom-buds.blogspot.com/" target="_blank">blog</a> and I'm so honored to be able to write for such a great cause. I've been following the blog for a while, and I have met a few great people from that blog as well as personal blogs I've come across through comments, etc. Each of us has a different story - some open adoptions, some closed - but that's the beauty of it. No two adoption stories are alike; heck, even if you asked a birth father for his thoughts and a birth mother for her thoughts on the <i>same</i> adoption, they would vary, I'm sure. <br />
<br />
At some point over the past few weeks, I'm not sure when, exactly, but I came to the realization that my feelings for A's birth dad are part of a much larger, much more tangled web than I had originally thought. Yes, I love him. He is my daughter's father, my first born child. She is half of him. He was also the first man I truly loved. I convinced myself I was 115% over him, when I was not. I saw him and didn't feel the butterflies I had grown accustomed to feeling over the past few years, so I figured that was that. The "love" I felt was simply because of the bond we shared over the child we share. Then strange memories would creep into my mind. This would happen when I couldn't fall asleep at night. I tried to tell myself that I just missed the memory of "us," and that I need to simply make new memories with someone else. I also tried to tell myself it was the company that I missed, not <i>him</i>. I've never been more confused. I know I am talking in circles, but as I already said: please bear with me. I'm glad that we can get along, I really am. I don't want to be with him, I really don't. So pardon my language, but what the hell is it that I want? (I've typed, deleted, re-typed, and deleted this about 3 times already). I can't put my crazy, twisted thoughts into words! How can I love a man, not want to be with him, miss him with every fiber of my being, and resent him for things he has done to me in the past at the same time? When will I get off of this ride? I know, I know. The answer is simple: just don't talk to him. Well, if it were that easy, I would have done that. In fact, I did that, last year. And I survived. I was fine. I managed to go weeks at a time without so much as thinking about him. I guess it's not as easy this time around for me to make a clean break. I lost both him and my daughter at damn near the same time, and he is the closest "thing" to her that I have. It terrifies me to the core to think about completely losing him, too.<br />
<br />
All of these revelations have brought me to a few other points. Some things I'm happy to finally grasp, others, I wish I hadn't thought about.<br />
<br />
I have been very (very, very) apprehensive to date, after all I've gone through. Not only because I am not fully over her father, but because I feel fairly selfish at this point in my life and want to do whatever I please - whatever will make me happy at the time that I want to do it. Selfish, I know. But I'm not hurting anyone in the process. So, as I've said before, I was seeing a guy (we'll call him Z) last January - March. That was going great, until it fizzled out (by fizzled, I mean he <a href="http://ariannamadelyn.blogspot.com/2012/03/past-few-months.html" target="_blank">tried to trick me into giving him money</a>). I was over the moon at the very real prospect that I could potentially develop feelings for someone <i>other</i> than G. Well, look how that turned out. After that, I declared "F*!* men!" (in my head of course) and didn't want to put myself out there again, only to be hurt and/or aggravated by petty stuff that I didn't need in my life to begin with. <br />
<br />
Fast forward to the end of April, when I decided to give it a go one more time. (I know, I didn't last long). I met someone, B, and things were going fine. Slow, just the way I needed them to be. The problem was, he was a bit "clingy." Texting all the time, and when he didn't get a response within 3 minutes, another text came my way. If that went unanswered, I could expect a phone call within 2 minutes. It wasn't at the crazy stalker level, but more of the 'you're really annoying me' level. I pretty much (very rudely) just stopped talking to him altogether. Out of the blue a month or so ago, he texted me again. Said he was sorry for anything he may have done to upset me, and asked if we could get together. We ended up walking up and down the beach (how cliche!) for a couple hours, talking and laughing. We have a lot in common, and while G was never downright mean to my face (with the exception of when we argued, most of the shady stuff he did was behind the scenes), it was nice to have a carefree conversation with a guy. We hung out a couple times after that, and one of my friends met him and thought he was a cool guy. Then he started with the texting non-stop thing all over again. I told him nicely that I was fine with us only talking once a day (or even less), and that I didn't need constant, every-hour contact. This, essentially, caused me to stop talking to him all over again. (What a witch, right?!) <br />
<br />
He texted me Sunday morning. Said he was thinking of me and just wanted to know that I was alive. He knows about the adoption and a good chunk of the essential information about her birthdad. He is aware that we talk from time to time when it's about A, and he is fine with it. Well, he really didn't have much choice, but it's amazing that he "got it." I told him I was just going through some stuff, and when he asked if I wanted to talk about it, it finally clicked with me: I am not happy with myself. I cannot be happy with someone else NOR can someone be happy with me until I am happy with myself. I hate the way I look, I hate the way I act half the time, I hate a lot of things about myself that aren't worthy of hating. I just do it because....I just <i>do.</i> I explained this to him; I explained that being in a relationship with him right now would not be fair to him, as I need to focus on healing myself. I know grief is an ongoing process, but I need to get going on that and keep it under as much control as possible. I've convinced myself that I'm "fine," simply because I'm able to get out of bed every day and go through the motions. That's not <i>living, </i>though. It's just <i>being</i>. I was never one to just "be." If anything, my daughter should (and does) inspire me to do more than just exist. In a nutshell, I explained all of this to him to the best of my ability. I also finally admitted to myself, and to him, that I am terrified of letting myself care for (and love) someone else because I am so very scared to lose them. I think this mainly has to do with the 'loss' of my daughter, but also the loss of her father. While the loss of her father is much less profound, it's still there. I love(d) her father. I trusted him, completely gave myself and my life to him and look where I wound up...I'm now single, I became a mother with no child to show for it (other than in 1 dimensional photos), and I've gained an abhorrent amount of weight. Yes, I realize I cannot blame all of this on him. But what I also cannot do is put all of that behind me and jump head-first into another situation with a man where I am required to be vulnerable all over again.<br />
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I am not used to being treated the way he treats me. I have stopped speaking to him, cold-turkey, twice now. And he still is being patient with me (maybe because he knows my story. Or maybe he is desperate. Not sure). He told me that no matter what happens, he hopes the fact that he thinks I am beautiful to him will console me at least a little. How sweet is that? I've only been called beautiful by one other man before, and we all know who that is by now. Every other compliment is much more shallow than that.<br />
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I just don't know what to do. I don't want to be selfish, I don't want to hurt anyone. But I'm scared.<br />
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In other news, I recently found out that I am hypothyroid, which is both good and bad news. It explains a lot, but also means I will be taking a pill every day for the rest of my life. I started the prescription last Tuesday. I hope that the medication, along with some better eating habits that I've already been practicing and a walk 3 - 4x weekly will help me lose the weight I've been so miserable over for so long. I would be fine going back to my post-pregnancy weight, when I was in a 14. Not tiny, but the size I've always hovered around. I have a ways to go, but I believe that if I truly focus on myself right now, I can do it. I did it once, I can do it again!Elizabethhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04427608278914315657noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3372499711594046882.post-91522001167753498702012-07-09T20:04:00.003-04:002012-07-09T20:05:56.327-04:00'Saying Goodbye was the Hardest Part' - MTV trailerI have been away! I've missed writing! I've just hit another slump, that's all...just a little writer's block. I've got so much to say, but no motivation or willpower to sit down and say it. I hope to get better, though. I used to at least write several times a month...not just once or twice.<br />
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I was playing around on my laptop last night, looking for something to watch. I went to mtv, and saw this trailer. It caught my eye because Catelynn (from Teen Mom) was on it. This show goes against almost everything I believe in, and I hate watching shows like this, especially now. But something draws me to Catelynn (besides the obvious) and I think I just may have to watch <a href="http://www.mtv.com/videos/misc/809021/saying-goodbye-was-the-hardest-thing.jhtml#series=2214&seriesId=29240&channelId=1&id=1688451" target="_blank">this episode</a> tomorrow night. I better stock up on the tissues and eye make-up remover now.
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I like the line where the woman says to use "positive, empowering adoption language; none of you 'gave up' your babies, you placed them for adoption," LOVE it! This 3:25 clip managed to make me cry. I held it in until Catelynn's great-grandmother started talking about how she got to hold the baby and smell the baby, but her husband never did and hopes he can one day. She got choked up saying it, and I lost it. It made me think back to my hospital experience with my daughter. Both of my parents, her birth father, and my best friend (like a sister to me) got to hold her, snuggle with her, feed her, and love on her. I have no regrets about that, and wouldn't want it to have been any other way.
I just wish there was a local support group like this on the east coast. I would go in a heartbeat.Elizabethhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04427608278914315657noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3372499711594046882.post-44121870179718519032012-06-11T11:52:00.003-04:002012-06-11T11:52:37.960-04:00FREE Shoes!Remember last summer when I was so <a href="http://ariannamadelyn.blogspot.com/2011/06/she-said-yes-i-can-get-and-send-little.html" target="_blank">excited about these baby shoes</a>? Well, her a-mom wasn't sure whether or not she was a size three or a four and told me she'd have her try on both at the mall in the same brand to let me know. Well, me being me (instant gratification and no patience), I ordered them in both sizes and planned on just returning the one that wouldn't fit her. She wound up needing the smaller size, so I packed the other ones up and planned on shipping them back. And planned...and planned..and planned. And then completely forgot. So, they've been in the back of my closet for almost a year now.<br /><br />I think they're adorable, so if you or anyone you know could use them, let me know! I've also cross-posted this on my Facebook. I'm not asking anything for them, because they aren't doing anyone any good just sitting in my closet, so someone else might as well enjoy them! And the 4th of July is right around the corner. I'm just asking that you pay the shipping if you don't live nearby. If you know someone in need (someone struggling, etc) let me know and we can definitely talk about it. I'm willing to ship for free to anyone who could use a little help. elizabethanne02 AT gmail .com<br /><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgR8LDgLtvAmvgjkoN7FYhNeOcYo4lyL0Lu29zRNRIeU9I_TfxELdwejJ3_KrPTq-KGMcIlbIM5gwIGyvNwRNaOl28FNBiY2_lHyd1_83zNOHe6dDWJz3pdEM8CPtCmWI0V2FFxRfn9gtY/s1600/169325_10150879488006270_1027498264_o.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgR8LDgLtvAmvgjkoN7FYhNeOcYo4lyL0Lu29zRNRIeU9I_TfxELdwejJ3_KrPTq-KGMcIlbIM5gwIGyvNwRNaOl28FNBiY2_lHyd1_83zNOHe6dDWJz3pdEM8CPtCmWI0V2FFxRfn9gtY/s400/169325_10150879488006270_1027498264_o.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
<br />They're an infant size 4, never been worn, and still have the brown wax paper stuff inside of them and are still inside the Converse box.<br />Elizabethhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04427608278914315657noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3372499711594046882.post-25564387504645550332012-06-09T12:19:00.000-04:002012-06-10T12:28:29.237-04:00Asking a favor...I would just like to ask a favor of anyone who is reading.... If you pray at all, could you please keep my grandfather in your prayers? Thank you in advance! He's been ill since last July, and we were essentially told by doctors in December of this past year that he was on "borrowed time." Well, he got 'better,' or as good as you can be while suddenly nursing-home bound for the rest of your time on earth. Mentally, he's in too good of shape to be in a nursing home - he is fully alert and feels okay - but he can't live at home due to a multitude of problems he has. Mainly with his heart and lungs. Since December, he's had several scheduled surgeries as well as an emergency surgery and is now survived by weekly dialysis. Last Wednesday night, they called my mother in to the hospital, as he was rushed there because he couldn't breathe. He has a lot of fluid in his lungs. He got to go back to the nursing home yesterday afternoon, only to be rushed back by ambulance last night around ten. Each time this happens, he gets a little weaker, and you can see the sadness in his eyes. He's continuing dialysis, so he's not "ready" to let go yet, but he's also signed a DNR, so if things take a turn for the worst, they will take a turn for the worst quickly. <br />
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I'll be back to my normal blogging soon, I hope! It's just been a little crazy around here lately. <br />
<br />Elizabethhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04427608278914315657noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3372499711594046882.post-43382118095673052122012-06-03T14:26:00.001-04:002012-06-03T16:18:43.201-04:00Things I Wish All Adoptive Parents Knew (from a Birthmother's Point of View)<i>**This is not targeted towards my daughter's adoptive parents whatsoever, nor is it meant to offend anyone or put anyone off. It's just a little list of things that I </i><b>truly</b><i> wish all adoptive parents knew. Some of it is said out of experience, some is said out of wishful experience - experiences I hope to have in the future, and some are just thoughts that swim around in this crazy head of mine. This mainly applies to post-placement**</i><br />
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(1) Nothing means more than calling the child we share an immense love for 'our child.' Recognizing that the child does in fact have two sets of parents who love him or her means the world to us birth parents.<br />
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(2) That old, crinkled up sheet of paper with errant crayon scribbles all over it that you are about to throw away because you've already kept approximately 8,000 of them? Don't. Send it to your child's birth mom or dad, no extensive letter necessary. What may be every-day and semi-"meaningless" to you may mean the world to a birth parent.<br />
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(3) You can never send enough photos. If you don't want to send one for fear of being too "pushy," I can assure you almost certainly that you are not. If we aren't ready to look yet, we'll save it for later. But just knowing you thought of us means everything. <br />
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(4) Including us as part of your family is the biggest honor you could give us. Even if visits are not part of the adoption plan, including us on group emails (with photos) to far-away family members doesn't go without notice. (<i>My daughter's adoptive mom sent a photo of of our little girl waving two flags in her hands last year on the 4th of July. I love emails she sends only to me, but to see all of my daughter's many aunts and uncles from both sides of the family included on the email, along with myself and my mother, made my heart practically burst!</i>)<br />
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(5) Likewise, being part of you "Christmas card list" is also amazing. If you're one of those families who takes professional Christmas photos and sends them out on little postcards, consider sending one to your child's birth family. (<i>I still have mine from the two Christmases that have passed since she was born).<br /></i><br />
(6) No matter how much we love you (which, trust me, is a lot!), it is still extremely hard to trust someone else with your child. Think of how nervous you were the first time you let someone babysit your children...this is how we felt at placement, only it was magnified seven-fold. This is not to say we don't trust you - we more than trust you, and are secure in that trust - but keep this fear in mind when we send quick texts or emails just to see how everyone's doing. We don't mean to bug you.<br />
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(7) Sending us quick emails just to say hello, check in, or wish us luck on upcoming finals or whatever it may be, mean the world to us. Feeling like we not only share a common interest in the child, but also share a friendship, is wonderful.<br />
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(8) Not sure if we want that low-quality, grainy video you took on your cell phone? We do! You may have better ones that you took with a digital camera, but we cherish <i>anything</i> - and I mean anything you send us.<br />
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(9) Always keep your promises. This goes for birth parents and adoptive parents alike. Promises in open adoption are worth gold...there is no relationship more delicate or fragile on earth, so promises are sacred.<br />
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(10) We may not admit it, and a lot of us may share our pain quicker than we share our joy, but we love you for providing our children with what we couldn't at the time. Whether it's a two-parent household, a solid financial ground, or just a house <i>period</i>, it's something we couldn't provide or provide properly. I've heard it said that people think adoptive parents should "owe" their child's birth parents the world for "giving them a child." Well, birth parents feel indebted (in a good way) to adoptive parents for loving their child above themselves. We didn't give our child to you, we gave you to our child.<br />
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(11) Don't hold back on what you tell us. Don't be afraid to tell us that you missed 'our' baby while you were away on a business trip because you're scared we'll think "<i>how do you think I feel?</i>." The feeling we get when you are expressing your love for our child will eventually win over any jealous feelings we have about the time you get to spend with them that we don't.<br />
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(12) Allow us to send gifts. While some of us can't bear to walk down the baby aisle or the kid's toy aisle at Target, others find immense comfort in buying things for the child. The occasional "spoiling" we get to do feels amazing. <br />
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(13) Sending photos of your child wearing outfits we sent to her/him or playing with toys we sent are priceless. <br />
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(14) Always feel free to send us the "outtakes," too. While pictures in nice lighting, in cute outfits and with huge smiles are great, we want to see pictures of our kids just being kids, too. Not sure if you should send the picture where his or her back is to the camera and they are playing with toys? Please, send it! That one where they are crying or in mid-scream...send that one, too. We want as much insight into their daily lives as you are willing to give.<br />
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(15) If you don't already, please understand that as long as the safety of the child isn't at risk (mentally or physically), it can never be a bad thing for more people to love a child. When everyone has that child's best interest at heart, the more love, the better. Please don't close us out, we are not a threat. We don't want to take over your title or role and 99% of us would never have that intent nor would we dream of trying. We just want the opportunity to let our child know that he or she always was and always will be loved by us.Elizabethhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04427608278914315657noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3372499711594046882.post-61472643648380786842012-06-02T15:05:00.003-04:002012-06-02T15:08:18.247-04:00Not Something to be Proud of...<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
I haven't been around here much lately. I'm back in that slump I was in a
few months ago, but it has nothing to do with my adoption. Well, maybe
it does, indirectly. I just feel so...'blah,' for lack of a better term.
It fits perfectly. </div>
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As I've said before, I'm not happy with my weight gain or my weight in
general, and I haven't been for a while now. Honestly, I don't even know
what I weigh, but I know it's too much. It really hit me the other
morning when I was frantically looking for an outfit to wear to work (I
hate not having my clothes ready the night before!). I found a pair of
black dress pants, and thought I had hit the jackpot and would be out
the door as soon as they were on. Well, no such luck. They were my <i>old</i>
work pants, from the job I had in 2009, until I was laid off in
December - about a month or so before I got pregnant. They were
practically half the size of the pants I'm in now. Maybe not half, but
damn near half. I immediately felt depressed and my day was heading in a
very bad direction. Let me say this - I know you gain weight when you
have a baby. It's unhealthy <i>not</i> to gain weight when you have a baby. But you're supposed to lose it. I <i>did</i>
lose it when I had my gallbladder out. I was almost back to my 'normal'
weight (which, mind you, was still overweight, but I'm not built to be
stick thin. I was wearing anywhere from a size 10 to a size 14,
depending on the brand, before I got pregnant. I look back on those
times and remember feeling like I was so
overweight. I wanted to be a size 4, because magazines told me that's
what beautiful was. Now, I would give my left arm to be a size 12 again.
And to think, it was only a mere two and a half years ago). <br />
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See below: my <i>old</i> pants (2009/early 2010) on top of my new pants, and my <i>old</i> favorite skirt on top of my current one. I want these pictures to be flipped - I want the ones on top to be the ones that fit, in due time.<br />
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<img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfPgzNaHKOEX50EOPYzdQ72TzbY3eSqPtqwWT4Y-oXfWc1xO_pM8BNEqRJV0mz91_3xd3cdkhX4YUkKO5yNhwS0xFQz_EZIJW8C04B7CK-Hix4a7x9XNl_rcZQkuRGacIKavwlsWsTW3M/s320/622012.jpg" width="160" /></div>
Two months or so after she was born, I was feeling pretty confident about it. I want to say I was wearing a size 14 to 16, which to some is "plus size," but to me, was right around where I had always been from high school on. At my highest weight during my pregnancy, I was about 235 lbs. Before I got pregnant, I think I was somewhere around 180. Not thin by any means, but not morbidly obese, either. I was back around there (maybe 190 or so) until June, when I got my IUD put in. It was all downhill (or, according to the scale, uphill) from there. I don't blame it fully on the IUD, because I know I was (and still am) an emotional eater and I can finally admit the fact that I was severely depressed. I wasn't even sleeping. After I got it removed this past April, I lost about 10 lbs...and then completely plateaued. <br />
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Admittedly, I haven't been doing much to change it, other than cutting out Mountain Dew (I've been "clean" since 12/26!) and drinking at least 7 glasses of water a day. It's easy to do at work, because there's a little water fountain right by my desk and I don't drink coffee or anything. <br />
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I've talked about this before on my blog and said I was going to get my bum in gear, but now I'm really, really motivated. I'm not happy with myself, and it's affecting everything, not just the size of my pants. I need and want to be someone my daughter can be proud of one day...I want to be someone who truly <i>deserves</i> to be in her life when the time comes, not someone who's there because we're blood related and I'm 'defaulted' into being part of her life. That's not what she deserves by any stretch. I need to be happy, confident, and successful before I can be around her.Elizabethhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04427608278914315657noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3372499711594046882.post-81523226053139743022012-05-22T12:36:00.001-04:002012-05-22T12:40:42.281-04:00Figured it OutI think I just cracked the case. Finally. Sitting here at my desk at work, I just figured out what has been wrong with me lately. I struggled so much with the fact that other single women my age raise their children JUST FINE...so very much that I had to justify to myself why I couldn't raise her. I told myself, over and over, that she wouldn't have had an amazing life with me. I wouldn't be able to provide for her the way I would want to. I wouldn't be able to give her everything she deserves - and that includes a stable, two-parent home. I had to basically brand this onto the inner side of my forehead in order to be able to get up in the morning. Whenever I got any confidence about the matter, any inkling that I could have raised her, or I could have made it work this way or that, I would start to regret my decision. I can't handle that pain. Right now I'm just numb. I shouldn't still be numb. In order to "dumb myself down" enough to believe that I did do the right thing for her and she will hurt so much less without me, I've wiped away any bit of self-confidence I had in every other aspect of my life, too. None of my clothes look good on me. My hair never looks right. My makeup never flatters me. I know I am an intelligent person, I know I could have been a great mom to her. I convinced myself I must not be worthy of being a mom. She would never have gone without her necessities or love. I KNOW she deserves better than just the "necessities." I also KNOW it's not just about material things, it's about security, and family. But I have security, and I have family. Not a picture-perfect family to raise a child in, no, and she would have had an in-and-out dad, but my parents wouldn't have left us homeless. Whenever I realize this, I just start to get angry - at everything. If it's not about money, or material items...why was I not "qualified?" Why was I not "good enough?" I love that little girl more than anything or anyone in the world. Why did I think I wouldn't be able to give her enough of it? Why did I think she would go without? I wanted her to have better - and there certainly is "better" than me out there. But I can't figure out how to balance it. I can't figure out how to stop hating myself for the decision I made. I feel like I either hate the decision I made because I feel that I must have been good enough, or I hate myself because I've convinced myself that I'm the lowest of the low and I was no good for her. It's the hardest thing in the world to realize that you weren't good enough for your own and only child.Elizabethhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04427608278914315657noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3372499711594046882.post-49012693414580426632012-05-20T19:04:00.000-04:002012-05-20T19:19:18.915-04:00Gift-planning, 6 months early!<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEobAxWr8wgoCJvLBip_3D-uQ9iotekf087ajJwv-zQ-383sPDLZreGYpYBFI2Yv9BseDt5zVKhUPJ65KdEJx2HktPggRmssFiAEiuwCHvFUO3HoUKLZCL8j6xqdsPTSWBftJP2UVAr1M/s1600/doll.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><br /></a></div>
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I know it's a ways away, but I'm already putting some thought into what I should get Miss Arianna for her birthday. I want to have time to save up, if need be. I 'stole' a few good ideas from some of the girls on the Facebook support site...one of which was to create an American Girl Doll that looks like your child (particularly your daughter). I wish you could create the doll from scratch - I can't find one that looks *just* like her. Growing up, I had three - Samantha, Kit, and then one that was supposed to be "me." She had medium-blonde hair and blue eyes, and looked considerably like me - if I were a 2-foot tall, lifeless, plastic doll, that is. They have a much larger variety of dolls now than they did then. The one that looks the most like her is the one with "medium skin, curly dark hair, brown eyes," even though her skin is a little lighter than this. I know I loved my dolls as a child..I learned how to french-braid hair on these dolls! Hence why the "me" doll is now downstairs with tangly, bushy (absolutely ruined) hair. <br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEobAxWr8wgoCJvLBip_3D-uQ9iotekf087ajJwv-zQ-383sPDLZreGYpYBFI2Yv9BseDt5zVKhUPJ65KdEJx2HktPggRmssFiAEiuwCHvFUO3HoUKLZCL8j6xqdsPTSWBftJP2UVAr1M/s1600/doll.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="290" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEobAxWr8wgoCJvLBip_3D-uQ9iotekf087ajJwv-zQ-383sPDLZreGYpYBFI2Yv9BseDt5zVKhUPJ65KdEJx2HktPggRmssFiAEiuwCHvFUO3HoUKLZCL8j6xqdsPTSWBftJP2UVAr1M/s320/doll.JPG" width="320" /></a><br />
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What do you guys think? Is this a good idea, or should I do something a bit more age-appropriate? Do you know of any good sites for customizing dolls or other toys? <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEobAxWr8wgoCJvLBip_3D-uQ9iotekf087ajJwv-zQ-383sPDLZreGYpYBFI2Yv9BseDt5zVKhUPJ65KdEJx2HktPggRmssFiAEiuwCHvFUO3HoUKLZCL8j6xqdsPTSWBftJP2UVAr1M/s1600/doll.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><br /></a></div>Elizabethhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04427608278914315657noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3372499711594046882.post-44165999020881808032012-05-19T14:36:00.000-04:002012-05-19T14:39:58.084-04:00Simple Quote I Love...<div style="text-align: left;">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbXNOPgktzBIBcnEULDwnFo9-TQIPg7fuADftFKNRTcDqqzeNHcBpRK4vS6JMqssf5IVA0Ms6D0RMO5CoW53MJzd_jEsyusPA6k9nfEG3kY5qNPFGze9bLclj0xPZfF-WxzcPsqjBiTOI/s1600/51z1hz9rSzL.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbXNOPgktzBIBcnEULDwnFo9-TQIPg7fuADftFKNRTcDqqzeNHcBpRK4vS6JMqssf5IVA0Ms6D0RMO5CoW53MJzd_jEsyusPA6k9nfEG3kY5qNPFGze9bLclj0xPZfF-WxzcPsqjBiTOI/s320/51z1hz9rSzL.jpg" width="320" /><br /></a></div>
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Oh, how I wish I had a recording of her heart beat. I don't think I'll ever hear a more amazing sound in my life. </div>
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<br /></div>Elizabethhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04427608278914315657noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3372499711594046882.post-16186085691852612662012-05-18T19:16:00.002-04:002012-05-19T14:19:41.613-04:00My Mother's Day<div style="text-align: center;">
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Mother's Day weekend was surprisingly okay. Much better than last year, although that makes sense. Saturday was my self-proclaimed "me" day...I got a manicure, pedicure, and my eyebrows done. I went by myself, something I normally don't do, but I just wanted to be alone and relax. It was actually really nice.<br />
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On Sunday, My grandmother came over and we had a nice dinner and watched a movie with my mother. My mother made turkey or ham or something along those lines, so I had my usual "vegetarian" dinner:<br />
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My mom gave me some new beads for my Pandora bracelet, including an "E" which is the first letter of Arianna's 'new' name.<br />
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...and an Alex and Ani bracelet with the same letter. Apparently these are the "new thing," according to her! <br />
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I did give in and decide to meet up with her father. It was honestly against my better judgement and I know many people won't approve of this, but whatever, I did it and it's done. It was my decision and I did what I felt was right in my heart. Did my head agree? No, but we can't always listen to our heads, can we? <br />
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It was surprisingly a very nice time. Not too nice - not "I think I'm falling back in love with you and now I'm all confused because you treated me so amazingly this one night" nice - but very calm and peaceful. Very uncharacteristic of us as of late. We went to dinner and a movie on him (sounds date-like, but it wasn't), and then he gave me a really sweet gift and a card. I can tell he put a lot of thought into the gift...I was floored. It was so thoughtful. <br />
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It was a huge basket filled with a bunch of different things - some things I would use daily, some things that represent old jokes between us, and some things that are a bit more sentimental. Now, you wouldn't really think getting shampoo and conditioner in a gift basket would mean much, but the fact that he remembers which brand, type, and scent is my favorite means something to me. Sounds silly when I write it out! The card, of course, made me cry - he wrote about how he knows that a lot of what I have facing me is hard to deal with, but he knows me and knows that I have a strong spirit. He said that I more than deserve to be treated on Mother's Day, and he also said that even though this is one of the toughest things he has gone through in his life, he is glad that it's me who is the mother of this baby and that we are going through it "together," and that he is always here. I won't write out the entire thing, and I'm not one to normally even go in to that much detail, but it showed me that he (<i>maybe, just maybe</i>) is growing up a little. So funny to say about a man who is 10 (give or take) years older than I am, but I guess age really is just a number.<br />
(And yes, he did color the boy in with a pencil on the front of the card and gave him curly black hair. If you didn't know, my daughter's father is African-American and she is bi-racial. Now you know!)<br />
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We had a few good conversations, which were needed, and he didn't try to pull any funny business. I think he respects the situation enough now to not try that with me. This doesn't mean much of anything really, I know I need to take it at face-value. So we had one good get-together...it doesn't mean we will start hanging out on a regular basis again or even speaking on one. I'm grateful that it went well and I felt appreciated, but I'm not a fool (anymore). I did, however, make one teensy (<i>huge</i>) mistake. He called as I was pulling on to my street, to make sure I got home. I was tired from working all day and then going straight to meet him, and it was around eleven when I finally got home. I said that I was just getting home, and thanked him again. He told me that I more than deserved it, and there was no need to thank him. Then he said, "okay, so...I'll talk to you...sometime.." and I replied, "yeah, sounds good. I love you, have a good night," and before I could even realize what I had just said, he said "I love you too, goodnight." Old habits die hard, I guess. I couldn't believe I said it, and it was just that - habit. But he replied as if I had just said "hey, what's up?" and he responded "nothing." It was that natural. Maybe that was out of habit, too. Yeah, there are worse things...but that's a pretty big faux pas in the land of let's-be-civil-because-there's-a-kid-in-the-"picture"-land. </div>Elizabethhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04427608278914315657noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3372499711594046882.post-44271279708947075372012-05-12T14:19:00.002-04:002012-05-12T14:19:25.280-04:00Magazine, are you a joke?<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Hmph, did this <i>really</i> have to come in the mail on the day before Mother's Day? </div>Elizabethhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04427608278914315657noreply@blogger.com3