Wine, how I have missed thee.

I’d love to tell you that I’m drinking again after a pretty long hiatus because Lent is over. Or because I’ve fallen off some sort of wagon. But the truth is this: until about 26 hours ago, I wasn’t drinking because I was 9.5 weeks pregnant.

For those of you who follow me from the nest, this might (or might not) be news to you. I sat on it pretty tightly. For those of you who follow me from my real life, I’d ask you not to post about this on facebook or anywhere else…we’re not even talking to our families about it and since my daughter is on facebook, she would probably be pretty upset, since we didn’t tell the kids about it. Thanks.

Here’s the story. We got a positive pg test on March 6th. Of course we were a bit surprised – it was just that one time (but that was the beginning of our life together, so I shouldn’t have been too surprised). Everything was going along swimmingly until April 10th. I had some bleeding. I went to the doctor. I got an ultrasound – saw the heartbeat! Felt better. Until the tech told me the embryo was measuring WAY behind what it should be. Okay. Deep breath. Doctor expresses “concern” about growth and the sub chorionic hemorrage I have. She prescribes progesterone and tells me to come back in a week for another ultrasound. Deeper breaths.

I pass the LONGEST week ever in a fog of raging hormones. I almost kill people for looking at me funnily. I vow to kill the person who thinks it’s a good idea for anyone to take progesterone. Even though a friend tells me to think positively, I cannot. I know this isn’t good.

Yesterday, Jesse and I went for the ultrasound. Right away, before the tech can say it, I see there is no heartbeat. The embryo is the same size it was a week ago. It’s over. I cry. Somehow I manage to finish within seconds and avoid those embarrassing gulping sobs. Doctor says I can wait and see or schedule a d & c. I choose to get it over with.

Last evening, I kiss my husband goodbye, lay myself down on a surgery table and go to sleep. When I wake up, the excitement of five has dwindled to the satisfaction of four. I cry a little more, but mostly I say awkward anesthesia-induced things about working out and how teachers and nurses are underpaid. I complain about being hungry, but I don’t eat anything much. I go home, take a percocet and realize the only pads I have in the house are the ones leftover from Ryan’s birth.

I wake up today and take the pills. I throw up on the side of the interstate in blowing rain because I forgot that my stomach hates pills without food. I lie to my oldest daughter about why I’m not feeling good and she says I should either a) throw up, b) poop or c) eat something. Instead I take her to a movie and then let her have friends over so she stays busy. I buy my youngest a Dora dvd so that she stays busy.

I ignore the phone because I just can’t deal with anyone else’s problems right now. I pour myself a glass of wine and grasp the reality of what drinking it means. A day ago, there was hope. There was excitement. There was a basement to finish. There were Disney World onesies to wash. There were bigger vehicles to look at. There were clothes to buy and names to pick.

Today there is a glass of wine.



  1. I can’t say it enough, I’m absolutely heartbroken for you and Jesse. I love you buddy, please let me know if there’s anything I can do for you.

  2. *hug*

  3. I am so sorry.

    {{{Big Hugs}}}

  4. Big hugs Tara. I can’t even imagine what you’re going through and I am so sorry for your loss.

  5. I’m so sorry. Almost this exact situation happened with us in November. Please let me know if you need anything! *hugs*

  6. Huge ((hugs)). I am so sorry, Tara.

  7. I am so sorry to hear of your loss, Tara. I will be praying for you.

  8. I’m SO sorry Tara. I’ve never wanted to be in Colorado more than right now. Sending you our love and hugs…

  9. I am so sorry.

  10. I am so very sorry.

  11. God bless.

  12. Aw, Tari. I am so sorry. You will be in my thoughts and prayers.
    Love ya.

  13. I’m so very sorry. *hugs*

  14. oh Tara, I’m so so sorry.

  15. I’m very sorry for your loss. You will be in my thoughts and prayers.

  16. Tara- I’m so sorry, I was out of town and just saw this tonight… I’m really sorry for your loss… if you need anything, I’m just a few minutes away. Big ((hugs)).

  17. And here I was whining to you about my problems. Next time tell me to STFU you are dealing with your own misery. Hugs my friend, let me know if you need ANYTHING.

  18. I’m so sorry Tara. Big HUGE {{HUGS}}

  19. I’m so very sorry for your loss. I’m thinking of you.

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