“You get what you get

and you don’t throw a fit.”

This is the latest nugget of wisdom brought home from kindergarten. Ryan pulled it out this weekend when Jesse was trying to bribe coax some hugs out of her. I can’t help but think Robert Fulghum’s classic “Everything I Need to Know I Learned in Kindergarten” needs some revival. Here it is, in case you’d forgotten:

Share everything.
Play fair.
Don’t hit people.
Put things back where you found them.
Clean up your own mess.
Don’t take things that aren’t yours.
Say you’re sorry when you hurt somebody.
Wash your hands before you eat.
Flush!
Warm cookies and cold milk are good for you.
Live a balanced life-learn some and think some and draw
and paint and sing and dance and play and work
every day some.
Take a nap every afternoon.

When you go out into the world, watch out for traffic,
hold hands, and stick together.
Be aware of wonder. Remember the little seed in the
Styrofoam cup: The roots go down and the plant
goes up and nobody really knows how or why,
but we are all like that.
Goldfish and hamsters and white mice and even the
little seed in the Styrofoam cup-they all die.
So do we.

And then remember the Dick and Jane books and the
very first word you learned-the biggest word of all–
LOOK.

Everything you need to know is in there somewhere.
The Golden Rule and love and basic sanitation.
Ecology and politics and equality and sane living.

Think what a better world it would be if we all-
the whole world-had cookies and milk about
three o’clock every afternoon and then lay
down with our blankies for a nap. Or if all nations
had as a basic policy, to always put things
back where they found them and to clean up
their own mess.

And it is still true, no matter how old you are,
when you go out into the world, it is best to
hold hands and stick together.

This is the part that is particularly tough for me tonight: The roots go down and the plant goes up and nobody really knows how or why, but we are all like that. Goldfish and hamsters and white mice and even the little seed in the Styrofoam cup-they all die. So do we.

After doing our time with the molar, after making my peace with the loss, I found out we were blessed with another chance. Of course, I was nervous. Of course, I was scared. Of course, I decided that I wasn’t going to live in fear and I was going to embrace this precious gift. And of course, today it all ended. I woke up to bright red blood. I went to an ultrasound to see an empty gestational sac, which at 6.5 weeks should have had something in it. I had my fourth blood draw in nine days to find out that not only are my hcg levels going down (remember when I was actually *excited* to have them drop?), my progesterone level dropped as well – while taking 400 mg a day of that damn devil hormone. And the bleeding continues. And the cramping. And the passing of tissue. And the feeling of failure. And the frustration.

The doctor today (my doctor is on vacation this week – welcome to my life) said that with my “advanced maternal age” there is an increased risk of miscarriage. I know that. But I guess I thought that because what happened last time was a completely chromosomal freak accident, I was immune to such things.

I refuse to let these things define me. I will not be that guy. I will continue to be grateful for the two beautiful children I with whom I have been blessed. I will continue to grow in the love of my husband (who, tonight, even though we are broke broke broke, went to get McDonalds for dinner because I asked him to). I will keep my faith in a God who knows what He is doing. But can I question? Can I ask why (as long as I do it in a completely non-Nancy Kerrigan way?)? Can I pleeeeeeease for the love of God, catch a break from this mini-labor of cramps and back pain?

I know there won’t be an answer from on high. I know that I will continue to wonder. I will try not to throw a fit about what I’ve gotten. I will hold my family and my friends tight and remember that that “when you go out into the world, it is best to hold hands and stick together”.

Advertisements

5 Comments

  1. I’m so sorry, Tara. I wish that I lived closer so that I could bring you McDonalds and give you a hug.

  2. I am so, so sorry, Tara.

  3. Im sad. Ive been thinking about what I could say or that would make you feel better-because damn-it, thats what I do-make people feel better. This one isn’t easy though, I can’t give you medicine or wipe your head with a cool cloth. I cant even give you a big squeeze and kiss on the cheek. All I can do is be sad with you and say “This sucks fucking balls! Big hairy ones!” Love to you and Jess both.

  4. Oh tara, my heart breaks for you and J. I am so so sorry. I love you and am sending you big hugs from afar.

  5. Tara, I’m so sorry for your loss.


Comments RSS TrackBack Identifier URI

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s