Archive for the 'Family' Category

Published by PaintingChef on 29 Oct 2010

And on the thirteenth day, they went to restaurant, drank a bottle of wine and made up.

And once again… there was peace in the world.

For the record, those of you who thought I was trying to make a situation “all about me and my busted uterus” and being selfish in my very honest and sincere reaction to something that took me and every single person who heard it completely by surprise shook my entire world to its very core? You? Can suck it.

As for the rest of you… I’m tempted to ask for your addresses so I can send you cookies. And a puppy.

Published by PaintingChef on 25 Oct 2010

Open-ended drama is SO much more confusing.

So. Have I told you how awesome you internet people are lately? Your emails and your comments were so sweet and left me with a warm fuzzy feeling that I have been otherwise lacking this past week.

Sweet chocolate corncakes… where to start…

My little sister is pregnant. I’m going to be an aunt. But wait… there’s more. She’s, um, 12 weeks pregnant. Now as anyone with a friend or family member or colleague who has dealt with infertility can tell you… there is no handbook. There is a lot of guessing and wondering and treading lightly. There are lots of questions about “How” and “When” and “In Person or in Email” and such when it comes to someone with a non punk-ass uterus and non-busted ovaries finding themselves in a knocked-up state in proximity to someone with decidedly more shitty reproductive regions.

I will now give you a general rule of thumb. Do. Not. Wait. Tell them early. Hell, mention its on the radar before you even find yourself knocked up. If you are inclined to consider your infertile person differently (and some people aren’t… those people are mean) always lean towards more information at an earlier point in time. Trust us to keep your secret. Please understand that we know that your lady bits aren’t all about us, but also remember that lady-bit activity can trigger our infertility shame spiral and the more time you give us to adjust to your fertile-ness, the better we are going to be able to handle it and the less likely your maternity wardrobe is to send us into the bathroom sobbing. And trust me… that’s just awkward for everyone.

My sister, whom I love more than a triple layer chocolate cake topped with a pair of Jimmy Choos, is pregnant with a non-surprise fetus. And she will be an awesome mother. But to say that this announcement took the wind out of my sails is a huge understatement. There are no time machines and there is no amount of conversation or crying or questioning that can undo the debacle of the past week. Despite that though, I’m scarred by the events and the way things unfolded. Maybe I am just a selfish bitch. I don’t know.

I was the last one to know. My mother, who up until this past week, has been a huge source of comfort and understanding with this whole infertility mess and she has wiped my tears on more occasions than I could possibly count. And I can’t imagine how happy she was to find out that she was going to be a grandmother. Finally. But then she just… didn’t call me. In my mind, she should have called me as soon as my sister told her. She should have picked up the phone and said, “I need to tell you something that is going to be very hard for you.” But she didn’t. She let me get walloped in the face with this news. And then she still didn’t call me. She very, very loudly didn’t call me for a week. Not even to say “Hey kid… you okay?” Nothing.

So while all this very loud and very hurtful not calling was going on, I was getting angrier and angrier trying to understand what she was thinking. Until one day at work she sent me a card that very clearly stated she thought she was being forced to choose a side of a situation where there were no sides. Me? Happy for Betsy. Excited to be an aunt. Happy for mom and dad, the grandparents-to-be. But also? Wanting a little fucking consideration and compassion. However, choosing sides? Never. There were no “sides” to be chosen.

My first instinct is to chalk this all up to me being selfish and trying to make a situation all about me and I feel guilty for it. But as a very dear friend of mine said “When are you going to get up off this bed of nails? She (referring to my mother) knows what you’ve been through and didn’t protect you when you needed and wanted it most, like a mother should. I’d feel let down and pissed too. You’ve taken more beatings than anyone’s fair share in the area of loss. And yet, you still seem to believe you are not supposed to have anything but happiness for everyone else in your life.. And just because you acknowledge that you are mad, doesn’t make you a selfish, spoiled brat of a person. It makes you real, with real feelings and real emotions and real heartache.”

And you know what… I needed that. I needed permission to be angry.

All week the not calling and the not speaking continued so very loudly. I’m hesitant to go out, to leave the house, what if I miss her call, surely she will call today, why isn’t she calling me. Patrick “why can’t you just call her?” Me “because the PROBLEM is the not calling. How can that be fixed by me calling her?” More not calling. And finally, on Sunday night, after pep talks from both Patrick and Zube, I called her.

That? Was a disaster. Apology? Understanding? Compassion? Yeah… not so much. More like a “Yeah, sorry, what do you want me to do about it? Talk to you later bye.” I was MOST unsatisfied. I don’t know what I wanted. An apology, some sort of explanation, an idea of WHAT she could have been thinking, what could have possessed her to so loudly not call and not call and not call. Some acknowledgment that I NEEDED her because she could have cushioned the blow and she didn’t find that necessary. And just… WHY??

God this is so fucking morose and full of self-pity. But it is also what has taken over my life. It’s front and center all the time and I want to just be done with it. I WANT to let it go and just chalk it up to insensitivity and poor judgment. But I think I have too much faith in my family to do that. They KNOW better. And I’m still angry. And hurt. And confused. I don’t know what I expected to accomplish by calling her and I thought I would feel better afterward but I didn’t and I don’t. I feel like an afterthought. Like all the years and heartache and miscarriages and uncertainty and roller coasters we’ve endured while trying to become parents are suddenly insignificant to the person who, until last week, had been secondary only to Patrick in the support and compassion she’d given me.

So now what? Do I just go back to waiting for her to call me? Ignore it all? Pretend everything is fine? Shut the fuck up and move on?

Also… does anyone know a housekeeper who will work for cookies? Because apparently I’m incapable of doing laundry or dusting when I’m in the midst of an existential crisis.

Published by PaintingChef on 16 Oct 2010

Blindsided.

I want to be a better person. I thought I was getting there but suddenly I’m taking a huge slide backwards. I’m not even ready to talk about it or write about it. But there IS an it and I don’t know where else to go to let this out.

My heart is broken. I’m a wreck. The downward spiral is starting and the thing is… I should be over the moon. But I can’t be. Not right now. I’ve been blindsided. I feel like I’ve been hit by an eighteen wheeler while I was out for a stroll on a walking path. This was the last thing in the world I would have expected and I am, quite simply, unequipped to deal. I’m at a total loss.

Please, please universe… let me be a better person. I could use a warm fuzzy from you right about now.

Published by PaintingChef on 07 Jun 2010

Be still my heart…

All my lovelies. In one boat.

Published by PaintingChef on 22 Apr 2010

I thought I saw you.

I thought I saw you yesterday.

In my head I KNEW it wasn’t you. That would have been impossible. But I stood there, motionless, in the produce section yesterday and watched you. The way you looked over the tomatoes. Your delicate hand fluttering over every single one, never quite touching them, as you picked just what you were looking for. I stood there, transfixed by the way you stopped at the bakery and poured a cup of coffee. I watched you grasp it with both hands; your eyes closing as you drank and I knew, instinctively, that whether it was 9 degrees outside or 90, you would still be drinking coffee.

My feet were frozen as my eyes followed you. My heart was pounding and the lump in my throat made it difficult to breathe. I wanted so desperately to come up to you. Say hello. Touch your hand. I wanted to thank you for being there. For looking like her. For your delicate grace. I wanted to tell you about her. What she meant to me. How I hoped with all my heart that you had a granddaughter who loved you the same way.

Instead I left my cart and went to the ladies room, hid in a stall and cried.

Everyone says it gets easier. They say you don’t stop missing someone but you learn to live without them. When will that happen? My heart can only break into so many pieces before it just crumbles into dust and disappears. You’ve been gone more than a year but for a second, I thought I saw you yesterday. And it felt like losing you all over again.

« Prev - Next »