"i hate that fucking angel..."

that's when i knew. page thirty-two. sure, the book is on one of the subjects that, since almost 14 months ago, hold my attention immediately, but the pages preceding were about *what happened* (and isn't that always the same story over and over). when i read those words, i knew this book would be different.

actually, i'm lying. the title. "an exact replica of a figment of my imagination." brilliant. isn't that exactly what we're all writing about? i've lived in this strange space of be-ing; i've questioned my own reality; i've questioned who and what p@ige was...beyond a figment of my imagination. real? ghost? IS someone real if no one's ever seen them except you? IS someone real if they never lived? the exact replica of the figment of my imagination- what i still, and will probably always, struggle to express in words. the reason why i still post on this blog is, undoubtedly, that deadbaby moms don't need exact replicas, they have their own to reference.

everyone else, on the other hand...it's what brings us all to our knees. what do we say? do we tell the small-talking stranger? how? what? when? what the fuck? Elizabeth McCracken talks about her book as a calling card, like the "I AM DEAF" cards we get handed on the train or busy sidewalk. jesus, do i wish that was acceptable. can you imagine just handing out a card that said "my baby girl was stillborn on her due date, 9.9.07"? ah, we are freaks...because that sounds really good to me. REALLY good. i think i was feeling something like this when i got both my arms tattooed; i am now a freak on the outside. marginalized. i am not like you. in fact, FUCK YOU AND YOUR SUCCESSFUL REPRODUCTIVE LIFE. on second thought, that's what i'd like my card to say.

to be honest, when she got to the parts about her alive baby after, i didn't like it. for obvious reasons, no? but she somehow made me keep reading (when i otherwise would have closed the book forever) by intertwining the deadbaby story in and out the whole time. there were times i had to stop and figure out which baby she was referring to, and then read the last few sentences over with new perspective. that was interesting, and revealing; all my children are intertwined, my feelings, guilt, love, frustration...it's all relative. my experience as a mother of the alive and dead is not mutually exclusive.

"An Exact Replica of a Figment of my Imagination" by Elizabeth McCracken. it's a memoir by a woman whose first son was stillborn. what can i say? she had me at "fucking angel."

why do i want to get pregnant again?

it seems like a pretty reasonable question. i can think of a thousand answers to it- good ones, too. i also have a thousand answers to why i DON'T want to get pregnant. i think i can drag my brain either direction at this point.

the problem, the real underlying issue, is the reason i have so many answers.

I DON'T WANT TO HAVE TWO THOUSAND GOOD ANSWERS.

it only means cycle after cycle of negative tests. it only means i have to continue questioning my desire to get pregnant, my desire for another baby. it only means that others declare, "let's have a baby!" and are left answering those questions while staring at the two lines.

i'm so sick of justifying. i'm so sick of second-guessing. i'm so sick of having to decide how far i want to go in order to have a baby. i'm so sick of having to have good enough reasons.

i have been trying to get pregnant since january, my first period after. it's october. i'm taking medications. i'm temping and peeing on sticks. i feel like a total asshole; i sometimes do these things during moments of utter disgust and frustration with my alive children. the longer it takes to happen, the more times i will ask WHY and come up with a thousand yay and nay reasons. i'm not sure what i really want, because it's taking so long and i am just so NOT in control over it.

i sometimes read posts about ignorants who announce positive pregnancy tests immediately. when i got the positive with p@ige we told everyone the next day. the next day!! i imagine getting another positive and not telling anyone until i look like i swallowed a spaceship, and even then consider saying it's a huge tumor. but i also imagine coming on here and telling. i imagine telling you guys. i don't want to have that post where i "come clean" or feel torn. this is my only comfortable place; this is the only place i will feel happy about telling.

but first, first i need to get pregnant.

why do i want to do it again?

what a mother-fuck, infertility.

the waiting heart

Chance and Appollo have created the waiting heart to help fund their surrogacy journey. the following words are chance's; they are beautiful. please check out her etsy shop and BUY ONE!!

good luck, my sister.

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A heart that is waiting to be filled. Unrequited hope, unanswered questions and open ended expectations.
The waiting heart pendant is a symbol for our shared, yet singular experiences. A talisman to represent our hopes and desires for ourselves and also each other, and a reminder that a heart waiting to be filled is also an open heart. Transformation. Evolution. Reassertion of hope. Transition. Hope…that terrifying word.

The hearts are solid sterling silver, engraved by hand (by Chance herself) and come on a Wear to Make Aware pomegranate satin cord, representing Infertility's Common Thread.

We’re all waiting for something…and even if our hearts are already filled; no one forgets what it feels like to wait.

I know I will always remember.