Yesterday, I made the statement that sometimes you don’t want people to make you feel better. Sometimes, you just need them to acknowledge the suckyness of it all, and let you vent. Over the last few years, I have been blessed and grateful to finally find many wonderful people who did that for me. For example, my friend, Jenn.
Jenn & Sarah, October 2011
She bakes, parties and is the only other person in the room who will know what I’m talking about when throwing down some random nerd comment about, say, the Death of Robin. She is the Wonder Girl to my Raven, and I am so, so thankful for her.
Even when she gives me cookbooks like this one, knowing full well that I am the dork who puts pizza boxes in gas ovens.
It’s well after noon here already and there are still diapers on the floor, my lunch is burning on the stove and I have a level-ton of laundry/phone-calls/appointments to organize. You know, all the usual cliche excuses not to blog. But the girls are napping (THANK YOU GOD) and I’m not that hungry yet (Lies!), so today I’m dropping it all to wave ‘Hi’ to everyone who’s taken a moment to visit me from Melanie Blodgett’s uber-fab babble blog.
Ashley says HELLLOOOOO:
Melanie’s blog is everything I wish I’d found during our infertility journey. Site after site after message board of ‘get therapy’, ‘pray’, ‘just quit stressing about it’ or ‘my cousin’s friend’s uncle’s acquaintance adopted and then got pregnant!’ stories – not a single bit of it satisfied my aching need for just a little freaking Truth, please.
Which is why it’s a HUGE DEAL to me to be published in her infertility/hope series. If our story helps just a little, in someone feeling less alone, or more heard, or best of all, emotionally justified that will be the second biggest achievement of this whole process. Because one of the worst parts of going through this is being guilted for your grief, or God forbid, your anger.
Everyone sees the Bitter Infertile Woman and tries to make her feel better. Because they need her to feel better, because they love her. But all I ever really wanted (besides a child) was any one of the thousand people along our path look me in the face and say, Hey. This effing sucks, and you’re allowed to feel like this. So this is my small way of saying it to someone else who might need it.
Infertility fucking sucks. If you’re sad, if you’re angry, you’re allowed.
The best thing about this shot is that it pretty much sums up the attitude around here EVERY day. Except for the tutus. And the lack of puke. The scariest thing about it is that I had my second true-life Horror Experience later in the shoot when Emma crawled straight off the 5-foot edge of our bed. So I guess she figured out my costume this year: World’s Worst Mommy #5,398,411.
Emma, Sarah & Ashley; Halloween 2011 by Rick Takagi Photography
This week a friend sent me a video that I wasn’t able to open until about 11 o’clock at night. And now I’m no longer allowed to read email after the girls go to bed. THANKS A LOT, MAIYA.
*Lost? We’re talking about this crazy addictive game. Don’t even try it. It’s way easy. And of the devil. It will take over your life.
Playing with pictures last week got me all sorts of inspired and now that the girls are seven months old (?!?) I’m thinking two things: 1), it’s time to ask Rick over again and 2) WE NEED AWESOME PROPS. I don’t remember who it was on facebook that got me hunting for these, because as soon as I saw it my brain went O.M.G. BABY TUTUS. MUST. GET. BZZZZT! but I was ALL OVER THAT until I saw that prices range anywhere from $20 to $95 each. And then my brain went STILL LOVE, BUT…NO.
So I’ve decided to make them myself.
