The Wife of Noble Character

In the last few months I've had the combined misfortune and fortune of attending two memorial services for two women. Both had been wives and mothers and grandmothers. The reason I call it fortune to have been present as their family and friends remembered them, is that their lives were both so incredibly inspiring to me in the time of life at which I currently find myself.  Each woman in her illness and passing, left a great gap which they once filled with joy and wisdom, discernment, compassion, care and grace.
I often fantasized in my childhood about becoming a great, powerful, influential woman. Someone that spoke with authority, and garnered respect. In the past year I have had to resign myself to being at home all day, speaking with very little authority to an audience of one who barely understands english, and when he does, usually pretends he does not. There's not really anyone around to praise me for my accomplishments, so I list them as soon as my husband comes in the door. Perhaps some part of me is convinced if I don't verbalize my works, then they really don't matter after all. I know they do. Jack has a clean house and he has food to eat, toys to play with. He is happy and healthy, and actually, wonderfully joyful most of the time. But no one will write books about this. There will be no headlines, no tv movie. Motherhood is not how one becomes famous. At least not without having record numbers of babies or maybe taking time to write an incredibly successful series of children's books. I will not be famous, or infamous. I will be the wife of John, and the mother of Jack.
I don't take these titles lightly, in fact they weigh on me daily. How can I be better at this job? How can I excel? Without goals one is just free-falling with nothing but an abrupt and painful meeting with the earth to look forward to. I have been haunted for years now by a passage in Proverbs, that actually came up at the services of both of the aforementioned women. It's the Epilogue to the book of Proverbs entitled "The Wife of Noble Character." It speaks of a woman who is dependable, driven, skilled, consistent, and as such is "worth far more than rubies." It is a very inspiring and daunting passage. Traditionally at Shabbat dinner it is read by the patriarch as a blessing over his wife before the meal. It truly shows the great value of  a woman who has taken Wife and Mother as an esteemed position. This woman understands how important her contributions are to her family. She is a blessing to all and a servant of all.  I have come to discover that when discussing great women these verses come up as frequently as 1 Corinthians 13 comes up at weddings. But I don't think that repetition diminishes it at all. In fact, I may start making my husband read this at dinner once a week as a blessing over me.
Jack has been around for just over a year now, and his taken me almost as long to begin to understand the great honour and high calling that is motherhood, and marriage. It is challenging to be selfless, to sacrifice every moment to another human being. I never used to have to do that when I worked because John and I were in the same boat, and so we had equal responsibility for our household. Now he bears all of the financial responsibility (a hefty burden now with house and a child). I bear his laundry, his comfort, his food, his children! I want to carry it all gracefully, and by the grace of God I may yet. Perhaps I will never achieve renowned among the masses. But I pray that I can be a significant and overflowing blessing to my family.

^b]A wife of noble character who can find?

    She is worth far more than rubies.

¹¹ 

Her husband has full confidence in her

    and lacks nothing of value.

¹² 

She brings him good, not harm,

    all the days of her life.

¹³ 

She selects wool and flax

    and works with eager hands.

¹⁴ 

She is like the merchant ships,

    bringing her food from afar.

¹⁵ 

She gets up while it is still night;

    she provides food for her family

    and portions for her female servants.

¹⁶ 

She considers a field and buys it;

    out of her earnings she plants a vineyard.

¹⁷ 

She sets about her work vigorously;

    her arms are strong for her tasks.

¹⁸ 

She sees that her trading is profitable,

    and her lamp does not go out at night.

¹⁹ 

In her hand she holds the distaff

    and grasps the spindle with her fingers.

²⁰ 

She opens her arms to the poor

    and extends her hands to the needy.

²¹ 

When it snows, she has no fear for her household;

    for all of them are clothed in scarlet.

²² 

She makes coverings for her bed;

    she is clothed in fine linen and purple.

²³ 

Her husband is respected at the city gate,

    where he takes his seat among the elders of the land.

²⁴ 

She makes linen garments and sells them,

    and supplies the merchants with sashes.

²⁵ 

She is clothed with strength and dignity;

    she can laugh at the days to come.

²⁶ 

She speaks with wisdom,

    and faithful instruction is on her tongue.

²⁷ 

She watches over the affairs of her household

    and does not eat the bread of idleness.

²⁸ 

Her children arise and call her blessed;

    her husband also, and he praises her:

²⁹ 

“Many women do noble things,

    but you surpass them all.”

³⁰ 

Charm is deceptive, and beauty is fleeting;

    but a woman who fears the Lord is to be praised.

³¹ 

Honor her for all that her hands have done,

    and let her works bring her praise at the city gate.

The Let Down

So--one month into motherhood and I'm feeling pretty awesome! I love my baby and my husband and I don't mind being stuck at home all that much either.

Our first month wasn't all that rosy though. I was exhausted at first and scared to death that I was going to fail miserably at this. In fact, the first couple of weeks I really thought I had. I realize that there were/are a lot of hormones involved as well as a serious lack of sleep, but I was convinced that I was a horrible mother who couldn't provide for my son. The reason?? Breastfeeding. Now I had been warned that this might not come easy despite it's being the natural way of things--but it wasn't just not easy, it was really freakin hard.

Today Jack is being breastfed just about every 2 hours. But, to my earlier dismay, he is also taking a bottle of formula in the same increments. This is not how I imagined this would go. I was so sure and so dedicated to nursing that I didn't do a bit of research on formula. What was the point? And then I ran into obstacle after obstacle from the day my sweet boy was born.

Obstacle number one: it hurt! I heard that it would hurt and that you just needed to push through that pain. My lactation consultant at the hospital said she'd never seen anyone react in the way that I did, though. And I didn't react in the way I thought I would either. I mean I figured it would be uncomfortable, but I didn't know it would be frighteningly painful. By the end of the first 3 days I was experiencing dread every time I had to feed him. I pushed through though, the way everyone told me to. I figured what I was experiencing was normal. But when the second lactation consultant I saw was then shocked at the state of my nipples, I felt pretty much hopeless. Jack likes to chew. He chewed and chewed until I had scabs covering both sides. She gave me permission to take a break from breastfeeding and to start pumping to increase my production. This was a huge relief, but at the same time it was terrifying--if I stop breastfeeding, will he ever want to try again? Will we lose this special connection forever? But I stopped, because every feeding was getting worse, not better, and I didn't want to resent or fear my son.

Obstacle number two: Jack's tongue tie. This is directly related to obstacle one as it was the reason Jack accidentally wreaked havoc on my poor nipples. He couldn't feed correctly. By the time he was properly diagnosed he had been bottle feeding for about a week and when the suggestion came to have his frenulum clipped I was wary. We didn't even have our son circumcised to protect him from what we deemed to be unnecessary pain. But, man, I was desperate to get back to feeding my son. I was ashamed and guilt-ridden. So we went ahead with the procedure. It was quick and easy. Jack didn't seem to care that much except for a quick moment of crying. This was looking to be the answer to everything. But my journey was not over.

Obstacle number three: Jack's weight and Jaundice. These factors are related to the two above. Jack couldn't eat properly because of his tongue-tie and because of this he dropped 11% of his body weight in three days. Newborns are only allowed to lose 10% so his pediatrician said we had to start supplementing with formula. Later that night we found out that his problem eating had affected not only his weight but his bilirubin levels--meaning he was pretty severely jaundiced. I don't know really what's bad-bad is for jaundice but I know that the level that causes brain damage is 24 and Jack was at 19. This number had raised from 9 in only two days. We were sent directly to Children's Hospital do not pass go. This was where we saw the lactation consultant who gave me permission to start pumping only. This is also where I experienced the height of my mommy guilt. I wasn't able feed him and now he was sick. What kind of a mother was I? Why couldn't I just do this thing that is supposed to be so easy and natural? I pretty much cried the entire time we were at Children's. Jaundice, by the way, is essentially the least serious diagnosis they encounter at Children's Hospital, so my weepiness was probably driving Jack's nurses crazy. But what can you do? He'd kept us up the previous nights crying (because he was hungry), and I couldn't sleep with my baby under bright phototherapy lights with an IV in his arm. So I was insanely tired and overwhelmed with self-pity. I really should send those ladies some Starbucks cards or something, though, cause I was a mess.

Obstacle number five: My milk-production (or lack thereof). So when the lactation consultant gave me the go-ahead to pump only, I was feeling pretty encouraged. I could just pump and put that in a bottle and say bye-bye to the formula. Smash cut to a week later--Jack is taking in 1-2oz of milk every 2 hours and mommy is producing a steady 1/4-1/2oz of milk via pump in the same time frame. I could give him a full feeding's worth about twice a day. This is how it was when I started pumping and it never got better. I got the best pump. I rented a hospital-grade machine at the consultant's instruction. But my production, which she had said signaled that I hadn't yet had a true let down of milk, had never increased. Everyone kept saying I had to stop stressing about it. Johnny even ran a bath for me, and turned the lights down, lit candles and put on some Fleet Foxes so I could rest in the tub (wonderful, wonderful man). But really--how can I not stress about something that comes up every two hours all day ever day (and even into the night)? I grew more and more discouraged every time I went to the pump. Since Jack wasn't able to feed well my body never got the signals it needed in the first days to make an adequate amount of milk. Now the pump was failing at the same task--and I felt I was failing.

Obstacle number 6 (or the straw that broke the camel's back): The SNS-supplemental nursing system. I went to a third lactation consultant back at Swedish Edmonds. We discussed the challenges I'd had with the tongue-tie and the pumping and all of it. So she suggested I try an SNS. This is a large syringe filled with formula with a little tube attached to it that runs to your nipple so the baby can breastfeed and still get the supplemental formula without having to bother with a bottle. Great idea! Or was it? Jack was supposed to be latching a lot better since his tongue-tie was released, and he latched pretty well for the consultant while we were at the hospital. But when I got home I tried to use this very tricky system on my own. Our first feeding took an hour (Jack was taking in 2oz of formula at this point). The second feeding Jack was so frustrated by this process that it took us four hours with both of us crying for most of it. The thing is that it's really hard to juggle the tube and the boob and the baby all at once, especially when you're still not feeling very confident with latching. We tried again the next morning, and Jack started bawling the moment I put him on my chest. He wasn't having it. I was devastated. Now he didn't want anything to do with me. My baby hated me (or at least that's how it felt).

That was the end. I had tried everything I could think of, and all solutions had failed miserably. John asked me if I wanted to quit (but I think in a way he was asking me to quit because he was tired of everyone in the house crying all the time). I asked him if it was alright with him if I did and he said ok (please do!). At this point I felt it wasn't worth pushing my son to do something he didn't want to do, and sacrificing the wonderful closeness we had in other aspects of our relationship. By this time you could send me to tears if you just said breastfeeding. To me the word was synonymous with failure, guilt, embarrassment, frustration, and rejection. I was done.

The silver lining around this series of stormy clouds is that once I gave myself permission to stop breastfeeding it got really easy. I didn't do it for a couple of days, and then one afternoon I just thought, what could it hurt? Let's just see what happens. I had already quit so there was no pressure. We did great! So I kept up with the random feedings here and there. In the last week I've finally increased it to just about every feeding. I'm taking fenugreek to try to increase my milk production and we're just playing it by ear. I don't hold out much hope that we'll ever be able breastfeed exclusively as we had originally planned, but I am so enjoying what we do have. I figure even a little bit of breast milk is better than none at all. It still hurts, but now it hurts at a level that I expect is what people meant when they warned me that it would--it doesn't hold a candle the torture that was my first few days of feeding.

So in the end, what I would like to say about breastfeeding, is that in many ways it has been a let down (pun intended). But I want to let other new mommies out there know that it can be wonderful and life changing, but if it doesn't work it doesn't work and it's ok. Formula may not be ideal, but it does the job and you shouldn't feel guilty if that's what you have to do. It took me several weeks of failures to finally give up and give myself permission to use this alternative. Don't sabotage precious time with your baby beating yourself up about something you can't change. And for those for whom breastfeeding was the most natural thing in the world, you really have been given a precious gift. If you see me at Starbucks blogging and feeding my newborn formula from a bottle, cut me some slack. This wasn't the way I planned it, but I desperately love my baby and I'm doing my best.

It's a Christmas Miracle!

I haven't looked forward to Christmas since I was a kid--really not since my mom passed away in 2003. She loved to give extravagant gifts, and Christmas was the perfect forum for that passion. She didn't know how many Christmas' she had left, so she always made it the most special holiday.

So I found out baby Jack had grown to 8lbs 9oz the week before this Christmas. I started to experience signs of labor that week as well, but I couldn't really say for sure that that's what I was experiencing. My doctor did not seem concerned about him coming early. In fact, he had me all stressed out about whether or not I should have an elective c-section since Jack was already so big at 37 weeks. the average newborn is 7-1/2 lbs and my baby had 3 more weeks of cooking to do! I won't go in to all of the conversation about why I might have needed a c-section, since it is now a moot point.

We went to John's dad's house in Bellingham for breakfast Christmas morning and drove back down to Edmonds to John's mom's for a very casual evening. I had Braxton Hicks contractions all day but thought nothing of it. We returned home around 10 that night and I was exhausted (as usual) so I fell asleep as soon as my head hit the pillow. John said I was asleep for about 15 minutes before I was awakened by my water breaking. This was a shock because our birth class teacher told us that your bag of waters breaking doesn't usually happen first like it does in the movies and on tv. I was stressing out for weeks about whether I'd be able to tell when my contractions were close enough to go to the hospital, and I never even had to count. I had about an hour and half after my water broke where I had no pain to speak of.

We finished packing our hospital bag, lined the passenger seat of John's car with towels ( you would not believe how much amniotic fluid there was), and headed off to Swedish Edmonds.

We got to the hospital around midnight and once they confirmed that my water had broken I was moved into my room and able to start laboring in the nice deep tub they had in the bathroom.

My wonderful saint of a friend, Caroline, came at 2am to help me cope with labor. I sent her home around 6 or 7 when I had hit 8cm and also my mental limit. I couldn't concentrate to breathe anymore and I didn't feel able to continue with the pain being what it was so I got the epidural. This wasn't totally devastating because my plan had always been to do what I could, see what I could do, and utilize my resources if I didn't feel able. Unfortunately, what I knew about epidurals turned out to be true in my case and I stayed at 8cm for the next two hours. So out came the pitocin which stressed me out because I did not want to get on the epidural-pitocin roller coaster that eventually leads to c-section. My epidural, however, was controlled by a button that I wasn't sure if I was allowed to push-so I didn't push it. I also had a window on my right side that wasn't effected by the epidural. I was grateful for this because I was still connected to what was going on in my body, but the pain wasn't completely overwhelming. It felt like a really great compromise.

The clock was ticking away, and one troublesome thing about your water breaking at the beginning of labor instead of in the middle of it, is that you and the baby are increasingly susceptible to infection as time goes on. My doctor wanted Jack to be delivered within 12 hours so I was constantly aware that I had a time limit. I was able to start pushing at about 12 hours and they had to keep an eye on my temperature to be sure that I wasn't getting sick and that Jack wasn't either. My sister had left work after an hour, taken the bus and then walked several miles to the hospital to be with me for the birth. She and John held my legs and counted for me while I pushed for 2 and a half hours. I was very frustrated and intentionally did not utilize my epidural button because I was having so much trouble effectively pushing him out. I couldn't feel enough initially to focus my pushing where it needed to go. Finally with the help of Dr. Rogers I successfully pushed baby Jack out and I cried and John cried (even though he swore he wasn't going to). It was a beautiful experience. It was the fastest 14-1/2 hours of my life. I ended up with an absolutely adorable 8lb 9oz baby boy.

Now the work has begun. John and I have been overwhelmed both by the amount of love we have for our child, as well as the amount of work that goes into caring for him. This was especially true in the first week when we barely slept. Now that we've got a rhythm going things are a bit easier.

All in all the birth of my child has been a day anticipated with the same fervor I once had approaching Christmas day. Baby Jack is the most extravagant Christmas gift I've received in my life. It reminds me of Matthew 7:11 Just as my mother was able to give good gifts when I was a child, how much more has my Father in heaven been able to give good gifts?

Growing with Johnny and Jack

Just above this text, you can see the image of my incredibly good-looking husband reading up on the finer points of vegetable gardening while simultaneously engaging in said gardening.

I love this for several reasons.

One: I love the way he studies up on every single thing he wants to do. It's one of those endearing qualities that would never make it on your junior high "what I want in a guy" list, but is now firmly on my "reasons I am madly in love with my husband" list. I think it has something to do with the fact that I rarely do the proper amount of preparation needed for my various endeavors. Now that we do lots of things together it means that I have someone to take care of me when the unforeseen surprises I would have foreseen had I learned anything about the thing I'm doing, are expected and subsequently dealt with by my studious lifemate. He takes care of me. He is very well-read on many things.

Two: We have a shamefully tiny back deck in our one-bedroom apartment in Bothell--a deck I have for a long time considered useless and annoying. Last summer it reached the height of uselessness when a family of wasps built a nest in the the awning. There was no point trying to reclaim the territory from the hive, as it was clear that they were able to derive far more purpose from the space than we were. Plus I was afraid of getting stung. Winter took care of the problem, anyway, and wasps don't nest in the same space twice, so we are luckily wasp free this season. But Johnny has not given up on or sad little deck. He's found a way to store the bikes we never use back there. Now he's going to utilize the once-infested awning by hanging starter planters filled with the seeds of various vegetables that should hopefully make it into a salad or two in the coming months. I love the way he is dissatisfied with the status quo. While I would be content to burn it and let it fall off the side of the building simply out of disgust for how puny and ridiculous it is--he is building it up. He does the same thing with me during particularly difficult bouts of low self esteem and anxiety.

Three: I just love having a handyman around. Here he is with his power-tools placing the hooks for the planters:

How does he know how to do stuff, and what exactly to do in the first place? This wasn't in the gardening book. He did have a job remodeling houses for a short time, where he got to try his hand at several different household fixer-uppers. He's also been dutifully instructed by his very handy father in various manly household tasks such as: building a fence, moving dirt, tinkering with cars, and other such manly enterprises. Growing up at Grandma's house, with my mom and two sisters, household challenges were the responsibility of the women folk--cause we were all women folk. While this was at times incredibly empowering (my mom built our swing sets, weed-wacked the garden, put up an above ground pool after leveling the lower area in the back yard, etc.), testing the limits of what we could accomplish on our own--every once in a while a limit was met for whatever reason. Luckily we had an incredibly helpful neighbor dad who would pick up for us wherever we left off in a particularly trying project. This often made me feel a lack in our household. Jennifer, the neighbor girl, had a strong figure to look up to that could seemingly take on the world--and we were always pushing the extremes of our skills. As a very anxious individual, I can say there is a difference between going into a situation and just seeing if it could be handled, vs. going in with the security of knowing we could triumph. That's the way Johnny makes me feel now. Now, I'm not saying you need a dude to take care of your stuff, I'm just saying that having that person who makes you feel taken care of, whoever they are, is an incredibly valuable relationship. One that I am so grateful to have.

And (finally) four: For the last six months I have been devouring book after book about growing my baby. I've been attempting to provide appropriate nutrients and environment for little Jack. I've been excited and astonished by the stages of his growth (and mine). This endeavor on our back deck looks suspiciously to me like Johnny's iteration of this same experience. I know it's on a smaller scale, but it feels so symbolic to me. I don't know if John is subconsciously attempting to share in the process of growing a new life in his own special way--more likely it's just that he finally got around to doing something that he's been meaning to do for a while. Mostly, I just think it's sweet. We've got four months left to wait before we meet Jack face to face. While I'll be doing my best to keep him strong and healthy, and to prepare our home for his arrival, Johnny will be doing the same with his little hanging garden. We're gonna be parents soon, and we're learning how to be responsible for things right now. Yes, it makes me tear up a bit-but let's be honest, what doesn't lately?

The finished product

Three Knees

The day we'd been waiting for finally came this last Tuesday--the gender ultrasound!

A friend of mine told me that, expecting to hear the gender of her second child, she was shocked by her doctor who informed her that her precious child had three knees. She was mortified, but her doctor earnestly continued on, "a left knee, a right knee and a weenie."

Well, the Migas baby is similarly afflicted--our little bean is going to be the Fifth John Andrew Migas

Johnny 5

For fun (and for a little change) we're gonna use Jack as a nickname. I'm very excited! It's made quite a difference in my day-dream life. Now I know it's little Jack in there, and I can make plans, and pray for him by name.

I must admit, I do feel I have far fewer options for playing dressing up and doing hair with a boy--but I'm sure I can make it work. I'm honestly quite relieved that we got a boy the first time around--or even at all! I am one of 4 girls, with no brothers, and I have two beautiful nieces. Up to this point the descendants of William Redfield have enjoyed an exclusively female membership. I'll be very interested to see what my dad is like with a little boy. What kind of adventures can Police Sargent Redfield have with little deputy Jack?

I've heard recently that boys are cuddly creatures. I look forward to this. I'm basically just having a baby so I can have my own little cuddler all to myself. Okay, that's not true, but I do look forward to a lot of cuddling. I know Johnny does too--we're a very cuddly family. I've heard that co-sleeping is a good idea for several reasons like easy access for feeding in the middle of night, and family bonding. The Migas' will be co-sleeping for all of the practical reasons, but mainly because we've got to snuggle.

In other news--my ankles are daily meeting or exceeding the width of my mid-calf. Not cool water-retention. Not cool at all.

I've got a beautiful feeling...

Some things have changed around here!!

So, I suppose this entry is a fabulous representation of my current disregard for this blog. My last post was my horrible “I’m having a miscarriage” post, and this one is my “I’m 4 months pregnant and this is how it’s going” post.

Part of the apathy comes from a strong aversion to wanting to see my last post or think about it. That whole experience was really rough, and I don’t know how “over it” I would be right now if I hadn’t accidently gotten pregnant a few months later.

Accidentally? You say. Why yes. Though we had been trying for a baby for about 5 months leading up to the miscarriage, I had written off the whole idea for the next year. That’s right—a year! This decision was affected partially by the overwhelming hopelessness I’d sunken into and partially by the impulsive move to start seeing a trainer 3 times a week. I was gonna get in shape and be healthy for my pregnancy, whenever that would come a long. One month into training, it came along. Now, I’m obviously not a medical professional of any kind, but let me tell you, I have a feeling that beginning a disciplined work-out regimen can be an excellent fertility booster. I’ve seen it happen with friends, but never put the pieces all together until it happened to me. If you’re trying to conceive and you’re not involved in physical activity (and I’m talking beyond conception activities ;)) at least three times a week, I strongly recommend it. Even if you don’t get pregnant, you’ll be a lot happier and a lot healthier. It balances your hormones, and helps balance your priorities.

So now I have a trainer who is helping me strengthen my body for carrying my child, and I love it! I do have to take a nap between work and the gym every day, and I’m not super excited about going when it means I have to get out of bed to get there, but, I still enjoy having that activity. There’s a lot of hopes that one has for how they are going to live and and eat and be while they’re growing their baby, but once you’re tired and sick and all around icky feeling, your best intentions often get set aside for whatever works best for you in that moment. So even during the first trimester when my food choices were not always the best because nothing sounded good except top ramen or a taco bell burrito—I still had my time with my trainer where I could rest a little easier knowing that at least I’m doing something right.

I’m 16 weeks now, and the anxiety of the first trimester has lifted, and I am feeling great! I’m just about coming upon the point when I stop looking like I let myself go, and start looking pregnant—though it honestly depends on the day and the outfit I choose. In three weeks I get to find out if I’m having a boy or girl(yay!). In the interest in keeping this short enough to be worth reading I’ll end on that note.

Keep looking out for future pregnancy posts on the following subjects:

Boy or girl: why I don’t have a preference but it better be a girl
I’m not a teen mom, I’ve just developed the complexion of an 8^th grader
Is that a laugh or a cry? And other futile questions from a daddy-to-be
Nesting: is it possible to make a nice space for my baby using crap I found around the house?

I have an anouncement to make---but not the one we were expecting.

I'm nine weeks pregnant today. But when we went for our first doctor visit yesterday, they said it looked like only six weeks. They also said there was an irregular heartbeat and a few other things that mean essentially that I'm not really nine weeks, and I'm not going to be pregnant anymore. I was gonna start blogging in three weeks all about my pregnancy. But instead I guess I'll do this one blog about miscarriage.

It really sucks. If I don't distract myself I just cry and I don't even know why I'm still crying. I'm really disappointed.

The really really sucky thing about it is that I always thought it happened all at once and then the baby was gone and you grieve and you move on. But apparently that's not how it goes. Also, I don't know how long it's gonna take. For this last week I kept running to the bathroom hoping I wasn't bleeding more than the last time I was there, and now I just wish it would happen already. I was hoping it wasn't gonna happen, but now that it's imminent, it just won't. That is lame because there is a foolish foolish bit of hope that lingers. It hasn't happened yet so maybe it won't happen, maybe it's gonna be fine.

Well let me tell you, when it does, I would appreciate a really big glass of wine. There's not really any number of nice things that can be said to make it feel better, because I really just wanted to have a baby and I'm not. Skip the kind words and bring me some wine. I have a friend who had a miscarriage and has been trying and she was talking to me a couple weeks ago. She's been trying again and again and she asked me about my time trying and trying. She asked if I get really upset when my period comes and I said yes...cause I do...cause I'm Cherie and that's how I am. She said she just pours herself a glass of wine, might as well...try again next month. Well I think that is great advice and I plan to follow it to the t. Except I think I'm gonna wait a little longer than a month. I can only handle 6 months of crushing disappointment at a time. Four months of trying, two months of success, and now lets say maybe six months off.