Pregnancy

Hi. This is me trying.

Content warning: Pregnancy, Miscarriage, Depression

Hello Precious Readers.

Yes, it’s been ANOTHER 2 years. There’s a lot of reasons I haven’t written, most of which boil down to:

I’m tired.

I’m just going to get into it. I haven’t written in 2 years because the day after I posted my last blog, long ago in April 2021, I had a miscarriage. It was bad, and I almost died.

I didn’t know that I was pregnant. It was about 2 AM, my husband and child were asleep, and all of a sudden, I was bleeding everywhere, and it wouldn’t stop. Due to it being the middle of the night, I didn’t want to wake my (then) toddler (now 4-year-old), for him to be tired, meltdown, and upset, and have all three of us in the hospital. Especially during spring of 2021, as this was during the height of the Covid lockdowns. I was transferred by ambulance to another hospital to handle it since the ER I was currently was unable to continue with the needed procedures my body required. At the next hospital, I vomited, and was given a medically-induced abortion to expedite the process of the miscarriage, and to save my life from the blood loss.

I was sent home later that day, and my body went through some post-partum hormone changes that I was familiar with from my first pregnancy, including some hair loss. That was fun.

Needless to say, the same moment of learning that I was pregnant, and also simultaneously losing the pregnancy, is an experience I don’t wish on anyone. There is a strange cocktail of emotions (and hormones) that get mixed up in that moment. It affected both Pilot and I differently, and the same, for a while. It took us each a long time to process.

There really aren’t any more details I wish to share on such a public platform. So, there’s that.

Covid happened shortly after that last post, and frankly Covid sucked for everyone.

I don’t want to get I into politics here, especially with my debut post of trying to get back into a routine of writing on the regular.

I’m still debating if I should self-publish or resubmit my books to a new publisher. I was burned so badly with my first/last experience of it, I’m a bit at a decision overload and have been stuck at a stalemate with my brain for the last few years.

Being a first-time parent was extremely overwhelming, and having post-partum depression the first time was rough. Going through some post-pregnancy hormone changes a second time without knowing I had been pregnant was also a wild ride that I don’t wish to get into much.

One comment I will write is this: If you know of someone who has recently had a miscarriage, PLEASE DO NOT WRITE THEM A “SORRY ABOUT YOUR DEAD BABY” GREETING CARD.

Yes, this actually happened to me.
0 stars. Do not recommend.

My son just turned 4 this month. The one we introduced to you two years ago. We’re considering preschools already. It surprises me how nowadays the time seems to fly by when the newborn phase seemed like a never-ending phase of no sleep fog.

My *intention* is to get back into monthly writing here again.

It has never *not* been my intention.

For those who have stayed subscribed to my little blip in the internet world, thank you. My books (despite no longer being on the shelves at this time), would never have been as successful as they were without the people who read my little blog. It all started with you.

I call you “Precious” for a reason. You are all virtual strangers, but so dear to me.

Take care, and please know that my *intention* is always there and I haven’t forgotten about you.

I hope you haven’t forgotten about me. And most importantly, for those who are still here:

Thank you for not giving up on me.

KB

if I could turn back time

Nostalgia is the name of the game today. Yeah, it caught me off guard, too.

Amara is the first baby to be born on my side of the family.  Last Tuesday, my cousin gave birth to a healthy, gorgeous, snuggly and lovable little girl. (Perhaps one could say I’m biased, but I don’t think so.) Watching my cousin, we’ll call her Red, go through the wonder of pregnancy and incredulous concept of childbirth has been amazing.  I couldn’t be more proud of Red. I’m in sheer awe and so full of joy I could burst from my desk chair right now.  Being the second-youngest of all my cousins, it’s strange to recognize we’re all adults now.  Amara’s birth sort of cinched that concept to me. We have reached the end of a generation in our family, and a new one has begun.

You’re probably wondering why I’m saying, “cousins” instead of siblings. That’s because I have none.  I’ve always wanted a younger sibling, to protect, teach, (and of course) bug the living daylights out of.  It wasn’t in the cards for me and my parents.  I’m adopted, myself. During the adoption process for a baby brother, my father was diagnosed with an inherited heart defect and diseases, negating their ability to adopt anymore children.  Now that I am an adult, married and receiving the daily interrogation from my mother, demanding why I have yet to give her a grandchild, it brings new perspective on how difficult that whole process must have been for my parents.

As a woman, I try to imagine being part of a young, happy couple ready to take on the world, (not too difficult to imagine anymore), and being told that becoming pregnant could endanger my life.  Not only was starting a family one of the dreams my parents had for themselves, but to be told that this particular dream could kill one of them? Coming to terms with that… Making the decision to spend what little money they had to adopt instead?  Wow.  In case you didn’t know, adoption is a long, arduous process with unending interviews, red tape, home visits.  And it’s a hell of a lot better than it used to be.  Basically every step’s purpose is to tell you EXACTLY what you’re doing wrong and need to fix, otherwise some stranger will deem you’re unfit as a parent.

For the mothers out there, I’m not trying to compare childbirth to adoption. Childbirth is an experience that nothing can compare to the torturous pains of contractions. The point of all this, is the idea that life is so much chance and opportunity.  Sure, you can have all the talent and skill in the world, but if you’re hit by a bus the next day, where does that get you?

I think of my parents sitting across a desk from a stranger, being told that because of a medical condition, they’re not allowed to have any more children. Again. First because of my mother’s health, the second time, my father’s.  It took my parents several years of patience and waiting before winning the jackpot with Pilot. Pilot is part of an enormous family. He has an older sister, 10 years difference, and an older brother, 12 years difference, both married with three children, each. Our parents meshed well, even finding out my father’s family and Pilot’s mother’s family come from the same small village in Germany.  (Pilot’s eyes became round as sauces as he turned to look at me during this conversation of family enlightenment, to which I quickly dissolved his fear saying, “It’s ok, honey. I’m adopted. Even if we were technically related, it’s not by blood.”)

My mother and Pilot get on well together, and l believe she’s come to accept him as her own son. The son she never had.  You’ll notice I don’t mention my father here. He passed away a little more than a few years ago from his heart defect, but he lived to age 60. I think of all those years, another little boy could have had my dad as a father. Whoever was at that agency made a huge mistake. I can recall countless fishing trips on Lake Washington (including the time we ran out of gas, but that’s another story), learning how to change my first tire (yes, girls don’t have to be helpless when it comes to the dreaded automobile), tasting delicious smoked salmon he’d just brought in. These are experiences I wish I could have shared with an “automatic” buddy. My never-was-brother.

Don’t worry, it’s not all doom and gloom.  Pilot and I have been together for 10 years now. We were lucky he and my dad had their own healthy relationship, along with mutual respect before my dad passed on. I will always be grateful for that. The older generation is moving on, I’m (hopefully slowly) merging into the older generation, and a new generation is blooming.

So, now what?  Holding baby Amara this weekend, and definitely not getting enough snuggles and forehead-kisses in, I think about her having two amazing older step siblings.  I wanted to be able to learn more about this deep connection. These Daily Writing Challenges (DWC’s) sparked the idea of a siblings-focused story.

Of course, they’ll both be romances, but the heart of each book is about these two sisters’ relationship.  Here’s a bit that I might be incorporating into the stories later on.

Daily Writing Challenge

Day 5: Your character is getting ready in the morning. Write a scene of their morning (or even mid day) routine.

Feeling the warmth of sunshine touching my cheek, another cheerful Saturday greets me as I slowly open my eyes. Taking a moment to let them adjust from the bright white that first appears, right before everything warps back into focus. The sound of my clock radio is tuned to a station that plays classics. Ah, Summer Breeze. Yeah, it definitely makes me feel fine. Pushing back the covers, setting my feet down, I feel worn, familiar yarn under my feet.  It’s a rug my sister made for me as a Christmas present. A hook-and-latch kit with Snoopy on it.  (Did I mention my sister was 10 at the time?)  I glance at the clock. Eight fifteen. I have to meet Margaret at the Suds & Duds to help open by nine.

Filtering sunlight into the room, I gently nudge the sheer Tiffany blue curtains apart and peer out. A sigh escapes my lips as I lean my chin on my fist. Same old Saturday mornings. The mailman driving off, Mrs. Stevens is tending to her rosebushes, Old Man Matthews picking up his newspaper in his bathrobe again… Ew.

Suddenly, loud rock music starts blaring from next door.  August Brandt steps out from under the shadow of the raised garage door, carrying a sloshing bucket of suds and a scrubbing mitten. I can’t help but stare as he moves over to his Jeep. Bobbing his head lightly in tune with the beat, he sets the solution down. Reaching for the hose, he’s about to start rinsing it off when he glances up in my direction. Oh, crud. He saw me staring.

I can feel the blush raising up my neck, as I straighten up quickly. A slow, knowing smile starts making its way across his face, and before a I know it, he’s sending me a big grin, oh great he’s sending me a wave now. Quickly wiggling a few fingers, I step back from the window.

Great. I’m supposed to leave and meet Margaret in… now half an hour, and he’s probably still going to be out there.