Blogger ate my post

Finally I wrote this post about love.
And then blogger ate it. Not even a draft was left. Or maybe it was a firefox crash or a sudden battery-low-shut-down while I was trying to get it to publish...
It was the first time I actually lost a post. Comments I've lost frequently, but this... ah well, I'll try again.
Later.

Back to work.
I found it a bit shocking when the first of July rolled around. First half of this year gone! past! So much happened and I´m not nearly done soaking it all up.
Torn between wanting to document it, and actually living it. So much here and now, and it just keeps going.
Heather (sorry, link removed) writes: "We’re trapped in that weird new baby space/time continuum where you feel like you’ve known the baby your whole life, but every day runs together into one endless feed/sleep/poop loop."

Now I have to break the continuum. I went back to the office. Sat down on my chair, at my own desk that has been waiting for me the whole time.
I was prepared for some emotional turmoil when leaving Suzy at the daycare. Didn't happen. I mostly found it soothing to know she is finally around other babies. Maybe she doesn't miss her twin, but I do.

More than half

It's well documented, this phenomenon. For a couple sharing household duties each party feels that (s)he is doing more than her/his share.
And I hate it.
DP doesn't seem too happy about it either.
There is always more to do, never an end to laundry. The dishwasher broke so we have to arrange a replacement and do dishes by hand in the mean time. The house is cluttering up.
We have completely given up on cleaning the windows or the balcony years ago.
I guess we try to be efficient in doing all the bits and pieces. But I just realised (once again) that when you split the duties and optimise all time spend on chores we and up doing them alone.
And therefore start to feel alone.
So maybe I should stop feeling sorry for myself for DP not wanting to do what I think needs to be done right now, and snuggle up with him and Suzy on the couch...

hugs to you

Out of sorts

Last night I couldn't sleep. And I realised it has been a while since I last lay awake. Before DE there were always big decisions to ponder. Big emotions to deal with. I know having Suzy in the here and now doesn't erase the past, but it does leave me less time and energy to think and ponder about it.
And there it was.
Even though I didn't realise it straight away.
Did start up my laptop and started reading blogs. Having my toes and fingers crossed for May. Reading about Shannon stopping blogging because of a step teenager.
But it took me half this day to realise that two years ago exactly DP and I went to the beach to say farewell to our Knut.
I'm not very good at feeling the happy (for what is) and the sad (for what isn't) on the same day. Do still miss my BambiEyes, feel like I have left things unfinished with my therapy. Probably should accept there is no such thing as being finished with emotions or grief.
So today is a good day to be sad, to remember all we have been through, all we have lost.

Today also happens to be the day someone gave us their old high chair that is very similar to the one we use for Suzy (but on ours the newborn adaptor didn't fit)
So suddenly we had two chairs at the table. One fit for a baby. One empty. The closest thing I can imagine of a picture of a vanished twin. The closest thing to making it tangible. And it is still almost too big to feel all at once.

Tears for today. Tomorrow is another day. Another birthday.

memories getting hazy-er-der

Some memories I wanted to write something coherent about, but it seems that will  not happen before they fade even more. So I'll try it this way.

Our bedroom is in the attic, our bed sheltered under the rafters. Suzy´s crib just of the foot end of the bed. I remember that first time that DP took Suzy to her crib, saying that we both should get some sleep. I tried laying back in my pillows. And slowly realised I was alone in my body. And Suzy was alone in her crib. Alone. ALL ALONE. And had to take her back and hold her close.

Tuesday Feb 26. DP went to the city hall to register Suzy's birth,  had an appointment at 11 AM.
At 10:50 I was standing over her crib, looking down on that tiny tiny face. And I remember thinking that for 10 more minutes she would just be ours, mine. So private, so pure, just herself. No number to represent her, no database to know of her, nothing virtual or official. Just that dreamlike reality. I don´t think I was afraid that the bubble would burst, but it did feel a bit less safe somehow.
This week I realised I needed her social security number, so I opened the envelope with her paperwork. And found out the city had given her a tag blanket. Welcoming her as an Amsterdam citizen.

Suzy is eleven days old and I think I´m strong enough to take her outside. Well, with DP carrying her. To the new cake shop that opened 5 doors down the street. I only just made it, had to sit down inside to rest. Then DP walked me back and continued with Suzy to the printer to pick up envelopes for her birth announcement cards.

Suzy in her crib, and I want to sing her a lullaby. The first few times I was just so emotional I choked up, couldn´t even finish the simplest of songs. Now, with months of practice, I sing her Brahms´ Wiegenlied, making up our own lyrics. And bah bah black sheep both in English and in Dutch. And wonder every time how that sheep changes colour in translation ;-)


update: (almost forgot)
the first ten days or so I didn't dare to use deodorant, afraid that Suzy would not learn my natural smell. I was too weak to move anyway, so not sweating 

In the news

Every now and then something horrible hits the news. I think the paper said that on average in my little country it's  once a year that a 'family drama' occurs: when a parent kills their children and commits suicide. This time it came with a twist, because the two little bodies were hidden, and half the country was searching for two weeks. (with hope fading of finding them alive)
On the day they were found another missing person story made it to the paper. She was a famous Dutch volleyball player. And had gone to Murcia, Spain with her partner. Just for three days, probably for fertility treatment. They haven't come back.

We almost went there. Around this time of year, last year. It feels like I have escaped something. It feels like it could have been us.

That feeling will fade I suppose. It's just....... Take care (and please don't go missing) 

[Update: It didn't end well. Suspects have been arrested, bodies found]

{another horror story with thank goodness a miracle ending: chinese baby found alive after having been born in and flushed down a toilet. Poor woman. poor baby}

M-day

(M-day is not the same day in every country, here it is the second Sunday in May)

2 AM. I wake up because I can feel something on my body. It is milk, trickling down. A very special way to realise this is my first mother's day as a mother.

Later there were chocolates and strawberry cheesecake.

But there is something nagging me about this day. I had said to DP that I didn't want to ignore it now, so he asked me what gift I wanted and dutifully went out to get some chocolates. But after so many years of it being a painful reminder of not being a mother it didn't turn into something happy. As always, happiness doesn't come when the calender dictates. And the blogs I started reading the first are still waiting, fighting and hoping for their miracle. And I know how it feels if you have been trying longer and someone else gets their miracle when it isn't even their turn....

update....
I have a stupid confession to make: I bought myself a stupid gift. And made a silly photo of it too.

DEtails

Only a few people irl know about the DE-IVF. We have decided to tell Suzy first, so she will grow up always knowing, but leave it up to her who she wants to share her origins with.
(I should really make a list because I'm already forgetting who knows and who doesn't.)

My parents know. And somehow this doesn't stop my mother from pointing out that Suzy looks like DP over and over again. She even asked if I didn't mind. Apparently it was a rhetorical question, because despite I said I did mind she hasn't been able to stop herself.
I'm telling myself to forgive her, she adores Suzy, she helps out whenever she can. She is most likely genuinely pleased to spot the resemblance...
There is no doubt my parents consider her 100% family. I was a bit afraid my father would find it awkward, but he is completely smitten with her too.

Suzy was born with brown hair. Much unlike DP's boys who were bold for their first two years. Now (April) her hair starts to go a bit chestnut. We say she must have gotten it from me.

She has my ears. Tiny ears with tiny free earlobes. DP's ears have attached earlobes.

Everyone has long legs. And my family is skinny too. Although at 8 weeks Suzy is putting on her first rim of Michelin man legs.

She has dark blue eyes. In her left eye, on the left side, from 9 to 11 if you will, a bit of brown. DP's eyes are summer sky blue, mine a forest of browns and greens with a drop of honey. We are ever so curious if they will change or remain blue.
(And already I hear myself saying that my brother has blue eyes too. This Monday Apr 22 a family friend remarked Suzy looks like my brother. It made me smile. Just a gentle happy smile, not a if-you-only-knew smile)

So. After deciding that the donor is such a good match and therefore looks like me, I feel comfortable saying Suzy looks like me. I'm grateful she does, that they both do. 

Permission

The Building Permission is granted!
And work started about the same day. Those guys must like demolition, we hardly have time to think.

View of missing future roof terrace into our kitchen-to-be.

The kitchen has a similar hole in the floor.

Once the floor and roof are in place, and separate meters/cables/pipes for electricity/water/gas are installed, we can officially buy 'our' part of the property.
Till then a gazillion decisions to be made. Because we need to prepare now for all the work we need to have done, also the part after separating our future living space from the remaining office below.
It feels a bit weird not doing part of the actual work ourselves, but the office needs to be in shape to be rented it out asap...

We have been waiting/searching a long time to find this property, and it is taking a year and a half to actually really buy it. From now it will be just a few months and this build can make another dream come true. Feels a bit like a 'grand designs' episode. I've always wondered why people got babies in the middle of construction work. But after all those years I couldn't be happier that it all happens now.
Hoping this will not turn in some kind of nightmare, but after all we have already gone through this feels easier to navigate. Even when plans change on a daily basis, even when we don't always feel in control, even when we expect setbacks dealing with a 17th century house where nothing is straight or level.

I mean, who wouldn't want a new beamed ceiling so we can gain 5 cm height in the kitchen?

more first times

April 10. It was such a quiet evening that DP decided to do some serious work on his bicycle. New pedals, sprockets, cog-wheels and chain type of work. After an hour or two I heard, in quick succession, the sound of breaking glass, strong language, a very urgent doorbell.
When I opened the door DP was doubling over in pain, holding his arm, bleeding all over the place, asking me to get something to stop the bleeding. I picked a dark towel and called 911.
Someone sensible answered the phone and after making sure it was an accident and not a fight instructed to remove the towel again to check how serious the bleeding was. It felt scary and boy did it look scary, but the blood wasn't gushing on the rhythm of his pulse. So, not life threatening then, and no ambulance. But I was still panicking a bit, and rang the neighbours' doorbell. She was home, but he was gone with the car so she couldn't bring DP to the ER. Same story for the neighbours at the other side! thank goodness our neighbour kept her wits, gave DP something to drink, wrapped him in a fleece blanket and suggested I call a taxi.
Since DP is not great with blood and needles I decided to go with him, and realised we had to take Suzy as well. Even though my neighbour offered to look after her. But I had no expressed milk stored at all.
During the taxi ride DP and I recovered from the shock and realised that it was a nasty cut, but nothing too bad as the bleeding had tapered of considerably.
And so we arrived back at the hospital where Suzy was born a few weeks earlier. But now the roles were reversed: I was carrying the maxi cosi with Suzy, and we were there to support DP. Which she did by being cute and quiet for two hours.
DP was stitched up and now walks around showing people his Frankenstein picture. And advises people to not stumble over your tool box in a bike shed with single glass window panes.

The day after my father came by and spoke the memorable words

"Valery, you may want to remove the blood from your doorbell"

I did.

Jumble

You know how, when something hurts too much, you close the lid on that feeling? And when you try to lift the lid it tries to crush you? I'm not sure what I'm feeling these days, but the crushing feeling is there. I do miss my BambiEyes. I don't want to have to explain it all over again to someone else and then find them unhelpful. She helped me understand what I was feeling, she helped me try find words and then made me give myself permission to feel those feelings. I do want to blog but it is hard to get my thoughts straight. Let alone put words to feelings.

When we had to pick the words for the birth announcement card I nearly broke down. What a lousy and ungrateful person I must be for not putting on the cards how happy we are? how lucky? how much we wanted her? how long we waited? But I hated the clichés, they felt impersonal and brrr, the exaltation. So we settled on saying our Suzy was born.

People ask me to confirm that 'it was all worth it', now that Suzy is here. I've stopped saying yes. I have decided the question is ridiculous, it is the wrong question. Infertility takes an emotional toll, it scars you. Looking back hurts. Thinking of the vanished twin is hard. Trying to imagine the could-have-beens is simply too much now.

I know that I'm tired. I know that when I'm tired I'm more emotional. There's hormones (I suppose), so tears are loose. I'm afraid of missing something important, of not 'creating the right emotional experience'. I want to feel something simple, to be able to say 'this is joy' or 'I'm so happy'.
But it's all jumbled.
Most of the time it is too hard to open the lid.