Sunday, March 22, 2009


Luciya received yet another bagful of clothes from my brother's girlfriend, Aunty Danielle. She's really into fashion these days, and was so impressed with the darling selection that she had to try on everything at once.

Thursday, March 19, 2009

eLLe - 22 & 23 months

Dear Luciya,

Well. I’m busted. I did not write you a letter last month. The night you turned 22 months old, Mila went missing and she ended up being gone overnight. This worried the crap out of us and consequently I wasn’t able to sit down and write that night (she returned home safe the next day). Then a few days later we received the devastating news of our miscarriage and it was all I could do to focus on keeping my head up, let alone finding the brains to write intelligently.

So here we are a month later, and you’re 23 MONTHS OLD. Get out of town, girl! How in the world did that happen?

And you’re fabulous. I mean, really, a delight. For a while there you could certainly feel the angst in the house and you were clingy and needy and sad, and that made me sad. But we’ve all turned a corner and I have been dazzled by you lately – your happiness, your intelligence, the bright and inquisitive way you see the world. And I am so very appreciative of you and for all the ways your sweet little self, in your 29.5 pound body, has truly been my saving grace. I have you, and you chose me, we are here in our comfy little family, and… hey, that rhymed. Let’s keep it up.


To Luciya at Almost-Two:


Getting dressed is so much fun

Putting on your shirts and shoes

You can’t quite say the “r” in “shirt”

Which sometimes makes people confused


Your best language yet is loving trust

Embracing, cuddling, nuzzling too

“Huggies” and “tisses” all day long

The whole world is a friend to you


That’s not to say that all day long

You’re hugging and smiling and fresh as a daisy

Sorry, my child, but we both know

Your determination can drive me crazy


You’re under, over, in and out

You’re up, you’re down, you’re in between

And dare I try to strap you in

I’m often greeted with a scream


Why scream when you can talk so well?

All of a sudden, words just flow

“Dirty shoes”, “brush hair”, “read book”

“Pretty hat,” “change diaper,” “ooooh, toe”


“Oh, pretty!” is a favorite phrase

This word describes things near and far

Your painted toenails are so pretty

As is an empty mason jar


You tripped on your towel and bumped your lip

It bled and bled and hurt you so

For a while you had the bee-stung look

Remind you of anyone we know?


I gave in and finally cut your bangs

Can’t keep that hobo hair from your eyes

At first the bowl cut look was harsh

But now you’re the cutest – surprise, surprise


We lost a sibling of yours this month

Hard to imagine now where we would be

Getting you ready for a big bed

And working more diligently on the potty


We’re returning to Maui next week

I can’t wait to watch you run and groove

This is where you were born, my dear

You were 8 weeks old the day we moved


I can't believe it, but every day

I love you, daughter, more and more

You’re smarter, stronger, and more lovely

Cuter and sweeter than the day before


You’ve blessed my life and fed my soul

You’ve kept me faithful, humble, and strong

Without you, who knows where I’d be

But right here is where we belong.


I love you, Luciya!









Friday, March 13, 2009

just another word for nothin' left to lose

The procedure went very well last week (almost too well - seriously, I can see how people can become addicted to Demerol). But I digress. I actually felt very comfortable with our doctor and the nurse in attendance. She brought me a wool blanket to snuggle with afterwards, and the doctor, per our request, let us take a look at what he removed. 

We named him Kanoa, which was the boy name we had decided on early in the pregnancy. The name is fitting for a couple reasons - first, because I feel strongly that this baby would have been a boy, and second, because Kanoa is a Hawaiian name that means "free man." While I may never understand where he went  or why, I take comfort in the idea that he, and I, are where we are supposed to be.

I have been able to take the best possible stance in this situation, and I'm motivated to live a wonderful life for Kanoa and for everything else I have the opportunity to achieve. We've had happy spirits lately, and have even been able to find ways to laugh - about the fact that Kanoa is resting in our outdoor freezer until we place him in the ground with a special tree. About how John asked the doctor at the consultation before the D&C: "So, you got a Baggie or something we can take it home in?" I know this all may sound macabre, but laughter is a truly healing art, and the fact that I've been able to laugh so much in the last week or so has felt like a blessing. 

I'm choosing to stick with my convictions that everything happens for a reason, and I've taken advantage of the situation to start some new and exciting business plans, to focus on providing a happy and healthy summer for Luciya and working on potty training and binky dropping and running like maniacs in the sunshine, and to diligently strive to make my own body a healthy, glowing temple.  And, I've realized that being 8 months pregnant in 100 degree weather while teaching Stroller Strides classes might not have been  my best look. Kanoa just may be the wisest embryo I've ever met. 

When Baby #2 (well, #3) does come around, I am going to do my best to make sure that he or she is welcomed into the best world we can afford to give him or her. I was concerned today when I saw this news story on the Onion. The education of our future generations is so important. Please join me in my commitment to making sure our children receive the best possible education we can provide them.

Wednesday, March 4, 2009


So, imagine the scene from a semi-low-budget Hollywood comedy-action caper. Three young men (one of them is Ralph Maccio - the Karate Kid) are perched at the top of Jones Street in San Francisco with a shopping cart. Ralph and one buddy climb in to the basket of the cart and the third buddy holds the handle bar and readies himself with one foot on the ground and the other ready to push off. And push off he does, and those crazy boys zip down the steep, steep street, steadily gaining speed. Close-up of Ralph's face, eyes bulging, mouth open, screaming "Holllyyyyy shiiiiiiiitttttttt!!!" as the cart races precariously through the intersections, cars screeching to a halt as the cart swerves on two wheels and readjusts shakily, whizzing past honking horns and screaming motorists, throwing the boys around inside, but never toppling, past construction cones and spooked policemen on horseback, until is finally slows at the bottom of the hill and they all tumble, unhurt, onto a manicured lawn.

My turn. I climb cautiously into the cart at the top of the hill. I take off. And at the first intersection, I t-bone a moving van.

That's just one of the scenarios in my poor little head lately, the feeling that as I am coming to terms with the loss of this pregnancy, the world goes on, blissfully slipping around in their own pregnancies, bellies growing, shopping for new crib bedding, hearing tiny whirring heartbeats from a microphone to their bellies. 

The past week has been an emotional shopping cart ride, to say the least. I have literally felt every emotion in the book: Sadness - Guilt - Shame - Peace - Grief - Jealousy - Confusion - Acceptance - Anger - Frustration - Annoyance - Exhaustion - Tranquility - Despair - Loneliness - Relief - Loss. Most days I can hardly roll out of bed in the morning and I'm still not quite sure why.

I have received so many touching gifts from all of you, though. I've read your cards. I've listened to your voice mails. My house looks like a garden wonderland. Your hearty soup has warmed my belly. I've heard your messages. And I'm sorry that I haven't wanted to talk, and that I didn't invite you in for a few days. But I think I just didn't want to hear what you had to say. Because everything happens for a reason. Because it happens to women every day. Because I can and will have another child. Because it wasn't meant to be.

And I know all of these things to be true, I do, but I would rather be carrying a living child inside of me, and be looking forward to holding him in my arms in September. Because we were ready. Because we planned. Because we tried. Because I'm meant to be a mother.

But I did reach out to you, and you responded in kind, and I am confident that that has made all the difference. I think that as women (hell, as humans), we are apt to deal with our difficult situations in the quietest (read: "strongest") way we know how, because we don't want to burden anybody, and because our pain is often our own. But I must say that the biggest lesson I have learned so far from this whole ordeal is that I am loved, dammit, and I have people to reach out to because I needed to feel the love, and feel it I did, and this has made all the difference.

The person I most want to thank for this is my friend Christina, my new Boise friend who is one of the strongest people I have ever met. She works diligently for the local hospital in a program called Share, which helps parents to deal with the pain of the loss of a child. She was actually the very first person I called after receiving the news, even before I spoke to any family member. And she listened and she felt and she came to the house and she brought me a remembrance kit and she let me know that it was okay to feel however I wanted to feel, because I had (we had) indeed lost a child. And I fully credit her for letting me know that I deserved to feel support. And so I reached out to all of you, and you were there.

My darling sister in law Teresa flew up from San Diego last week to be with us, and I cannot express my gratitude. She offered that maternal, female support that, while Mikey and John are awesome men, only a wonderful woman can provide. Thanks again, T! While she was here to offer support, and since my body still hadn't caught on to the fact that it was supposed to be doing something to move the process along, we decided to help things out a little by taking a prescription drug that would... help my body do its thing. 

So on Thursday night, I hunkered down with a marathon DVD session of The Office and waited. And waited.

Turns out, it didn't frigging work. I'm beginning to think that my body is just a little slow on the uptake. That the reason Luciya was 12 days late being born wasn't necessarily because she was nice and comfy in there, but because my body just hadn't gotten the memo that it was time for this baby to be born. About a week ago. I've been having acute flashbacks to those frustrations.

So, I go in again this afternoon to have some seaweed inserted into my uncooperative cervix, and I'm totally not kidding. The moisture in my body will make the seaweed expand, and tomorrow I will be admitted for a D&C.

And then, hopefully, I will be somewhat healed, emotionally and physically, and I'll be able to return to Stroller Strides, which my body is desperately missing.

Again, I thank each and every one of you for all the love you have shown me and my family.