Lost Voice

My mother gave me a hard time for being mad at God and unable to pray anymore. She said I was putting conditions on God, as if I were a spoiled child turning my back, sticking out my tongue and saying "if you won't give me what I want I won't talk to you anymore." But that's not it at all. Shouldn't she know me better than that anyway? I was too upset at the time to discuss it further and just ended the conversation and walked away. Merry fucking Christmas.

I wish she could have talked less and listened more. The last thing that grieving people need is to be hit over the head with the Bible. I'd rather be hit with a 2x4 than a Bible. I imagine it would hurt less. I wish I could have explained it better. But at the time I was simply too upset to even try.

There's a scene in a movie that best describes what this feels like. It's a gut-wrenching scene that will rip your heart right out of your chest. It's from the movie Hope Floats with Sandra Bullock and Harry Connick, Jr. Sandra's character moves from Chicago to Texas with her daughter when she finds out that her husband is having an affair. When Sandra's mother dies, the husband comes to visit and the daughter wants to go back "home" with her dad. But her dad is too focused on his paramour to let his daughter come home with him. In the scene, when he tells her good-bye, she runs upstairs, packs a backpack and grabs a teddy bear, thinking he will take her with him. She follows her dad out of the house and down to his car begging him to let her go with him. Clutching the teddy bear, she follows him down the sidewalk saying "Daddy, take me with you." But he just keeps walking away, half-heartedly telling her that he loves her but she can't come with him. Again and again she pleads and again and again he walks further away until she is hysterically screaming on the sidewalk and he is driving away to go find his girlfriend. She ends up standing on the sidewalk alone, howling for her daddy. It is the ultimate rejection for a little girl. Finally, her mother comes out and picks her up and takes her inside.

In my heart it feels like I am the little girl and God is the dad who is too interested in his paramour - in this case, all the pregnant women of the world - to listen to me. Apparently they simply hold more appeal than I do. But there's only so long you can stand on the sidewalk and scream before you lose your voice and have to give up and go inside.

The grief that childless couples experience is unique and it is naive to expect those who have never been there to relate. But I thought surely my mother of all people would be wise enough not to try to justify what is happening. As if somehow I am the problem and I need to just get with the program. If God is really up there and is really the God that I believe him to be, then he will understand my need for silence and not judge me for it. He will even understand when I expect him to be angry with me at the injustice of the situation. How can the inner-city crack whore have a baby but not me? How can Britney Spears have a baby but not me? Isn't he a God of justice? Shouldn't he rightfully be angry when injustice occurs? Shouldn't he rightfully do something about it? Yes, I expect him to someday fix this. Somehow. I do expect things of him. I do expect him to comfort me and make the situation bearable somehow. Is that so wrong?

Quote of the Year

Seriously? I sat there, dumbfounded, wondering if I had heard him correctly. Looking around the room it was clear no one else was having the same reaction as me. By the third time he said it, I was quite confident I had not misunderstood him. And so, for your edification and amusement, is the quote of the month:

"When you turn in your individual 2009 practice plan, make sure you include at least 1 or 2 of your failures from 2008 for consideration."

Just 1 or 2, not all of them. As if to say, there are so many I won't be picky about which one you give me. Nice, huh? This is from my practice group chair. And guess what? He's also the chair of our firm's mentoring committee. Oh yeah, we got a good one ladies and gentlemen. Jealous? Right in time for year-end evaluations, too. Somebody please shoot me to take me of my misery if I am stuck in this place next year at this time.

Chip off the old block...

I'm really angry today. I've been confronted with so many pregnant women today that I swear I must be a magnet for them. It's exhausting. Can't they just leave me alone? They're so happy and so full of hope. Last night I realized something and my mind just won't let it go. So on top of seeing a pregnant lady every which way I turn I've got this thought running in an endless loop in my head. I had gone Christmas shopping and bought this hoodie-type neck warmer thing that looks like a fleece - like a hooded sweatshirt without the shirt part. My husband put it on and we were joking around and laughing when all of a sudden I could see him as a little child. He has a very youthful face and when confronted with just that face inside a big hood he didn't look like an adult anymore. All I saw was a happy, rosy face with chubby little cheeks bundled up inside a big hood to go play outside on a cold day. And that's when it hit me: I'll never see my husband's eyes in my child's face. One of the things I had been looking most forward to in motherhood was getting to know my husband as a child - watching him in miniature confront life for the first time. Re-creating the parts of his life that I missed, necessarily, having grown up in different countries. Isn't that what parents love to do? See their spouse in their child? How many times have we heard the expression - or used the expression - "he's a chip off the old block" or "the apple doesn't fall far from the tree." "He gets that from you!" "She has her mother's smile..." etc., etc. Right? I don't need to belabor the point.

We've nearly decided to bag all the torturous IVF-type procedures that the doctors call our "options" in favor of adopting. It's an exciting proposition and would be so wonderful in so many ways. But it will never, ever be a substitute for having our own child. I could adopt a million children and still never see my husband in my child.

Well, Thanksgiving is officially over and I've got the scars to prove it! I nearly cut off my thumb while chopping onions and singed my wrist while maneuvering the turkey around in the oven. But, the turkey wasn't dry this year (probably more thanks to my sister purchasing a brined turkey than to my efforts at stuffing it with citrus and herbs like Giada de Laurentiis does) and my husband's only request was for a non-dry turkey. So I guess you could call it a success! Wish I had pictures for you, but he lost our camera while on business travel in South America, so I have no way of taking pictures. Perhaps if Santa brings me that little pink camera I asked him for, my hubby dearest will be less willing to take it on travel and lose it! (That little trick has worked so far with my umbrella, which is purple and far too "girly." I've had it for a whole year and a half - a true family record!)

Even though Thanksgiving was late this year, I'm still not ready for Christmas. I've even got half my shopping done, which is another family record, but that doesn't help either. I have no desire to get out the tree or decorate or anything. We broke down and bought a fake tree last year because all our fresh ones would fall over and we could never find one small enough to avoid taking up half the room. I thought buying Christmas-tree scented candles and burning them in the room would help, but it still doesn't cover up the plastic smell! I think it's toxic, too. Which probably fits my mood this year, which is nothing but blue. I have no desire to call my friends or go to Christmas parties. Even seeing the family at Thanksgiving felt like a chore this year. Weird, because I'm usually the family-gathering cheerleader.

I think it's because last year at this time I was so hopeful. So hopeful that 2008 would be the year of change. A new baby. A new job. Or not - I've always wanted to be Susie Homemaker, even just for a little bit. But here I am in the same old place doing the same old stuff I was doing last year at this time. With the same old feelings of exasperation. And with the economy now "officially" in recession (seriously - didn't we all know that already?) who knows when that perfect new job will come along and sweep me into a better mood. I feel like I've got to put hope on the shelf until the holidays are over and the economy picks up. Head down, trudging into the wind with nothing but determination to simply get by, let alone live long and prosper. Who wants to go to a Christmas party with a person like that? As I sit here on a cold evening nursing my cold (which I only thought had gone away), it occurs to me that maybe some more hot, steamy, spiced cider and a little retail therapy will help. At least Vera Bradley doesn't ask me what size I am. And maybe that java blue large duffel bag I've been wanting will help make Christmas travel more palatable. At least I'll be doing my part for the economy...