I really need to stop telling coworkers

Another guy at work: (At this point you might be thinking.... stop telling work people. You're right, I should do that.)

"Did you even want kids?"

No, I did not "want" "hypothetical" "kids." I didn't imagine some hyper, sticky, juice box-toting children running around. I wasn't like, sign me up for the airplane screamer! And the tantrum thrower! And the teenage girl... oh please no.

But I was pregnant. With a real baby. I loved that baby for whoever he or she was and whatever he or she wanted to be in life. 

No, I did not want kids. I wanted that kid.

This is really happening

When I left you yesterday, I talked about how there were no miscarriage books at my local Barnes and Noble. Nada.

I intended to follow that post with another on how I did find several great books online, and the best one, What Was Lost by Elise Erikson Barrett, was mailed to me by a dear friend. The book even has a chapter called When People Say Hurtful Things -- a topic relevant to this blog.

I was all set to write about it when the REAL Pastor Elise emailed me. Omg! 

She has graciously agreed to do a Q&A with us. WHAT?!

I'm obviously excited. If you would like to submit a question, shoot me an email at thingspeoplesaid@gmail.com.

From a zombie, with love

In the days after my first miscarriage, I was wandering around our home like a Venice stoner turned zombie, eyes bloodshot from crying. Worry or cabin fever led my mom to suggest that we go to a book store to look at books on miscarriage. I threw on clothes and we drove to the huge Barnes and Noble close by.

What I found in Barnes and Noble was nothing. No books whatsoever.

I looked in the pregnancy section... only happy, giant belly books, no sad Your Baby Just Died books. I looked in psychology... only books on grief after losing a parent or child/teenager. I even looked in the Christian section, where some dude started hitting on me.

"Not many people looking in the Christian section, eh? What's your name?"

Wouldn't it have been awesome if I was like, "I'm married, and also, bleeding heavily from my uterus. Want my number?"

Instead I just got the hell out of there. But not before I noticed there were no books.

Up next: Elise Erikson Barrett on how to handle the things people say.

I did not kick this guy... I promise

Random guy at work had point blank asked me if I were pregnant when we were on a photo shoot together. Apparently I had it written on my face? Or I just looked fat. Whatever. So I told him yes. (Why did I do that? I'm stupid.)

I promptly forgot about the exchange and went about my business; I had no idea I would miscarry my baby two weeks later.

Fast forward to Friday night in the office.

Guy: Have you told the rest of the office yet?
Me: About what? Oh..... No..... Actually we lost the baby.
Guy: What?! Was there anything you could have done?
What I said: No...

What I wanted to say: No. But thanks so much for the encouragement!!!! Now I'm second guessing whether I could have done something!! You're hovering over my desk shouting loudly in earshot of others!! Let me answer your question with a question. Does it hurt when you get kicked in the balls?

Hello? This thing on?

This one is inspired by the lovely Singular Desire, who commented that the worst thing she heard was.... nothing.

In my mind this is the cardinal sin a friend or family member can commit. Even the most bumbling phrase "maybe... meant.... to be.... what happened... you can have another.... don't worry...." is better than radio silence.

As parents who have lost our little babies, whether at 4 weeks or full term, we struggle to convey how utterly sad we are to have lost that particular child. Having a dear friend or family member ignore our child and our grief is just a slap in the face.

There are people in my own family (I have a huge one) who haven't said anything or haven't said enough. I just want to say dude. If my baby were born yesterday you would be buying me baby gear and flying out to LA to visit. You'd be smoking It's a Boy cigars and jockeying for the next turn to hold the kid.

But because the baby died you say nothing? This is the very definition of adding insult to injury.

We do have to cut them a little slack, as they are blissfully unaware of what loss feels like, but I encourage you, if you're one of the people who found my blog by Googling, "what to say to a miscarriage person," (seriously, this appears in my traffic log) the answer is: something.

I'll take the Michael Jackson, please

This one is from awesome photographer Desiree:

"At the hospital being prepped for a D and C, the anesthesiologist comes in and without looking at my chart says (in a gruff Russian accent)

'So what are here for?'

Me: '... a D and C'

'What for? Are you bleeding?'

Me: long pause.... 'MISCARRIAGE...'"

What do you think she's here for in this particular wing of the hospital? A burger and fries? You're the extremely well-paid anesthesiologist. She's a woman who just had her heart ripped out. Take a few minutes to READ THE CHART before you start flapping your gums. And after doing your homework, give her enough Propofol that she can't remember how much of an idiot you were.

Bright Spot

Today is a shit day you guys. It's the due date for my first baby, Clarence.

March 23.

Maybe I would have had him by now. Maybe I'd be swollen and tired and full of hope and ready to deliver. My mother would already be in town. My husband would be caffeinated and happy and making jokes about our "little guy."

I'm working hard to see the bright spots today. For us, for Clarence.

"I love you more than ever," wrote my husband in a note this morning. "I wish we could hold Clarence today, and see the child formed in God's image and our likeness."

His words brought me to tears. The good kind.