Monthly Archives: February 2009

They have so many non-emotional-sounding names for it.

Standard

“The tissue.”

“What you passed from your vagina.”

“The contents of your uterus.”

I flinched every single time, but I had no better suggestions.  Frankly, I had to stand there and stammer and hope they could figure out what was in the tupperware, because I was somehow blocked, physically unable to wrap my mouth around the sounds necessary to tell them what was in the tupperware.

Of course they could figure it out.  And I got out of the problem of what to call …….. God, I have trouble even typing it.  My Dead Baby.  I can’t even look at the words.  I’m going to scroll away from it now.

.

.

.

.

.

.

I got out of the whole problem by calling it “what you people are calling ‘the solid material.'”  I said it a bit angrily, but they could understand that too.   They knew better than to take it personally, they know that there was nothing they could call it that would make it ok for me.

I got the lab report two days ago back on the “products of conception.”  It’s the medical equivilant of a shrug.  They can give me no explanation as to why this happened.  They could spot nothing abnormal about the “contents of container #286437.”  I’m officially healthy.

The confirmation that my body didn’t cause this, and that I don’t make defective children is comforting in the sense that it doesn’t make me feel any better now, but I suspect it will someday, if I ever feel up to the idea of trying to have another child.  I’ll tuck that info away for the future, like when I carry band aids for my feet when I go out dancing, or take a shot of whiskey before going to a mall at Christmastime.

But what it really means is that now well meaning people will stop offering me “comfort” in the bullshit idea that special needs people shouldn’t be born.  That I have paperwork that can prove to everyone that this baby was what it always was to me, perfect.

If I ever snap …

Standard

… it will prolly sound something like this.

“There is no such thing as ‘pinging’ someone. There is no pinging machine. I can often infer from the context that you mean ‘call’ or ’email,’ but not always so stop fucking saying that, and just say ‘call’ or ’email,’ for the love all all that is holy. Also, if there was such a thing as a ping, the word would still be dead from overuse.”

Getting my car out of my new parking garage …

Standard

…. was really a huge personal achievement. I should be allowed to put it on my resume. It required patience, calm, a basic understanding of physics (if it came in, it must come out), split second decision making (do I want to hit the Lexus or hit the Mercedes?), a backup plan (maybe I can just sell my car for parts ….) and persistence.

Tomorrow I get to do it all over again.

Obviously a compliment.

Standard

Aurora says:
How’s the deluxe apartment in the sky?!!!

Valancy Jane says:
Loverly!
I have the whole city for a nightlight.

Kim says:
Wow.

Colsy says:
nice!

Rhett says:
Can you unplug the whole city?

Colsy says:
she can flash the whole city

Valancy Jane says:
I can, and did.
A dog immediately started barking.

RE: His status message

Standard

Valancy Jane: “Banned from Yahoo answers”?

Cody: k
yeah.

Valancy Jane: I could hug you.
What did you do?

Cody: some 14 year old girl asked what type of job she could do from home and I said to post on craiglist under the erotic services section. But only do incall and wear protection

Valancy Jane: HAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!!!!!!!

Cody: 🙂

Valancy Jane: I feel the same way I did when one of the kids I work with opened her purse and it was full of candy and a bottle of lighter fluid.
So proud.