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Writing: I love it and I hate it. I've always loved to write. I was writing stories before I even knew how to write. Of course, then I was writing stories by drawing pictures. It was third grade when I decided that I wanted to be an author. I wrote a story that I was really proud of and my teacher even let me read it to the class. But it wasn't until I self-published my first book that I realized that being an author was difficult. There are times I'm stuck on a part of a book or story for so long I never think I'll finish it. It's hard to find motivation at points and I wish I could go back to being in high school when all I did was write. But I keep on writing and when I do manage to find my way out of writers block, I appreciate what I come up with even more.
I posted my labor story on my blog. If you'd like to check it out, don't worry, I didn't go into great detail, haha. Check out my website if you're interested! I'll be posting lots about my cute little boy!
I want to get back into writing! In the past, I've wanted to blog, and I even started a blog with short stories on my website, but I gave up after a month. I think it would be really fun to blog. I always have wanted to share my thoughts and hoped others would enjoy my writing. But my confidence is low. I can't see people enjoying my writing and wanting to read more. Here's something that might be on my blog: ~Introducing my animals~ Who loves animals? I always had pets, and I always will! Right now, we have five: a tortoise, two cats, and two ferrets. Charlotte, the tortoise, is four years old! She's a Sulcata, so she will live to be around eighty. When we got her, she could fit in the palm of my hand. She was absolutely adorable! Now she is a foot long and not even close to being full size! She resembles Godzilla with that reptilian glare. Our ferrets are Baby and Little Guy. We had a third; his name was Man. He recently passed of old age. Did you know on average ferrets only live to be seven years old? Baby was just eight weeks old when we got him, and now he's a little over four years. He was a tiny little thing, but now has an enormous belly and a couple extra chins. Little Guy was four months old when we found him at a pet store all alone, and we couldn't help but take him home. To be completely honest, those aren't their original names. Baby was Milkshake, Man was Blizzard, and Little Guy was Maple Syrup. MooBear is our black cat we've had since he was a kitten. Don't worry, his name has a backstory and I will get to that. He over a year old and one of the best cats other than his obsession with eating plastic. His name should have been Toothless because he reminds us so much of him, but it was too late and we stuck with MooBear. See one day my husband and I were out on a hike while camping and we heard a rustle in the trees. We saw a large black mass moving and instantly thought it was a bear, but upon further inspection, it was a wild cow. From that day on, we called all black cows, MooBears. And for some reason, my husband wanted that to be our cat's name. Then there's Peaches, our orange, tailless cat. Her owners abandoned her, and we took her in. It was a month after having her we discovered why she got left behind. She turns into a psycho cat at night! When she is being crazy, we call her Pickles.
Writing was easier when I was younger. I use to write for hours after school and on the weekends it felt like I spent all day and night writing. Writing has always been fun to me. I wrote mostly in notebooks until my family got a laptop, then I would type while at home and write in a notebook while at school. I wrote short stories and novels. I wrote just to write. I had journals all for myself and I had journals I shared with my friends. Nowadays writing feels more like a chore and I missed the days I would write to escape the world. After I published my first book, which I wrote for the fun of it, I've felt like that's all I can focus on. I must work on the next book to get that one published. I find it hard to focus on one project at a time, but if I don't work on the next book to be published, I feel like I'm stalling. I want to have a deadline for when I need to have the book finished, but I never finish on time because I spend my time doing other things. I'm coming to terms with the idea that it's okay to take breaks from the book and work on something else. It actually is helpful. It gets my mind working. I want to write for the fun of it again. Write to simply be writing. That's when my best ideas develop.
My story begins a few months back when I found out that I was pregnant. My husband and I were too excited to wait to see if I missed my period, so we took the pregnancy test a couple days early. After the longest two minutes of my life, the best eight letter word I had ever seen popped onto the tiny screen. I was so ecstatic that I was going to have a baby! I even saved the pregnancy test for the baby book. About four weeks later, we got an appointment set up for an ultrasound because we wanted something to show family when we told them the good news. Since I wasn't far along, just over six weeks, we couldn't see much. It was a tiny little thing, not quite humanoid yet, but we could see the heartbeat. That beautiful fast rhythm was like the best part of your favorite song. Telling family was as nerve-wracking as it was exciting. I know I didn't have anything to worry about, but I was still nervous to see how everyone would react. I was most excited to tell my great grandmother and it turned out even better because my mother and sisters were there too. We had the ultrasound in an envelope and my husband ran outside to check the mailbox. It was empty, but that didn't matter. He took out our envelope and we smiled just before reentering the house. When my great grandma took out the picture, she stood there staring at it, trying to figure out what it meant. My younger sister, on the other hand, glanced at it and knew right away. Looking over at me, she asked if it was real. My mom hugged me, but seemed distracted. The whole family was excited and happy for us. After telling my grandmother, she and my mother began making plans for the baby shower almost immediately. Time seemed to drag on forever when we were back at home where my husband was attending college. I wanted to skip to the end, to have my baby already born, to finally see his or her face I have dreamt about since I was a little girl. The next best thing I had to look forward to was another ultrasound, and the start of a small baby bump! My husband and I counted down the days. We were so excited and couldn't wait to see our baby on a little monitor and to know everything was okay. When the time finally came, and the doctor put the cold gel on my stomach, I sat there anxiously waiting. I thought nothing of how long it was taking, but then the doctor said something I'll never forget. “I hate these…I'm so sorry…I'm not seeing a heartbeat.” No heartbeat. At the moment it was as if a freight train had smashed through my life. It took a few seconds for the information to be processed. I didn't want to believe it and thought maybe all she had to do was look harder. I bit down on my lip to keep myself from crying while I listened to her explain what was being seen on the screen. She said, “It's measuring nine weeks and one day.” Everything she was saying seemed so bizarre and unreal. My baby was going to be thirteen weeks the next day, not nine weeks. I blinked my eyes, holding back the tears and wouldn't look my husband in the eye but I could see a blank stare on his face. Afterwards, when we were heading to our car, my husband asked me to not shut myself out, to grieve with him since we were in this together. I could only nod. I wasn't meaning to be so zombified, but I didn't want to breakdown crying. I wanted nothing more than for it all to be a dream. Even after I had the D&C, it still didn't feel quite real, but that was only because I didn't want it to be real. A couple nights later, I couldn't hold it in any longer. I broke down crying right before bedtime. My husband held me as I shook from hysteria. He told me to let it all out, that it was okay to feel this pain. A month later, I found the pregnancy test tucked away and I brought it out to show my husband. He asked if it still said pregnant and I nodded. He shook his head, saying, “That's sad.” We threw it out. After visiting family, we misplaced our ultrasound pictures and have since been unable to find them. I wonder if we ever will. I had always feared I would miscarry. I think most people try not to think about it, but a part of them always wonders if it will happen. And more people have miscarriages than you'd think. But everything happens for a reason, and all you can do is keep trying. Some women have more than one miscarriage, but in the end, they get their baby. As we move on into the future, that pregnancy now feels like a nightmare when I think back on it. Except it wasn't. This was a nightmare that we couldn't wake up from. Thankfully now though, it seems to be coming to an end as we are about to start trying for another child. Part of me will always wonder what could have happened though. What might have been. In loving memory of Baby Burger February 2019 - April 2019