A cardigan, a window, a thief and a lesson on letting go

The other day I had a business meeting at Starbucks (seriously, does work get any better?). I was a little warm, so I took off my cardigan, laid it across the back of my chair, and got back to talking.

Later, at home, I went to put my cardigan back on. I couldn't find it. With dread (yes, DREAD) it dawned on me that I must have left it at Starbucks. I whipped out my handy iPhone, googled the number and likety-split was asking a barista to please, puh-lease, look for it.

New customers claimed stake at our table, making it difficult for her to search. I overheard her ask a customer if "that" was "theirs?" They said yes, and she promptly told me, "Sorry. No cardigan here."

"But you don't understand," I wanted to gush, "this is no ordinary cardigan. It is THE cardigan. The ONE and ONLY cardigan that goes with every outfit, is perfectly soft, doesn't wrinkle, hasn't faded in a year . . . oh, and did I mention, it goes with every outfit?? So you see, not finding it 15 minutes after I leave is simply not acceptable. It MUST be there."

I didn't gush the way I wanted. I said "fine" with half-resignation, half-defiance the way my daughter says "fine" when I tell her to turn off her TV, or go to bed, or to stop climbing up that wall, or to stop picking her nose.

But I didn't feel fine. Every time I remembered that my cardigan was out in 'nowhere land' I felt a little panicky.

The next day, I promptly called Starbucks again.

"Hi, I called yesterday. I'm looking for a black cardigan that I left there."

----on hold for a minute ------

"No, sorry, no cardigan here."

Seriously, I thought, this is not OK. So I persisted . . .

"Well, I know that I lost it yesterday. I was sitting by the window, next to the mugs you sell. Can you please look again? At the very least, I'd like to leave my name and number for when you find it." (Notice I said "When" and not "if." Verbiage is VERY important when you're trying to get your point across!)

------ on hold for 5 minutes -----------

"Oh, look!" the barista acted surprised, "Here it is. Someone moved it. Must've been here all along."

SWEET VICTORY!!!

So, that afternoon, now finally at peace with the fact that my oh-so-perfect-Nordstrom cardigan is FINALLY home . . . It occurs to me how much I hate feeling like something that I value is lost. I mean, I really, really hate it.

It's a feeling that is always with me. Something -- someone -- is lost. Someone is supposed to be here, but they're not. It's quite disconcerting.

My brother Andrew posted on Facebook about his own disconcerting experience:

Two nights ago, while I was in another room, a thief climbed through my bedroom window and stole my Macbook Pro, as well as the bag that I carry everywhere. 

My bag had a LOT inside: camera, iPod, checkbook, Bible, journal, books, tools, cash, umbrella, etc. 

 

Altogether, the bag and laptop were probably my two most valuable possessions, in both sentimental and real value, yet they were gone in the blink of an eye. I felt violated and personally offended that someone would enter my living space in order to take things that didn't belong to them.

 

And with those words, my brother, who could never know what it's like to experience death inside of his own body, has perfectly crafted the words that mark my miscarriage experience . . .

Altogether, [they were my] most valuable possessions, in both sentimental and real value, yet they were gone in the blink of an eye. I felt violated and personally offended that someone would enter my living space in order to take things that didn't belong to them.

And that, my friends, is how I feel about the death of my babies.

Violated by death. Like a thief snuck into my living space --- my BODY --  while I wasn't watching, and took my most valued possessions. Gone, in a blink of an eye.

Simply -- profoundly -- gone.

That feeling I had when my cardigan was lost, the feeling my brother has right now -- that unsettled feeling that things are not right and something is missing -- is how I feel day in and day out. Because my babies are gone. Stolen by death.

 Maybe I will get used to the feeling, and it will be a new normal, and it won't hurt me so much. But maybe I will never get used to it.

My brother has a great lesson in store for us --- as he's never one to take things at face value without finding a spiritual application (something I could learn from him):

Besides learning to close the window when not in a room, what's the real lesson here?
 

No matter how much or how little you have, never place too much value on the things you own or invest too much energy in preserving everything you have, because no matter how hard you try, you cannot guarantee the security of your possessions. When you die, you can't take any of it with you anyway. I am reminded that the only thing I can fully trust that can never be taken away by any thief or disaster is the love of God, the forgiveness of my sins, and the guarantee of salvation I have because of Jesus. There is no security in placing your identity in anything or anyone other than Jesus Christ.
 

What else? According to the gospel, no matter how good of a person I may seem to be, I'm just as undeserving of God's grace as the thief who stole my belongings on Saturday night. Now, THAT is humbling and hard for me to accept, but it is true nonetheless. I still feel some anger towards the person who wronged me, and my heart/attitude isn't 100% right, but God is using this experience to help me learn and grow, even if it is painful. I'm not sure if I'm there yet, but I know that I WILL forgive that thief, because God has forgiven me for so much already.

Really, I don't know how much better I could put it.

As much as I might love that cardigan -- it's not going with me. As hard as I try to protect my babies, there is no guarantee for their safety or security. While at least I know they will be in heaven, the only thing that I will NEVER have to be separated from here on Earth is God's love and forgiveness. And the HOPE I have in heaven.

And to quote him yet again . . . .

I still feel some anger [...], and my heart/attitude isn't 100% right, but God is using this experience to help me learn and grow, even if it is painful. I'm not sure if I'm there yet, but I know that I WILL forgive that thief, because God has forgiven me for so much already.

I'm not there yet . . . but one day, I will be.

Alphabet soup


Tonight I find myself in a funk.

I FEEL pregnant.

And I suppose that that should fill me with excitement and hope -- even as it's too early to test. But instead, I find myself in a total, and I mean TOTAL, funk.

Yelling at Maddy, low tolerance for clutter or mess, frustration over just about EVERYTHING.

So why?

Am I pregnant, and I'm just hormonal? Am I stressed because IF (and what a big IF that is) I am pregnant, that means I could lose a baby? Am I simply not ready to hit the restart button on this grief journey?

Am I irritated because I feel so sick to my stomach, and I'm nervous about how I'll be able to cope for 9 months? Do I feel guilty being upset about nausea when 7 months ago I was jealous of women with morning sickness because it meant their pregnancies were normal? Is it because I'm being hyper sensitive to every cramp, every twinge, every possible symptom?

Is it that I'm afraid to get my hopes up? Is it that I've ALREADY gotten my hopes up, and fear there's nothing but disappointment ahead? Is it because I'm afraid of how to break the news (again, big IF) if I am pregnant to some of my closest friends who are wanting babies more than anything? Is it because I don't know WHO to tell, WHEN to tell, and HOW to tell IF I am pregnant?

Is it because I'm afraid to have hope?

Or maybe it's just all of it.

It reminds me of this book Maddy loves that I kinda hate reading to her. It's a Barney book (now you know why I hate it), and it's called Alphabet Soup. Barney throws in ingredients starting with each letter of the alphabet. Cool, right? Except that the ingredients sound like they belong in a mystery basket on Chopped:

Eggs
Fish
Graham crackers
Ham
Ice cream
Jelly
Kool-Aid

Yep. Pretty gross. Surely there's a way to teach decent cooking while teaching the alphabet at the same time?

Right now, my soul's the pot and it feels like something as undesirable as Barney is throwing a crazy hodge-podge of feelings, all stirred up and boiling over.


Excitement
Frustration and fear
Grumpiness
Hope
Irritability
Jaded feelings
Knotted up inside


Geez . . . this is way more complicated than last time. Last time, I just saw a pregnancy test and was over-the-top happy.

I guess I am over the top right now. But instead of being just excited, I'm boiling over with leftover ingredients from the Chopped basket of mystery ingredients.

I wish I just knew what is the right way to feel, and how to make myself feel it.  :(


P.S. I wasn't pregnant. AF defnitely came. I did get pregnant on the next cycle -- but that resulted in a miscarriage at 8 weeks. :(

A day in the life . . .

Image source: http://b2beck.com/

Today began like yesterday.

Laying in bed, ignoring the world. Texting friends. Chatting in my pregnancy loss support groups on Facebook.  Laying in bed some more. Dozing. Researching. Dozing again.

Anything except getting up and facing my day. Anything except facing my loss.

I skipped church today. I felt like maybe last week was a disaster. People -- some of whom I had a relationship with, others who were casual acquaintances -- wanted to talk.

I did NOT want to talk.

"How are you doing? You look tired . . . "

What, exactly, could I say that would be polite or sociable?

"Hi. Well, I am tired. I just got home last night from a trip to bury my grandma. And I'm actually not OK. Not at all. I'm pissed off at my body. I'm pretty mad at God. I'm beyond disappointed. And I'm carrying what I'm told is a baby that will no longer live. Not really sure how I'm supposed to feel about that. And well, my feelings change like the tide. So I don't even know how I am. Except that I am anything BUT fine."

I didn't say any of that.

I just barely nodded, and gave a half-smile. I couldn't even find it in me to lie and say "Fine."

I. Am. Not. Fine.

So -- I skipped church today. And laid in bed. And felt sorry for myself. And let myself feel so, so very depressed.

Then Ryan came home. Off to lunch we most go. I rolled out of bed at quarter past noon. Brushed my hair and teeth, changed clothes, attempted to smear on some foundation and mascara, and off we plodded to lunch. It actually went OK. I was glad to have someone ask me how I was and be ready to listen to my answer.

My in-laws took Maddy this afternoon, so I suggested to Ryan that we head to Barnes & Noble. I was given no information about what to expect from a miscarriage by my Drs' office -- or even when we would start miscarrying -- so I was ready to dig into some information and figure out what the heck is going on with my body anyway.

Hmmm. Barnes & Noble may not have been the best choice.

They had lots of books available online. Only one dealing with miscarriage/pregnancy loss in stock.

One.

And it was called "How to prevent a miscarriage."

Funny title, I thought. All the Drs and resources I've read say that there's not much of anything you can do to prevent a miscarriage. OK, maybe if you've had three losses, they refer you to a specialist for some testing, you finally figure out (maybe) the causes of your loss, and there's a slight chance they actually have a solution to solve your problem. Then maybe you can prevent a loss. But that's after you've already lost three babies. I guess the fourth time is a charm, right?

Maybe B & N carries that book because it sells. Because it offers the illusion of control. Because who doesn't want to prevent a miscarriage, really? And maybe because it just feeds in to what the rest of society tells us....

Miscarriage happens a lot, but, whatever you do, don't talk about it. Don't admit to it -- unless you KNOW it's to someone else who's been there. Then you can be a part of a secret club, and you don't have to bother anyone else with your pain. Baby loss is not appropriate for the public square. It might upset someone.

Pregnancy loss might happen a lot, but it's true . . . we're all in denial. It's much more fun to pretend that everything's OK. That babies don't die. That moms don't have to say goodbye before they ever said hello. Let's just keep the illusion going . . . That we each have control over birth and our pregnancies. That swollen ankles, hurting backs and loss of sleep are all perfectly acceptable pregnancy complaints. But . . . "My baby died" sure isn't.

So I was getting irritated. Irritated that I was just simply trying to find information, and it wasn't there. Irritated that the only way I could even find the information I was hoping for was to stalk a pregnant woman with a burgeoning belly to the right aisle in hopes of finding a pregnancy book that at least addressed miscarriage. (Which, by the way was nothing but two pages in one book. And even that didn't tell me anything I didn't already know.)

But what about the rest of us? The 1 in 4 going through a loss? Don't we have a voice? Don't we deserve information?

I was so irritated I loudly complained that I need a "Pregnancy for Dummy Bodies" book because my body was so dumb it didn't know how to keep a baby, and it feels like it doesn't quite know how to lose a baby either. I said it loudly in front of other couples. I said it loudly in front of the pregnant woman.

Maybe I'm just tired of trying to keep quiet, I didn't care who I said it to.

"I'm miscarrying." There, I said it.

After I settled on reading a book about fertility, we got cookies and coffee and sat and read. Which I actually really enjoyed.

Then I wanted to walk. I want to get things moving. I don't really know why, other than every day is hard and I just want it over. So we walked, and walked, and walked.

Three times I had pain and cramping, my belly felt a little harder and more swollen, and toward the end I felt a little weak -- which I can't really explain (because I have no information!). The cramping didn't cause any bleeding and didn't seem to do anything but be a magical cure for the oh-so-fun pregnancy side effect we all love to hate. (I'll let you figure it out.)

Afterwards we went home, and I hoped that the cramping would keep up.

It didn't.

Today is the end of the month, and I knew I needed to work at my business. So, I put my pregnancy/miscarriage/whatever I'm supposed to refer to this as, in the tiny little back closet of my heart, and set to work.

For several hours, I managed to stay fairly on top of it. I got a great bonus for my work today. And all in all, it was a decent few hours.

A dear friend even stopped by to drop off dinner for us. It was supposed to be for tomorrow -- but we dug in tonight. We swapped stories, caught up, and sympathized with each other. There's nothing better than knowing someone else just GETS you.

Ryan took care of Maddy all night, and took himself to bed. But I wasn't ready to call it quits today. More googling. More asking for advice from friends on FB. And more ... well ... more emotional denial.

As much as I am trying to grieve, I don't feel like I know how. As much as I want to admit that this is a baby, I don't feel like I can. I know it is. But a part of my heart feels locked away. It wants to feel. It wants to grieve. But my grief is caged. And I don't know how to let it out.

Maybe because I know once it's out . . . it's going to hurt. Very. Very. Bad.

Maybe that's why I want information so badly. So I can deal with my loss on an intellectual level -- not on an emotional one.

I've been struggling with wondering how much to write on my blog. How much to share.

I was afraid to post on FB because I didn't want people to feel sorry for me. I was afraid NOT to post on FB because the longer I keep silent, the more I feel like I was carrying a shameful secret -- not just something that is a very real part of my life right now.

Last night I had a dream where a lady was asking me if we were going to have another baby -- and she said something about hearing I had a baby. Pretty much at the top of my lungs I screamed at her. Yes, I want a baby. More than anything. But I lost two. TWO. STOP asking me if I WANT a baby!!! It's not always a CHOICE!!

It felt really good in my dream to just SCREAM and let it all out.

Maybe my subconscious knows I'm tired of hiding. Tired of trying to be polite. Tired of keeping up with social norms. I'm pretty sure it's just time to share.

 I have to believe that others of you have been in this place. Or you will be in this place. Or you know someone in this place.  And I want to the world to know that pregnancy loss happens. It sucks. IT SUCKS. But it happens.

When it happens, you don't have to be ashamed. You don't have to hide. If you WANT to hide, by all means, do. But don't ever feel like you HAVE to.

Pregnancy #3 update

It's no secret that we've been trying to conceive.

And last week, we found out we were successful... Or at least quasi-successful.

Apparently, an egg did get fertilized. But where did it implant? That's the big question.

My hCG at 5 weeks was 14 (super-dee-duper low). The day I got the results, I started bleeding. And the next day, my bleeding picked up and I passed some small clots. The next day it slowed, the next 2 days it was almost non-existent, and I haven't spotted now for 4 days.

In addition, I'm feeling a bit more pregnant... But the truth is my symptoms are mild.

And the reason for that is that my hCG is now only 22. Like barely there.

The nurse has told me more than likely it's not viable. And to be honest, I guess I knew that from the start. My gut tells me it's ectopic again. I'm in this constant state of WAITING ... For the pain to come, to get my blood drawn again, for what I believe in my heart to be an inevitable surgery.

And in all this waiting, I can't help but get more attached each day this pregnancy continues.

Why? Why do I have to hope? Why do I research every possible reason for my low hCG, and wonder/hope/pray that this time is the exception to the rule? Why do I still want a miracle?

I tried so hard not to get attached. But knowing that something is trying to become a little baby of mine in there just hurts my heart, and fills it with hope at the same time.


How can I cope? Cope with the wait? Cope with the fear? Cope with the anxiety? Cope with my recent grief? I feel like I mourned this baby, only to find out it survived my the bleeding. Next time I mourn, I think it's going to be so much harder.

I'm finding myself more sensitive again to pregnancy announcements and updates on Facebook. So I've had to pretty much stop checking my newsfeed because it just hurts to much. I'm struggling with major distrust of my body, and I seriously wonder if I am ever going to experience a normal pregnancy.

Recently, going through my grandma's death has me thinking of death a lot. Which probably isn't the greatest thing. I wonder if pregnancy is worth the risk it poses to my health and life. I'm definitely contemplating whether Maddy will be it. For the first time, that certainly is feeling more like a possibility.

I am so thankful to have her... But she deserves to have a little sister or brother. She wants one, and I so want her to have siblings for life.

I regret that my pregnancy with Madelyn might be it. I wish that I had cherished that time more. That I was more grateful, less anxious, less resentful to my little baby. I wish I had just cherished that fleeting rime, instead of wishing away.

It's been hard to process knowing that I am likely carrying a baby that won't survive. And I fluctuate between a romanticized ideal that I just love this little thing in me as long as I can and consider this short time a special time to bond. And part of me is practical, and realizes that this pregnancy might not even be producing a literal body of a baby at this point. That the more attached I get, the harder I will fall.

I'm thankful I'm still in Kentucky away from my normal responsibilities. I'm glad I have some time to process this pregnancy/miscarriage and my grandma's death at this time, without having to worry about business calls, what to plan for dinner, and taking care of a 3-year-old. It's nice to have so much time for ME.

Too much loss

I find myself at a loss of words for what to write. The last few days have been so hard ... Just as hard as the days after we lost Olivia.

Today we buried my grandma. Honestly, I've cried so much since finding out late Wed night that she was gone. At this point, I don't feel like I can talk too much about it. This will have to wait for another day.

About 12 hours after the loss of my grandma, we got my blood results back. I am pregnant. Or maybe I should just say "was" pregnant.

My hcg numbers are super low. I would have been 5.5 weeks, but the nurse gave me no hope that this pregnancy is viable.  I started bleeding that day.

Both losses happened so quickly... It's hard to describe my day on Thursday. Trying to plan a trip for a funeral to KY, going to the drs for bloodwork and ultrasound, caring for Maddy, arranging babysitting for a week, rescheduling my business calendar ... All while grieving for the loss of a new baby and the loss of my very dear grandma. All in 24 hours.

I still don't know yet if the pregnancy is over. I don't know if it's a simple miscarriage or ectopic. I'm definitely questioning if I'll ever be able to have my own baby again.

And I'm absolutely devastated about my grandma.

Sometimes, life is just so hard.

Life in the buckets: Moving on and staying put



Do you ever have days where you're not quite sure who you are anymore?

I have days like that. Well, I guess I know WHO I am. I'm just not sure which VERSION of me I am.

I kinda feel like there are two parts of me. Two equally valid parts. BOTH are me.

So, Exhibit A:

• I'm super excited for my business. I'm a postive-minded, forward-thinking business owner who loves her team, loves her industry, loves her company. I devour personal development books. Few things get me as pumped as the privilege of leading others to the life of their dreams.

• I cherish my family. Most days, I love being a mom. My favorite part of my day is mornings where my daughter is snuggled up beside me, and I read beside her till she wakes. My second favorite is cuddled up beside her at night, reading books -- trying my hardest to read them like you would hear on an audio tape. Sometimes I throw in an English accent -- ESPECIALLY if I'm reading Angelina Ballerina. Nothing like practicing a squeaky English accent to keep up on my acting chops.

• I have so many moments where I DO feel content. I feel the warmth of the sun. I snuggle in my hubby's arms. I see the joy in my daughter's eyes. I just drink in moments where I just know that LIFE IS GOOD.

Exhibit B:

• I feel stuck in my past, specifically the recent past. I wonder when I will feel normal again. I wonder when the sadness will pass. Sometimes, it's not sadness -- sometimes it's anger. I wonder when I'll ever feel like I just BELONG again. When will I be 100%?

• I see pregnant women and I can't help but feel so jealous. Then I feel guilty for being jealous. Then I'm angry I have a reason to be jealous to begin with. So then I'm jealous, angry, and guilty all at once. Yuck.

• Sometimes, the good things to come feel very far away. Pregnancy feels very far away, and trying to conceive feels hopeless. I have a hard time picturing a happy picture. A healthy pregnancy. A healthy baby. That dream feels like grabbing at smoke, and having it slip stealthily through my outstretched hand. As a matter of fact, sometimes Olivia feels vanishing smoke.

• I have many moments where I feel so DISCONTENT. I can see only the bad. I see a never-ending mess I need to clean up. Negative pregnancy tests. Olivia's empty crib sitting in Maddy's room. And I just feel like LIFE SUCKS.

So my big questions for my counselor this week were:

1) Is this normal?
2) Are you SURE this is normal? Because this certainly doesn't feel normal.
3) How can I be two things at once? Feel two things at once? And be authentic at the same time?

And in case you were wondering, here's what she said:

1) Yes it's normal.

2) Yes, I'm SURE it's normal.

3) You can defnitely feel more than one thing at one time.

Think of it like having your feet in two different buckets of water. Before your loss, you pretty much lived in Bucket 1. You were optimistic about the future, you had lots of success in your business, you were looking ahead with lots of positive expectations.

Then you lost your baby. You jumped with both feet into Bucket 2. You were consumed by grief. Everything you experienced went through the filter of your loss. You lived life because you had to. But really, at this point, everything was just about your loss.

Gradually, keeping one foot firmly planted in Bucket 2, you started dipping your toes back into Bucket 1. Then, in time, you began keeping one foot in Bucket 1 and one in Bucket 2 at all times.

It sounds to me like that's how you are living right now. You are living through two experiences at one time, and that's confusing. Sometimes you're going to put both feet in Bucket 1. Sometimes you'll have both in Bucket 2. And sometimes, you'll just be living with both hope and sadness, joy and despair, faith and frustration all at once. Sometimes you'll be moving forward, even while part of you holds on to the past.*



Her bucket analogy really made sense to me. And made me feel so much better about . . . well . . . how I feel.

Being REAL is important to me. So it gets really confusing when I'm full-on business person, excited and happy -- or just full-on friend, wife or mom -- and suddenly, I realize I still am stuck in Bucket 2. Sadness comes, and I can't wish it away. A pregnant woman walks by, and I struggle to remember what I was just saying because something in my gut just feels like it was punched. Maddy mentions Olivia, or wishes for a baby, and I try to keep the tears away.

And there I am . . . trying to be both happy and sad . . . authentically . . . at the same time.

She asks what it will take to pretty much get back into Bucket 1.

"Oh," I respond. "I'd love to have a healthy baby. I'd love to expand my business. I'd LOVE to help some women promote and see more success. I think I could be more happy then, and be able to get back to Bucket 1 more."

But then she reminds me that finding wholeness will never come from those circumstantial things. It has to be something more. Something deeper.

And it's true. I really need to just focus on Christ right now. He alone can make me whole, even as I know a little part of me belongs in heaven.

And in the meantime, I've got to live with the dichotomy.

So if you hang out with me, forgive me if I slosh a bit and get you wet. I've got my feet in two buckets. And it's a pretty messy way to live. But I promise, I'm doing the best I can.



*This is the best paraphrase I can come with from my counseling session yesterday, not her exact quotes. I'm good -- but not THAT good. ;)

A mommy do-over

Just a second ago, I clicked on the little pencil icon  on my blog that indicates that I have something to say, and something that I intend to say well to a lot of people.

But I must admit, I clicked on that icon with no ideas, no thesis, no theme in mind.

Nothing -- but this ache in the very core of me that is so present, so strong, that it makes it so that I can almost feel my spirit deep in my chest. It is a heaviness I bear with me always. But at moments like this . . . well . . . there is no relief. It just is.

I have been surrounded by people today. But I miss the little girl that I never will know here.

And I miss Maddy too. I've been so preoccupied today, I never gave her my full, undivided attention to just forget life and invest myself fully in her best, new (make-believe) friend. (Who's named Nikananga and lives in a lake, owns 5 airplanes -- which Maddy is ocassionally allowed to take for a spin -- and eats trees for dinner). I didn't take time to battle catepillar car versus lady bug car. I didn't take time to make play-doh snakes and scary monsters. She fell asleep in the car, so I didn't even get to read "Worm Diaries" or her infamous bird book.

I did not play baby octopus. Or play hide and seek under the covers this morning. We didn't cook dinner together, and I didn't get to watch her set the table (which always makes me so proud to see her do). We did not share our favorite things from today, or pray together for a new baby, or sing rock-a-bye-baby to each other. She did not beg me for just one more minute of snuggles. I didn't have to pry myself away, wanting to snuggle forever but knowing sleep would never come if I do.

Instead, today, what I did do was occasionally snap at her when she wasn't operating at my pace of life, sigh deeply when I just wanted to potty by myself, and roll my eyes when she clung to my legs when the babysitter left.

Stellar parenting, right?

Some days, I think I'm on top of the mom thing. And then other days, like today, I wonder since when do other people come before the attention I give my daughter? When did it become OK to interrupt her, but punish her if she interrupts other people? Since when is it OK to be so impatient to have a baby, and at the same time, be so impatient with the baby I already have?

Tonight, Ryan and I were watching a movie, and Maddy called out for me. I scooped her up, and rocked her for a long time -- much longer than it took to get her back to sleep.  And I cried, and kissed her sweaty little forehead, and tried to smooth back her straw-like hair, tangled and sticking to itself and her face like spaghetti that's sat too long.

And I just rubbed her sweet cheecks, and kissed them, and told her how sorry mommy was. That none of my friends were more important than her and that my business is not more important than her. I just wished her little subconcious would pick up the message and deliver it to her soul where she would know more than anything how much I really do love her.

But I know that's just wishful thinking. Maybe, deep in the recesses of her mind, the memory is tucked away. But why settle for a wish, a hope, that by some off chance my daughter might get the message that she is one of the most important people to me on this entire planet?

Wouldn't it have been so much better to SHOW her today by my words, my actions and my attention, so that she would have had a message of my love that could never be erased?

I want a do-over. And I guess that do-over has a name. Tomorrow.

As Maddy and I sometimes say, "Today was rough. But tomorrow will be better."

Today was rough. Tomorrow WILL be better.