Monday, October 13, 2008

I GET IT, Universe. PLEASE Stop Mocking Me. ASAP.

I've heard that when you miscarry, you tend to see a lot of pregnant ladies or people with babies a bit more than before you were ever pregnant. What I have not heard is really just how downright CRUEL the Universe can actually be. I really thought that we were homeboys. The Universizzle and myself. But I guess not.

Saturday I worked the Michael Buble (howww do I accent the e?) concert. I took tickets, which was nice, but I kind of wish I could've seen more of the concert. The guy is a charmbucket. No doubt.

Anyway, they gave me the line that they directed all the giddy pregnant women to. I didn't see the sign, but there must have been one somewhere. I lost count somewhere in the teens at how many went through my line, and at least 5 of them commented on how they were pregnant (by talking about how they had to pee, by happily pressing their friends' hands to their stomach, etc), and the whole time I was dealing. I can deal with that stuff. It's fine. Good for them. Lucky them. I'm cool. I'm dealing. I'm not crying. Shut up, Michael Buble, with your sad songs and your pretty voice, I'm not crying.

I might've TEARED a bit, but there was absolutely NO crying.

THEN. Then a grandfather came through the line with his two grandsons. An 8 year old (I assume), and a 6.5-7 month old. I would swear on it. I'm good at guessing baby ages. Based on how they act, how they focus, and how they look of course. Anyway- This sweet old guy (probably late 50's- not THAT old..) He came through the line and I commented on what a group of heartbreakers they were, which made him laugh, and the 8 year old look confused. They were so cute, especially, of course, the baby, who I really just wanted to hang out with. "Excuse me, he won't remember this. Give him to me for a few hours!", but instead I just smiled. Ya know.

About 3 hours later, he's walking around with his grandsons again, and they're heading outside. I smile at them again. Because I'm a smiley ticket taker. On his way back in, he literally THRUSTS HIS GRANDCHILD AT ME and says "Here take him, I'm done for awhile." in a smiley sarcastic voice, which had no negativity in it at all. He thought he was being so funny by handing a baby to me.

First of all- ouch.

Second of all- OH man. If I weren't wearing heels, I swear I could've outrun everyone with that baby. He was awesome.

Third of all- I held him for a good minute and a half before he realized he actually didn't know who I was, and wanted to go back to grandpa, who was smiling and flirting in a very harmless way the whole time.

Fourth of all- I love people that hand me babies. I love babies that want me to hold them (My whole life, babies and small children in grocery lines and church and anywhere have come up to me and tried to get me to pick them up. Sometimes I do, because I cannot resist, and sometimes I don't, because some parents freak about stuff like that. Which is understandable, but dude- your kid wants me to hold him/her. How can I say no?)

Anway- as nice and painful as that way- I know it was just the Universe sittin' back and laughing at me.


I haven't bled since Friday night/Saturday morning. All of Saturday and Sunday resulted in 3 clean pads. Woo!


TODAYYYY, I was pretty much accepting the fact that I have to go back to class. I missed my first one because I am too far behind to go sit in class while everyone works on stage 3 of something that I haven't even started... But I went to my afternoon class, celebrating the feeling of no underwear once again (I've never enjoyed wearing underwear), and my Spanish class went really well. No one talked to me, which was great. The teacher read my (horrible) Dr.'s note (more on that later) and excused me from all classes missed last week, including a quiz I missed.

Then I went on my way to my comm class. My favorite class! Cool. This will be enjoyable. I hope. I have an exam today, according to my calendar. SO I head for Wooten- the building that is furthest away from all my other classes and my apartment. But it's okay. It's comm.

Something doesn't feel right. That sucks. What is that feeling. It feels familiar. Whyyyy am I having that feeling.

(Those are the thoughts that are going through my mind, in case you were wondering)

I get to Wooten, go to the bathroom, and embrace, with much loathing, the torrents of blood issuing forth from my nether reigions. Soaking through my dark jeans and continuing to steadily drip as I sit there, cursing the Universe, who I can almost HEAR chuckling in the corner.

Lucking I'm wearing a really old, really long t shirt today. It was tied up a bit, but I let it down so no one would have to go through this happy time with me (except you fine people), and headed back home. Sorry Comm class.

Don't worry about the exam. I didn't even go to the correct building. The exam is NEXT Monday. Lame. But good. Sucks that I walked all the way to Wooten though, when my class was chillin' in GAB (RIGHT across the street from my apartment).

Needless to say, all it took was one glowing pregnant woman on my way home (I saw three, but ONE WAS ENOUGH) for me to burst into tears and come back to my apartment.


If it weren't for Jamie, I would be popping a xanax and going to sleep right now.

But I have a spectacular friend who invited me over later this evening, and I'm just going to go over there now.

Have a special day, everyone. I can't decide whether I want to get on the Universe's good side, or try to piss it off even more... Lately we haven't quite been getting along.

*Lacey Jane*

5 comments:

Criss said...

If you were a less-nice person (if you were less "Lacey") you would realize what a golden opportunity has just been handed to you: when those pregnant biatches say something about "OMG, I so have to pee - because I'm pregnant, get it?" and they're all rubbing it in your face, look at them and say, "Great. I just miscarried. I have to go to the bathroom too - to change my pad. You know, the one full of uteral blood, from my miscarried fetus?" And then you get to see the look on their faces.

I bet that would make you feel a little better... or it would, if you were an angry, vengeful person (y'know, less like you and more like me).

Use that doctor's note. Take days off whenever you need them.

I'm sorry about all the pregnant women and the kids/babies. That part does suck for a long time. It took me almost a year to stop tearing up any time I saw a girl Ashley's age, with straight, long brown hair. There's no shame in tearing up or crying (the problem is when all the nosies around you want to ask you want's wrong instead of letting you cry it out in peace, but if you're wearing heels, you just kick them in the shins and they'll leave you alone).

If you want something to keep you busy, NaNoWriMo's coming up. As someone who's used novel-writing as therapy before, I can vouch for its positive effects. There's a pretty big group of Wrimos in Denton, they're already planning write-ins and things at and around UNT.

Marcy said...

If you happen to be anywhere near the Austin area around Thanksgiving, we'll be in town for the week and you're more than welcome to come play with Donovan as much as you want. If that helps.

Shaken Mama said...

Oh my god, I'm so sorry to hear about your miscarriage, that sucks so HORRIBLY HORRIBLY. I always wanted to tell pregnant ladies, "I was pregnant TOO"... weird, but whatever. I'm just so sorry.

Criss said...

Actually, I was only half-joking about the telling them thing. One of the problems with miscarriages is that we do NOT talk about it - its supposed to be swept under the rug. Something for the woman to bear on her own, quietly. For too long women have had to bear their burdens without the support of other women, and this is another example of that.

Maybe I'm being over-dramatic, but I don't think so. Part of the reason you met those ignorant people who tried to tell you "what you did wrong" is because we do not know enough about miscarriages or even pregnancy, and people - ignorant ones - don't understand what's going on.

Not talking about it also sends the unspoken message that it's something you should be ashamed of. Something went "wrong," and since we don't understand female bodies enough we're going to assume you must have done something "wrong." Therefore you should be ashamed - now go suffer in silence. If you talk about it, openly and honestly, if women felt it was okay to talk about this and not treat it like "dirty laundry," then this whole "it's your fault" mindset would start to go away.

Kind of like with rape - it used to be assumed the woman had done something "wrong" and "asked for it." I was "her fault." Since we're started talking about it, getting information out there, and lifiting the taboo, we understand, and society agrees, that it is not, in any way, shape, or form, the woman's fault.

Or maybe it's late and I need to go to bed. G'night.

Diana said...

aw lace i'm sorry. it sounds like you need some more cookies. am i right?