Ok so it's NOT the end. The End: Part 2? Yeah, not really, huh. It was the first thing that popped in my head...picking names for blogs isn't always easy, you know.
You ever have something really f*cking shitty happen and just blocked the whole damn thing out? Its like the story of my life. I don't like it - I get out my little brain eraser and ta da, it's gone. That's pretty much what I've done regarding most of my reproductive history, among other things. I'm hazy on the details, real hazy. Family members or other people close to me probably have a better memory of the situations than I do. I start confusing miscarriage #3 with #5, though I know for sure that 6 & 7 happened after we moved... blah blah blah. So if anything comes across as a little confusing - details, timelines - just...ignore it and carry on.
After #5, as mentioned in part one of this blog, I was feeling a little...let's say...distraught. Ok, if I'm going to be perfectly honest I might as well say that I turned into a basket case nutjob, among other things. If you know me, or if you don't, feel free to throw some words out there. They probably fit.
One thing that happened to me at that point was that I developed a desperate need to get the hell away from everyone and everything I knew, the BBrook house it happened in, the people who knew about it, etc etc. It was really very hard to face my friends and neighbors who knew what happened. Sometimes I was pregnant at the same time as one of them, and they went on to have their baby. Sometimes all it took was 'that look', whether the person knew they were doing it or not. Sometimes it was things that were said that were well-meaning, but to me were like nails on a chalkboard. It was just too much. Not to sound ungrateful for the support I got, because I certainly am, but sometimes you just have to step away.
So when my husband mentioned the possibility of finding a house closer to his job, I jumped on it. That may be a bit of an understatement. I got f*cking OBSESSED with it. I was on realtor.com a couple hours every day. Then one day the word 'Wisconsin' entered the conversations. Co-workers of my husband's suggested it and I promptly I laughed it off. Well, who's laughing now?
Just to humor him I checked out the area on my new favorite website, and couldn't believe the houses I found. I've always loved old, quirky houses and there seemed to be quite the abundance in the area I searched! Our house at the time was brand new, we built it, and it's in a neighborhood of all brand-new homes. Beautiful, and big (oh GOD what a kitchen!), but like I said, I've always loved old houses. Or anything old, for that matter. So when I ran across this house and spied this horrendous little thumbnail and read the description of this ramshackle antique, I of course was intrigued. The price! The age! The YARD!! Oh, the taxes...after taxes in the Brook this was nothing short of stupendous! miraculous! staggering! DY-no-MITE!! I printed out the listing along with quite a few others and four passengers set sail that day...
Let me mention that at this point I was still 100% opposed to Wisconsin, and looking at listings and making plans to go for a drive up there was basically humoring good old Steve as far as I was concerned. Plus, I was curious, I admit it. I wanted to see what it looked like around here. Yeah, so what?
Now, the description of the house absolutely rocked, but the pic was for shit. Anyone who has ever looked at houses on the internet knows how that goes, realtors make a shack sound Disneyland, but those tell-all (I loathe that phrase, tell-all) pics can't lie. So in my mind picking this particular listing was a tiny little joke I was playing on my husband. I thought I would show him that the great shiny state of Wisconsin (say this to yourself like a sassy 6 year old girl would) didn't have CRAP.
It was the first house on the list of drive-bys. We drove the hour or so it took to get over the state line, spent another half hour locating the house (I never thought I'd get used to this numbered street/avenue system), saw the sign in the yard and pulled up in front.
THE END.
Kidding, kidding. To be continued...
You ever have something really f*cking shitty happen and just blocked the whole damn thing out? Its like the story of my life. I don't like it - I get out my little brain eraser and ta da, it's gone. That's pretty much what I've done regarding most of my reproductive history, among other things. I'm hazy on the details, real hazy. Family members or other people close to me probably have a better memory of the situations than I do. I start confusing miscarriage #3 with #5, though I know for sure that 6 & 7 happened after we moved... blah blah blah. So if anything comes across as a little confusing - details, timelines - just...ignore it and carry on.
After #5, as mentioned in part one of this blog, I was feeling a little...let's say...distraught. Ok, if I'm going to be perfectly honest I might as well say that I turned into a basket case nutjob, among other things. If you know me, or if you don't, feel free to throw some words out there. They probably fit.
One thing that happened to me at that point was that I developed a desperate need to get the hell away from everyone and everything I knew, the BBrook house it happened in, the people who knew about it, etc etc. It was really very hard to face my friends and neighbors who knew what happened. Sometimes I was pregnant at the same time as one of them, and they went on to have their baby. Sometimes all it took was 'that look', whether the person knew they were doing it or not. Sometimes it was things that were said that were well-meaning, but to me were like nails on a chalkboard. It was just too much. Not to sound ungrateful for the support I got, because I certainly am, but sometimes you just have to step away.
So when my husband mentioned the possibility of finding a house closer to his job, I jumped on it. That may be a bit of an understatement. I got f*cking OBSESSED with it. I was on realtor.com a couple hours every day. Then one day the word 'Wisconsin' entered the conversations. Co-workers of my husband's suggested it and I promptly I laughed it off. Well, who's laughing now?
Just to humor him I checked out the area on my new favorite website, and couldn't believe the houses I found. I've always loved old, quirky houses and there seemed to be quite the abundance in the area I searched! Our house at the time was brand new, we built it, and it's in a neighborhood of all brand-new homes. Beautiful, and big (oh GOD what a kitchen!), but like I said, I've always loved old houses. Or anything old, for that matter. So when I ran across this house and spied this horrendous little thumbnail and read the description of this ramshackle antique, I of course was intrigued. The price! The age! The YARD!! Oh, the taxes...after taxes in the Brook this was nothing short of stupendous! miraculous! staggering! DY-no-MITE!! I printed out the listing along with quite a few others and four passengers set sail that day...
Let me mention that at this point I was still 100% opposed to Wisconsin, and looking at listings and making plans to go for a drive up there was basically humoring good old Steve as far as I was concerned. Plus, I was curious, I admit it. I wanted to see what it looked like around here. Yeah, so what?
Now, the description of the house absolutely rocked, but the pic was for shit. Anyone who has ever looked at houses on the internet knows how that goes, realtors make a shack sound Disneyland, but those tell-all (I loathe that phrase, tell-all) pics can't lie. So in my mind picking this particular listing was a tiny little joke I was playing on my husband. I thought I would show him that the great shiny state of Wisconsin (say this to yourself like a sassy 6 year old girl would) didn't have CRAP.
It was the first house on the list of drive-bys. We drove the hour or so it took to get over the state line, spent another half hour locating the house (I never thought I'd get used to this numbered street/avenue system), saw the sign in the yard and pulled up in front.
Kidding, kidding. To be continued...
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