Grief and Pregnancy Loss

Death by a Million Cuts

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TW: Pregnancy Loss

People sometimes ask or ponder what it feels like to lose a baby. There are thousands of metaphors on the internet. Grief is like the ocean, some days have large waves and some have small. Grief is like a black hole that never fills, but you build around it. Grief is like a big black ball in a jug, where the ball doesn’t get smaller, but as you heal, the jar gets bigger. I could go on and on. But most of these descriptions and similes have to do with grief, not with actually losing a part of yourself. That’s what losing a baby is. My daughter’s entire existence was within my own body, and then she was gone. If I could describe what it’s like, it’s like dying yourself, but not in one fell swoop in a large dramatic event. It’s like death by a million tiny cuts.

Obviously, there is one huge gaping wound, and I mean that physically and metaphorically. But the tiny cuts almost hurt worse because they are completely unpredictable, and it seems like they are always right behind a dark corner. Nowhere is safe.

The first cut came the same day I got home from the hospital. I went on Instagram, which is a mine field even on a good day. I saw a post from a friend who I knew was pregnant and due the same month as I was. Her lizard died and she was devastated. Her lizard. She posted a photo of it in her hand. Meanwhile it made me think about how little my baby had been. Would she have fit in my hand in an 8×8 box in a similar staged photo? What if I posted that on Instagram? This girl still had a baby in her stomach, how dare she be upset about a reptile???

The next cuts came from a doctor’s visit. Twelve hours after leaving the hospital, I had to go into the doctor’s office to have blood drawn for labs and to calibrate my meds. I was really hoping for a video appointment so I wouldn’t have to sit in a waiting room full of pregnant people, but the only availability was in-person, another tiny cut.

I was sort of prepared for the waiting room, and I was so glad Chris was with me, but I was fully unprepared for the next part. I was originally supposed to have my 26-week appointment that day and take a glucose test. Even though all of my upcoming appointments had been deleted from the system (thanks to my sister for handling this for me), there must have been a miscommunication. The nurse asked me if I drank the glucose drink. I said no. She asked if I already did the blood sugar test. I said, “I’m not doing that test anymore.” I couldn’t bring myself to say why. The nurse then handed me a packet of papers and told me there was information in there about “how my baby is acting and measuring at 26 weeks.” I looked to Chris and I said, “what the f*ck is going on??” I thought it was some sort of cruel joke. I was waiting for Ashton Kutcher to jump out from behind the door and say I was being Punk’d. I was speechless. Chris said, “we’re not pregnant anymore” and I burst into tears. Of course, the nurse felt horrible and ran out of the room. When the nurse came back with tissues, she handed me an EDPS survey to measure post-partum depression. Another small cut – how could I be post-partum with no baby?? She proceeded to take my blood pressure and of course it was sky-high.

Then, I had to get more blood taken (a physical small cut), and the phlebotomist asked which arm I preferred. My arms were COVERED in bruises, so I said, “how about I show you my arms and you can decide which is better.” She told me she was pretty confident in her skills and had seen some bad bruising in her time, but when I freed my arms from my long sleeves, I believe her exact words were, “damn girl! Those are impressive!” I had green, yellow, blue and purple gnarly bruises spreading from my tops of my hands, to my wrists, all the way up my arms almost to my shoulders. Looking at them through the phlebotomist’s eyes took me immediately back 7 days to my initial few minutes in triage where 8 nurses and doctors were running around trying to get a needle in my arm as fast as possible, trading off to the next nurse after each one failed. Over the next few months, every time I had blood drawn at the doctor’s office, that same phlebotomist remembered me and my bruises.

10 days later, more metaphorical small cuts came at the doctor. I checked my chart online first, to make sure it wasn’t showing a 28-week appointment or anything like that. Instead, it was coded as “post-partum,” which, technically, was correct. I was hopeful there wouldn’t be any mishaps. Again, I waited in a room full of pregnant people and sat in the corner with sunglasses on, listening to a podcast, trying to breath normally. Again, Chris was with me to try and allay a panic attack. We were called into the room, and the nurse started asking all these questions about my delivery, how I was doing with the baby etc. This time I was able to say out loud “there’s no baby” and of course immediately started crying and losing control of my breathing. Again, she felt awful. And again, she proceeded to take my blood pressure and it was sky high. When the doctor came in, I asked her to PLEASE put in caps in my chart that there was no baby and I started crying again.

Two days later, another tiny cut came in the form of stomach problems. One of the main side effects of the medication I was on was stomach issues. Thankfully, I hadn’t had any. Until now. It felt cruel that just as my body was starting to normalize and stop bleeding, it would let me down again. I canceled all of my weekend plans because I felt terrible. And to be honest, I didn’t want to go anywhere anyway. There is nothing worse for your mental health than when your physical health is bad as well.

I was pretty sure my doctor had to be sick of hearing from me, but I messaged her again asking how to fix my stomach. She wrote me back the next day and good news (irony) was that since I wasn’t pregnant anymore or breastfeeding, I could basically take anything I wanted. While I was thankful and hopeful it would work, I remember chugging the medicine and crying, extremely angry that I was even allowed to take it. Another cut.

At least my body wasn’t bleeding anymore, right? Wrong. My body just continued to blackmail me. Two weeks later, I was bleeding again. And again, I messaged my doctor, “is this normal?” Good news: it was “within the range of normal.” Bad news, the doctor said “normal” was that my body could be messed up and out of whack for three months. EYE ROLL.

I took two weeks off work, but I was going stir crazy at home. I wasn’t allowed to work out, which was another tiny cut. I decided I should go back to work because being alone with my thoughts wasn’t helping. But the second week back to work, I opened a Zoom and boom, it was a woman holding her 3-month-old baby. I felt like I was stabbed. In my job, I help people find new jobs, so she was lamenting to me about all of the terrible things that had happened to her in the past year, and why she wanted to look for a new job. All the while, she was bouncing and holding her (very alive and healthy) baby on camera. I’m not sure if she could sense my silence or uncomfortability but she added “of course having this little guy was amazing and the best part of our year.” Then she made some baby noises at him. At that point I just blacked out. I have no idea what I said to her. I was just trying to survive and get through the call. Eventually it ended and I gave up on work for the rest of the day so I could cry.

I haven’t even mentioned the endless tiny cuts caused by social media. As a 35-now-36-year-old female, I know a LOT of people getting pregnant. It felt like a new person every single day. A bump pic. A pregnancy announcement. I only have four cousins, and one of them had a baby the exact same day we lost ours. So of course I saw photos from them and from other cousins. Also, from my aunt and uncle, proud grandparents 3 times over. Just when I thought the social media barrage was done, all of a sudden somehow my baby cousin was 1 month old, and I saw more pictures and a reminder that it had been exactly one month since we lost our daughter. I realized that for the rest of that child’s life, every single milestone would be a reminder of what we don’t get to have. I immediately muted my cousin’s social media.

One of the issues with losing a baby so far along in a pregnancy is that people know and word travels quickly. Soon, it’s not just the people you told, but the people they told. That also means that you don’t necessarily know who knows or when it will come up. Danger is around every corner and you’re left with two options: mention it first and create a very awkward situation, or don’t mention it and hope it doesn’t come up or hope that they don’t know. A million cuts waiting to happen.

Two months to the day after I left the hospital, I was in the elevator in my building with a friend of my neighbor and her 4-year-old daughter. The doors closed and she excitedly said, “you’re having a baby!” I was stunned and momentarily speechless. Then I finally said, “I’m not.” And she said “Oh!” Another awkward silence. Then I said, “I was, but now I’m not.” Thankfully, the doors then opened on my floor, and I walked out.

In a twisted sense of fate, I had told my neighbor we were expecting the week before I went into the hospital. Of course. The universe has a sense of humor sometimes. When I came home from the hospital, I didn’t tell her what happened. I didn’t have the words to tell anyone, but I had asked a few friends and family to spread the news on my behalf. Of course, they didn’t know to tell my neighbor. After my elevator run-in, I walked into my apartment and collapsed on the couch to cry. It was so unexpected and that made it even worse. I was mad at myself for letting my guard down and leaving the house. Nowhere was safe, not even the elevator to my home. Worse, I knew I’d eventually hear from my neighbor once her friend wrote her and probably yelled at her, “how could you not have told me! I felt so bad!” I just curled up into a ball and waited for her text, another small cut.

Sure enough, an hour later my neighbor wrote to me and was so sweet and empathetic. She really couldn’t have written a better message, but it still wrecked me. She said she was so sorry and that she had no idea we were mourning a horrible loss, meanwhile she was picturing us nesting and getting ready for a baby on the other side of our shared wall. I couldn’t stop thinking about that: what could/should have been happening versus what actually was. I started thinking about what was happening with my other friends who were due the same month as me. Instead, in our apartment, it was just Chris and me and a silent house filled only with blank spaces where baby things used to be and punctuated by sounds of my cries instead of a baby’s.

The little cuts never stop coming. It’s the lake house my family booked for a week that was driving distance to New York City, because we thought we’d be driving with our baby. It’s the trips we can now take because we have no reason not to. It’s the weekend mornings when I sleep ‘til 11 am, and wake to an empty and silent room. It’s my friends asking to go to happy hour, and me knowing I can drink as much as I want because I’m not breastfeeding. It’s every friend who has a baby who will now be older than any future baby of mine for the rest of their lives.

I wish that this was a one-and-done loss, but unfortunately it seems like the gift that keeps on giving. Just when I think one cut has started to scab over and heal, I hit something else sharp, and a wound opens again. I hope a time comes when the cuts are fewer, and I have more healed scars than open wounds, but that time is not now.

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Grief and Pregnancy Loss, Miscellaneous

Highlight Reel

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TW: Pregnancy Loss

Last week I talked about social media and how I have been taking a break to get away from the “highlight reel,” which constantly makes me feel like my life is filled with lowlights. This week, I wanted to switch it up and show you some of my own highlights.

I want to be clear that I’m not doing this to show you that I’m ok. I’m not. I also don’t want to give the impression that in these moments, I forgot about my daughter. I didn’t. But emotions are complicated and layered, and they don’t fit into an easy box. So many different things can exist at the same time: happiness and sadness, joy and anxiety, laughter and fear. That said, here are a few times I felt better than other times over the past 5 months. And for my parents, I included photos as #proofoflife. Sometimes I smile, and some of those times (not all times), it’s actually genuine!

(Friends, family, if I have seen you in the past few months and you are not included in this post, please realize that it has nothing to do with you. It’s not easy to get out of my head and feel happy, so if my time with you is not on this list, I was probably having a bad day. There are more of those than good days. Sometimes I appreciate company on bad days even more than on good days.)

Speaking of highlights, my first positive thing that happened was getting my hair colored. For some reason, whenever I am going through some sh*t, I have this feral need to change my hair. I remember after my first horrible breakup I dyed my hair DARK to reflect my mood. This time, I was hoping for a fresh start, so I went super light blonde for spring. I’m including a photo here but don’t judge my ghastly dark circle eyes appearance, this was 3 days after leaving the hospital. You can see the full color transformation video from my stylist’s Instagram. #NewHairNewMe

I was looking forward to maternity leave and bonding with my baby. I was not looking forward to weeks on the couch recovering from a long hospital stay with no living baby to show for it. Two highlights from my recovery: gummy bears & a Friends coloring book. In those early days, I received cards and flowers and succulents, and ubereats gift cards, and all of them were appreciated. But I wasn’t really thinking about food in terms of meals. I was thinking more in terms of what I mindlessly put in my mouth while sitting on the couch barely comprehending Modern Family. I ate literally 10 pounds of gummy bears those first two months. Five pounds of those were sent from my friend who also sent comfy PJs. I lived in those pajamas for days on end while I consumed pure sugar. I wasn’t allowed to work out, and there’s only so much staring at the wall you can do, but I loved my Friends coloring book. It was mindless but it kept my hands busy instead of scrolling social media. Flipping through the coloring book and remembering all of the scenes where I had laughed out loud reminded me of some of the things I loved and found funny “before.”

Six weeks after losing our daughter, Chris planned a surprise staycation for us. We stayed at the Beekman hotel downtown and it was the perfect low-stakes way to have our first night out of our apartment together. We took a quick Uber ride downtown and it was as if we were transported to a different time. I didn’t have to sit at the same table where I was sitting when my doctor told me to come into the hospital. I didn’t have to stare at the empty spot in our living room where the baby swing had been set up. I didn’t have to look at my empty fridge door that used to be filled with ultrasound photos. I just got to sleep in a luxurious king size bed with the man I loved, eat delicious food, and be together. We came home from dinner (one elevator ride away) and put on the thick, plush hotel robes and watched Marvelous Mrs. Maisel. It felt so nice to get out of our apartment and have a change of scenery.

Highlights… literally!
How gorgeous is the interior of this hotel??
Luxuriating at the Beekman
Joey FTW

My first major outing after I came home from the hospital was to a Heat playoff game. I’m extremely lucky that one of my closest friends has amazing work perks, and one of those is VERY good seats to events. Since we are both big Miami Heat fans, and they happened to be playing in New York against the Knicks, she got amazing tickets. As I mentioned last week, it wasn’t without its anxiety and pre-outing worries (do I even bother putting on makeup when I’ve only cried once today so far?) but overall, I had a blast. I was able to have a few hours where I could focus on the game and remember what it was like to be out with a friend having fun. We went out for a drink after, and I made it through many hours in a row with company and no tears. I knew I was hitting my maximum of breakdown-free social interaction, so I left before dinner, but it was fun to dress up and leave the house again.

Somehow, throughout these past few months I have been #BookedAndBusy with my braiding side hustle. I am honestly extremely impressed with myself that I have been able to manage any of the jobs I took. The administration of back-and-forth emails, communication of rates, deposits, and then showing up on a specific date and time to carry out a task? Herculean. But I did it. Time and time again. I have had more than 20 clients and events this year. Every time I finish a job, I feel not only a sense of accomplishment, but I am so proud of myself for doing something I used to do with ease “before.” There is nothing like the look in a young girl’s eyes when she sees her hair in ribbon braids for the first time. Again, this hasn’t been without hiccups. Braiding adults and children ALWAYS leads to questions about whether or not I have kids and comments about how good I am with kids. I usually have to do serious mental pre-work before any kid’s party. I braided a mother and daughter for a family photoshoot just 6 weeks after I left the hospital. The topic of kids came up when I was braiding the mom and I was prepared. I said, “we just recently went through a traumatic loss but hopefully someday.” It was a succinct way to tell the truth, and it cut off any follow-up questions. Unfortunately, later when the dad came home with the daughter, he hadn’t heard that conversation and he also asked, talking about how great I was with kids. When I left that client, I was extra proud of myself for being honest, for holding it together, and for being professional. I felt like it was a highlight because it was the first time I told the truth and I felt good about it.

Last week I mentioned how fraught our Jamaica vacation was, but I didn’t mention the main highlight: our anniversary. Chris has been a rock for me these past few months, but as some books say, a grieving person is a selfish person by necessity. I haven’t had the capacity to look after anyone but myself for many months. I really wanted to do something special for Chris for our anniversary, but I knew I didn’t have it in me to order, buy, and hide a unique gift. I didn’t even pack for our trip until 10 hours before. But somehow, I had the idea to email the hotel and have them orchestrate an anniversary surprise. With a few emails back and forth, I paid for them to have champagne and a bubble bath in our room when we arrived. They went above and beyond, with chocolate dipped fruit and rose petals everywhere. It was a big highlight for me before I finally felt like I had done something for someone else, and I wanted to make sure Chris knew how much I appreciated him.  

The next week was my birthday. I won’t say my birthday itself was a highlight, I was a mess and I cried that morning after I went to the gym. But my parents decided to come into the city to visit that day, and Mother Nature showed off. My birthday can be extremely hot, but this year it was sunny and bearable! My sister hosted a Memorial Day BBQ, so my parents and husband and I walked up to my sister’s place along the Hudson River. It was so nice to show my parents my usual walking route, to be outside, and to have a brief distraction from the fact that I wasn’t 38 weeks pregnant. I always feel proud and happy when I can show people the little things I like about New York (hint: it’s not the crowds or the traffic).

Some of the MANY braids I’ve done this year.
Happy 1st Anniversary to us!
Oolala <3
Pre-walk birthday gathering with my family

Chris and I love to celebrate our many anniversaries. Ok, maybe only I love to celebrate them. For our wedding anniversary we were in Jamaica, but for our meetiversary Chris scheduled another surprise trip. This was his belated birthday present to me, and we went to Chicago for the weekend. The timing was perfect because it was also Father’s Day weekend, which we were happy to have a distraction from. The entire weekend was a highlight. We stayed in beautiful hotels, we ate AMAZING food, and again, the weather was absolutely perfect. We got to do our favorite activity together, Segways! Since we had done them a few times before, we wanted a unique experience, so we did a night tour and got to see fireworks. It was a blast (literally).

Slowly but surely, I’ve been getting myself back into the world. I’ve been trying to socialize in safe spaces, which is often with family. Many highlights have been just going on walks with my sister. Doing nails. Talking about normal things without having to act. Two weeks ago, I went to my great aunt’s 90th birthday party. It was so nice to see family. It was not without a breakdown in the middle of the luncheon (why did I bother wearing makeup!?) but overall, I was so happy to see family I hadn’t seen since before Covid. This past weekend, I went to Texas to visit my nephews and in-laws. It was so refreshing to spend a weekend with family having fun. Sitting in my apartment makes my mind wander, and it is usually not to bright places. In Texas, my brother-in-law, a two-time-purple-heart Army vet, took me to the shooting range because he said I needed to “let off some steam.” Concentrating on a target and learning a new skill left no room in my head for other thoughts. What a rush. I came home feeling lighter than I have in months. Being with family, going bowling, getting blizzards at Dairy Queen, I felt like I did last year.

Writing these blogs has been interesting for me, because I have had a chance to reflect on both the good and the bad. There have been both, and sometimes at the same time. I’ve been writing a lot, and I already know that the blog I will publish next week is a doozy of reality, and it’s not uplifting. But between those moments, there have been good ones. Sometimes I have to look harder for them now, but they’re there. Here’s hoping for many more bright spots and highlights in the future.

Can you guess where we are?
Architecture Boat Tour
Nighttime Segways!
Happy 90th Birthday!
Fabulous in her sash and tiara
Bowling and Cuddling
Learning my new skill
bam bam bam
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Grief and Pregnancy Loss

Social Media and Grief

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TW: Pregnancy Loss

I’m on social media hiatus. I know it’s hard to believe, but Little Miss 4 Instagrams, 3 Facebooks, and 2 TikToks has gone dark. I haven’t been on the apps in almost 2 weeks, and I have to tell you, I feel free and light.

I’ve taken a break one other time since my loss and it was around Mother’s Day. I left social media for 5 days and felt great about it, and then the moment I opened Instagram for the first time I was bombarded by yet another pregnancy announcement. I regretted it immediately. Of course, the ultrasound and bump photos are extraordinarily terrible, but it’s not just that, it’s everything.

I remember a few months ago, I mentioned to my therapist how tired I was. She asked me if I was sleeping well, and the honest answer was, I was sleeping great! More than ever (hello… no baby to wake me up!), and with amazing quality. She dug into my statement a little more, and asked if I was tired like sleepy tired, or something else. I had to think about it, but the reality was, I was just mentally exhausted. Something people don’t talk about enough is that grief is extremely exhausting. There was the anxiety piece – I was always worried that something I didn’t want to talk about would come up – and there was the fear that no one understood me, but there was also the main problem: it takes an exorbitant amount of energy to “act fine.”

When I explained to my therapist that I was mostly tired of pretending I was ok, she again pushed and asked why I was pretending. Part of it was that I felt no one wanted to be around the “sad girl” and I had already lost so much, I didn’t want to lose my friends, too. Another small part was that I was hoping I could almost will myself to be ok, in a “fake it ‘til you make it” mindset. But the main part was, I felt like I was the only sad person in the world. It seemed like everyone else was happy and thriving, and I was… not.

In May, Chris and I went to Jamaica. We took some photos, although nowhere near as many as usual. I could have posted the picture of my nails around my pina colada in the pool. But the truth of that photo was that I was crying behind my sunglasses because I saw a pregnant friend on Instagram, so I was staring blankly at my Kindle and I couldn’t process the words. I could have posted the view of the 5 pools at the resort, but the truth was that I was barely functioning, staring at the water thinking only that we wouldn’t have been at that resort or looking at those pools if I was 37 weeks pregnant like I was supposed to be. My main activity during vacation? I had telehealth therapy twice while we were there.  I thought about posting a selfie of us on the shuttle to the airport and captioning it “can’t wait to sleep in my bed,” but the truth was that an old friend texted me that morning while we were at breakfast to “check on me and the baby” and I cried when the TSA agent asked me to open my passport to the photo page. I couldn’t stop crying until an hour into the flight, and the reality was, I “couldn’t wait to cry in my own bed,” not sleep in it. I struggled posting anything happy on Instagram, because I knew how unrepresentative it was of the whole picture.

I realize that Instagram is a “highlight reel,” and people are showing only the best parts of their lives. The app literally has a feature on your profile for “highlights” and no one is ever talking about lowlights. There have been some ups and some downs in the past few months, but it feels fake to talk about the ups, when the downs are so far down. For example, I went to multiple Miami Heat Playoff Games, but when I see those photos, I remember debating whether I could put on mascara or if I would cry it off. I once was talking about social media with my sister-in-law, and she said, “of course everything on my Instagram is fake and highly curated.” But I never ran my social media like that. I tried to be as real as possible, showing highs and lows in my stories, complaining about the dentist, showing my gross sweaty self while waiting for the subway in the summer, not putting filters on my face, etc. I knew I was in the minority, and it became even more clear when I was seeking to find anything real or any sort of struggle as I was dealing with my own, and I couldn’t find it anywhere.

When I explained to my therapist how tired I was of acting fine, she encouraged me to “bring people into my grief.” She said that real friends would be there with me if I invited them in. She gave me some homework to try and make a genuine connection and open up with a friend. I tried, and you know what, that b*tch (my therapist) was right… to an extent. I hate when my therapist is right, but unfortunately it happens a lot.

Chris and I eventually decided to share about the loss of our daughter on social media, and I was ready for empty platitudes and stupid replies, but I found that was not the response. Most people said what they could, because what could you say? I have a blog coming soon on what to say and what not to say, but the reality is, nothing helps. A few people said “Congratulations,” so I recommend reading the caption before commenting, y’all. (“Congratulations” definitely doesn’t help.)

It was relatively cathartic to come out of hiding with my grief. I found that people were willing to share things with me one on one. Sometimes on the very same app where they were posting happy smiling kids and spouses, they opened up to me in my direct messages that those same smiling kids were sick and up all night. Or they had 2-month NICU stays. Or their happy family actually had a member who was struggling with deep depression. Or despite their 2 happy kids on the ‘gram, they had 2 pregnancy losses before them. I started to feel a bit less alone, but I still couldn’t get over an overwhelming feeling of fakeness.

I was working so hard to be authentic, to open up my whole self and show my hurt, my depression, my endless tears and panic attacks at doctors. And then I would go back to the main feed and I saw highs and highs and more highs. I heard all of the “right” words in private conversations, but no one was sharing the way I was. I found out that someone was hiding a pregnancy for months while at the same time, I was throwing my heart on the table. I wasn’t able to balance what I knew to be true through conversations, and what I saw in those happy smiley photos. I knew I needed a break.  Sharing things is a delicate balance, and some people are far more private than me. I wear my heart on my sleeve, and often expect the same in return. Unfortunately, social media doesn’t work that way. People share what they want, when they want, in the way they want.

I was recently journaling trying to figure out what I needed in friends, whether it is coworkers, super tight best friends, acquaintances or Facebook “friends.” I came to the realization that I need people I can relate to, people I have things in common with, and people I can feel like I’m in a relationship with 2-way sharing on similar levels. I am fine with surface-level pleasantries and highlight reel-type interactions from people if I do the same toward them. My real struggle is when there is an imbalance, and when I feel like I open myself up to a person and it isn’t reciprocated.

I realize this is a hilarious oxymoron, as I am currently pouring my heart out on a blog that is read by over 100 people, but often gets 0 comments. Writing on a blog feels different than social media because I am writing into blank space. I don’t need a reply, and I don’t need to see anyone else’s thoughts or “perfect” lives. There is an understanding that a person is reading this only if they want. Social media feels like a constant imbalance where I am pushed things I don’t want or need to see. I am sure that I will eventually be back on Instagram and Facebook, maybe even tomorrow if I’m driven to it, and I’m sure I will see things that upset me. My hope is that I’m able to find genuine connections, as well, to balance these surface-level ones. While some people are extreme introverts and are ok without deep connections on a regular basis, I know I am not that person. I crave closeness from others, and I have been working hard to find people who I can relate with, share with, and who I feel will share back. It’s a work in progress, but for me, I know I need that balance before I can dive back into social media.

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Grief and Pregnancy Loss

I Couldn’t Care Less. Really.

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People use the phrase “I couldn’t care less” pretty liberally. Once something horrible happens to you, though, you really do start to care less. About friends. Family. Work. Everything. And yes, I’m aware this is a symptom of depression, but those aren’t the things I will be talking about here. I’ve been publishing a lot of super depressing blogs, and everyone loves a light-hearted listicle, so here is a list of things about which, as Cody Rigsby from Peloton would say, are “not that serious.” Care less.

I could not care less about:

  • Hard clothes – Let’s be honest, clothes with zips, buttons, and no stretch were left in 2019 pre-Covid. But now for sure. Why would I wear something that isn’t comfortable? Like what is the point; who am I trying to impress? Zoom doesn’t show my boobs, why would I wear anything besides a sports bra? No one sees me from the waist down, so hard pants are a hard pass. Related:
  • Makeup – Makeup is problematic because it is far too close to your eyes. It is sometimes literally ON your eyes. When your eyes double as unpredictable waterfalls, it really makes no sense to put anything on them. What a waste of time and waste of sleeves when they are ruined as you wipe your eyes with them. Also, who am I trying to fool? Makeup is usually used to cover imperfections, but it isn’t covering anything in my case. You can read my face like a book and no amount of CC cream is going to cover it.
  • The size/shape of my body – Almost all women, nay, ALL women think about the size and shape of their bodies at some point in their lives. Some think about it at all points in their lives. I must admit, I did too. But I have also done some serious work the past 10 years trying to unlearn those thoughts and behaviors. And I’ll say something here: if there’s one thing that being on the verge of death teaches you, it’s that the container size of your body does not matter at all. Like not one single bit. If your organs work, you are Gucci, as the kids would say. I have a LOT to say about body size/body image/body changes in pregnancy, but for now I will just keep it at this – it doesn’t matter and I couldn’t care less.
  • Leaving the air conditioning on – Climate Warriors come at me. I used to care about this. I was so conditioned (pun intended) to turn off the AC when I left the house to save electricity. First of all, it saves money. Second of all, it saves the planet. But realistically, it’s only 3 months of the year that you need it. That’s not too much money. And I’d rather be comfortable. Not much nowadays brings me a modicum of comfort, and this is one of the things that does. There are so few things in this world that are predictable but one thing is for sure: I hate the heat and I am far more irritable when overheated. Summer is the worst season. I said what I said. If I can do something so minor like leaving the AC on when I go to the gym so it’s still cool when I come home, it’s worth it. I also used to turn the AC off in the room I wasn’t in. Nowadays, I move around a lot. Namely, I move from curled up in a ball crying on the couch, to curled up in a ball crying in my bed. I need options! All rooms must be cool and ready just in case.
  • Cancelling plans – Sorry not sorry. If I don’t feel like it, I’m not going. I’d rather be miserable at home than miserable out and wanting to go home.
  • Making the bed – In 2022 I had a goal to make my bed every day. Everyone loves to climb into a freshly made bed. But when you’re in and out of bed so often, it loses its luster. Let’s be honest, I’m climbing in there whether or not the sheets are pulled up. Also, how many times in one day can you make a bed? Waste of time.

There are many more things I don’t care about, but these are my top 6. Are there any things you all don’t care about? Life-altering trauma or not, I think these 6 should rank high on everyone’s list.

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Grief and Pregnancy Loss

Memories (or lack thereof)

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TW: Pregnancy Loss (some studies suggest trigger warnings aren’t helpful, but I personally find them helpful so I’ll be trying to remember to use them)

Next week I am starting EMDR (Eye Movement Desensitization and Reprocessing). If you haven’t heard of it, EMDR is a psychotherapy that enables people to heal from the symptoms and emotional distress resulting from trauma. Some studies show that 84%-90% of single-trauma victims no longer have PTSD after only three 90-minute sessions. Those are pretty amazing numbers. And since I’ve already hit my out-of-pocket maximum on my insurance like 20 times over, I figured I’d try anything for free. In my mind, it’s a little like hypnosis and a bit too woowoo for me, but most articles say it’s very different than hypnosis and plus, the research shows it works.

But there’s a catch. EMDR depends on a patient’s memories. The way you reprocess is by evoking vivid visual images related to the memory, and then you think about your negative beliefs about yourself and the related body sensations and emotions, then start to reprogram those beliefs and sensations that are related to the memories. This obviously poses a problem if you have no memories.

In preparation for EMDR, I’ve been trying to remember everything that happened in the months leading up to my hospitalization and loss of our baby, but I have a lot of gaps. First of all, it’s hard for me to pinpoint anything happy. It’s as if my brain remembers how horrific the week in the hospital was, and it has deleted and reconfigured any happy emotions I had at all the entire pregnancy. I’ve been meaningfully trying to remember being happy and excited, but now it’s all tinged with fear and extreme depths of depression.

When we told my parents about the baby, we had created a whole fake story so that we could get their reaction on video. It’s really hard to watch that video now. My mom cried. There were so many happy tears. But I watched that video trying to remember how happy I was and now as I watch, it feels fake. Was I really that happy? It seems like I’m watching someone else have those emotions. On a deep level, did that girl know what would happen? They say hindsight is 20/20, well now it feels like hindsight is just SAD.

Since I haven’t actually started EMDR, I am not sure if we will focus on the whole pregnancy, or only on the hospitalization and loss trauma. But if we focus on the hospitalization, I’m in even worse trouble because I have even fewer memories.

A couple of weeks after I came home from the hospital, I started writing a never-to-be-published blog about my experience and I realized I couldn’t remember a lot. I went through all of my hospital records trying to remember. I had 118 unopened test results in the app. I had pages and pages of doctor notes. From the moment that my OB told me to come into the hospital, my fight-or-flight reaction was triggered. I won’t get into all of the science, but basically when there is trauma, your memories can be affected. Add that to the fact that I was on a magnesium infusion for a week, which causes confusion, and also add the fact that I wasn’t allowed to eat food, and I have major memory gaps. Not to mention the later epidurals and the Ativan. Between the psychological issues and medical interventions, my brain feels like Swiss cheese.

Last week, Chris and I were trying to go through the timeline of what happened at the hospital. There were certain things that I thought happened on Wednesday but he said they happened on Friday. Some of the conversations that happened throughout the first night when we had a revolving door of neonatologists, maternal fetal medicine specialists, residents, doctors, nurses, etc., I don’t remember at all. Even in that moment, I recognized that my memory wasn’t great and I had my sister taking notes on her phone to report to Chris, who was on a last-minute flight back to NYC.

Two weeks ago, I started going through my text messages and phone logs to try and reconstruct what happened. Most of the calls made from my phone in the hospital were made by my sister. I was in no shape to make phone calls, I was mostly sobbing the entire time out of fear and sadness and confusion. My sister called some coworkers to let them know I would be missing meetings and that I wouldn’t be at the strategic planning meeting the next week in Texas. She called Chris and my mom many times, but those calls were mostly made from her own phone.

Then in my call log I saw one call from my best friend that came in at 7:18 pm on my first full day at the hospital. I hadn’t slept the night before because doctors and specialists were in and out of the room every 5 minutes, so I was awake approximately 36 hours by that point. According to my call log, that call lasted 17 minutes and 59 seconds. I have 0 memory of it. None. Not a single memory. I don’t remember it happening. When I saw it, I didn’t even believe it. Even though it was in black and white right there in my palm, I still thought maybe it didn’t happen. I took a screen shot of my call log and I texted my friend. I said, “Can I ask you a really weird question – did I talk to you when I was in the hospital? I’m trying to like put my memories back together and I saw this in my call log and I have literally 0 recollection of this.” She wrote back immediately, “Yes we did talk!”

17 minutes and 59 seconds gone. And the worst part is that I saw that date and I realized it was the last full day that my daughter was alive. And I don’t remember it. Not only are the memories of my pregnancy now completely overshadowed and tinged with sadness, but my final few hours pregnant with our first child are missing from my brain. I’ve been working on giving myself more grace, but it feels unforgivable that I just don’t remember those last few days. What kind of mom forgets the last few hours of their kid’s life? These are thoughts for my therapist. I realize this isn’t necessarily my fault, and that a body’s trauma response is not rational. I realize that this wasn’t a choice. And if I’m completely and totally honest with myself, I’m not even sure I want to remember those days. They were terrible. Every single minute of those days was horrific and if I forgot 17 minutes and 59 seconds of one of them, that could be viewed as a blessing. Some days it seems that way, and some days it feels like a curse, adding insult to injury.

We have so few things to remember our girl by, and the fact that I don’t even have reliable memories feels extra cruel.

p.s. I originally thought I’d talk about physical mementos in this post, but that’s for another blog, if I get to it. I am also trying to give myself grace on these posts. I’m figuring out what I want to share, and what I want to keep for ourselves. There are so few things. And while I think our daughter deserves her own space in the world, I also selfishly want to keep her for ourselves. There isn’t much to go around.

p.p.s. Some of these blog posts won’t have tie-in-a-bow endings. My story isn’t tied in a bow. Not only is it ongoing, but it’s messy. If it feels like a post ends abruptly, it’s probably because I left my computer to crawl into a ball on the couch and cry. This is just real life now.

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Grief and Pregnancy Loss

Very Superstitious, Writing’s On the Wall

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TW: Pregnancy Loss (some studies suggest trigger warnings aren’t helpful, but I personally find them helpful so I’ll be trying to remember to use them)

Last week, I opened a new Listerine. I put some in my mouth then tried to fit the bottle into my drawer in my bathroom. It wasn’t fitting. As I was gargling the super minty concoction, I started fiddling around with everything in the drawer to fit it in and that’s when I saw them: two pregnancy tests in the back of the drawer staring at me in the face. I nearly swallowed the Listerine. I almost took the tests out and put them directly in the trash but something stopped me dead in my tracks. I looked at the expiration dates: 12/23. Would throwing them out mean I for sure wouldn’t be pregnant again before the end of the year? Do I even want to be pregnant by the end of the year? Will throwing them out somehow tell the universe I don’t ever want to be pregnant again? Are my thoughts that powerful? I fit the Listerine snugly into the drawer and closed it without doing anything with the tests. As I write this, those tests are still in the back of that drawer. But closing that drawer hasn’t made me stop thinking about those tests. Every time I wash my hands, I know they’re in that drawer, waiting to be used, or waiting to not be used as time continues to march on and that expiration date comes and goes.

Meanwhile, I can’t stop thinking about superstitions and ultimately that’s what drew me back to the blog. Everyone has superstitions, or at least I used to think people did. I never considered myself a very superstitious person, but as I take stock of my life, I’m realizing maybe I have been. The stakes were so much lower before, so I never took my thoughts too seriously. Growing up, I remember jumping over cracks in the sidewalk to avoid “breaking my mother’s back.” But that was just a childhood game, right? Maybe. In college and in the years after, I had this orange and blue underwear set I had to wear when the Gators played a football game. I didn’t necessarily think that I CAUSED them to win if I wore them, but I figured, “it’s worked before, it can’t hurt!” Just last year, the Miami Heat lost in a playoff game to the Celtics on my birthday. I remember exactly what outfit I was wearing. Again, this year they faced off against the Celtics in the playoffs on my birthday and I made sure not to wear that same jersey. But I didn’t think it would necessarily be my FAULT if they lost, they were coming off 3 losses and I was convinced it was their fault if they lost again. They deserved it! But if I could do this one small thing to help them by wearing something else, why not? And guess what, they won.

According to Merriam-Webster, a superstition is a belief or practice resulting from fear of the unknown, trust in magic or chance, or a false conception of causation. I was recently talking about my superstitions with my husband, and he said he just called these things “quirks.” My therapist, on the other hand, called them “physical manifestations of my anxiety.” Maybe all of those things are right. I told my therapist that rationally, I understand I’m not causing anything to happen, but it’s nice to feel I have some sense of control in a world that is so completely out of my control. I think she was proud of me for this insight, but I don’t think she would be proud of me if I told her I for sure would not be throwing those pregnancy tests out any time soon (or ever) JUST IN CASE. Why anger the universe when I can just keep them safely tucked into the back of my bathroom drawer, collecting dust until they expire?

Those pregnancy tests require a bit of a back story. When I got pregnant, I was thrilled and surprised. Could it be this easy? My best friend was pregnant and we were going to have babies so close together! It was a dream. With the advent of social media and people being open about fertility struggles, I was well aware that conception was not as easy as the movies make it out to be. Having sex does not equal pregnancy. I knew too many people who struggled to get pregnant. But maybe I was a lucky one and it was easy for me! Three weeks after that thought, I was shoved back down to reality when my best friend lost her pregnancy. From that moment on, I became more realistic about the possible outcomes.

At that time, I called myself “realistic,” but what I realize now is it was extreme anxiety. I was convinced something would happen to my pregnancy, too. It’s one of the reasons I never wrote about it on my blog! At my first doctor’s appointment, I made my husband come with me and I remember looking at my Fitbit and seeing my heart rate was 120 bpm. Literally double my resting heart rate. And that anxiety never fully quieted. I made my husband come to every single appointment.

Most people announce their pregnancies around 12 weeks because they are “out of the miscarriage window.” I never felt comfortable announcing. I was sure something would happen. I remember we finally decided to tell my parents at Thanksgiving, and we wanted to give them something cute as part of the reveal. But my 12-week ultrasound wasn’t until 5 days before we were going to see them. I wanted to buy something unique from Etsy, but I was way too superstitious to buy anything in advance of that appointment. What if, by buying those things in advance, I would cause something to happen and then I’d have those items in my house with no baby to announce? I waited until the appointment went well, then I ordered something kitschy and dumb on Amazon Prime to arrive the day before we left. But even after we announced to my parents, my superstition was high. We took photos together, and my mom wanted to post them on Facebook. I told her absolutely not. What if something went wrong? We couldn’t tempt fate. We couldn’t taunt the universe. What if we had to UN-announce? I couldn’t bear to think about it.

I was with Chris’s entire family for Christmas on December 21 when my phone started blowing up. My mom had posted about us being pregnant on Facebook. By that point I was 16 weeks pregnant and we should have been in the clear! But I was angry at her and nervous. Now everyone knew and what if we weren’t in the clear. I walked outside to call her. It was a frigid 9 degrees in Atlanta, but I needed to step away from Chris’s family. My mom explained that she had forgotten that I told her not to post about it and was just excited. She said she hadn’t tagged me, so it would be ok. She offered to take the post down. But it already had so many likes, so many eyes on it, everyone had seen. And more importantly, the UNIVERSE KNEW. We were too excited. Unrightfully so. I told my mom it was too late. I couldn’t figure out how to explain why I was so nervous. Most people would have been so happy! I wouldn’t let myself get too excited. In my rational mind, of course I know the Facebook announcement didn’t cause any of the events to come, but in that moment my superstitions took over.

I had made contingency plans for myself. The weekend before I found out I was pregnant I had two friends over to watch the new Hocus Pocus. Being the basic b*tch I am, I am obsessed with everything pumpkin so I had gone all out. I bought 5 different kinds of alcoholic pumpkin cider, I had ten different kinds of pumpkin flavored sweets. A few days later when I found out I was pregnant, I posted all of the leftover pumpkin cider on Buy Nothing to give away. At the last minute, I decided to keep two cans of my favorite cider. I figured since it was a seasonal cider, if I lost my pregnancy I’d want some sort of consolation prize and by then the cider wouldn’t be in stores anymore because it would be winter. How hilarious that I thought 2 cans of my favorite cider would be enough to make me feel better if I lost my baby LOLOLOLOL.

For months and months of doctor appointments, those ciders stayed in my fridge. The outside of the door of the fridge started filling up with ultrasound photos. The entire door was plastered with our baby at 6 weeks. 8 weeks. 12 weeks. 16 weeks. 18 weeks. 20 weeks. 24 weeks. And still, inside that same fridge door, those ciders sat on the bottom shelf  “just in case.” Around 20 weeks, I started to convince myself I wouldn’t be drinking them until they were expired and I had a living baby in my arms. But despite the expiration date, I couldn’t bring myself to throw them out. What would that mean? Would I be tempting fate? What if I still needed them?

When I was in the hospital, I had so much support from family. My sister was with me the whole time and my mom drove in from Philly. All of Chris’s siblings flew up to NYC to be with me. It was the sweetest thing anyone had ever done for me. When I found out I’d maybe be discharged, Chris’s family mobilized and went back to our apartment to cook for us so we’d have fresh, home-cooked food. Not only did we not have groceries, but I hadn’t been allowed to eat in nearly a week. I remember the full-body sense of relief coming home. I remember sinking into the couch and being so thankful it wasn’t a hospital bed. And then I slightly remember seeing Chris’s little sister drinking one of my two contingency pumpkin ciders at the table. I had been on a lot of drugs for a very long time, so it didn’t totally register at the time. A few days later when I opened my fridge and saw only one cider there it hit me.

I told Chris about my secret superstitious ciders and he asked me if I was upset that one was gone. I wasn’t. Who was I kidding that a cider would make me feel better? Nothing could make me feel better! My whole world had fallen apart and the last thing I wanted to do was drink something alcoholic to remind myself of everything I didn’t have. Alcohol was a reminder of everything I had given up for six months just for it to be taken away.

Four and a half months later, that one single pumpkin cider is still in my fridge. What would happen if I drank it? What would happen if I threw it out? Would the world be mad at me? Would I never get pregnant again? What if I need to do IVF? Would it affect my egg count? Will we get denied for adoption? Surrogacy?

Do I actually think my drinking habits have anything to do with any of those things? No. I don’t. When I’m in my most rational state of mind, I realize nothing has anything to do with anything. The world is random. I was unlucky. Every doctor says what happened was “so rare and unlikely.” They say there is no explanation. There was no known cause. Did saving those two ciders have anything to do with it? Absolutely not. Will drinking that single cider that’s still in the fridge affect any future events? Also no.

Recently, I think my superstitions/anxiety relating to other people and pregnancy has become worse. Last weekend, Chris’s friend had a baby shower. There were many reasons I didn’t feel I could go, but one (maybe abnormal) reason was fear. I was nervous that my presence alone would somehow trigger the universe’s wrath and make something bad happen to his friend. Two weekends ago, my best friend, who is pregnant again, was in town and I had the exact same feeling. I wanted to go see her, but I had to call in advance to warn her. I said, “if you think that my presence will in any way jinx you, please tell me and I promise I won’t be offended and I won’t come.” None of that makes sense. I am aware in my rational thoughts that my mere existence in a certain space will not set bad events into motion. But just in case, I wanted her blessing before I visited.

My favorite podcast recently did an episode about “manifestation.” Manifestation is the opposite side of the superstition coin. This has become such a huge buzzword recently. People believe we can just will things into being. But if I’ve learned anything, it’s that we cannot. It doesn’t matter how much you want something, sometimes the world is just unfair. Do people with food insecurity just not want food enough? I’m thinking no. Do people who are downsized and laid off from their companies just not want to be employed enough? No. Do people with fertility issues not want a baby enough? Definitely not.

After writing this whole post, I wish I could tell you I went directly to my fridge to throw out that cider but I didn’t. It’s still there. And guess what, it’s almost pumpkin season again but I probably won’t buy that cider again. It’s too loaded with sadness and guilt. And drinking it would feel like literally consuming and causing more of that sadness and guilt. I guess that’s superstition too.

I wish I could tell you that my superstitions will completely stop, but I know that isn’t true either. As I said to my therapist, whether or not they are healthy habits, having a miniscule sense of control over a world that is so out of my control can feel helpful. And if that means having expired pregnancy tests in the back of my bathroom drawer forever, then I’m ok with that.

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Grief and Pregnancy Loss

Welcome Back to Me, My Brain Is a Mess

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TW: Pregnancy Loss (some studies suggest trigger warnings aren’t helpful, but I personally find them helpful, so I’ll be trying to remember to use them)

Hi everyone! It’s been 8 months and 2 days. I used to apologize for “long” absences without posts, but I never could have predicted an absence as long as this.

I’m still here, but a lot has changed. Or nothing has. Most importantly, three things:

  1. I was 25 weeks pregnant.
  2. I am not pregnant anymore.
  3. I do not have a living baby.

I haven’t posted on this blog because back in November, December, January, and February, being pregnant was the biggest thing in my life, and I wasn’t sure if I wanted to post about it. Then in March, we lost our daughter, and I certainly wasn’t sure if I wanted to post about that. I am still not sure. And I will not be sharing the story here now. So if you’re here because you want to rubberneck a disaster, I invite you to text me because I am, in fact, a hot mess. But if you’re here now on the blog because you want to read about my hospitalization and the downfall of my hopes and dreams, you won’t find it here.

That’s another reason I haven’t posted. Because if I’m completely honest, my life is not fun right now. I started this blog to document my life though, and this is my life. That is just honest. So, I decided two things:

  1. This blog is about me, and I can write whatever the heck I want.
  2. If you don’t want to see it, you don’t have to read it.

You may be wondering, if I’m not telling the story of the loss, what will I even say? Well, I have a lot of thoughts. I should warn you in advance, these thoughts are not well-planned or logical in their order. That’s because my brain is currently not well-planned or logical in any order. I feel like one of the “secondary losses” that people don’t talk about much is the loss of orderly thoughts. I used to be a big planner. Type A. Set schedule. I had a weekly reminder in my calendar to send out my blog newsletter. As a great example, I STILL have a weekly reminder to send out my blog newsletter. It went off yesterday. It goes off every week and every week I ignore it. But I haven’t deleted it! Everything in my brain now is in shambles and I just wake up every day like an adventure. Who knows what will happen or when or why or how? I certainly didn’t expect or plan for THIS to happen, so why expect or plan for anything? If you were wondering if this makes work and my professional life complicated, it does. Keeping track of tasks is a lot more complicated than it used to be and I need lots of technological aids.

Anyway, as you can see from that previous paragraph, expect some rambling. It’s a struggle. If you’re surprised that I decided to come back to the blog even though I can’t form cohesive thoughts, I’m surprised, too. But last night I had this strong urge to write about something and I couldn’t quiet it. I started the blog because I loved to write, and that is still true. I’ve been writing this whole time in a never-to-be-published blog and in a journal. But there’s something different about putting thoughts into the world for people to see. The possibility of having someone else read my craziest thoughts and relating to it gives me hope and purpose.

Personally, throughout the past few months, I have so appreciated the podcasts and Instagram accounts and Facebook groups of people dealing the same struggles as me. It’s terrifying to see how common it is, but it’s also extremely heartwarming to know I’m not alone. Sometimes I don’t want to see them and I put things on mute, but sometimes they are the only things that make this feel bearable. If a community holds a loss together, they collectively can carry more. Those are two more of the reasons I decided to come back to the blog: to find community and to bring people into my new (and often depressing) reality.

More coming soon.

♥ ,

Emily

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Travel

Bucket List

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Last weekend I was describing my recent trip to Australia to a friend when I said, “I’m really happy to have knocked a few things off of my bucket list.” And now I am on a plane on my way back to New York (from a different trip) and I started watching the movie The Bucket List. It’s not a new movie, but it stars Jack Nicholson and Morgan Freeman, so I figured it had to be good. It turns out it WAS good, but it left me pondering.

The movie premise is about two older men (but not extremely old) who are diagnosed with terminal illnesses, become extremely unlikely friends, and bond over completing their “bucket lists” before they die. Not exactly an uplifting premise, but certainly one that made me think.

I am (thank god) not approaching death to my knowledge, despite the fact that my husband thinks my one sweet n low/day in my coffee is slowly causing my demise. However, I’ve always had a list like this. My problem: the list only seems to grow. I have a lot of friends who see my travels and gape at all of the places I have been. My response? “But I’ve never been to Asia!” Or “I’d really love to go to Japan.” Or “Yes I’ve been to Iceland, but I only went to Reykjavik and I can’t believe I didn’t get a chance to see the Northern Lights.”

I grew up in a relatively privileged environment. I had two parents in the home, I never worried about food insecurity, housing insecurity, I always went to great schools and had siblings and friends to play with. I was also lucky not to travel in circles like the kids I see in Manhattan. You know the types… the ones who use “summer” as a verb and have been flying Business to Switzerland since they learned how to ski. My family went on an annual family vacation, usually to the Jersey Shore. And we loved it. I fondly remember playing in the pool with my dad where he would play “Monster of the Deep,” and creep up on us in the deep end, pick us up and throw us to the other side of the pool. I remember saltwater taffy and funnel cake on the boardwalk, and “beauty pageants” by the hotel or motel pool, where I’d always win a participation prize of a retractable hair brush. The point is, I was happy, but I was sheltered. I had no idea what else was out there, and it was a blessing and a curse.

In college, I started going on cruises and getting a taste of what else was out there: mostly beautiful beaches, since the cruises from Florida mostly went to the Caribbean. Then I went to Israel twice and realized WOW, there are so many other cultures. I wanted to experience them ALL.

On my final flight back from Australia last month, there were multiple teenagers who clearly hadn’t been on a plane before. They kept opening and closing the window shade to take photos of the clouds. It was highly annoying. But it also made me think: am I not appreciating the little things anymore? I was SO tired. It was my 7th flight of the month. (One of them I jumped out of, hence the uneven number. More on that later.) I just wanted to get home and get into my bed. But within my utter annoyance with these girls, I also realized that maybe my Ever-Growing Bucket List is clouding my vision and appreciation.

Since I didn’t write a whole blog on my Australia trip, I’ll give you a quick recap of highlights. Maybe I’ll write more another time.

Here are some things I did: traveled across the WORLD. Went on my longest flight I’ve ever been on. Visited a new continent. Saw where my friend lived after being friends for 8+ years. Spent time exploring a new city. Toured the world-famous opera house. Had food and drinks under the Sydney Harbor Bridge. Saw Luna Park. Walked the Sydney Harbor Bridge. Tried hot pot for the first time. Tried Malaysian food for the first time. Saw wild kangaroos. Fed wallabies. Touched a koala. Saw wild wombats. Visited multiple breathtaking waterfalls. Rode the world’s steepest railway car. Saw the Great Barrier Reef. Scuba dove for the first time. Ziplined for the first time. In a rainforest. Saw the only place in the world where two UNESCO World Heritage Sites abut one another. Walked paths that were once walked by dinosaurs. Jumped out of an airplane.

Every single one of those things is content enough for its own blog post, and I left things out! How is it POSSIBLE that there are still things on my “list”? I have felt a lot of tick tock time pressure lately. The pressure that comes along with being a woman who wants children and is in her mid-30s. I have a lot of intrusive thoughts about my life being over when I have kids. And don’t get me wrong, I still want them. Definitely 100% for sure I want children. But I ALSO want all of these other things.

I want to see and walk on the Great Wall. I want to ride a bullet train in Japan. I want to see the Northern Lights. I want to see the Pyramids. I want to stay in an overwater bungalow in the Maldives. I want to go glamping in Africa and I want to see giraffes in the wild. I want to go in a hot air balloon, preferably in Cappadocia.

And the list keeps growing. I have friends who follow travel accounts on Instagram, and meanwhile, I have very consciously unfollowed them all because I felt it was bad for my mental health. The FOMO is real! Sometimes I even mute my friends when they go on vacations or trips because I know I will be too jealous to be happy for them! This is by far a first world problem.

I recently had some conversations with friends of mine who are parents, and the only generalization I have been able to glean is that every family is different. There are some parents who clearly and unequivocally say, “your life isn’t over when you have kids!” But then all of their Instagram stories are of their kids, or about their kids, and their conversations and complaints are about kids, and you guessed it, their vacations are too. These are the families I used to focus on, and I think that’s what led to this “end of times” mentality around travel and exploration.

Some of my friends who have had kids admit their lives changed drastically, that nothing is the same, and that all things will revolve around their kids for at least a decade. I feel selfish to admit this but… I’m not ready for that sacrifice! To me, these people may say “well then maybe you’re not ready for kids.” But there is a third group. The elusive in-betweens. These are the friends who say, “your life isn’t over when you have kids” and they truly practice what they preach. They continue to have multifaceted lives, some activities and conversation around their kids, and some not. They have fulfilling careers. They have hobbies and interests. They sometimes even (gasp) take trips with their girlfriends and leave their kids home!

I have a feeling that my bucket list will continue to grow. The more time I live in this world, the more I realize how much more there is to see. And I think that’s ok. I need to also be appreciative of all of the things I have seen and achieved. As a woman in her mid-30’s, all of this travel and exploration was not possible or attainable for the generations before me. I am lucky to have so much content for my blog, and I am sure I will keep posting here, even if it means mining material from previous trips for a short period of time.

Opera House and Harbor showing off
Blue Mountains
Bondi Icebergs Club
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Long Legs and other Personal Problems, Miscellaneous

Eyebrow Microblading

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Today I am continuing my series of “frequently asked questions.” My personal FAQ section is right here in this blog so I’m dedicating today’s blog to another one of the questions people ask me most frequently, “should I microblade my eyebrows?” If you missed the first in this series, “should I get laser hair removal?” go check that out now. I am not going to make you read through this whole post before finding out who I went to for my amazing brows. Her name is Purdie Baumann @purdiebrows and she is the absolute GOAT. Not only is she the best at her craft, she’s also an ex-Rockette. As in, Radio City. How cool is that??
Purdie and Me!
I know you have a million questions, and I’m constantly recommending her, so let’s get down to the obvious question first:

“Should I get my eyebrows microbladed?”

Answer: Yes. Moving on. I’m kidding, of course I will tell you more. I have a long-standing hatred of my eyebrows. When I was VERY young, like 11 years old, I told my mom that I hated my eyebrows more than anything else on my body. I remember her saying that was dumb, because you could easily wax and shape them, and for the next 3.5 years I had an eyebrow sponsor: my mom. My mom had electrolysis as a teenager, so she understood the concept of unwanted hair and she was happy to pay this small amount to help me like my face more. Once I made my own babysitting money, I started paying for my own eyebrow waxes. There was a terrible moment around age 15 when I didn’t want to pay for the biweekly appointments and I had a genius idea to use the self-waxing strips from Walgreens instead. (Narrator: it was not genius). Long story short, I put one of them at the wrong angle and took off the tail end of one of my eyebrows. Ok, truth be told it was far more than the tail end. I was completely missing an eyebrow. My friends called me Mr. Clean. I had to wear eyebrow pencil for 2 months. As you may remember from previous blogs, I sweat a lot, so living in South Florida, the liner would start to drip. Mortifying. Before you ask, no, I do not have any throwback photos of this time. Thank God it was before smart phones and digital cameras. Fast forward to my 20’s in New York. Thank God waxing is extremely cheap. I always say there are 4 cheap things you can get in New York City: manicures, hotdogs, dollar slices, and eyebrow waxing/threading. This brings me to my next eyebrow discovery in approximately 2012: threading. I LOVED threading. I didn’t care as much anymore about the amount of eyebrow hair I had, but the shape. I really wanted a natural arch, but I didn’t have one. Threading could give me a more natural look, and it was less painful than waxing. Also, it was CHEAP! Like $7. The main problem with threading was that it was all about taking hair away to create a shape. Unfortunately, they were not able to add hair to make it look how I wanted. As I mentioned before, I didn’t have an arch and I wanted one! So I started to think about microblading. A few years later I finally took the plunge and I am SO happy I did!

“Does microblading hurt?”

No. Well, it didn’t hurt for me, but that’s because Purdie put a numbing gel on. If anything, it felt like little scratches on my face. The main uncomfortable part was a few days later when it was scabbed and kind of itchy, but I knew I was not supposed to scratch it. I was given a super moisturizing gel, kind of like Vaseline, to put on twice a day. This minimized the itching, and contrary to the warning I received from a friend who had it done somewhere else, it did not make my face look like a glazed donut! I should warn you, my same friend said it hurt a LOT when she got hers done. Maybe her person didn’t use a numbing cream. Make sure you ask about this in a consultation and read reviews!

“Will it look fake?”

This is a great question and the best answer I have is: it depends. Not if you go to Purdie! There are a few different kinds of microblading. Some are more of a shading (like if you were to fill in/color in your eyebrows), and personally I find those to look fake. It’s more of a solid tattoo. There is also the single brush stroke method, which is what I did, and I think it looks extremely natural. I actually get compliments on my brows all the time and people think they are natural! Be very careful to go to an artist whose work you like. The best way to know what your eyebrows will look like, is to look at previous work. This leads me to the next most popular question…
It looked way intense after session #1 but it faded and looked more and more natural over time.

“How do I find the right person?”

Instagram. I know that sounds crazy but as with any type of art (tattoos, hair color, painting, sculpture), you want to see the work before you commit to buying. This is especially true when the “art” you are buying is going to live on your face forever! I highly recommend looking at a person’s portfolio before booking an appointment. The easiest way to see this is on Instagram. Look at hundreds of before and afters. Find people with similar skin coloring and brow shape to you to see what the end result can be. Once you have the person you trust to do amazing work, the rest is easy because you can defer to their opinion. For example, when I went in, Purdie showed me a range of colors and asked what I wanted. I thought I wanted a very dark brown. She said she thought a medium and ash light color would look more natural. I told her that from the photos I saw, I trust her expertise and sure enough, she was right. The color does fade over time, so in my touch-up, we went a bit darker. I am so thrilled with how they came out and I know if I had gone with my original color choice, they would have been too dark for my coloring and would have looked fake, or like I was wearing makeup all the time. I love how my brows now almost look like I’m wearing natural brow makeup, but don’t look like I am wearing brow makeup and nothing else, if I have a fresh face.

“How much does it cost?”

Again, this depends. Every artist will create their own pricing structure, and it depends both on availability, demand, and market. New York is far more expensive than most places, but you can also find the best people! Personally, I paid $600 for a first appointment, and $200 for the touchup. I also tipped (of course). This was more than a year ago, so she may have adjusted her pricing. I know in New York, artists generally begin at $800-$1000. I went to Purdie’s studio in Jersey City, NJ and it was slightly cheaper, and honestly I would have gone to a much further state to get her skill level! #worthit Warning. There are Groupons out there. I mentioned raving about a Groupon for laser hair removal, for this, I’d warn against it. You want someone to take their time, you want them to be so good that they have a waiting list. If you are going to use a Groupon, PLEASE make sure you know someone personally who has had their brows done by that artist/salon! Remember this is permanent and on your face! Not the time to use a discount code.

“Don’t you have to get touch-ups all the time?”

This is a tough question for me to answer because it’s only been one year since I had my first appointment! Usually, you have an initial appointment and then a touch-up 2 months later. I had my first appointment in early October 2021, and my touch-up in early December 2021. I can tell that the ink has faded a bit when I look closely at my face, but you wouldn’t notice unless you looked with a magnifying mirror, or very very close-up. I prefer how they look now, extremely natural, although I may want a touch-up at some point in the future. I could not be happier with my decision! One note of warning, be careful not to get “trendy” eyebrows. Remember they will be there forever! If you love the SUPER bushy look of eyebrows right now, get normal ones microbladed and just fill them in with pencil temporarily. You’ll thank me in 2 years when the trends change again!
Look how spotty they were before!
These photos are all after session #1. We did a few more fill-in brush strokes on the touch up 2 months later.
At this point I barely remember my eyebrows the way they were before. What a drastic improvement!
The side by side is mind-blowing. Look at that arch!
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Travel

3 Last-Minute Days in Stockholm

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Remember back in August after our honeymoon, when I said I was going to be in town for 6 full weeks? Well, that is not exactly what has happened. I was looking forward to a slow and relaxed September with 0 flights on the agenda, but the world had other ideas. First, on Labor Day weekend, someone in my husband’s family was in an accident so we went down to Texas to visit. Then, 2 weeks later, my sweet husband said, “I kind of want to go somewhere between jobs, what are you doing next weekend?” I didn’t have any plans, and I was expecting he would suggest upstate New York or something. But no, he suggested Stockholm, Sweden. I know you’re probably wondering if there was some deep reason why he picked Sweden, but the answer is simple: Delta flies there nonstop, and the prices were semi-reasonable for a 3-days-in-advance booking. Chris loves his Delta flights. And I love him.

Honestly, I was a bit anxious about the trip. I am already spending a lot of money and energy planning a trip to Australia for October, and I am heading into my busy season at work. Also, Chris loves to sit in a hotel room but I have this compulsion to explore new places and see ALL THE THINGS. It’s a lot of pressure to plan an itinerary solo with 3 days’ notice! I know this is serious first-world-problems, but I put a lot of stress on myself. Thankfully, a lot of people on the internet have done research for me. I googled “3 days in Stockholm” and sure enough, I found a lot of blogs and sample itineraries, things to see, and food to buy on a budget.

We booked it, and we were on an 8-hour redeye Thursday night, to get in at 10 am Friday Sweden time. The actual trip to the airport was more stressful than any other part of the trip (except the trip back, I’ll get to that later). We forgot it was the UN General Assembly, so traffic was standstill, basically a parking lot. We asked our Uber to drop us off at the subway instead, however, we had packed LARGE bags and I definitely regretted going to the gym earlier that day. After 2 subways and an Airtrain, and a walk because the Airtrain station at our terminal was closed for construction, we got there in time to check our bags and go to the Delta lounge for a small pre-flight dinner.

The flight was uneventful, although I couldn’t sleep at all. When we arrived, thankfully the hotel had the room ready so we could take a 2 hour nap. We stayed in Gamla Stan, or “the old town,” which is a perfect location for sightseeing right next to the Royal Palace and Parliament. We quickly realized that the next day was the Stockholm Half Marathon, and the finish line was around the corner! Before you ask, no, I did not braid any hair.

Since I have a big trip coming up next month, I didn’t take any days off of work, which meant that I had to work from 3-11 pm Stockholm time on Friday and Monday. After my nap, I went to a cell phone store to try and get a sim card (unsuccessful), and then I went to a hotdog stand that I read about in my research. It was called Bruno’s Korvbar, and they had 25 different types of sausages, spicy to mild, and many topping choices. I got a “baguette double” with the House spicy sausage and the lamb merguez. It was AMAZING. Possibly the best thing I ate in Sweden. And it was $9. I headed back to the hotel to work, and then later went to the lobby restaurant for Chris to eat dinner even though I was still full. The couple sitting next to us struck up a conversation, and it turned out the woman randomly knew me through my work AND had seven mutual Facebook friends with my dad. What are the chances??? Small world.

Even on the rainy days it was gorgeous.
More gorgeous?? These sausages.
Selfie stop!
Look at this place *heart eyes*

The next day was Saturday, so I was ready to hit the town early for some sightseeing. Chris… was not. But that’s ok, I know we vacation differently, so I knew I’d be a solo tourist. I started the day with a cinnamon bun, or kanelbullar as they say in Sweden. To be honest, I started EVERY day with one of those. Anyway, after an iced latte and sugar fuel, I headed to a 9:30 am Free Walking Tour. Free walking tours are the best when you first arrive in a new place because you learn things, get your bearings, AND it’s an easy thing to do solo and meet people. There are other tourists to take pictures of you, and the guides are always willing to give tips on things to see, places to eat, and where to spend your time.

The tour guide gave me my next destination, the changing of the guard. Supposedly this happens at the Royal Palace daily. It was a lot of pomp and circumstance and it took FOREVER. I left after about 40 minutes of the band playing and young soldiers marching around. I headed next to the Wooden Horse Museum, which is a souvenir shop, but it was still pretty cool. Wooden dala horses are kind of a symbol of Sweden, dating back thousands of years. After that, I went to the Nobel Prize Museum, which was small, but I learned a lot! Supposedly the Nobel Banquet is televised every year on December 10th and goes on for 5 hours. Meanwhile, I had never heard of it. I also learned that at the banquet, the only acceptable dessert to serve pre-2010 was ice cream. I had no idea. Me… an ice cream connoisseur!! They serve the famous ice cream in the museum café so of course I had to get this for lunch. It had sorbet, ice cream, and cotton candy. Also, it had Hanukkah gelt! (It was actually a fake chocolate coin Nobel Prize, but same thing.)

I searched Atlas Obscura for other strange things to see and explore, and found myself at the Public Library, which has supposedly been named one of the most beautiful libraries by Conde Nast Traveler. Unfortunately, there was quite a bit of construction happening, but I still got a chance to walk around the 360-degree balconies of books. After my exploring, I needed a snack, so I checked out another food stand I found in my research. This one was known for fried herring. I was extremely hesitant, but I ended up LOVING it! I got a smaller portion, kind of like an open-faced rye bread sandwich, for $4. The best part is, the half marathon was running right by the stand, so I took a seat on the bench and watched people run 13.1 miles while I reflected on my day of food: cinnamon bun, ice cream, fried herring.

I headed back to the hotel and woke my husband (it was 6 pm) for dinner. I saw from my quick online research that many people recommended a place called Pelikan for authentic Swedish food. It was in a neighborhood we hadn’t been to called Södermalm, which was described to us as the Brooklyn of Stockholm. I thought that was sus, but sure enough, I understood why they said that. The streets were filled with too-cool-for-school people, vintage stores, coffee shops, and bars. Very BK-esque. I ordered the Swedish meatballs for dinner (or just… “meatballs” in Stockholm), which were delicious and SO filling, I could only eat half! I was very glad we had a 30-minute walk home to digest.

My first of MANY cinnamon pastries.
Tiniest 6-inch status shown to us on the free walking tour.
Best part of free walking tours: free photographers!
Marching band at the changing of the guard.
So many young soldiers!
Nobel Prize-winning ice cream!! Sorta…
Little pit stop at the half marathon finish line.
Fried herring, YUM!
I got him to join me for dinner!
DELICIOUS meatballs.

Day 2! Are you exhausted yet? Thankfully I was not because Sunday was our ONLY sunny day. After my Day 1 discovery of the kanelbullar, I decided to google the best ones in Stockholm. Of course, they have an annual cinnamon bun competition, as one does. So I set out early to two bakeries that made the top 5 list to conduct my own taste test. That meant heading back to Södermalm. While I was there, I went to two lookout points to take in the sunny views, and it was absolutely breathtaking. I went back to the hotel to share my five pastries with Chris, and then we headed out to the HIGHLIGHT of the trip: Segways!!!

I am not going to go too much into Segways, because a full blog is coming. I actually can’t believe I haven’t written one yet! This was one of the best tours we had been on, mostly because the people were fun, no one was a beginner, and it was LONG! We got to go all around Stockholm and learn things, like that there is a whole island in the archipelago dedicated to ship-building, and that Sweden supplied torpedoes and other things to the Nazis (not too many locals advertise this). We only had 3 other people in our group and we had a BLAST zooming around the city for 2 hours.

We worked up an appetite and felt like something more substantial than a pastry, so we went for burgers at Boo Burger. I had no blog recommendations for this place, only google reviews, but they did not lead me astray – it was delicious!

Ever since I started researching Stockholm (3 days prior) I had heard it was the “Venice of the North” and I was dying to get on the water. Unfortunately, when I researched over lunch, I realized that the sightseeing tours only leave at 10:30 and 2 pm, so we missed out. Good news though, Stockholm has an extremely efficient public transit ferry system. We hopped on a ferry, which was very easy to access by just tapping our credit card at the entrance, and we did a little self-guided tour on Ferry 80, thanks to Google and “wikivoyage.” We had a very busy day, so we rewarded ourselves with a few hours at the hotel spa. They had a sauna and cold plunge but we just hung out in the “warm room” and read books. We capped off the night at Pharmarium, a cocktail bar that is in the building where the first pharmacy in Stockholm opened in 1575. It was cozy and the drinks were delicious.

Early bird gets the best views!
Just a FEW pastries
SEGWAY time!!
Got my other half to come to Stortorget with me.
SUCH good burgers omg.
WE’RE ON A BOAT!
We’re cute.
#VIEWS

Monday was our final day in Stockholm and by this point I bet you can guess how it started: pastries. I saved the top museums for the final day because it seemed like the perfect rainy morning activity before I had to start work. Chris came with me to museum #1: The Vasa Museum. The Vasa was a ship that went on her maiden voyage in 1628… for 20 minutes. Then it sank. 300 years later they found her at the bottom of the water almost completely preserved. The ship stands in its 98% original form in this museum and it really is remarkable. We did an English guided tour and explored for a bit, then Chris took the ferry back to the hotel. I went to the Abba Museum, which the internet specifically said not to go to alone, but I’m not one for rule-following. I did some singing to Dancing Queen, I did the photobooth, and I learned a LOT about ABBA that I did not know before (I knew almost nothing).

I went back to the hotel and worked for the afternoon and evening, until we went to dinner at the pièce de résistance: the Grand Hôtel in Stockholm, “home to celebrities, high-profile events and everyday bon-vivants since 1874.” This hotel is magnificent, and they host a nightly smorgasbord buffet at a reasonable price. Unfortunately and fortunately for us, it happened to be a seafood buffet that night. Unfortunately, because it was 2.5x the price, fortunately, because it was delicious and we ate all of the lobster and shrimp and crab and salmon and all other fish to our heart’s content. The views were also impeccable. It was a special way to cap off our trip.

The AMAZING Vasa.
Look at the detail!
Try to find which one is me!
See that girllll, Watch that sceneee
Selfie!
Selfie at our seafood feast

But our adventures were not over! The next morning, we headed to the airport… without Chris’s passport, which he had left in the safe in the hotel room. We made it to the airport within the check bag window by 5 minutes. This was the second time in 7 years that he forgot his passport for an international trip. That man sure does love to keep me on my toes!

If you’re interested in seeing videos of my days, I made an Instagram Reel for each day of my trip!

Day 1

Day 2

Day 3

Day 4

And of course, a compilation of food.

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