The Bachelorette:

1. Immediately busted my guts laughing when Emily's mom serves her breakfast in bed. You've gotta be kidding me with that voice. I know I know it's cruel, but all I could think of was Marge Simpson's sisters... you decide. 2 pack a day habit yo. 

2. So I thought her besties were hilarious. They seemed pretty normal in that they were all a little weird. Best part is when her friend says in front of Ryan, "hey when she gets pregnant, she could blow up like a tick!" hahaha First of all the visual of a tick is just so COUNTRY. It drinks up all your blood and balloons up to this. 

Now mention that to her new boyfriend in reference to your future children. Awkward. That is until his reaction is straight up fucked. Home boy says you can't ever get fat. I mean who wants to get fat? Who wants their spouse to want them to get fat? But seriously, isn't that an unspoken rule? And Eff you if you're in this for my jean size.  

3. Kalon, maybe one of them ril fancy brands you done werk for wuld give you sum socks?

Project 52: TWENTY ONE

So where the hell have I been? I know, right. Been thinking the same thing. Shit my life has been all over Texas the last few weeks. I'm exhausted. Kids damn near made me crazy. It's been one event to the next here at the Moody house. Lots of fun stuff going on from a wedding (shout out LAURA) to book club to the lake. We've done it all. I've been trying to think of a picture that sums up what I'm grateful for this week and there's a lot of big things, BUT there's this one little thing that keeps popping up... new shoes. I just can't tell you how much I have had to fight over shoes in the last 3 months. With who? Ryan? No. Rhett? Couldn't be. Ella Jane. That little 3 year has brought me to my knees more times than I can count in just the last month over this. "Ella baby pleaaaase put on your shoes. Put on your shoes. Please put on your shoes. Put on your DAMN (*under my breath* usually) SHOES!!!! PICK A PAIR! Ok any pair but those. Oh Lord please let me throw those away. Honey this is a hole. Your teachers said no more boots at school. Ella no flip flops to soccer." Get my point? It goes on AND on AND on. SO FINALLY, my awesome neighbor, Shanna, told me about Keens. They are like sneakers and sandals and good for water. They are pricey but shoot if they aren't sturdy. So out with the old (and the holes) and in with the Keens. And no more fighting over shoes. Now we just fight over socks with sandals :-)

The Bachelorette: PG is for Piggy?

I've decided to try a little different format for my BachI  postings. These two hour episodes are chock full of crap to blog on so unlike ABC I've decided to edit and pair down to the basic necessities. So my new concept: My Three Things. Top three things I've just gotta bring up. I'd love to hear yours as well- so leave a comment if you're feelin' it.

1. I can really appreciate that Emily is a mom. I get it. Mama bear and all. But really, we gotta sex it up a bit.  I know I know, you need the guys to understand it's not all helicopters and heels, but baking cookies, soccer mom and interviews with Kermit were a bit much. Message received: Mom first, sexy bitch second. But really Emily, you all but put a trash bag over your clothes to tone down your sex appeal.

2. Kalon you piss me off. I'm not sure you've gone through puberty yet. His waxy appearance also bugs the shit out of me. He reminds me of a younger Jeff Lewis (think Bravo's Flipping Out). Except that I love Jeff Lewis.

Kalon

Jeff Lewis

3. I'm thinking Emily has a little spunk to her and I'm liking it. Last week when douchebag danced his way into the house, Emily shouts "Get some!". Love that. At first I was a little shocked to hear her be so funny and a bit crass but this week I understood. She's from West Virginia. And girl, it's workin' for ya. Little bit country with a little sass and she's super beautiful. Totally reminds me of my high school bestie Miss Annie Taubert Freeman. Shout out girl! Can't wait to see Emily tell another douchebag to "F*&K OFF!". I'll stay tuned just for that. 

P.S. Loved Em's blingy dress on night number one- gorgeous!

Project 52: TWENTY

Remember those beautiful blooms on my apricot tree? Well here's the fruit that came next. It's as delicious as it looks. The best part is watching all the kids on my street play under it. The older ones pull the branches down and pass the fruit on to the little ones. Some eat it, some throw it and they all like to jump on it. Too funny!

Project 52: NINETEEN

My new favorite thing... Farm to Work baskets! Check out my loot. You order online and it gets delivered to Ryan's work every Wednesday. And the best part is, it's only $20 bucks for fresh, local produce. I LOVE summer veggies on the grill. And getting this great variety sure does spruce up my menu.



- Posted using BlogPress from my iPad

Project 52: EIGHTEEN

7 months old and this kid is getting busy. He LOVES playing with anything noisy, chewy, soft or crinkly (that would be EVERYTHING)! Sophie, the giraffe, would be a top 5 toy in my house. It's funny you don't realize you're grateful for something until it's gone. Poor Sophie got run over in the parking lot today. And it was one rough car ride home. But don't worry. A little soap and water and vinegar rinse and she's back to her usual feisty self.




- Posted using BlogPress from my iPad

A short. On the Table.

And her a nurse. A little phrase my family says often referring to a lack of knowledge in one's own profession. It sticks with me. A little voice that sounds like bee stung red lips smacking in my ear... "and her a nurse". 

I think, not now Amy, you're the patient, not the nurse. Just. be. the. patient. No, maybe the baby is the patient. But the baby is dead. The baby is dead. The baby is dead. You are still a patient even when dead, I know this. 

How can that be? I'm looking right at it. A little grey gummy bear. Is she blind? What the fuck am I missing?  Three weeks ago? Dead baby for three weeks. So it just stops growing. How can that be? Shit, where is Ryan? My own damn fault. I was supposed to pee in a cup and do the doppler. Didn't need a spectator today. Oh my God, I'm alone. Not even my little baby is with me. What was I doing 3 weeks ago? I was there and yet I missed it.  A whole life, in my body, died. And I didn't even know. And her a nurse. 

Options. Paperwork. Tissues. It's Thursday already? Ella needs to be picked up. I want to lay down. Removal? Wait wait wait. Is she sure? I need to see it again. Walk me through this please. Doppler...reminds me of tv- constant noise with irritating volume spikes when a commercial comes on. Where the hell is the heartbeat? Maybe this baby is a squirmer. Abdominal ultrasound? Sure doc, I love to see the baby. She's not convinced? Of what? This is nuts. Transvaginal? Privacy to change? Really doc... I think you've seen it all. Let me see that baby. There's my little bear. Ok if I dim the lights? Well I'd prefer it. All the better to see my own internal movie. I wish Ryan could see. What is she talking about? Amy, the baby died. So this is how they tell you? 

Heaving, embarrassing sobs. Let me off this table. I need to be in a chair. Sit like a lady. Pull yourself together. This happens all the time. Why is she turning that damn light on? I feel like I'm in an interrogation. I don't know when's a good time. Sure, tomorrow at noon. I might vomit. More papers. Please don't look at me. Let me be, let me be, let me be. Oh no. Ryan. I have to tell Ryan. Poor Ryan. Poor sweet Ryan. 

Stop this mess. You are ridiculous. You're going to scare all these little mommies. You have one. One very beautiful, very kind, very funny, charming little sunshine of a girl. It will be enough. Enough? Well it will be. Stand in line. Freakin fair skin. So damn blotchy. Bet this baby would have been fair. Of course it would have been. Been. Stop it now. Save it for your bed. Bitch in line thinks I'm cutting. FUUUUUCKKKK YOU! I'm not cutting. I can't even see you in line. I can't see much of anything at the moment. Tissue shreds in my hand. Can't they get some decent tissues in here? Effing reps with cheap tissues. 

My car. Thank you Jesus. Personal space. Take a minute. Prioritize. Make the call. Brief. Mumbles. Tears. Meet at home. Just get home. More space. More privacy. I want a Diet Dr. Pepper. With Sonic ice. I want to lay down. I want to be invisible. I want a little time with my dead baby. I bet it was a girl. Was. Devastating. 

But it gets better over time. It's not always devastating. It was. Was. I get the logic. Uh- huh, wasn't meant to be. Shitty saying. I've used it a lot. Probably true, but shitty all the same. Happens more than we know. Uh-huh, sure does. Still hurts though. 12 weeks you say? The magic number. So it's not as real before lucky number 12? It doesn't hurt as much? No. Grief is easier in solitaire? I'm not so sure. I know there's a lot of us. It's ok to say it. Bad juju? I don't think so. Just misfortune. 

**A quick note. I wrote this because it was one of my worst days. And I know a lot of people with a similar worst day. I wanted to share it. This happened in October of 2010. I was due on Mother's Day, May 8th, 2011. This time of year makes me think of it. I'm really at peace now. I'm very blessed to have Rhett Jameson who was born last September, but I believe I came to terms with my lack of control in this baby making process not long after I miscarried the baby. I think peace, in anything, is all you can really hope for.