Sweat Pants in Public

For the past eleven days or so, I've been trying to think about how best to communicate really sad news, in an age of communication and TMI. Phone calls were too taxing, I start to cry when I talk about it. Emails are okay...but a "blast" email seemed inappropriate. I didn't want to include the news in a Christmas letter...posting in a little box on Facebook also seemed odd, but what to do? So, although the blog for two years has been our "happy place", today it is a sad place.

We found out about six weeks ago that the baby I was carrying had multiple birth defects and would likely not live to a full-term delivery. At an appointment on September 24, we discovered that the baby showed no signs of life and on Friday, September 25 I had a d&c procedure.

Telling Maren, who had been thrilled beyond words about being a big sister, has been one of the hardest things. But as Grandpa Jensen wisely said, the baby (a girl) is healed now that she is in heaven. We had a nice long cry together and she understood immediately when we said the baby was in heaven, saying "Now the baby won't come in the winter." And, after we assured her that she still had so many jobs, daughter, friend, cousin, niece, granddaughter...she asked for a snack and a drink (she is 3 1/2 after all. She has said something daily to show her soft heart, including telling me she is angry there is no one in my tummy).

We have been blessed with cards, emails, calls, meals and so many people praying for our healing, it's a bit overwhelming.

Which leads me to the sweat pants. As I was 18 weeks along, I had gained 20-25 pounds (who's counting at this point?)...and none of my clothes currently fit. I can't bear to wear my maternity clothes any more. And, next Monday (after having two weeks off to rest and try to recover) I need to return to work. What to do? What to wear?

For the past eleven days or so, I have been wearing sweat pants in public. That's all I've got that fits. Each day I think about the old "Seinfeld" episode where George, unemployed, wears sweat pants and Jerry says "If you're wearing sweat pants in public, you're telling the world you've given up."

At a follow-up appointment with my doctor yesterday, I wore my DeVos for Governor sweatshirt from 2006, no make-up, and my glasses and due to a surge in hormones, I couldn't stop crying. She offered to put me on an anti-depressant. I told John and he said "Well, Honey, you look a little bit homeless, no wonder she offered that."

Today, I hit rock bottom in the sweats department. Everything that looks remotely like "work out" clothes circa this decade is dirty, leaving me only one option, my sorority sweats that are from about 1988 or 1989. Why, you may be asking yourself, do I still own 20-year old plus sweats? My answer is that you were not blessed with the pack rat gene. Why WOULDN'T I own 21-year old sweats? Just because there are a couple of holes in the pants that could be delicately described as being on the "inner thigh"? It did make me think, as I cruised the aisles at Target this morning, looking for clothes that would fit my present size and not bankrupt me, that we were supposed to look our best when wearing our "letters", to put the best face forward for the sorority. Thankfully as I was not on a college campus, this thought was fleeting, but replaced by "I'm not sure I'm putting a good face forward as a human, much less a sorority girl (lady?)."

Our loss has been excruciating at every conceivable level, but we know how blessed we are to have one child when so many couples are unable to have or adopt a baby of their own. We remain focused on each other and on Maren and are moving forward, one day at a time.

As Winston Churchill wisely said "If you're going through hell, keep going."

Thanks from the Greggs for all of the love and support, from those near and far.