Part 1/3

I have been thinking about this post for quite some time. Typed it out and deleted it. Being this open is typically not my style, and yes I know that's the whole purpose of a blog, but me being me...I tend to shy away from anything that reveals too much of myself.

I will start this off by saying, I have no intentions with sharing this. I am not looking for you to feel bad for me.  I am not looking for advice. If we share the same story, than this will show you, that you are not alone.  I want to get it out on "paper" only, because writing has always been therapeutic for me.

It is probably best to break this out in a few different stories, as I want to capture the details, but not bore everyone to death.  I am not looking for you to feel bad for me.

Alright...enough drama for your mama..

I had a miscarriage.  Three in fact.  I am 28, relatively healthy, never had issues getting pregnant with my son, have always had regular periods....but I have had three miscarriages.

The first one was June, 2013.  I had a test leftover, and hadn't been feeling myself lately, so I took the test...and HOLY SHIT it was positive.  YES! I couldn't believe it!  Patrick and I were so happy.  We both walked around with big dumb grins on our faces, we hadn't expected it to happen that fast.

Let me tell you this...you really find out how much alcohol is involved in your everyday life, just like that, you can't have any.  :)

We had plans for dinner that night with some of our family, and of course a few glasses of wine or beers would be had.  It was summer for christ sake! Also, were going to be with family all weekend, and  rumors would start flying if I wasn't tossing back beers with all the cousins.  So Patrick and I started scheming.  We told only our closest family, not even parents, that night, as we were excited and wanted to get it off our chests to at least one person.  If you know Patrick and I, you know we can't keep secrets to save our lives.  We had decided we would tell his parents that weekend, but Pat would be "mixing" my drinks all weekend, so no one else would catch on.

By the end of the weekend, both of his parents knew, and close family.  I was going to wait to tell my parents until we could get up north to visit.  His dad and step-mom cried, they love being grandparents.  His mom and step-dad gave us huge hugs, they were elated.  Other family members, started asking questions about due dates, did we want a boy/girl...all the typical things you ask someone.  Pat and I still could not wipe the dopey grins off of our faces.

The next week of work crawled by...we had no plans for the upcoming weekend, so there wasn't much too look forward to.  We had dinner with some friends, and shared the news with them.  Mind you, I was only 4.5 weeks along at this point, very, very early.  The weekend passed with no excitement.

Monday came and went....than Monday night I went to the bathroom and noticed I was lightly spotting.  Didn't think much of it, but as all smart phone users do, I googled it.  Most posts said it was normal, but of course the only one I paid attention to were the ones with the terrifying news...miscarriage.  

The next morning, I was bleeding pretty heavy.  At this point, I went into robot mode and finished getting ready for work.  If I don't think about it, it will go away.  Pat left for work, before he left he told me to get to the doctor.  He reassured me everything was fine, just to get checked out.   I dropped Hunter off at daycare, and headed to work. I called the doctor on my way in, and made an appointment for later that morning.  When I hung up the phone, I realized I was shaking.  I was about 10 minutes from work, when I lost it.  Bawling. Big, ugly, heaving, sobs.  Mascara everywhere.  I could not go to work.  Everything I had pushed out of my mind, had come back in the form of a Mack truck driving 100mph.

I work with mostly men, and was horrified to call my boss and tell him what was going on.  So I called one of the women I work with, and through my sobs told her I was having a miscarriage, and would not be into work.  She handled it in the exact way I needed, "Danielle, go take care of yourself.  I will handle everything here."

I got to the doctors office, and was told what I already knew.  There wasn't anything they could do.  The doctor put a cold hand on my knee, and told me not to worry, this is very common.  "Happens more often than you think. Stay home for a couple days, the bleeding and cramps are going to get worse."  Great.

So I drove home, and returned one of Patrick's many calls.  I told him everything, and how he understood anything I was saying through the sounds that had replaced my normal voice...I have no idea.  I went home to lay on the couch, and try to sleep.  He met me there, with chinese food he bought for lunch. While I slept on the couch, he laid on the floor next to me, holding my hand.  The gesture was so small, yet so powerful.

I went back to work the next day.   My mind was too restless to relax anyways.  Nobody knew, nobody asked.  I had to sit through countless meetings about revenue, new customers, etc. Typical business bullshit.  All I could think in my head was...miscarriage, miscarriage, miscarriage, over and over again.  When asked to do something or my opinion on something, it took everything I could do to keep my mouth shut.  I wanted to scream, "Who gives a F**K.   I could care less about this, and all of you here.  This is not LIFE."  That anger is still with me.

We looped back around to everyone we told, and shared the news.  Some shared their sympathies, and were very supportive.  Others said nothing. I will speak more to this later.

The days eventually turned into weeks, and that pain lessened.  The broken feeling, faded.  The busy days of summer kept my mind occupied.  One thing that never changed was my husband.  He made me move forward, "This is a total freak thing Danielle, do not get caught up in it.  We will get pregnant again."

And we did....that is part two.

Two followers!?!

Say werrrtt?!

I have to give a big shout out to mah girl Megan, whose been my number one (and only) follower since the beginning of this blog...thanks for always believing in me! Ha!

I don't blog often enough.  It would be way to random, and the humor would be so odd that it would more than likely frighten people.

So with that said...here's a random thought!

Why can I never get out the door on time?  Every night while going to bed I say to myself, "Tomorrow I am going to get up so early! It will only take me 45 minutes to get ready, and than I am out the door!  I bet I will be to work so early I will be able to leave before 4!"

Hahahahahaha....oh D....your optimism and  enthusiasm is commendable, but your lazy ass will always rule.

I hit snooze five plus times, say 5 more minutes in my head, and just end up lying there thinking of all the things I should be doing.  Than when I actually do get going...I wonder to myself why I couldn't have just gotten up early.  So stupid! 

And the kicker?  I love mornings!  I feel like I am most productive in the morning, I enjoy being up early...but lord oh' lord I just love me some schleepy.

This battle has been going on my entire life. And I don't see it changing any time soon, unless my paycheck gets bigger ;)

Later Days,
DMD

Bubba is two!

Well not quite...but Saturday, my brown eyed baby boy turns two!  I am still trying to find where all that time has gone.

 

 From the moment I heard your heart beat, I was in love.  And when I met you, my love for you was so strong, I thought my heart was going to burst.  I have never known a love like that before, until you came along.  In just those first brief seconds, I saw you had your dad's eyes, your grandma's dimples, your grandpa's ears, and my feet.  I vowed in that moment in time, to forever be your fierce protector with every cell in my body, and I would do anything and everything to keep  you happy, healthy, and to make sure you never doubted how loved you were.

From the day you were born to your first birthday, you grew into this chatty, happy, and funny little boy.  You loved SpongeBob, cookies, books, and your grandpa's.  There was nothing else you would rather do than grab your baby and your nook, curl up on the couch with any of your "papa's" and read a book.  Although we have no idea what you are trying to say, but you talk to us about anything and everything.  You are eternally happy, even if you are throwing your body on the floor in a tantrum...it doesn't take long for a smile to follow.

 And now you are two!! I can't believe all the changes this year has brought.   If I thought you were a talker at one, boy were we in for a treat!  It's all chatter all the time with you.  You know exactly what you want, and you aren't afraid to ask.  With every request, there is a "peez" and "tank you."  You've got some serious rhythm kiddo!  We can turn on any song, and you are shaking what your momma gave you and fist pumping to every beat.  You also have a serious addiction to "ice keen."  You ask for it every morning.   You start to holler out, "Mom! Ice keen peez?  Ice keen! Ice keen!" whenever you see a DQ sign.

You love swimming and playing outside.  You love trucks and playing in the dirt.  When you fall, you stand right up, brush your hands off, and continue running at full speed wherever you were going.
Your Papa's are still your favorite people.  Where they are, you are not far behind...asking them to read you a book, take you outside, or tackling them.
You are one of the funniest people I know, you get it from your dad.  He can make you laugh just by making a noise, and boy does he have a lot of them.

Happy 2nd Birthday Hunter Brian Dube! 
You are my happy, funny, outgoing, brown eyed baby boy.  I love you bubba, now let's PARTY!

Finally!

Today is Patrick's last day of class..EVER.  Wow...that permanent word is oh so sweet.
He is completing his apprenticeship program, and we both have been waiting for this day for a VERY long time.

The last 5 years have been a long, LONG road.  Bumpy, yes.  Tough, yes.  Worth it, ya got damn right!  There were moments when he didn't think he could do it, didn't want to do it, and to be honest...I even questioned if we ever would see this day.  But we have! He made it.  And I am so proud of him, I really can't stop saying it.

This guy and I have been together for a very long time.  Many of you know this.  Most to all of you, do not know the struggles we have been through to get to this place.  Which is ok...every couple goes through there own shit.  We have worked hard to get here.  We have fought hard to be here.  I keep saying we, because that is what I think of us as...a we instead of a him and I.  I celebrate his graduation, as much as he does.

He has worked so hard.  Sacrificed countless nights with his son to finish.  He skipped one class, because I was in labor, but was there the very next night...sending me texts of how much he missed his family.  His dedication to get to this day has been inspiring.  He just put his head down, one day at a time, and did what he had to do.  To guarantee a better future for our family.  He is the man I always knew he could be.

I could go on and on, and bore you to death of my love for this man, but I will save that for another post :)
So tonight...mama is going to be waiting for dada to come home so we can celebrate with totty's! (Drinks pervs) Because my man did it!! And I am the proudest wife in the world!

 

Anudder one.

Again...far too long since my last post, but I was having trouble putting up anything valuable.  Not that I am trying to change lives here or anything, but if I would have posted every thought that came through this blonde dome of mine...you would have probably had me committed.

I have been following multiple blogs lately, trying to figure out what I want mine to be, or what category mine would fit in.  And my conclusion is...I still haven't decided on where I would like this to be.  I keep coming back to my intention of creating it...I say funny ass shit, and my family is funny and that funny ass shit needs to be shared.  My point is, I want it to be relatable.  And I think the thoughts that come into my head (not necessarily out of my mouth...thank god) aren't unique whatsoever so why not share them.  Hopefully people read, and enjoy. 

One of the first things I will need to do is post more consistently.  So I have been conjuring up a whole list of things to write about,  to keep myself entertained and hopefully you along the way.

To truly understand this blog, here is what you should probably know about me before you read this:
I'm blonde...and often have blonde moments.
I'm loud.
I love my family.  Parents, sister, grandparents...the whole fam damily.
I'm sarcastic.
I like my music loud. Really LOUD.  And I like music from Bing Crosby and Johnny Cash to AC/DC all the way to Lady GaGa and 2 Chainz.
I laugh, a lot.  Typically the goofier or lamer it is, the harder I laugh.
I have a dog, who I am obsessed with and treat like a human far too often.  Oh, and I have given him a dog voice.
I have a brown eyed toddler.  And he is THE best thing I have ever done.
I have a dark and handsome husband, We are high school sweethearts.  To say he is my best friend, is an understatement. 
I love food.  Carbs mostly.
I am competitive.  In most situations, unless it has to do with math...than I am all about handing that win to the nerds. 
I am a Dube.  That's Doo-bee.  Not Dub.  And damn proud of it.


Wow...who knew that I could be described so easily.  :)

Later Days,
DMD

Average.

I have been 27 for 12 days now...and those 3 little dots say more than I ever could in this blog. 
I know I should be grateful for every day that I am still alive, grateful for my health etc etc etc...I know all of this and I really am, but as an almost 30 year old I feel like I have the right to not like being 27.  And I don't.  So suck it. 

Today I read this blog post today, by Mama Laughlin, and was blown away.  It's me.  She wrote about me. 

I have to come to grips with my body and it's current state.  Some of it caused by pregnancy. Most of it caused by my own laziness and great talent for making up excuses.  I eat like shit, am lazy so you already know by the previous two statements that I definitely have not seen a gym or any physical activity for a long time.  Nobody wants to read the ol' "Poor me, I'm fat" sob story bullshit, because let's be honest, it's all the same, so I am not going to do that.  I am just calling out the facts.  If I see them in writing, they are real.  

I was never the best at anything, but I was good.  I was never the hottest, but I was cute.  I was never the smartest, but I was average.  I went to an average high school, got average grades, went to an average college where I maintained average grades.  I married an anything but average husband, and bought an average house in an average city.  I was accustomed to average, and  became okay with it.  My body was average, and my tumultuous love affair with being average has finally caught up with me. 

It's not the clothes anymore, it's not an awkward mirror, it's not a bad week of having an appetite like a teenage boy.  It's me.  My weight, my body, my problem. 

I haven't had my WHY moment like Mama Laughlin, but I think I am ready to get there.  I am not going to make myself promises of how or when, but I will promise that this time I will do it.  If it kills me.  If I have to change everything, I will do it.
In the back of my mind, there is a little voice saying "Danielle, here you go again.  Another diet, and another fitness kick.  This will last three weeks," (Three weeks is how long it typically takes me to be over something) to say, "Aghfuckit, drinking, eating and being lazy is not only easier, it's way more fun than eating bland chicken breasts and salads for the next 6 months."  That's fine.  Talk all the shit you want to little voice, because if there is one thing I AM great (not good, but great!) at it's talking back.  I have a smart-ass, sarcastic, sometimes asshole mouth that gets me into a lot of trouble.  So believe me when I say, I know how to talk some serious shit too. 

I have no idea how I am going to do this. But I am.  I want me back.

The whining rant of a 26 year old.

I don't know when people typically come to a cross roads in their life, but I am definitely there.  I have this overwhelming feeling everyday that this is not what I want to do, this is not what I should be doing.
Inside my little house, I couldn't be happier.  I am married to my best friend, my son is everything I could have asked for and my dog is always ecstatic to see me.  As soon as I walk out the doors of this beautiful environment I have built, my heart just sinks.
Just a warning, this is not one of my "cheeriest" posts.
I hate driving 45 minutes into work everyday, I don't feel like I am worth a shit at my job, and the even longer drive home just reaffirms the fact that I hate driving to work.
It's hard to get excited about getting up in the morning and going to work, when you feel like you could be doing so much more.  I want a job where I determine what needs to be done and how to do it.  I want to be able to go down a path and feel confident about my decision.  I feel like a secretary.  Look, I understand that most of us will always have a boss, and someone will always be telling us what to do.  But I don't like being told, "We would really like to see you take the next step."  when there is no next step!  It's simply not there.  Everyday I push back the overwhelming feeling that this position is going nowhere, and that I will end up going nowhere because of it.  I've been told a million times that there is more for me to do, but nothing ever shows up besides some more or less clerical work here and there.
I know I am only 26, but I feel like I would be worth more if I stayed at home with my son, kept my house clean, laundry done, and dinner on the table everyday.  That to me feels like an accomplishment, taking care of my family.  I feel important.
I don't know if it's the industry I am in, or the work I am doing, but I am not happy.  When I first started I loved it.  I had no idea what I was doing half the time, but I soaked it all in.  Now, it's is essentially "same shit, different day."
So my dilemma is this...what do I want to do?  I have been thinking about this a lot lately.  What do I love?  What would make me happy or fulfilled professionally? 

I love to write.
I love to make my own decisions.
I love flexibility. 
I love to be busy.
I love being successful at something.
I love getting things done on time.
I love to bullshit, crack a few jokes, than get down to business.
I love to feel important.

Real original right?

I hate thinking this way because being a Debbie Downer all the time, well, is a downer.  But the more I push these thoughts down, the more overwhelming and powerful they become.
I am just to big of a chicken to pull the trigger on any real changes.

I really hope there are others out there in this world that feel the same, or is it just my crazy brain?

Later Days,
DMD