We lost both babies Thursday at eleven and a half weeks.

My ultrasound Friday didn't show any heartbeats, and what the sonographer thought were the embryos haven't progressed from my last scan over four weeks ago. After an appointment with my doc this morning, I don't know what to do. I still feel pregnant, though I know I'm probably just being stupid, and I have a lot of unanswered questions. I want another ultrasound with a different tech, if only because this one refuses to answer questions or talk to me and I need answers, but he said without even looking at me that it was pointless. At least he gave me the option of waiting to see what happens or having a D&C. Since J and I had talked about it ahead of time and chose to wait, I'm scheduled for another appointment next week.

Of course, I told a few of my coworkers late last week, and now I'm going to have to go deal with them...which is exactly why I'm hiding in my cubicle pretending to do paperwork.

I'm angry and sad and scared and confused, and I hate it. I hate that my babies are dead, and I hate that I'm still putting up with all the side effects of being pregnant without having any hope for a decent end to all this. Needless to say, it's been a thoroughly sucktastic weekend.

As a warning, I'm tired and hungry and not entirely coherent. If none of this makes sense, grammatically or politically, forgive me.

I don't like McCain, and I like Palin even less. I don't like what propose to do with this country. Both prey on people like me--white collar, white skin, educated, religous. I hate with a fiery passion the way they use and distort Christianity. I hate even more the way people sitting in churches across this nation buy into every word spewed forth from his mouth just because God is mentioned. Read your Bibles, folks. The devil can quote scripture for his own twisted purposes. Jesus helped people. He didn't insult and kill them. He was a radical.

But while I like the message of change Obama brings, I can't buy into the fervor the rest of Offsprung has for him. Here's my real problem, deep down inside: Where I live, I'm considered "rich." I would be even without my husband. I'll be completely forthright here and tell you that I'm salary and make $34,000 a year before taxes. Even under the current regime, close to 40% of that is taken for taxes, a social security system I don't expect to be around when (if) I eventually retire, and other government projects. I live a stone's throw away from the Maryland border and do quite literally all of my shopping there, and considering that Maryland has the highest median income in 2008, my salary doesn't go as far as I'd like. It's going to go exactly nowhere when I'm forced to quite my job this spring to stay home with the twins. I won't be able to afford childcare for both of them and continue working, and no assistance is available for us even with just my husband's income. I've spent the afternoon looking, and we're just too rich.

I don't want help finding help. I want to know that if Obama is elected into office, he's not going to pull away even more of my husband's income for his projects. I despise the way McCain and Palin overlook disadvantaged kids, like the ones I work with at church and have come to know and love dearly, but I also hate the way the money we've worked hard to earn to care for ourselves and our own kids gets funneled away for projects that I don't even see as directly impacting the other kids. I see plenty of government spending in my own area, and none of it benefits me or those I care about. It's mostly in the form of "helpful" billboards and scholarships for kids from the city who shouldn't be in college at all (another big complaint, which isn't as horrible as it sounds here) and WIC credits used to buy formula that's quickly resold on Ebay while our roads suck and our schools fall farther and farther behind. (Yes, I know WIC can be a great thing. I guess I'm just a bit cynical when it's something I see being abused by so many others while I'm panicked about the possibility that I'll have to formula feed because my "rich" little self won't be able to afford it.)

I want to help the poor. I want to help the environment. But I also want to take care of myself and my own kids, and money's tight already. The only reason we're getting by is because we carefully manage our money and don't have a lot of the bills other people do--TV, phone, internet, water, even trash pick-up. Some are by choice and some are because of where we live. We buy generic food and supplies. We budget for special treats so most of the money can go to paying off loans and freeing up the money we spend there every month.

So basically, it comes down to this: I don't like McCain, but I'm terrified of being labelled "rich" and having even more of our money taken away. I work hard to make extra money on the side that I use to help truly poor kids in my own area and around the world, but if the things I hear about Obama are true, I won't be able to give my own kids the childhood they deserve. That childhood includes things like keeping our house and car and having food on the table, not fancy preschools or imported organic European toys.

I'm sick of hearing people talk about how much the rich owe them and how Obama needs to stick it to the rich folk to help the poor, but I'm called rich on a regular basis. I don't think I am. I think we're hardworking and middle class, which Obama claims to support, but what will he do to us in the end? I don't know what to think anymore. I know McCain will raise taxes too--doesn't every politician?--but the more moderate sources I've seen don't seem to think it will be as much. I know the real question is where the money will go, but at this point I just want it to stay in my bank account.

I'm not posting this as a topic like so many others do with their political views, because a) I don't think anyone would particularly care, since I'm not rabidly pro-Obama; b) I don't expect any comments or questions or really anything at all; and c) it's stupidly long. But there you go, one of your resident anti-politicals' views. Take it for what you will.

I keep noticing billboards and radio commercials telling kids to get out and play.  They even direct people to web sites to find suggestions for games and activities.  According to the Washington Post, some schools in the District are hiring a Cali-based group to come teach the kids how to play games on the playground.  I admit to total confusion as to why this is necessary.

Granted, most of the population of the US lives in cities, and I don't.  Maybe that makes a difference.  We're somewhere between being suburban and rural, with housing rates so low that apartment living is practically unheard of.  My house had a small yard, but combined with friends' yards and the undeveloped forest behind me, we had more than enough.

Even with the evil video games we had when I was growing up, we still spent tons of time playing on our own.  There were elaborate games involving forts made from fallen sticks and hoarded buckets of hickory nuts.  A ball of any shape or size meant kickball (and one broken toe when a full-sized basketball was used).  The sidewalks and any available driveways were covered in chalk "roads" and "stores."  Indoors, there were cardboard boxes to be decorated and board games to make and play.  On the 3-5th grade playground, which had no slides or swings, there were kid-directed sports and an ongoing game involving invisible horses and dirt patches we considered the house and the stable.  The fifth grade girls sat on the wall and taught one another to knit.

We--my brother and friends and I--were never taught any of this.  There wasn't some web site we checked out for ideas or a non-profit group to make sure we did our jumping jacks.  The adults pretty much made sure we didn't break anything important and expected us to invent our own fun and solve our own problems.

Is this just some outdated, lower-middle class suburban dream, or is there something different about this newest generation?  If so, what are we doing to cause it?  Is it the earlier-childhood version of the dreaded "helicopter parent" that goes to college classes with his/her kid, always needing to micromanage and protect their precious offspring?  Because I'm really confused here, and at this rate I'm likely to be arrested for neglect in a few years if I tell my kids to go out and play with a few sticks and a big red ball.

I've been having issues lately. The kind of issues that cause your ob-gyn to order you to go to the emergency room, where you're checked and and eventually stuck on bed rest for the better part of the week. It's been a scary, frantic, and later mindnumbingly boring Labor Day weekend.

Luckily, the worst of it (and the ER visit) is a full week into my past, and things seem to be improving. Today was my first prenatal visit, bumped up over a month to keep a closer eye on me. The doc didn't mention the labwork that was drawn on Saturday to follow up on everything done last Thursday, and I was so nervous I forgot to ask. I'm afraid now to know what it said, since he didn't bring it up as good news. He did, however, lecture me on how common miscarriage is and repeated several times how I haven't done anything wrong. Okay, maybe "lecture" is the wrong word. More like "reassure." Too bad I'm much more reassured by numbers and data than a few vague statements I already know.

About ten dozen more vials of blood were sucked out of me downstairs in the lab, and I'm scheduled for an ultrasound two hours from now. As a side note, having blood drawn from an arm already bruised from previous vampirage is significantly more unpleasant than usual.

I'm worried about the ultrasound. Without it, I can go on hoping that everything's okay. Normally I'm much happier knowing, for better or for worse, but this time I'd much rather keep living on in my own little fantasy world. I wanted this baby so badly, and after how long we had to wait, I'm terrified that if something goes wrong I'll never get pregnant again.

I don't know why I'm writing this here. I guess I just need to put it out there, and there's no one else to tell. Cross your fingers for me.

If you’ve ever struggled to become pregnant, then you know how incredibly annoying it is when people tell you to "just relax." What do you mean, relax? Relax by not worrying about it? It’s not that I worry, really, just that I wish things would get going already. Relax by chilling out and just letting things happen? Because they’re not going to just happen by themselves, not after this long. And what about when those same people sagely advise you not to put things off or build your life around the possibility that you might have a baby on the way shortly? I mean, come on! How can you call yourself a responsible prospective parent and not do everything possible to ensure that your prospective future kids have the best chances possible?

During August, I relaxed. None of it was really intentional; I lost my little slip of paper with my temps and other info on it in late July, and during Pennsic I sort of half-heartedly remembered to take them on some days and not others. None got written down. My husband wasn’t there, and according to my banks of collected data, day 19 was the earliest anything had ever happened. That wouldn’t be until a few days after my return, so why bother?

I also neglected to consistently and thoroughly scour and bleach my dishes before reusing them at Pennsic. Oops. And it was tempting to drink, just a little bit, just a taste of something fruity that smelled quite good. While I don’t drink, the infamous "peer pressure" and a long-standing social anxiety combined to make me wish I did on at least one occasion. I met one other person in all of Pennsic who didn’t drink, and by the end of the week I was fed up with explaining to everyone else just what a freak I was.

But the worst thing all week, perhaps, was the most seemingly innocuous. I took my vitamins, calcium supplements, and folic acid with me. The fish oil capsules were left at home out of fear for the heat. But then…yes, you’ve already guessed it…I only took them about half the time I was there.

Yeah, I relaxed, didn’t I? This all would have been unthinkable at home.

Then during Purple Door last weekend, my head ballooned into a giant ball of mucous after staying in a mediocre hotel that probably had some mold or mildew problems. (It’s amazing how writing about your sinuses can still be somewhat embarassing after talking about your girlie bits for so long, isn’t it?) I took a 12-hour Pseudofed Saturday morning to get me through the day, and even so I walked around as the sneezing and sniffling dork amongst the cool kids with the purple hair and band shirts. Still, though–I never would have taken the medicine had I been at home. Note to self, stock back up on tissues for the house before going home today.

I also had the audacity to dream. Why bother putting off making my armor when I’m probably not going to be pregnant for quite some time, if ever? It’s lamellar; it can be adjusted along the road. I’ve put off getting into fighting for over a year because of it, and I don’t wan to wait anymore. And that motorcycle I keep assuming I won’t dare to ride soon–-why not? Let’s check the finances, as the one I'd been looking at is apparently still for sale and probably cheaper now.

So here I am, with a half-empty temperature chart, a pattern for armor, and non-vitamin pills in my system.

Oh, and pregnant. Did I mention that one yet?

Life is funny like that.