Another toy I made using a pattern from one of the Aranzi Aronzo books.
It’s pinned onto my judy that’s wearing my favourite Barbra Streisand wig. Also pinned are the certificate of authenticity for my engagement ring, a tank top pattern cut from a shopping bag, small pink Easter bunny toy, the small bird mola from Panama.
Mostly? I love my life.
So less than 13 hours after she last commented on my blog, my dear friend Ali had her damn baby! Daniel Clayton Mooney, born January 31 at 6:34 am, 6lbs 14oz, 20″ long.
Ali, you are going to be a GREAT MOM!!! You are going to ace this, I know it! I wish I could be there to help out more. And I hope your address hasn’t changed, ok?
Love you!
I was in the shower (with my new radio!) thinking about that last post, thinking about the friendship that ended and thinking about why it ended and when it ended. It’s 2 years and it’s time for me to come clean:
It ended at the same time I was going through a miscarriage. Even typing that I got tears in my eyes and a lump in my throat. It was the saddest, most emotionally painful time of my entire life. It was a wanted pregnancy, it felt important and special, especially happening when it did, at the tail end of some extreme unpleasant shit we were going through. Extreme? Seriously, practically unbearable. When I reconnected with Shannon I knew I wasn’t in for an easy time, I knew we’d be judged and that people would scrutinize it with cruelty. I knew that. I didn’t know what I was really in for and it was very taxing, very difficult and there were plenty of days when I was ready to walk away from my relationship with Shannon but I stuck it out. Love, eh?
Anyway, it was the end of the legal madness and the start of his illness and that pregnancy-again and again and again-was wanted. Needed. I felt (correctly) that it was my one chance to have a baby of my own. My ONLY chance to have a baby with the man I’d loved for a long time and who I was starting to sense wasn’t going to be around forever. A baby that would be a piece of him.
The day I went to my first ultrasound, I went alone, I had no idea things would change so quickly, that I’d hear such terrible news and then be stuffed into an office that wasn’t equipped with tissues. I guess, in hindsight, I could have insisted that Shannon go with me. How could I have known??
Then to be told “I knew this would happen” did not help. And to be told how selfish Shannon was for not accompanying me, that also did not help.
The advice I have for any woman going through a miscarriage: ask for support and be clear, to your partner, exactly what that means. It seems, in my experience and from watching friends go through similar situations, the baby daddy doesn’t get what’s going on. He has no idea what you are going through, he doesn’t have the same emotional attachment that you did, and might not be the best help. Tell him. Draw a picture, write a letter, scream, but be clear: I need flowers, tea every half hour, a foot rub, 8,000 hugs and kisses and love. And then more love.
For the best friend: be there. Offer your love and bring it on. Don’t just sit back, be proactive. A person dealing with a miscarriage might not be able to ask clearly for your support, there’s something shameful about it, at least for me. Don’t wait to be asked, just force it upon her. It will be appreciated, even just a visit. And love and then more love.
Did I mention love?
Don’t say “this happens to almost everyone”. So what? In this moment it’s happening to ME and I don’t care what’s happened to anyone else.
Don’t say “at least this means you can have another baby”. That might not be true and it doesn’t matter anyway.
Don’t be surprised if your friend isn’t terribly interested in what your beautiful child is up to. Or that they don’t want to attend a baby shower. Or look at babies. Or anything baby-esque. It takes time to heal from a miscarriage. Most days I feel healed. Some days though, not so much. 2 years later.
And please don’t walk away from a friendship because you are “sick of dealing with someone else’s shit”. For me, that miscarriage was the peak of my “shit”. I was being selfish and needy, I apologize for that.
Are we clear? (And I seriously hope that everyone understands that there is a lot more to this story than I am willing or able to write about here. This is MY side, this is how I feel and MY take on all of it. Obviously there is a lot more to a 16 year friendship than can just be boiled down to one blog entry. And honestly, other than the tail end of it, I have nothing but extremely happy memories of her.)
So I will quote the amazing Neil Gaiman:
“May your coming year be filled with magic and dreams and good madness. I hope you read some fine books and kiss someone who thinks you’re wonderful, and don’t forget to make some art — write or draw or build or sing or live as only you can. And I hope, somewhere in the next year, you surprise yourself.”
I love you all very much and I want to thank everyone for all the support you’ve given me in the past, difficult, year.
xoxo
Love,
Caitlin
I started working on these quilts in the summer but couldn’t post anything about them until now. I know my dad doesn’t read my blog (he’s only really recently aware of computers at all) but my mom does (hi mumma!) so I had to keep it all on the dl. Until now.
The first one is for my dad, it’s a design by Boo Davis. Her work is amazing, buy her book now. NOW. Can you tell it’s a tree? Once this one is finished (I had a minor setback, ahem) I will have a hard time handing it over. It’s going to have a navy back and straight quilting.
The second on is for my mom and is my own design. It looks a lot more complicated than it actually is. Well. It took a lot of work, to be fair, but I simplified my life by buying solid colour jelly rolls, sewing strips of colour to strips of white, and on and on until I got this. The back of it will be red and I’m planning on doing a diagonal quilting pattern. Libs says it’s hard but we’ll see!
These pictures suck, sorry. I’ll take better ones when they’re finished.
Here’s an idea of what the beginning of my mom’s looked like:
This morning was hard, saying goodbye to Shannon. It’s very quiet here without him or Ari crashing around, but it means I can do some serious cleaning and listen to the radio as loud as I want to.
I won’t make this any longer than necessary: there’s no cream here for coffee and I have to remedy that before a migraine sets in.
Anyway, on the hand front. My hand is healed. Seriously. I went to see the plastic surgeon on Friday who said it looked fine to him and to exercise it to make sure the scar tissue stretches out properly. He said I could leave without bandages but that made me too nervous, I was going onto TTC and the movie theatre, and didn’t want to risk the cooties. Not to mention it still looks pretty awful and it’s easier when it’s bandaged to avoid horrified glances.
So all it took was a week. I find it amazing, honestly. The skin is tender still, I don’t like fabric rubbing on it-or hot water, but over all, not a problem at all and I haven’t even had one pain killer since Friday morning. Funny how those first few very dark days…I really wondered if my hand was screwed forever.
Friday:
Today:
It doesn’t even look that red irl.
Today, flexed:
You can see where it’s tight.
That’s it! Hopefully no more hand blogging from now on.
I spent about every other weekend at this house from the age of 4 through to about 14. It’s probably the most influential house of my entire life, more so than any house I ever lived in. 
This is the house I think of when I smell pancakes frying, use a white board, look at dollhouses and walk on shag carpeting. It’s the house that made me love Siamese cats, model trains and fake fireplaces. Every time I eat a cherry or see someone canoeing, pat a spaniel puppy, it’s this house.
Did I mention the laundry chute?
Went swimming, we sure did. Some of us, at least. The water was crystal clear and cold as fuck, just like I like it. Little Bluff is my very favourite fresh water place to swim, I guess. Don’t look too closely at my love handles, I promise I am working at making them smaller.
Then we ate a metric ton of sushi, watched movies, snuggled in bed, woke up to room service then shuffled Ari off to her grandmother’s to enjoy her cousins and some fresh air. Now that I have Shannon all to myself for maybe a week, I have NO idea what to do with him as it’s been so long since we’ve had a break from parenting.
Luckily for me, a new LLCBO opened around the corner, that ought to help me make decisions.
Turning 38 is much worse than turning 37. It’s been a hell of a year, lemme tell you. I’d write the details, but it’s my birthday and I want to stay in a good mood.
This year I got the biggest gifts-a Mustang and a refrigerator. Yep.
And flowers, the prettiest bouquet I have ever seen. All my favourites are bunched in there-and if anyone could tell me what the dark purple ones are (no, not the irises), they look like lupins but they’re not lupins, please tell me.
Nice way to greet the day.
Thanks to everyone that made it a memorable birthday! And thanks for the outpouring of love, right back at ya!
I’ve always been this cool. And here’s how you can tell: I went to see The Who in 1989 when I was 17. It was at the CNE when the Grandstand was still open, that’s where the Blue Jays played before the Skydome opened. It was an amazing place for concerts, it’s also where I saw the first Lollapalooza (yes, with NIN and Jane’s and Bodycount and…) and Neil Young. It’s sucks that it’s gone.
Gosh, $34.50 to see The Who? I wish I could remember this show better. I went with Patsy, who I am still friends with.
Man.
I guess this also proves I never throw anything out.