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While My Boyfriend Was Sleeping

What I write after Joe and Henry go to bed

By now I’d have two kids

May 25, 2015 by heidi 6 Comments

FAMILY PHOTOGRAPHY  BACKDROPS uk

That’s me up there, four months pregnant with the baby I lost in December. I remember feeling way further along when I took the pic. It’s one of only two belly pics that exist from that ill-fated pregnancy.

They say by the time you sprout your second or third or, if you’re Michelle Duggar, your 19th kid, your wrung-out stomach “pops” early, making it doubly or triply or quadruply harder to resurrect your abs. This is the sad truth for all gestating women, except Heidi Klum.

I read a description somewhere that likened the bellies of women who’ve had babies to balloons that have already been inflated. New balloons are a bitch to blow up. They don’t give. You have to pre-stretch them and blow like a mother to fill them with air. Your face turns red and the tail can be difficult to knot.

Twice inflated balloons are another story. They swell immediately.

With my second pregnancy, I quickly inflated, then quickly deflated – both physically and emotionally. When it became apparent that I couldn’t repress my way back to feeling normal, I did the only two things I could think to do at the time: I ran and I blogged. More accurately, I ran a lot and blogged just once.

This miscarriage wiped me out. Running made me feel strong again. Blogging – as heavy as that last post was – helped me compartmentalize my thoughts and articulate things I couldn’t in person.

The thing is: I’m a lighthearted person. I cry NOT AT ALL in front of people. Prior to this miscarriage, few people outside my family and BFF of 20 years have seen me cry. In the last five years, I can count two: the veterinarian who euthanized my dog and my friend Kim, who watched me break down over breakfast when my son’s off-the-wall behavior became too overwhelming to handle. “I can barely parent one,” I tearfully confessed. “How will I manage two?”

[Read more…]

The heaviness of being empty: the crushing reality of a late miscarriage

February 6, 2015 by heidi 15 Comments

full lace wigs

Note: this is a deeply personal story. I’m still struggling to articulate it – in real life and in words. As a writer, I find it impossible to not process my feelings in narrative form. As a journalist, I find it equally impossible to write only for myself, which is why I have a blog and not a journal.

On Dec. 1, I lost my second son due to (still mostly) unexplained reasons. He was 18 weeks old – too early to be considered stillborn, too late to still be a secret. The experience wrecked me in some way. Despite my attempts at maintaining a sunny disposition, I withered.  Despite my naturally steely resolve, I withered. Despite having just grieved the death of my sister’s newborn, I withered. Despite knowing nothing good would come from turning to the internet, I Googled – and withered. The people who knew me best thought I was doing OK. How could I let them think otherwise? No one wants to talk about dead babies, so I put on a nice face, feigned levelheadedness and withered.

Each night, I searched the web for stories like mine in a fruitless attempt to find answers or peace or a crystal ball forecasting that this will never happen again. 

Yet Google never brought me peace. It just made the situation worse. I cursed my luck. I cursed my body. I cursed the shitty misfortune of being born a woman and not a man. It’s always easier for men, or at least it is in the MINDFUCK that is reproduction. I cursed my genes. I held my sister as the doctors pulled her baby off a respirator. I watched in horror as my niece, born full term to loving parents, took her last breath. It was a moment so awful, so cruel and so sad that I vowed I would never write about it. Instead, I channeled this sadness into something positive – an online photo project that went semi viral. I wanted my sister to know that her daughter mattered. Now here I was, exactly six months later, curled up on my bathroom floor, moments away from delivering a boy who wouldn’t matter in the most literal sense. At 18 weeks, he wasn’t even old enough to warrant a birth or death certificate. 

[Read more…]

You’re pregnant forever, and then you’re not

February 28, 2013 by heidi 14 Comments

Two of my closest girlfriends are pregnant right now, both of them due around the same time: late May/early June.

You already know one of them – my best friend Ro. And guess what? Her baby girl (Mia) is due on Henry’s BIRTHDAY: June 5. How’s that for timing?

It’s killing me to not be in New York right now. The last time I saw Ro she was 48 hours pregnant (I’m exaggerating) and supervising my kid at a park while my father and I went about the serious task of testing climbing the park’s playground equipment. Even then it was obvious she exhibited better parenting skills than myself.

Her baby shower is the day before St. Anthony’s Triathlon, thus I am unable to attend. ANOTHER MAJOR BUMMER. Consequently, it is possible that my best friend will fully gestate and I will never see her baby bump in person. UNFATHOMABLE. Fifteen years ago, when I filled three pages in her high school yearbook, I never imagined we’d BARGAIN SHOP without each other much less give birth to babies on opposite ends of the Eastern seaboard. Kvetching over the phone about the marvelousness and shiteousness of pregnancy is not the same as seeing it happen before your eyes. I’ll never get to feel Baby Mia kick Ro in the ribs – at least not in utero anyway.

Ah. But such is life. I signed up for this when I left Buffalo nine years ago. (NINE YEARS AGO?! WHAT?) After a decade away from home your absence no longer goes missed. It simply becomes a matter of fact. You miss Christmases. You miss birthdays. You miss pregnancies. You miss babies being born.

[Read more…]

{photo shoot} maternity pix

April 4, 2012 by heidi Leave a Comment

What to expect when you’re expecting … me to take your picture.

[Read more…]

Pregnancy Confession No. 10

August 19, 2011 by heidi 9 Comments

[I underestimated the 4th trimester.]

I have a big, dumb confession to make.

I (foolishly) thought I would write a screenplay on my maternity leave.

I (foolishly) assumed not working would free up more time for writing. I figured I would spend my days in a glowy haze writing as Henry slept. I pictured myself perched contently at the computer knocking off scenes during uninterrupted stretches of newborn sleep.

I pictured Henry waking from his afternoon slumber, myself sailing from computer to baby like a modern-day Donna Reed. I pictured myself tending to my motherly duties — nursing, diapering, rocking, singing and cooing to my little lamb — as if these things are as predictably routine as brushing your teeth.

Silly rabbit.

I underestimated the fourth trimester; this period I’m in now: the early weeks and months of motherhood, of baby development.

The first time I heard someone mention the fourth trimester I was newly pregnant and blissfully naive.

“Fourth trimester?” I choked. “There’s a FOURTH trimester?”

I was filled in by a woman in my neighborhood who had just given birth to her first baby, a hairy boy who at the time was nestled in a purple wrap tied elaborately across her chest; a baby barnacle clinging to his mother’s bosom.

“Yeah,” she said wearily. “The baby adjusting to life outside the womb. You adjusting to the baby.”

Oh yes. The fourth trimester. Cute.

[Read more…]

When words fail: a movie for my baby

August 11, 2011 by heidi 4 Comments

Writer’s block is a funny thing. Whenever I come down with an especially paralyzing case, I usually end up funneling creative juices into something else. In this case, I made a movie. (I also painted and redecorated our bedroom, but that was because I was inspired by how AWESOME the king’s lair, ie:  The Baby Cave, turned out.)

For Henry at two months is a compilation of short video clips shot in the weeks before and after Henry’s birth. It illustrates everything I’ve struggled to articulate lately.

It’s 12 minutes long, which might seem ridiculous given that Henry can’t sit, speak or crawl. Yet with the proper music and edits, the seemingly mundane life of a newborn suddenly becomes much more enchanting.

You might be asking yourself how shitty diapers and curdled puke could possibly be enchanting.

Well, I’m here to tell you the magic happens in the breakthroughs in between; in the moments of joyful firsts and simple (yet herculean) milestones that sneak up on you when you’re knee-deep in life-altering muck. They make the diapers, vomit and sleep deprivation all worth it. You hear parents utter this nonsense all the time. Now that I’m a parent I can tell you it’s clichéd, but true.

My baby giggled today for the first time. It happened while I was playing THIS movie for him. We were dancing to the last song, an infectious little ditty by Lykke Li called Dance, Dance, Dance.

His giggle was so adorable it didn’t sound real.

“Henry!” I squealed. “You found your laugh!”

I was hoping he’d do it again, but no amount of prompting seemed to spark another one. I guess I’ll just have to wait for it to occur as it occurred the first time: organically and delightfully without warning.

—

PS. The shot of me dancing was taken during a senior citizen pool party at my grandparent’s mobile home park in Nokomis, Fla. Talk about fortuitous sunbathing! You can thank Joe for capturing it.

PPS. Music by Norah Jones (Man of the Hour), Grizzly Bear (Two Weeks), Scott Matthews (Eyes Wider Than Before), Van Morrison (They Sold Me Out) and Lykke Li (Dance, Dance, Dance)

Hindsight

June 30, 2011 by heidi 4 Comments

Note: This post was supposed to go up the day I gave birth to Henry. Due to an insanely fast labor I was unable to publish it. So here it is now, 25 days later. I’m sick of seeing it sit in my draft folder.

 

Two days before Mother’s Day, I received a package in the mail from my mom.

Wrapped in tissue paper inside a small priority shipping box was my baby book, meticulously filled with details and photographs from the first years of my life.

She said it seemed like an appropriate time to pass it along.

The first thing I noticed upon reading my mom’s curly-cue notes was that that her penmanship hasn’t changed in three decades. The second thing I noticed was how young she and my dad looked in the pictures. She was 21 years old. He was 23.

I was two months old when she wrote the note you see above. And 29 years old when I read it for the first time.

♥

 

The King has entered the building.

June 17, 2011 by heidi 19 Comments


Surprise. Surprise.

The King is here.

Holy anticlimactic!

I let 12 days go by after his birth without so much as posting a picture.

Sorry. I’m easily distracted. I’ve had non-stop company and I’ve been nursing a newborn around the clock, which for a novice such as myself, requires both hands.

So yes. I’ve neglected to update my favorite corner of the web.

But what about Henry, you ask.

I’m sure it’s why most of you have pulled up this site repeatedly over the last couple weeks.

The newborn I birthed! Where is he? How did it go? Did the birth center live up to its expectations? Would I recommend natural childbirth? (More on that later…)

I know some of you grew impatient and decided to find my Facebook profile. As cringe-worthy as FB can be sometimes, it’s much less time-consuming than writing a real blog post. For someone whose friends and family are scattered all over the world Facebook is a requisite social networking tool. My profile has been a hub of activity since Henry’s birth.

In this space, however, I like to take my time.

Just like Henry.

Who, by the way, was born at 1:05 p.m., Sunday, June 5 at Breath of Life Birth Center.

He weighed 8 lbs., 12 oz. and measured 21 inches long.

“Ooo! It’s about time we got a trucker,” said my midwife, who sized me up with a disconcerting GRIN as I waddled painfully into the birth center in the throes of active labor. “We’ve had a lot of pipsqueaks lately.”

The most coherent thing I said that morning: “A TRUCKER?! I don’t want a trucker!”

But I got a trucker, who one hour after being born attempted to crawl. No kidding.

[Read more…]

On waiting and wish sticks

June 1, 2011 by heidi 22 Comments

https://www.foxbackdrop.com/collections/solid-backdrops

June 1.

Today is supposed to be Henry’s birthday.

I’m learning, however, that “supposed to” and babies don’t go hand-in-hand. Just like “supposed to” and life doesn’t go hand-in-hand.

I’ve been on maternity leave for a week and half now. That’s a week and half of not having to meet deadlines.

Except for this one: Henry’s due date.

And like any deadline, this one comes with its share of pressure. I feel like I’ve got a massive story due at noon and none of my sources will call me back.

And unlike my job, where I’m lucky if what I produce lines a bird cage at the end of the week, this assignment has generated a captive audience like none I’ve ever seen before.

Between my Facebook page, Joe’s Facebook page, our family, our friends, our neighbors, my bank teller, the bums in the park and the girls who cash us out at the grocery store, the anticipation is so palpable you’d think I’d gone weeks past my due date.

Now I know what it feels like to be a watched kettle.

[Read more…]

Pregnancy Confession No. 9

May 30, 2011 by heidi 12 Comments

[I pee my pants.]

bridesmaid dresses

The first time it happened
I was appalled.

DISGUSTED.

I was running my usual three-mile stretch
when I sneezed.

A healthy
cleansing
sneeze.

I'm one of those people
who looks at the sun for two seconds
and sneezes.

It's called Photic Sneeze Reflex.
And since I live in Florida,
I sneeze all the time.

I actually (used to) enjoy it.
I found it refreshing.  

That was,
until I got pregnant
and started pissing myself.

Let me preface this by saying
it's been a long time since I peed my pants.

YEARS.

Well, except for that one time in high school
when my friend Sarah cracked a joke
that had me rolling.

[Read more…]

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Reading material

Wild by Cheryl Strayed Travels with Charley Home Game bossypants just kids the time travelers wife Boys Life The-Liars-Club My Uncle Oswald Stephen King On Writing

Me.

Heidi K

Joe.

Joe on guitar

Henry.

henry as werewolf

Chip.

Chippy in a cupboard

Buzzy.

Buzzy

Why Lance?

This blog is named after my old friend Sarah's manifestation of a dreamy Wyoming cowboy named Lance, because the word blog sounds like something that comes out of a person's nose.

About me

I'm a journalist who spends my Mondays through Fridays writing other people's stories, a chronic procrastinator who needs structure. I once quit my job to write a book and like most writers, I made up excuses why I couldn't keep at it.

My boyfriend fiancé husband Joe likes to sleep in late on the weekends, but since we have a kid now that happens less than he'd like.

Before Henry and Chip, I used to spend my mornings browsing celebrity tabloid websites while our dog snored under the covers. Now I hide my computer in spots my feral children can't reach because everything I own is now broken, stained or peed on.

I created Lance in an attempt to better spend my free time. I thought it might jump start a second attempt at writing a novel.

It hasn't. And my free time is gone.

But I'm still here writing.

I'm 26 27 28 29 30 31 32 33 34 35 and I've yet to get caught up in something else, which is kind of a big deal for a chronic procrastinator.

How I met Joe

If you're new here and looking for nirvana, read this post.

And if that’s not enough…

heidikurpiela.com

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