October 2023 – LongLegsBigCity

‘Tis the Season

October 26, 2023 3 Comments

When you think of the saying “tis the season,” you think of Christmas, or the Thanksgiving-Christmas combo. But in my mind, the “season” starts with Halloween.

If you’ve been around here for a while, you know that Halloween is a National Holiday (caps-intentional) in my household. For as long as I can remember, I have loved Halloween. There are many photos of me as a young kid in various costumes, from a yellow M&M to a clown, to a gypsy (clearly before we cared about being politically correct). Then as a college student I had multiple costumes a year that bordered on ho-tastic. Thigh high stockings were often involved. As an adult, I came into my Halloween new self, and decided that full-body unitard costumes were my new love. I was a treasure troll (nude unitard), Smurfette (blue unitard), a Hershey Kiss (silver unitard), an Oompa Loompa (hand-dyed unitard), etc etc etc. When I moved to New York, we often had big group friend costumes like Wizard of Oz and Care Bears. Eventually when Chris came into the picture, I folded him into the group costume sometimes, like Winnie the Pooh (he was Christopher Robin) or Ninja Turtles (he was a slice of pizza). Some years it was just Chris and me, like when we were a gumball machine and a quarter, and Blue and Steve from Blues Clues.

My costumes often involved some sort of stomach stuffing or camouflage. As I mentioned last week, my body-dysmorphia contributed to my costume choices, and they often involved stuffing the stomach of my unitard. After many years of stomach-stuffing, it was ironic last year when I was actually pregnant on Halloween and I again wore a unitard but did NOT want to draw attention to my stomach. I hadn’t told any of my local friends yet, and in fact, during our annual traditional Halloween Pub Crawl, I told my first friend in NYC, so she could help be a decoy as I ordered gin and tonics, sans gin.

I remember that day so well. I woke up to put finishing touches on Chris’s and my costumes, Tweedle Dee and Tweedle Dum. I googled classic poses so we could do a side-by-side picture with the cartoons. I remember being relieved to find one picture where they were sort of leaned over. It was the perfect pose to hide a stomach and not cause any speculation. We headed down to the pub crawl and I somehow got my friend away from the crowd to tell her our news. She was so happy for us. I spent all day drinking tonic water and pretending to be drunk. At one point, another friend asked me why my drink was in a larger cup than hers, and I had the quick thought to tell her I had ordered a double. I was pretty proud of myself for coming up with that answer on the fly and presenting it in a believable way, but my brain was crystal clear, after all, I was sober and she was not.

I was SO tired, and I didn’t know if it was from being pregnant or from traveling back from Australia, and then to Los Angeles and back the previous week. All of my recent travel gave me a perfectly legitimate excuse to leave the pub crawl early. When I got home I was so relieved that our secret was still safe and I had made it through a day without anyone knowing.

I was already brainstorming costumes for the next year. I figured that I might not be at a pub crawl, but I definitely planned to have a family costume including a 4-month old baby. How exciting to have a new configuration for a group costume! I was researching ideas online of family costumes with babies involved. I had a running list of ideas. How naïve and positive of me to assume at 8 weeks pregnant that I would have a whole alive baby the next year? It seems crazy to think that that same girl now can’t even picture what it would be like to have a child that’s alive.

Thanksgiving brings even worse memories; I was 12 weeks pregnant. As you know, the Macy’s Parade holds a very important space in our family’s traditions. I’ve been attending since I was a baby. Last year, I went to watch with my sister. I was pregnant and she knew, but my parents didn’t know yet. It was 6 am and we were waiting hours for the Parade to start. Usually we stood and played games, but I felt so nauseous. I sat on the ground and munched on a protein bar and tried not to throw up. I was scared to drink water because I knew I would have to pee. I was planning to tell my parents the news the next day and my sister and I were predicting how it would go. I remember saying I thought they’d cry. I remember talking with my sister about how the next year I couldn’t watch the Parade in person because I’d have a 5.5-month old. She said I could definitely bring her, and we talked about how it would work out. Now Thanksgiving is around the corner and the thought of watching the Parade and NOT being nauseous makes me nauseous. Thinking about watching the balloons go by without a baby on my chest is so depressing.

December holidays bring another additional set of depressing thoughts. Chris and I had many conversations about what religion we would raise our kids. We decided we would incorporate both of our religions. The thoughts of a baby’s first Hannukkah and Christmas were so exciting. I thought about the ornament we’d get for our tiny tree. I purchased matching sets of Hannukkah and Christmas pajamas for our little family of three when they were on clearance after Christmas. I was 17 weeks pregnant, I was home free! (Can you see my eye roll through the computer?)

Sisters at the Parade (the Pillsbury dough boy wasn’t the only one with something in his belly!)

When we were in school, seasons were always a sign of change. Summer was time off, vacation, camp, trips to the pool. Then every August/September marked a new year. Leaves fell and we counted the days until Thanksgiving break. Winter in Florida marked a welcome reprieve from humidity, and a trip to the beach on Christmas Day. Once I moved to New York, Christmas was magical. The streets were lit up, the tree went up in Rockefeller Center, and there was always a possibility of snow. Then spring came and we were so relieved to have more light and shed our heavy jackets.

Now, every season sucks. One starts, and it sucks, one ends, and I remember how it sucked. I remember distinctly the week after Labor Day this year, I felt like I was stabbed a million times a day as all of the small talk revolved around the questions, “how was your summer?” and “what did you do this summer?”

I was supposed to be on maternity leave all summer. I was supposed to take care of a baby all summer. My summer was supposed to be magical and the start of a new chapter of my life. Instead, I was working and trying to get through every day one minute at a time.

Here’s what I wanted to hear in September, “Congratulations!” “Welcome back!” “Can I see a picture of your daughter?” I didn’t hear any of those things.

Instead, I don’t really remember the summer. It started with our first wedding anniversary… without the baby we were supposed to have. Then was my due date… without the baby we were supposed to have. Then our meet-iversary without the baby we were supposed to have. Then my nephew’s 1^st birthday, where I was reminded that he was supposed to have a similar-aged-cousin. Then was the trip Chris and I took to try and distract ourselves from the fact that we had no baby.

How was I supposed to say that to well-meaning colleagues asking about my summer? I didn’t say that. I said, “good, how about you?”

I naively assumed that summer would be the hardest season. I thought for sure that summer would be harder than any other season because my expectations for what I thought it would be were so different from what actually happened.

But as autumn begins, I realize that my entire life, all four seasons of every single year, is going to be different from my expectations. What a doozy of a thought. It’s overwhelming.

I saw a post from a grief account on social media recently that talked about the seasons you had with your loved one who died. In my case I got only two seasons with my daughter. And I have innumerable ones left without her. How do I get through them? Every change in seasons is just a reminder that I am still here, the world is still turning, and somehow I continue to wake up. There’s a book called “How Dare the Sun Rise?” While the subject matter of that book is completely different, I think that same phrase often. I wake up almost every day in shock that the world is still existing while I am barely alive.

I’ve been talking a lot in therapy recently about trying to stay in the present. The past is filled with things I can’t change, and the future is completely outside of my control, so the only thing I can do is be in the present, try to find an ounce of gratitude for it, and continue on. But it’s hard to stay in the present when the present is so hard.

There are certain pieces of the holiday season that I will continue to observe, but at least this year, I have decided I need to opt out of some things for my mental health. I cannot fathom creating a DIY costume for just my husband and me, knowing that a crucial part of our group is missing. There’s absolutely no way I can sign up to hand out candy to the kids in my building who will come up to the door in all of their adorableness with their parents, while our house remains empty of little giggles.

I will probably still go to the Macy’s Parade and I will try to channel my gratitude that I only have to rouse myself and not a baby at 5 am to get a good spot. I will also travel to family to celebrate Thanksgiving and Christmas. But it’s not going to be easy. The constant comparison of what I thought the holidays would be, versus what they are, is on a loop in my mind. The only thing I can do is be honest by telling people I expect it to be difficult, and then try to give myself grace when it is, indeed difficult. At 8 months post-loss, It’s becoming harder for people to understand why I am still so sad, but I hope that reading this blog helps some people understand. I write it for myself, but I also write it as a gift of communication. I have learned over and over again that people can’t read minds, so instead, I have put my thoughts online.

Wishing you all a happy(ish) holiday season.

Grief and Pregnancy Loss

Body Image and Pregnancy Loss

October 23, 2023 No Comments

TW: pregnancy loss and eating disorders and TMI if you’re not comfortable with female bodies

I have been debating for a few months whether or not I should write on the topic of body image and pregnancy, since I didn’t have a full-term pregnancy and my view is different from others. But a few weeks ago, I was on a support group with a fellow loss mom who lamented that her stomach was slowly getting smaller post-loss, whereas she watched other future moms as they continued to get bigger. I realized that while pregnancy and body image are intimately linked, so are pregnancy loss and body image. I can speak from both sides, the before, and the after.

I never understood people who said pregnant bodies were beautiful. I was never the type to look in awe at someone with a baby bump. Honestly, to me they looked uncomfortable. When I started to seriously think about getting pregnant, the thought of my body changing outside of my control was terrifying. For many years I struggled with disordered eating, but for about ten years, I’ve felt good in my own skin and I’ve been a staunch proponent of the body positivity/intuitive eating movement. I enjoy food and I don’t want to count calories. I also enjoy movement and I don’t want to count workouts. I like sweets, and I like lifting weights. I try to balance everything. Since I knew that being pregnant could cause me to change both my eating habits and my movement habits after I was finally in a good place with both, I was very scared.

After we told my parents I was pregnant, I remember talking to my dad on the phone and he asked me if I would take weekly “bump” pictures comparing the baby to a fruit or whatever weird thing the apps say your fetus is the size of (a peanut!). I remember exactly what corner of the sidewalk I was on when I started laughing hysterically. I said, “Daddy have you ever met me!?” I would never do that. The thought of taking maternity photos where I would be capturing my body in its largest and uncontrolled form seemed preposterous to me. Why would I ever want those pictures? I distinctly remember around 15 weeks when my blood pressure was on the cusp of normal and my doctor suggested she may want to induce me at 37-38 weeks “to be safe,” I was so excited because it meant I wouldn’t be so big and uncomfortable.

But let’s rewind. During pregnancy, everyone’s body reacts differently and there are a million things strangers will say about it. Pregnancy is one of the times society has decided that it’s ok to comment publicly about a woman’s shape to her face. Some people will decide you are having a boy or girl depending on if you’re “carrying high or low.” Some say you “pop earlier” if you eat certain foods, or do certain things, or who even knows. Everyone pretty much agrees that you don’t start to show until later if it is your first pregnancy. In my case, I am not a small person. I am 5’11” and I used to describe my body type on my OKCupid profile as “athletic.” Long legs, big city, remember?

More like, long legs, no big belly. Around 12 weeks, I started to get nervous. Why didn’t I have any bump yet? Not that I wanted to have a changing body, but shouldn’t I see something? I started to be a little more conscious of the foods I was eating. After years of “only eating when I was hungry” I started to think about whether or not I was hungry and why. People talk about pregnant women “eating for 2” or being ravenous during their second trimester. I never was. I was just eating the amount I normally ate. I started asking friends for protein shake recommendations so I could make sure I was consuming enough protein, but basically every protein powder said to ask your doctor before consuming it if you’re pregnant, so I nixed that plan.

For my 16-week anatomy scan, I went to a different ultrasound facility because most of them were closed. I happened to be 16 weeks during the week between Christmas and New Year’s Eve. Not ideal. My appointment was at 8:30 am. I hadn’t been that hungry, but I figured I should eat something, so I had half of a protein bar in the cab on the way there. Most of the scan went well, but the tech had some issues getting some of the pictures, because she said our baby was staying in the same position, and she needed her to move into a different position. She said sometimes this happens, and I might have to come back the next day. But then she asked me to stand up and walk around the office and she asked what I had eaten that morning. I told the truth (half a protein bar), and she started scolding me. She said, “your baby needs nutrients and you need to feed it what it needs. You need to think about your baby and not you.” I was taken aback. It wasn’t even 9 am two days after Christmas. I had basically rolled out of bed and hopped in a cab. I wanted to do what was best for my baby, but I didn’t want to gorge myself when I wasn’t hungry.

Two weeks later, I had a regular appointment with my OB, and I asked my doctor about it. I explained to her that I didn’t want to know what I weighed because I try not to focus on the number, but that I was yelled at by the ultrasound tech, and I wanted to make sure I was gaining “enough” weight to have a healthy baby. Of course, I ended up in tears. I cry every single time I see my OB now, but at the time, I think this was my first time crying in front of her. My doctor apologized profusely for the ultrasound tech and said she was out of line and really should not have said that to me and shouldn’t talk about what to eat. My doctor said I was gaining exactly what I should be for where I was in the pregnancy, and that I should continue to listen to my body about hunger cues. I noticed after that appointment that she added “history of disordered eating” to my chart.

At that same appointment, my doctor checked on our baby and mentioned that due to the placement of the placenta, I probably wouldn’t feel movement until much later in the pregnancy, but not to worry, everything looked perfect. It seemed hard to believe that I was 18 weeks pregnant but looked exactly the same. Throughout the winter I wore the same jeans without a problem. At 20 weeks, we had another anatomy scan, and again, everything looked great, but I still had no visible bump. At 23 weeks, I finally had a tiny visible bump. I noticed it in the mirror when I was just in underwear, but in clothes, it was hard to see. I was going to my friend’s wedding in Florida, so I bought a new dress that would fit well. For the day and night before, I wore my regular clothes, which still fit. I spent the day before the wedding at the pool with my best friend, and she commented about how she couldn’t believe how little I still was. My mom asked me if I bought a maternity swimsuit and I laughed. I just looked like I maybe ate unlimited breadsticks at the Olive Garden.

The next week, at a 24-week growth scan, everything was trending well, our girl looked good, and I still looked… barely pregnant. I was secretly thrilled. As long as our baby looked good, I was totally fine with a baby on the smaller side, easier birth, right? Less stretch marks! But it was still strange. Nobody who walked by me on the street would know I was pregnant, my own friends couldn’t really tell. I was still working out like usual, going to Orangetheory 4 days a week, doing most of the same exercises with the exception of some core work. I kept my ultrasound photos on the fridge as a reminder since there weren’t many external ones.

When I was checked into the hospital the next week, they had a mandatory protocol that they needed to have a fetal heartrate monitor strapped on to me 24 hours a day to monitor the baby. For me, they had trouble getting the monitor to stay in the right place because I barely had any bump. They Macgyvered all sorts of things to try and keep it in place. One nurse folded up a paper towel and put it under one side so the monitor was tilted down. Some nurses were better than others. Every 12 hours during a shift change, one nurse would show the next one what they had come up with to help it stay. But if I shifted even an inch, the monitor would slide or slip and the alarm would go off. I had to lay completely still for days. I had to alert a nurse every time I was going to go to the bathroom because I knew it would trip up the monitor. Reaching for my water cup would move it. The nurses kept apologizing and saying it was just because I wasn’t that far along, so it was difficult to keep in place. Of course, I knew I wasn’t that far along, but having that constant 24-hour reminder, while also being told I needed to deliver my baby within 24 hours was a complete mindf*ck. I hated my body, both the size of it, and the fact that it was failing me from the inside. The two were intimately intertwined.

Now, when I see people on the street with baby bumps, I immediately think, “if they had the baby RIGHT NOW, the baby would probably survive.” The exact bumps I didn’t want, and didn’t think were beautiful, are now the one thing I wish I had. Sure maybe they are 31, 32, 33 weeks, but that’s all I dreamed of, a few more weeks. I see that bump and I think, “survival.” I think, “If only I ever had that.” It’s wild to be so close to the loss that I can remember how I felt before about being that size, but I can also see how much my entire mindset has changed.

The one thing that definitely changed throughout my pregnancy was my boobs. My first indication that I was pregnant was that they were changing. As someone who grew up like Judy Blume, doing the “I must increase my bust” chants, they were finally increasing. I thought it would make me happy, but it made me uncomfortable. I remember one time saying to my friend on the treadmill next to me that my boobs were distracting me! I wasn’t used to even noticing my chest, and all of a sudden, they were right in my face. But then, as quickly as they were new and exciting, they were terrifying. Post pregnancy, I was told that my body would likely start producing milk because my body didn’t know my baby was dead, my body only knew that I had a baby. I was constantly terrified. My body had already completely disappointed me, and now there was this. I felt like everything that was contained inside my skin was broken. My doctor (and the internet) said that the only thing I could do to prevent this from happening was wear my TIGHTEST sports bra, 24 hours a day, and basically bind my chest. I scoured google for how long I would have to do this, but every website said something different. To be safe, I decided on a month. 30 days of wearing the tightest sports bra I owned. I feared warm water, too, another thing the internet warned about. I took cold showers and barely let any water get on the front of my body. I went to sleep praying I wouldn’t wake up with a wet shirt. Every night that first week my sheets were soaked, but it was “just” post-partum hormonal sweating. My body continued to mock me and my childless arms and womb.

And then, after that month of obsessive sports bra wearing, I finally took it off and my boobs looked… the same. Normal. Just like they had “before.”

Did I make it all up? Was I ever really pregnant? How could I wake up with no baby, to a dead silent house (pun intended), and yet I looked exactly the same. I felt like I had lived 100 lives. I felt like I didn’t even know the woman I was the year before, and yet I wore the exact same clothes. I fit into everything. My body failed me over and over and over again, and yet, the mirror said it was the same body. I was the same person.

I’ve always loved to work out, and one of the hardest parts of post-partum with no baby was the bar on exercise. During those first few weeks, I went on hours and hours and hours of walks just to get out of the house and fill the time. I don’t remember them, really, I would just move aimlessly. I couldn’t tell you what I thought about. I was just trying to fill time until I could sleep again. Not being allowed to lift weights, or run, or do anything active like I was used to made me feel even worse. How was it fair that I was not allowed to do the things I liked, and the things that brought me joy, but I also didn’t get a baby? When I finally was allowed to go to the gym again, I remember a friend of mine saying I looked thin. I said “thanks, I lost a baby worth of weight.” He already knew that, of course, but it seemed like the only thing to say. I wasn’t happy I was thin, I was devastated. For the first time in my life, I just wished I was bigger. For the people who didn’t know I had been pregnant, I probably just looked normal. Even for the people who did know, I looked normal. This was the strangest part.

Throughout my entire pregnancy I probably gained 4 pounds. By the day after the hospital, I had lost those 4 plus an extra 5. Some of that was probably from not being allowed to eat for 5 days. Some was from muscle deterioration. Some was from my baby being gone. Some was from blood loss and surgery. None of the lost weight was “good.” Even two weeks ago (7 months post-loss) I went to the doctor the day after going to multiple 10 course tasting menus in Peru, and she asked me if I had lost weight. I told her I didn’t know, because I don’t weigh myself, and she said I looked like I had. Never in my life had a doctor said that to me before, and for SURE never before had it been said with the unspoken words of “are you ok? You don’t look ok.”

Clearly, I’m not ok. I also don’t think I lost weight. But I certainly look sad. Sometimes I think the circles under my eyes and the hollows of my cheeks are simply physical manifestations of my brain. I look in the mirror and I don’t see “thin,” I see “sad.” I see the indents in my collar bones, and where I used to think “oh!” I now think “oh, right, dead baby.” I wish I saw my tired eyes I thought “new mom, no sleep.” But instead I see, “mom of a dead baby, nightmares.”

When I look at my body now, I see nothing but a container. I don’t think anything of it at all. The shape of my body is the least interesting thing about me. I realize now more than ever that the size doesn’t matter. It can look one way, and completely rebel against me. I was at Orangetheory feeling 100% fine, and 4 hours later I was in the hospital feeling 100% fine and they were saying I was going to die. I can look like a supermodel and my body can still try to kill me if it gets pregnant again. I don’t necessarily hate my body, I just am completely disassociated from it.

However, I have a new added fear that people might think I’m pregnant. Most girls always fear this, the “are they or aren’t they?” like Rihanna at the Superbowl. But now, there’s the added issue that if someone asks me, I know I will spontaneously burst into tears. I am especially nervous because I know it’s from a place of love, and people will act hopeful and excited for me. I’ve stopped wearing anything with an empire waist because I don’t want the speculation. There was a photo of me in a swimsuit from the summer that was at an unflattering angle and I immediately edited it. I don’t care how I look, but I don’t want to field any questions.

Back in my post about what not to say, I mention how you should not comment on a person’s body. You can see now, it’s because it’s layered. The fact that my child lived and died within my own body adds a huge layer of complication. It’s the only loss that is completely contained within another person. For men, they don’t have all of these additional complicated feelings, and that adds to the difference in grieving. While I look the same, everything about me has changed. It’s surreal.

I am not sure how this will manifest if I ever become pregnant again. Maybe I will be happy to have a big baby bump, or maybe I will be terrified of that as well, because it’ll be even one more thing I could possibly lose. Maybe I will be happy if strangers recognize me as being pregnant for the first time. Or maybe I will view it as superstitious and wear baggy shirts for fear of not wanting anyone to speak of it. I can’t predict how I will feel in the future, all I know is that it is complicated and while I wish more than anything that I had a baby, I am not looking forward to it.

Travel

Niagara Falls

October 18, 2023 3 Comments

Last weekend I went on a belated birthday trip with Chris to Niagara Falls. This trip was supposed to be a surprise. Back in June, Chris surprised me with a belated birthday trip to Chicago. The main problem with me planning a surprise, though, is that I have no mental capacity for planning or surprises. Also, Chris loves to use credit card points and frequent flyer miles. So, instead of making it a surprise, I said, “do you want to go to Niagara Falls for your birthday two weeks late?” and he said yes, and then he booked us the flights and hotel rooms. Yes, two different hotels, we will get to that later.

Thursday, we had a 7 am flight. This departure time, of course, was thanks to my sweet husband who doesn’t require 8+ hours of sleep like my depressed self does. Despite his favorite hobby, morning-of-trip-packing, we managed to make it to the airport on time and we were even upgraded to first class. The trip was off to a great start. The plane didn’t have TVs, but thankfully it was ungodly early, and the entire flight took 50 minutes so I mostly dozed. We landed and we were at our hotel in Buffalo by 9 am. Unfortunately, since hotels don’t allow check-in that early, we took up residence in the lobby and we asked the front desk to hold our suitcases. Thankfully, the lobby was huge because we both had very full days of work. I know what you are thinking, “this blog sucks, no one wants to hear about you taking an hour-long flight to make zoom calls in a different part of the state.” I agree. Don’t worry, it gets better, but not quite yet.

Finally, our room was ready, so we went upstairs to check it out. We opened the door and found a massive table, a desk, a coffee bar, a fireplace, and a sofa. No bed. There was a conference table that sat 12 people, but no place to sleep. I started laughing hysterically because I truly thought Chris booked us a meeting room instead of a hotel room. It was only then that he remembered that the front desk had said we were in 1501/1502, so we went back into the hallway and sure enough, our keys opened the adjacent room as well, which thankfully had a bed. We later discovered a third door in the hallway that we could close so that we could prop the two rooms open and create a suite. It was a bizarre set-up but it did give us two bathrooms, so I couldn’t complain! We went out to get a late lunch/early dinner, and then, as it happens when you wake up at 5 am, we went to sleep. What a thrilling first day!

Day two started the same way, with work and emails. Eventually we ate breakfast together and continued with our work day. Around lunch, I went for a walk and explored the Erie basin. I came across the African American Veterans Monument, and multiple Navy ships including the USS Little Rock and USS The Sullivans. I had no idea there would be ships docked in Buffalo, but you learn something new every day. I walked back toward the hotel and came across the McKinley Monument, which I later found out was built because President McKinley was shot in Buffalo when he attended the Pan-American Exposition in 1901. Every time I go somewhere in the United States, I realize how little I learned in high school AP US History.

Back in the hotel I worked some more, and thanks to Chris’s hotel status, in addition to the executive suite we also got a 4 pm checkout. This was when the real adventure began. I decided to shower before we switched hotels, and just as I was getting out of the shower, housekeeping walked into the room. Chris explained, as I was in a towel, that we were checking out in 45 minutes. 10 minutes later, a different housekeeping person walked in. I put on clothes, and 10 minutes later, another random man entered the room with a key, the guy staying there after us. This had never happened to me before. Three people walking in? Including a subsequent guest? While I was in a towel? My husband (a man) did not seem phased by this at all. In fact, he didn’t even mention it when we checked out. A woman would never.

Anyway, we finally checked out and went to continue our adventure on the other side of the US-Canada border. The problem, of course, was that there was an international border. My sweet husband, who I really cannot blame because I did exactly zero research or planning myself, said he checked Reddit and that it would be “no problem” to cross the border. Unfortunately, there was a problem. You couldn’t order an Uber, and the hotel couldn’t guarantee that if they called a cab, they would be able to take us across. We decided to take an Uber as far as we could and figure it out. Chris said we could walk across the bridge. With our bags. I was not pleased. Do not fret, we left our Uber at the border, and a man approached us and asked if we needed a cab. Me, a woman, would have said “no thank you, stranger, I do not want to get into your car.” Chris, a man, said, “that would be great.” Readers, do not worry, I am still alive to tell the tale. Our cab driver ended up being a main character of the weekend. It turned out he used to live in Manhattan and had a store 2 blocks from our apartment. He told us that we could see what we needed to see in Niagara Falls in 4 hours, and then we should go to Toronto HAHA. A true New Yorker. I will admit that made us feel better, since we only had a day and a half there, and I was scared we would miss out.

We went into our hotel room and the view was amazing. We were on the 37^th Floor, and our room overlooked Horseshoe Falls. But the sun was setting quickly, and we wanted to go down and get an up-close view, since it was supposed to rain the entire next day. I assumed the Falls would be impossible to see at night, since they were natural, but I learned quickly that I was wrong, they are lit up by multicolored LEDs from 6 pm – 2 am every night. Anyway, I didn’t know that at the time, so we thought we were on a time crunch. The valet told us that we could walk down to the Falls, or we could take the “incline,” which would get us there in 4 minutes. We opted for the lazy way, and found that the “incline” was just a 30-foot funicular. It was hilarious because we could have easily just walked up the hill, or they could have built a staircase, but they didn’t and instead charged $7 roundtrip. We were on vacation, so we splurged and took the 15-second trolly ride.

This is where we found out cab driver. On the side of the road.

It was worth it. It was truly spectacular. I didn’t know, but “Niagara Falls” is made up of three Falls, the American Falls, Bridal Veil Falls, and Horseshoe, or Canadian Falls. While the first two are all in the United States, 90% of Horseshoe Falls is in Canada (Americans will be quick to tell you that all three are technically in the USA). Despite where they are located, the direction of the Falls is such that they are much better viewed from Canada. From the United States, it’s more like infinity pool vibes and you can’t actually see where the water drops down to. According to their official website, 3,160 tons of water flows over Niagara Falls every second. That is so much water. It’s hard to wrap your brain around.

Chris and I took many photos at the Falls. Of the Falls. Selfies of us at the Falls. Then we had some strangers try to take photos of us at the Falls. We learned quickly that strangers are mostly shorter than us, and while we are fantastically photogenic, if you take photos from below, you will get great pics of us, but you will have exactly zero of the scenery in the background.

I learned a lot of facts about the history and usage of the Falls, but I won’t bore you with all of them. I did find it especially interesting that 50-75% of the water is diverted to hydroelectric power stations depending on the time of day and year, and those stations supply more than one-quarter of all power used in New York State and Ontario. The water is then returned (unpolluted) to the river. This means that the crazy amount of water we saw and experienced was less than half of what it could be. Also interestingly, some people try to go over the Falls. Most of them try to do this in barrels, and most die. But some survive! In fact, the very first to do it successfully was a woman, Annie Edson Taylor, who achieved her daredevil dreams on her 63^rd birthday. She tested her barrel in advance by putting a cat in it (who also survived!). There are now steep fines for people who attempt this, but as our tour guide advised us, you only have to pay if you survive!

Speaking of our tour guide, Saturday was the big day. The one thing I did to plan for this trip was book a tour. I specifically booked a tour that went to both the American and Canadian sides. The universe, which has recently not been working in my favor, had another joke up her sleeve, and decided to forecast for rain the entire day. WOMPWOMP. Good news is, we were planning to get wet anyway. Our tour guide told us that rain is actually great because it reduces your inhibitions of being wet at the Falls, because you’re wet anyway. My therapist loves a good reframe, so I decided to opt into this one, too.

We started the day with a bang: my favorite part, the Maid of the Mist boat ride. We suited up in our ponchos and boarded the double decker boat. It was spectacular. We rode right into the basin of Horseshoe Falls, where it felt like we were in the side wall of a hurricane. The water, wind, mist, and turmoil was all around us, and then the boat did a 360 while we were poured on from the waterfall. It was awesome. In case we weren’t wet enough, our next stop was to the “Cave of the Winds.” Despite the name, this is not an actual cave. It was a cave, and there were tours from 1841 to 1920, but a rock fall collapsed it, and now it’s a series of walkways built into the outside of Falls, which is actually torn down and rebuilt every single year. The walkways bring you right to the base of Bridal Veil Falls, and there’s even a Hurricane Deck, where you are basically inside the Falls. It is very. Very. Very. Very. Wet. My feet were not dry until many hours later when I got back to the hotel.

The rest of our tour took us to a few other amazing views, including Three Sisters Islands, where we could walk little pathways into the middle of the Niagara River, and see where it flowed down to the Falls. Then we headed to the Whirlpool Rapids, which were absolutely stunning with the changing colors of foliage. Again, from their website, “Horseshoe Falls crushes into the narrow Niagara Gorge, creating the whirlpool rapids […] where the gorge abruptly turns counterclockwise. The river’s abrupt change of direction creates one of the world’s most mesmerizing natural phenomena.” Our final stop of the day was the Skylon Tower, where we took a 52-second elevator ride to observation decks 775 feet above the Falls. The views were amazing, but the ride up was my favorite part!

We headed back to the hotel where we took a nap, because we’re old, and then we went to dinner at a nice restaurant in our hotel with a view of the Falls, again lit up for the night.

We had an amazing time, and just like our cab driver said, a day and a half was plenty of time. We saw what some people call, the 8^th natural wonder of the world. Some do not say that, but some do. We spent time together. We slept 8 hours/night. We ate great food. And we were home by 3 pm on a Sunday. That’s what I would call a successful trip.

Selfie with our best tour guide #TeamJessica
Chris loves state parks!
Squint and see which pink ponchos are Chris and me!
Selfie before getting soaked
Actively being rained on by waterfalls
Cute, not yet saturated.
About to be saturated…
Very, very wet.
Such a majestic view.
I was ready to hit Bridal Veil Falls and the Hurricane Deck!
Chris and I soaked.
It’s hard to explain how loud it was here.
Inside Bridal Veil
HURRICANEEEE
Whirlpool Rapids in all of its fall foliage glory
View from Skylon Tower. Breathtaking.

Grief and Pregnancy Loss

The One Where All of Her Friends Were Pregnant

October 11, 2023 2 Comments

TW: Pregnancy Loss

I am 36 years old. That means that if my friends want to have kids it’s now or never. Unfortunately for me, that means a lot of my friends are having kids now. And I am… not.

It’s hard. I think the main theme of this blog post is going to be that it is just plain hard. It’s difficult to navigate friendships when you’re a loss mom and your friends are pregnant. It is difficult to keep friends when they’re pregnant, to communicate with them, to relate to them, to be happy for them, to be around them, and quite honestly, it’s hard to just see them. Let’s start there, with the bare minimum.

How do you keep a friend when literally seeing a picture of them makes you cry? I remember exactly where I was post-loss when I saw the first picture of my friend and her baby bump. It was bad. It set me off for about three full days. It was not a surprise that she was pregnant, I already knew. It was also not a surprise how far along she was, I knew her due date. But to see that physical proof of something she had that I didn’t have, it was brutal. (Side note: I do not fault her at all for posting a photo, in fact I have a whole blog coming about this.)

I saw her body, and my thoughts started to spiral: Was I ever that big? What did people think of me? Did they ever think I was pregnant? What do people say to her when she’s in public? Do people congratulate her? Give up their seat for her? Can her husband feel the kicks? Do they ask her what the sex of the baby is? Does she already have names in mind?

All of these were things that I never got to have, and they were right there in my face. The hardest part was that when that picture was taken, she was exactly the same amount of weeks I was when our daughter died, but every body is different, and my body never looked like that.

One option to deal with these friendships would have been to stop all communication with my pregnant friends, or as my therapist called it, avoidance LOL. I decided this was not what I wanted for a few reasons: 1. I had lost enough, and I didn’t want to lose my friends, too. And 2. My anxiety NEEDED to know that my friends were ok.

One of the worst parts of navigating these relationships was that my emotions were and are unpredictable. I really didn’t know that seeing a photo would be so triggering. But I knew that if a photo sent me down a rabbit hole, seeing a pregnant friend in person would be even worse. For that same friend in the photo, we were going to hang out a month later, but I ended up telling her a week later that I couldn’t. I just didn’t think it would be productive for either of us if I was crying the whole time. Another month later, I changed my mind again and decided that I wanted to see her, so long as she wanted to see me. My feelings and moods kept changing, and there was no way she could have known.

A month ago, I went to coffee with another friend who was 9 months pregnant. I was SO proud of myself for this, especially for giving her a hug when I left. I thought I might spontaneously break into sobs when her baby bump touched my flat(ter) stomach, but I held it together.

Even when we didn’t physically see each other, it was hard to cut off friends from communication when we were used to speaking constantly. As I mentioned in my blog about small talk, conversation felt extremely meaningless when I knew we were just dancing around and avoiding the big stuff. As the loss parent, it was my job, I supposed, to lead the conversation. Most good friends avoided speaking about their pregnancies to me at all. I knew they did this to protect my heart, but sometimes it felt like they were actually just hiding from me and excluding me. When I most recently heard from a friend that she, too, was pregnant, she told me she wouldn’t talk about it at all on the group chat. For some reason, that rubbed me the wrong way. I knew she was doing it so that the chat would be a safe space for me, but instead, it felt like my friends were afraid to talk about their lives in front of me anymore. I was too fragile for them to share with, and they had to walk on eggshells around me. It made me take a step back and think about what I actually would want, if asked, and I realized that I didn’t know! How could my friends possibly know if I didn’t know.

In my specific case, I had the added complication in my loss that I nearly died. When I think of pregnancy, I think of death. I know too much. I know allll of the things that can go wrong. For example, my anxiety and superstition would not let me publish this blog until all of my friends due in September delivered alive-babies, and all of my friends survived and went home from the hospital.

Recently, I texted another one of my pregnant friends who lives in the same neighborhood as me. I had texted her on her birthday a few months back and she hadn’t replied. I had seen her post a few times on social media, but she never mentioned a pregnancy. I started to get nervous. I texted and asked how she was, her due date, how everything was going. As I suspected, she hadn’t been texting me because she didn’t want to push her pregnancy on me. Once I texted, I opened our communication again, which I was happy for, but then she offered for us to go on a walk. This was one step too far. I couldn’t imagine chit-chatting and walking alongside a 9-month pregnant person. I typically avert my eyes when I see pregnant strangers on the sidewalk! She totally understood when I turned her down for a walk, but I imagine it was confusing for her that I was fine to ask about her due date, but not to see her. I couldn’t explain this discrepancy.

A few months ago, another one of my pregnant friends asked me if I wanted to know when she had the baby. I was adamant that I wanted, nay, NEEDED to know that she had the baby. I explained how I had extreme anxiety keeping me up at night, knowing that so many of my friends were about to go through this mortal and dangerous time in their lives. Of course, my therapist reminded me constantly that many babies (most babies, even) were born fine, and their moms are fine, but all I could remember was what happened with me. My friend told me she hadn’t even thought that I may be thinking about her own safety, but she was so glad she asked me if I wanted to know about the birth, because she was nervous to tell me.

During pregnancy, my friends were uneasy talking to me, but leading up to their due dates, they were even more hesitant. The crazy part was, I had experience with labor and delivery! I used to be someone that people went to for advice, but in this one area, I was cursed. People forgot that I had a kid and she just, unfortunately, died. My friends knew I was pregnant, and they knew I was not anymore, and a lot of them read this blog. But most of them forgot that I was VERY pregnant, that I understood what it was like to be pregnant, that I went through 31 hours of labor, and that I delivered a child. I’ve done it.

I was recently talking with a friend who had an induction date coming up and she was explaining to me a procedure she planned to have to induce labor. She explained it for a minute or two until I interrupted and said, “I know what that is, I had that.” I had it all. They did almost everything to get my baby out of me because she was literally killing me. I had a balloon. I had a membrane sweep. I had multiple (failed) epidurals. I had fentanyl in doses that I thought were reserved for shows like Ozark. I had an emergency operation post-delivery. And then, I was post-partum. I had all of the problems and physical limitations that come along with that. I was doing everything possible to prevent and minimize milk production, I had hormone changes, night sweats, a ban on sex and hot tubs, I just didn’t have a living child. I could relate to my pregnant and post-partum friends (minus the whole “taking care of a living baby” part), but it was uncomfortable to talk about because of the ending. I completely understood that they wouldn’t want to think about my experience because it was scary and horrible, but sometimes it felt like their avoidance invalidated my story.

On the flip side, I couldn’t really bring it up either because who wants to think about possible bad outcomes when they have hope and happiness? While I wanted to text my friends daily and remind them to check their blood pressure at home, I recognized that while I thought I was protecting and looking out for my friends, it could have been viewed as patronizing, not staying in my lane, and projecting my anxiety.

When I first talked with my therapist about my anxiety around my friends’ pregnancies, she asked if a small part of me wanted something to go wrong with their pregnancies so I wouldn’t have to go through this alone. But you know the saying, “I wouldn’t wish this on my worst enemy?” Well, I certainly wouldn’t wish this on my close friends. Not even a tiny little bit. I spent many weeks agonizing over whether to send baby gifts in advance. Even though my friends didn’t send me their registries, I knew where to find them on Amazon or Babylist, I had had them myself! Every time I added things to my cart and went to check out, I imagined them having to return the gifts or send them back, or worse, look at them in their homes and cry. I remembered myself packing our baby stuff on a luggage cart 12 hours after returning from the hospital so my mom could take it all out of our apartment. I thought about my friends having to go through that, and I couldn’t do it. I decided I would wait until all babies were earth-side and I could feel some sense of calm and celebration for everyone. I’m not going to lie, buying items I had looked at for myself, and sending them to someone else, was not easy. At all. But I tried to channel my relief that they didn’t have to go through what I had, and I was able to feel some sense of joy. As a lot of memes say, “happy for you, sad for me.”

It’s hard not to compare. When my first friend mentioned she had a baby at 3 am, I remembered that I had, too. But she was in labor an entire day less than me. How was it fair that she had a living child AND 24 hours less of labor? I thought to myself, “AT LEAST let her go through a tough labor.” But then, a few weeks later, another friend of mine had her baby and her husband talked on Instagram about how strong she was for going through 24 hours of labor. Meanwhile, I went through 31 and no one was singing my praises on the internet. I can’t tell you what it’s like to labor hoping you’ll have your alive baby in your arms soon, but I can tell you what it’s like to labor knowing yours will be dead and I can almost 100% assure you it’s worse. But none of this is fair, and knowing that others went through 4 or 24 hours of labor doesn’t make it any better.

So, PHEW, now they all have living babies and everything is great, right? Wrong. Pregnancy, while temporary, leads to a permanent role change. The best-case scenario of having a pregnant friend, is that they eventually become a parent friend, and they have a living child for the entire rest of their lives. This brings a whole new set of problems I’ll reserve for another post.

A few weeks ago, I was on my way to a baby loss event with Baby Loss Library when I was scrolling through Instagram and saw my third friend who was due in September had her baby. Almost at the same time, she messaged me. She said since it was Sunday, she was planning to “have beer and watch football like a normal person.” I was on my way to an event full of moms with dead babies, and I realized the cold reality that I would quite literally never be a “normal person” again. Yes, I might have my own little family someday and I may also be watching football and drinking a beer, but I’d always have a dead baby. It was impossible in that moment not to compare. I was thankful to spend the day with women who understood, but the contrast of a “normal person” versus me, spending the day talking about dead babies, is my reality now and forever.

When I started writing this, I wanted to give tips. I wanted it to be a “how-to” of navigating friendships while dealing with loss. After free-writing, I realized I can’t give a how-to, because I literally don’t know how to! My main takeaways are for those who are pregnant: You should know that navigating this is hard. While us loss-parents know you are probably scared to bring up your pregnancy, and you are probably scared to even reach out period, please do. It’s a huge burden for the loss mom to constantly reach out. Loss moms are probably anxious, scared, scared to scare you, and lonely. We probably don’t want to bring our bad juju into your space. But we also probably love you and want the best for you. And while we may not be able to be “happy” for you every day because we’re jealous and angry and sad, we also don’t want to lose you. We’ve lost enough. So please, check in. Ask how to be present without showy. Be sensitive but not absent. Ask what we want to hear. What pictures of your babies we want to see. It may change day to day. And hopefully someday, we can all have earthside kids who play together.

My beautiful place setting at the baby loss event, with free books, a bracelet for pregnancy and infant loss awareness month, and of course the dates with the most important spaces in my heart.

Grief and Pregnancy Loss, Travel

Peru Part Dos

October 4, 2023 8 Comments

If you missed Part Uno, start there!

Our first day in Cusco, we had a bumpy start because our flight was nearly two hours delayed. Our scheduled tour was supposed to begin at the Cusco Cathedral, but we wanted to put our bags away, eat some food, and change shoes, so we met up with the tour at stop two. Cusco was the capital of the Incan Empire, so we started at the most important Incan temple, called Coricancha, that is right in the middle of town. We learned about the amazing ways Incas measured time, astronomy, and seasons. We also learned about their ingenious engineering using internal metal joints and trapezoidal shapes to resist seismic waves. Their engineering is why so many of their temples and fortresses are still standing despite the many earthquakes that have hit Peru since the time of the Incas. Unfortunately (or fortunately!) this was the first time we had rain on the trip. While inside Coricancha, we were able to stay under covering until the clouds cleared, and then at our next stop we were blessed with a fabulous rainbow and mostly great weather for the rest of the trip. I “wasted” 5 soles on a disposable poncho, but since that converts to about $1.25, I was ok with it.

Next on our tour we visited a few other Incan ruins, including Sacsayhuamán, an Incan citadel, and we had some time to explore on our own. It’s crazy that so many of these ruins are just massive things standing on semi-public grounds (with ticket entrance) and you can just walk around on them and touch them. We ended the day at a store that specializes in alpaca and baby alpaca scarves. We learned about the world’s most expensive and exclusive wool, made from vicuña, one of the two wild South American camelids, which live in the high altitude areas in the Andes.

We were told by our travel agency to avoid red meat and alcohol while we acclimated to the elevation, and since 11,500 feet in Cusco didn’t seem like enough for us, we booked a last-minute trip to the Palcoyo Mountains for the next day, which stand at a cool 16,076 feet. Most people who have been to Cusco may have heard of Vinicunca, which is a large rainbow mountain about 3.5 hours from Cusco. Many tourists go there, and it is 17,000 feet above sea level. Also, it is 3.5 hours from Cusco, and an hour and a half hike once you get there. For all of those reasons, we searched for alternatives. We were pleasantly surprised to find Palcoyo, which is an hour closer, 1,000 feet lower, only a 30-45 minute hike, AND it has THREE rainbow mountains instead of one. However, since it is less visited, there were no tours and we had to book a private driver and guide. Thankfully, it was only $50/ person for the entire 9-hour day (what!??). Our driver picked us up and along the way, our guide taught us facts about Peru and alpacas (they’re trimmed once annually after winter for fur, and the first shave is most valuable and softest), and the rainbow mountains (they used to be lake beds, and the colors come from sedimentary minerals).

When we got to Palcoyo, the views were breathtaking, literally and figuratively. It was certainly tough to climb stairs and mountains at that elevation, but with periodic breaks, it was doable. The scenery made it all worth it, and at the top, we took photos with alpacas after tipping the local man who brought them there specifically for photo opps. We saw a total of ten people the entire time. It was so nice and peaceful to have the mountains to ourselves. About 700-1000 additional feet up, there was a “stone forest,” and while the other girls opted out of the “encore hike,” I decided I wanted to do it. #YOLO, right? When else was I going to be there? Our private guide walked me up to the stone forest, which I appreciated because it had started sleeting and he kept me steady on the way back down. He also served as an expert photographer. It was stunning. Truly so special. I started to have the same spiraling thoughts I mentioned last week, about how lucky and unlucky I was to be there, witnessing these beautiful sights, but I tried to keep them at bay while I climbed down the slippery mountain back to my friends.

Along the way up the mountain, we had seen various piles of stones and our guide had explained that they were called apachetas, a combination of the words Apu, the name of the Mountain God, and Pachamama, the name of Mother Nature. People made these tiny rock towers as offerings to hope for good luck and blessings, either on their current journey, or in general. On our way back down the mountain, my friend and I decided to make our own and we scoured the mountain for different colored rocks of various sizes. Our guide helped us balance it and as soon as our apacheta was complete, it started sideways sleeting. Our guide said this meant our offering was received, although we couldn’t be sure if it was a good or a bad thing. After an exhausting day, we had dinner in Cusco, and then packed our bags again to get ready for our next day in the Sacred Valley and our journey to Machu Picchu.

We started our day early, cramming our many bags into the van for the day. Our first stop of the day was a lookout point with a breathtaking view of the Sacred Valley. We stopped for a few minutes to take it in, and of course to take some photos, then we headed to Pisaq. We stopped at a silver factory that was more like a small storefront, where we learned all about silver, silver-making, and even got to see some of the local artists making jewelry. There were some aggressive sales tactics, and they worked. I bought a couple things and then we headed to more Incan ruins. While each one of the sites was impressive, I must admit they started to get a bit repetitive. We climbed many, many stairs, and we started to recognize certain architectural patterns, ways the Incas tracked the sun and the stars, and the ways they built their civilizations to face the best sunlight for their crops. In the afternoon, we went to Olantayytambo, another ruins site, with 254 more stairs to climb. We did it! This specific site was interesting because it was overlooked by a mountain with two faces in it – one profile that was natural, and another that was carved by the Incas. It was a fabulous view, and we were blessed with amazing weather.

In between ruins, we ate lunch at a restaurant called Tunupa in Urubamba. The food was buffet-style and it was fine, but the views were out of this world. The restaurant was situated on the Sacred River, and after we ate, we went to the river to put our hands in and gather all of the blessings the river would give us. There were alpacas and llamas on the grass, and there was even live traditional Peruvian music, played with multiple different kinds of flutes.

After many, many stairs, we were ready for a break in the form of a train ride. We were dropped off at the train station, where we were surprised by another dance party, as people in traditional clothes held signs and danced and sang and led us to our train car. The entertainment didn’t stop there. Not only did the train have some of the most beautiful scenery I’ve seen, as we traveled along the Sacred River, but there was also a show. Two of the workers put on a whole love story skit in the middle of the ride. I had no idea what we were in for, and I didn’t understand any of the words, but I got the gist of it. After we dropped our bags at our hotel where we would be only one night, we went out to find food. Not only did we find a restaurant called Machapo that served both guinea pig and alpaca burgers, but we also found the friendliest waiter in all of Peru. We are now Instagram friends. Hi Kevin! Miss you every day!

Sacred River, hoping I got some blessings

The next morning we were up with the sun and ready to hike Machu Picchu. As I mentioned before, we did not do the 4-day Inca trail. Instead, we took a bus to the entrance. This is traveling in your mid-30s. I have no regrets. Of course, the day started for me with many braids. I did 2/3 of my friend’s hair, and I did mine in the bus. Again, this day we had a private guide, which was helpful because we could take as many breaks as we wanted, and we had a built-in photographer. Our guide liked photos a LOT more than we did, and he insisted on many, many, many photo breaks. You should see my camera roll. He wanted individual shots and group shots and selfies. I only included a select few below.

The views from Machu Picchu were truly gorgeous. We had picture-perfect weather, and despite it filling up by noon with people, it felt like we were there alone. There was a moment (after our 100 photoshoots) where we just sat down and took in the view. Again, I was hit by a wave of sadness. It’s really hard to be in such a perfect place and then reflect on my not-so-perfect life. The juxtaposition of the beauty and the hurt seems to highlight itself like a neon sign whenever I realize the vastness of everything. I see ancient ruins and I just think about how small my problems are, but then I realize how BIG they are to me and it just makes me sad. It’s hard to be present when my present is so hard. My thoughts constantly go to my friends with babies, and thinking about how I’m “lucky” to be where I am, but also wish I wasn’t. One of my therapists always encourages me to feel my feelings but also recognize that emotions are fleeting. I try to understand that I’m feeling this way and that it makes sense (because my baby died), but I should also allow myself to move through it and into a less heavy feeling. We started to climb down the many stairs and back to the bus to town, where we had lunch and I started to feel lighter again.

We went back to our hotel, grabbed our bags, and then took a train back to Cusco, where we did some final souvenir shopping and then packed again for our flight back to Lima the next morning. Our final two days in Lima, we mostly ate a lot of food. We also went to see the catacombs under the San Francisco Cathedral (no photos allowed), but we mostly ate.

As I mentioned last week, Lima has established itself as one of the world’s greatest food towns. No city other than Copenhagen also has two restaurants on the current top 10 of the prestigious World’s 50 Best Restaurants list. Lima has Central (#4) and Maido (#7), both of which were completely full when we tried to make reservations, since we only booked our trip three weeks in advance. We decided to try our luck and put ourselves on the wait list for Maido, and we got in! I am not exactly sure what we were thinking when we booked a 16-course tasting menu for 9 pm on a day where we had an early flight that morning, but we were excited to try everything. The food was absolutely fantastic. They call it the “Maido Experience” and it was a true experience. However, by midnight, we were falling asleep at the table with 3 courses left to go. I included some of the food photos here, but the pictures cannot do it justice. The cocktails were creative and the dishes were delicious. But don’t worry, by 1 pm the next day, we were ready to eat again and we had a reservation at another highly rated restaurant, Gaston y Astrid. The restaurant is centered around a beautiful courtyard with a huge tree in the middle. We chose to order a la carte this time, and again we had the most amazing food. We left with extremely full stomachs.

The first few days I was in Lima, I had decided I wanted to try paragliding. I hadn’t done anything crazy adventurous since I was in Australia when I had gone scuba diving, sky diving and ziplining in one week. I was ready to try another new thing. But the day I wanted to go, it was extremely cloudy and I was scared I wouldn’t have much visibility. I decided to postpone until we were back in Lima and hope for the best. Sure enough, on the day we landed back in Lima, it was cloudy but better than before, so I decided to go for it. As I waited for my turn to go into the sky on a tiny air boat/go-cart apparatus, I thought for sure that it was the end. My friend recorded a video of my “last words.” I found out that the woman I had booked with via whatsapp was the wife of the pilot, and so I figured she didn’t want us to go down, either. Nevertheless, they did give me a life vest to wear in case we crashed into the ocean. I didn’t tell my husband or my parents I was doing this, why worry them!? While I am not immune from fear, I definitely care a lot less about dying now. Since I wake up every day now and think “ugh this again,” it makes it easier to do riskier things.

After strapping in and putting on a helmet (would that actually help anything?), we took off into the sky. Part of the price of the experience included an HD video, and I must say, this video was hilarious. It captured every single human emotion there is. I started with happiness and elation and you could see me laughing and smiling huge. Then I switched to awe, you could see me taking photos and videos on my phone. Then I started to look at the ocean in its vastness, a place that usually gives me such peace, and I started to cry. You could see tears rolling down my cheeks as I realized all of the amazing things I can do now that our daughter isn’t with us. I always think about her when I’m at the beach, I don’t really know why. A lot of grieving people mention the ocean seems like a safe place because it is the only thing vast enough to hold such huge emotions. I often think about that. As I watched the waves roll in and the sun setting from my perch hundreds of feet above the water, I again realized how small I am in the grand scheme of things. We turned around toward the land zone, and I was hit with another emotion: fear. The pilot started dipping left and right, gliding in extreme angles to descend back to earth, and you can see me saying “oh my god, oh my god” in the video. Then we finally turned around toward landing, and you could see my relief. What an exhausting emotional ride. I knew as soon as I landed that the video would be a trip.

Overall, I feel the same way I did about paragliding as I did about the whole trip to Peru, I am glad I did it. I felt proud of myself for doing something outside of my comfort zone, and I was glad to make new memories. It was not easy, and it was not without its bumps, but it was an overall fun experience that I don’t regret. I had to navigate my own emotions as well as my friends, which I haven’t really done all year since I’ve been living in a bubble. I can’t say when I want to go on another trip, since I’m still mentally recovering, but it’s not out of the question. Where do you think I should go next?

‘Tis the Season

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Body Image and Pregnancy Loss

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Niagara Falls

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The One Where All of Her Friends Were Pregnant

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Peru Part Dos

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