Pregnancy Train

One girl's quest to find happiness in life, love, and career……..

Lesson #1

While trying to conceive I was forced over and again to look at myself. With each failed attempt I learned a little more about me. One of the first things I learned was that you never really know what you want until you can see the value of the thing you thought you didn’t want.

The value I assessed family was low. I didn’t feel it’s value because my value seemed lessened by my experiences. Even after Taylor was born I couldn’t truly grasp the value. I’d been loved but there always seemed to be limits.

People loved me when I was what they wanted me to be. I was loved at home when I was quiet. I was loved at school when I excelled. Boys loved me when I was easy. Girls loved me when I followed. My family loved me as long as their secret was held.

Circumstantial love ended with the introduction of Daddy. We fought the family structure he brought due to our lack of familiarity with it. He loved all of us with a love I still find inexplicable.

The Truth

What happens when the truth isn’t enough? I love him and I always will. Always intrigued by him. Why now is he not enough? He makes me fly. He makes me feel. I love him and I always will.

His kisses are always soft regardless of their frequency. The truth is unconditional; I want to reflect him. The truth makes me real. He makes me feel.

I love him and I always will. Complicated. He loves me and he always will.

Reflections of kaleidoscope changes are Complicated. Still he loves me and he always will.


I started writing to easy the pain. The keyboard was to be an outlet. As a thirty year old mother I found it unbelievably heartbreaking that I could not conceive again. No one seemed to understand my struggle. I didn’t really fit with the women battling complete infertility and I felt horrible complaining about not being able to conceive again. Most days I seesaw between feeling sorry for myself and feeling guilty for feeling sorry.

Those closest too me could not imagine what I was dealing with inside because the me I shared with them didn’t want children or so I thought. All I ever wanted was success. I felt I was more likely to succeed professionally than personally. You see, I had many examples of professional success but none of personal. Even the lowest of individuals is able to perform some task for which they can be paid.

I’d seen many relationships fail or proceed dysfunctionally. I wanted neither. I didn’t even want to chance it. I was secure in my plan to succeed at work. Then one day something in me suddenly changed, I found me.

Murphy’s Law

Have you ever woken up and felt like everything that could possibly go wrong in your life had? I have and it has.

In March during a weird off season ice storm on my way to work, I slammed into the back of the vehicle in front of me. Of course the car I hit sustained no damage, but my car did.

After relocating the salon Suwan’s income took a dive off into the deep end of no where. The towing service was down all Summer. The kids didn’t get a vacation; hell we barely did.

We were told Isaiah had to have a tonsillectomy. Of course we were unprepared financially. We’ve been making it by the skin of our teeth since the salon’s income declined so our savings was completely depleted. To top all that off I was hit in the face with accusations of infidelity.

In the midst of all this my damned house is falling apart. The master bath toilet is leaking, the ceiling light isn’t working, the garage door is broken, both the laundry room and the garage ceiling lights are broken. Murphy’s law.

Every time I try thinking of the lighter side of things some thing else fails. My mind hasn’t rested in months. All I do is try reorganizing the issues in hopes that I can resolve them.  Still nothing.
No time for a pity party, there is still much work to do of Murphy would just move.


I’ve been in love with love all of my life. My best memories are of love. Each time I fall in love it’s like the first time I fell in love only better.

First Times

It was a warm spring day. We’d discussed and planned for weeks. All that was left to do was, it.  I’d made sure he professed his love to me until I believed it. Me and my bestfriends had decided on the story to tell my mom to get me out of the house. Of course I was only thirteen but if he loved me it would be okay.  This was the day that I would give myself to him.  He was my dream. But all the love in the world could not quiet the pounding of my heart. It was virtually beating through my chest.  I had spent all weekend decided what to wear and how to disrobe. After I dressed I started my journey to adulthood with a bike ride to his house.

 We’d made out several times before but we always had clothes on. I’d never touched him down there but he was very familiar with me.  I was having second, third and fourth thoughts but decided I’d rather spend time with him no matter the quality of the time than not  The closer I got to his house the harder my heart pounded and the sweatier my palms became.

I parked my bike outside and knocked on the door. He must have been waiting because as soon as my knuckles lifted from the first knock the door opened. He wasn’t standing there. He’d already returned to his bedroom. No one was home except the two of us. The ball in the pit of my stomach was now moving up my throat.

With every step I took toward his bedroom my heart pounded a little harder and my palms got a little sweatier. I was breathless by the time I reached his room.  I didn’t know what to expect. Would it be like the teenage novels I’d read or would it be like a scene from the soap opera with lots of kissing and caressing? I hoped for the latter. I wanted it to flow naturally.

As I entered the room I noticed he had taken care to arrange a pallet on the floor for us. He didn’t want to mess the bed up for fear his mother would detect what we’d been doing.The covers were red and soft. He made sure I was comfortable but it was clear that he was ready to have me.  It was not like the soaps. I was not like any teenage novel I’d read. It was like the first time, perfectly imperfect. We were both a ball of nerves.

Our experience was showing his inexperience. He’d told me this wasn’t his first time. We kissed but every attempt to line our bodies up ended with him falling off of me. He was 6 feet tall while I was only 5 feet so we were in no way able to line our bodies up. I thought this would let me off the hook and it did for a while but soon he was ready to try again.  This time he asked me to open my legs.

He touched me until I was moist enough for him to enter me. Then he pressed himself into me. It was uncomfortable, I felt empty and then it was over. We were both silent for the rest of the day. I dressed and fell asleep. When I awoke he’d made me a snack but the fun was over, my mother had figured out I wasn’t at a girl friends.

Exes and Inboxes

I am quitting social media! I am too private for the access it allows. If I receive one more, “Have a great evening sweetheart” I might scream. The strange thing is, a decade ago I would have been game for the game; Even grateful for the very impersonal attempt to make me feel special. Where was he when I wanted him to care about my evenings? I had to get over him, now he has to get over me.

I spent so many years missing out on what my life could be waiting on what I thought it was supposed to be. Every relationship was a doomed repreive from loneliness until he would be mine again. Today as I look back over those years, I don’t have regrets but I realize I was yearning for love I needed to give myself. It’s amazing how we focus on the good memories of a bad relationship, leaving out all the hurts and tears. Somehow the potential for what could have been seems to blur what really was. I loved him even when I couldn’t love myself. He was less abusive; Gentler but not kinder. He made sure I was aware that he loved me with ALL my imperfections. I wasn’t from a family like he’s. Mine was dysfunctional. I was damaged and needed the healing I thought being a part of a normal family could provide. That time in my life was marked by a need to find something a little better than what I was used to.

Its ironic how failed first loves become the barometer for future loves. No matter how hard the hurt was, in the end, we only remember the butterflies and first times. Truthfully I only loved my first love because I wanted to love. I wanted to be wanted and not taken.

His inbox messages reck of the sappiness that made me fall for him when I was 13 years old. I’ve grown so why hasn’t he? Or does he think I am still the silly 16 year old he convinced to give him a blow job because, “Mary J Blige and Faith Evans” would do it for their boyfriends? I am not sure what he thinks but I know I am not the broken teenager I once was. I know his love for me can’t heal the wounds of childhood.

I am not the girl he thought I would become so I am not the sweetheart he’s inboxing. I know I am worth more than the pleasures I bring. I entertain his ideas ever so briefly only to reveal he is not the man I thought he would be. He seems to have become everything I despise and nothing worth my time. Somehow I was seeking even expecting an apology for the things he did, advantages he took and time he wasted instead I found a little boy lost.

After the Storms

we are growing better! No one knows what the eye of the storm feels like until they been there. Recovery is unexplainable in the same way. Some how you manage to love more; not without doubt but still more. It feels good to be standing.

I was truly shook to my core; I didn’t even really know I had one until this hit it.


This week I was rocked to the core by old news; with some news I guess age doesn’t matter. I love this man more than I ever knew. I did not think myself capable of such; strange how hurt exposes.

He hurt me but that is not the end of our story. Today I love him no less than I did before I knew of his imperfections. I love him more. Mistakes are the great equalizer. Loving means living and sometimes living hurts.

Whatever happens to the brokenhearted

Follow your gut. I don’t know how many times I’ve either been told or advised someone else of this fact of life. The heart knows!

How do you mend broken vows? Should you? When a doctor breaks his oath he loses his licence. Isn’t my emotional health at least as important as my physical health? For me it is.

So then too should an unfaithful mate lose his right to what ever the offended decides. But what is worth the damage caused to the broken hearted? My heart break is priceless. I can’t be paid to feel better. Or to forgive and forget.

You broke my heart just as I was getting it back. Just as I was starting to be the woman I always needed to be. Just as the trust past hurts caused returned my heart began to burn. Burn for an understanding of why it happened this way.

Why did you decide to treat me this way. Now I am on edge waiting for the issue to drop. Fearful of what this is going to do to me. With trust unbroken all this was easy.

Now I feel like I should hate you. I don’t but I am not sure I can stay with you.

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