I Was Pregnant, And Then I Wasn’t
October 12, 2016 11:04 AM   Subscribe

There are many administrative tasks to a miscarriage. You have to tell everyone, including your boss and your sister and your husband’s parents. We thought we were in the clear at 13 weeks along, so we had already started telling all of our friends and family, some only a few days earlier. We didn’t have the energy to make dozens of phone calls, so we sent text messages. I felt an urgent need to update everyone who knew, as if I had passed out bad information and needed to correct it as quickly as possible.
When someone you know and love dies, your life changes, and it is the change that fuels your grief. You can’t call them or see them like you used to; you can only smell their cologne on the clothes that still hang in their closet. But when it’s a fetus that has died, or a baby, or whatever you want to call it, your life doesn’t change, and that’s the strange part — because it was supposed to.

Your belly was supposed to grow, but it doesn’t. Your breasts were supposed to get more tender, but they return to their normal size. Your office was supposed to be turned into a nursery, and you resented that, but now the plans for a crib and a changing table are gone and nothing at all needs to change. The sadness is in how things stay the same.
posted by melissasaurus (26 comments total) 35 users marked this as a favorite
Thank you for sharing this beautiful piece - so much of it resonated. I found out I was pregnant with my first child in April at the same age as the author. A few weeks later, the first ultrasound showed no heartbeat, and that the fetus was measuring small - maybe I had my dates wrong, the doctor said, and I clung to her words because I had always had irregular periods. And then ten days later, I had another ultrasound, which showed the smallest bit of growth, and I clung to that too. And then a week after that, I had a final ultrasound, no heartbeat, no growth, and finally had a D&E in June.

I had no idea, before this happened, that a miscarriage didn't necessarily mean something sudden, but that it could be "missed," like mine and the author's, and could go on and on and on, for week after terrible week, before things become totally clear that the pregnancy will not end with a healthy child, but will instead just...end.

Like the author, I too searched "like a madwoman" for stories of other women who had been through this. I only knew one other woman my age who had lost a pregnancy (though there are undoubtedly others whose stories I just don't know), and reached out to her, and to an aunt, and a friend of a friend, and a woman, a total stranger, whose blog post about her own miscarriage had so many similarities with mine. All were so gracious and generous and kind. I do get the sense that our society is slowly starting to talk more openly about miscarriage, which is a very good thing, but I still felt so isolated in my grief (especially as we had not announced the pregnancy yet), and hearing the stories of other women was an enormous comfort.

The initial grief I felt over our loss has lessened and lifted in the months since my miscarriage, which I'm grateful for. But I still sometimes think about how large my belly should be now, and how we won't be celebrating our first Christmas with our new baby this year after all. I am so, so ready to be pregnant again, but it hasn't happened yet. Indeed, "the sadness is in how things stay the same."
posted by Synesthesia at 11:59 AM on October 12, 2016 [35 favorites]

Thank you for posting this. A friend of mine lost a baby she was expecting a few months ago, and has very courageously posted about it on social media, often. Especially as she was sent to collections for not paying her radiology bill on the day she received it, for an image of a child she never took home.
posted by roomthreeseventeen at 12:06 PM on October 12, 2016 [3 favorites]

Thank you, melissasaurus. It seems the way we handle miscarriages as a society has improved somewhat from when we suffered ours in the early 80's. I'm so glad for that improvement, but I think we can do better. I would like to see a medically accepted subspecialty where reliable information can be found regarding the physical process, the psychological process and what patients can expect going forward. I know that all cases differ, but some information is fairly general and a list of reliable sources of information for more specific questions would be beneficial in each locale.

This author is very readable: I could so closely relate to her experience which was quite similar to mine all those years ago.

Synethesia, please know that I am thinking of you and wishing you the best. Also, please know that your feelings are normal. Over time, you will lose the immediacy of your experience, but you will never forget entirely. The pain will lessen. In the meantime, please take care of yourself, mentally as well as physically.
posted by Silverstone at 12:51 PM on October 12, 2016 [4 favorites]

As a midwife, I'm really glad to see more women sharing their miscarriage stories. It is a reminder of what women go through when they have an early loss, and how much we can improve our services in this area. It is always interesting, as an observer, to see how other providers interact with women facing loss of pregnancy. Often the response to a history of miscarriage is "Aw, sorry" and then quickly jumping along to the next subject--as if a miscarriage should elicit the same response as a broken bone or uncomfortable surgical recovery. What's also interesting is how diverse the responses of different women are--some women really are okay with having had a miscarriage and for others, it's completely devastating. It's crucial, I think, to tailor the care we provide to each woman. (Which I suppose should be common sense, but often isn't how these things play out).

As a woman who's had an early miscarriage, I remember going through many of the same things this author and others have. In my case, I had my clinical experience and training told me the moment my symptoms disappeared at 5-odd weeks that I'd miscarry. I was fortunate, in some way, to have a complete and spontaneous miscarriage the next day, so I didn't have to watch and wait. But at the same time, I wanted to hang on to my baby for a little bit longer and to get to know him or her just a little bit more.

I also remember feeling starved for kinship and information in the days following the miscarriage. The author's description of clutching a book on loss while trying to cross the street is so vivid and so accurate. I think that many women want answers in the face of loss, and miscarriage is just so hard that way, because there's no definitive diagnosis for why it happened. And to make it worse, no test or guarantee to show that it won't happen again, or even that one can get pregnant again.

Synethesia, I am also approaching what would have been our due date, and thinking of the winter holidays that will pass without celebrating baby's first Thanksgiving, Christmas, and New Year's. I hope that your grief continues to lessen and that you are keeping well. Please feel free to MeMail me if you'd like.
posted by stillmoving at 1:49 PM on October 12, 2016 [10 favorites]

"It turns out women were always talking about it. It’s just that most people weren’t listening."
I've lost 3 pregnancies, all in quite different ways. It was very lonely and I don't know what I would've done without Altdotlife.
But I also believe it's getting better and pieces like this one on Buzzfeed and Ariel Levy's are helping.
Synesthesia I'm so sorry. Be kind to yourself. It's hard.
posted by 8k at 1:57 PM on October 12, 2016 [6 favorites]

My mother had three miscarriages before she had me (her first child, of three). I can only imagine what she went through; I didn't learn that fact until I was an adult, and I didn't know how to talk to her about it, so I didn't, and now it's too late. It must have been hell, and it must have required awe-inspiring courage and work to recover and maintain the sunny disposition that marked the mother I knew. Thanks for the post.
posted by languagehat at 2:13 PM on October 12, 2016 [4 favorites]

We miscarried a couple of months ago. It happened right as we were getting comfortable with the idea. She just started bleeding late one Friday night, and that was the end of the pregnancy. Since she and I share a lot of personality traits, I knew she was going to withdraw into herself. I also knew what she needed at the time was to talk to people who went through it.

I talked to her mother, my mother and my grandmother. All had gone thought it. Somehow I got each of them to talk to her. While she wouldn't share much with me, she admitted that it helped a lot to know that it was more common then it was let on. That she wasn't a freak.

I didn't expect it to be so hard on my end. Part of it being the failing of my first marriage around starting a family, but the other was this unceremonious dump "back to status quo". Strangely it was my Boss who helped me out, he and his ex had miscarried.
posted by The Power Nap at 2:51 PM on October 12, 2016 [9 favorites]

We thought we were in the clear at 13 weeks along, so we had already started telling all of our friends and family, some only a few days earlier.

Yep. Just like this. Oh, hey, you know how I said I was planning on being on maternity leave next semester? Yeah, not so much.

When I was pregnant the next time (with my now-11-year-old) I didn't tell anyone for a long time. Even when it was obvious.
posted by leahwrenn at 3:25 PM on October 12, 2016 [5 favorites]

I had a missed miscarriage earlier this year, after a spontaneous miscarriage about six months earlier. There's a natural "end" to a spontaneous miscarriage, that you just don't get for far too long with a missed miscarriage.

I was aware that I might miscarry, after having a miscarriage earlier, and I was mentally prepared for that, but I remember so clearly thinking as we cruised into week 12, oh we're clear. I had read about missed miscarriages, and how uncommon they are, and I just breezed right by, oh that's not even worth worrying about!

I found out while having an ultrasound at 12 weeks (to confirm number of fetuses for a screening test) and sat through the technician showing me "its little face" and "its little feet" before she couldn't find a heartbeat, and then we both noticed that there had been no movement for the whole time we were there. A supervising radiologist came in and confirmed the bad news.

The weeks after that, until I finally had my D&C were just horrendous. My obstetrician said my bloods were weird, and so we repeated them a week later to be sure the pregnancy was over, while I was still having pregnancy symptoms, trying hard to not fantasise that maybe everything would be ok after all. Honestly, the whole thing was a total clusterfuck, no-one would just explain to me what was happening, I had a lot of very badly taken bloods, nurses kept shouting, "Is it for an abortion?" at me while I was making appointments for the D&C, we had only just started telling family and friends, it was just a terrible, terrible time, and then finally it was all over.
posted by glitter at 3:34 PM on October 12, 2016 [15 favorites]

I'm really glad people are able to talk about (read: share) the subject in this way. I'm having trouble adding more than that without disappearing into the wilds.
posted by comealongpole at 5:06 PM on October 12, 2016 [3 favorites]

Could not read entire piece. From what I could scan, my experience was very very close to this one, except that my MD was unsympathetic and dismissive and social media was less of a thing.

After my emergency D&C our doctor told us, "I think you'll make great parents one day, just maybe not in this lifetime."

He is now in prison for murdering his wife.

It was 17 years ago. Still trying to deal.
posted by kinnakeet at 5:12 PM on October 12, 2016 [18 favorites]

Wow. Back in December of 2014 I wrote an entry in my private journal about miscarriage #2 titled "there was a baby, and then there wasn't one." To say I resonate with the author is an understatement.

I went through many of the same moments with my first miscarriage. That exhaustion of having told people and then having to rescind the news -- like you're canceling a party at the last minute, only worse -- is all too familiar. My way of dealing with it was to simply beg my mom to do it. And she did. She called all my relatives and took care of the business of breaking my miscarriage to them, so I didn't have to.

We ultimately would go through this process two more times, though never as heart-breakingly as the first time. We had baby #2 four weeks ago Friday, and I've officially shut down the baby factory. In addition to the exhaustion of being pregnant at my age, I just don't want to deal with the miscarriage roller coaster anymore. There's great relief in being "done".
posted by offalark at 5:14 PM on October 12, 2016 [8 favorites]

Thanks for posting this.

I remember those weeks afterward, alternating between Tori Amos' "Spark" (when I wanted to have a good cry) and Steely Dan's "Countdown to Ecstasy" (when I wanted to hear something cold and slickly produced and not feel any emotion at all).
posted by Ralston McTodd at 5:55 PM on October 12, 2016 [2 favorites]

Coming up on week 12, we were kind of giddy about my wife's pregnacy and bought some pants at a maternity store. We made the mistake of giving our address at the cash register. They must have forwarded their customer list to all the diaper and baby wear companies because samples and coupons came in the mail for the next ten years, reminding us of every milestone we were missing.
posted by bonobothegreat at 6:41 PM on October 12, 2016 [8 favorites]

I had a miscarriage a week after my mom died.

Add to that that I had just been hired for a new job, and had told my boss-to-be about the pregnancy because I didn't want to seem deceptive and surprise him with it later, even though it was still early. I had to walk into his office on my first day at a new job and say, "Hey, remember how I told you I was pregnant? Yeah, not anymore."
posted by amro at 6:58 PM on October 12, 2016 [5 favorites]

I had a missed miscarriage almost four years ago, at eleven weeks. We'd told the whole family and many of our friends at Thanksgiving just a few days before, knowing it was a little early but figuring we were close enough to the so-called "safety" of the second trimester. We could not speak about it without breaking down, so we emailed and texted everyone, including our parents, from the hospital. It was agony, and little incidents of having to "un-tell" various people kept cropping up for months afterward; e.g. I'd declined X-rays at a dentist appointment the week prior and then had to walk back in there six months later very obviously NOT in an advanced state of pregnancy and see their questioning looks.

Hearing other women's stories truly was the only thing that brought me any form of solace in the weeks afterward. Somewhat unbelievably, given how common miscarriage is, it seemed I was the first person to experience it in my immediate circle: it had never happened to my mom, nor my aunts, nor my grandmas, nor any of my friends. And while I wouldn't wish the experience on anybody, it was a heartbreakingly lonely place to be. In lieu of personal support, I read and reread AltDotLife's "miscarriage stories: how did it happen for you?" thread obsessively and posted about my own experience; I combed the entire thing (and it's not a short thread) probably half a dozen times. I will always remember how the most compassionate response during that time came from, of all people, the woman who cleaned our house. A day or two after my D&C, I was at home when she came in for our regularly scheduled cleaning, having been unable to face going into the office. She startled a little when she saw me there, asked how I was doing, and I just...crumpled in front of her. She didn't hesitate for an instant; she dropped the bucket she was holding, took two quick steps across the room, and pulled me into a hug as she said quietly, "I've been there, too" and whispered her story as I sobbed on her shoulder. Honestly, I still tear up thinking about it.

It's for this reason that whenever I see a miscarriage support thread pop up on AskMe, I always drop whatever I'm doing and answer it.
posted by anderjen at 8:46 PM on October 12, 2016 [28 favorites]

A few years ago, I spend quite a bit of time on MetaFilter reading through posts and comments about miscarriages and found some comfort, especially during the hardest first few days and weeks afterwards. Just reading here and elsewhere that others managed to somehow makes those phone calls, and tell the boss, and cancel those plans, and get through miserable, silent, dull days made it a little more doable. However, I wasn't as prepared for some of the awkwardness and short silences and quick conversation changing moments that also made everything that little bit worse. What was compounding for us was that my husband had to start cancer treatment the same day I had to have the D&C, and really it just seemed easier and less exhausting to just let people assume that it was that which was causing distress. This likely made it even longer to get over, but not having to anticipate how people might react was kind of relieving. Glad always to see this discussed more openly and grateful to this community for helping me then, and still now.
posted by recklessbrother at 9:37 PM on October 12, 2016 [5 favorites]

My wife and I had two miscarriages within a year or so, when we were newly married and trying for a baby. We were extra cautious about telling anyone of the pregnancies, since we were around 40 and she had had a miscarriage in the past. Each one happened within a few weeks of finding out she was pregnant. With the first, our indescribable joy at anticipating that child in our lives was squeezed dry like a sponge by the gradual, multi-appointment OBGYN diagnosis. Several months later, we were even more tentative about talking about it, even with each other. This time the end came more suddenly. We held each other silently a lot, and planted a tree in memory of the babies who lived only in our imagination.

What I'm going to say next may go against a double taboo: talking about miscarriages, and talking about them as *relatively* positive things. I don't mean to demean anyone else's experience, just explain ours.

We had a lot of difficult, halting conversations about whether to try again. On the one hand, our imagined identity as parents had become pretty strong for us. One of the things we both explicitly liked about each other was what a good mom/dad we thought the other would be. I came from a big family of big, close families, and we really wanted to give that to a kid. We hadn't been married that long, and along the edges of both our minds was the worry that this twice-gouged empty space in our life might be too much sadness for us to manage. On the other hand, we were now in our 40s, looking at increasing odds of problems. Being 2-for-2 on miscarriages so far made the idea of a 3rd try fraught with stress. We knew we'd be dealing with some dread each day of a pregnancy, worrying that that would be the day when we'd find out about something serious enough that it would end again.

Or worse, something not serious enough to cause a miscarriage, but a disability. Not only was my wife's age a concern (intensified by our earlier losses), but I knew that there were risks correlated with older dads, which I was quickly becoming. Our ages weren't just warning signs for risk, but expiration dates that would mean we'd be diminished - or dead - when an older disabled child would need us.

I was at the video store (see, I *am* old) when the decision became clear for me. A group of young adults with Down syndrome came in. The question came to me just as clearly as I'm typing it now: how selfish am I going to feel every hour of the days when I look at my disabled kid and think "I had two warnings, but it was just too important to me that you had my hair and eyes"?

At home, after a few deep breaths, I told my wife what I was thinking. It turned out she'd ben having similar thoughts that ended with " ... that I give birth". Neither of us had wanted to seem to blame/disappoint the other, and so we'd avoided talking about it. We changed that.

I would never call our, or anyone's, miscarriages good things. However, given that they did happen, and that we have to think about those losses and those never-hugged children somehow, I choose to do it this way. They steered us onto the path that led to the adoption of the little girl who joined our family a couple of years later, and that - despite the many sadnesses that led to it - is a good thing.
posted by NumberSix at 10:02 PM on October 12, 2016 [22 favorites]

That was a beautifully written piece.

I discovered my missed miscarriage at 12.5 weeks. The little soul had stopped developing at 10 weeks, and I saw it floating there on the screen. My first thought was, 'Oh god, it's too small.' Followed quickly by, 'Maybe if I hold my breath and wish really hard it will move.'

I still think about the little soul that didn't make it. I was lucky enough to get pregnant again fairly quickly and now, about a year from the due date of the missed miscarriage, I have a gorgeous 6 month old. When I look at him, I think to myself that he had to be - I can't imagine not having him. So, in some ways, I'm content. But I think almost every day about the other one. I still carry its scan picture in my wallet. I still am hugely drawn to read pieces like this about other people's experiences.

My husband says he doesn't really think about it anymore.
posted by brambory at 3:09 AM on October 13, 2016 [11 favorites]

I've had more miscarriages than I literally can count at this point. We ended up going the IVF route, which is a whole "nother post.

I went into pregnancies number two, three, and four still filled with optimism. I knew miscarriage was possible. I knew it happened to other women. I knew that most women go on to have successful pregnancies after a miscarriage.

But once you get to a certain point, in my experience (and that of many of my IVF friends), you don't lose the fear of losing the baby, even after 12 weeks. You don't lose it until you hear the baby take his first breath and start crying in the delivery room. Forget endorphins. It's that first breath of life that makes you relax, that releases all the tension, that you didn't even realize you've been carrying. For years.

With my last pregnancy (I think it was after miscarriage #9, where in between we'd had a successful pregnancy) I literally had insomnia for the entire first trimester, until all of the genetic testing came back at week 11. And then I still did not tell people I was pregnant for three or four more weeks. Most people I held off telling until the 20 week scan.

I don't have PPD, but I kind of think I have a mild form of PTSD (undiagnosed, obvs) from having gone through so many miscarriages. Our marriage has suffered tremendously. With the last pregnancy (successful), when I told my husband that I was pregnant again, there was literally no joy in my voice, and he was actually kind of pissed. We both assumed that it would end in miscarriage again. We were both terrified to allow ourselves to be happy. We're just now, more than two years later, starting to shed the anger and the fear and allow ourselves to even enjoy the baby. When we have scary moments, like when the baby was hospitalized shortly after we'd taken him home, or when he had a choking incident recently, my husband flies into a rage because he's still so scared to lose him.

I don't want to scare any hopeful parents-to-be. We're an extreme case. I share our experience because before it happened to us we'd never heard any such stories. I thank god that our IVF friends, which started as a support group before any of us conceived successfully, are still a tight support network, because we're all still processing our experiences, all these years later.
posted by vignettist at 8:12 AM on October 13, 2016 [7 favorites]

This was my biggest fear when I was pregnant. When the fertility clinic said that they could only find a sac but nothing else and we had to come back, we worried that it wasn't a viable pregnancy. When we went back and they found the baby with a heartbeat, we were elated. Only for them to tell me I had 2 subchorrionic bleeds. They said there was nothing I could do if a miscarriage was going to happen. It was so textbook workflow. They see this sort of thing day in and day out that I understand how textbook it was for them. But not for me. I enjoyed every tiny moment, pain, annoyance of my pregnancy because I was so very thankful I was. On and off for a while in the 3rd trimester I didn't feel much movement. I went each and every time to check. During labor, I was so happy. When I was pushing, each contraction dropped his heartbeat to dangerous levels. When he was delivered with apgar 1 and so blue and not breathing, I was praying (and I'm not even religious) for "someone" to save him. I was numb and in shock until they gave him to me to hold. I was still numb and in shock. I couldn't have him in my room when he was in the crib fearing he would die. I went home fearing he would die. When at 6 weeks he acquired RSV so severely he was in the hospital for a week, I feared he would die. No one recognized that all of these tiny experiences led to severe PPD anxiety then depression for 2 years.

He's 7.5 now and I'm better. I still worry about him. Always will. But it's not so crippling.

This story makes me cry and brings back ever fear I felt. I can't even image what any couple/or single mom goes through with a miscarriage. My heart breaks for them. I was lucky and am grateful. I wish all of their hearts peace.
posted by stormpooper at 8:41 AM on October 13, 2016 [7 favorites]

The Mumsnet miscarriage and infertility boards are very supportive, for anybody going through this at the moment. In particular the pregnancy after miscarriage board was great when we were trying again. People who haven't been through miscarriage imagine you'll be overjoyed to he pregnant again, which I sort of was, but I was also absolutely terrified my baby might have died again for the entire first trimester (previous missed miscarriages picked up on 13 week scan).
posted by tinkletown at 1:23 PM on October 13, 2016 [3 favorites]

I had a missed miscarriage in 2012, my first pregnancy. So much of this resonated with me, especially what a unique and complex type of grief it is. It's hard to mourn a person you never knew.

For me it took three weeks from the time I found out there wasn't a heartbeat until I finally passed the embryo with the help of medication. I never know how to count the date of the loss, because it just kept happening for all those days.

Thanks for sharing. I love when there are miscarriage stories on Metafilter, because it prompts so many of us to share our stories. When I was going through mine it helped so much to read what other women had written about their experiences.
posted by apricot at 2:23 PM on October 13, 2016 [6 favorites]

On the opposite end, how do you talk about a miscarriage when you weren't trying to get pregnant and didn't want to be?

My secret shame is that I only knew I was pregnant when a "late" period became massive cramping and a lot more tissue than there should be. How the fuck did I not know I was pregnant? WTF? I went from being my normal self to someone who had been pregnant and had a miscarriage in one single day. It was a real mindfuck for me. I felt completely altered as a person.

I didn't tell anyone for a week. I didn't tell my boyfriend for a week. He came down with the flu-flu (like unable to move from the bed-flu) for 4 days and I basically had to take care of HIM for that week. I called my sister but she was busy and I couldn't bear to say, "it's important."
And of course life goes on, and I was very busy with work and school. There was no time off to be taken, nothing to mourn or to be sad for. But I was very very sad and disturbed. And very mad at myself - how could I let this happen? If I confessed this to any friends, even good ones, I feel like the burning question is how did you let this happen?

Ongoing repercussions:
- Just last week I went to donate blood and when they asked if I'd ever been pregnant, I said "no" reflexively then had to say "wait actually yes". Because that is such a weird answer, I asked if early losses counted and the nurse confirmed they did but it only matters for plasma donation (more pregnancies = more antibodies). She also wanted to know the date of my last pregnancy (but like wtf, I've never been a pregnant person!) and when it was within the past year, she paused and said, "I'm sorry," clearly not knowing what to say. And I just said "it's ok." And we moved rapidly on.
- I got an IUD which has made me anemic (hemoglobin of 10.8 discovered during the same blood bank encounter!) because now I bleed an entire barrel of blood monthly but hormonal birth control is the actual worst.
- I don't particularly like or want kids but thinking about it still makes me cry and I'm crying just writing this.

To this day, only 3 people know: my boyfriend, my sister, and the blood bank nurse. Now you.
posted by bobobox at 2:47 PM on October 13, 2016 [7 favorites]

Oh bobobox, so many hugs. That sounds so incredibly difficult and completely valid — real deep important grief. It wasn't your fault. It's okay to feel all the mixed up feelings, to be upset even if the pregnancy wasn't chosen. It's the kind of thing that can really shake you deep down. It wasn't your fault and you deserve care for your sad and disturbed feelings. I'm so sorry no one noticed you were so upset, that no one took care of you that week. ❤️

We were trying to get pregnant when we had a missed miscarriage, but the same question plagues me: how did I not know? How did someone die inside me and I didn't notice? What kind of monster am I? This feels like such a basic requirement, to protect the children we are pregnant with, and miscarriage feels like such a failure on that level.

I think this is the first time I've read a miscarriage thread without sobbing, so there's another marker in the path of grief. It hasn't yet been a year since the whole drawn-out ordeal. And yes, as mentioned up-thread, the dates are so slippery. Do we mark the first problematic ultrasound? The baby died before then. The final ultrasound? When I took the meds the first time? When the rest of the tissue came out unexpectedly six weeks later? The due date? It's more of a season of loss than a date.
posted by sadmadglad at 3:34 AM on October 14, 2016

I feel for you, sadmadglad. Every time I found myself feeling awful that my body tricked me into turning down jobs, whispering to friends that I was pregnant, telling colleagues how happy I was that the nausea had settled down, I tried to rewrite it. My body just didn't want the pregnancy to end. It wanted to hold on to that little being as long as it could. I can't really be mad at it for that.
posted by brambory at 6:16 AM on October 14, 2016

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