"You get what you pay for, but I just had no intention of living this way." -Counting Crows

Why We're Here...

My husband David and I delivered a stillborn Baby Boy that we loved, and wanted. Our first and only son, Logan, had Down Syndrome. Our daughter's smile is a little light in the darkness. She turned one year old three days after our sweet Logan tip-toed away on January 24, 2009. After 2 1/2 years we found out we were having another baby, whom we affectionatly called Rudy. Just shy of 6 weeks we found out Rudy was Ectopic. Rudy was surgically removed on May 26, 2011 delivering another blow to our already broken hearts.

First Christmas

This was our first Christmas. I'd be lying if I were to say that I didn't have a very nice one and enjoyed this holiday. I didn't cry. I didn't obsess. But I thought about Logan a lot. I thought about what he'd be wearing, how he would've responded to sitting on Santa's lap last night. I thought about how big he'd be, and that he'd still be a baby and that everyone would be oohing and ahhing over him. I thought about the fact that life would be so different than it currently is. The good and the bad. It's interesting that I can think about it logically enough to recognize that babies aren't all fun and games all the time. All in all I had a nice few days and allowed myself to enjoy the holiday. I missed Logan today and I thought about him a lot. But I smiled and still enjoyed myself.
On a different note, I did go ahead and buy that ornament I mentioned in an earlier post. I hope everyone was able to find some peace and happiness these last few days. Happy holidays everyone.
Sent via BlackBerry from T-Mobile

Counting Down, God and the Holidays

I feel like I'm counting down.

38 days...

Thirty-eight more days and it will be a whole blasted year. 365 days. Gone. Things aren't that different, not really. Christmas is still coming. Its still winter. I still get up every morning and go about my day. Except now I think about the box of ashes still sitting on the top of my armoire where I put them so many months ago, trying to forget about them. That didn't work. I think about how different life would've been. I think about what I'm missing. I think about the life that he should have been living. I'm not much different to look at I suppose. I'm ten pounds heavier, my eyes are perhaps a little clouded, distant, sad. You wouldn't know it, unless I told you. You wouldn't know that there is love for two children in my heart. You wouldn't know there are two realities to my life. The one everyone sees, and the one that has Logan in it.

I got my hair done today. I've just really been needing a change, some improvement, something different. For the love of my husband (and the unrealistic fear of him not wanting me anymore) I didn't hack my hair off. But I changed it. I've always done that. Something bad happens in my life that I can't control and I hack off all of my hair. Like its the one thing I can control, so I do. Seems insignificant and pathetic, but pain and confusion and helplessness manifests itself in weird ways. The stylist ask me about my daughter. I've stopped telling most strangers about Logan. I never thought I would, but I have. Early on I took pleasure in seeing the shock and horror. Like maybe they felt a fraction of what I did. And early on I was so scared of loosing his memory, his proof of existence that I wanted to voice him constantly. I wanted to scream "Hey!! There was a child here!! He was real!" But mostly now days I feel like its a cheap way of whoring him around. Like he is too special to me to put out on display. He is mine. My private memory. No one deserves to see my love for him. No one deserves to know him. He was mine, mine alone. And no one could love him like I do. Obviously my husband does, but random people do not get that privilege these days.

I keep thinking about that ornament. I want to go buy it, but I keep putting it off. Part of me thinks I need to let go. Ornaments and trees and knick nacks are not going to keep him here. Part of me is afraid that I'll forget about the ornament and next year I'll be sitting around decorating my tree, feeling jolly about the holiday...and BAM! I'll find that one. And I'll remember it all over again. Humph. Like I'll ever forget this. Like I'll ever forget him. And then part of me wonders, will it just make me sad every year to look at it? Like I won't be sad enough, and this will just be more salt. But part of me thinks Logan deserves a spot on my tree just as much as Aubrey. And that ornament just fits. It says "Rest in Heavenly Peace" and not "Baby's first Christmas" because, after all, it is not and I'm hoping he is. Its astounding the amount of emotions that a dumb little piece of plastic can bring forth.

Tonight I am sad, and I am not sleepy. A bad bedtime combo around here. My dh starts his 16 day vacation tomorrow. And we're making room in the basement for a pool table. And we're turning what was supposed to have been Logan's room into a shipping center for my eBay crap. And I desperately wanted change, and yet it makes me sick to my stomach to go through with it. Like if I left it a half torn up guest room, and never changed it into anything. Not a little boys nursery with little blue and green fishies, not a shipping center...than maybe it'll be like nothing happened. "There never was a baby, see!! Its just a guest room." Damn that room that sucks the wind out of me every time I walk through its wretched door. Tonight I just want to lock the door and pretend that room was never even there. That stupid room that I stood in so many times and considered how I would set it up. That I would put the crib in the far corner like I did in Aubrey's room. That the built in shelves would have nice little baskets stuffed full of all of the baby needs. Green walls, blue curtains...little comical fishies floating across the far wall. I hate that room. I should paint the walls black.

I've never seen the time 10:07 on a clock since that day. Maybe its the single ounce of kindness God is tossing down at me, maybe its my subconscious being fearful around that time every day, so I just don't look. Who knows? My mom would say its God. He loves me. He doesn't want me to be sad. Someone posted on a friends wall on Facebook today (on an unrelated topic) "Its like praying for God to take away someone’s hurt when maybe its the hurt that will bring them closer to him." Why do people even begin to think they understand God? Why do people feel like they have the right to interpret God. Why do people assume they know what God wants, feels, thinks? I don't get it. And I hate it. I hate that people preach to me, at me, about how God feels about me, what he has in store for me. To be honest, when people around me even mention the name God, it makes me recoil. It makes me shut my ears. It makes me want to punch them in the face. Maybe its not about God at all. Maybe nothing is. Maybe its just the way it goes sometimes and it sucks and it hurts and its ugly and it is what it is. Maybe its not part of God's plan. Maybe God didn't have a thing to do with it. As a protestant I grew up believing that God's hand is in everything. My husband, as a Catholic, grew up believing that God's hand is in the big stuff, but not the day to day menial stuff. That used to blow my mind. Why would he plant a garden and then not tend it? Now I just think that people try too hard to find God in everything and that maybe he created us, and created life, and let us have our way with it. I mean, that's free will and all. If my having created a baby was anything, it was a result of sex. A consequence. There's an egg, the sperm finds it, bam! There's a baby. Mine didn't work. Throw it out, try again later. Sigh. But the thing is, I don't even buy it. Only God can breathe life into existence. How many women try and try and try for a pregnancy only to get nothing? God chooses when life happens and when it does not. An he CHOSE to create life using an egg that he KNEW wasn't suitable. And he did it anyway. That's what I can't get my head around. I know why Logan died. I accept it. Not compatible with life. Fine. Got it. He wasn't compatible because the egg didn't split right. Fine. Got it. But why life that month? Why not the month before? Why then? A year later and I still can't get my head around it. And I hate that people say that God uses all things for good. All things?? How is this good? Because I wrote a blog that might have helped someone else cope? No offense but I could give a crap. I mean, I'm sorry for your pain, but I wouldn't have volunteered for this or anything. Given a choice, you'd have lost. How can you take a rape, or child molestation and make it into something good? How can you take these horrible sick cases of these grown men raping and torturing and mutilating a young child and make it good?? HOW?? Where is the good in any of that?? And why? What's the point? Why give me something that brings me an unbearable sadness so that he can make something good out of it? Why couldn't me make something good out of nothing? He's God after all. My questions go unanswered. And you know why? Because NO ONE has these answers. I get responses like "well we can't understand God" or whatever. But that's the lame answer you get when people don't want to look the horrible stuff in the face and call it what it is. It sucks. Its ugly and there is no answer. The human interpretation of God is not the answer, not to this. Sure, he might help me to learn to cope, learn to heal, learn to move on...but it will always still be there. The big black gaping hole that contains the minuscule memories of my sons very short life. He can't take that away. Or at least he won't. It makes me miss my Gramma. She always seemed to have the right kind of answers when it came to God, or anything. She is in a nursing home, 200 miles away, and incoherent. Alzheimer's. Explain that one to me too while you're at it. On second thought, no, don't. I'm tired of explanations. I'm tired of ignorant people yammering at me about their insignificant knowledge about God.

I don't realize how angry with God I am until I start typing these posts. And I'm not trying to start some theological debate, and I don't want anyone witnessing to me, I get enough of that already. I grew up Christian. I already know. Doesn't change what I feel. Doesn't change the facts.

I miss the desire to celebrate. Birthdays and holidays come and go and I find that for the most part I just drift through them and try to get past them. I yearn for that old care free innocence of celebration. Not that I don't think I deserve to celebrate. Not that I don't think I deserve happiness, smiles and good times. I just don't care about them anymore. It doesn't feel right. Like there's something just a little bit off. Like when there's a dinner after a funeral and everyone's hanging out and chatting like nothing happened. Like its just some big reunion, and that they’re not all there because someone died. That always felt weird to me. Someone died. "HEY! I know, let's go eat!" Weird. Christmas Eve marks 11 months. Its like a mile marker in a marathon. One mile to go. Seems so dramatic doesn't it? And I know it will be like every other milestone I've encountered thus far. The hype and build up to the day is far worse than the day itself. I've had several weeks of numbness and being able to hide and this week I feel like its coming front and center again.

I just get so bummed out. Life isn't supposed to have been like this! I should have the house decorated to the nines. I should have pictures of my two kids with Santa. I should be shopping for a little boy. We should be taking great home movies and laughing and building nice memories. But we're not. I don't want to decorate. I don't want to celebrate. I don't want to do anything. I don't want to remember. I don't want to think about what isn't happening, what's missing, what went wrong, what life has become or hasn't. And for some reason the holidays are really kicking my butt about it all. I hate it. I want it to go away. I want to feel the sun on my face again.

I Resolve

I stole this from Mary.
















I've spent a lot of my life looking behind me. Wishing all the old things were new. Panicking at how fast time flies by. Childhood, highschool, college, my twenties...poof! Gone. So fast. So fast they just whipped by, pulling years from my life that at times I stop and stare and wonder how it happened. This has always made me sad. These days though I'm rushing through it all. Like maybe if I press forward this will all be over sooner. The logical part of me knows better, but I find that I am very emotionally driven as of late. And I hate that. I hate that I can't stand still long enough to listen to reason, and if I do I usually just shove it aside. And I hate that I'm rushing through life. Rushing through the cute growing years of my toddler, just so that I can get beyond a pain that I keep hearing you can never really get beyond. I know that in a few years I will look back on this past year and know that I should have slowed down and taken the time to smell the roses with my living child. Enjoyed every moment with her that I could. I owe that to Logan don't I? To enjoy my daughter? To make every waking moment with her count, to make it pleasurable, to make it worth while. I wish I didn't feel like my patience died that day too. Not that I've ever had an overabundance or anything. But I feel so raw all of the time. So spent. So done. So tired. So drained. I've started feeling like enough is enough. Knock it off already. He died. You're sad. I get it. Stand up and dust your self off and keep walking. But then the other part of me want to throw a tantrum. Wants to pount. Wants to feel sorry for herself and pretend that she's the only one in the world to have to go through this...like other's haven't been through so much worse. I have one dead baby. He wasn't my first. At least I have a child who is alive and healthy. At least I'm not like some woman who have had dead baby after dead baby after dead baby, or never able to conceive, or struggle for years with infertility only to have the child die as its being born. At least I don't have that. I wish that mattered to me.

I didn't decorate for the holidays. I'm not in the mood. I don't have the energy. And I use my 22 month old as an excuse "Oh, she'd pull the tree down" or whatever. But truthfully, I just don't feel like the hassle. Its like that with so many things these days. I need to just buck up and do it. Clean, laundry, bathe...

I don't cry much at all anymore. Logan is becoming such an enigma for me. I have a hard time picturing life with him in it anymore. I feel more and more like it happened to someone else. I miss my baby belly. I never thought I'd ever say that, but I do. I miss the thought of new beginnings and the excitement of a new baby. I spent the last two Christmas's pregnant and exhausted. Waiting. Impatient. Excited. This year I feel empty. Its odd how not finishing a pregnancy will leave you feeling like life is unfinished. I feel stalled. Like I'm still waiting for him to be born. Waiting for something. I spend most of my time trying not to think about what happened. Which in turn leads to less blog posts. I find myself eager for major change. I want to move. I want to remodel. I want to overhaul myself, my home, my life. Unfortunately (or fortunately) my husband doesn't have those same needs, or if he does he's at least rational enough to know what's best for us.

I can't leave life this way. I can't go out on a bad note. I feel like I have to try to have another child. I want to prove to myself that it doesn't always end badly. I want a happy ending. I don't want to always walk around feeling like life is unfinished. We started a family and then stalled during round two and never got back up on the horse again. I KNOW this sounds terrible. And no I don't think another baby would replace Logan. And no I don't think that it would make all of the hurt go away, but I have to believe it would help to heal some of the hurt. Not now. I'm not ready for a baby now. But someday... I have to feel like I still have that option. And dang it if I don't feel like that option has been torn from my hands. And I hate that I wanted this big family and now I have an only child and a dead child and so since I had one die then that's it, no more babies. And I hate that I should be content. Hey, at least I have the first one. Right? We're all thinking it. I SHOULD BE CONTENT. Aubrey should be enough. She's the light of my world. But I guess it makes me feel like I was hungry, so I got Aubrey, and then I was thirsty, so I got logan. Well hey, at least I'm not dying of starvation!! They're like apples and oranges to me. Having Aubrey doesn't minimize or erase the fact that I don't have Logan. Sigh. I so wish it did.

I added a new quote to the top of my blog. Its from a song by the Counting Crows called Its Raining in Baltimore. The quote is: "You get what you pay for, but I just had no intention of living this way." I've heard that song a million times over the last decade. But that line hit me so hard the other day. Maybe because it resonates that sentiment that maybe I didn't deserve Logan, or maybe I did something to deserve this pain. You get what you pay for, right? Maybe I didn't pay enough. But, regardless of if I paid enough or not, I never would have chosen this path. Who would? But I feel that so hard these days...I had no intention of living this way.

I can't believe its almost been a year. 39 days to go.


This morning is not starting off good.  I have zero patience and feel wound tight and ready to explode.  I've been feeling this way a lot lately.  I have a cold, so I know that isn't helping.  And my 22 month old has one too AND is teething.  So we're both whinny and irritated.

I thought I was doing good.  For some time now I haven't really been feeling anything.  But last night my husband and I were snipping at each other and he said "There's the girl I've been seeing for the last three months!".  And the anger came boiling to the surface.  You know that anger.  The one that pokes its head out everytime you realize that this has changed you, that this has changed everything around you, how you view life, your partner, yourself, your future, your past, every one around you.  And I got pissed that I let it change me, that I couldn't stop it from changing me.  That every innocent thought, is no longer innocent.  That I can't think warm fuzzies about making babies with out remembering that one died.  That I can't think about my annual Christmas picture without realizing that last years picture had a very pregnant looking woman in it, with her husband and daughter...and this year there isn't a second child to add.  No transition.  He was there last year, he's not this year.  No sign or caption explaining why.  Future generations will look at those pictures and be confused, wonder what happened.  It made me so angry to realize, and have it voiced by my husband, that I'm different in a bad way.  I'm not happy.  I don't look forward to anything.  I don't want to celebrate.  I am angry that this has turned me into someone I don't recognize.  That it has taken away what little bit of self worth, will power, motivation and what not that I used to have and that now days I just feel like a giant worthless blob who doesn't hold up her end of the bargain.  I'm no wife to my husband.  I don't care anymore.  And it makes me angry that I don't care (so I must care a little or something), and that most of the time the new me beats down the old me until all I do is sit and stare.  Depression.  Yeah, I know.  No pills they say.  Gotta deal with it.  Its expected, its normal...blah, blah, blah!  WHATEVER!  I'm angry that this has given me depression.  I'm angry that my life is slipping away, my marraige, my daughters days.  All slipping by while I'm just too spent to do anything about it.  I feel torn.  Torn between who I feel like being, and who I know I am supposed to be.  Torn between cleaning this house, cleaning up myself, loosing this ugly weight that drags me down, being a good wife, a good mother and just loosing myself into the blob on the couch who doesn't understand why this happened to her.  What did I do?  What did my dh do?  What did that poor baby do that warranted this.  What did my dd do to deserve being born into a family that so soon after her birth would try to fall apart?  Why us?  Yeah, yeah.  I know.  Its not our fault, we didn't do anything to deserve this.  God has a plan.  Yeah, whatever.  It makes me so angry that I want to throw this computer through my window.  I don't want to be this person.  I don't want to have this ugliness hanging over me and every thought I have and every thing I do.  I want it to go away.  And I know I sound like a 5 year old stomping her foot.  I know it sounds ridiculous.  But it is what it is.  Its not fair, and I don't want it.  I want my old life back.  I want that innocence back.  One freakin' month ruined everything.  And I'm tired of living with it.  I hate this new me.  I hate what I do, how I think and what I know.  I am pissed that I couldn't stop this from ruining me.

I can't believe its December.  Christmas is just 3 weeks away!!  I'm a month and three weeks away from Logan's anniversary.  Almost an entire year yanked from my hands.  A year spent being someone that I'm not.  A year.  Gone.  And I'm glad its going.  The year mark is the magic number right?  The day when POOF everything is better and back to normal, right?  Yeah.  Right.  Its sad to say that I'm looking forward to February.  I have never in my life looked forward to February.  February is frigid cold and boring.  That's why they invented Valentine's Day.  Threw in a little excitement.  But this time around, February feels like a little light at the end of the tunnel.  I'm probably setting myself up for a huge dissapointment, but I'm clinging to in anyway.  I need to find hope in something.  I need to think there will be an end to this.

The Holidays and more PCOS

The holidays are coming.

It almost sounds ominous. Like “look out, the boogey man’s coming!” I’m trying not to think about it too much. I’m trying not to dwell on it. I’m trying not to sit around and count the months, and stare at the date on the calendar. I’m trying not to tell myself that this would have been his first Thanksgiving, old enough to eat mashed potatoes and yams or other smashed up Thanksgiving fare. I’m trying not to think about how hard these holidays would be with an insane 22 month old and a 6 month old. How traveling back home would have been chaotic and stressful. I’m trying not to look at all of the First Thanksgiving and First Christmas bibs, stockings and outfits. I’m trying not to think about what I would have bought him for Christmas. I’m trying not to think about what happened to us, what we lost, what we miss. I’m trying. For the most part I’m winning. Or at least I think I’m winning. I continue to stuff my face with anything that brings me a little pleasure. I continue to try not to think about it, instead of just not thinking about it…naturally. It seems like the worst is over though. Like the first 9 months were intolerable and now I’m sort of just coasting through. So sore, so numb, so devoid…but at least not feeling like I’m burning alive, gasping for breath. Now I’m limping along. Trying to get to that one year mark and just get it over with. Rushing along my life, my daughter’s life, my son’s very short existence. I can’t believe I’m knocking on the door of a year. Seems like yesterday, seems like a hazy dream, seems like someone else’s nightmare…seems like a lifetime ago. So many weird things that swirl around the whole dead baby thing. So many things I’ve yet to be able to comprehend, and now have lost all interest in trying to comprehend. Just go away. Leave me alone. I’m tired.

Yesterday I went back to the uber-OB. Turns out the nurse I saw last time while the doc was in surgery doesn’t know what she’s talking about. Gotta love that. Turns out I DO have PCOS and am Insulin Resistant. Yay. But, I did get to stop taking the pill, and am now taking an anti-diabetic that will help with the PCOS and even weight loss. But, now I have to really buckle down and eat healthy, organic, unprocessed food and exercise. I did that about half of the time anyway, but I couldn’t loose or was still gaining. She says it will also help with some of the exhaustion and depression. Not all, but some. Nature will still need to run its course. I should be sad. It was traumatic. No depression meds. You need to feel it, deal with it, and cope with your loss. We can’t put off the inevitable... Ok. Sigh.

So that’s where I am these days. Trying not to think about it. Trying to move on. Accepting that it happened, it’s over, I can’t change it. Trying to accept it anyhow. Trying not to be hateful or resentful. Trying not to blame. Trying to enjoy what I have, find the happiness in my daughter’s life, the happiness in the holidays, the happiness in a good marriage with a guy that even God himself couldn’t replace. Trying to be content. Trying to be happy, really and truly. Trying not to fall of the deep end, run away, scream, give up, curl up and die, shut out, or… You name it. Because it always feels like its right there. Like any minute its all going to come crushing down on me. Like any minute I really am going to flip out, and my mind will wander away and I’ll never be right in the head again. Although, honestly, I feel like I won’t ever be right in the head again anyhow. I feel like I’ve been messed up. Seen too much. Know too much. Must be like post traumatic stress or something. But I keep trying right? I keep breathing. That’s gotta count for something…right?

My new button

So I finally decided to try my hand at making a button.  Here's the graphic I decided to use.  I'll be changing the look around here for the next little while, so please excuse the "dust".

If you'd like to "grab" my button, you can find the code on the right sidebar.

October's Secret Garden Meeting

This is the October Version of Carly's Secret Garden Meeting.  You can view that here.

So this meeting we would like to talk about where you are. Where are you at in your grief. Has it been years or just weeks since you lost your baby. How are you feeling. How do you hope you will feel in the future. Have you found any peace at all?

It's been 9 months 1 week and 6 days since Logan died.  I've talked a lot this week about where I think I'm at in the process of grief.  Numb.  Empty.  Nothing.  Uncaring.  I haven't been crying.  I haven't been sitting around moping or wishing.  I haven't anything.  I go through the motions of life and try not to get too involved.  I try not to commit to too much.  Some days I think "Oh I should go do this or that, or visit this person or that."  But I don't follow through.  I don't "want" to do anything.  I think I am still overly sensitive about a lot of things, and it doesn't take much to hurt my feelings, or make me angry.  I feel tightly wound, and ready to shatter.  I'm still having a lot of trouble falling asleep, and then getting out of bed.  But I don't really "feel" anything.  I don't "want" anything.  I want to be left alone.  I want to not exist in this life.

Peace?  Aren't we all still looking for peace?  Does that ever come?  Do I have that to look forward to?  I have moments, little flickers of peace here and there.  My daughter gives me so much of that.  My husband has a hand in that too.  Sometimes I can sit here on my couch and watch him playing with our daughter and I think "Who could possibly want more than this right here?" and then I remember...  And then it makes me sad all over again, and then it makes me guilty for feeling sad for not being content with the daughter that I have.  It's messed up.

I hope in the future I will feel the way I used to feel...pre-dead baby.  But I know that's not likely.  What I am hoping for is that we will be able to move on as a family.  That we will be able to find the courage to try to have another HEALTHY child, a child for its own merrits and not as a replacement.  I hope that I move out of this depression with the passing of the one year mark.  I hope that I don't "ruin" my daughter by smothering here and fearing for her life at every turn.  I hope that a day will come when I don't feel like at any second I'm going to flip out.  But mostly I hope that my dh and I will find healing, forgiveness and sweet thoughts about our son as the fore front of our lives and that I'll be able to raise my daughter with the belief's that I grew up on, and actually do it in a convincing way because I will once again belive them myself.

What happens after you've given up?

This is part of a post I wrote today on my diet blog The Fatty Cakes Girls Club that I co-author with a skinny friend of mine.  My post have taken a different turn recently.  I used to keep Logan and the "issues" I have with that tucked neatly, safely and mostly secretly tucked away here on this blog.  But, reality is what it is.  And my reality is trying, struggeling, and failing daily to get a handle on my weight loss and fitness in the face of depression and emotional eating.  So, lately the two issues have crossed each other and I thought I would share a little of that here.  Maybe this would be a more appropriate post for The Dead Baby Club Blog.  But, here it is anyway.

What Happens After You've Given Up?

Seriously. What happens after you've given up? I need to find an article or something. But this is where I am. I've given up. I've tossed in the towel on pretty much everything around me. I hate who it makes me. I hate what I look like, how I feel. But I don't seem to know what to do now.

I joined a group on SparkPeople.com for depression. The thing is, it seems like a joke to me. I'm not sure how people really find hope or comfort in those things, but they must. I don't. I'm not "just" depressed. Its not some chemical impalance or something. I'm insanely sad, and for good reason. Most days I'm just numb. Numb is better than gut wrenching tears, or not. I haven't decided yet. For those of you who missed it, I had a stillborn son in January. It was unexpected, as I guess most of the time it is. Anyhow, I know that the crap that I'm neck deep in is all normal. If I went to a shrink they'd give me meds (which I'm not keen on) and tell me that its all part of grief and its normal. That I just have to weather the storm. So that's what I do. Everyday I tread water, metaphorically of course since treading water would make me loose weight and since that's not happening... But everyday I just survive. And I'm tired. I'm tired of having to work at it. IT being everything. I just don't have the energy, the will, whatever. Anyhow, this group...its been no help. They say things like, step 1) get up. 2) Brush your teeth and comb your hair 3) get dressed....uh hello? I know that its like that for a lot of people. And frankly if it wasn't for my daughter...I'd still be caught at step one. What I wouldn't give to just sleep through this mess. But seriously, reading on the internet that all you have to do is get up and "tah-dah" life will be better, its a farse. No duh. I know I need to get up, get presentable (pony-tail style, right Jules??), eat, stay alive. Its the things that I don't "have" to do. Like eat decent food, exercise, clean the house, maybe even shower... :) I wish it was that easy. Just do it. Just say it, and it will be so. But it's not. I've tried to fake it. I've "just done it" and nothing stuck. I do the bare minimum. Some days I get a spark, and on those days maybe I work out, or maybe I grocery shop, or clean. But those days are few and far between. It feels like it takes all the energy I have just to survive the day. To be a good mommy to my daughter, to be an acceptable (or at least not repulsive) wife to my dh. I don't have strength to be anything else, for anyone else. Unfortunately, or fortunately depending on how you want to look at it, a tiny spot in my heart still desires for those things...on occasion, when that spot isn't being over run with the other crap.

I know this isn't really the "place" for that tangent, but I know that lots of people read this blog, and lots of people struggle with various forms of depression or other issues that make loosing weight seem impossible, and sometimes it is. The point is that other people have these struggles too. Not everyone wakes up one day and decides that "today is the day" and boom, everything falls into place and the weight just goes melting away. Weight loss is a hard battle faught by millions of people, a lot of whom are depressed or are emotional eaters. A lot of whom struggle with getting out of bed, much less on the elliptical. I guess the good thing is that even if I've given up, it's temporary. I'm still blogging. I lay my heart out bare and display my humiliation of 9 months of failed weight loss attempts for everyone to judge, and have opinions about. And maybe someday I'll be able to look back and marvel at how far I came. Maybe someone will read these posts and see how low I was, and then read how I succeeded and maybe they'll be inspired. Maybe that's what keeps me trudging on, even after I've given up.

So Fatty Cakes, what keeps you going when you've given up? What's the huge motivator that pushes you to keep trying even after years of failure and embarressment? Why are you here?

::: ::: :::

So, this is to all of you in DB land.  Have any of you been trying to loose weight?  I mean, we're all just like "normal" post-partum mums.  We all needed to loose that baby fat.  Luckily, or whatever, I didn't need to loose the "baby" weight so much as the fat butt I had prior too.  I gained a mere 6lbs in the short 6 months I gestated Logan, which at the time they were congratulating, and only just begining to raise an eyebrow about.  No, I don't feel like my lack of gain affected Logan's development.  I'm about 40lbs overweight, so low gain was encouraged, and Logan's issue is genetic (DS).  Anyhow, after Logan died I discovered for the first time that I am an emotional eater.  The only comfort I could manage to find was in food and soda.  Anything loaded with sugar.  Anything that gave me that slight rush, even if only for a second.  That caused me to add an additional 10lbs to my already fat butt.  For the most part I've overcome the emotional eating thing (though I still struggle with finding comfort in a bottle of pop or a Mocha).  I still have a lot of bad days, though I try to see it for what it is.  But I can not for the life of me stick with a diet or exercise program to save my life.  I keep thinking, why bother?  Why make myself more miserable than I already am?  And I just can't seem to talk myself into keeping at it.  And sadly, it adds to the depression.  Its like, I sit here and I know what the problem is, and I know how to fix it (because I lost 40lbs a few years ago when I put my mind to it) and yet, I just can't seem to get up.  I feel like a boiled frog.  I know what's happening, but I can't work up the strngth to do anything about it.  And I HATE IT!  I don't know this person!

Sadly I thought I was having a few good weeks.  But what I am realizing now is that they're just weeks of voids.  There is no comfort to be found anywhere in anything.  And I've just gone numb.  I don't care.  I don't care that I'm drinking soda that a couple of months ago I convinced myself was poison.  I don't care that I'm eating nasty, tasteless food from some joint because at least I didn't have to cook it, and now I don't have to clean it up.  I don't care that my hair doesn't get brushed, or that I'm not showered.  I don't care that I'm not working out, and only mildly care if I gain weight.  Most days I'm just relieved not to have gianed any weight.  I don't care that my house is a mess and that I don't have any clean clothes.  The only thing I care about is trying to make David happy (or at least not adding to his depression) and making my daughter smile.  Which frightens me because I never wanted a spoiled child, and she may well end up that way because I am so desperate to please her.  Although, momma still knows what a time-out chair looks like.

So if you've lost weight, or kicked some other habit, how'd you get the umph after loosing your baby?  Where'd you find the desire to give a crap?  Even after figuring out that it was something you HAD to do, how did you ACTUALLY manage to get it done?

Poop and Taco Sauce

You would not believe what happened to me yesterday evening. I'm convinced I was trying to put myself in the looney bin. It was like one crazy thing after another.

I'll start with the poop. POOP? Yup, poop.
My 21 month old is learning to go poopies in the big potty. So, being that we had a successful event the night before, when she said she had to go "ca ca" (not a word I taught her!! Thanks Grandma!) I took her seriusly and we ran into the bath room and whipped her diaper off (whipped being the key word here) and practically tossed her on the potty. My dh came sauntering in. Its a family affair. I mentioned "Hey, I smell poop already!" to which he pointed at the turd on the floor. Oops!! Must've flung that there when I whipped that diaper off. He commented that is was a good thing he didn't step on it. Then I noticed that SOMEBODY had! Clearly, there was smooshed turdness going on. I grabbed the muffins foot and sure enough! Poop. Poop on my sweet darlin's foot. Not that her baby foot hasn't seen a poo or two in its short little life. But it totally freaked her out! She was so bummed she started to cry. Daddy swooped in for the rescue and whisked her little booty up onto the sink and counter to wash her foot off before she had a total melt down. And believe me, it was on its way! But before I could scream out about the poo on her bottom...ugh. Smeared on the bathroom counter (not to mention the little potty seat where it smeared itself upon the rescue mission). Oh, and did I mention that all the while this is going on I am trying to eat a melting, sticky Skinny Cow Ice Cream Sandwich!!?? I couldn't set it down in the bathroom, I didn't think about setting it down in my panicked rush to get the muffin to the potty...and I couldn't manage to eat it fast enough! Sadly, I don't remember how it tasted. But then, maybe that's a good thing. I'd hate to associate the taste of an ice cream sandwhich with POOP! Although, that could do wonders for my diet.

Now, this little slice of my own personal heaven came in the face of a dinner disaster just minutes before. I made taco's for dinner. Nothing fancy, just taco's. It was a harried event though. I didn't even start them until my dh walked through the door after 5pm (which involved a previous poopy event), I had the shakes from being so hungry, the muffin was in tears from hunger, the dog...oh don't even get me started on the beast! Anyhow, we were all a little frazzled, cranky, and ready to cry. First off I used skunky cheese in teh beans and on my dh's taco's. Luckily he caught the horrid wiff before I ruined my own. But being that I have a "thing" about hot food (something I clearly picked up from my mother) I was destined to a dinner of soggy, cold food. It's part of being a mom. So, I remade the dh's taco's. Then, I sit down to my now cold taco's. I put the taco sauce, that I thought I alone used, on the table as dinner was starting. Weary, blurry eyed I sat down to eat, grabbed the bottle of sauce and gave it a really good shake. Three to be exact. And sat there frozen in shock as I realized that the taco sauce now covered my face, hair, shirt and jeans...not to mention the table, chair and floor. I'm shocked it wasn't on the wall...or the muffin for that matter. I actually laughed. More like hysterics I suppose. That point you reach that if you don't laugh...some one is sure to die. Sigh. My dh was so sweet and cleaned up the floor while I cleaned off my face.

Mind you, this all happened on one of my "rough" days

The "other" baby boy.

[Knock on wood] I've been having a few good weeks.  I say good in relative terms.  I'm not a bawling mess.  I'm not sitting around staring out the window and depressed.  Actually if I had to say what I was now I would say I'm nothing.  I don't feel anything.  I don't feel angry, or depressed, or excessively sad.  I just don't feel anything.  My biggest issue right now is not caring.  Not caring about anything.  Not how I look, not how I smell, how I eat, my weight, my health, my house, my dog, my friends and family.  Nothing.  I've just given up the desire to care about anything these days.  I'm keeping busy.  I'm not dwelling on my plight a lot.  I'm just existing.  I feel detached.  Like maybe if I stay over here in this little box I won't have to feel anything too overwhelming.  I'm never in the mood to do anything.  I think, "oh I should go visit so and so, or go do this or that" but in the end, I don't.  I just never seem to "want" to when it comes time.  I just don't "want" to do anything.  I still just want to sleep as much as I can, and zone out into a book or the TV or a movie.  I have a toddler, so obviously I can't do that all day, but when it comes to my free time, I just zone.  I don't scrap much anymore.  I don't blog much anymore.  I don't email much or play on facebook much.  I don't do much of anything.

Today we went to visit our friends who had their baby boy last week.  9 1/2 months after Logan died.  It was the first baby boy I've held.  The first baby my husband has held.  We survived.  Actually, for me, the nice part was that I didn't feel "anything" twards this little boy.  I was excited to see him, enjoyed holding him and really didn't connect my feelings for my son with this little boy.  That surprised me.  All of these long months I've sort of looked at it like Logan left, this little boy came.  But nothing.  I didn't feel angry, or sad.  I was more thinking of my daughter at her birth.  It was nice.  I was nice to see that I didn't flip out, or get jealous, or bitter, or resentful or cry.  I just enjoyed seeing him.  I enjoyed their happiness.  I'm releived to be past it.

Halloween came and went.  This was the first "holiday" where I didn't find myself obsessing over the fact that Logan should be here, and isn't.  I had fleeting thoughts about what I might have dressed him up like, but for the most part I was distracted and consumed about Halloween with my daughter this year.  I enjoyed the entire day and only stopped to think about his absence, and what I would have done, later that night while I was laying in bed.  I realized it this morning and it felt like perhaps that was sort of a break through for me.

On the way to our friends house this afternoon I found myself thinking about how old Logan should've been right now.  5 1/2 months.  Sitting up on his own.  I would have been starting him on Rice Cereal this week or next.  I try not to think about how old he would be, where he'd be at developmentally.  I think it would be too much to handle.  Only on occasion do I stop to think where he'd be.  But today it dawned on me that he wouldn't be a tiny baby anymore.  He'd be moving on into becoming a big boy.  He'd be wearing 6 month old clothes.  Nursing less, experimenting with solids, sleeping more.  Maybe trying to get around.  I've always thought of him as this tiny baby.  Perhaps he'll always be a tiny baby for me.  But today, for a few minutes, Logan wasn't a tiny little baby.  And maybe it made it easier to hold my friends baby.  Maybe, just maybe, I'm moving forward a little further.  Maybe I won't die after all...

Don't hold your breath though.  Christmas is coming.  Winter is coming.  The anniversary of his death is coming.

Logan's Pictures

The 2 photo's that I had retouched by http://www.babyangelpics.com/ were finished today.  All I can do is stare.  There's my baby.  There's my son the way he was meant to look, and not forced to look like unnaturally due to death and early birth.  Gone are the stupid fake flowers covering up half of his face.  Gone is the reddness, the peeling skin, the shinny spots.  Gone.  And left behind is my perfect angel faced baby boy.  I'm speechless.  I'm awed.  I now have a picture that I can print, scrapbook, show off with out the fear of people freaking out.  Pictures that I can look at and see my son for who he was before he died.  I'm thrilled with the results.  I'm not ready to share the photo's just yet though.  I still feel so violently over protective of his memory, perhaps hoarding what little bit of him belongs to me.  But I wanted to tell you all how pleased I am, and how highly I recommend this free service.  Such a thoughtful and wonderful service to offer parents of stillborn children.  That is there catch though.  I do believe that they require the children to have been stillborn.

Its the little things...

The little things. The stupid insignificant things. The ones that shouldn't matter, but now suddenly do. I hate those things. I hate the mountains that are made out of every mole hill. I hate that my heart breaks so easily now days, that I feel so burnt out, so raw, so abused. I hate that it is so easy for people to hurt me, to offend me, to leave me feeling abondoned. I hate that I have to force myself to let my daughter out of my site. I hate that I fear for her life, jump at every bump, scream at every fall, fear every tiny questionable thing. I hate what this has done to me.

Angel Pics

I stubbled across this site today while working on The Dead Baby Club blog.  I was looking for ways to memorialize our children.  Angel Pics is a photo retouching service that allows parents up to two free photo's to be retouched of their stillborn child.  Tears immediately welled up as I realized that my terrible pictures could be fixed.  No stupid fake flowers, no lace, no red skin, no peeling skin...  just a picture of the way he looked, before his birth damaged his fragile skin.  And free!!  Not charging some astronomical amount and taking advantage of the fact that I was in such grief.  And annonymous too.  All done in seconds on my PC.  I uploaded the photo, stated what I wanted changed.  They say its due back to me o nthe 12th.  I'm shaking with anticipation.  Finally, a photo that I won't feel leery about showing people.  Finally my brothers will be able to see what their nephew looked like.  Finally I'll be able to look at my sons face and not be distracted by the phoney weird things they added to the photo.  To look and not see the horror so blatently.  I had to share this.  I am hoping they turn out nicely.  It seems legit.  I'll keep you all posted.

Depression makes me tired, and I'm tired of the depression

That about sums it up.  I'm tired.  I feel like I've been tired my whole life.  These last 8 months have felt like an eternity, and yet they feel like they have flown by.  I'm tired of the depression, and I can't seem to shake it.  And I'm tired of how wiped out it makes me feel, and I can't seem to do anything about it.  They don't want me on Anti-D's.  I'm thankful for that I suppose.  That they aren't willing to just throw drugs at me.  They keep telling me that I'm normal.  This is normal.  My baby died, I should be depressed.  Its all normal.

I don't care if its normal.  I'm tired of it.

I'm going to look into the St. John's.  They have me on The Pill, so I have to be sure it doesn't interact with that.  I just have to get around to finding out.  That's another "thing" about this depression I can't stand.  I have no motivation, no umph, no desire.  If it weren't for my DD I'd sit on the couch all day and watch TV.  If it wasn't for my DH I'd prolly never shower or change my clothes, and to be honest, that's a rare thing around here now!  I'm tired of feeling like my life has been stolen from me.  Like everyday I have to barter for time, for energy, for umph.  Its really taking a toll on my well being.  I am feeling more and more like I am failing.  Failing at mothering, failing at being a good wife, failing at being alive.  I've been reading on how people cope with depression, and it all just seems hoakie.  Day one, get out of bed.  Day two, brush teeth.  Day three, Brush hair.  Seriously?  I have a daughter, I'm already out of bed, and though it might take me hours to get to brushing my teeth or hair, eventually I do get it done.  Its the other stuff.  Laundry, cleaning, cooking, exercise, taking care of me that I have problems with.  I still read to my daughter, I feed her, I play with her, I do what I should.  I try to remember to feed my dog, but I can't seem to talk myself into taking her for a walk.  Its terrible.  I hate the way that I've become but I can't seem to talk myself into being anything better.  I hate when the phone rings.  I hate when I have to go out and see people.  I hate when I have to get together with people, put on my happy face, and perform.  Part of me wants to get with my friends and be normal...the other part, can't seem to make it out the door.  I make plans, or I want to make plans, only to end up canceling, or wishing I had, or never making the plans in the first place, but then thinking maybe I should have because I need to get out.  Its a big circle.  Like now, I know that I need to go rewash the laundry that has been sitting in the washer since Tuesday.  I need to go clean up the kitchen, pick up all of these toys...but I'd rather sit here and ignore it all.

Except now my laptops battery is dead.

Waking Up (New Moon)

Time Passes.  Even when it seems impossible.  Even when each tick of the second hand aches like the pulse of blood behind a bruise.  It passes unevenly, in strange lurches and dragging lulls.  But pass it does.
Even for me.

Thats from Chapter Four of New Moon (Book 2 in the Twilight Saga).  It struck a nerve with me today and I found myself nodding my head.

Seeing Logan's Tree for the first time

This odd feeling seems to be the norm lately.  The shadowy, gnawing ache.  Sometimes it comes front and center, but most times these days its been hanging out in the background, vaguely reminding me that I'm hurt.  I'm not fond of it, but it is certainly better than being in the gut wrenching pain all of the time.

After almost exactly 8 months since Logan's death, his tree finally made it into the ground at the park down the street.  We went and visited it yesterday for the first time, on our anniversary.  It just seemed appropriate to me.  The tree wasn't planted exactly where I wanted it (close to the toddler playscape) its off to the right a little, and away from the playscapes.  I think the tree is better off in that location, further away from idiotic teens who are known to linger in the park and make trouble.  The tree looks nice.  I couldn't  help but feel like its presence was insignificant.  A sad replacement.  "I couldn't give you life baby, so here's a tree."  I don't know.  It just seemed...lame.  I have trouble convincing myself that the tree is to let the world know that there was a little boy here, and not a ridiculous replacement of him.  David appreciated the tree.  He felt like I did a good job.  I stood there a minute, alone, and contemplated.  I felt more apologetic than anything I guess.  I just kept thinking I was sorry.  Sorry I couldn't make it work, sorry I couldn't save him, sorry he wouldn't get to experience life, sorry that I planted this dumb tree...just sorry for everything.

I pushed Aubrey on the swings while David took a few minutes to himself at the tree.  It seemed odd.  Aubrey has no clue.  "Hey mom, we're at the park, let's swing!!"  Like I could explain to her why we were really at the park.  The day was riddled with oddities, the visit at the park no exception to that.  A young girl, maybe 8 or so, came riding up on her bike and started asking all sorts of questions about the tree.  Did you plant that tree?  Why?  Why would you plant a tree when you son dies?  How old was he?  So you only knew him for a few days?  Oh.  You didn't even get to hold him? (I left out that detail)  What was wrong with him?  What's that?  Are you sad?  Well at least you have her.  You can have another one.  Where is he?  (Ok, this info was a bit much for her perhaps but I didn't know what else to say, I was in shock).  She wouldn't go away.  Here we are trying to find peace, trying to not attack the tree in our fury, trying not to have a mental breakdown in the middle of a park and this little girl wouldn't go away!!  We eventually left because she was so annoying.  The night went on to give more and more odd things to me.

But, the tree is in and that makes me relieved, if nothing else.  Relieved its over with, the waiting anyway.  Now for the ashes...

Our Anniversary and Logan's Tree

Today is our 7th wedding anniversary.

I don't feel like celebrating.  I guess its a nice day and all, and it really isn't a reflection on my marriage or how I feel about David.  Its just that I can not find any joy in celebrating anything.

The only plans we really have made for this evening is to walk down to the park and see if the city planted Logan's Memorial Tree.  I talked to the dude last week and he told me Friday or sometime this week.  We're assuming it's there.  If its not it would really be par for the course, I suppose.  Maybe even a little expected.  But regardless we're going to go see our son's tree, the closest thing we have to a grave marker.

Today hasn't been a bad day per say.  More of a bleak day.  A blah day.  I'm tired and a little worn out from the late nights with my mother's visit over the weekend.  And I look around me and see all that I should get done today.  I just don't have the will.  David will be home in a couple of hours, so I need to at least go shower and look presentable for our special day.  I also need to wash laundry and pay the bills, because hey...life still goes on.

On a side note, anyone know what happened to the spell checker with this new post editor?  I don't see it.  That is a necessity for me!  LOL!


I keep hearing that song over and over. Pearl Jam. Daughter.

Alone...listless...breakfast table in an otherwise empty room
Young girl...violins...center of her own attention
The mother reads aloud, child tries to understand it
Tries to make her proud

The shades go down, its in her head
Painted room...can't deny there's something wrong...

Its odd, even to me, how I place myself in the most obscure places. This song doesn't have a thing to do with my "situation". Maybe its the odd pain I feel from the song. Maybe it's Eddie's voice. I dunno.

David is up north. He left today. My mother is coming in tomorrow. I just wanted a normal weekend. I don't want visitors. I don't want to entertain, to clean, to talk, to relate, to defend, to perform, to hide... I want to just be here with my tiny little family safe in the cocoon of my deceptively "normal" home. I go out, I perform, I interact with the "others" because I know its what's supposed to be done. What's normal in the real world. I do what I am supposed to do, in hopes of moving on, getting over...forgetting. Whoever wrote those rules don't have a clue. Sadly, I think it was me. Is isolation a stage of grief? First we feel isolated by our "freskishness" and then we resort to isolating ourselves, because really who understands you better than the evil voices in your head? I'm quite content to hang out alone these days. I used to be very social. But now, now I just want to hide away (Hey look at that! Another PJ song!!). Sadly I don't want my mother to visit. Its not her, its not personal. And I want her to see her granddaughter, I do. Its just that... I don't have the energy. That seems to be the common theme these days. I don't have the energy for much of anything. Energy, motivation, desire...whatever. They say its part of depression. Why is there no cure for depression? Something so prevalent in our society and the only thing they have a drugs that mask it, but none that eliminate it. The mind is a tricky place I suppose. And I fight with myself daily, wanting the drugs, not wanting the drugs. Wanting relief, but what if?? What if David announces that he's ready for another baby and then I have to wait another 6 months to rid my body of the poisons that are masking the pain? What if I could find relief in those pills? What if he never wants to have another baby because I won't "snap out of it"? Then there are always the thoughts about the head shrinker. I guess I'm just afraid I'll hear more of the same "these things happen" or "your grieving, you should be depressed". Maybe I'm afraid he'll tell me to buck up and stop wallowing in self pity. Maybe I'm afraid he'll make me cry. I'm tired of crying. I'm tired of such an overwhelming sorrow. I'm not sure I want to pay someone to tell me I'm normal and then make me cry. I can get that for free anywhere I like. My thoughts follow me around closer than my shadow. I try to convince myself that its best if I stay away from the sadness of others, if I stay away from my own sadness. But I guess the reality of it all is that I'm just avoiding the truth that has so confidently perched itself upon my heart. I'm sad. I'm so achingly sad that if the world stopped spinning, I might not notice. I swear it, if my daughter wasn't here I would easily allow myself to slip under. And what an enormous burden to place on the tiny shoulders of a 19 month old child. She wasn't intended to be a buoy, but how she has turned into one. Keeping momma afloat. It breaks my heart all over again. I look at her and I think how lucky she is to not be old enough to even realize there is something to be grieving for. And then I look at her and am saddened to know that her baby brother died, and she doesn't even know it yet. Will she ever know it? Will I lock him away like a dirty little precious secret? Everything in this "reality" contradicts itself. Oh how I want her to know that we did want her to have a little brother, a playmate, a partner in crime. Someone she could go to and complain about her parents to, like a sibling can only relate. Baby, Momma tried!! I desperately want her to know. But when she is old enough to process this information, will I still be willing to relive it, to pass the sadness on?

I've been hiding a lot, if only mentally. I've been hanging out in Forks, Wa. with Bella and Edward (Twilight) on audiobook. I walk around with my earbuds in listening to my iPod all day long, trying to escape my own life. Trying to be immersed in someone else's elation and tragedy, if only fiction. I've discovered that I can't sit around and watch TV or movies all day, so this is my alternative. I began to wonder today how rude it would be to walk around listening while my mother was here this weekend.

My mother. She has no clue. How can she? She had 5 children, they were all surprises and they all lived. I don't think she even knows how to handle me. I think my darkness frightens her. God is the solution to everything. Take your pain to God. Give it to the lord. I scoff. He gave it to me, why would I give it back? God is not my solution. At least not right now. And I think that scares my family. I am hostile, and I am bitter, and I do not want to hear about God and how they think he is the answer to my sorrow. He is the reason, at least in my book. At least for now. So, most of the time they go on as if my life didn't stop. Which is good, for the most part. At least until they start really wanting to know how I'm really doing. I try not to hide too much of it. If I have a total breakdown I want them to not be completely shocked, I think. The other day my older brother asked me how I'm doing, to which I replied "some days are bad, some days are not so bad" to which he replied "Why? What's wrong?" I simply stated "Logan". He went on to say he figured but wanted to make sure it wasn't anything else. I really have to restrain myself from saying DUH!! and smacking people in the forehead (like the V-8 commercials). I hate that people ask me how I am doing because really we all know that most of the time it's in a cashier-esque fashion. No one wants to hear the truth, they want to hear you say "fine" and move on. "I'm fine, unless you consider the GAPING HOLE in my heart where my little boy hangs out". I mean really, how do you answer that question? "Hey Heather, how's it going?" "Oh fine, I didn't cry or kill myself today, so I must be having a great day!" People don't want to hear that. I don't want to hear that. What the hell do you say to that? "Oh, well that's good?!" Seriously. I struggle intensely with the random social politeness I'm supposed to display.

I've gotten really paranoid lately. Its weird. It makes me feel weird. I feel like they're all looking at me, talking about me. I wonder if people can tell. The other day when I left the OB's office and those two pregnant chics were in the waiting area, I couldn't look at them, but I felt like they were staring at me, like they knew! I wonder if people think about it all the time (I'm guessing this is just a narcissistic feeling). I wonder if people try to think about what it would feel like if one of their babies had died in the womb; what they're lives would be like with out that child.

David is up north hunting with his dad and some friends. I'm glad. He so needs to get out of this house and away from me. It was hard letting him leave. I really had to struggle to keep myself from begging him not to leave me. Don't leave me alone in the silence with these wretched thoughts!! But I wanted him to go. I want him to feel "normal" again and be with other men, and not surrounded by child bearing woman (at work). My daughter wailed when he left. I thought it was a good idea for her to see that he was leaving. When he walked away and got into the truck she bawled. My heart broke. His heart broke. And I realised that I couldn't explain to her that he was coming back. And I realised maybe we should have just let her think he was at work. And I was afraid that her outburst tainted his weekend. Gramma will be here tomorrow, she won't have time to think about her daddy.

I sit here on my couch and obsess about whether or not Logan's tree went into the ground tonight. David and I decided to wait to go see it until we could both go at the same time, together, as a family. Its made me very restless today. I even found myself drawn to that area during my walk this morning. Not to see the tree, but in hopes that I would see a truck or something. Some sign that they were indeed planting it. I saw nothing. I'm hoping I don't accidentally drive by it this weekend. I'm hoping that I keep my wits about me enough to avoid that area. Its on a common route home. I pass that park quite often.

Well, its almost midnight. I'm tired, I'm roasting for some stupid unknown reason (since apparently my hormones are FINE!), and I know I need to get up early to straighten the house before my mother arrives in the morning. So, with that... I'm off, and hoping for a restful night and easy sleep...in a very dark and quite house...alone. (She shivers because yes, she is afraid of the dark and things that go bump in the night!)


Yesterday U of M held a memorial service for the babies who get donated for study. Logan was included in that. I didn't go. Part of me thinks I should have, but the biggest part of me is tired of trudging through these swamp like waters of baby loss. I'm tired of being reminded and I'm tired of dealing with it. I feel like the more time I spend in dead baby land, the more sucked under I get. The more depressed, the more lonely, the sadder I become. So, lately I've tried to steer clear of anything that might pull me back down. I don't know if that's healthy or not. Frankly I don't care. I just need a break from the glum. I need a break and fresh air.

I talked to the Forestry Supervisor (which is a funny title since I live in the suburbs and not Montana or something) yesterday and he told me they will be planting Logan's tree on Friday, or sometime next week (weather permitting). David and I have agreed not to drive by and look with out the other. I'm anxious and it will be very hard for me not to be obsessive and go look every ten minutes. My mom is coming this weekend and David will be up north, so we're going to wait until next week to go look at it, together. I'm happy, nervous and sad all at the same time. I'm happy it's finally getting done, 4 months after the initial start of the plan. I'm nervous about how it will affect each of us to have to see this tree all of the time. I am planting it at the park where I would have taken Logan to play...the same park I take my daughter to play at now. The same park that my husband drives past everyday to and from work. I didn't really think that through before I decided to plant it there. I just assumed I would want it there, I assumed David would want it there, but I think it will be very hard for him to drive by and see that reminder everyday...at least for a while. I wanted it to be on public land so that if we ever moved we could still see his tree, visit his tree. Its the closest thing we have to a grave marker at the moment. But I never thought about what it would be like to see his grave marker every day. I just wanted the world to see it. I want the world to know that there was a little boy, and he made a huge impact on our lives. A weeping willow in the park seemed the perfect way to do that. But again, it makes me sad. Sad that I am planting a stupid tree for my son instead of taking him to the park to play.

Last night was a tearful night here. I feel so helpless and useless when I see my husband grieve. I just assume that's how it must be for everyone else. What can you do? Nothing. So I sit there and try not to cry too. Tears are contagious for me. Lately I keep thinking about how I never saw it coming. This wasn't ever anything I ever thought possible for my future. I mean who does? But I often sit around and think how I live in the house that 14 years ago my husband and I (who had only been dating for a month) took our 2 younger siblings trick or treating at, and never once did we ever think we'd live in that house a few years later. Or how 14 years ago I tried to imagine what life would be like married with children. I assumed I'd have 3, and well before I was 32 years old. But I do not. I have 1. And never in a million years did I ever imagine myself to have a child die. And now it makes it very hard for me to look forward and not see calamity. Because I experienced a very horrible unexpected reality, I can not even venture out to see my future. Maybe its because its too painful. I'm scared to think of myself with three children now. I'm scared to hope for more. Because now, no matter what, I'll always be plagued with the "what if" scenario. We talked about DS when we decided to have kids. We talked about Spina Biffada too, since that is a very real threat in my family. But honestly I guess I never thought it would really happen to us. That's scary stuff that happens to other people, not us. Our baby wouldn't die. God isn't that cruel. But now that I know the reality, now that I know that no matter how great the odds are in our favor...it's always possible. And that is the scariest reality.

I've also been thinking a lot about why David's son died. I mean, my life is filled with unpleasant things. My parents divorced when I was a baby. My dad is a jerk. My brothers have all had there fair share of devestation. My grandparents and mother too. So to be honest I can see how and why having my child die would fit into the equation...but not David's. David has always been such a good person. His family is well built and functions well. David has always strived for the best, done his best and is an honest good man. I can find no reason what so ever for his baby to have died. You can look at my life and see how it could have happened, but not David's. Which leaves me with the blame. If he'd have married better. If he'd have dated around and found a different option than me. If I had been content with an only child as he was. If I had really thought it through and agreed with him that we were pushing our luck with having another baby at our age. His son is dead because I am never content. Perhaps that's the "lesson" or "reason" every one keeps telling me God has. Maybe it's that I was never content with what I had, and now I will never know real contentness, because something will always be missing.

I've been thinking about my son's ashes a lot lately. We need to get the urn. Need to. We've been avoiding that for too long. We need to put the proverbial lid on it. The thing is, what if I like the one I get, but then change my mind later? And I don't know that I can pour my son's burnt up tiny remains into a new container. I mean, there must be dust left behind in the bag or bowel that he is in. I can't just toss that into the trash, that's my son!! I thought I would take it to the funeral home here and let them do it, that way I won't ever really know what happened. I'm not stupid. I know that when they put his ashes in the container they didn't get every last speck out of the furnace or whatever. But I didn't have to be there, and I didn't have to see it. I can't just throw his dust into the trash can like it's garbage. And the other thing, I don't know where I want to put the urn. I'm thinking of getting an urn that looks like a statue. That way I don't have to answer questions or make people feel weird if they see it. They won't even know. Having someone cremated in my family just isn't accepted. I didn't want Logan cremated, it was the only option I had if I wanted U of M to do the autopsy, and at the time that seemed the most important thing. And I'm not sure I want it stuffed into my closet. Even now I can not bare the thought of putting his ashes into my chest or my closet. That is why they continue to sit in that wretched box on top of my armour. He needs a place in this home. A place that is all his. Not a shrine or anything, just a spot for Logan to be. I've contemplated a place at a cemetery, or burying him with my grandmother or David's...but at the moment I don't want him anywhere but with me. And frankly I'd carry him in my pocket if I didn't think David would commit me. I've thought about dividing his ashes up, but the thought of having a vial that contains maybe a piece of his toe and a piece of his ear...its just wrong. I can't do it. And I know that its because this is not a natural process in life that it is so hard to rectify it. You can not come to terms with something that is so beyond reason. I just wish I could stop trying so hard to come to terms with it.

Writters block

I used to be a poet. Not the happy sweat poet. My poetry was dark and sad. Its how I used to cope with my overbearing emotions. But since logan's death, the saddest possible day of my life this far, I've had writers block. And though I feel like this blog has helped me to work through a lot of the darkness, I realized tonight that my writers block is due to the fact that I feel like my words are severely inadequate.
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These things happen...

I just thought to myself yesterday that it was probably a good thing that I haven't been blogging much lately. Moving on right? Healing? Whatever.

Today I got back my results from my hormones tests and had my annual. The doctor had to be in an emergency surgery, so I saw the nurse practitioner instead. All of my hormones are normal. Great. So then what's my problem? No PCOS, just cysts and one tiny fibroid. Apparently you get those from being fat! Funny that I didn't have those when I weighed 200lbs, but I have them now when I'm 170lbs.

Oh, and get this. Apparently it's been long enough. No kidding. After 7 1/2 months I shouldn't be crying anymore, it's been too long. I need to consider Zoloft. I need to consider a therapist. I need to loose weight.

I'm getting more pissed by the second actually. She made me cry. She made me cry several times. Why don't I get a room that doesn't have pictures of all of the other babies that lived? Why is this dumb nurse assuming that I am trying to have a baby now? Why is this nurse assuming that it was difficult for me to get pregnant? And did she seriously just tell me that if I get pregnant to come in right away so that they can do tests "so you won't have to go through all of this again."?? Excuse me? Apparently I need genetic counseling. Apparently my DH does too. We need to find out if there is anything in us that caused the baby to have Downs. WHAT? Caused?? But I thought it was random. I thought it was a fluke. I just wanted a pap. I just wanted the results from my tests. I just wanted to be someone else today. One of the naive ones.

Tears. Lots and lots of tears, in public. I hate public break downs. I had to walk past two pregnant woman who both stared at me. They're wondering, trying to figure out my story. I'm tired of people wondering about me. I'm tired of having to re-tell and re-explain my story over and over again. Why didn't the NP read my chart first? Why did I have to choke out that my baby died in January. She called it a miscarriage a few times. I didn't correct her. I wish. I wish that he would have passed silently out of existence. I wish I didn't have to know he had a face, and tiny little hands and feet. His perfect little pouty mouth, is button nose, his funky toe. I wish I didn't know he had a name. I wish he would have been a sad medical procedure that is so common that people say they're sorry, and then move on. I wish I didn't know what it was like to hold such a warm, tiny lifeless little boy in my arms. I wish I didn't know what it was like to have experienced a horror that is so unaccepted by the general population that people can't talk about it, or look me in the eye. I wish I wasn't the topic of conversation, or gossip or even the sad thoughts and concern that I am for people who know me, and even worse for those who don't. I wish this wasn't my reality.

I'm tired of people telling me that "these things happen" and I'm really tired of hearing it from doctors. Cancer happens too. Co-joined Twins happen too. Child molestation and murder and abortion and so many more unspeakable things happen too! No shit it happens! It happened to me. I KNOW it happens. Stop telling me that these things happen! I know! I get it already. It happened...it happened to ME! It happened to my husband, and it happened to my son! I don't care that they do happen and I don't care for what reason (even if it's God's and not one I'm meant to understand) what I care about is that it happened to ME, to US! Why does everyone feel the need to remind me that "these things happen"?

I just want a doctor who gets it. I want a doctor who says its normal to be sad and cry for 8 months. Its normal to feel like you are loosing your coherency with life. Its normal to want a baby one minute and not the next. Its normal to be scared and mad and resentful and to ask a million questions and to feel like its not fair. I want a doctor who understands that not everyone would choose to abort a baby that is not perfect. I want a doctor who can just go with the flow and get it. I guess what I want is a doctor who has been in my shoes and who is trying to help others. I want help, I do. But I want help from people who can grasp the complexity of what I am going through. But they all want to shove pills at me, and tell me to hop back on the horse. I don't want to. I want to stand here in my little dark corner and kick the dirt around and cry and scream and be sad and miss my son and wallow in the pity that is mine! If I had my way I would have chosen not to have gotten pregnant then. I didn't know! I didn't realize that I could have a child who could be so ill. Incompatible with life. I can't get that phrase out of my head. I feel incompatible with life now too. I just want to scream at people to stop looking at me!! Stop thinking about me!!

So now what? Am I just lousy at dieting? Was I doing it wrong? Am I imagining the heat flashes? Did I gain 13lbs so fast because I was a pig? Am I moody and crabby and argumentative just because I'm mad at the world? Whats with the headaches again? Is it not enough to snatch my son out from within me, but now the universe is trying to pull me under too? Do I not deserve a break? No. I'm no one special. I don't deserve a beak or anything else. It just the way the cookie crumbles, because hey...these things happen. Right?

I guess I should clarify something. I am having more good days then bad ones now, lots more. I don't sit around and cry all day. In fact, I don't cry over Logan much at all anymore. Don't get me wrong, there's a constant dull ache where I think his 4 month old smile should be. Not too many minutes go by where I don't think about what should have been. An event doesn't go by where I don't think he should be present. But I'm past the screaming pain that had me curled up into a little quivering ball of goo. And now I am usually either wistfully sad or bitter and angry, when I'm not smiling at my daughter and living "normal" life. Life is what it is now. I go about my days and there is a shadow of sorrow, but not the heavy shroud that it was. I thought I was doing ok. I thought I was moving on and healing at a "normal" pace. For the most part I just want to fade into the background. Some people call this pulling away or turning inward. I don't really want to be around others. I do it because it's normal, and its what I'm supposed to do. But all I really want to do is burrow down with my DH and DD and block out the rest of the world. There was a time when I wanted to be at the epicenter of every family gathering. Now, I'd rather sit on the couch and watch TV. Zone out. Block out. Ignore. Hide. Whatever. I don't want to stumble onto conversations about me and my DH. I don't want other people trying to explain us or defend us in their own ignorance. I don't want people to ask about me. I just feel like its because everyone wants to be in on the latest gossip. "Pst, are they going to have another baby?" "Pst, I bet its hard for her to be here with all of these other babies." STOP IT! Yes is makes me sad seeing all of these babies and not being able to show mine off too. I don't know if we're going to have another baby. Why do you care? Does it matter to you? Does my speculation about procreation have any impact whatsoever on your existence? Its like I want to close the blinds on us. I want to be able to peak out on occasion, maybe let a little sunshine in here and there, but then close them when it gets dark or I don't want nosy people peaking in the windows.

I don't want to be here anymore. I don't want to be on this blog, in this frame of mind, in this house, in this state, on this couch, in these tears, in this pain. I don't want to be here anymore. I want to get as far away from it all as I can, and I just can't seem to figure out how to do that.

Taking Measure

You know, I've always been one to measure my life in milestones. I'll think to myself, "Wow, I've been with my DH long enough I could have gone through HS almost four times!!" Weird things like that. Anyhow, I find that I do that with Logan too. When it was winter I kept thinking if I could get past the winter things would be better. It would be a new season, it wouldn't feel the same. And here I am, faster than I can blink, knocking on the door of autumn...winter fast approaching...again. Its a strange feeling, how fast its all going. Seven months have come and gone. Three seasons. Winter. Spring. Summer. Fall is usually my favorite time of year. And though I am still feeling that old familiar prick of excitement in a hazy far off sort of way, I'm dreading what it means...and longing so much for it to go by quickly on one hand (to be past that scary one year mark with Logan) but for it to slow down because it's passing faster than I can comprehend and my daughters very short, and very endearing baby/toddlerhood is flying past and I feel like I miss so much and that I don't want to forget anything!!! (How's that for a run on sentence!?) It is bittersweet in it's truest form and ever so confusing for me. I just want to get as far away from this pain and these memories as I can. They keep telling me, "the salve of time" so I'm running for the salve with all of my might. But I feel so conflicted because I know that I spend a lot of my daughters life in mourning. And it shouldn't be that way for her. And it makes me sad. And I want it to be over with. I want to be here for her 100% and not with half of my mind wandering through dark alley's when I see her do something new and exciting! So as this winter comes screaming up on me, yes I get to get past the 1 year mark of my devastation...but it also means my daughter will be two, and I feel like I have missed out on so much of these last several months.


According to my ultrasound it does appear that I have PCOS (Polycystic Ovarian Syndrome) since my ovaries are loaded with cysts. I won't be seeing the doctor until Sept 10th for all my results (from blood tests and what not). I'll know more then. I have started the Pill, much to my dismay. However, like my husband said to me "We won't be having a baby while you're messed up either." So, I'm trying all I can to get "fixed". I've done some reading on PCOS and see that eating a "clean" (unprocessed food) and Organic diet to aid in controlling the hormone jig the cysts seem to have my body in. That is proving to be difficult to do cold turkey, so I've decided to phase out the enormous amount of processed food in my home, and to try to buy Organic when I can find it. Meat and Dairy seem to be the most important, but I'm having trouble finding local organic meat. I did find a service that delivers organic fruits and veggies (www.doortodoororganics.com) to my home at no extra cost. And according to my 2 Organic friends, their prices are very competitive. And hey...they bring it to me!! I like that. I have another friend who's mother has access to organic beef, so she said next time she goes to get some she'll let me know (it's a couple hours away). But I'm still looking for eggs and cheese. I just finished reading the book Master Your Metabolism by J. Michaels and it is all about how to control your hormones using unprocessed and organic food and products. I found it worth the read. Anyhow, I'd love to hear from any of you who have PCOS and know more of what its about (aladyontheverge at gmail dot com). I'm relieved to finally be moving in a direction that is going to help get myself under control again. Apparently PCOS causes depression, weight gain, facial hair, fatigue and a list of other "issues" I've been fed up with for some time. So...moving forward, one step at a time.

I survived the U/S with out tears. I got pretty worked up in the waiting room. My tech read my file and then started in on how sorry she was, how awful it is...and that she lost a baby at 12 weeks so knows its really a hard thing. She was super nice and I enjoyed her chatter. But being in a different place, with a different tech, under different circumstances helped it not be such an ordeal I think. I was grateful for that.

Ultrasound & PCOS

So tomorrow morning I go in for an ultrasound of my ovaries to check for the possibility of cysts that could indicate PCOS. Just more hormone checking I guess. The pathetic thing is that I'm more anxiety ridden over going through the ultrasound process (ON MY UNPREGNANT BELLY!!) than I am about the potential of having the incurable PCOS. The thought of laying there with my belly exposed going through the same routine I've gone through when there was a baby in there, except that now I'll get to see that for sure there isn't one in there...well, its just one more reminder that I'm no longer pregnant...and to go along with the birth control I've recently started to use to help regulate my hormones (with the horrifying side effect of baby prevention!!)...well, lets just say its a wonderful little reminder of what is no longer, what isn't currently, and what won't be for a positive minimum of three months while trying to straighten out my hormones. Ooh yay! Hello Monday.

An easier week

Cincinnati was wonderful. We had a really nice time. The aquarium we visited was pretty cool and our daughter seemed to have a really good time, which makes the sun shine on my world, even amidst the tornado watches and rain.

I'm having a pretty good week. And this week things seem to be easier to handle. I say this week because I have noticed in the past that the moment I say things are getting easier, they get a lot harder. So, like I said...this week has been easier. I was able to see a few little boys and not feel like I'd been stabbed. I even heard Logan's name called twice while in Cincinnati. And though I noticed, and though it made me wistful and yes there was a pang, it didn't make me feel like I was going to have a melt down. Progress. This week.

I've been having a lot of headaches the last several days. I'm trying to go organic and unprocessed in my diet in hopes of feeling better with the depression and hormones. However, I'm a carb addict, and I love my Sunkist. The caffeine is kicking my butt (or the lack thereof) and I'm trying not to take too many Excedrin (which contain caffeine) but with a toddler at home I just can't go cold turkey on the caffeine and suck up the headaches till there gone (usually three really nasty days). Anyhow, I'm hoping eating better will start to straighten things out and help me to feel better...or at least not so bad.


So I had my OB/Gyn appt today to have a look at my hormones. She drew some blood and the results will be back in about 3 weeks. She says it sounds like they're off. I go in on Monday to have an ultrasound done on my ovaries to check for cysts (PCOS) which could be wrecking havoc on me too. She wants me on birth control for three months. Yazz. Sigh. BIG SIGH. I know we're not planning babies. I know. But what if?? What if he changes his mind and the BC keeps me from getting pregnant for a long time?? Not to mention all of my other issues with birth control, and I have a lot of them. But she swears that it'll help with the depression and all of the other "side effects" of grief and babyloss and the post partum kick in the rear we all get that messes up our hormones. I'm still debating. I don't want to live like this anymore. This depressed hormonal mess if I don't have too. If it's not natural. She says she doesn't think I have any more depression than I "should" and she also said it hasn't been nearly long enough. Apparently seven months isn't long enough to grieve a dead baby. I guess I'm glad a doctor said that. Makes me feel less abnormal. She also said that I could get chromosomal testing done on myself which would give them a better look at the likely hood of having another baby with chromosomal issues. I'm not sure I want that sort of info. And when I told her that we wouldn't do any testing once we conceived because we wouldn't terminate under any circumstance (which seemed to surprise her) she said that she wouldn't recommend extensive testing then. I like her. She was upbeat and funny. When I told her I thought I had excess body odor she said "I don't smell anything" and then she laughed and told me that was a hygiene issue, but she was joking then too and said its just part of getting older. The office is very clean and updated/modern looking, something I couldn't say for my last doctor. I like that too. Makes me feel like they're more up to date in all things, though I know that's a foolish way to feel.

She read Logan's autopsy report. She said that the report's final diagnosis to Logan's demise (since he didn't die from having Down Syndrome) was "etiology uncertain" (which means they are not certain of what caused his actual death). She said she doesn't understand why they wrote that. According to the report Logan's organs shut down. This is what can happen with children who have DS. Everything is retarded. He basically had an overall system failure. No one thing caused his death but a combination of several. SO they couldn't point and say that his heart failed, or that his brain failed, or whatever. It all failed. When I mentioned to her the odds about conceiving another child with DS she said that those were pessimistic odds and that she had never seen nor heard of anyone having two children with DS, but that she herself has had a few patients go on to have "healthy" children post DS. She mentioned a current patient of hers in her late 40's. Her first baby was born around 40 and had DS, her second child born years later was perfectly normal. She even seemed very eager for my DH and I to get back up on the horse and TTC again. That might be the D.O. uber-OB in her talking.

I cried. I wasn't sure if I would or not. I've been having a few ok days lately so I thought I'd be in the clear. Laughable. I was trying to tell her about my face twitching (my tick!) and I burst into tears. She said the twitching was stress (since it comes and goes). And when I told her that I was irritable and argumentative she said "don't you have the right to be so?". Did you hear that hunny??? I have the RIGHT to be a jerk!! LOL! Seriously though, I didn't want to be there. Thankfully there was only 1 pregnant chic I saw in passing. Which is good because if we'd have started talking and she'd have asked questions I don't know that I would have been able to refrain telling her that mine died. Which would have been cruel to her. Monday I go in to get an ultrasound done on my ovaries to make sure there are no cysts. I'm hoping being there with a few pregger chics (who I am sure will be there),the ever familiar ultrasound and the whole process won't ruin me.

The hubster and I and our little muffin are heading to Florence, KY for a few days starting tomorrow. Just a mini-vacation is all. A chance to get away and not just to family or friends houses. To actually GO somewhere. I'm excited. I know he's excited too. It should be a fun few days and I am hoping for the best. If nothing else, I'll appreciate the adventure and chance to get away from everyday ho-humness of life.

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