"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.

The chic at Ikea

I went to Ikea on Friday to pick up the cabinets for the laundry room. The chic who helped me order everything was very pregnant. With a boy. Due two weeks after my Logan was supposed to have been due. Crap.
Oddly enough though, I didn't hate her. I was only mildly jealous, and I really did hope the best for her. Even when she was complaining about being so pregnant. I felt sad. I should have been that pregnant too. I should have been able to stand there and relate with her and share our boo hoo's over being that pregnant. But I couldn't. I only told her to savor each moment, because they are gone so fast. I didn't cry. I didn't even think I was going to. I guess that's progress.
But this weekend it really bothered me. Deep down in the part we hide from everyone else. The place where we put things when we say nothings wrong, because it's just too big to talk about out loud. This weekend I couldn't help but think about how it should have been. How I should be walking around with my daughter, and an enormous stomach that would make bending over to pick up the eggs next to impossible. How I should be laying in bed the night before Easter with eight hundred pillows on the bed, up every few hours to pee, complaining about how tired I am. I wouldn't have been at Ikea, not alone anyhow. I wouldn't have been helping the kid load a laundry room worth of cabinets into my truck. I wouldn't have been painting my laundry room what should have been a sunset orange, but honestly looks more like Hoe Depot orange (I did that on purpose. Men love Home Depot!). I would have been sitting down with my legs up. I would have been eating my weight in fruit or drinking ice cold water (the only thing I've ever "craved" while pregnant!) I would have been complaining that I didn't have anything pretty to wear for Easter because I was as big as a house. Not complaining that the shirt I picked out to wear made me look pregnant and could pass for a maternity shirt.
The Ikea chic made it more real. I saw where I was supposed to be. I saw what I was supposed to look like (only honestly she looked about the size I was when I was 6 months along and Logan died). This weekend I couldn't shake the "should have been's" and it made me sad, when I wanted to be full of joy since it was Easter and Muffin was starting to "get" what she was supposed to be doing.
I wore my tiny tag for Logan yesterday for the first time. I wanted him to be with us on this holiday. It wasn't a very good substitute, but it sure was pretty. I also got out his Afghan to take a picture with to send it over to the folks at the T21 Traveling Afghan Blog. Sadly, it was the first time I've looked half way decent enough to take a photo of. I wanted to take the Afghan with us. No. I wanted to take Logan with us.
I think I'm numb. OR I'm back in shock. I'm not sure which. I haven't felt a whole lot of anything lately. I guess that's good. I'm sad; deep, deep, deep down in that place we don't talk about out loud. I'm sad there. I'll call it Logan's spot. I was so happy this weekend, going about doing all of the Easter like things I waited a year to do with my daughter...and she was catching on, and I loved it, and it was exciting. And all along Logan's spot ached. And all along I kept trying to push the thought that "it isn't supposed to be like this!" out of my blasted head. All along I tried really hard not to feel my big stomach, not to feel my baby rolling and kicking, not to feel the excitement of an imminent birth...just weeks away. I tried not to feel it, I swear I did. But feel it I did. And dang it, I'm tired of feeling a ghost. My soul is tired. My heart is tired. My brain is tired. And I'm not even 3 months in yet. That scares me.

Today I would have been 35 weeks along.



Mrs. Spit said...

Oh Heather, the should have beens are so hard, the feeling of being weary with the world is exhausting.

Sending hugs and comfort. Abiding.

Ter said...

((hug)) i'm sorry. :(

Inanna said...

That ghost is so hungry. So hungry. There's no denying it. I feed it, too, and I'm not even in three weeks into this madness.

Living With Loss said...

I don't know what to say but that post was really moving and I wanted to send you some (((((hugs)))))

Julie said...

Sometimes not feeling anything is the safest place to be. You know that you can feel something because of the ache in Logan's spot. I find that letting some things come easily and waiting until I am in a safe place for others to come is the best way for me in this maze.
Love to you today.

"numb_was_better" said...

Every once in a while my wife has a cigar with me. The guys who hang out at the cigar shop never had to ask about the baby. They knew we were expecting and the day she came in with me and grabbed a cigar they all knew that we no longer were. Even the things we do to distract ourselves just remind us that we can do them. I'm sorry tou got new cabinets and that your back doesn't hurt as much as it should. I'm sorry that I've never gotten baby puke on me. I'm just sorry.

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