"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.

5 months

Five months have passed.

Seems impossible. Seems irrelevant too. It doesn't seem to matter how much time has passed since Logan died. I don't know why I bother counting the days, the weeks and now the months. I'm sure I'll count the years too. It doesn't seem to matter that any time at all has passed, because he is still dead. I'm not sure what I am counting to. Will I say at the ripe old age of 92 (should I be blessed/cursed enough to live that long) that my son should have been 60? That he should have been a parent himself? A grandfather even? That he should have lived a long and happy life? Will I, at 92, still see my son as the tiny, tiny baby who left me before he had a chance to live, and not the old man that he should have been?

At 92, will I still be the mother to a dead baby? Yea. I'll always be that I suppose.

I find myself settling down into this role (on most days). I find myself admitting that perhaps I am too old, and that I shouldn't have been having babies at 31. Science is still iffy on that, but I have the proof of what society constitutes a woman being too old to have a baby is. I have a baby with Down Syndrome. I have a baby who died because I was too old to give him a healthy egg to start out with. At 31 years old, I am an old woman. Go ahead and laugh. I know, it sounds ridiculous. But by all accounts our good eggs vs. bad eggs are what make us feel young vs. old right? Isn't that what we grow up hearing? Your eggs are too old, you shouldn't try. I just didn't realize that at 31 it was possible that I was too old. I mean, I guess you can be too old at 19, or even 16, or if your lucky not till your 45 or more aged. Eggs have an expiration date. Did you know that? Mine have expired. My chances are pretty good that I'll have more bad eggs. Apparently they don't all go at once. That's a nice perk. Now having a baby is a crap shoot. A 1 in 100 chance that my next egg will fail us too.

I wonder if my expiration date was posted somewhere...would he have chosen me anyhow? Would he have chosen this amount of anguish had he known before hand? Would he have chosen me regardless of his horrid future, his eternal pain over the loss of a son he was promised and then so cruelly told "psych!" to? Would I have wanted him to have chosen me anyhow?

I'm too young to feel so old.

How could I not risk it again?

A co-worker of my DH is 3 months pregnant. Normally this wouldn't be a big deal, but we were pregnant at the same time, and she found out her baby was dead about a month before I did. Sadly her baby died early on and her body just wouldn't accept it. M had a miscarriage. It was also her second baby. Then the other night my husband had a dream that she was pregnant, and when he told her, she informed him that she really was, three months along. He told me at dinner on Saturday. I teared up which made him feel like a jerk. I'm happy for her, I really am. If anyone deserves a baby it's someone who's had a baby die. I don't know why it made me cry. Maybe it's because I want to be at that stage where I can move on too. I'd like to try to get pregnant with out the fear. I'd like to try to get pregnant with out feeling like I'm betraying Logan, or that I'm trying to replace him. David said that his initial reaction is always to be happy, but it is quickly followed by fear. I had to agree. Most of the time I am ecstatic when I hear about someone getting pregnant, or giving birth...but then I get scared for them and their innocence, and then I am sad that I have that reaction, and then I re-live the sorrow of holding my sons lifeless body. I go through waves. Some days I feel like I may die if I don't have another child. Other days I wonder how I will ever feel comfortable trying again. And then other days I wonder why I am so selfish that I am crazy enough to risk my heart and tempt fate again, and still other days I wonder why I am not adamant to take the risk since having a child has filled us with such an enormous amount of pleasure...how could I not risk it again??

Messed up

I think I am only now starting to understand how messed up my head is from Logan dying. I don't think people on the outside get that. I don't know if I even do.
Sent via BlackBerry from T-Mobile

Guilt, Weakness and Questions

It seems odd that silly things should bother me with such intensity. Little tiffs with my husband seem like the end of the world. Stupid comments by friends and family seem like maliciousness intended to put me in tears. Noisy neighbors, achy feet, lack of weight loss...they all want to send me into a spiral of despair. I guess it's good that I recognise it for what it is. Another facet of grief. But I hate it.

I hate that my husband and I can't even disagree anymore without me feeling like its a personal assault. Or that when my generally gentle husband does loose his temper with me, it feels like my world is falling apart. It's all I can do to keep from crumbling into a heap of tears and begging him to love me, not to think I'm a jerk...not to leave me?? Seriously? Have I become so insecure that I think my husband will leave me because I rented a movie different from the one he requested? Yea. That's what I've come to be. Insane, irrational, vulnerable, scared... Logically I know this is ridiculous. But even an off handed look from him makes my heart stop. Makes me feel full of panic and dread. I guess it's that I know that with him beside me, propping me up, making sure I don't plummet into the inviting depths of the blackness I feel like maybe, just maybe I can survive this horror. But if he steps back, looks away, turns his back...who will hold me up? How will I survive? I can't do this by myself. I can't shoulder this horror and not have one person who totally gets it. I need him more now than I ever have in my life. Not just want, but need. It makes me feel weird. It makes me feel weak and insecure and silly.

I think I found a home for my dog. I should be happy right? The family seems prepared for her breed, and loving, and willing...and all I feel is panic. What if Kaida is scared and miserable? What if she feels abandoned? When I brought her home as a pup, wasn't it my job to protect her, to love her, to keep her safe? Yet here I am, ready to discard her because I can't deal with her anymore. I want her to be happy. I want her to feel safe and loved, and I can't offer her that anymore. I harbor so much resentment towards her now days. I don't know where it comes from. But I take so much of my grief out on her, and it's so unfair. But I have so much guilt and anxiety in letting her go. What if they're mean to her? What if they put on a good front for me, but are really cruel? What if the other dogs don't like her and bully her? Why is it that I sound so motherly to a dog that I don't want anymore? Why is it that I am overcome with such sadness about her absence? Will my daughter notice she's gone? Will I scar hem both for life? Why do I keep hearing Logan's name whispered in the background of all of these thoughts? Will giving my dog away make my husband more sad than he is? Will he resent me past the point of repair? Will it ruin me? Will this event be the final straw in our lives, the one that pushes us over the edge?

Why is it that I feel so weak and frail now? Shouldn't this tragedy have given me strength? I survived one of the most horrifying things that can happen to a person, I should be stronger now. But maybe I didn't really survive it. Just because it didn't kill me physically, does that mean I survived? Did I survive if it left me an empty shell, scared of my own shadow? And I'm tired of the irritation. My irritation level is through the roof. Everything irritates me. Infuriates me really. Playing cards, walking the dog, the blasted cricket outside of my kitchen window that won't shut up, making breakfast, taking a shower... All of these mundane things irritate the crap out of me. There is so little that I find enjoyment in anymore. I've always been an irritable person, but this is nuts. I have to fight the desire to just sit and stare out the window. I have to make myself eat, sleep, shower, smile, talk...when all I want to do is sit and stare. I don't want to die, but I have such little desire to live my life. I force myself to try to be the "normal old me". Who am I now? Who will my daughter know me to be? Has Logan's death ruined me for her?

I haven't managed to loose any weight. I'm beside myself about it. I work my butt off, and the scale doesn't budge. I've heard it all, it's muscle, it's hormones, it's blah... whatever. I don't care what it is, I want the number to drop. I don't care if I LOOK like I lost weight (as I keep hearing) I want to see a smaller number on the scale. I've become obsessed with it. I've heard it's harder to loose weight after kids, after you hit 30... But now it's just ridiculous. For 7 of the last 10 days (just as an example) I've eaten 1200-1500 cals and worked out burning on average 300 cals a day. I've gained 2 1/2lbs. No, it's not water. No, it's not "that time". No, it's not muscle. No, my scale isn't broken (though it may be shortly). It's the universe laughing at me. Maybe it's God's way of helping me break the yo-yo diet cycle and become determined enough to just be a person who exercises and eats right like it's normal, and not a diet. Whatever the case may be, it's making me very angry and frustrates the crap out of me and leaves me feeling like no matter what, I can't catch a freakin' break anymore.

In light of my son's death, it seems a silly thing.

But, it's just one more thing on my stinking platter of crap! And I'm tired. I'm so tired of feeling like I did something wrong, that I screwed up. I'm so tired of feeling like it's my fault, that I failed...again, and again and again. I'm tired of feeling. I'm tired of emotion. I'm tired of it not going my way. I'm tired of feeling like I have no control over myself, or my life, or my body or anything. I'm tired.

I'm really freakin' tired.

Of course it's a boy...

Of course she's having a boy. Why not?

My friend, the first one who is pregnant (since I have two pregnant friends) text everyone to tell them of her happy news...she's having a boy!! I don't begrudge anyone their perfect baby or their happiness. I just wished, for my own personal selfish sake, that it was a girl she was having. A girl I can handle. I'm not so sure I can handle buying baby boy stuff for her shower, going to a shower that is boy themed, seeing and holding her precious, perfect baby boy...exactly 40 weeks after my own precious baby boy lay dead in my arms. I don't know how I will cope with watching her little boy grow up, knowing mine never will. Knowing they would have been friends. Knowing we would have gotten together for play dates with our boys. Wanting so bad for that little boy to be mine.

Why couldn't she have a girl? Is it too much to ask not to be kicked over and over and over again? Is it too much to ask that God leave a little of my soul intact, that he let me heal, that he stops ripping the scab off on a regular basis?

Today, I really want to hold my son.
He should have been 2 1/2 weeks old now.

When will I stop feeling like I am detached from my own existance?

Logan's Bracelet

I posted the bracelet I made to honor Logan on my other blog. You can see it here.

The elliptical machine is making me cry!

I had a mini breakdown on the elliptical today. I don't know why. Maybe I'm frustrated that I can't seem to loose any weight even though I am trying the best that I can. Maybe it was the release of stress and tension and emotions that I thought I was coping with, but maybe am just hammering down into submission. Maybe when I exercise it all bubbles to the surface. It makes it hard to breathe when you're doing cardio...and sobbing. I wasn't thinking about Logan, but I just started to sob. Sometimes I feel like that with rage too. I won't be thinking about anything in particular and I'll feel this overwhelming sense to throw something through the window. Not just throw, but hurl it with as much effort as I can muster.

What do you do when there is more rage and sorrow than one body can hold?

My daughter bit my lip today when I kissed her. It really just seemed to fit.

I wanted to thank all of my cyber buds who send me such love and encouragement. You guys are one of the things that keeps me together. Most days I think I'm doing ok. But there is always that sneaking, gnawing feeling that at any moment I might flip out! I feel like I walk a tight rope. I walk a steady, and very thin line, daily. I think my husband gets it too. He seems to know when to grab ahold of me. Or maybe he's walking that same line and when I stumble there's no wear to fall but into him.

New blogs and the same old feelings.

I started another blog. It's a scrapbooking (and other crafty things) blog. I use it to post the LO's I do for Logan and my Daughter, plus anything else I do that I feel like posting. Lately I've been working on stuff for my future SIL's Bridal Shower. This evening though I made a bracelet to honor Logan. I've been planning it for months. Actually, before he was even born, though the design changed considerably afterwards. I made one for my daughter while I was pregnant with her, so I thought it fitting for Logan to have one too. Then he died. And then every decision I ever had to make about him became very tedious and something that had to be thought and re-thought and over analyzed...because after all I have a very limited amount of decision making to do for him and therefor all of them have to be carefully considered...since there won't be any time in the future to make it up to him. I did that with his bracelet too. I'll post the bracelet on my new scrapblog soon.
I have really taken to blogging. I really enjoy it and it gives me something to do, and makes me feel connected. Most of you already know about my diet blog, and the blog for my daughter. Then, of course, there is this blog. My original blog. The only blog I feel safe enough to be who I truly am.

I've been having a "better" week. Though, here I am at almost 3am blogging and unable to sleep. I'm getting tired now though. My mind was reeling when I tried to go to bed with my husband at around 10:30pm. So, an hour later I got back up...and went to make my sons bracelet. I've been doing some urn hunting. So many of you gave me very nice ideas and directed me to urn sites. I have to be honest, urn shopping for my baby is the second saddest thing I've ever done. The first was giving birth to him, after he already died. It's gut wrenching. I do not find peace in it. I feel more like I am picking at a wound that is trying so desperately to heal. It's shameful how this all gets drug out. Like the grief of a dead baby isn't enough, lets see how long we can keep picking at it. Like last week, Logan's autopsy report came in the mail. No explanation of it, just one sheet of medical stuff where the only thing I understood was short thumbs and hydrops. Oh, and a nice little sticky note from my former idiot doctor who said if I had any questions I could call. Nice. It would have been one thing for the report to have come straight from UofM in the mail...but from my actual doctor? Seems to me he should have called me. Just one more kick in the teeth.
Logan's tree is still not in the ground. I know he said at least three weeks, and I can't remember when we met so it might just now be three weeks...but come on!! Plant it already! I drive past the park every time I am in the car, just to check.
I can't believe summer is here. Winter was so long and horrible, and I wanted desperately for it to be over with. Its all starting to seem like a distant nightmare now. Oh, other than the gash in my heart. I hate knowing that will never go away. I hate knowing that I will forever pause to think of my son at the most mundane things...pregnant bellies, strangers babies, clearanced boys clothing, a blue onesie, the name Logan... forever they will jump out at me when I am trying to have a "normal" life, and forever they will remind me that no, my life is not normal. It will never be "normal" again. I don't think the people in my real life get that. I'm starting to hear things like "time heals all wounds" and what not. I don't buy it though. I don't think this wound will ever heal. It may close, and on occasion open back up, instead of being a gaping hole all of the time. But I think it will always be a "living scar". That's what my mom calls a scar that has "feeling" in it. Live nerves or whatever. You know, because most scar tissue has no feeling. This one will forever itch and burn and be tender. It will forever feel, and forever make me aware of the damage that my heart, my soul, has endured. I have spent my entire life avoiding unpleasant things. I can not avoid this, and unpleasant is the understatement of the millennium! But, admittedly, the tears come less frequent and last for a shorter time. Other than urn shopping, I haven't had a total breakdown in a while. I'm relieved for that. Maybe it means I'm learning to live with this, coping, finding my new normal. But every parent I meet who is new to this club rips my wound wide open again. And I still can not fathom that babies die. I still can not fathom that 1/3 of conceptions never become born children. It is inconceivable to me! We can walk on the moon, we can text message, we can cook food with waves, we have television and radio and every other cool technology that we have...but we can't stop stillbirths and miscarriages or SIDS.
I went to Babies R Us with my newly pregnant friend to try to help her register for the baby shower I had to tell her I could not be a part of throwing. It was my idea, the store. I thought I could help her see what she would need, and not bother with the dumbs stuff she'd end up returning. Being at the store was easy. I've grown very numb towards that store. But I'm pointing at things and we're checking out all of these new gadgets that they didn't even have 2 years ago when I registered for my daughters stuff. There was this one gadget, electronic and therefore I was drawn to it like a moth to a flame. And I picked it up and was analyzing it trying to figure out what sort of timer it was (another nursing timer perhaps?) and I realized it was a kick counter. And slapped on the front was a nice sticker that read "helps prevent stillbirths!" And I wanted to scream. I wanted to walk up to the manager and tell him that was a load of crap! They should pull that off of their shelves, they should tell the manufacture that you CAN'T prevent a stillbirth!! And how dare they put that on the package. And how dare they scare new mommies who are oblivious to this horror?! HOW DARE THEY!! But My friend and I just gasped, and we stared at it...and then I put it down and told her NOT to buy that. But you know what? If I ever get pregnant again...I'm buying it. Because though I know it wouldn't have prevented Logan's death, I would have liked to have known when he died. I would have liked to have said...this was my sons last kick. This was the goodbye kick. This was when I could have held my belly and told my son goodbye. This is when I could have whispered to him all of the things I so wanted to tell him, and had no idea it was too late. I wanted to know when my son left me. I don't want a guess. I don't want a two day period. I want an exact moment. But really, I just want my chance to say goodbye back. And if that stupid little counter could offer me that the next time, I'll buy it.
Yeah. Having a dead baby will make you insane. Where's that sticker??

Sparrow Farm Creations Memorial Prints

Songs for Logan

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