"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 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.

Sparrow Farm Creations Memorial Prints

Songs for Logan

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