A new Logan on Earth

So, I have a "friend" that I made through my diet blog (we're "friends" on Facebook and talk a few times a week now). We're not real in depth intimate friends or anything, but we swap crazy mommy stories and because of how my child loss has affected my weight, she knows that I had a stillborn son last year. I've never gone into a whole lot of detail on that blog about Logan. Anyhow, she just had a little boy yesterday.

She named him Logan.

Of course she did.

I can't help it. That was the first thing I thought when I heard his name. Thankfully it was after I gushed about how happy I was that her baby was born healthy. But here's the thing, I doubt she even knows my sons name was Logan. I've only ever mentioned his name once on my diet blog and that was back in January. Who's to say she even read that post? Its sprinkled here and there on FB, but anyone who's on FB knows how easy it is to overlook a status update or photo post. So no, I don't think she got the name from me. I mean, Logan was one of the most popular names last year. But that's just the thing now isn't it? Coincidence. Everything is just one big coincidence. Sometimes I feel that way, and sometimes I feel like the universe is out to get me. To constantly send me stupid, but horribly painful, reminders on a regular basis. Little coincidences here and there. It wears on me.

So, obviously I'm happy for her and blah-blah-blah. But the thing is, she talks about her kids a lot. I mean, who doesn't? So now I have this anxiety over the fact that I know I am going to hear his name on a regular basis. Logan did this, Logan did that, Logan rolled over today, smiled, said momma...all of those things that my Logan didn't do. And each one will be one more reminder.

It makes me feel guilty, petty, selfish and weird for thinking this way. Its like his name became sacred after he died. I hear Aubrey's name on occasion, and though I try really hard not to be a snob about it (since I prided myself in picking a lesser known name) and most of the time I feel giggly about meeting another little girl named Aubrey. But with Logan, well it was almost like I felt like no one else had a right to such a precious name. Like Jesus. Ok, not like Jesus, but you get the point. The name is usually not used (ok, at least not so much here in the US) and I think that is out of reverence and respect. The name is sacred now. I don't know, I just feel very...what's the word...territorial about it maybe? And I know my Logan isn't the only stillborn named Logan. In fact I know there is at least one other blog here with a baby named Logan who died. But see with her, I feel more of a kinship than a copyright infringement.

Everything is weird now. I can't even be cool about my friends new baby because of a stupid name. And I find myself thinking that if I have another pregnancy, I'll name that baby something really unknown (though not weird, I'm not into names like Apple or Jermagesty or anything)...just so that I won't have to hear it or see it with out me going to look for it. I think that's a lot of this too. I wasn't prepared. I didn't know she had planned to name him Logan.

And just in case you are wondering if I'm some huge egotistical insensitive jerk, I didn't say anything to her about it, and I won't. This is her happy time and I'm going to let her enjoy it and not be brought down by some weird coincidence she fell into with some crazy lady she met on a blog. And I'm sure eventually she'll hear my son's name, and maybe she won't think a thing about it, or maybe she will. Either way I'm trying to be positive and look at it like there is a new Logan here on this earth and I'm going to be lucky enough to be able to bare witness to his life. And maybe, just maybe it will help to fill in that gap just a teeny bit. Maybe.

Fourteen months later and I'm tired of explaining.

It's almost April. APRIL! Don't get me wrong, I'm ready for Spring and the inevitable Summer (please hurry!!) but when I take a step back and look...I just can't believe it. Fourteen months have passed since Logan died. His first birthday would have been knocking on the door in May. Fourteen months. Feels like a lifetime, feels like yesterday, feels like someone else's life. And I mean, I'm better...right? These last fourteen months have been documented here in this blog and this blog is nothing else if not proof to what life was like and is like now. And though I know that I must have survived, and I must've gotten through it...I don't know how, and I don't know when it happened. I mean, I guess I'm not really through it yet. I think that will take a lifetime. But here I am. I wake up, I live what my life is now, I enjoy my daughter (among other things) and for the most part...I'm okay. There are moments, days, even several days at times when things are ugly and tough and I want to pack it all in and head for the hills. And when those times hit, they hit hard and fast. The part that I really feel like I have a hard time coping with is the "outsiders". People who just can't fathom what a wrecking ball loosing a baby can be. How it just seems to hang around forever and change everything about you. How you view the world, other parents, your own parents, your friends, your self... Its all changed. And the "outsiders"...well, I guess its just that it doesn't occur to them, the fact that everything is different. That I'm different. My mother comment something about me not being this bubbly person anymore. I mean, what do you say to that? Duh? It seems appropriate enough. But I guess its not her fault. She had five kids, not one complication. She has her own "tragedies and hurts" that I guess make her feel like she can connect with me on some level, but I don't see the similarities. I guess that's a fault I have to work on. I dunno. How can I be this bubbly person anymore? Though I can not relate, and this is probably a very insensitive comparison, I kind of feel like maybe its similar to what happens to people who have been in the middle of a war. They go in naive and ignorant to the horrors, they come out very changed, shell shocked and very aware that life isn't all sunshine and rainbows and that no, life doesn't always get better. And no one can get that unless they were there too. I just get tired of defending myself (or feeling defensive, I don't know how much active defending I've been doing) or trying to explain myself. She said that I should go out and celebrate my birthday, do something really special this year since I've been through a lot. In theory this sounds great. But in reality, I don't want to celebrate. The coming of my birthday (or any holiday or milestone for that matter) is just a reminder of the time that has passed. One more [insert event] further from my son's life. One more event that he isn't present for. One more event where I can't overlook the enormous elephant in the room, the fact that he was planned on, and isn't present. I can't help it. Believe me, if I could escape those thoughts I gladly would. I'd love to have an event go down where the thought of his absence wasn't bouncing around in my head like a Mexican Jumping Bean. Its tiresome to remember, and exhausting trying not to. I can't win. But my birthday, my 33rd birthday, is one more year (2 in total, if you were counting like I was) since the "bad egg" was brought to life. And if there was a bad egg two years ago...well then, how many are there now? And another birthday means I'm that much older. If I was old at 31... If I expired two years ago... If time was up then... Well, where does that leave me now? I just don't want another birthday. I don't want this time to keep trudging past, pulling me further and further away from the reality that Logan used to be. Those feelings are fading. I have to almost fight to remember what it was like while I was pregnant with Logan, especially since I took it all for granted. You know, because well, my baby won't die. The memory of his precious little face is starting to blur around the edges now... And I don't remember him looking the way he did in those photos, so they don't help. He's starting to feel like a vague dream these days, and I hate that because the ugly memories are still crystal clear. How I felt being wheeled down the hall from the uber-OB's office to the birthing room, like everyone was staring at me, like they all knew. Sitting there knowing that I had a dead baby inside of my body, but not fully grasping it because I could still feel him. Sitting there feeling a baby inside of my stomach who was dead. Being wheeled by some stranger while my husband walked a few steps behind...just out of reach when I was screaming inside and never felt a stronger desire to hide behind him as I felt in those few hours. Wondering how his face looked, what he felt. Was he crying too? Was he as devastated and dazed as I was? The memory of being in that bathroom in my birthing room where I was supposed to be changing (I think) and all I did was stand in the furthest spot from the door I could get in and cry and cry and cry. The sheer terror of what birthing a dead baby was going to be like. The terror that I knew would come the next day when I would wake up and it would really hit me. The annoyance I had of having to communicate with the outside world, to let my family know what was happening to us, when I didn't even want to admit it to myself. The horror I felt as his lifeless tiny body slid out of me onto the table while my husband watched in horror...and no one caught him. The way it felt when they handed him to me and I made the sad joke "it's a boy!" because hey, that's what they're supposed to say when a baby is born. I remember that horrible walk to our car just a few hours later. The longest walk I've ever taken. I remember those moments, those feelings, like they just happened. But Logan...his actual little face, the way he felt, his little life...its fading, and it scares me. And how fair is that anyhow? Isn't it bad enough that I lost him, can't I have the sweet memories remain and those horrible ugly ones fade? Is it that I hang onto those memories tighter because they felt more tangible, more real?

I'm tired of this roll. The one of a dead baby mom. The one who can't watch a stupid movie or TV show with out thinking things like "well at least he's alive" or see another parent trying to parent with out thinking that they're taking their kids for granted, that they don't love them enough. Its an exhausting way to be. And I wish I didn't yearn for the days "before". I wish I could just accept this role my life has taken on and live it to its fullest. I feel whinny and selfish and like I'm refusing to let go. Like this role defines who I am now, and with out it that I wouldn't know how to be anymore. But I can't. I can't think of myself as Heather, mother of one. Because I can't let it go. I have pictures. I have memories. It was real. For six months I was Heather, mother of two. And that reality is too much for me to overlook and go back to being Heather, mother of one. But no one outside of this circle sees me as Heather, mother of two. And I get funny looks to comments that I make that seem perfectly coherent to me, but obviously must fall into that crazy lady realm. Like people want to say "No, no Heather. You're mistaken. You have one child." and anymore its just easier to agree, to not try to explain it to people. Like this Sunday, being Easter and all. This would have been Logan's first Easter. Logan would be almost eleven months, maybe walking by now. Maybe Logan would have been able to hunt for eggs next to his big sister. There would be two Easter Baskets on the table. Two children on the bunny's lap. A family of four in all of the pictures. How many of the "outsiders" are thinking about this stuff? Who do you think actually thought to themselves that Logan will be missing, that Logan should have been here to experience this with us? And come Sunday I'm sure there will be a moment when I look distant, lost, or sad and someone will notice and someone will mention it...and they will have never thought it would have had something to do with a baby that never quite made it to this life. And how would I explain it to them? How fourteen months later it still feels like a ton of bricks slamming into me every time I stroll down that lane? How after fourteen months, well, I'm just not quite over it yet. And if I did chance an explanation... Well how could it possibly be that I'm still mourning? There must be something wrong with me. Because its not normal right? People die, we move on. That's the way its supposed to be. That's the way it is most of the time when someone dies. But not when a baby dies. Not when the story ends before it was ever written. It all leads back to that same old feeling, I shouldn't be doing this, any of it. So, its too hard to explain. Its easier to just smile and shrug it off like that person was imaging something ridiculous. Its easier to let people think that you "got over it" and "moved on" and that you're still okay in the head and that it wasn't that big of a deal and that it didn't really change you. It's just easier that way, and these days, I'm all about doing what's easiest.

You know, I asked a question over on The Dead Baby Club Blog about how loosing a baby has affected your relationship with your parents (go add your own thoughts if you'd like). A few people commented on how its affected other relationships, and I've been thinking a lot about my husband. Not so much about how its affected us as a couple, because I think its still too early to know for sure, but how its affected him as a person. I know the ways that I've changed, ways that others can't even begin to understand, even ways that I may not even be noticing. But what about David? David's different. Not good or bad, just different. I can't quite explain it, or even single anything out in particular, but the question has gotten me to obsessing about him. How he's doing, how he's coping...is he coping? What he thinks about, what he feels about it. For the most part I splash myself out across these pages with out a whole lot of editing. He reads my blog (Hi babe!) he knows how I feel, who I've become, what I fear. But most men are so private. Men don't like to talk about their feelings. Especially my man. Its left me feeling like I wish it was mandatory for men to blog after something like this occurs. I wonder how many times I was off my rocker and David read my blog and was like "oh, I get why she's acting that way!". I don't have that. I mean, we used to talk about it, in the beginning. He used to be real up front about what was going on with him, but that's gone by the way side now. I ask on occasion how he is, but for the most part I get the same generic answer. I don't want to fix it, I don't know how. I just want to know where he's at. From what I've tried to figure out, he's about six months behind me in the grieving process. Like he took the first six months to keep me from going over the edge, and then took time to start his grieving. But its hard for me to remember where I was six months ago. I don't know. I just don't know what to say to him anymore with out sounding like a broken record, or like I'm prying or something. And no one wants to talk when they're having a bad day, and I don't want to bring it up on a good day and make it bad. It leaves me feeling lost about the whole thing. And I just want to know where he is, and where I am, so that we can try to work together and try to figure this mess out. Life was complicated enough beforehand, now its even more complicated and weird. And I can't help but have this nagging feeling that something isn't right, when deep down I know that its that damn elephant again.

I feel like I could talk for hours tonight. I have a lot racing around in my head, but I've so very tired and well...the Muffin doesn't like to sleep till noon the way I desire too. Hopefully I'll be able to fall asleep with out laying there staring into the darkness obsessing about things I can't change and fearing the ones I can.

Manic feelings

I'm not sleeping again, and I feel manic. Or more like a maniac. Either way, its exhausting. I'm tired, and I lay in bed and stare into the darkness and I obsess. I obsess about my family and the crap storm I feel like I am in the middle of there. I obsess about my marriage and my husband and I feel like something is wrong there and I can't put my finger on it. I obsess about myself and why I feel unloved, and why I feel worthless and why I don't feel like there is any hope...and it hit me tonight, maybe I'm not over the depression. Aren't those key signs of depression? And I know its somehow related to my cycle. I mean all women get moody just before the start of it, but am I just fooling myself during the two good weeks that I'm OK, and then when my hormones flux I find myself in another extreme? Its messed up, and it makes me weary. Weary of everything around me. The phone rings and I'm nervous who's calling. The mail arrives with no return address and I'm leery about opening it (since my step-mother has an affinity for sending me horrible letters and trying to disguise them with no return address, sending from a different state and changing her hand writing...yeah, I'm surrounded by crazy). I've even started dreading opening my email, because there's always something in there to deal with. I just don't want to deal with anything anymore. Its making me feel panicky. I'm starting to feel trapped and that makes me feel like I have to run and hide...except that I can't, because I really am trapped. Where am I going to go? I am a wife, a mother. I need my daughter near me. I need to be near the reassurance that is my husband, his steady and constant rhythm. Remember the good old days when if you wanted to remove yourself from the world you just unplugged your phone?? Now if you did that people would call your cell, then text you, then Facebook you, then email you...there's no escape. And how do you tell your family to leave you alone with out everyone taking it personal? Its just that I guess people have always been able to lean on me, and I've always propped them up with out much complaint, but I can't anymore. I don't want to. I want someone to ask me how I'm doing, and not because I'm some circus side show or a car wreck that makes people just HAVE to look, to stand witness to the horror, or because its a juicy tidbit of gossip, but because someone really does give a crap about how I am. And not just "someone" but the people in my life who are "supposed" to love me, who are "supposed" to care. And no one ever asks. Worse yet, I get the feeling its because people just expect that its been long enough. And no, I don't want to talk to them about Logan. I just wish they'd get a clue and stop pestering me with their mundane crap. Like all I do is sit around bored waiting for someone to saddle me with their problems. Really I just spend most of my energy trying to figure out how to avoid just that.

I cut off my Dad, step-mother and sister almost a year ago. My step-mother recently sent me two nasty letters. Illustrating, once again, that they never really got how impacted I was from Logan's death, not to mention the impact that they have had on my life as well. A subject, as I have stated before, that there are not enough words in all the worlds languages to explain that topic. But the thing is, it eats at me. Not my step-mom. She's worthless and evil and I can happily live out the rest of my days on this earth with out every having contact with her again. But my dad (and even my sister)...I just don't get it. How can you have such little love for your own child? How can a father neglect, abandon and take advantage of his children for years and years? I just don't get it. I can't fathom treating my daughter with such neglect and indifference. But the reason I cut them off is because I couldn't take anymore hurt. And in the year since I cut him off he's tried to contact me three times, the last one being in September. And, ironically, its not that I want him to actually contact me because I am so done with that. I can't take it anymore. But the fact that he put up so little of a fight for his daughter... Its just one more thing.

I'm tired of feeling obsessive. I'm tired of these extreme highs and lows and feeling manic. I'm tired of me being up when David is down and vice versa. I'm tired of feeling out of control and I just want some peace in my life. Some steady rhythm. I want to feel like these uphill steps that I'm taking are actually taking me uphill, instead of feeling like for every 2 steps forward I take 3 steps back, and not loosing an weight while doing it mind you. Its an exhausting way to live and it has worn me down again. It affects my very personality. It affects our marriage, how I mother my daughter and how I look at myself as a person. I don't like this person, and I'm too worn out to do anything about it.

I've been thinking a lot about Logan the last few days. Nothing has really prompted it, and it isn't making me weepy or anything, but he sits in the corner of my mind demanding attention at the most bazaar times! Every baby I see, every pregnant woman, every blond headed little boy. Each one of them jumping up and waving their arms at me, and I notice them. And I think of him.
Logan would be about 10 months old these days. No longer a tiny baby. Eating solids, sitting up, crawling and maybe even walking by now, well on his way to crazy toddlerhood. Sigh. Maybe its hormones. I think about having more children on a regular basis. I'm ready now. Well, ideally, come October I'd like to give it another shot. It has a lot to do with dates. I'd rather not get pregnant at the same time, deliver around Jan or May. I want a totally new experience. Anyhow, I just feel like I've been kicking around at my memories like one does with the moss.
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Wanted, a new rock to hide under.

I spend most of my time wishing I could hide. Wish I could disappear, be someone other than who I am, or somewhere other than where I am. But the thing is that life went on. I didn't get to sit around and lick my wounds for eternity, which is what I really wanted. Most days are good days. Most days I smile and have fun and enjoy life the way it is now. But I always have the nagging desire to run away. Responsibility keeps me here, and logic. Well, and David. I'd sure miss him. I'd take my daughter with me of course, which would be cruel to the both of them I know. But I want to start over. I want to be able to live in a world where ugly things don't keep hunting me down. Its not rational or possible, I'm not claiming it to be so. But I usually feel the shadows come creeping up behind me. The most mundane things start to overwhelm me, I become overly sensitive and I just want to sit in a corner with my hands over my ears and cry "la, la, la" as loudly as I can so that I don't hear anything else. How can I be expected to deal with anything outside of the overwhelming gunk in my own brain? I want to sit on the couch, watch a movie and fade away. I want the outside world to go away, to leave me be. I feel so attacked lately. Like people think I'm too happy, so they do there best to get inside my head and poke around, dig up bones, scratch at the scabs. I don't agree with being an addict, I know better, but I understand it now. I understand that intense and overwhelming desire to hide your mind, to numb it up and soothe the aches.

Its been weird around here lately. I can't explain it. I just feel it. The shadow that looms in the room day in and day out. The distance in Davids eyes. Almost like the both of us walk around with our hands pushed out in front of us, keeping everything at bay, even each other. I'm too tired to deal with it, to confront it. I know what it is, and I can't muster up the strength to banish it. And should I? Shouldn't grief run its course when it sees fit? Shouldn't David be allowed to go through whatever it is he's going through with out me pestering him and prodding at him. Its what I want. I want to be left alone, to deal with myself as I see fit...when I'm ready to do that. Its hard when you are feeling so much ugliness inside and the one person you would go to for relief is also feeling that ugliness. We are useless to each other.

I just want to be left alone. I don't want to deal with anyone else's problems, or insecurities. I don't even want to hear about them. I know that's selfish and weird. I know it is. But I just want to run screaming when I'm confronted with it. All it makes me do is cry. Cry from frustration, cry from sorrow, cry from feeling hopeless and helpless. Cry just cause. And I hate to cry, which adds to it. It gives me a headache.

I just want to go away for a few months. Hawaii would be nice. Just the three of us, and disappear from all of the crap that is in my life. I just don't ever feel like I got a chance to get away and deal with me and what I needed.

The new look

Well I'm finally finished with the new look here. I hope it all is easy to see and navigate. If you notice any issues please don't hesitate to let me know. Thanks.

My latest obsession

You know what "they" say...

So, this is my latest obsession or project or whatever you want to call it. And thanks to Emily, I've been able to stay pretty occupied lately. This is a name sculpture I made for my daughter.

When I made it I was just bored and didn't have a real plan in mind. But then it turned out pretty nice, so I thought why not whore myself out?? It gives me a creative outlet, and a few extra bucks...to help pay for my other creative outlets! :)

This one is probably my favorite. I did this one at Emily's request also. You can see all of the latest ones I've done on my scrapping blog here, or you can go see them in my Etsy store here. I thought they all turned out pretty cool and thought I would brag a bit. ;) Hope ya'll don't mind!

Oh, and about the mess that is this blog...I'll get working on cleaning it up ASAP! Sorry.