"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.


Getting it together

There are times when things are really bleak. Then there are times like now where things feel like maybe, just maybe we're all getting back to "normal" and life is moving forward and I'm ok with it. Its a nice relief. Its hard to be sad. It takes a lot out of me when I get depressed, and I don't like who I am. Nor do I recognize myself.

I recently decided to really buckle down and loose all of my weight. Not just "some weight". I feel like I have reasons enough to motivate me, and keep me motivated. I won't go into them all because their the same reasons as everyone else (I'm tired of how I feel/look, my kids, my spouse, etc). But recently it came to my attention that should we ever decide to have another child, I need to give that child the best possible chance to start life with. Being overweight doesn't give them the best possible chances (gestational diabetes for starters). So, if I'm ever to have another child, my first priority is to loose these 50lbs and get my butt in shape, the right way. The healthy way. Because not only does The Muffin and the Husband deserve that, and me too, btw, but so does the little sprout I'm hoping for, my little Rutabaga (my dh decided to name our next child this, just in case, because we are so tired of hearing Logan's name on a regular basis. Especially since when we picked it out it wasn't even in the top 100, and last year it was in the top 5!!). All future reference to this child will be known as Rooty! LOL! Ok, not seriously. Not that the nickname might not stick, poor kid, but we promise to only name our children normal names. :)

Anyhow, so I'm on day 8 of the most successful diet stint I've ever been on. 8 days of eating on target and burning the amount I should (thanks to Apex's BodyBugg). I have a separate blog for that (http://thefattycakegirlsclub.blogspot.com) where I blather on about my diet excursions. You can join me over there if you'd like to gawk at me and see how terribly I have struggled in the face of depression and emotional eating for the past year and a half, and how I plan to only kick butt from this point forward! It ought to be real interesting!

I'd love to know if there are any of you fellow BLM's (or dad's for that matter) who blog about trying to loose weight post traumatic event. Let me know, I'll come follow you there!

We'll I'm off to make Potstickers for lunch. Keeping strong. Not caving in to the brownies that I really want to eat (even if I have to first bake them). Not caving into the soda I want SO BAD, or the Mochas! Feeling confident that I can get through this!! I mean hey, I survived the death of a baby...anything after this is cake right?? Mmm...cake!

Waves & Stages...There and back again.

Grief comes in waves and stages. We all know that. I've been there, and back again.

If nothing else has been proven in the past year and a half, this has; I am hypersensitive to everything these days. It doesn't take much to make me blue anymore. My mom used to say that things rolled off me like water on a ducks back. These days I absorb it. I store it up in little bottles and stick them on a shelf. I collect sorrow and grief in all its forms anymore.

This has been one crappy week. My emotions have been spun tight, unraveled and tangled together, only to be sifted through each night while I lay awake and obsess on things that can not be, things that might be, and things that are. Lately it is making me physically ill again. Between the mess of thinking and hoping and being so sure that I was pregnant, only to start my cycle...my house sitting stagnant on a stagnant market, with teasers dangling and nothing coming to fruition...to finally finding a new home for my dog, only to be saddled with so much guilt and sorrow over the decision that I can not sleep, and am trying to drown my sorrows in food to which point it actually hurts...and then reinforcing the issues I have with myself and my complete lack of ability to stick to my diet.

They say not to do anything major for a year after the loss of a baby. Don't move, don't quit your job, don't get a new pet...or get rid of one. Right around the time I got pregnant with Logan I started getting very disillusioned with my dog. When Logan died...well, she took the brunt of it. Some people turn to their pets for comfort. For me, Kaida was just one more thing I couldn't deal with. She stressed me out on a level I couldn't handle and I begged my husband to let me get rid of her. It took a year and a half to find a new home for Kaida, well past the "recommended" time frame, home that I thought was good enough for her. I didn't want to place her in a home where she wouldn't get anymore love or attention than we were giving her. This past Friday I found such a home. Its perfect really. Its everything we hoped for. And now that she is gone I find myself feeling as though I failed her. She counted on me to love her and give her a good home, and I let her down. I broke my husbands heart in the process. I took away my daughters puppy. I did it because I didn't think I could cope, and now I feel like a whiny selfish bitch. I keep trying to remind myself that its for the best. In the long run it will be better for everyone. Kaida deserved a home where she would get the attention she so craved and deserved. She is a great dog. She is sweet as can be, and the problem laid with me. I couldn't be the "mommy" she needed, and damn it if that doesn't ring deep into my soul on a level I can barely comprehend. But here I am once again feeling as though I failed my baby. The guilt has crept into my belly and is sitting there like a stone. I failed. Again.

Logan's death changed everything. I'm just beginning to really see this, how deeply it all runs. Just how much has changed. Things I never considered, things that are still being revealed to me. It scares me. This event that I couldn't control, couldn't stop, couldn't prevent, couldn't fix will hold a power over me that I will not ever be able to reconcile. It makes me feel broken. A deep down sort of broken. Irreparable. Scared. Sad.

Will I never be me again? Will I forever feel like the shell of the woman I was?

How I pictured my son.

I guess I'm breaking some horrible law or rule or code by posting a picture of some random kid. But I did it. The thing is this little boy is exactly the same age Logan would've been. 15 months or so about now. And, I always pictured Logan looking just like this. Blonde straight hair, blue eyes. Bruiser looking sorts dude. It made me sad. This whole week just sort of sucks. Then I got to see them play together! Because honestly I just needed one more dagger!
Sent via BlackBerry from T-Mobile

I guess its happy at the park.

What a difference a year makes. This month marks a year since we had this willow planted at the park near our home in memory of Logan. It was such a scrawny tree last year, but this summer it practically exploded. I guess its happy here at the park.
Sent via BlackBerry from T-Mobile

I'm trying to resume life as if Logan dying didn't change EVERYTHING. But it did.

So. I thought I was pregnant. Sigh. For the first time in about ten months my cycle was 3 days late. I took a test after I was one day late and it was negative, but the test had expired months ago, so I thought maybe it was just too old. I woke up this morning and I just knew I had to be pregnant. Three days is a lot late for me. And I won't lie, I was excited. I was scared too, but the hope and excitement over shadowed the fear. A few hours later I started. Of course I did. Not yesterday when I was still wondering, but today...after I had convinced myself it must be true.

The thing is, we aren't "trying". David isn't ready yet. Sigh. So he was scared, or nervous or whatever. And I think this morning when I passed the news on that I wasn't pregnant he tried to not cheer. But he certainly didn't sound disappointed or sad. I was very sad. I cried and it was weird and awkward, and I quickly hung up. Its hard to be on such extreme opposites on this issue.

I'm trying to be patient. I'm trying to be understanding. I'm trying to not loose hope. I'm trying to not see the future flying at me with the speed of a freight train and the big fat age thing haunting me. I'm trying to shut up that scary voice that says by the time he is ready...I'll be too old and the chances of DS so high it would be stupid to risk it. I'm trying to keep a clear head about the whole thing and be positive and I am trying, I swear I am trying, to be content with what I have now. It just wasn't supposed to be like this. And I'm trying to resume life as if Logan dying didn't change EVERYTHING. But it did. And sometimes that reality is really hard on me.

And today these cycle hormones are my nemesis. And today I am sad all over again for the ones that may never be, because of the one who was...and then so quickly wasn't. And all over again I hate what happened to us. I hate that I am here. I hate that Logan died and I hate that it changed everything and I never got a say in the matter.

Sparrow Farm Creations Memorial Prints

Songs for Logan


Get a playlist! Standalone player Get Ringtones
 
Home | Logan's Story | Contact Heather

Copyright © 2009 It only hurts when I breathe! |Designed by Templatemo |Converted to blogger by BloggerThemes.Net