Wondering, and forever altered.

So.

I have to be honest. Recently a few people IRL have found my blog. It makes me feel weird. I'm a pretty private closed off person IRL and I keep my cards close to my heart. So having every raw emotion splashed across the pages of this blog to be read, picked apart, misunderstood and judged by people I see on a regualr basis...well, its awkward. I'm trying to just deal with it. This is my safe place. This is where I come to work through the horror that is having a child die before his first breath was ever taken. But I still feel weird. I don't like being that transparent. I don't like feeling that vulnerable to people I know IRL. Especially people who can not begin to fathom where I've been.

But. I'm trying to deal with it. I'm trying to get past the awkwardness so that I can feel safe and comfortable here again.

Anyway...

I never thought a year and a half ago that I would ever be in the place that I am today. Hopefully that offers encouragement to others who may just be starting out. It does get easier to live with, in time. I don't have nearly the amount of bad days that I used to. Now they're not so much bad days as bad moments. I still don't like hearing his name called out randomly, like at the Zoo today. There's just something about that. I'm hanging out, oblivious, most likely not thinking of Logan and I hear his name called and its like being slammed in the face with it again. Some people think that this would desensitize me, but I'm sorry...it does not. Not anymore than hearing my husbands name called, not any more than hearing my living child's name called. The name Logan is special for me, almost sacred. I'll never get used to hearing it called out randomly. Songs do it to me too. There are just way too many songs out there that fit how I feel. Walking this evening I had one loop through my Shuffle. Creed. Don't Stop Dancing. The very beginning of the song is this:

"At times life is wicked and I just can't see the light. A silver lining sometimes isn't enough to make some wrongs seem right. Whatever life brings I've been through everything and now I'm on my knees. But I know I must go on. Although I hurt, I must be strong. Because inside I know that many feel this way."

Anyhow, you can read the rest of the lyrics here if you want. The song tried to kill me. And like some sadist I replayed the song like four times! I'm hormonal this week. Driving back from the zoo this morning I started crying. Why? Get this. Because I started to think about if I died, that my daughter wouldn't remember me (she's just shy of 3). She wouldn't know the enormous amount of love I have for her. She'd grow up wondering about me, who I was, if I loved her. It crushed me to think of it. I don't know what my problem was. I just chalked it up to hormones. they're never rational anyhow.

I miss Logan. I miss the dream of the life we planned on. I miss the innocence of not knowing about this side of reality. I miss the thought of having my two kids, the days I had planned for us. I've come to realize that even should I choose to go on and have another child, Logan will always be missing. He should be here even after baby number three (coyly referred to as Rudy these days). It should be Aubrey, Logan and Rudy. Three. Or Four. But it never will be. He will always be missing. Its a hard thing to grasp for myself. I don't expect anyone IRL to ever get a handle on that either. You know. You're supposed to move on. Have more kids. Forget it happened. I guess. I dunno. Doesn't seem possible. I think the reality of it is that the parents of these dead children just stifle and lock away thier thoughts, memories and dreams of these "secret" babies so that the outside world won't label them as weird or crazy. Not able to cope, get over, move on. If Logan would've died at the age of five I highly doubt the outsiders would feel that way, much less have the audacity to even suggest perhaps its time to move on. But because he was a baby...because we didn't have "real" memories with him...because he didn't really have a life...we should move on. What about the memories we do have? The memories of him kicking? The memories of the sound of his heart beat? The memories of his dead body craddled in my arms? What do we do with those memories? How do we get over those? Move past them?

Logan would've been 17 months now. A month older than Aubrey would have been when he should've been born. I struggle with the fact that I can not imagine what my life would be like with a 2 year 10 month old and a 17 month old, especially one with Down Syndrome. I had no problem imagining it before Logan died...but now its just weird. I try. But I don't see it anymore, not even with Rudy. I see Aubrey with children about his age and it rips open a gash in my heart that is a fraction from being unbearable. I try to not think that she is lonely. I try to not think that she will most likely grow up to feel ambivalent, maybe curious at best, about the little boy who was her brother. This little boy that I have so much love for, she will not. I have lots of brothers. And I can not for one second imagine what my life would've been like, who I would have been, if any one of those boys never was.

These days that's what I struggle with the most. Wondering what life would've been like. Wondering what I would've been like. Wondering what Aubrey would've been like had she grown up with a brother. Wondering what we would all be like if Logan had been given the chance to have a life here on earth. Wondering, and never knowing. Forever altered, and yet not knowing to what extent or just how.

I miss that tiny life. I still have so many tears for that little boy.

::: ::: :::

On a different note I am proud to announce that I have lost the thirteen pounds of depression weight that I put on after Logan died. In fact, I've lost another pound more than that. The day that I surpassed my pre-pregnancy weight I cried. Those blasted pounds were just another reminder. I hated those 13 pounds more than any of the other ones. Put on because I just couldn't cope with what happened to me. Put on because I wanted to feel joy, comfort...anything other than what I was. Put on because I didn't care anymore. They were the hardest freakin' 13lbs a person could loose. It took me a year and nine months to get more than 3 pounds to budge. But I finally did, and though I have another 45lbs to go to my goal weight, I feel like a new person not having those 13lbs on me anymore. I blog about my struggles with weightloss in the face of depression, toddlerhood and life at my blog The Fatty Cake Girls Club if you'd like to wander on over and gawk at me there too.

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!

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.

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.

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?

Father's Grieving Infant Loss

I posted this today on the DBC blog.
It's a blog by Tim Nelson (Author)
Father's Grieving Infant Loss
Might be a good place to hang out.

If you want to chuckle

I posted this on my other blog today. If you're looking to chuckle, take a gander.