Pregnancy and all its horrors this time around!

*This post contains talk about my current pregnancy.

I have no intention of turning this into a "rainbow baby" blog, but there are just some things I need to get out, and well...now I'm pregnant, so...

Worry. You know, when you're pregnant there are so many things to worry about. Lump on the fact that you've had a baby die, or maybe more than one (as in my case), and well...there's a whole lot of worrying. Not a day goes by that a pregnant post-dead-baby-momma isn't freaked out about something. I'll be honest though, most days I can pretend everything is normal. I say pretend because if I sit down and give it much thought, I'll easily be in a panic and well, frankly, its easier to cope when I avoid and deny all of the horrors that could or might come my way. Its an exhausting way to live and it makes it hard to bond with the baby. Sometimes denial and avoidance aren't such bad things.

Bonding is really hard. You see, I have trouble with ambivalence during pregnancy for about the first 5 months. I had it with my daughter (who is living) and again with Logan up until about a month before he died. With Rudy I never even got the chance to accept that I was really even pregnant since everything happened so soon and so fast. I have it again now, and I'm 17 weeks along. I'm holding out hope for that to go away soon, though the doc says it may not, given the horrors of the last two pregnancies. The doctors say its not uncommon and is related to hormones. I say its uber confusing to desperately want a baby, and than to feel nothing when you are finally pregnant, or worse yet, to feel like you've made a colossal mistake! Sometimes the guilt is overwhelming.

Fear. I'm afraid of everything. Most of its irrational. I'm constantly afraid this baby will die. That the baby will have some terrible condition. That the doctors will miss something (I have 5). I fear for my daughters life. I fear for my husbands life. I fear for my own. But then, I think everyone must have these fears. Maybe mine are just a little more...pronounced. I fear that I'm not eating enough vegetables, or gaining enough weight, sleeping on my back too much, using the stairs too much. I'm afraid of chemicals in my food, in the cleaning products, in the air. I'm afraid that there is too much stress in my home, and that's bad for the baby. I'm afraid of preterm labor now that the doctors tell me that I shouldn't be having braxton hicks this early, and I get them all day long. I'm afraid of the meds I took early on to combat the plague I got right after I got pregnant. There's just so much to fear this time that I was "lucky" enough to be ignorant to before.

Stress. I keep hearing how stress is bad for a baby. For the most part the stress that I get is from the pregnancy or my five year old. My five year old is a challenge. There's nothing wrong with her, she doesn't have special needs and she's not a bad kid. She's head strong. She argues about everything. She ignores me, and she throws tantrums to rival a two year old. I love her and thank God for the blessing that she is in this house every time I pray, but lets not fool ourselves or anyone else...kids are hard. She is hard. And most days I feel lost on what to do. I even took the parenting class "Love and Logic". And I'll be honest, I'm the problem, not her. I made her this way. I mean granted, God gave her a strong will, but I have been the one that has yet to find a way to tame it and to help her reel it in. Lately my biggest issue is exhaustion. I'm tired. I'm 36, overweight, out of shape, perpetually sad, pregnant and I. Am. Tired! And sometimes I just stare at her. I can't even discipline her sometimes because I just can't muster up enough energy to deal with it. This morning I grounded her for the first time. Usually she looses a privilege, sometimes more. Today I told her she was grounded, and that meant no toys, no friends, no TV...just chores, all evening. BTW, this elicited a tantrum on a grand scale. Today I lost my cool. Today I did a lot of screaming. I'm not proud of that. I hate that. I grew up in a house with a screaming mother and I swore I would NEVER be that mom. The screaming is stressful, it solves nothing and frankly usually makes things worse. Today has been a very stressful day. I was cleaning for the impending visit of my brother and his girl friend, hoping for a grand announcement of some sort. But then I got word form the GF that my brother has been committed yet again. My brother is young, only 26, a psyche major (if you can wrap your head around that!). But he has a lot of demons, a lot of sadness, a lot of anger and a lot of right to be. BUT, he drinks when those demons show up, and his drinking negates the affects of his psyche meds (for depression, I believe). And then he gets stupid. And all we can do is stand in the shadows and gape in horror at what used to be the worlds sweetest little boy. It makes me feel helpless. It makes me sad, knowing his demons, knowing I can't do anything to make them go away, knowing all I can do is stare at the train wreck that he has become. And I have an immense amount of shame and guilt that I want to run and hide from him. I want to not know. I want to protect this itty bitty baby that is growing in me and I want it to be born healthy, and living and normal. I don't want ANY stress. I feel like I walk a fine line and that it wouldn't take much to push me into the abyss of grief, and THAT would definitely not be good for the baby, or anyone else.

Sadness. I feel like I have been perpetually sad for a little over four years now. Granted, things are way better than they used to be. And I get that I have a right to be sad, two great reasons really. Their names are Logan and Rudy. And I knew that this baby wasn't going to take that sadness away. I did, really. I guess what I wasn't prepared for is the sadness that this pregnancy would add. I'm sad for this baby now too. I'm sad because my daughter is aware that babies die, and she prays in class every day for this baby. I know she is nervous, she's said as much. She's five. She shouldn't have to fear such things. I'm sad because I can't bring myself to buy anything for this baby just yet. I'm sad because I'm haunted with thoughts that it could be too early, what if... I'm sad that this baby has such a gap in age with its sister, and that it will grow to know about the two other siblings, before him/her, who died. I'm sad to think that Logan and Rudy had to die in order for this child to be. I'm sad that I fear a boy, that my dh fears a boy.

Pregnancy post-dead-baby is full of things I didn't quite expect, and lacking some that I did. And I know in the end this will all be worth it...if I end up with a living baby. I know that ten years from now I'll look back with a completely different perspective. But when you're pregnant everyone expects you to smile and love every minute of it. No one really knows about the haunts of this reality. People keep saying for me to have only good thoughts, and that God came through for me. And I just don't get it people! I am 7 weeks away from the point in which Logan died in utero, and with out a hint of a problem. And babies die ALL THE TIME!! For good reason, for unknown reasons, for no good reason. Babies die in spite of happy thoughts and prayers. And when they do, it isn't because God didn't come through, or there wasn't enough faith or hope or desire or whatever. Babies die. They just do. Its an ugly part of life.

Celebrating Pregnancy Again - a Book

Celebrating Pregnancy Again - a Book

This is a link to a new book about pregnancy after a loss.  The book is about her personal journey.  It is available for the Kindle free until tomorrow (Feb 13th) otherwise it is $3.  It is also available in paperback through Amazon for $8, and for PDF download for $3.  I haven't read it yet, but I did download it.  Thought I'd share it.

Another pink line...I should be smiling, right?

Sigh.  Time.  It has a way of creeping by.  January 24th marked four years since Logan died, as well as reminding me that Rudy should've been celebrating his first birthday...and that the Muffin is growing up since she turned five and on that day we discovered her first loose tooth.  Yesterday I pulled that tooth, which was obscenely loose, out of her mouth.  Time.  It creeps by and we take a moment to look up and poof...so many moments and memories have passed by.

 

Logan.  I can't picture him at four.  I couldn't ever picture him as a baby either, but rather a two year old.  He will forever be two for me.  It makes me sad, not being able to even create who I think he would be.  But lately I haven't been able to feel much of anything other than ambivalence and fear.

 

Blame it on hormones.

 

After nine cycles, and on our last try, we became pregnant for the fourth time.  I'll be 12 weeks tomorrow.  I'm safe now, right?  [She scoffs]  I'll be honest, I have always struggled with ambivalence and maybe a touch of depression, during the first 5 months of pregnancy.  But lumping on the tragic circumstances of my past just amplifies it all the more.  Frankly, I'm terrified.  And no amount of ultrasounds and heartbeats and shallow reinforcement from "outsiders" can ease that for me.  I'm twelve weeks, second trimester, past the miscarriage prime...its been confirmed that its alive and in the uterus (bonus!) but then, so was Logan.  In fact Logan was perfect, until he just wasn't, all of a sudden...at 24 weeks.  And I tell you it irks me to no end the ignorance that is spewed at me!!  "God has come through for you!" (Well, maybe, guess we'll see).  "Surely it won't happen again!" (Why?  Because two flukes are enough?).  "Have faith" (Because my lack of it killed my other two?).  "Think happy thoughts!" (Because they are like a magic wand, and poof!?)  And it goes on.  Sadly it comes from those closest to me, the ones who HAVE to believe it'll all end happily.  I dunno.  In the end I feel like they think my concerns and fears are silly and unwarranted.  And really that just leaves me feeling alienated.  No one gets it.  And that should make me happy, right?  Because the only ones who get it have been there, and I certainly wouldn't wish this on anyone.  But really I just feel very alone, and freaking out with out anyone to seriously talk to about it.

 

I'm pregnant, so I should be happy, right?  I mean, that's what I thought was going to happen.  I thought I would be thrilled!  That's what everyone expects of me, right?  Its what I wanted.  Everything will be better, you'll be happier, get a happy ending (because "You deserve it!).   But I'm just scared, and reluctant.  I'm so much older now, so much time has gone by.  My daughter will be almost 5 years its senior, and I will be raising (hopefully) two only children.  The odds of this baby being born alive and healthy are pretty low.  No, I don't have any moments of happiness about this pregnancy.  That bliss has long passed me by.  I fear the worse, and the just as bad!  I fear a dead baby, a severely handicapped baby, a severely handicapped baby who will die a baby.  I fear what that will do to my daughter who is old enough to comprehend the horrors.  I fear what that will do to my husband who maintained all along that he did not think this was the right thing to do.  I fear what it'll do to my marriage.  Oh, and that's lumped in with all the other fears of motherhood.  What if the baby has colic?  What if I'm too old to do it again?  What if my daughter can't adjust?  SIDS.  Whooping cough.  Chocking.  Falling meteors (or is it meteorite?).  And all of this fear is suffocating.  Did I mention I've been sick twice, once with a fever for 4 days?!  Did I mention that I'm high risk for about four hundred other things.  Oh, and lets take into account my "advanced maternal age" now that I'm 35.  Every day I look in the mirror and ask myself what I was thinking.  In fact, the day I found out I immediately told my husband and then freaked out crying "what the hell did I just do?"  Because this was all me, and only me.

 

These past 12 weeks have been such a roller coaster.  Most of the time I've been waiting for the other shoe to fall.  Waiting to see if it stuck, waiting to see if it was ectopic, waiting to see if it was viable and now waiting to begin testing for Down Syndrome (since that's what Logan had).  We do that on Thursday.  And I love the ignorant people who like to try to reassure me that having a child with Down Syndrome can be a very rewarding experience.  Seriously?  First of all, who would want that for their child?  And secondly, the average person has no clue about what having DS entails.  How horribly painful it can be for a child.  If that child is ever even born, since 75% of them die before birth, most die before their 1st birthday.  A child who makes it past 5 is rare, and lucky.  Don't preach at me about having a child with Down Syndrome.  I know full well what it entails, down to every gory detail that I could find in print.  That rare door greeter or McDonald's employee you see out and about on occasion, they're the exception to the rule.  They're the mild cases.  No.  I fear DS as much as I fear another dead child (if not more).  Because for me, they are one in the same.

 

This is it for me.  My last hurrah.  At almost 36 (April) if this child dies, and if I wait the recommended year to grieve, and if I managed to talk my husband into it again (he'd more likely try to snuff me out), and if I managed to conceive quickly...I'd still be 38 before that baby would be born.  And after having my first DS baby at 31...well, I think the doctors would call me crazy for doing it again.  I know what my odds are of having another baby with DS.  They're not great.  I wouldn't risk it at 38.  So this means, living or not, this is my last child.  Which brings me full circle back to the issue of time.  It crept by while I was living and then weeping, and one day I woke up and realized I'd missed my opportunity.  But I still feel like I'm 19.  It was just the other day, I swear.

 

In the end, I realize, that if this baby makes it healthy and living, I'll think that all of this fear and worry was worth every penny of it.  I've had a living child, I know what is coming my way and how I felt when she was born.  I know that I'd do it all over again.  But I also know how wrong it can go, how unexpectedly and how quickly and how late in a pregnancy.  I know that there are thousands of things that can go wrong between now and August.  I know how fragile life is, and how it is not a guarantee no matter how much you pray and beg and hope and think happy thoughts.  Sometimes it just happens, and there's never a good reason for it.  So right now, I'm so deep in a fog that I can't see past the fear and anxiety.  I can't picture this baby any more than I could Logan or Rudy.

 

Have you experienced a subsequent pregnancy?  What was that like for you?

Is the price too much?

"Life is both pain and pleasure.  If this is the price you must pay for the hours you enjoy, is it too much?"  -Paolini (Eldest)

We are TTC...again.  In February my DH quietly, and with an overwhelming look of fear in his eyes, relented.  I won.  I guess.  If being granted the right to proceed into horrifying territory where monsters lurk, waiting to trample our hearts again, can be considered a win.

I thought I'd be happier.  I thought I knew what I wanted.  I thought I had it all figured out and under control.  You see though, now that the reigns have been passed to me, I am frozen with fear.  How much of a price am I willing to pay to find that elusive happy place?  How much am I willing to sacrifice, to forgo?  Who am I willing to sacrifice?  Myself?  Absolutely.  Not a question.  I'd do it again and again and again.  Been there, done that, survived...twice, if you can consider what I've done as surviving...I didn't off myself, so...  I know that in the end, if I get a healthy, living baby, its all worth it.  But what if a hundred die and not one ever lives again?  What if the child is so ill that I find myself wishing that the baby would have died.  [GASP!!]  But in reality I know that my two dead babies never suffered, never felt pain.  Is not my wish for their life, even with horrific handicaps and deformations, pure selfishness?  I struggle with this notion.  But, I have learned to disconnect myself from the reality of the horrors.  My husband?  Not so much.  Then there is the Muffin to consider now.  How will by daughter, who is 4 1/2, handle another dead sibling?  She knows of the other two.  It affects her more than I like to admit.  She mourns for them, cries for them, misses them.  She knows they should be here, and she knows she should have living siblings to fight with and to play with.  She knows of the still birth of another very close friend's child.  She was 3 1/2 when he died, she cried.  I believe she understood.  Am I willing to put her through another trauma because maybe, just maybe, this one will work out?

Most days I feel like a selfish bitch.

This past cycle was our first try.  Immediately I got sick.  I had a fever for 3 days.  I was freaked!  A week later my daughter breaks out in this weird rash, Molluscum is going around.  It can last for 4 years.  I freaked again!  Freaked so bad that I had my baby biopsied.  The spots have faded, Molluscum doesn't do that.  The derm is almost certain it was an allergic response.  Almost.  So, I'm still freaked.  Yesterday I started my cycle, 3 negative pregnancy tests later and one day early.  And get this, I was relieved!  Relieved!!  What?!

And I wonder.  Do I really want another baby, or do I just want control over the decision?  Was that the bigger issue, that I didn't have control over whether there would be another baby or not?  Am I ready for sleepless nights, screaming, diapers and toddlerhood all over again?  With the Muffin knocking on the door of five, we are finally seeing the light at the end of the tunnel.  The old argument that she needs a playmate is invalid at this point, its been too long, the gap too wide.  They will not be playmates.  But I stand firm that people need siblings  (I have 6).  They need someone to go complain to about their parents, and who better to understand than a sibling?  They need someone they can turn to when they don't feel like they can turn to friends or parents.  They need someone to have when we are dead and gone.  And yet, some siblings hate each other.  Some siblings rarely speak and are like strangers passing bye.  Some siblings die earlier than their parents.  My argument is losing its water...

This is it.  My husband said he can't do it again after this.  Frankly, I wouldn't put him through it a 4th time anyhow.  So, if we don't naturally conceive (and soon), or if another baby dies, I'm done.  We're done.  My DH seems to be in a constant state of panic.  Making babies isn't the innocent fun it used to be.  Fear lays there in the bed next to you, stares at you from the corner of the room.  Anxiety screaming in your ear.  Its a wonder either of us can even perform.  Sexy, eh?  Romantic, eh?  No.  Its not.  Its terrifying when you take that leap of faith.  Its terrifying when you put yourself out there on the limb again, waiting to be knocked off of it again.  Waiting for what surely must be the inevitable.  Outsiders don't get that.  "Try again, surely it won't happen again."  Surely.  But we know, don't we?  How many of us have lost multiple times?  Too many to count.  But the outsiders like their ignorance, and why shouldn't they?  But its huge, and its scary.  And each day of those two weeks are spent in a constant state of anxiety.  Am I?  Could this be it?  Please God, let me keep this one!  The turmoil and anxiety that engulfs us during those two weeks of not knowing is insane.  Then the huge let down when we are not.  The weird twisted and conflicting emotions if we are.  Yeah.  Its scary.  You see, even though this is our first official cycle TTC, there have been a few other times...  Times when I prayed one way and he prayed another.  Times when I tried to hide the anger and frustration and disappointment while he tried to hide his relief.  How are we a comfort to each other?  Luckily I am married to a patient, understanding man.  Luckily he can put aside his fears and comfort me in my disappointment.  Because even though he desperately does not want to go through this again, he wants me to have a shot at happiness, or at least contentment.

Though, we all know, one living baby just does not replace the dead one.  If only it were that easy.

How high of a price are you willing to pay?  How many dead babies can you suffer?  In the end, is all of the anxiety worth it?  Have you had another child post dead baby?  What did you do if you and your spouse were on separate pages (or even books)?

Waiting for the other shoe to drop

Do you fear the death of your living children?  I feel stupid crazy weird odd admitting this, but I do.  It's like I'm waiting for the other shoe to drop.  And this week it's beating me down.  Next week my four year old, my only living child, my first child, my real fluke it would seem, is having her adenoids removed.  I know, I know.  Simple.  Common.  No big deal.  No big deal, I suppose, if you've never held your dead child.  I'm not even allowed to voice my anxiety over her looming surgery, because no one gets my fear!  And frankly I'm tired of the looks and I'm tired ot the arguments that are supposed to win me over.  You see, its not that I'm afraid of the surgery in and of itself.  I think the doctor is great, he's a pro, he'll do a great job...but...what if she doesn't wake up from anesthesia?  What if she gets MRSA or some other horrible disease while at the surgery center?  What if we find out the hard way she's allergic to some med (like her grandfather who had his heart stop during back surgery due to Demerol, though the doctors assure me this is not hereditary...but what if it is...)?  And then, to add to my anxiety, a fellow BLM sent me an article on this genetic mutation that causes children to over-metabolize Morphine causing an overdose and death.  You can freak yourself out if you want and read it here on Baby Center.  So, freak concerned mother that I am, I called the doctor and asked the nurse to ask him if he's heard of this and can she have something else...you know...just in case.  Shockingly, he called me back and left a message.  Yes, he's heard of it, and yes they can prescribe something else, call him back if I have any other concerns.  Nice of him.  He probably rolled his eyes and cursed Google.  I bet doctors hate moms who call all freaked out about something rare they read on the Internet.  I try to not be one of those mom's, but I couldn't help myself this time.

And then today...

Today Aubrey fell and smacked her mouth on the wood floor.  People, her head bounced!  And I tried to be all cool, shaking like a leaf and trying not to pass out (because though blood doesn't freak me out, HER BLOOD does!) while comforting her and cleaning up the blood, and praying that she still had teeth below all of that blood.  And I spent the entire day running her around.  First stop, pedi.  Does she needs stitches?  We don't stitch.  No kidding, but you'd know if she needs stitches, so clue me in.  Could use a stitch, but better to not traumatize her.  Ok great.  Let's get ice cream. Two hours later, its still bleeding.  Run into nurse, what do you think?  Needs a stitch or two, shouldn't keep bleeding.  Go home.  Call MIL.  She looks, nah, put wet bread on it.  WHAT?!  Seriously?  You should take her to dentist since she is complaining that her teeth hurt.  Ok.  Went to dentist.  DD has a mini melt down and won't allow Xray.  Weird, but ok.  Exam.  Looks ok.  Don't stitch.  Sigh.  Good.  But, she has several cavities!  WHAT?  Sigh.  I need a margarita.  Went for a walk instead.

You see, I know that I'm a freak.  I get that.  I don't live in denial about my irrational fear.  But today I felt like a bad mom.  And not because she hurt herself.  Hey, it was sad and I felt bad for her, but these things happen.  No, I felt like a bad parent because all day I was terrified that this was the beginning of some hideous end to her little life.  That this innocuous fall damaged her brain (which isn't that far out since the poor kid had a concussion at 3 from what seemed like a minor bump to the head and I wasn't even aware of it!).  That the gaping wound in her mouth would fester and introduce some hideous form of bacteria that I can't pronounce, much less spell.  That, if nothing else, her cute little baby teeth would die and/or fall out and it would somehow damage her self esteem and self image before she ever had a chance.  And all of these ridiculous thoughts make me feel stupid and weird.  I can't even be a normal mom to my living daughter anymore because I'm so consumed with terror over what feels inevitable to me.  Her death.  And all the while trying to be light and play it off to her so that she isn't in a panic and scarred for life because her mother is a FREAK!

Feeling like a freak is tiresome.

Being from a Christian family, I asked my brother to pray for my daughter that she doesn't have any complications next week.  My brother texted back "Don't worry sis.  God protects the little ones.".  I mean, what do you say to that?  Because what I wanted to say was something along the lines of "Sometimes, I guess."  What do you say to the moms whose little ones were not protected?  Logan wasn't.  Rudy wasn't.  So why should I believe that Aubrey is?  Because I want it so bad to be true?  What about all of the other babies?  What about all of the kidnapped children, the molested ones, the abused, the murdered, the neglected ones, the ones who get MRSA and die, the ones who get cancer and die, the ones born with holes in their hearts or water on their brains?  Were they protected?  God protects our little ones when it is in his plan and there isn't a lick we can do about it if its not!  What about the 4 children last year who they discovered had this weird genetic mutation?  Three of them died with in 24 hours after having their tonsals removed (another simple, common procedure).  God didn't protect them.  So who am I to believe that I am the special one?  That my begging and pleading to keep my daughter will make a difference this time, when it didn't the last two times I begged to keep my children?  In the end, and I know he was trying to comfort me and be helpful so I take it for what its worth and I don't hold it against him, but its that lack of understanding that makes me feel so alone in this world. 

Yes, I believe God is in control.  That's the part that scares me.

Dusty Ovaries

I'm turning 35 this weekend.  Sigh.  I hate my birthday.  I don't know why Logan's death has had such a profound impact on the way I feel about my birthday, but it has.  Maybe its that whole getting older thing.  Three plus years ago, when Logan was conceived, my ovaries spit out a dry shriveled up egg that let my son down.  And here I sit, 35 looming like the biggest freight train you have ever imagined, and its barreling down the tracks at me...carrying my dusty ovaries.

That's what my friends husband calls them.  Dusty ovaries.  He said this, a few beers loose, to my friend (who is a few months younger than me) the other night.  Bastard.  And anyways, who's he to talk...more than a decade older than us with his wrinkly old balls!! [Enter Adam Sandler]

So every year, around this time, I get ugly.  I stomp around and snap at everyone.  I hate everything.  I overindulge on everything from sugar and fat to booze and TV.  Coincidently this turns me into a real bear the week after my birthday when I jump on the scale and see that, YUP, I'm still fat!  I guess that the only difference this year makes is that I am now aware of why I am being such a jerk to everyone around me.

Sigh.  I hate the time that has lapsed.  I hate the years that continue to move me further away from the memory of my son.  The faint, dream of a son, that I had so briefly.

We create the illusions we need to go on...

"We create the illusions we need to go on.  And one day, when they no longer dazzle or comfort, we tear them down, brick by glittering brick, until we are left with nothing but the bright light of honesty.  The light is liberating, necessary, terrifying.  We stand naked and emptied before it.  And when it is too much for our eyes to take, we build a new illusion to sheild us from it's relentless truth."  -Libba Bray "The Sweet Far Thing"

We do don't we?  We build illusions to help us cope, to forget, to move on.  My illusion, or dillusion perhaps, is that one day I will feel whole and complete, that my family will be complete and that I won't forever feel the gapping holes of the children who never came home to us.  I hold tight to this hope, and when it slips, I feel like I am drowning in that forever sorrow of missing children I didn't get to keep.  Building the illusion that "next time" it will be different, better.  It won't happen again, not three times.  The world isn't that cruel...but it is just an illusion.

I fight to go back to the blissful ignorance...

I fight to go back to the blissful ignorance, but it is too late.  The dull pain of truth weights my soul, pulling it under. I am left hopelessly awake.  -Libba Bray "The Sweet Far Thing"

Oh, how much I miss that ignorance!!

My Silence

I don't blog much anymore, obviously.  Part of it is lack of need, part of it is because I've been exposed.  Or at least I feel exposed, to my real life.  And you see, there was something special about being anonymous.  Not feeling judged by people I have to look in the eye, made it easier for me to be open and honest.  Not feeling like I have to explain myself and qualify each emotion, especially the ones I know to be irrational, but are there none the less, makes it hard for me to find comfort here anymore.  That makes me bitter.  I needed this space.  I'll be honest, it was an innocent exposure.  I believe deep down they were trying to help, to understand, not to gawk.  It just didn't work out that way on my end.   And frankly, now I just feel weird about this place.  Guarded.  Censored.  Fearful of my thoughts and the repercussions they could have on my real life. 

Anyhow...

So, seems like these days everyone around me is having a baby.  Sure would like to hide from that.  I'm currently in the middle of throwing my second baby shower in the past year.  That's tough.  I can't lie.  And though I am thrilled that my brothers are finally having children, being the only sister in the family, thus making me the "go-to" shower planner...is rough.  Most days I try to ignore the ache.  Its not about me, its about them.  They deserve their bliss.  I just wish I still had some...  I'm not jealous.  I don't begrudge.  Them having, or not having, babies doesn't influence my reality.  My children would still be dead.  I dunno.  Most days I keep those babies of mine in a protective haze.  Protecting them from the world, and the world from them.  The thing is, I have all of these conflicting thoughts and emotions that swirl around my fogged, perpetually mourning mind.  And most of the time they don't make sense and are irrational.  Which, frankly, irritates me.  I guess its because I keep waiting for it to all go away.  To wake up one day and go "Yup, that's done.  I'm over it."  Obviously that's not going to happen.  And really, I don't want it to.  Mourning those children are all I have of them really.  It makes them real.  If I wasn't sad for them, missing them, endlessly wishing that they were here, healthy and alive...well, wouldn't that be weird?  Because if my living daughter suddenly died now at four years old, I would endlessly miss her and wish for her to be returned to me.  I would for the length of my life.  And no one would expect otherwise, or think it odd.  I don't know why I've started to feel like I am odd for missing my other two children.

To try, again.

That's the fear on the forefront of my mind these days.  Oh, how badly I have wanted another baby!!  I kept saying I didn't want to go out like that, I didn't want to end on that note.  Like I refused to let nature knock me down and not get up and punch right back.  But the thing is, now that the decision is mine to make, and one that needs making soon, I'm not so sure any more.  I mean, with Spina Bifida hanging out on the sidelines waiting to take its turn to knock us down, the fact that Logan had Down Syndrome and that the odds of us having another child with Down Syndrome (ending in either another stillbirth, or even more awesome - a neonatal death, or at the very least a seriously ill child who will never know a normal life, probably never make it to it's 40th birthday and live a horribly painful existence)  is seriously high, and now let's throw in an increased risk of another Ectopic pregnancy thanks to the "fluke" we experienced last May...  I dunno, in that light, it makes the feeling of having a healthy living child seem like a real stretch, and that is dismal.  Let's lump in the fact that my husband is done, though is willing for the soul purpose of my happiness, but none the less is full of fear and would rather not tread down that path again!  Guilt.  The guilt weighs me down.  Guilt over the last two dead children.  Guilt over not being content.  Guilt over putting our living child through something that is not a necessity.  Guilt if it all blows up in my face, again.  Guilt over what that will do to my husband, to our relationship, to my daughter, to the people around me...and all because I didn't want to go out like that?  And when I think about it, and I talk about it, and I write about it and I see it all laid out plainly in front of me...I think I must be the most selfish person in the world...or nuts.  And yet, I come to the same conclusion each time...what if I decide not to have another baby, and then I change my mind and its too late (assuming that its not now) and I spend the rest of my life regretting it?  More wondering, "what if?".  Anymore I feel like my whole life is one big what if?  What if the kids would have lived?  What if Logan had been born with Down Syndrome and survived?  What if these dead babies have ruined us?  What if I never feel whole again?  What if another baby dies?  What if it doesn't?  What if I never get pregnant?  And though I keep 90% of this stuff to myself, its been eating at me a bit more every day.

perfect life...except..."  There is always that exception.  And each day I come to the realization more and more that no matter how much time goes by, I will always feel their hole.  I need to be okay with that reality.  I need to find comfort in what is, and not what is not.  Grief is like that though.  It follows us around, long after we are done with it.  It is a force that demands to be reckoned with.

Sigh.  I miss the ignorance.  It would be so nice to just feel like I wanted another baby, and so therefore, we'll do it again.  Now that decision is forever tainted with not only the normal fears of having a baby (Am I ready to do this?  Can I handle two?  Am I getting too old for this?)  but with the fears that only a mother who has dead children can ever have...  The knowledge, not just the fear.  I know what it feels like when it all goes wrong.  There is no more speculation.  There is no naivete about how bad it really is.  And maybe that is what scares me the most.  Maybe I'm not ready for another broken heart.

Because even if you think everyone has forgotten...

...There is usually someone out there who remembers. Crystal over at Calvin's Cupcakes remembered Logan's third anniversary on January 24th and made this for us.

So many times we go around feeling like we are alone in our misery. No one remembers that you were pregnant, that there was a living being here on this earth that looked just like you or your beloved. People forget that every day you pine for that tiny soul. People forget that shoving their big bellies in your face, or their newborns reminds you of how broken and lost you really are, what you've lost, what you may never have again... Its human nature to forget, maybe God's grace. I dunno. Out of sight, out of mind. We can't begrudge them [even if secretly we want to poke them in their perfect world, everything functions as it should, ignorant and blissful little eye!] and just when you think that every last soul on this earth (except maybe your beloved) has forgotten that you had a precious baby once too, someone comes along with a nudge to tell you they remember.

Thanks Crystal.

Blasted Holidays!

I hate Christmas time.  I mean, if I were honest, I would say that I have hated it since early childhood.  My parents are divorced.  I hated that it was always about them, who got us when...for how long, where we would be...know one ever asked me what I wanted to do on Christmas, where I wanted to be.  And my mom was always a screaming mess of stress, Christmas morning we were ripped out of our house to go be with my dad and his family...and here I am 34 years later and I still spend every Christmas on the road.  I hate it.  Now we can factor in Logan and Rudy, or rather the lack there of.  And its so hard for me to get outside of those facts.  And everything happened this time of year.  My first child, my living child, was born January 27th...Logan died the following January 24th...and now Rudy should have been born this coming January 21st.  I should be standing here with a huge belly.  Aching, starving, excited...  And here I am again...angry, sad, confounded.  And I stand here bewildered at what has happened to us.  Like its all this really cruel jape and I'm the dumb blond who isn't catching on.  I think that most of the time I must have this stricken look on my face.  Or the "duh" look.  And its narcissistic, I know, but I swear people still stare at me.  Like they KNOW.  Sometimes I feel like I have this weird appendage on my face or something.

I think as much as I still can not seem to grasp, much less accept, that I have children who are not with me, I think that I am starting to accept that I will be sad forever.  It is my destiny to grieve.  I mean shouldn't I?  I have two children who are dead.  Should I not be sad until the day that I die?  And it [stupidly] is just starting to dawn on me.  I should be sad.  I should be sad every moment of every day.  How weird would it be if I wasn't sad for my dead children?  How cold and heartless would I be?  Instead of worrying that I'm still sad, I should worry that some day I might not be sad...as much as I desperately want the sadness to go away, the sadness means that they were real, and that they mattered.

Yesterday my husband said that this year he is trying to live in the moment, to enjoy what we have and not to dwell on what we don't.  To enjoy our 4 year old daughter who is going to really come alive this Christmas.  It seems like a nice thing.  I'm going to work on that.  It seems like such a far stretch away for me.  I mean we can't avoid the elephant in the room, especially now that there are two here, but we live each day living around them, with them.

I thought I was pregnant last week.  I had convinced myself that I was.  Funny, the things your body will do if you believe hard enough.  By the time my cycle rolled around, and 4 pee sticks later, I had pretty much accepted that I was not.  But I wanted it so bad.  And I know that another pregnancy won't fix anything, and in fact may make things worse.  None the less, I wanted it to be true with every breath that I took.  My husband is not ready for another pregnancy.  I know he wants more children, hoards of them, but pregnancy is such a scary prospect in this house anymore.  Who can blame him?  The Ectopic episode in May took a real toll on him.  Most of the time I just pretend it wasn't as serious as it was, or that it didn't really happen, or that I wouldn't have died because well...I just wouldn't have.  But he feels very differently about it.  The heartache in this house is so great.  Its breathtaking.

My 35th birthday is in April.  That scares me too.  How fast life has gone.  When you are young you are ignorant to how fast time goes.  And it has flown by for us.  We thought we had all the time in the world...even at 30 when my daughter was born.  But then having a baby with Down Syndrome at 31, when society tells us that it only happens to old women, will age you pretty fast.  The doctors seem convinced that my turning 35 doesn't make our odds of having another child with DS any greater than they were at 32.  Our odds are pretty high, in my opinion 1 in 100 is pretty high, regardless of my age.

I guess I am having a bad day.  I'm not sure why today is so much worse than the others, but today is definitely a bad day.  And its raining...which is always pleasant. :(  Sigh.

Just when you think you've risen above it.

Today I am hateful and angry. I mean really hateful and really angry! I thought I was past that now, but it keeps rearing its ugly head. I'm at the zoo. Its a gorgeous day, so we're not the only ones. And not that I begrudge all of these ladies with their tiny babies, and not that I hate the pregnant bellies that waddle by me. Its just that I should be close to 6 months along now. I should be waddling. I should have another toddler running ahead with his big sister to get a good look at the new baby elephant here at the zoo. I think its wearing me down again. For a time I was hopeful for another baby, because surely I wouldn't lose another... Lately I am keenly aware of how empty those hopes are. It leaves me feeling empty, hopeless and saddened on a whole new level. Fighting a fight I have no hope of ever winning. Trying to find contentment in a life with such missing pieces, when all I want to do is pound my fist against the walls that keep me from getting to the other side. And I hate it. I hate what has happened to us, and I hate what it has done to us. I hate that its everywhere I go, in everything I do and in everything I see. And its so hard not to feel like I deserved better, that my daughter and my husband deserved better. That it isn't fair for us to have to live in this shadow. And there are so often times when I feel like throwing my self on the ground, kicking and screaming and crying. Throwing a temper tantrum in the style that my daughter so often does. Because it isn't fair, and I want to scream "NO!" too!
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Death Barged In

I came across a recommendation for this poem while reading a post on Glow In The Woods this evening. I couldn't have said this better! I thought it was such a poignant way of describing this monster known as grief!

Death Barged In
by Kathleen Sheeder Bonanno

In his Russian greatcoat
slamming open the door
with an unpardonable bang,
and he has been here ever since.

He changes everything,
rearranges the furniture,
his hand hovers by the phone;
he will answer now, he says;
he will be the answer.

Tonight he sits down to dinner
at the head of the table as we eat, mute;
later, he climbs into bed between us.

Even as I sit here, he stands behind me
clamping two colossal hands on my shoulders
and bends down and whispers to my neck,
From now on, you write about me.

From Slamming Open the Door by Kathleen Sheedar Bonanno. Copyright © 2009 by Kathleen Sheedar Bonanno.

You can find the original posting on Poetry.org by clicking here.

Thousands (a poem for my children)

Thousands

Without their smiles, I will die with a thousand pleas and asking why. The sorrow that has come our way with the toll it takes and the price we pay. For the thousandth day that looms so near, our lives now ruled with mostly fear. These tears that don’t seem quite enough with trinkets to honor that are mostly fluff. Grief changes you in unknown ways. I’ve a patched up heart with seams that fray. Do I recognize you there in the mirror? Do I know the one who calls me “Dear”? This hole, this chasm, this missing piece; will consume me, I know, there’ll be no release. So a thousand days later. Oh, how much has changed! Our once perfect life has been rearranged. These children of ours, ashes now left behind, the others try hard to push from their minds. For who wants to remember a sorrow so deep, and the thousands of tears the parents still weep? They linger here still, amidst us, you know; these tiny lives with their big shadows. Dead before they ever were born. Is it not still my right should I choose to mourn? A thousand days or a thousand years, all I’ve left are uncountable tears. For who am I now, but the grief that I bear and the shattered bits of a life that’s unfair?

Written by H. Westphal

Well, at least something is growing.

2 years ago this week we planted this tree in honor of our sweet Logan. Its growing beautifully and I couldn't be more pleased with the tree. It also happens to be our 9 year wedding anniversary today, though we've been together for sixteen years. Odd how time goes zooming past. When Logan died each day seemed like an eternity, but as I look back on these last 2 years and 8 months I feel how fast they have also gone. I'm relieved to be past the gut wrenching pain that crippled me. The dull ache I feel these days is almost a comfort for me. The ache means he was real.
As I laid in bed last night I thought about just how awesome my life really is, except... It makes me sad, wondering about the life we almost had, the absolute perfection. Every day it occurs to me more and more just how lucky I am to have such a perfect living daughter. She's my little miracle, the exception. And with the clearance to start trying for baby number 4 looms off in next week, I find my self anxious and scared and already mourning the children I fear that may never come to fruition. As if mourning dead children wasn't difficult enough to figure out, learning to mourn for children that may never be is odd.
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In Good Company, a stolen post.

I read an excellent post today on She Brings Joy about being in Good Company when it comes to loss and the people in the Bible. I have often talked and posted about my struggles with my faith in Christ since the death of my son. And many are left with the impression that I no longer believe. And try as I may to convince people that I do still believe in God, just a different version than most people are familiar with, most people either come at me with verses that make no sense and have no bearing on my situation (therefor arguing God's case and or trying to defend Him, as if He needs their defense), or they dismiss me for being ignorant in the Word (which I freely admit to). The point is, "Anger is not disbelief." And though I freely admit to my anger towards God I know that he will meet me where I am, and work on me with what I have to offer. God can take my anger the same any parent can deal with the anger of a toddler. He takes it in stride, he understands it. He created the emotion.

I have no shame in my anger with God.

And now there is proof!

Trolling blogland today I came across a link on Beauty from Ashes to an article published on Yahoo! about the higher risk of death among parents of stillbirth and neonatal deaths with in the first ten years of their child's death. I copied it below for your edification:

From Yahoo! News (that's a link to the original article)

Parents who lose a new baby run a high risk themselves of dying prematurely,
according to a British study published on Thursday.

Investigators delved
into a random sample of national death registrations for the years 1971 to
2006.

They compared deaths among parents who had been bereaved in the
first year of a child's life or whose child had been stillborn, against deaths
among parents whose baby had survived beyond the first year.

Bereaved
parents were between two and four times likelier to die or become widowed in the
first 10 years of the child's death compared with non-bereaved counterparts.

Mothers in particular were at threat.

Bereaved mothers in England
and Wales were four times likelier to die prematurely, and bereaved mothers in
Scotland six times likelier, than women whose child had survived beyond the
first year of life.

The risk for mothers lessened slightly over time,
but was still significant -- 50 percent higher -- after 25 years. After 35
years, it was 20 percent higher.

The reasons for the mortality are
unclear because the data do not give the details.

The authors speculate
there could be a link with alcohol abuse among bereaved parents, and suicide,
too, may be a factor.

Alternatively, stillbirth and infant deaths could
be more common among parents who themselves are in poor health.

The
research, headed by Mairi Harper of the University of York in northern England,
appears in the specialist journal BMJ Supportive and Palliative Care.

:::

So, there you have it. As if being the parent of a dead baby wasn't bad enough, now we have to fear our own premature deaths! Sigh.

Tears and tears and more tears!

Two years and seven months later one might think that I'd have moved on, gotten over, healed...

And maybe its being in the wake of the stillbirth of my friends son that has brought everything back up front and center. Remembering things I forced myself to forget. Watching her pain is a kin to what it must've been like watching me from afar. Seeing her sorrow and grief reminds me of the sorrow and grief I had for so long, the sorrow that remains still. Knowing what's ahead of her, the horrors she will encounter that she has no clue are coming her way.

Yesterday, in preparation for our garage sale, my husband asked me to go through the baby stuff we saved from my living daughter. Sigh. It was just bad timing. This past week and a half was already filled with sorrow. Sorrow for what I have lost, sorrow or another dead baby, sorrow for the life my friend has watched go up in smoke. I tackled the chore with a margarita in hand (since my DD was at G'ma's) and forced myself to look through the baby paraphernalia, stone faced, detached and under the guise that it didn't matter anymore. Logan was a boy, Rudy a question mark (but I've worked it into my head somehow that he must've been a boy also), so ridding my home of baby girl clothes shouldn't bother me. It didn't mean I wasn't going to have another baby (my DH assured me!), it just meant that the new baby would get his or her own clothing. Like I'd ever be able to put a new baby in the few outfits that I bought specifically for Logan anyhow. I did ok, saving the last 3 bags of "neutral" clothing that I put aside before Logan died for last. There was one bag of all boy clothing, and in that bag were four very special little outfits that I bought for Logan just before he died.

I kept those.

They hang in the closet in the empty spare room...the room we dubbed "the baby room" in our new home because that is where we put all of the baby stuff when we moved in. In the end I kept very few things. A few really special dresses of my dd, Logan's clothes, and some other odds and ends. About a tenth of what was there. I did not cry. I sat there and I stared a lot. I listened to an audio book to help keep my mind busy.

Unfortunately it took me catching my brand new grill on fire and destroying it at dinner time to bring me to tears. And cry I did! I cried loudly and with everything in me. I cried for my grill, for Logan, for Rudy, for my friend and her baby, for babies everywhere, for the ghosts that haunt me, for the loss of future children...I cried and I cried and I cried.

I guess I needed to.

Missing my children

Today, sitting here in this peace, I miss our children and the way our life was supposed to have been. Its moments and days like these, peaceful ones, where I feel the hole the most. Days when I know there should have been three children building castles in the sand. Three tiny shrill voices hooting and laughing and shrieking in the water and running over the sand. Cleaning sand out of three sets of eyes. Nervous because its hard to keep an eye on three small children at the beach. Don't get me wrong, I love this day here at the beach with my daughter, my living child. She fills my life with sunshine and rainbows and there are moments when I dare not ask for more, moments when I am astounded that I could ever possibly even WANT more.

Yet, I do. Because I KNOW what I had, and I KNOW what's missing.
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"Look out!!"

I didn't realize how much watching someone else go through this would knock the wind right out of me. Its like watching a car wreck in motion. You wanna reach out your hand a scream "Look out!!" But the disaster in inevitable and there isn't a damn thing you can do about it.


And making food seems so trite.