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.

"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.

The Pioneer, the Harbor and the Land Mine

So, another one of my closest friends in now part of "The Club". She is in process now and will deliver a stillborn baby boy sometime in the next day or so. She was 33 weeks along with out any signs of trouble. Oh, and her birthday is this week.

It gets easier. But there isn't a day that goes by that I don't think of Logan, and now Rudy, and wonder what they would have been like. How our lives would have been. And each time another friend looses their baby I feel it all over again. I feel their pain, I feel my own. And I wonder how it could be that my life is so full of dead babies, when just a few short years ago a dead baby seemed more like a horror film than my reality. Now my horror film has sequels and spin-offs.

"They" say that God puts people in your life for a reason, and you in theirs. Now here I sit with my two newest friends, also being on my list of closest, and I will have walked this path with the both of them with in the past two and a half years, while losing another of my own in the mean time. I feel like the pioneer. And though I find some odd comfort having friends in real life who are in my boat, it sickens me. It makes me angry. It confounds me. I just keep asking how and why. And part of me feels like I'm supposed to be thankful that God put me in the lives of others who would all end up with this common bond, and part of me would rather just say "no thanks!" I'd rather have my innocence and ignorance back than to ever know that babies die, and they do it all the time.

Oddly enough I am able to be at the hospital with her and to talk her through the basics and the facts. The "what to expect when you're suddenly NOT expecting" if you will. Although I think I've removed my heart for the time being. Sort of like the wall you put up when you're holding some one elses newborn. It wouldn't do for me to sit there and be in hysterics. I felt like I talked her ear off while I was there. Nerves mostly, I'm sure. But as I left I felt like there were so many things I wanted to tell her. I wanted her to have a list of everything to expect from the hatred for the newborn's cry down the hall she'll be hearing after her baby's been silenced, to the gut wrenching feeling the first time she's realized she's forgotten she's not pregnant anymore, to the phantom kicks and the cruel joke that comes on day three when her milk comes in for a baby that didn't. I wish I could walk in front of her for the next year and warn her of all the canyons before she falls in them, before she encounters each and every idiot who's going to tell her that her baby is in a better place, and that God has a plan and that it was for the best. To be her neon sign, the one that I wanted so badly that shouted that I had a baby too, and it died, and damn it you'd better not forget it!

But all I get to be is a safe harbor, and then, maybe not. Maybe I will be a land mine. Maybe every time she sees me I'll just be a reminder that babies die.

We were pregnant together too. And it took her so long to get pregnant, and she wanted this baby so bad... And I was thrilled to death for her. And I know she felt terrible for me and helpless in May when Rudy died. Know I feel like I'm just a witness to a really cruel prank, or somehow even in on it.

There aren't enough Margarita's in the world for this.

Past the final milestone, and closing a chapter

Seems like I have so much to always say on here, but lately I just don't "feel it". Almost like I'm moving past this part in my life where I need to dwell and talk it out. These past few months I feel mostly like...I dunno. Like it happened, it sucked, I can't change it, it still makes me sad...but...there is a whole other side to life. Things that make me happy. Things that make me smile. Things that aren't necessarily more important, but more...I dunno, current? I'm worrying about selling my house, about getting my dog a new home, about my daughter growing up extremely fast. More important? I don't know, but certainly more urgent for my attention.

The other day, a man that works very closely with my husband, his wife went into labor at 24 weeks. Their baby was born alive, and then tragically died 20 hours later. David thought this was "worse" than what we went through. I get what he meant, not that any loss is better or worse than the other, but that their situation seemed like one giant tease after another. She'd been having trouble for some time, her water broke weeks ago. But every time something happened, it seemed like there was hope. Its sad. Its sad because babies dying are sad, but its sad because I know where that woman and her family are right now. Its sad because the pain is so horrific, and nothing, absolutely nothing, makes it better. I am sad for them. I am sad for the journey they are starting down. I'm sad that nothing can stop it, and no one can help. I'm sad that they will have this life long hurt, this gapping hole in their lives where their son should have been.

I finally got Logan's ashes squared away. He is in a teal heart shaped pewter urn, sewn into an Alpaca Fur Teddy Bear (made from stillborn Alpacas), sitting in a plastic case, in what would have been his bedroom. I'm not crazy about him being in a room other than mine, but it was at the request of David, and I feel like the man should get some say so in all of this. Anyhow, the whole process sucked. The funeral home on the corner near our home transferred his ashes and supplied the urn. I had to go in and pick it out, there aren't words for that horror. Then a friend of ours added a zipper to the bear so we could put the urn inside. We had that done right around what should have been his first birthday. I'm relieved to have that chapter of this journey closed finally.

The final milestone. Logan's "birthday" came and went. We didn't celebrate. Its hard to celebrate a day that never happened, to try and guess that he would have been born at a specific time. I don't remember the day being much of anything. It was the day after my FIL's 60th birthday, and celebrating that day was tough. Knowing that we would have been celebrating both of their birthdays together. Knowing what a first birthday is like. That was tough. But it wasn't this monster gut wrenching day that I thought was headed my way. It was more or less just like any other day, just one in which I thought of Logan far more often.

So, here we are getting ready to hit the 18 month mark at the end of this month. It seems impossible that its gone so fast, especially the last 6 months. It seems so unrealistic, this life I am living that does not include my son. That I ever had a son, if even only for a wisp of a second. When I let myself think about it, think about him, it still makes me sick to my stomach, insanely sad, and confused on a level I can't even begin to comprehend, much less put into words. So I guess for self preservation purposes, I try not to think about what happened to my family. I try to dwell on the now, and the future. I hope for more children. I hope for a day where I can write in this blog and not cry. I hope for a look of peace on my husbands face. I hope for a time when this pain is gone, and not something that I have to daily push aside and try to ignore. I hope for contentment with the living child that I have, and not to forever feel robbed. I hope that my house sells, my dog finds a new home and that we may have a fresh start as a family and move forward carrying our precious son in our hearts, but leaving the horrible memories of his death behind us. That's where I am mostly these days, focused on being hopeful and having faith in a happy life I know I am destined to have.

But I still cry, and I still miss my son in every breath I take.

A new Logan on Earth

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

She named him Logan.

Of course she did.

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

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

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

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

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

These dreary days.

I've been feeling dreary lately. Could be the cloudy/snowy weather, it always seems to provoke the blues in me. I dunno. I feel disconnected again and out of sorts. I've let my diet slide for the last few weeks, started drinking loads of pop again (running for comfort perhaps??) and not wanting to clean or shower. This used to be common place for me, earlier this year. But the last couple of months I've managed to stay afloat and breathing normal. But I feel blue these days, impatient and irritated by the mundane things in life.

My new friend, the one who had a miscarriage recently, is so sad. The thing is I like her, a lot. Stalkeresque liking. And it breaks my heart to know she feels such sadness, sadness that I can relate too. And I have this overwhelming urge to comfort her, to protect her, to shield her from this devastation...and I feel helpless and clueless about how to do that. And I guess its because I know that I really can't. Baby loss trauma is one that each person has to wade through in their own way, on their own schedule and no one can fix it, or make it go away. Grief has to be dealt with, it can not be sugar coated or ignored. It can not be fixed with soup or margaritas (believe me, I tried). But I can't help myself. I am obsessed with how she is doing, how she's feeling, what can I do to help? And I feel like maybe I'm being overbearing or weird and freaking her out. And I struggle with knowing where the line is. Am I calling too much, not enough? Am I pushing her to handle her grief like I handled mine? Am I being a pest, or does she want me to call/come by and is too reserved to ask? I get the feeling that she feels like she is an annoyance or a bother to others. And all I want to do is stand in front of her and protect her from the crap that is flying her way. To be a "force field" for her and help her through the most horrific thing the average person will ever go through. But the thing is, we're new friends. I've known her for a year and only recently been a friend to her outside of our children's playgroup. And I don't want to come across as overbearing or needy or smothering or whatever. But if anyones gonna understand her pain, isn't it me? I don't feel like I'm doing enough, or doing too much and its a weird spot to be in. I suck at making new friends.

My other friend, the one with the newborn who has colic... I need to call her. Selfishly I can't seem to work up the umph to do it. She's a compulsive complainer, I love her anyway. I complain an awful lot myself, so who am I to judge? But the thing is, lately I've been feeling weird about her. I know it must suck in a way that I can not imagine to have a baby with colic. To never get peace or rest or feel like you can comfort your child. It must be heartbreaking. And get this, she NEVER complains about it (at least not to me). I'm sure a lot of people feel weird about complaining about their kids to me now days. But I know she wants to, and who could blame her? And I feel guilty about it. I told her having a baby is the most incredible thing ever, that there is nothing but sheer joy! I was wrong. I assumed because my first born was sheer joy, that hers would be too. But its so hard for me to hear that she's miserable, that she isn't enjoying these early days with her daughter and I can't help but think of the alternative (dead baby, not happy one!! Go figure!) and it makes me sad. I want her to be happy no matter what. To know that she is so lucky, because these few bad months will pass and she'll outgrow the colic and then it will be better...her baby lived. And I hate that I feel those things. Hate it. I hate that it is so hard for me to empathize and feel compassion for anyone who has a hardship, because hey, at least they don't have a dead baby. I know how it sounds, I do. I know I sound selfish and bordering on loony. And I know I should suck it up and be a good friend and listen to her hardships without thinking she's ungrateful for her gift. But, like I said, I'm feeling blue these days. I'm missing my son and I'm sad that I know another mother who's baby died and I can't help her. And right now that just seems so much bigger than colic.

My friends baby died.

My new friend lost her 2nd pregnancy this past weekend. This one was 9 weeks. It makes me sad. It makes me feel so helpless listening to her cry and ask questions and wonder. There should be four children in her life, there are two. I found it interesting to hear her mimic so many of the same doubts and thoughts and guilt and feelings that I felt after Logan died. 9 weeks, 13 weeks...not much different than my 6 months. And our friendship is so new... I'm at a loss as to what to say and do. I don't want to be all like "yeah well, I so get THAT!" and calling her too much, but I don't want to not call her enough either. Its left me feeling so odd. Makes me wonder about my friends and family...how they must've felt when Logan died. Its so sad. It makes my heart ache. She wanted that baby. Didn't matter to her that it had been 9 weeks. Doesn't matter to me either. I just feel so ugly inside. Dying babies is something I will never be able to come to terms with, regardless as to the gestational age. And I hate that I know of another baby that wasn't compatible with life. I feel "honored" (if that's the right word) that she called me, felt weird that she might have felt obligated, felt sad that she knew I would understand her pain, but "glad" (again with these positive phrases in unfortunate ways) that I was here for her to talk to. I found myself saying "I'm so sorry" a lot, and "if you need company call me..." We all know how that worked for each of us. I never asked for anything. I never wanted anything. I just wanted to be left alone, and yet...not. And here I am on the other side of the fence feeling helpless and stupid, when I feel like I should have all of the right words and answers...because I've been there.

But I'm dumbstruck.

The "other" baby boy.

[Knock on wood] I've been having a few good weeks.  I say good in relative terms.  I'm not a bawling mess.  I'm not sitting around staring out the window and depressed.  Actually if I had to say what I was now I would say I'm nothing.  I don't feel anything.  I don't feel angry, or depressed, or excessively sad.  I just don't feel anything.  My biggest issue right now is not caring.  Not caring about anything.  Not how I look, not how I smell, how I eat, my weight, my health, my house, my dog, my friends and family.  Nothing.  I've just given up the desire to care about anything these days.  I'm keeping busy.  I'm not dwelling on my plight a lot.  I'm just existing.  I feel detached.  Like maybe if I stay over here in this little box I won't have to feel anything too overwhelming.  I'm never in the mood to do anything.  I think, "oh I should go visit so and so, or go do this or that" but in the end, I don't.  I just never seem to "want" to when it comes time.  I just don't "want" to do anything.  I still just want to sleep as much as I can, and zone out into a book or the TV or a movie.  I have a toddler, so obviously I can't do that all day, but when it comes to my free time, I just zone.  I don't scrap much anymore.  I don't blog much anymore.  I don't email much or play on facebook much.  I don't do much of anything.

Today we went to visit our friends who had their baby boy last week.  9 1/2 months after Logan died.  It was the first baby boy I've held.  The first baby my husband has held.  We survived.  Actually, for me, the nice part was that I didn't feel "anything" twards this little boy.  I was excited to see him, enjoyed holding him and really didn't connect my feelings for my son with this little boy.  That surprised me.  All of these long months I've sort of looked at it like Logan left, this little boy came.  But nothing.  I didn't feel angry, or sad.  I was more thinking of my daughter at her birth.  It was nice.  I was nice to see that I didn't flip out, or get jealous, or bitter, or resentful or cry.  I just enjoyed seeing him.  I enjoyed their happiness.  I'm releived to be past it.

Halloween came and went.  This was the first "holiday" where I didn't find myself obsessing over the fact that Logan should be here, and isn't.  I had fleeting thoughts about what I might have dressed him up like, but for the most part I was distracted and consumed about Halloween with my daughter this year.  I enjoyed the entire day and only stopped to think about his absence, and what I would have done, later that night while I was laying in bed.  I realized it this morning and it felt like perhaps that was sort of a break through for me.

On the way to our friends house this afternoon I found myself thinking about how old Logan should've been right now.  5 1/2 months.  Sitting up on his own.  I would have been starting him on Rice Cereal this week or next.  I try not to think about how old he would be, where he'd be at developmentally.  I think it would be too much to handle.  Only on occasion do I stop to think where he'd be.  But today it dawned on me that he wouldn't be a tiny baby anymore.  He'd be moving on into becoming a big boy.  He'd be wearing 6 month old clothes.  Nursing less, experimenting with solids, sleeping more.  Maybe trying to get around.  I've always thought of him as this tiny baby.  Perhaps he'll always be a tiny baby for me.  But today, for a few minutes, Logan wasn't a tiny little baby.  And maybe it made it easier to hold my friends baby.  Maybe, just maybe, I'm moving forward a little further.  Maybe I won't die after all...

Don't hold your breath though.  Christmas is coming.  Winter is coming.  The anniversary of his death is coming.

The Baby Shower and the Blonde Toddler

So. I went. I survived. I assumed I would. I'm glad it's over. It was uneventful, and just to make sure that my heart didn't go unabused during the event, the universe thought it appropriate to have someones newborn baby boy there. Oh thank you. So. That was that. I came home, ate two candy bars and drank a Slurpee for dinner and tried to zone out to Into the Wild and pretend I didn't just do what I did. I didn't cry. I just...pouted I guess. It just made the day seem gray and ugly (it was scorching hot and sunny).

Yesterday my DH and I were out garage saling with the muffin. At one sale my DH was leading the muffin around by her hand and a toe headed toddler boy walked up to him and held his other hand and walked around with him.

I can't make this crap up!

The universe is trying to do us in. I always pictured Logan as a toe headed toddler...just like his daddy was. So, I got to see what it could have looked like. The muffin on one side, the toe head on the other...my husband (with a heart on the verge of breaking) in the middle. It took my breath away.

OPB (other people's babies)

I did it. I held a newborn. Even more so, I held the little girl my cousin was pregnant with when I was pregnant with Logan (born a month later). She was 6 tiny weeks old. So tiny (8lbs 6oz), so precious, so perfect...so alive. Surprisingly I didn't react or "feel" anything weird. There was a small tinge for my sweet baby when I first took her into my arms. She was so small, I immediately thought about how small Logan was. I held her on three different occasions. I wanted to take her. I wanted to protect her from her idiot mother. I looked for her all afternoon at the wedding, stealing glances every chance I got. Like I craved seeing her. I did it though, no tears, no freak out, no kidnapping. The last time I held her it occurred to me that her and Logan would have been so close in age, that I should have been there holding my two month old...that threw my heart into a tailspin, and it was also the last time I held her. But I think I did ok. I think I did ok because she was a girl...a boy might have been a very different story. It made my heart ache for him though. Holding that tiny little bundle of warmth and innocence in my arms. Watching how my daughter reacted to this tiny baby that was stealing her mother's attention away from her. I also had the very distinct feeling that everyone was watching, waiting... I felt compelled to hold her. I debated, but then I reached out for her and the moment she was in my arms (well, the moment after the initial twinge) I relaxed. I know I surprised my DH and a few others. I always feel like the crazy lady everyone is keeping a leery eye on.

I also watched TNT's HawthoRNe today (on TiVO) episode 3 or 4 I think. A homeless mother had her newborn son taken away and placed into foster care with out her knowing it, and she screamed "I didn't get to say goodbye!!" and collapsed into a heap of tears...and so did I. Stuff like that takes my breath away everytime. I didn't get to say goodbye either.

I just want to be left alone.

Maybe it's hormones. I dunno. I always seem to find dark days when I'm more hormonal. Not that I need a reason to cry for my son. I don't understand why hormones would play a roll in my grieving process. Not that I need more to add to it. I know on my "stable" days that life will go on, that it is going on, and that I'll survive and maybe I will go on to have more children...but then maybe I won't...but either way I'll be ok. The way I figure it, I have 7 "stable" days a month. Woman spend a week hanging with Aunt Flo, a week pre-menstrual, and about a week around the ovulatory time. So, that leaves me a week to not be bombarded with emotions and hormone induced lunacy. And in that week, I have to be careful not to run across any newborns, baby shower crap, movies or TV shows involving having a baby (or even worse, someone loosing a baby)...which seems to be more prevalent after your own child dies. So, that leaves me a few good days a month. Because when I'm pre-men all I can think about is how bad I want a baby, and that it's not fair that mine was taken away. When I'm ovo, all I can think about is making a baby. And when I am menstrual...well, that week just sucks anyway. But I have come to realize that no matter how much I'd like to move on, to feel better...there are about 21 days a month that are working against that. I'm tired. I'm tired of these tears that seem to come out of no where. The ones that make me wonder if maybe I'm not really coping as well as I'd like to believe, and that maybe I'm just ignoring or stuffing the sorrow down. And I don't like not knowing what causes the tears. Obviously they're rooted in my son, but why today? Why this afternoon more so than any other time? I wasn't watching anything, I wasn't listening to anything, I wasn't doing anything that would provoke my heart. It makes me mad. I just want to be left alone. I want the sorrow to go away. I want to feel normal and whole again. I don't want to feel like something is missing. I don't want to feel like I have to fix something, or like something is unfinished.

I had ice cream for lunch. You can laugh. My diet has been one failure and disappointment after the next and these past couple of weeks I just can't deal with it anymore. But I had a mini 1/2 fat ice cream, it's not like it was Haggan Das or anything. Anyhow, as I stood there peeling the cover off the tiny tub and arguing with myself that this isn't an appropriate lunch and that maybe I ought to go pick something else up, the ugly mean spirited side of my heart said to me, and I quote "It doesn't matter anyhow. You don't have any reason to take care of your body any more!" at which point I burst into sobs for the umpteenth time today. Odd, the things the dark side will whisper in ones ear. The horrible malicious thoughts that drive us to the guilt and self loathing we experience, as if the pain of your baby dying isn't enough, we must add to it. We are more cruel to ourselves than anyone else is. But, I don't find that knowledge to be comforting. I don't care if my hormones, or emotions or the dark side of my heart is what encapsulates me into a weeping mound of sadness. The fact remains that I still feel such sorrow. My dh says that he is sad everyday. And I realized that though I try like hell to pretend otherwise, I am too. Everyday I know my son is dead. I can't even say that I remember everyday, because there hasn't seemed to be a moment where I have forgotten. But nowadays I just feel worn down. Like how you feel after a crazy busy day. Too tired to fall asleep, to achy not to think about it, but too drained to cry or talk. And there seems to be a permanent lump in my throat.

My friends baby shower is in a month. She's having a boy. I don't know why that matters to me, that it's a boy, but it does. I wish it didn't. And I find that I am hurt, or mad or ambivalent towards her and her pregnancy because I tried so hard to reach out in the beginning and to help her not feel weird towards me, but in the end she shied away from me at every turn. And now I think I'm bitter at her for that. I don't know. My other friend, the other pregnant one, suggested us going in on a gift. I agreed, that way I wouldn't have to go shop for little boy things (not that there aren't other things to buy). But I don't even know if I am going or not. I should go. It's the grown up, right thing to do, and I don't think I'll have a melt down (although hopefully it'll be during my stable 7 days!). But what if I do? It scares me to go. It scares me to know that a little blue onesie could push me into hysterics. It scares me that she might feel weird if I'm there, and only invited me out of politeness. I hear she's huge. I haven't seen here since Logan died. I was supposed to meet up with her on Sunday and I found myself really not wanting to. I can't now anyhow, but I'm not disappointed.

Why is it that after our bodies betray us in such a horrible fashion do we still have such an overwhelming urge to do it again? We learn at a very young age that if it burns, we don't touch it again, ever. Why do I still want to run head first into producing another baby? Why am I counting down the days till we are cleared to try again (8, if your curious) when I know that I can't do it by myself? Why am I so freaked out about asking my DH how he feels about it? Actually, I think I know that answer, I just don't like it. He's been very honest from the get go that he's not ready...but I think that's what scares me the most. Having to rely on another person for their consent. And I wish there was something I could do to convince the both of us that it would work out, a dozen times over. That Logan's condition is a fluke. I keep reading that lately, how DS is just a fluke. Oooh, that makes me so mad! A fluke killed my baby! And why at 6 months gestated? Why not right away? Why not before I even knew I was pregnant? Why would he have to die when he was old enough to be delivered, to be seen, to be held, to be felt and heard? Still, at almost 6 months into my grief, I still have so many questions that scream for answers, when clearly there are none. But my heart wants answers, it wants to understand. It wants facts, and reasons.

Me? I just want to find peace. I want the lump in my throat to go away, and I want the knowledge that I had a son, and now he is dead to go away. I want the ache and the fear and the guilt and the sorrow...I want it all to go away. I just want to be left alone.

I want to have genuine happiness with out the shadow of sorrow.

How could I not risk it again?

A co-worker of my DH is 3 months pregnant. Normally this wouldn't be a big deal, but we were pregnant at the same time, and she found out her baby was dead about a month before I did. Sadly her baby died early on and her body just wouldn't accept it. M had a miscarriage. It was also her second baby. Then the other night my husband had a dream that she was pregnant, and when he told her, she informed him that she really was, three months along. He told me at dinner on Saturday. I teared up which made him feel like a jerk. I'm happy for her, I really am. If anyone deserves a baby it's someone who's had a baby die. I don't know why it made me cry. Maybe it's because I want to be at that stage where I can move on too. I'd like to try to get pregnant with out the fear. I'd like to try to get pregnant with out feeling like I'm betraying Logan, or that I'm trying to replace him. David said that his initial reaction is always to be happy, but it is quickly followed by fear. I had to agree. Most of the time I am ecstatic when I hear about someone getting pregnant, or giving birth...but then I get scared for them and their innocence, and then I am sad that I have that reaction, and then I re-live the sorrow of holding my sons lifeless body. I go through waves. Some days I feel like I may die if I don't have another child. Other days I wonder how I will ever feel comfortable trying again. And then other days I wonder why I am so selfish that I am crazy enough to risk my heart and tempt fate again, and still other days I wonder why I am not adamant to take the risk since having a child has filled us with such an enormous amount of pleasure...how could I not risk it again??

Of course it's a boy...

Of course she's having a boy. Why not?


My friend, the first one who is pregnant (since I have two pregnant friends) text everyone to tell them of her happy news...she's having a boy!! I don't begrudge anyone their perfect baby or their happiness. I just wished, for my own personal selfish sake, that it was a girl she was having. A girl I can handle. I'm not so sure I can handle buying baby boy stuff for her shower, going to a shower that is boy themed, seeing and holding her precious, perfect baby boy...exactly 40 weeks after my own precious baby boy lay dead in my arms. I don't know how I will cope with watching her little boy grow up, knowing mine never will. Knowing they would have been friends. Knowing we would have gotten together for play dates with our boys. Wanting so bad for that little boy to be mine.


Why couldn't she have a girl? Is it too much to ask not to be kicked over and over and over again? Is it too much to ask that God leave a little of my soul intact, that he let me heal, that he stops ripping the scab off on a regular basis?


Today, I really want to hold my son.
He should have been 2 1/2 weeks old now.
SHOULD HAVE BEEN!!


When will I stop feeling like I am detached from my own existance?