I consider myself a fighter. When life gets hard, I fight back. I don't let the circumstances win. After my initial panic, I will fix this. I will do whatever I can to pull myself (and my family) up.
If money is insanely tight, if I don't know how we are going to pay the mortgage, if medical bills try to swallow us whole, I will fix it. I will get a job and work a million hours. I will instantly cut everything non-essential. I will save change, turn off everything plugged in, stop using the cell phone, make potatoes for breakfast, lunch, and dinner. I will find the money somewhere.
If one of my babies die, I start almost immediately trying to heal. To find groups, other women. I journal like a nutcase. After Liam died, I joined a local Faces of Hope Group and read endless online articles and blogs. After Riley died, we joined a MISS group and a local grief group. I made things for Riley, planted flowers for my babies. We redid our backyard. I stayed busy. I worked out. I lost 37 pounds. I tried to be the best mom I could. I did tons of grief work. I FOUGHT BACK.
I can't fight back anymore. I have nothing left. After my 3rd loss in 3 years, I am just done. Today, I am pretty sure that the surviving twin, Baby A, is dead too. I have no nausea whatsoever. I'm the type of person who pukes drinking a glass of water and I'm not nauseous at all. I'm done trying to be positive, trying to pray. I'm done trying to continue on and not let the grief drown me. I'm drowning.... and I'm done swimming.
Other loss moms will tell me that not all babies die. It's easy to feel like all babies die when you are in a community missing lots of dead children. But they don't all die. Lots of women get their rainbow baby. I know that's true. Not all babies die, but all of MINE do.
Saturday, December 29, 2012
Friday, November 23, 2012
My blobby friends
In under 3 hours I will be going into my OBGYN for another ultrasound and Hcg levels blood draw. Turns out I'm not pregnant. "What?!?" you say. "Hcg levels = pregnancy" Oh you wonderfully naive person I just made up in my head... I do love you so. I am not growing a baby up in that uterus of mine, but a mass of cells. Lots of masses of cells. Little tumors. My blobby friends. I have a molar pregnancy.
Ok, honestly the doctor hasn't confirmed it as a molar pregnancy, but that's what it is. I saw the ultrasound. I saw the blobs. I had them throw the images out, but here is a googled image that looks the way my uterus does.
All that wonderful cottage cheese cellulite stuff? Tumors..... Masses..... Whatever word you chose to use.
To remove my growths, they have to do a D&C (a surgery to scrape out your uterus) and they may continue to grow. These bastards are incredibly resilient. My Hcg levels (because my blobby friends put off Hcg just like a baby......how nice of them) will have to be monitored for 6 months to a year before I'm allowed to try to conceive again. Hahaha... as if.
When they confirm the molar pregnancy, they are not just saying to me, "Yep, Amy, you are pregnancy with blobs, not baby." They are also saying "You're done with kids. No more babies for you. You are done having children." Granted, that isn't their choice, but mine. After 2 losses in 11 months, then this a year later.... I. AM. DONE.
My husband, the wonderful math geek, figured out the chances of us having a 13 week miscarriage AND a miscarriage due to an amniotic band (Riley was stillborn, not really a miscarriage, but that shit is so rare there aren't any statistics on it), AND a molar pregnancy....
1 in 1.8 million. The chances of those 3 things happening to one little family, 1 in 1.8 million.
I seem to always be the 1. The low statistic. That's me. Here I am. So the number around this molar pregnancy scare me. 80% of the masses are noncancerous. 10-15% of women with a complete molar pregnancy need chemotherapy to kill off the masses. (1% in partial molar pregnancy). Very rarely the moles (aka my blobby friends), can form a choriocarsinoma (cancer) spread beyond your uterus (1 in 40,000).
Can they just.......take out my uterus? That's sounding a bit easier to me.
Ok, honestly the doctor hasn't confirmed it as a molar pregnancy, but that's what it is. I saw the ultrasound. I saw the blobs. I had them throw the images out, but here is a googled image that looks the way my uterus does.
To remove my growths, they have to do a D&C (a surgery to scrape out your uterus) and they may continue to grow. These bastards are incredibly resilient. My Hcg levels (because my blobby friends put off Hcg just like a baby......how nice of them) will have to be monitored for 6 months to a year before I'm allowed to try to conceive again. Hahaha... as if.
When they confirm the molar pregnancy, they are not just saying to me, "Yep, Amy, you are pregnancy with blobs, not baby." They are also saying "You're done with kids. No more babies for you. You are done having children." Granted, that isn't their choice, but mine. After 2 losses in 11 months, then this a year later.... I. AM. DONE.
My husband, the wonderful math geek, figured out the chances of us having a 13 week miscarriage AND a miscarriage due to an amniotic band (Riley was stillborn, not really a miscarriage, but that shit is so rare there aren't any statistics on it), AND a molar pregnancy....
1 in 1.8 million. The chances of those 3 things happening to one little family, 1 in 1.8 million.
I seem to always be the 1. The low statistic. That's me. Here I am. So the number around this molar pregnancy scare me. 80% of the masses are noncancerous. 10-15% of women with a complete molar pregnancy need chemotherapy to kill off the masses. (1% in partial molar pregnancy). Very rarely the moles (aka my blobby friends), can form a choriocarsinoma (cancer) spread beyond your uterus (1 in 40,000).
Can they just.......take out my uterus? That's sounding a bit easier to me.
Monday, November 19, 2012
Feast
The exact same Preschool event two years in a row. Fall Festival, the Preschool Feast. All the parents bring snacks and hang out with the kids for an hour. There are turkey hats, silly songs, and fancy treats galore. Last year: 38+ weeks pregnant. This year: 4 (or 5?) weeks pregnant.
Last year I sat talking with a Grandma attending the event of the year. Talking about birth, how I was eager for Riley to be born any day. How she went into labor on Thanksgiving with her son and maybe I would too! Maybe! Thanksgiving! Maybe she would be born tomorrow!
Riley died that night in my belly. That was the last time I felt her move.
I have to go again in just a few hours and this year, I am pregnant again. Super early pregnant. It hasn't been confirmed by a doctor. I go for my first ultrasound tomorrow.
I want to puke. I'm terrified.
School Teachers, please don't make us say what we are thankful for. My response to this last Thanksgiving was Riley and Hunter. I was thankful that they were healthy and happy. I didn't know she was dead. I didn't know I was being thankful for something that didn't exist anymore. I don't think I will ever be able to take part in that tradition again. I can be thankful every other day of the year, but not on Thanksgiving.
Fall Festival, please be kind to me.
Last year I sat talking with a Grandma attending the event of the year. Talking about birth, how I was eager for Riley to be born any day. How she went into labor on Thanksgiving with her son and maybe I would too! Maybe! Thanksgiving! Maybe she would be born tomorrow!
Riley died that night in my belly. That was the last time I felt her move.
I have to go again in just a few hours and this year, I am pregnant again. Super early pregnant. It hasn't been confirmed by a doctor. I go for my first ultrasound tomorrow.
I want to puke. I'm terrified.
School Teachers, please don't make us say what we are thankful for. My response to this last Thanksgiving was Riley and Hunter. I was thankful that they were healthy and happy. I didn't know she was dead. I didn't know I was being thankful for something that didn't exist anymore. I don't think I will ever be able to take part in that tradition again. I can be thankful every other day of the year, but not on Thanksgiving.
Fall Festival, please be kind to me.
Friday, October 12, 2012
Day 10 - Symbols
The 3 stripes match the stripes on Liam's urn. Birds remind us of Riley who flew away too soon.
Day 12: Scent.
Scent?? Really? Scent?!?
I don't have a single good smell for Riley. Not one. I have the smell of blood, raw hamburger, and death. She smelled like blood. Like raw hamburger.
What a fucking terrible photo prompt
I don't have a single good smell for Riley. Not one. I have the smell of blood, raw hamburger, and death. She smelled like blood. Like raw hamburger.
What a fucking terrible photo prompt
Tuesday, October 9, 2012
Sunday, October 7, 2012
Day 7: What to say
My only points here are
1. ASK ABOUT OUR BABIES! Yep, we might cry (probably will), but we cry all the time anyways. If you don't ask about them, it's like you don't care about them. It might be uncomfortable for you, but we live this every. single. day. Deal with your discomfort for 5 seconds.
2. There is nothing you can say to fix it. Nothing. It's okay that you don't know what to say. Actions speak louder than words. Send a card on anniversary dates, participate in memorial events, leave a snack on our porch, leave an angel in our tree, help us make a graceful exit when we are losing our shit, do 1 thing in memory of our baby. Not just the month after our baby dies, but 6 months, a year, 5 years later. It takes 5 minutes to send an email that says "I'm thinking about you."
Saturday, October 6, 2012
Day 6: What not to say
I used to believe that everything happens for a reason and while you may still believe it, right now, I can't see a single reason that two innocent babies died. I can't find reason in it at all.
Telling me not to worry because I can have another child completely disrespects and disregards my baby. It's like you are acting like they never existed. They existed, they were here. I can't just hop onto another baby to replace them.
Friday, October 5, 2012
A story of "horror"
I was recently re-trying this whole playgroup game when an expecting mother told us a JoAnn's employee had told her a "horrific" story about mistaken gender of a baby in utero (she actually used that word: "horrific"). That poor little family had painted and decorated the room pink only to find out their baby girl was indeed a little boy. They had to repaint and buy boy clothes. Those poor, poor souls.
Seriously!?
(Don't get me started on the absurdity of colors and babies. Their son would have been scarred for life if he slept in :GASP: pink)
When I hear the phrase "you never know" and "horrific story" my mind now goes to the countless stories about dead children, the death of babies, the lost of our most precious. The sickening fact that it can happen again in a subsequent pregnancy (excuse me while I have a panic attack). How many women do I know, whose stories I have read/heard of who would KILL to have their child alive and well..... boy, girl, mentally retarded, special needs, deformed..... Bring it on. We would take our babies in anyway possible. And these women were chatting about how awful it would be to have to redecorate.
These acquaintances know my history. It's always one of the first things that come up when meeting another mom. They know I lost a full term daughter under a year ago and a little Liam under a year before that. How can anyone be so insensitively oblivious?
I had the realization while sitting there that I have nothing in common with these women.
"So what have you been up to since I have seen you?? What is new?" Mentally I went through it all..... **Collapsing into a pile of flesh, blood, bones, and tears at The Walk to Remember....Trying to conceive baby #4 while in a unscalable Riley grief hole.... The slow death of the garden that has been so therapeutic for me and what that means for my mental health.... My decision to donate business proceeds to Rowan Tree Foundation..... The awesomeness of the Capture Your Grief photo project..... Making prayer flags for my babies....** I couldn't think of one acceptable life occurrence. I knew what their reactions would be to the raw realness of my life; they can't handle it. My response, "Nothing, really."
Needless to say I left, and have no intention of going back. Life is too short and I don't have the patience for your silly little views of "horror."
Seriously!?
(Don't get me started on the absurdity of colors and babies. Their son would have been scarred for life if he slept in :GASP: pink)
When I hear the phrase "you never know" and "horrific story" my mind now goes to the countless stories about dead children, the death of babies, the lost of our most precious. The sickening fact that it can happen again in a subsequent pregnancy (excuse me while I have a panic attack). How many women do I know, whose stories I have read/heard of who would KILL to have their child alive and well..... boy, girl, mentally retarded, special needs, deformed..... Bring it on. We would take our babies in anyway possible. And these women were chatting about how awful it would be to have to redecorate.
These acquaintances know my history. It's always one of the first things that come up when meeting another mom. They know I lost a full term daughter under a year ago and a little Liam under a year before that. How can anyone be so insensitively oblivious?
I had the realization while sitting there that I have nothing in common with these women.
"So what have you been up to since I have seen you?? What is new?" Mentally I went through it all..... **Collapsing into a pile of flesh, blood, bones, and tears at The Walk to Remember....Trying to conceive baby #4 while in a unscalable Riley grief hole.... The slow death of the garden that has been so therapeutic for me and what that means for my mental health.... My decision to donate business proceeds to Rowan Tree Foundation..... The awesomeness of the Capture Your Grief photo project..... Making prayer flags for my babies....** I couldn't think of one acceptable life occurrence. I knew what their reactions would be to the raw realness of my life; they can't handle it. My response, "Nothing, really."
Needless to say I left, and have no intention of going back. Life is too short and I don't have the patience for your silly little views of "horror."
Day 5: Memorial
Day 5: Memorial
All three of my babes are memorialized on my back There is something amazing about having their names carved into my living, breathing body.
Thursday, October 4, 2012
Day 4: Treasured Item
Wednesday, October 3, 2012
Day 3: Self Portrait After Loss
Tuesday, October 2, 2012
Day 2: Capture your Grief, Self Portrait before loss
Monday, October 1, 2012
Wednesday, September 26, 2012
10 Months
10 Months. Another notch on my belt. September 26, 2012. It's been 10 months since I delivered and held my baby girl.
10 Months. But this month I feel awful and sad and I just want to die.
10 Months. But this month I feel awful and sad and I just want to die.
Monday, September 24, 2012
Glimpses of Myself
Ocassionally I get momentary flashes of the mother I used to be. The mom I used to be before two of my babies died. The mom I was supposed to be.
Not this shell I am most days. I'm tired; I don't want to play. Ever. Please, Hunter, don't make me play.
I used to be a goofy, silly, silly Mommie. Seriously. A joke of craziness. Sweaty, frenzied dance parties were a regular occurrence and silliness reigned supreme. But it's hard to happy dance like a moron after your heart is crushed.
Today, I got to be her again. Chasing my kid around the house and "crushing" him. Waking him up by running and jumping on his bed. Playing hours of Go Fish, Memory, and Candyland and actually WANTING to. Carrying him upstairs like a "sack of potatoes" when he's being a butt instead of getting frustrated, short tempered, and feeling like I am just at the end of my rope.
I walked Hunter into school today while loudly showing him the many uses of a paper towel tube. It's a rattle! A telescope! A microphone! A tower! Garbage truck grabber arms! Look, Hunter! It's a trumpet! I seriously talked through the thing all the way into the building. I wore his baseball hat around Target perched atop my giant noggin. THAT'S the mom I used to be.
I was still sad at moments today; I still cried. I looked at the little girl outfits and thought of Riley; I wondered what I would be eying up had she lived. I cried when I read Hunter his "Riley book" and when he told me he wants another baby that won't die. That never goes away.
She made a return today even though I know she will be gone again tomorrow.
Not this shell I am most days. I'm tired; I don't want to play. Ever. Please, Hunter, don't make me play.
I used to be a goofy, silly, silly Mommie. Seriously. A joke of craziness. Sweaty, frenzied dance parties were a regular occurrence and silliness reigned supreme. But it's hard to happy dance like a moron after your heart is crushed.
Today, I got to be her again. Chasing my kid around the house and "crushing" him. Waking him up by running and jumping on his bed. Playing hours of Go Fish, Memory, and Candyland and actually WANTING to. Carrying him upstairs like a "sack of potatoes" when he's being a butt instead of getting frustrated, short tempered, and feeling like I am just at the end of my rope.
I walked Hunter into school today while loudly showing him the many uses of a paper towel tube. It's a rattle! A telescope! A microphone! A tower! Garbage truck grabber arms! Look, Hunter! It's a trumpet! I seriously talked through the thing all the way into the building. I wore his baseball hat around Target perched atop my giant noggin. THAT'S the mom I used to be.
I was still sad at moments today; I still cried. I looked at the little girl outfits and thought of Riley; I wondered what I would be eying up had she lived. I cried when I read Hunter his "Riley book" and when he told me he wants another baby that won't die. That never goes away.
She made a return today even though I know she will be gone again tomorrow.
Sunday, August 26, 2012
9 months
3/4 of a year. 273 days. 9 months. It's been 9 months since Riley died / was born. 9 months since I got to see her sweet face. 9 months since I held her. 9 months since I felt her weight. 9 months since I kissed her. 9 months since I said hello and goodbye. 9 months since my heart was ripped out. 9 months since my world exploded. I can't imagine a weekend away from my first-born and I have survived 9 months without my third.
On Facebook today (my disgusting addiction), I saw a small gross of newborn pictures from a small business and had the realization that it wasn't a gut punch. Oh, I unliked the page, but I saw the images of those random children and didn't want to rip my ovaries out. I didn't bring me to my knees. I didn't fall apart.
Now don't get me wrong there are days that random images of babies would kill me. Quite literally I would almost die of grief, but most of the time.... I'm okay.
I can look at real babies about 9 months old. Sure I'm sad, but it oddly helps to look at them and realize that that is NOT my Riley. That might be her size, that might be her age, but I don't know because that's not her. Those strangers don't have my baby.
Newborns are still incredibly hard. I find myself staring at them from a distance. The mothers look at me like I'm insane. And I'm sure I look it lurking across the park staring at them nursing, holding, cradling their sunshine. But I can't tear my eyes away no matter how much I try.
The point of this post is not the awful. It's not that newborns are still a terror magnet. My point is that.....I'm healing? Sort of. Do you ever really heal? Ok, I'm scabbing? I'm de-sensitizing? My hole has a thin, bloody crust that can stand up to small attacks. There are still weeks of inability to move but they aren't a constant.
In the past 9 months, I've lost dear friends but have reconnected with some who I had lost along the way, I've seen some true colors and am working to accept them, I've become okay with being publicly weak, weak, weak, vulnerable, and needy, I've tried to learn to accept and ask for help, I've been trying crazy new things I'd never, ever have done before (5Ks, support groups, parties, and kickboxing?????), I've been trying to be okay with me, for the first time in my life.
9 months out. And I'm trying to accept my new normal.... and still trying not to lose my mind... Things are heading up....? At least today.
On Facebook today (my disgusting addiction), I saw a small gross of newborn pictures from a small business and had the realization that it wasn't a gut punch. Oh, I unliked the page, but I saw the images of those random children and didn't want to rip my ovaries out. I didn't bring me to my knees. I didn't fall apart.
Now don't get me wrong there are days that random images of babies would kill me. Quite literally I would almost die of grief, but most of the time.... I'm okay.
I can look at real babies about 9 months old. Sure I'm sad, but it oddly helps to look at them and realize that that is NOT my Riley. That might be her size, that might be her age, but I don't know because that's not her. Those strangers don't have my baby.
Newborns are still incredibly hard. I find myself staring at them from a distance. The mothers look at me like I'm insane. And I'm sure I look it lurking across the park staring at them nursing, holding, cradling their sunshine. But I can't tear my eyes away no matter how much I try.
The point of this post is not the awful. It's not that newborns are still a terror magnet. My point is that.....I'm healing? Sort of. Do you ever really heal? Ok, I'm scabbing? I'm de-sensitizing? My hole has a thin, bloody crust that can stand up to small attacks. There are still weeks of inability to move but they aren't a constant.
In the past 9 months, I've lost dear friends but have reconnected with some who I had lost along the way, I've seen some true colors and am working to accept them, I've become okay with being publicly weak, weak, weak, vulnerable, and needy, I've tried to learn to accept and ask for help, I've been trying crazy new things I'd never, ever have done before (5Ks, support groups, parties, and kickboxing?????), I've been trying to be okay with me, for the first time in my life.
9 months out. And I'm trying to accept my new normal.... and still trying not to lose my mind... Things are heading up....? At least today.
Tuesday, August 21, 2012
Back to School
I am a Stay-at-Home Mom. This was never the intention or plan for my life. I always thought I would juggle a successful career AND being a mom. Then I had my Hunter-Face.
I tried to return to school to get my Teaching Certificate when he was just 3 months old and I was miserable. I missed him so much. The stress of school and the stress of being a new mom about broke me. I finished the semester and never went back. Now I can't imagine someone else raising my boy and can't imagine being away from him for 40-50 hours a week. I can't leave him even if being home makes me lonely, stir-crazy, squishy-brained, and generally crazy.
Last year, Hunter started preschool. I was under 4 months from my due date when he started school 4 days a week for 2.5 hours a day. I did not want him to go. I did not trust these strangers with my baby. But mostly, I felt like I was shipping off my Precious Boy to have another one. Like I was done with him and moving on to Baby #2. It did not feel good and there were many nights of sobbing.
This year, Hunter will return to preschool. Tomorrow. This year I still don't want him to go. But this year I feel like taking a big yellow highligher to the fact that I will be alone. Sitting around the house by myself.
This is not how it is supposed to be. I am supposed to be home with a 8ish month old Riley. WE are supposed to be waving goodbye to Big Brother. Not just me.... lonely waving.
I miss him already. I DO NOT want him to go.
I tried to return to school to get my Teaching Certificate when he was just 3 months old and I was miserable. I missed him so much. The stress of school and the stress of being a new mom about broke me. I finished the semester and never went back. Now I can't imagine someone else raising my boy and can't imagine being away from him for 40-50 hours a week. I can't leave him even if being home makes me lonely, stir-crazy, squishy-brained, and generally crazy.
Last year, Hunter started preschool. I was under 4 months from my due date when he started school 4 days a week for 2.5 hours a day. I did not want him to go. I did not trust these strangers with my baby. But mostly, I felt like I was shipping off my Precious Boy to have another one. Like I was done with him and moving on to Baby #2. It did not feel good and there were many nights of sobbing.
This year, Hunter will return to preschool. Tomorrow. This year I still don't want him to go. But this year I feel like taking a big yellow highligher to the fact that I will be alone. Sitting around the house by myself.
This is not how it is supposed to be. I am supposed to be home with a 8ish month old Riley. WE are supposed to be waving goodbye to Big Brother. Not just me.... lonely waving.
I miss him already. I DO NOT want him to go.
Thursday, August 16, 2012
Life Fail
I am 29 year old. My life is almost half over. I have done nothing worthwhile. I have had no career, no business, no purpose. My only accomplishment is birthing one healthy child who hates me, who I fail every day, who cries for daddy constantly and has for years. I can't keep a house remotely clean, I cant play with my child. I take him places because I can't make fun for him at home. So I say to myself its okay that you have no career or purpose, you can make your kids your purpose and try to be a mom, but I keep killing them. I have no friends, no social outlets, no coworkers. I sit upstairs because I don't know how to play with Hunter. I don't see how the next 30 years are going to be an upswing at all. Hunter is going to go to school then move on to life. I have no career to go back to. I have no experience to get a job with. I play dumb things online because I have nothing else to do. I lay up here as Hunter calls for me and hope, hope, hope he doesn't come up here and see this. Please go downstairs buddy. Don't walk in here and see me crying on the floor in a towel. Im so lonely. When you do all this shit, you lose friends. When you only had 1 or 2 to begin with... that puts me down to 0. I can't get the voices in my head to shut up and stop saying mean shit about me.
This has to go out into the universe somewhere. It started out as a text to my husband, but that's too heavy. A facebook update? Yikes. So here it goes for no one to ever see
Friday, June 29, 2012
Miracle Pregnancy and Other Mommies
I feel like all the air has been taken out of my sails. I know this grief thing is a cycle, I know it's an up and down roller coaster, blah, blah, blah.
What exactly am I supposed to say to my friend of a new baby? My initial reaction is pissed off, resentment, anger, and friendship annihilation. This is SO unfair. She was stupid, stupid, stupid in her birthing choices, yet her son is alive. It's bullshit.
The news of her son's arrival came a quite a crappy time which didn't help me trying to process it. I'm late. My cloudy brain is keeping me from figuring out how many days I'm late. 5ish? I had been trying to ignore it, but told myself on Monday that I could take a test Thursday if I still hadn't started. Flash to Thursday morning 5am (see, you have to wait til first morning pee....). Husband does not know I'm taking this test so I'm hiding in the bathroom, waiting those 3 minutes, trying to distract myself with my phone. It's during those 3 minutes, that I read about my friend's son's arrival. Then I get to see the negative pregnancy test and all that that conjures up. Too much to process. Crush.
I knew something had to be wonky. I can't be pregnant. The safety over the last month in this arena was pristine. But I need a miracle pregnancy. Crave it, need it, long for it, these words are not strong enough for my desire for some crazy miracle pregnancy.
What the crap is a miracle pregnancy? It happens quite often; I am NOT talking about fertility issues. I'm talking about that crazy pregnancy from pre-ejaculate (ew), the pregnancy from only 100% condom intercourse, the baby conceived from a toilet seat interaction (yes, I know that's not possible. Haha. Humor.)
Let me explain something. We don't "try" to get pregnant. As soon as we let go of the birth control reigns, BAM we are pregnant. The problem with this is my knowledge of it. So we are either actively trying to get pregnant or we are actively not. There is no in between. No "let's see what happens." No easy "hand of God" type opportunity. **To the fertility Mommies who want to punch me in the ovary, I'm sorry. I know I'm whining about something you would kill for. =( **
If I get my miracle pregnancy, it means that baby is supposed to be here. God had to have made it happen, right? So it's safer? So this one will live? So He won't take this one? See? I HAVE TO HAVE a miracle pregnancy. Have to.
But what do I say to this lady with her baby. This lady I used to consider a close, close friend, but now I can't even send her a text message. I want to run and hide. I want to push towards isolation and just slam the door.
What exactly am I supposed to say to my friend of a new baby? My initial reaction is pissed off, resentment, anger, and friendship annihilation. This is SO unfair. She was stupid, stupid, stupid in her birthing choices, yet her son is alive. It's bullshit.
The news of her son's arrival came a quite a crappy time which didn't help me trying to process it. I'm late. My cloudy brain is keeping me from figuring out how many days I'm late. 5ish? I had been trying to ignore it, but told myself on Monday that I could take a test Thursday if I still hadn't started. Flash to Thursday morning 5am (see, you have to wait til first morning pee....). Husband does not know I'm taking this test so I'm hiding in the bathroom, waiting those 3 minutes, trying to distract myself with my phone. It's during those 3 minutes, that I read about my friend's son's arrival. Then I get to see the negative pregnancy test and all that that conjures up. Too much to process. Crush.
I knew something had to be wonky. I can't be pregnant. The safety over the last month in this arena was pristine. But I need a miracle pregnancy. Crave it, need it, long for it, these words are not strong enough for my desire for some crazy miracle pregnancy.
What the crap is a miracle pregnancy? It happens quite often; I am NOT talking about fertility issues. I'm talking about that crazy pregnancy from pre-ejaculate (ew), the pregnancy from only 100% condom intercourse, the baby conceived from a toilet seat interaction (yes, I know that's not possible. Haha. Humor.)
Let me explain something. We don't "try" to get pregnant. As soon as we let go of the birth control reigns, BAM we are pregnant. The problem with this is my knowledge of it. So we are either actively trying to get pregnant or we are actively not. There is no in between. No "let's see what happens." No easy "hand of God" type opportunity. **To the fertility Mommies who want to punch me in the ovary, I'm sorry. I know I'm whining about something you would kill for. =( **
If I get my miracle pregnancy, it means that baby is supposed to be here. God had to have made it happen, right? So it's safer? So this one will live? So He won't take this one? See? I HAVE TO HAVE a miracle pregnancy. Have to.
But what do I say to this lady with her baby. This lady I used to consider a close, close friend, but now I can't even send her a text message. I want to run and hide. I want to push towards isolation and just slam the door.
Monday, June 25, 2012
Real
I promised myself that even if someone ever read this I would still write it for me. Put on here what I need to put on here and not give a damn who may see the realness of my tender under-belly. So...
Sometimes I am just so lonely.
Sometimes I am just so lonely.
Saturday, June 23, 2012
60 years of grief
I learned last night what is wrong with my husband's grandmother. I say that like there is something wrong with the woman like a cancer, heart disease or broken hip.... But no....she lost a child.....
60+ years ago when a woman was not allowed to grieve the loss of her precious, precious son, a little boy was born. He lived for 10 days. He had a bad heart.
Mitchell mentioned that when Jimmie dies, she wants to be buried back in MO with.....her son. "HER SON!!??" was my first reaction. What son!?!?!
But then I remembered that hot and spicy day during my first pregnancy. 2008. A younger, more naive, less wrinkled and hopeful me is spending time with the in-laws at their cabin outside of Estes Park. I am in my third trimester. My mother-in-law tells us about her brother who died at infancy from some sort of heart complications.
I remembered the horror stricken, full-blown panic attack I had in that dusty cabin bedroom. Well aware that everyone in the little building could hear me freaking out and gasping for air. It was the first time I had ever considered that something could happen to this life I was growing in my belly. The first time the thought had even crossed my mind that babies die. The first time ever that I realized that the terror of caring for another life is LESS SCARY than having no little life to care for at all. Little did I know that my worst fear that day would be coming true 2.5 years later and again less than 12 months after that.
I know that she's had a hard life, although I don't know many of the gory details, but no wonder the woman has had an addiction to prescription narcotics for the last ?? years. No wonder she can be so cankerous and stubbon. The grief has to come out somewhere. Part of me would love to join her on her drug induced cloud of life. Hell, give the lady her pain pills.
I can't imagine trying to grieve the loss of this baby boy, when you weren't allowed to. Even today, people just don't get it. They don't understand that my world is crushed, that I hurt for my children every moment of every day, that I have a hole that I constantly fight to keep from swallowing me. They don't ask about them or me. Everyone just wants to gloss over their deaths. And I'm sure in rural Missouri, over 60 years ago, the glossing started before that little boy was even in the ground. Had he even died yet before people started glossing over Jimmie's pain??
Jimmie, I am so sorry. Please know that Mitchell and I will fight for you to be buried next to your babe. My understanding of you has blossomed into a giant flower. I get it. Even if we can't talk about it, even if it's not a concept I can get across to you through the haze. I get it and I am so very, very sorry.
60+ years ago when a woman was not allowed to grieve the loss of her precious, precious son, a little boy was born. He lived for 10 days. He had a bad heart.
Mitchell mentioned that when Jimmie dies, she wants to be buried back in MO with.....her son. "HER SON!!??" was my first reaction. What son!?!?!
But then I remembered that hot and spicy day during my first pregnancy. 2008. A younger, more naive, less wrinkled and hopeful me is spending time with the in-laws at their cabin outside of Estes Park. I am in my third trimester. My mother-in-law tells us about her brother who died at infancy from some sort of heart complications.
I remembered the horror stricken, full-blown panic attack I had in that dusty cabin bedroom. Well aware that everyone in the little building could hear me freaking out and gasping for air. It was the first time I had ever considered that something could happen to this life I was growing in my belly. The first time the thought had even crossed my mind that babies die. The first time ever that I realized that the terror of caring for another life is LESS SCARY than having no little life to care for at all. Little did I know that my worst fear that day would be coming true 2.5 years later and again less than 12 months after that.
I know that she's had a hard life, although I don't know many of the gory details, but no wonder the woman has had an addiction to prescription narcotics for the last ?? years. No wonder she can be so cankerous and stubbon. The grief has to come out somewhere. Part of me would love to join her on her drug induced cloud of life. Hell, give the lady her pain pills.
I can't imagine trying to grieve the loss of this baby boy, when you weren't allowed to. Even today, people just don't get it. They don't understand that my world is crushed, that I hurt for my children every moment of every day, that I have a hole that I constantly fight to keep from swallowing me. They don't ask about them or me. Everyone just wants to gloss over their deaths. And I'm sure in rural Missouri, over 60 years ago, the glossing started before that little boy was even in the ground. Had he even died yet before people started glossing over Jimmie's pain??
Jimmie, I am so sorry. Please know that Mitchell and I will fight for you to be buried next to your babe. My understanding of you has blossomed into a giant flower. I get it. Even if we can't talk about it, even if it's not a concept I can get across to you through the haze. I get it and I am so very, very sorry.
Friday, June 22, 2012
Tuesday, June 19, 2012
No baby says hubby
I'm having the realization that my husband may not want to have another baby. Actually, I'm pretty sure he doesn't want to. At least not any time soon. ::crush::
I don't know anything. But that's exactly it. I want to talk about all aspects of going on a subsequent pregnancy journey and I can't get him to say how he feels about it at all.
Of course this hasn't taken over the entirety of his conscious mind (like it has mine). He doesn't have a woman's biological clock tic-tic-tocking constantly, endlessly, in the back of his mind. As a man, he can't possibly have the baby wants; that has to be a purely female thing, right? The craving for a baby. Empty arms.
I don't know anything. But that's exactly it. I want to talk about all aspects of going on a subsequent pregnancy journey and I can't get him to say how he feels about it at all.
Of course this hasn't taken over the entirety of his conscious mind (like it has mine). He doesn't have a woman's biological clock tic-tic-tocking constantly, endlessly, in the back of his mind. As a man, he can't possibly have the baby wants; that has to be a purely female thing, right? The craving for a baby. Empty arms.
Sunday, June 17, 2012
Stupid Highligher
Is there no end to the days that highlight the loss of my babies? It's like a big fucking neon marker on the calender, "Today, remember your babies are dead." "Today, remember you should be a Mom to more than one." "Today, remember that they are gone, forever." "Today, let's highlight your gaping wound." "Today, remember where you were last year and how your baby girl was smashing her skull into your pubic bone." "Today, remember that the man you love has been crushed too."
Screw you Calender Makers.
Father's Day is tomorrow. It's easy for me to just gloss over my husband's pain, the fact that he is shattered too. He is just so quiet in his pain while I rant and rave and scream mine to the world (odd how grief does this. I'd never have exposed this much of my pain to anyone before this....). But as this stupid day looms closer, I can feel him shutting down. He gets quieter every day. He doesn't smile as much. I can see the joy draining from him. And I can't do a damned thing.
I am a doer. I want to fix it. So I try to do things. Anything to keep me busy, distract me, make me feel like I am doing something for someone else.
I can't do anything for my husband. Nothing.
Screw you Calender Makers.
Father's Day is tomorrow. It's easy for me to just gloss over my husband's pain, the fact that he is shattered too. He is just so quiet in his pain while I rant and rave and scream mine to the world (odd how grief does this. I'd never have exposed this much of my pain to anyone before this....). But as this stupid day looms closer, I can feel him shutting down. He gets quieter every day. He doesn't smile as much. I can see the joy draining from him. And I can't do a damned thing.
I am a doer. I want to fix it. So I try to do things. Anything to keep me busy, distract me, make me feel like I am doing something for someone else.
I can't do anything for my husband. Nothing.
Thursday, June 14, 2012
No footprint too small
"There is no foot too small that it cannot leave an imprint on this world."
This is what got me through a large, large chunk of my grief. ("got me through"? Like it ends...?!?!) It is what I cling to desperately with my bloody fingernails. The death of my children would not be in vain. I would do something in their honor. They would affect the lives of others through me.
I need to know that I am somewhere else because of my gut wrenching loss. Somewhere I wouldn't have been if not for Liam and Riley. I want to look at my life and say, "I am here, I am doing this because of them. I know I would not be here if I had not had my babies."
It is vital that they leave a footprint. They deserve a damned footprint! They were too small to leave a big one, it is my job as their mother to really mash it in. Make it a huge print. Make someone somewhere feel it. Create a ripple effect. DO SOMETHING! Help some body, even if only one grief gripped Mommie. Even if I never know about it.
I see these other loss mommies who have gone on to do big things because they lost a little baby perfection. Corrine with her Rowan Tree Foundation, Misty with her Baby boards, Bambi with her endless advocacy, Finley's Footprints, Deb from AWG and the walk. I feel that I have done nothing, nothing to better the lives of others in honor of my children.
I know I am doing things that I wouldn't otherwise, but such ridiculously stupid things. I went to the Color Run. No way in hell I would have done that before. Playing mudd volleyball for the March of Dimes, joining playgroups, putting myself out there to be vulnerable even though someone is bound to squash me like a bug. ( excuse me while the panic sets in from this impending crush...)
I guess I'm realizing that I need people. I spent many, many years giving people the big middle finger. My tendency is toward isolated outcast even if that isn't my ideal life experience and no it doesn't make me particularly happy.
Riley and Liam have taught me that I need to need people (even if most of them are.....a stupid let down and some of them are just throwbacks not keepers). This kneel-inducing experience have allowed me to accept help. Even ask for it. To let my heart be squishy and exposed and not give a damn.
But is that enough?? That's freaking nothing. They deserve so much more
This is what got me through a large, large chunk of my grief. ("got me through"? Like it ends...?!?!) It is what I cling to desperately with my bloody fingernails. The death of my children would not be in vain. I would do something in their honor. They would affect the lives of others through me.
I need to know that I am somewhere else because of my gut wrenching loss. Somewhere I wouldn't have been if not for Liam and Riley. I want to look at my life and say, "I am here, I am doing this because of them. I know I would not be here if I had not had my babies."
It is vital that they leave a footprint. They deserve a damned footprint! They were too small to leave a big one, it is my job as their mother to really mash it in. Make it a huge print. Make someone somewhere feel it. Create a ripple effect. DO SOMETHING! Help some body, even if only one grief gripped Mommie. Even if I never know about it.
I see these other loss mommies who have gone on to do big things because they lost a little baby perfection. Corrine with her Rowan Tree Foundation, Misty with her Baby boards, Bambi with her endless advocacy, Finley's Footprints, Deb from AWG and the walk. I feel that I have done nothing, nothing to better the lives of others in honor of my children.
I know I am doing things that I wouldn't otherwise, but such ridiculously stupid things. I went to the Color Run. No way in hell I would have done that before. Playing mudd volleyball for the March of Dimes, joining playgroups, putting myself out there to be vulnerable even though someone is bound to squash me like a bug. ( excuse me while the panic sets in from this impending crush...)
I guess I'm realizing that I need people. I spent many, many years giving people the big middle finger. My tendency is toward isolated outcast even if that isn't my ideal life experience and no it doesn't make me particularly happy.
Riley and Liam have taught me that I need to need people (even if most of them are.....a stupid let down and some of them are just throwbacks not keepers). This kneel-inducing experience have allowed me to accept help. Even ask for it. To let my heart be squishy and exposed and not give a damn.
But is that enough?? That's freaking nothing. They deserve so much more
Rainbow Babies
I have a new obsession. Hopefully serving a greater purpose than just to distract me from my grief (like anything could truly distract from the bloody hole that just won't heal).
Babies. A new baby. A rainbow baby. I've heard a subsequent pregnancy called a healing baby. HA! Right. Riley was supposed to be that healing baby. Her successful birth was supposed to help us get over the death of Little Liam. To heal us. There is NO such thing.
Yet, I'm still obsessed. We were robbed. Twice. This journey started right after Hunter turned 2. He is almost 4! A two year battle of awful. The crazy thing: we have no trouble whatsoever conceiving (knock on wood, Hail Mary, yoga pose, throw salt over shoulder). Yet. 2 years we have been waiting.
I have a huge "to-do" list of things I have to do before trying this completely insane journey again. I must be on some sort of drug... I've lost my freaking mind
At this moment the 2 things that scare me the most about a subsequent pregnancy.
1. What the hell am I doing to my son?? What is 10 months of insane, crazy, out of this world anxiety going to do to him?? How can I find zen if only for him? Can I fake it?? And if we lose the baby.....what is THAT going to do to my reason for life??
I know that if Hunter wasn't around, we would be jumping right back onto this crazy ride.
2. My supports. I will lose the little support nest that we have been building. All my Loss Mommies. All my sisters in this land of horror. Gone.
I know there is no way I would be able to be nicey, nice supportive if one of them was pregnant. So..... Just gone.....? THat sucks. Who is going to hold my hand as I freak out?? Who is going to read my crazy emails?
And yet, I want this. Like a crazy woman, I want this. Can I just be hospitalized and monitored the whole time? Can someone just guarantee that the odds won't hate me for a third time??? That shit happens. Statistics hate me.
Babies. A new baby. A rainbow baby. I've heard a subsequent pregnancy called a healing baby. HA! Right. Riley was supposed to be that healing baby. Her successful birth was supposed to help us get over the death of Little Liam. To heal us. There is NO such thing.
Yet, I'm still obsessed. We were robbed. Twice. This journey started right after Hunter turned 2. He is almost 4! A two year battle of awful. The crazy thing: we have no trouble whatsoever conceiving (knock on wood, Hail Mary, yoga pose, throw salt over shoulder). Yet. 2 years we have been waiting.
I have a huge "to-do" list of things I have to do before trying this completely insane journey again. I must be on some sort of drug... I've lost my freaking mind
At this moment the 2 things that scare me the most about a subsequent pregnancy.
1. What the hell am I doing to my son?? What is 10 months of insane, crazy, out of this world anxiety going to do to him?? How can I find zen if only for him? Can I fake it?? And if we lose the baby.....what is THAT going to do to my reason for life??
I know that if Hunter wasn't around, we would be jumping right back onto this crazy ride.
2. My supports. I will lose the little support nest that we have been building. All my Loss Mommies. All my sisters in this land of horror. Gone.
I know there is no way I would be able to be nicey, nice supportive if one of them was pregnant. So..... Just gone.....? THat sucks. Who is going to hold my hand as I freak out?? Who is going to read my crazy emails?
And yet, I want this. Like a crazy woman, I want this. Can I just be hospitalized and monitored the whole time? Can someone just guarantee that the odds won't hate me for a third time??? That shit happens. Statistics hate me.
Wednesday, June 13, 2012
This is right.....right???
I'm feeling pretty insane these days. Decision making is
impossible. I flip flop back and forth between the extreme extremes
over any decision. And I am not talking about stupid little decisions
like paper or plastic or whether I should have a greasy burger or salad
for lunch.
I go from firmly believing one extreme to firmly deciding on the other. Yes, another pregancy ASAP to hella no I will never do this to my family again. I want to close my "business" (and just...be a mom?) to I am going to hit it harder and make it more and more successful. I hate myself, I am a piece of trash not worth the oxygen I breath to I am a decent mother and wife and can do it all.
I flip flop from day to day and sometimes in the same day multiple times. It makes me feel so lost to not even know what I want. My mind confuses me and makes everything more difficult. Please Crazy Brain, give this lady a break.
I go from firmly believing one extreme to firmly deciding on the other. Yes, another pregancy ASAP to hella no I will never do this to my family again. I want to close my "business" (and just...be a mom?) to I am going to hit it harder and make it more and more successful. I hate myself, I am a piece of trash not worth the oxygen I breath to I am a decent mother and wife and can do it all.
I flip flop from day to day and sometimes in the same day multiple times. It makes me feel so lost to not even know what I want. My mind confuses me and makes everything more difficult. Please Crazy Brain, give this lady a break.
Readers...?
The sad fact is that 6 months after Riley's death, I've run out of people to whine to. People stop talking to you, they run out of sympathy, and you become that woman they know who complains about every facet of their lives constantly. Is that really what I've become?
I don't actually WANT anyone to read this blog. Well, no one who knows I am writing it. I don't want another outlet to feel whiney (is whiney a word?); I feel whiney enough as it is.
Whatever.
I don't actually WANT anyone to read this blog. Well, no one who knows I am writing it. I don't want another outlet to feel whiney (is whiney a word?); I feel whiney enough as it is.
Whatever.
Someone Get Me Off This Hill.
HA! Yep, broken again. Damn the cyclical cycle.
Sometimes I feel that I am working so hard. Pedaling, pedaling, pedaling..... But I never get anywhere. I'm on a bike that only seems to work backwards. I'm so tired of pedaling; my legs are sore. I'm tired of not getting anywhere.
Maybe it would be different if it was just my grief.... But I feel like my whole life is work, work, work and no forward progress. My job, my relationships, my personal growth. Am I just flogging a dead horse into pulp with my endless attempts? I'm tired. I wonder how the horse is feeling.
Sometimes I feel that I am working so hard. Pedaling, pedaling, pedaling..... But I never get anywhere. I'm on a bike that only seems to work backwards. I'm so tired of pedaling; my legs are sore. I'm tired of not getting anywhere.
Maybe it would be different if it was just my grief.... But I feel like my whole life is work, work, work and no forward progress. My job, my relationships, my personal growth. Am I just flogging a dead horse into pulp with my endless attempts? I'm tired. I wonder how the horse is feeling.
Thursday, May 17, 2012
Broken?
Am I broken? Yes, I was broken, but am I now? No.
Glued back together, absolutely. Propped up, yep. Unstable at times, sure.
But not totally broken
Glued back together, absolutely. Propped up, yep. Unstable at times, sure.
But not totally broken
Wednesday, February 15, 2012
I feel so guilty for not doing anything for you. I haven't had a service for you. I said I was going to make a footprint for you and I haven't done a thing. Nothing. I haven't knit someone else a hat. I haven't helped anyone else in your honor. I have done nothing.
It actually makes me sick when I think about it. I haven't done anything for you. I spend all my time and energy trying to stay busy with other things. Pushing my knitting, my scrapbooking, my housework, so that I don't have to think about you. Because I miss you so much that the thought of you hurts too much.
I have to go and talk to a counselor today. I don't want to. I can't explain to this stranger how I feel and how losing you has completely destroyed me and my life. I am so fucked up now.
It actually makes me sick when I think about it. I haven't done anything for you. I spend all my time and energy trying to stay busy with other things. Pushing my knitting, my scrapbooking, my housework, so that I don't have to think about you. Because I miss you so much that the thought of you hurts too much.
I have to go and talk to a counselor today. I don't want to. I can't explain to this stranger how I feel and how losing you has completely destroyed me and my life. I am so fucked up now.
Sunday, February 12, 2012
The Scent of Blood.......
I miss it.
That sounds so twisted, so demented, so......so fucked up. But I do. I miss the smell of blood.
It has taken me a very long time to realize, and then accept, that blood is what my baby girl smelled like. To me she smelled so good, so great. I inhaled her scent deeply from the moment her lifeless body was laid in my arms. I knew I wanted to remember the way she smelled. I needed to memorize her scent because I would only have it for a few, short, desperate hours.
She smelled like blood because that's what dead bodies do. They bleed. Unfortunately, Riley was dead inside me for almost 3 full days before she was born. Her cells began to deteriorate, to break down, immediately. She was bleeding the entire time I had her. From her nose. From her mouth. So yes, my perfect girl.....smelled like blood.
Another mom, who suffered the loss of her daughter, described her girl's scent as sweet sugar. My imagination of this sweet scent emanating from a living, breathing baby makes me ill. Because my girl didn't smell like sugar. Or candy, or baby soap, or lotion, or spit up, or newborn. She smelled like sick, like death, like blood.
I crave it. I hunted for it for the longest time.
And I miss it every day.
That sounds so twisted, so demented, so......so fucked up. But I do. I miss the smell of blood.
It has taken me a very long time to realize, and then accept, that blood is what my baby girl smelled like. To me she smelled so good, so great. I inhaled her scent deeply from the moment her lifeless body was laid in my arms. I knew I wanted to remember the way she smelled. I needed to memorize her scent because I would only have it for a few, short, desperate hours.
She smelled like blood because that's what dead bodies do. They bleed. Unfortunately, Riley was dead inside me for almost 3 full days before she was born. Her cells began to deteriorate, to break down, immediately. She was bleeding the entire time I had her. From her nose. From her mouth. So yes, my perfect girl.....smelled like blood.
Another mom, who suffered the loss of her daughter, described her girl's scent as sweet sugar. My imagination of this sweet scent emanating from a living, breathing baby makes me ill. Because my girl didn't smell like sugar. Or candy, or baby soap, or lotion, or spit up, or newborn. She smelled like sick, like death, like blood.
I crave it. I hunted for it for the longest time.
And I miss it every day.
Monday, February 6, 2012
Horror in Isle 9
I saw her right away. I always see the babes immediately. Riding around in their open or mercifully blanket-draped carseats. Some are carried by moms, some by dads and some by shopping cart. The worst are the beautifully blanketed carried by arms or an occasional carrier. She was one of the worst.
I could tell from pretty far away that she was a newbie newb. A month old, max. Probably not even that old. Her mom was carrying her in a pink blanket; loving her, snuggling her, rocking and talking to her. The lucky bitch. I know that sounds harsh...the hate I often have for the moms..... I need to be mad at someone. And really, deep down, I'm just jealous.
I avoid her for the majority of the grocery store visit and avert my eyes if ever she, or any other infant, comes anywhere near. I even get stuck down the same isle with her and yet, I turn my back; I keep my composure. I am an isle or two away. Suddenly....she is mewling a newborn's cry and I can't take it. I stand there with my son, just sobbing. I'm trying to hide it (yeah right....everyone knows I'm crying).
Hunter asks, "What that noise?" and I tell him it's a baby. FLASHBACK to my months pregnant. I approached complete strangers with babies to show Hunter our future. I remember hearing cries and looking for the baby. "That's what we are going to have at home!" But we don't...
Logic is somewhere in my brain as I sob and struggle for some semblance of composure. Run. RUN! Get your kid and your stuff and get the hell out of the store. Go now! But I can't. I'm stuck in molasses like a bad dream; I can't move. I'm stuck, struggling, sobbing against boxes of Shredded Wheat as each of her cries rips away my carefully constructed, and false, front. Thankfully they leave the store soon.
I'll never get to hear my babies' cries. And it sucks.
I could tell from pretty far away that she was a newbie newb. A month old, max. Probably not even that old. Her mom was carrying her in a pink blanket; loving her, snuggling her, rocking and talking to her. The lucky bitch. I know that sounds harsh...the hate I often have for the moms..... I need to be mad at someone. And really, deep down, I'm just jealous.
I avoid her for the majority of the grocery store visit and avert my eyes if ever she, or any other infant, comes anywhere near. I even get stuck down the same isle with her and yet, I turn my back; I keep my composure. I am an isle or two away. Suddenly....she is mewling a newborn's cry and I can't take it. I stand there with my son, just sobbing. I'm trying to hide it (yeah right....everyone knows I'm crying).
Hunter asks, "What that noise?" and I tell him it's a baby. FLASHBACK to my months pregnant. I approached complete strangers with babies to show Hunter our future. I remember hearing cries and looking for the baby. "That's what we are going to have at home!" But we don't...
Logic is somewhere in my brain as I sob and struggle for some semblance of composure. Run. RUN! Get your kid and your stuff and get the hell out of the store. Go now! But I can't. I'm stuck in molasses like a bad dream; I can't move. I'm stuck, struggling, sobbing against boxes of Shredded Wheat as each of her cries rips away my carefully constructed, and false, front. Thankfully they leave the store soon.
I'll never get to hear my babies' cries. And it sucks.
Remnants of a Pedicure
It's weird the things you hang onto after losing your baby. Right after Riley died, I didn't want to shave that weird dark line of hair that grows on some pregnant women's stomach. I didn't want to shower after birth, I was afraid that I was washing Riley off; I was washing off her smell. Anything that had occurred on my body simultaneously with her short life, I clung to. I didn't want to lose it.
Most of that is gone. I still have my stretch marks which I love although they break me. My body is beginning to return to a post pregnancy state. Except for my toenails.
For my birthday in August, my husband bought me a pregnancy pampering package complete with massage, mani, and pedi. I went in for my pampering session when I was 28 weeks pregnant. The manicured beauty of my fingers lasted all of 5 minutes as they always do if you use your hands at all during an average day. At 28 weeks pregnant, repainting my toe nails wasn't exactly high on my list of priorities and as I got larger and larger, it became an impossibility.
After Riley's death I could see my toes again. But I knew the exact circumstances around that nail polish and couldn't bare to remove it. And so it remains.
I know that it won't last forever. And the ridiculousness of it occurs to me as I sit here and cry about nail polish. It feels a bit like my body's last connection to my girl whose nails I will never get to paint. It reminds me of her little finger and toe nails and how red they looked because of the blood pooling behind them; how Mitchell and I thought of her nails as painted and the blood on her lips as simple lipstick. She was all made-up for her not-so-made-up Mommie. Wouldn't her Aunt Kelsey have loved to paint and polish my little girl?
Maybe I cling to it as an indication of time. By the time that nail polish is gone....I will be...what exactly? Better? No. I can't imagine I'll ever be "better." But as nails grow so slowly so do I attempt to heal (Will I ever heal??). So incredibly slow if my journey. So. Incredibly. Slow. I wonder where I will be when that red is finally gone...
Most of that is gone. I still have my stretch marks which I love although they break me. My body is beginning to return to a post pregnancy state. Except for my toenails.
For my birthday in August, my husband bought me a pregnancy pampering package complete with massage, mani, and pedi. I went in for my pampering session when I was 28 weeks pregnant. The manicured beauty of my fingers lasted all of 5 minutes as they always do if you use your hands at all during an average day. At 28 weeks pregnant, repainting my toe nails wasn't exactly high on my list of priorities and as I got larger and larger, it became an impossibility.
After Riley's death I could see my toes again. But I knew the exact circumstances around that nail polish and couldn't bare to remove it. And so it remains.
I know that it won't last forever. And the ridiculousness of it occurs to me as I sit here and cry about nail polish. It feels a bit like my body's last connection to my girl whose nails I will never get to paint. It reminds me of her little finger and toe nails and how red they looked because of the blood pooling behind them; how Mitchell and I thought of her nails as painted and the blood on her lips as simple lipstick. She was all made-up for her not-so-made-up Mommie. Wouldn't her Aunt Kelsey have loved to paint and polish my little girl?
Maybe I cling to it as an indication of time. By the time that nail polish is gone....I will be...what exactly? Better? No. I can't imagine I'll ever be "better." But as nails grow so slowly so do I attempt to heal (Will I ever heal??). So incredibly slow if my journey. So. Incredibly. Slow. I wonder where I will be when that red is finally gone...
Sunday, February 5, 2012
Underlying, Gut-wrenching Pain
The pain is always there. Always. An incredibly, ridiculously deep, incapacitating hole that has been carved into me. It's always there.
Somehow I find ways to cover it up. To distract myself from it. Do stuff, stay busy, work, watch TV, listen to books. Anything that I can do to occupy my mind. It's getting substantially easier now to ignore the horror within me, but it never goes away. The river still flows right under the surface. Some days it still rages closer to the surface, harder to ignore.
As soon as I allow myself to look at the hole, to feel the sorrow, it takes me to my knees again and its like I just lost Riley and Liam yesterday. I am wracked with raw, hacking sobs; I am inconsolable.
It's hardest at night. When there is nothing to distract. My pillow is stained with tears and often I fall asleep with wet hair and pillow. Sleep meds are my best friend.
A newborn baby is the most powerful thing in the world. A stranger, she can rip through my callouses directly to that bloody hole and beat on my open wounds just by being carried around in a carseat.
And it's always there. Looming, Waiting for a weak moment. Waiting for me to let down my defenses. Waiting for my eyes to linger too long on a little girl or a baby or a pregnant woman. Ready to rip my to shreds yet again.
Somehow I find ways to cover it up. To distract myself from it. Do stuff, stay busy, work, watch TV, listen to books. Anything that I can do to occupy my mind. It's getting substantially easier now to ignore the horror within me, but it never goes away. The river still flows right under the surface. Some days it still rages closer to the surface, harder to ignore.
As soon as I allow myself to look at the hole, to feel the sorrow, it takes me to my knees again and its like I just lost Riley and Liam yesterday. I am wracked with raw, hacking sobs; I am inconsolable.
It's hardest at night. When there is nothing to distract. My pillow is stained with tears and often I fall asleep with wet hair and pillow. Sleep meds are my best friend.
A newborn baby is the most powerful thing in the world. A stranger, she can rip through my callouses directly to that bloody hole and beat on my open wounds just by being carried around in a carseat.
And it's always there. Looming, Waiting for a weak moment. Waiting for me to let down my defenses. Waiting for my eyes to linger too long on a little girl or a baby or a pregnant woman. Ready to rip my to shreds yet again.
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