A brighter tomorrow

So the weight that I felt lifted a few weeks ago has stayed away--and to that I say hoorah! I'm still feeling good--more myself than I've been in a long time. I feel like it's here to stay.

That said, a very important date/hurdle is approaching: My EDD of 1-9-10. And I'd be lying if I said that I didn't feel more than a little conflicted about this.

On one hand, I've been feeling better and I feel like I can power through it using my holiday mantra of "Today is what it is, not what it was supposed to be."

Part of me is shocked that this day ever came--it felt like something looming off in the distance... An surreal abstract date that would never arrive.

But it's here. And you know what we're going to do? We'll be getting up at the crack of dawn on Saturday, January 9th and we're hopping on a flight to Mexico that will have me with a cocktail in hand by lunchtime.

I figured that if I'm going to be all sad and distraught, I might as well do it on a beautiful beach, surrounded by sand and warmth. And did I mention cocktails?

And all I can say is, "Keep 'em coming!"

My mantra for today/tomorrow

After two mimosas and a Christmas Ale, I had this revelation in the shower (that's where the magic always happens):

Today is what it is, not what "it was supposed to be."

I think I'm going to live this for the next day or so.

Turning the corner, seeing the light

It's happened a handful of times that when I vocalize that I'm starting to feel better, a shitstorm blows in and turns everything upside down again.

But it's been 5 days of feeling good--normal, in fact. I think you saw the first evidence of this on Friday when I posted that we booked our trip to Mexico--well, to go along with that I decided that I'm back on my healthy eating bandwagon, so I've been leading a fresh fruit and veggies assault. After a day or two of adjusting, I feel really good physically as well. So we're on our way, yes?

I feel like I've turned a corner. I think the end of 2009 is bringing some closure and I've completed some tasks related to the baby that I wanted to--addressed our medical bills, wrote her birth story, and OH! Wait! I forgot to tell you a few things!

Yesterday DH said he got a call from both the hospital billing department and the genetics counselor. The billing department is going to make some adjustments to our bill (YAY!) and I've been approved by my insurance company for Fragile X testing, bloodwork, and they're working on getting our kidney ultrasounds approved. I had sort of written off genetic testing as a possibility, but if insurance will cover it, why not go for it?

Yesterday was the winter solstice, aka "the darkest night of the year" and I decided to look at this occasion as a renewal of sorts--from here on out, things will get brighter and maybe if I just focus on the light, we'll get there faster.

Thank you for sticking with me in the darkness. I don't even know how to begin to express my gratitude for the endless support you guys have given to me.

xoxo

Wait, can I point out something odd?

My first cycle TTC started on 12/18/08. Yesterday my period started on 12/18/09 and this could maybe be our first cycle TTC after a loss.

Isn't it weird to start your period on the same day, one year apart, especially I've never been a clockwork person and with a weird 5 month pregnancy interlude and post labor & delivery wait for a period?

Anyway, just wanted to point that out.

Good things! Fun things! Vacation!

YIPPEE!! Ready for a quick change in tone?

We booked our vacation (for my "fauxternity leave" as I'm calling it) last night January 9-16 for Mexico. Really looking forward to fun, sun, and cocktails! WOOT! We got a great deal on an all-inclusive with great ratings and we're pumped. Now I have less than a month to drop the weight I gained while TTC earlier this year--and I *WILL* do it, even with the holidays in the mix. I'm an excited and determined woman!

AND! I think I've convinced DH to take another trip in May to celebrate our 5th wedding anniversary. I really would like to go to Belize, but January's weather there is too iffy, so I mentioned the idea last night and he was super open to it. YEAH!

AND! I got a holiday card from the White House yesterday. How cool is that? I'm on the President's friggin' Christmas card list. Guess those endless hours volunteering with the campaign paid off!

AND! It's Friday and I got an unexpected holiday bonus this week! I was the only one who got one because I'm awesome. Just kidding. We had layoffs last year and they don't normally do bonuses, but they wanted to thank us for working hard with less staff.

AND! Aunt Flo moved into town, so that marks two normal cycles. My ovaries are so awesome, it's like they're a well oiled machine. *pets ovaries* Way to go, girls.

Today marks 1 year since we started to try for a baby and you know what? I don't frigging care. It's a damn good day and I'm going to enjoy it. (And no, I don't have an answer on when we'll be trying again. And I'm okay with that.)

xoxo,
MSC

Jude's Birth Story, finally

It’s taken me a few months to get to some things with Jude’s birth story being one of those items. It’s not that I didn’t want to write one, but I just hadn’t put all of the words together to properly articulate what it was like to meet my daughter for the first and last time.

So here it goes… Beginning to end. It's going to be a long one--I want every memory of this written down while I can still recall it.

After waking up in the morning, blogging a few times, and talking to my tummy for a bit, I went about my usual routine of showering, getting dressed (wondering if I should wear clothes that I hated in case I never wanted to wear them again because “that’s what I wore to the hospital”), I dutifully packed up some items for a friend’s engagement party that I was supposed to be co-hosting and dropped them off to the other co-host.

Luckily, we decided to take a quick trip through Taco Bell for my final meal, as I figured I wouldn’t be allowed to eat for awhile in case I needed a D&C.

When I arrived at the check-in desk at labor & delivery, the woman immediately looked at me and was like, “You must be MSC.” Apparently having barely a bump at all makes it obvious you’re the 21-weeker who is coming in to say goodbye.

The obgyn from the original office who send us to the specialist spotted us from across the room and came over to tell us that he was sorry to see us there and asked how we were holding up. I’m fairly certain I choked out something like, “This fucking sucks,” because quite frankly—that’s about all I said for the first week or so.

The nurses were wonderful and kind, but I wondered why they kept explaining things to me over and over and asking me the same questions. I realized later it's because they know that you might not be thinking clearly. I had expected things to move really quickly, but in retrospect they really did try to handle me with gentle gloves, not rush things, and not rush us out of there, which I really appreciated.

I seem to recall our arrival time being 10 a.m. or so, but I didn’t have my first cytotech pill until 1:00... Something like that. The timetables are hard to remember now. Anyway, they put a pill in to soften and dilate my cervix and then I'd wait an hour before I could move around.

After we were settled and the images of a speedy, dramatic delivery were out of our heads, we called our families and allowed them to come and visit. I had initially resisted this because I didn’t want to infect them with what I assumed would be a horrific, traumatic memory.

Both sides of our families visited and during that time I felt surprisingly good—I was able to chat, crack jokes, and remained very, very calm and relaxed. I kept focusing on keeping myself from tensing up because I did not want to fight the cytotech and make this a longer process than it had to be. I even got to catch Wheel of Fortune, where I got almost every single puzzle before the contestants. (Go me!)

I didn't have any effects from the pill until 9:00 p.m. or so. As my sisters left for the evening and I went to make a bathroom run, I started shaking like crazy and freaked out a little. DH called to the nurse who said it was a normal side effect, so I was able to calm down enough to get myself out of the bathroom and back into bed. Turns out I was running a fever, so they covered me in a ton of warm blankets.

They kept having to up my doses, eventually taking the drug in maxed out doses both orally and vaginally (crushed). The cramping was super light and mild--kind of like a period, no biggie. I kept saying that I had a cervix of steel. It made me feel better to know that my body was operating in the proper manner and trying to keep this little one inside of me like a good mommy.

Somewhere around midnight the anesthesiologist came in to see if I wanted my epidural. They said because of how many doses they gave me that they wanted to go ahead and do it early because you can go from zero pain to a "10" pain really quickly and without warning. I went ahead and did it, but I kind of wish I would have held off--the epidural made it impossible for me to move one of my legs, which was painful during the night. I had to call the nurses every 2 hours or so to help me flip over. As you can imagine, I don’t do well with feeling helpless, so my self esteem sort of took a hit here.

I started to have a panic attack before they put the epidural needle in because I was terrified. I didn’t want to be there and I never wanted an epidural for any childbirth experience. It made me feel like things were finally happening and progressing and that the moment of truth was coming closer, despite my best efforts to stay mentally in my happy place.

The nurse, Melissa, was so wonderful. She told me about losing her daughter after a year in the NICU and how she understood what the loss of a baby was like. I told her that I had been trying to treat this like a miscarriage (and I recognize how awful miscarriages are, I just mean in the terms of not seeing the baby afterwards. Miscarriages are also heartbreaking losses of a child—we are in the same awful club here.) and she was just like, This is not a miscarriage or something that’s going to just disappear. This is your baby and you’re her mom. And the sooner you act like it and treat it like it, the better off you will be.

Truer words were never spoken. It changed everything for me. I think I needed someone to validate that this was my daughter and that I should say goodbye to her instead of pretending this all never happened. After that they gave me a shot in my IV to calm me down and in went the epidural.

There were a few things I was scared to ask for because DH didn't want to see the baby, so during one of my checks where he left the room, I explained to my nurse Melissa about my apprehensions about seeing the baby. She promised me that if it was deformed she would tell me. She told me that if I couldn't hold/see the baby that she'd still do photos and footprints in case I changed my mind one day. And if I didn’t want to take that box of photos and clothes home, they would keep it for me at the hospital indefinintely.

I have low blood pressure to begin with and the cytotech made it worse, so alarms kept going off all night, even though I was okay. DH would only get 15 minutes of sleep at a time because he would have to get off of the pull-out couch to reset the machine—I felt awful for him. I knew he was an emotional wreck, he didn’t need to be sleep deprived on top of that. Anyway, I seem to recall my lowest blood pressure being something crazy like 58/30. LOW!

There are more details about the cytotech making me sick, but quite frankly I’d like to forget that.

I was in/out of it all night and through the next day. I didn’t feel any contractions unless I was holding my tummy, which I most certainly did not want to do, so I just tried to stay relaxed and breathe.

At one point, DH came into my room and told me that I wouldn’t believe who he just ran into in the hallway—his cousin. His cousin and his wife were giving birth to a healthy baby in the same hospital and the same day, right across the hallway. How bizarre is that? I immediately was like, “That’s great! Congratulations! Go and get him a card in the hospital shop!” but he was a little shaken up by this.

I didn't feel anything until the middle of the afternoon the next day--I had started to get sick and when I tightened up, I felt something drop. That’s it. I flipped my lid. I was convinced that my baby was in the birth canal and that this was it. My mom was in/out of the room, but trying to get the nurses to help me with the sickness and I just kept bawling and saying, “I don’t want to do this, I don’t want to do this. I don’t want this to be it.”

Soon afterwards, the doctor came in and checked me and said the baby was low, butt down, and starting to move a little, but not in the birth canal yet.

When they came to check me around 4:15 p.m. (so we were over the 24 hour mark at this point), the doctor said that it was time. My mom and husband had cleared out of the room for my check and I didn’t ask for them to come back—I just wanted to do this. They got everything ready and soon afterwards I was pushing--it wasn't hard at all and quite frankly I had no idea what I was doing or feeling. I didn’t even know when I was done because everyone was so quiet. Finally I just asked, should I keep pushing or am I done? I sort of saw someone wrap something up and walk it out of the room, but I couldn’t really see.

The doctor explained that I had passed everything at once—the placenta, the sac, and the baby, so he didn’t think I’d need a D&C, but he gave a quick look to make sure I was alright (and I was… finally some good news.)

The nurses helped to clean up and I heard one of them ask the other if they needed to use the green form for the certificate. The other one responded yes, so I was just like, So that means it was stillborn, right? They said yes—and I cried a little more and in a weird way I was grateful that she had passed peacefully in the only warm and wonderful environment she’d ever known. She’d never struggled for air or hated the sudden cold. They don’t monitor the baby's heartbeat in these types of situations (probably not to freak you out when they do pass), so I don't know when she died. But you know what? That’s okay with me.

Apparently my mom was there when they came through the hallway with the sac, so she followed them and watched them pull her from it, clean her off, and held her until I was ready. Later she told me that she sang her “our songs” aka the German lullabies that she sang us as children (we’re not German, but somehow it’s still a family tradition! We’re oddballs like that.)

The doctor came in and told me that they weren’t quite sure what the gender was because of the nature of the condition and that our paperwork would say gender unknown. I was okay with this because I had told them that we didn’t want to know either way—we had selected a name that we’d be using either way – Jude – after the patron saint of lost causes.

A little while later my mom brought her to me and I just burst into uncontrollable tears that I could barely see through. At first I could only uncover her face a little, let that absorb, then her hands, feet, etc. It definitely took awhile.

At 21 weeks, they're young—red and splotchy, but she was an amazing, adorable little baby and like all parents, I was instantly in love—but heartbroken. She was on her way to being such an beautiful little girl. And how could she look so perfect on the outside with so much wrong on the inside?

I counted ten fingers, ten tiny little toes (with tiny fingernails! Can you believe it?) and the most adorable button nose, full lips, and very chubby cheeks! Her ears and top of her head had loose skin from being pressed in my uterus without fluid, but I just kept the blanket over it. She was 10 inches long and 12 ounces—not bad at all for 21 weeks! Like I’ve always said, we make big babies in our family!

I can’t remember who visited when. I know my sisters came in together and we cried and marveled at how perfect she was in her own way. All we could do was stare and comment on all of the little things we noticed—like cute little eyebrows (DH’s hair color), my chin and chubby cheeks, DH’s nose, my slender fingers and bubble toes. There was so much to absorb in so little time.

DH’s mom and sister came in and it was sort of the same thing again… What do you really say at a time like this? She was beautiful. She was sweet. She was gone.

DH didn't want to see her at first, but changed his mind when our families had been in/out and said good things. I think it also became obvious to him that she wasn’t going to be whisked away immediately and that I was probably going to spend some time with her—and I think that was torture for him. I could hear him at the door and someone asked if he was going to go in. The curtain partition was up, so I was just like, “Okay. I’m going to describe the baby and you can decide if you want to come in.” After explaining her skin and saying she had my cheeks and his nose, he entered.

I had to do the same thing with him—only show a little at a time and he didn’t want to hold her. My dad came to visit and I started crying all over again and just choked out, “So I had a baby today…” After we visited for awhile, I asked him if he wanted to hold her and he said that he would if I wanted him to—which I couldn’t tell if that was his way of saying yes or no, so I just handed her to him.

DH came in while my dad was holding her and stood around for a while and finally said that he’d like to hold her. It was sweet and precious, but so hard to see him hurting so badly. I knew that I’d already been taking lots of steps toward dealing with this because I was the one who had to physically do this, so I knew he was a little behind in his grieving.

Throughout the process we had changed our minds on a few things—we were going to go ahead with the local funeral home’s offer to cremate her free of charge and DH wanted to have her blessed. When our nurse, Chantel, came in to fill out the paperwork for the blessing, she caught herself calling the baby “she” and when we sort of stiffened, she was like, I’m sorry—they’re not quite sure, but it looks like it was a baby girl.

More tears. Yes, I did sort of want a girl. But I would have cried a little more if she said boy at that point because I know DH sort of wanted a boy. We both would have been happy either way—we just didn’t want this ending.

Our families came in for the blessing and I could barely say or do anything—just looked at my baby and cried. I didn’t want to look at anyone else—I would see them again, but not my little girl. If this was all of the time I was going to get with her, I was going to savor every last moment. They had put her in a sweet, soft little dress—god only knows where they order them from, they’re so tiny.

They took the baby for measurements and photos and family started to trickle out after awhile—everyone was emotionally and physically drained. While I appreciated every ounce of their love and support, it was nice to have it just be the 3 of us for a little bit.

At one point I had to go to the bathroom, so I handed her to DH and when I returned, he was laying on the couch with her carefully perched on his chest and he said, “I just wanted to see what it was like.”

As if my heart hadn’t already broke into a million pieces that day, it happened all over again a million times over in that moment. I’ll never forget it and I’ll never be able to speak those words, look at them, or type them without crying for the rest of my life.

Our nurse Chantel came back with a digital camera (Thank god! I didn’t bring one because I thought it was weird and morbid, but now I’m so grateful for those photos) and we snapped a handful of us with the baby, her hands and feet. Unfortunately, the lighting was awful, so they’re hard to see and very discolored, but I’d rather have them than nothing.

All in all, we spent about 5 hours with her before we gave her back to go to the funeral home. I could see that her color was changing fast (getting more red/splotchy) so I felt like it was time to let her go.

The hospital staff was amazing. I really cannot say enough good things about them. They were unbelievably sensitive, attentive, etc.

The hospital gave me a lovely box that ties with a white ribbon—the symbolism being that when it’s untied, you’re opening your heart to your feelings and when it’s tied, you’re closing the book (for the time being.) In the little box, they wrote her name, birth stats, footprints and it has her photos, baby blanket (which was actually my baby blanket), her dress, and the shell they used for her blessing.

Seeing her, taking photos, and having these mementoes seemed so morbid going into the whole process. I am not the type of person to dwell on things. But I'm glad that I forced myself through it. I know what my baby looks like, I know that I touched, held, and sang (well, kinda. I tried and cried instead) and gave her everything I could offer. That is what makes me smile instead of cry today. But it's one of the things that got me through—to remember that I had a baby that I loved and gave the best life I could give, even if she couldn't stay.

The things we tell ourselves

I've noticed that for the past few months, I keep telling myself that because of what I've been through that I'm going to be rewarded in some manner--like I'm going to have more normal cycles (so far I've had one 33 day cycle--the shortest that I've ever had in my life), I'm going to get pregnant easily and when I want to (no, we're not trying yet), and that everything is going to go smoothly.

See? I'm a positive person. I've always believed that good things happen around us every single day and while we all have to endure pain, we don't have to suffer. (Thanks dad for that gem!)

This past weekend I was chatting with my aunt and she began to speak passionately about the role that the laws of attraction play in her life. I never put much faith in this belief system, but now it irritates me to no end and I found myself unable to even engage in a discussion on the topic.

Yes, it is a good thing to focus on the positive.
Yes, it is a good thing to remove yourself from toxic situations, people and thoughts.
Yes, it is a good thing to say what you want, ask for help from others, and work towards what you want.

But do I honestly believe that the universe will respond to my desires or pull negativity toward me? Oh hell-to-the-no. And quite honestly, to believe otherwise is only the illusion of control--not control itself.

I was confident that my baby was a good egg. I was having a wonderful, symptom-free pregnancy and was sure that things would go smoothly, I'd have a great birth, and I wouldn't obsess over every little thing. I cruised through What to Expect When You're Expecting without a care in the world, understanding risks but without a single thought that something could go wrong. I knew that if I did what I was supposed to do and took care of myself, things would turn out okay.

But you know what I've learned? We don't get to control shit. And just because this happened to me once and I feel that I'm owed a perfect pregnancy again, I know that it's not up to me. When we try again, I'm going to be right in line with everyone else, spinning the wheel and hoping that this time we get a winner. And when you don't know what it's like to pick the winner and all you know is an unhappy ending, it's hard to imagine otherwise.

I mean, so far 100% of my pregnancies ended in death. While that may seem a tad overdramatic to some, it is indeed all that I know at this very moment. Hopefully that will be turned around at some point, but right now that's where I am and I've realized that it's completely out of my hands if/when I will be on the other side of this.

So that's it, universe. I give up. I know that I have no control over the how's/when's/why's in life.

I'm not saying this to be morbid or to say that I honestly believe that this will happen again. I'm just saying that I have a clear understanding that this is completely out of my hands.

I've been told by a handful of my friends that they think I'm brave, strong, etc. But really? Right now I'm just playing the cards I'm dealt--and it's not like I had a choice. My heart (while broken) kept beating. So that's what I do every day--I show up because I didn't die.

I think bravery is actually found in facing these odds and spinning the wheel anyway. While I'm not there yet, I know I'll be there someday.

Then I will make the rounds to collect your compliments. ;-)

Coming to you from the bottom of a well... or so it seems

This past week I felt myself turning into a total Bitter Betty--a person that I've never been before. Case in point: when I'm asked how I am in casual conversation with acquaintances I'm completely unable to offer the usual, "I'm fine/good. How are you?"

Instead I'm all, "Meh." or "I'm okay..." This is usually met with a blank stare while I try to muster up a smile or some type of half-hearted reason like, "Oh, we've just been really busy lately" instead of just blurting out, "My baby died," which is pretty much running on a loop when I run into people that I haven't seen in awhile.

Even when I'm posting on my beloved message boards, I feel like I'm this sad panda wandering around, bringing everyone else down by talking about how sad she is. And I wish I had more than that to talk about right now, but I really don't. This is my life.

Fuuuuucccckkkk... How is it possible that I'm feeling even worse right now than I was a month ago? Why does it feel like I'm living my life at the bottom of a well? I keep staying active, hanging out with friends, etc. but what I really want to do is just sit by myself and listen to some music (currently strung out on the Dixie Chicks and playing "It's so hard" over and over. I know... I'm a walking cliche.)

Today I googled around and was reading about the stages of grief, since I've been feeling so bitter lately--methinks it's my way of processing anger since I'm not a very angry person to begin with. So I've been trying to recognize my triggers, talk them out, and release them. So far it's working.

But as I was reading, this little tidbit came up:
Stage 4. "DEPRESSION", REFLECTION, LONELINESS-

Just when your friends may think you should be getting on with your life, a long period of sad reflection will likely overtake you. This is a normal stage of grief, so do not be "talked out of it" by well-meaning outsiders. Encouragement from others is not helpful to you during this stage of grieving.

During this time, you finally realize the true magnitude of your loss, and it depresses you. You may isolate yourself on purpose, reflect on things you did with your lost one, and focus on memories of the past. You may sense feelings of emptiness or despair.

OH HEY! I know that girl! That's me and my deep dark well, isn't it?

So I'm glad to see that this is normal and that my knee-jerk reaction to be by myself is a not seen as a unhealthy choice. It made me feel justified in turning down dinner at my mom's tonight because honestly I just wanted to work in my yard, just me and my iPod.

The good news is that the next steps are an upward swing and acceptance.

So maybe I'll see ya 'round the bend. In the meantime, no throwing pennies down the well... I don't want to be pelted with loose change while I'm down here.

xoxo

$2079.56

Just in case you were wondering, that's the total of the medical bills that I have sitting on my desk as we speak between my OB, the specialist, the hospital, the anestesiologist, and labor and delivery--$2079.56.

Say it with me: Fuuuuuuck!

Not too long after we got home, we got the bill of what insurance didn't cover, which was about $1,300. Okay, not great, but something I could deal with. I understand that even though we had a negative outcome, people need to be paid. People die all of the time and their families have to pay mountains of medical bills--I'm no exception to the rule.

But then more and more bills keep appearing, with a bulk of them arriving last week.

When DH told me on the phone what the running total was, I had a meltdown. Luckily I was stuck in some traffic so I wasn't really driving at the time, but I just started bawling. All I could think of was, "How much does it cost to have a dead baby? Over $2,000? Really? I'd rather be spending that money on a baby who gets to live."

So I told him that was all we were discussing for the evening--I was done for the night. I had to let that number sink in so that I could deal with it.

I've been walking around for a week with the stack of bills and insurance claims in my purse and today I finally took them out, coallated them together, and read through them. I called the anestesiologist's office first to ask a few questions (left a message), so maybe I can just take it a few each day--calling the doctor's office first to see what else could be covered, and then call my insurance company after that. Baby steps.

Worst case scenario is that we have to pay the full amount. Best case would be that someone, somewhere takes a little pity on me.

How do people get through these types of things without insurance? This would have been almost $16K if we didn't.

*insert big heaving sigh here*

Like looking in a mirror.

I met a girl on the loss board last week who was going through something very similiar--she went in for the big ultrasound and it was discovered that the baby probably only had one kidney and it was covered in cysts as well as not working properly because she had almost no amniotic fluid. She was given some really awful advice by the first doctor she saw, so when I saw her post on the loss board, I had to find her and talk to her before any action was taken.

It took some hunting, but I finally tracked her down through her local board and someone was kind enough to share her email address with me. We emailed back and forth the rest of the day about everything--the condition, the prognosis, delivery options, what labor and delivery was like... everything. I had never put the entire birth story into words before, but I felt the need to do whatever I could to try to keep her from having the same fear of the unknown that I did.

She's since had her peaceful little girl, we've talked a few times and I would imagine that we'll stay in contact for some time. And in this totally selfish way, I felt an immense amount of relief in being able to talk to someone about my story who truly understood what I felt while all of those fears and thoughts were still fresh in my mind. I hope that I was able to help her navigate a scary situation and make it just a *teensy* bit less frightening and maybe impart some of what I learned from it all.

It just I think this is truly one of those situations that you cannot prepare for. You can not really know how you'll react, what you'll want to do, and what you'll need from people until it's staring you in the face. The best you can do is talk it out, prepare for any result/reaction, and then go with your gut when the time comes.

Kristen, I am so unbelievably sorry for your loss and I hope that you will think of every moment you had with your precious, perfect little girl and smile--even if some tears fall as well. You did an amazing thing and you're an incredible mother. xoxo

Coming out (again)

Okay, the blog is going public again. The good that comes of it outweighs how hard it can be to put my feelings in such a public forum, although I have tried to do so anonymously.

Here's my request--if you know me in real life and have been given this address by me, please do not share it with anyone else. There is too much here that I'm trusting you with and need to be able to continue to trust that it will remain private.

And if you know me in real life and have gotten this address through other means, please delete the link. I need this secret space to heal and I need to protect it so that I can continue to feel safe and honest here.

This is my life and my baby. Please respect this.

Nice quote.

I just thought I'd share one of the quotes from one of my loss books, "Still to be Born" that made me smile.

As for me,
I would rather be able to love
things I cannot have,
Than to have things
I'm not able to love.

-Merrit Malloy

Be careful what you wish for

This is a post that I wrote after getting home from Vegas, but I hadn't finished it yet and thought I'd share anyway...

I always say if you're not around for your birthday, it doesn't count. So by that strategy, I'm technically 25--three tips to Canada, one to France and one to Vegas.

I just still have so much swirling around in my head and some of that is guilt--I wanted to have a baby before I was 30 so badly. And I did, but not exactly the way I would have liked for it to turn out.

I wanted to have one more vacation with DH before we had a baby at home, but he was concerned about vacation days and finances--and now I can.

I wanted to be like everyone else in my family and have a little girl, and they "think" that I did--but they were never 100% sure because with no renal system, there's no urethra to push through and make the sex organs more prominent. So I most likely got my little girl, but she's dead. And if it was a boy, that's a whole 'nother ball of issues since I had any sort of preference to begin with.

I guess in the future I should be a lot more careful and specific about what I wish for, shouldn't I?

I know, I know. It sounds nuts. But those thoughts are up there. I have to let them out to be able to recognize how unreasonable they are. But when they're up there together--that little list of all of the things that I asked for--they make you feel like a shallow piece of shit.

I know that deep down all I wanted was a healthy baby. I know that I would have loved any child at any time. But it's just all too weird that I actually did get the things that I asked for--just with a fucked up ending.

Just For Today

Sometimes it's hard for me to find poems of comfort that aren't overly religious, but I read this one today on the loss board and thought I'd post it here as well. Sorry if this offends anyone, but hearing people talk about angels and god's glory does not comfort, heal or strengthen me.

But this--this made me feel a little better.

Just For Today
~by V.Tushingham, the Bereaved Parents of the USA Tampa Bay Newsletter, Sept 2001.

Just for today, I will try to live through the next 24 hours...not expecting to get over my child's death, but learning to live with it...one day at a time

Just for today, I'll remember my child's life, not his death, and bask in the comfort of the treasured days and moments we shared.

Just for today, I will forgive all the family and friends who didn't help or comfort me the way I needed them to. They truly did not know how.

Just for today, I will reach out to comfort a relative or friend of my child. For they are hurting too, and perhaps we can help each other.

Just for today, I will free myself from my self-inflicted burden of guilt. For deep in my heart, I know if there was anything in this world I could have done to save my child from death, I would have done it.

Just for today, I will honor my child's memory by doing something with another child, be it my own, or someone else's, because I know that would make my child proud.

Just for today, I will offer my hand in friendship to other bereaved parents, fo I DO know how they feel.

Just for today, I will smile...no matter how much I hurt on the inside...for maybe if I smile a little, my heart will soften and I will begin to heal.

Just for today, I will allow myself to be happy and enjoy myself, for I know I am not deserting my child by moving on.

Just for today, I will accept that I did NOT die when my child did. My life did go on and I am the ONLY one who can make that life worthwhile again.

Decisions

I'm trying to figure out if this blog will remain private or not--I'm already running into issues with only being able to allow access to 100 people (plus some important people that I have no idea how to contact).

I have a feeling that once I get over having people that I know in real life read this that I'll make it public again. And when I do, please forgive me for having to give you access to get you here. And for those who didn't get access and are reading this after the fact--please forgive me. I'm just... I don't know. I'm not "all there" right now.

I have this quandry because I want to keep coming here and being honest but it's hard sometimes. You want to be able to put things in writing, release them and walk away--and it's hard when it follows you.

I feel like every time I share this story that a little piece of me goes with it. I feel like sometimes on the miscarriage/loss board that there are people watching and lurking who haven't experience loss, which makes me feel like I'm an animal in the zoo being watched and analyzed in my native habitat.

On the other hand, I know that this blog has helped people--I know this because I've been told so by lurker and anonymous commenters. They say they happened upon my blog by accident or that they found my blog through the message boards and that my story has helped them to cope with theirs.

These are the people I can't reach and give access to. And hopefully I won't just be talking about loss forever, but with any luck, they won't either. And then we'll be able to share our stories about moving on.

I'm just really sensitive right now and very emotional. I know that I'm not the best decision maker and sometimes I'm not even that great of a friend.

There have been days that I've not responded to emails because at the moment I didn't want to talk and then forgot to reply completely. There are friends of mine who have suffered loss as well and when they check in on me, I forget to ask about how they're doing. That's shitty. I know it. I hate it and all I can say is that I'm trying.

And then I tell myself that it's only been two months. Shit. Two months tomorrow.

Heck, I know people who weren't over breakups in two months--and the other person didn't die! So I guess expecting me to be over it and ready to deal with things like I used to is a bit much to ask, isn't it?

I'm still standing on my own two feet, so I guess that's good. But I just feel like bad things keep happening to the people that I love and I'm exhausted by it. I've led such a charmed life--why all of this at once?

Maybe once I get a grip on a few of these things, I'll be able to get a grip on the blog. Just hang in there and be patient and understanding with me please.

My birth story, courtesy of me madre...

My mom posted this on her blog as a tribute to me, so I thought I'd share it here with you guys. I think it's an interesting story with a happy ending!

Happy Birthday, #2!

[This is a couple of days late but still, very heartfelt...]

Wow, I can't believe it...MSC is 30. Three-zero. Zero-to-thirty in the blink of an eye.

You know, it's funny--I recall the early portions of my labors with #1 and #3 with relative ease. However, with MSC, her birth was so outstanding of an event that some of the early moments seemed to have faded. Yes, there are colorful graphic slides of this birthing experience safely tucked away in their special carousel...more slides than anyone should have. But MSC's arrival was one helluva trip and I'm glad there's some documentation because, frankly, sometimes I have trouble believing that it really happened!

I was due to deliver on September 30, 1979. Yet in August, because of my ballooning belly, the doctor hinted that I "couldn't get much bigger" and that I might deliver sooner than we thought--maybe even in August. Then throughout September, I continued to grow and was told the same thing: "soon, very soon." I had outgrown most of my maternity clothes, which were summer-y, and in the cooler fall, began to put together strange combinations of turtleneck sweaters that barely stretched to the top of my big belly, strappy voluminous maternity sundresses, knee-high cableknit socks, and Dr. Scholl sandals.

I was quite a sight. I clearly remember walking through a mall with my mother-in-law who was delighted in noting the stares of people walking by us--"Did you SEE how that person looked at you???" Well, having the appearance of a person who was very likely to drop a monster watermelon from between her legs at any given moment *did* get me out of paying some library fines. (She [looking straight at my huge belly]: "OH! When are you due?" me: "Today." She: "OOHH! OOOHHH!!" me: "I have some fines to pay on these books I'm returning." She: "No, NO--nevermind! Please. You should probably just GO HOME!!")

In mid-October, I was given a "non-stress" test to be sure that all was well with the baby--the verdict: "unbelievable, but still cooking." Late at night, I had visions of scenes from the movie "Alien" in which the creatures came bursting out of the humans' abdomens...I mean, how else was this child going to emerge?? Finally, on the evening of October 17, I felt the welcome labor pains. Woo hoo! We were going to have a baby!!

The details of the labor were a little clouded behind the 3 hour transition--especially since the transition phase is supposed to last about--oh, 45 minutes! But once I was "cleared" to push, it was like the heavens parted and the sun began to shine and I could hear choirs of angels rooting me on: "Push, PUSH!"

Yay, me! FINALLY!! Bloooop--there SHE was: MSC! (And they told me to expect a boy--HAH! WE don't do boys in this family--at least, not yet!) MSC with the chubby cheeks--well, chubby everything!--long straight silky black hair and eyes so very dark brown they looked black instead of regular "new-baby-blue." With no signs of being overdue, she weighed ELEVEN pounds THREE-and-a-half ounces--a hospital record-breaker! The pediatrician who examined her told me: "Ma'am, you've just given birth to a perfect three-month-old!"

Here is where I should probably explain myself. I had MSC naturally--no drugs and no anesthetics with the episiotomy. My parents were with us, as was my mother-in-law, dear sister-in-law, a friend who was a midwife and toddler #1, who handled the proceedings like a seasoned champ. So when you have an 11# 3.5 oz. baby under those circumstances, you say it just like that: "my largest baby weighed ELEVEN pounds THREE-and-a-half ounces and I had her naturally." That's how I say it. You want credit for every single bit of baby that emerged. Just saying "more than eleven pounds" just doesn't cut it. See, just 11 pounds might've been a bit easier--3.5 oz. easier. But she weighed ELEVEN pounds and THREE-and-a-half ounces!

The day we brought her home, the leaves were in "fall peak" yet it was unseasonably warm and sunny...a perfect golden day to bring home a perfect baby!

We were incredibly lucky that she was so large and healthy at birth because at 3.5 months, she was Ohio's first case of Infantile Botulism, a rare neurological disease. She was in the hospital, paralyzed, for four weeks. For the first week the doctors were stumped--they had never seen such a thing and it wasn't until later that a resident read about it in a medical journal. With no muscle activity, her face dropped like she'd had a stroke, her heart stopped at one point and her lungs collapsed, along with other related problems. All we could do was wait and hope--there were no antibiotics to help MSC fight it. But she was a fighter! Happily, after 4 weeks of waiting, MSC began to move and was released to go home soon after she began nursing again.

Following MSC's illness, she was a bundle of movement. She would wake early in the morning and sing with the birds. Too early, actually, and after singing her jibberish songs, she would fall back to sleep until a more reasonable hour. She walked early--she talked early--and having had quite enough time at home with Mom and Dad--she began preschool early. As we expected, she endeared herself to her preschool teachers--she was the bright, cheerful girl with the open face and deep dimples with pretty black hair that curled uncontrollably around her face as the day went on.

She was my "Little Chairman" who turned into a beautiful woman. MSC always fights for what she believes is right, she has a sensitive streak that remains close to the surface, she is extremely loyal to her family and friends, and she believes that being 'different' is more-than-okay. I am so proud of her--as I am of her sisters. And truth be told, the three of them helped make me into who I am today. I am always grateful for their company and their love.

So, happy birthday, MSC--you deserve it. And, of course, I'm so happy you're here...
xo mummy

My evening update

Lindsy passed away a little before noon today. I ended up leaving work and got to say goodbye to her before they took her to the funeral home, though. We spent the afternoon/evening with her boyfriend and family.

*sigh*

It's just weird. I can't believe she's really gone, but the stillness in her room and body was one of the craziest things I've ever experienced. Apparently I'm sort of over my fear of dead things since losing Jude and being able to hold her, so I was able to sit by Lindsy and hold her hand. Crazy how things change.

But it's crazy-- since she hasn't looked like herself for awhile and she looked so weird this afternoon, it's like it wasn't her. I don't think this has really sunk in at all.

DH isn't home yet, but my cats are snuggled into bed with me to keep me company. I feel like I'm going to have nightmares tonight. Ugh.

You know that "good stuff" that I mentioned yesterday?

Yeah. I don't have any today. UGH, WTF?!

Our friend Lindsy has been battling cancer for the past 4 years or so and sadly she is losing her battle--very quickly. A few weeks ago they sent her home from the hospital, saying there was nothing more they could do. When we saw her shortly after that, she was swollen and in pain. It was hard to see her like that.

Well this morning DH got the call that she's been out of it for the past day and they're expecting her to go soon. He went out to his hometown to be there and just called a little while ago and the picture he painted me was really upsetting.

Apparently she's laying in bed, not blinking but tears streaming down her face. Her tongue is hanging out like she has cotton mouth and she's panting/moaning.

I've heard people say how cancer is a vicious, painful disease, but I had no idea that this was what the end could look like. It's awful and I can't get it out of my mind. I feel sad and trapped right now in my little cubicle.

On one hand I want to rush out there and be there for her, but at the same time I don't want to see it--and I can't help but think that she's already gone. And in a weird way, I kinda hope that she is so that she isn't aware of any pain and anguish.

Ugh. I don't want her to die! This is just so awful. She's so sweet and kind and should have such a beautiful life ahead of her...

I want bad things to stop happening to the people that I love. Like, now.

I'm sorry.

I'm sorry, you guys. I've been using this blog only for venting and exploring this cornocopia of emotions that I've been having and not taking the time to talk to you about all of the good things that are happening in my neck of the woods.

Maybe it's time for a little "State of the Union," oui?

Things are good. Really, despite my mini-meltdown this weekend and despite the fact that I've posted lengthy diatribes about my feeeeeeelings, I'm okay. Really. This has been hard, but it hasn't broken me or my DH. We are indeed stronger than ever and working every day toward this goal.

I have plenty of days that I think of my baby and smile. I have days that I'm grateful to have had her at all. And some days I actually do feel like me.

But for some godforsaken reason, on those days I apparently decide not to blog--maybe I've been only looking at this as an outlet for the sad. You're stuck with the short end of my emotional stick--and that really isn't fair, is it?

So here's my commitment to you--I promise to share some fun stuff soon. I promise that as more good stuff happens, I'll make sure you're at the top of the list to hear about it. I just don't want you to worry your pretty little heads in the meantime...

xoxo

Happy birthday to me

I was supposed to be pregnant for my 30th birthday.

We had planned this trip to Las Vegas to visit my brother in law and see a few shows. We checked and double checked the dates and talked about what we'd do if I couldn't go because of any pregnancy complications, but again--I was confident that everything would be great and I'd be waddling myself around Sin City 28 weeks pregnant.

Earlier this trip we went to see The Beatles Love Cirque de Soliel (which, by the way, was FABULOUS!) but all of The Beatles music was getting to be a bit much for me to handle--and of course the nagging fear that if they did Hey Jude that I'd cry (which they did, and I did) but it seems like these feelings and sad thoughts are brought out by a ton of songs--Something in the Way, Yesterday, etc. So yeah. I teared up a bit, but held it together.

Then there was the Divine Miss M, Bette Midler (WHO IS FAN-FUCKING-TASTIC!) Now anyone who knows me knows that I can be brought to tears by seeing someone perform that I adore, even if they're not particularly famous, so I knew tears would fall... but here I was again tearing up all of the way through The Glory of Love, The Rose, and Wind Beneath my Wings.

So here I am in Vegas, seeing great shows, drinking lots of beer and having a great visit, but inside I'm just so fucking sad that I'm here, having fun and drinking beer.

I knew it was the reason that I wasn't getting excited about leaving for Vegas, but it all came to a head last night. We had been out to the Hoover dam during the day, visited a brewery, and then decided to see the pirate show at Treasure Island and play around on the strip a bit.

At first I just felt a little bad about myself--how I look right now--and we were all just wearing shorts and t-shirts and we kept walking past people dressed up, waiting to get into clubs. You want to roll your eyes at them but inside you know you're a wee bit jealous, even if you'd never be caught dead dressing like that.

Then a few pregnant bellies waddled past me, the clock clicked midnight and here I was--30. Looking like shit, not pregnant, drinking beer in Las Vegas. Not how things were supposed to go.

Yeah. I lost it. I teared up walking through the casinos, so we headed for the car where I proceeded to bawl the entire drive home. This morning I still feel on the verge of tears and will probably have another good cry in the shower.

Further proof that when everyone thinks you should be all better, you aren't. It's been 7 weeks but passing a milestone like this has brought me to my knees and it feels like it was yesterday.

The good news is that today will be over soon and we head home tonight.

Welcome Aunt Flo!

Never thought I’d say that, but I guess never say never, right?

While I expected this to be a bittersweet moment, I’m doing okay today. In fact, I feel pretty darn good. My body’s working within a reasonable amount of time and while I didn’t temp since I had the baby, I did temp this morning, so I’m starting from CD1.

Also, this gives me a little breathing room to have a fresh cycle (or two… or more…) until we start to try again. In a way, AF arriving on her own in a reasonable amount of time has made me feel optimistic about moving forward and less stressed.

But I still feel like in a way I’m going to be playing hopscotch for the next few months. If we try in early December, I could end up with a due date close to August 29th (uuummm, NO!) You don't want your kid's birthday to be celebrated around the anniversary of a sad occasion.

I'm willing to try later in December/Jan/Feb, but then I'd want to quit for most of March/April/May so that I don't end up with a similar due date to the one that I had with Jude. Having similar appointment dates would be like déjà vu, which would freak me out a little.

So that kinda leaves a narrow window, doesn't it? I mean, I know I’d be thrilled to have a happy, healthy baby at any point, but from everything I’ve read it just seems like the smart thing to do for now. Who knows? Maybe I’ll throw those ideas out the window later in the game, but for now that’s my plan.

Wasted

I feel like I've wasted the entire year of 2009. I've wasted the last year of my 20s.

I spent the first part of the year hanging out on the interwebs and counting down the days until I ovulated. I read, researched alternative treatments for long cycles, talked to my e-friends, and stalked Fertility Friend religiously. I avoided contact with friends and family because I pretty much couldn't think of anything else to talk about... And if I was in the 2ww, I had to hide out because I wasn't drinking.

Then the BFP came--a little more hiding before we told people, as well as counting down the days/weeks until I was out of first tri and "safe." Lots of reading and researching, shopping (but not buying), journaling, and carefully navigating and obeying all of the pregnancy "rules." Then counting down to the big ultrasound and being able to shop.

And now here I am--counting down the days again. But not just until I can try again, but until I feel better and every day doesn't hurt so goddamn much. Until the day that I can tell someone the news of what happened without crying. Until the day that I can put away my baby's mementoes and not instinctively reach for her photo in a folder on my headboard because I need to feel her near me or have a sudden desire to see her cute little button nose. Until I stop tearing up at my cube at work writing effing blogs!

To add to this, I feel ridiculously boring lately, which makes me feel like I'm wasting time again. I mean, I don't mope about or anything like that. I don't cry all of the time. I mean I have my moments, but generally I'm in an okay mood. I'm just not as talkative and have a hard time answering the question, "Hey--what's up?" Because really? I don't have much to say if you're expecting me to carry the conversation.

Weeks are flying by as I look forward to each weekend so that I can be with my husband. I go to work, come home, hang out or watch Grey's Anatomy... But nothing is really going on. It's so quiet.



P.S. - I've decided that Monday's the day. I woke up this morning and after hitting snooze once, thought about temping. It'll give me time to bring it up to DH over the weekend so he knows and isn't awakened to the beeping sound and caught offguard. So there. All decided.

Baby steps

Last night before I went to bed, I pulled my basal body thermometer out of my nightstand.

Then this morning when my alarm went off, I stared at it for a minute, thinking about temping.

And then I got into the shower.

The end.

Kudos to my ute

I added my ticker to the top of the blog again, I haven't decided if I'm going to link it to my chart again or not. I'm not temping yet, so it doesn't really matter at this point. I was, however, shocked to log into Fertility Friend and realize that I had Jude 40 days ago. That's crazy.

I had my post partum checkup yesterday and my OB says that my ute and cervix are all healed and back to normal size/location. He also clarified on the timing in light of my long cycles--I don't have to wait two full cycles to try again, we should just wait about 12 weeks total. He said that's just a general timeframe that they give out for healing, but that I looked good already...

When I was in the hospital, I cracked a few jokes about having lady bits of steel because it took over 24 hours of cytotec doses and they kept having to up my dose... So it looks like I'm retaining my rockstar cervix status. I mean, I need *something* to be able to brag about, right?

So if I don't get AF by the end of the month, I can call for provera and after AF arrives would have me at the 12 month mark. I still don't know if we're going to TTC right away or not. At the moment my gut is yes, but things seem to change on a daily basis so I'm sorta reserving the right to change my mind. DH hasn't expressed his opinion other than this hasn't changed his desire to have children, but I know he has more issues to be working out right now.

The one thing I have realized and made clear is that I cannot have a similar due date to Jude--for a nice handful of reasons. In fact, I may need to block out a 3 month due date period (Dec/Jan/Feb) just to avoid it. So if we do try and don't get lucky right away, there will probably be a March/April/May break.

Granted, I understand that life has it's own funny sense of humor and could pull a fast one on me, but I just need to do anything in my power to not have similar pregnancy timing. I think it would just be too much for me. Jan 2011 should be Jude's 1st birthday and also? I was reading last night in one of my pregnancy/infant loss books about how it can make the 2nd child feel like more of a "replacement child" and that it's normal to be sad at that time of year, so it may make it hard to celebrate another child's birthday.

So... that's where I'm at with this whole "When will you have another baby?" conversation, so I just thought I'd share.

Dear 2009, Screw you. kthxbai!

Yesterday my sister cracked a joke that 2009 needs to get the fuck over with before more bad shit happens. I cannot echo this sentiment enough.

For a year that started out so great, so full of possibility, it certainly has turned into a turd sandwich rather quickly. Not long after Jude's passing, one of our dear friends was rushed into the hospital due to complications from her cancer and cancer treatments and has now been sent home from the hospital with hospice coming in because there's nothing more they can do for her.

Are you kidding me? She's twenty-fucking-nine!! This battle with cancer has been going on for five years (it's a rare form) and if there was anyone I thought could beat it, it was her. All I can say is, "What the fuck?"

Really--Anything can happen to any of us, at any time. There's no rhyme or reason, no hiding from it, and nothing you can do to prevent it. This is disturbing yours truly (aka Polly Positivity) in a very deep way.

Last week we went to see a grief counselor for the first time. Unfortunately, neither of us liked her all that much and she said a few things that made me give her the ::sideeye::

First off, she didn't read any of my paperwork that clearly states that we're there for grief counseling. She was super weird with us in the waiting room like she didn't understand who we were or why we were there and then when we went into her office, she started to talk to us about what would happen if we got divorced--Yeah, um, lady? This is not an issue. Despite how hard this all is, we're openly communicating and madly in love. We're just really effing sad right now and want to make sure that we're moving through this all in the right way.

So that wasn't exactly a good start, but then throughout the rest of the appointment it just seemed like she wasn't following what we were saying, despite the fact she repeated every.single.thing. we said. It was really irritating. Plus, she said some kinda judgemental stuff to my husband, which had me annoyed on his behalf.

Anyway, today I called my insurance and got a new authorization to see someone new and cancelled our appt for this week with the old counselor. I'm not sure how someone goes about therapist shopping, but I guess it's something that I'll have to figure out on the fly.

My confidence is shot

I thought I was such a pregnancy overacheiver. In fact, I was ready and poised to be named the valedictorian of TTC and pregnancy.

I got pregnant on the second cycle (4+ months) and got my positive pregnancy test like four days before someone should normally get a positive test. My bloodwork numbers were fabulous--and almost all of them had some weird number significance with me (which I don't normally pay attention to, but in this instance I thought it was so cool). My baby was always measuring a day or two ahead at my ultrasounds, my NT scan was glorious and the chance of Downs Syndrome was super low.

I tried to choose the right foods to balance everything out and get the right vitamins. I forced myself to drink enough water and only allowed an infrequent indulgence of soda--but no alcohol, no coffee/tea, etc. I didn't have morning sickness, I worked through the tiredness, and I tried to keep the complaining to a minimum. I understood the gift that I'd been given and I wanted to do everything in my power to make it a success and keep the good vibes flowing.

Even when I'd get comments about how I hadn't popped yet, I felt this surge of confidence that I looked good for 5 months. I was doing something right! Right?

I didn't do this out of fear--because honestly in my heart of hearts, I knew everything was going okay and I just wanted to give my baby the best start possible--I *LIKED* doing these things. I just knew that I had a good egg in there and that it was nestled in for the long haul. I knew that this baby inside was the perfect mix of myself and my husband and we were going to give it a wonderful, stable, and nurtured life. I knew that I'd continue to keep calm, be confident, and have an amazing, life-altering natural delivery.

*sigh*

Well, apparently I didn't know jack fucking shit...

(Not looking for any reassurances, I just wanted to bitch.)

*whispers* Happy 1 month birthday, my sweet baby. You know, wherever you are...

Weekend update

My weekend was productive, if nothing else.

A few tears here and there, but no major crying bouts. Friday night we assembled our new dining room chairs (part of our retail therapy spending spree which is about to come to a screeching hault). Saturday was rainy and gloomy so we went to to lunch, ran a few errands, and then spent the rest of the afternoon taking naps and watching Grey's Anatomy in bed. We visited with my aunt and BIL in the evening.

Sunday I went on an overdue, mad cleaning spree. My house got very cluttered this summer with party supplies from summer events that I had started to clean up after we had the baby, but it never got fully completed and things were still piling up too fast for us to keep up with it. So I put in a full 8-9 hour day sorting, scrubbing, hauling trash, doing laundry and organizing. Much progress was made and with a little more effort I'd give my house the "Houseguest Ready" stamp of approval.

So that's my weekend.

It's still hard and some days I feel like I take steps forward or backward, but since the weekend seem to be just standing still, I'll take it!

A poem

I'm not a religious person and usually angel baby/god stuff sort of turns me off, but I absolutely cannot get through this poem without crying. I found it on a message board, but if anyone knows the source I'd be happy to cite it.

I thought of you and closed my eyes and prayed to God today,
I asked "What makes a Mother?" and I know I heard Him say,
A Mother has a baby, this we know is true,
But God, Can you be a Mother when your baby's not with you?
Yes you can, He replied, with confidence in His voice,
I give many women babies, when they leave is not their choice,
Some I send for a lifetime, others for a day,
And some I send to feel your womb, but there's no need to stay.
I just don't understand this Lord, I want my baby here!
He took a breath and cleared His throat and then I saw the tear,
I wish that I could show you what your child is doing today,
If you could see your child smile with other children and say,
'We go to Earth to learn our lessons of love and life and fear,
My Mommy loved me oh so much I got to come straight here.
I feel so lucky to have a mom who had so much love for me,
I learned my lessons very quickly, my Mommy set me free.
I miss my Mommy oh so much, but I visit her each day,
When she goes to sleep, on her pillow's where I lay,
I stroke her hair and kiss her cheek and whisper in her ear,
Mommy don't be sad today, I'm your baby and I'm here.'
So you see, my dear sweet one, your children are ok,
Your babies are here in my home, and this is where they'll stay.
They'll wait for you with me, until your lesson's through,
And on the day I call you home, they'll be at the gates for you.
So now you know what makes a Mother,
It's the feeling in your heart,
It's the love you had so much of, right from the very start.
Though some on Earth may not realize until their time is done,
Remember all the love you have,
And you ARE a special mom!!

*whispers*

I feel like myself today!

I woke up alert, chipper, and clear headed. Who knows how long it'll last, but for now I'll take it!!

You know how they say

You know how they say that right when everyone else thinks you should be getting better, suddenly you're not?

Welcome to my life right now. I thought it was just meeting with the genetic counselor on Monday that had me down, then Tuesday I just chalked it up to being Monday's leftovers, but this morning I just didn't want to get out of bed. I wanted to sleep all day and pretend this all never happened.

DH suggested that I call off, but in my head I was like--this was all 4 weeks ago now. I don't have an excuse, I'm not sick... I have to go to work.

So I guess the good news is that I did drag myself out of bed and made it to work--on time!

It really is over, though. I'm not going to wake up and pick up where I left off. I really do have to wait for months to try again

Time is a variable

Ready for some more of my dad's wisdom?

When I was younger and complaining about waiting too long for something or that a great vacation was too short, my dad would always say, "You know M, time is a variable." And of course I'd roll my eyes--because duh--time itself does not vary. There's only 24 hours in a given day. It's science, dad. Look it up.

But guess what? I walked into work the other day and a calendar caught my eye, revealing to me that it's almost the end of September. Really? Has it been four weeks since all of this madness started and not 2? Has it been 3 1/2 weeks since I saw my baby's face for the first and last time?

Time is a variable. And it can fast forward and rewind in the blink of the eye.

Labor and delivery seems so long ago, but yet I can close my eyes and I'm right back in the specialist's office 4 weeks ago, sitting across her huge desk with a box of cheap kleenex on it, wearing her white coat explaining to us that the baby had no kidneys or bladder, that there was absolutely no chance that our baby could survive and that now we had to make our decision on how to proceed.

Were we in her office for 5 minutes? 3? 10? I have no idea. Time and space stood still. How many times did she repeat herself? How long did it take for me to speak? It was like there was a pressure in the air that paused everything while the weight of this crushed us. But the meaning of what she was saying was still there. It was clear--this was it.

She explained our options and what would happen with each one and then she sat there looking at us with great concern and sympathy. The other doctor stood leaning on a hutch, saying that we'd talk the next day about what we'd decided. But then there was silence. Were they waiting for more questions? More tears? For us to ask for a minute alone (even though it was her office?) I had no idea what to do, so I just thanked them, stood up, and left.

We walked out of the office together, rounded a corner and collapsed into each other's arms, sobbing uncontrollably. We did this same routine most of the way to the car--arms around each other, almost dragging one another forward to the parking deck.

We tried to collect our selves, but as he started to back the car out of the parking space, I lost it again, sobbing so hard that I started gagging and dry heaving. I opened the door to try to vomit, but nothing came. I pulled myself back together with a clear mission in mind: Just get home.

It's all too vivid and when I think about all that's happened, that's the moment that I go back to--where time and space ceased to exist and where the nightmare began.

What I'd give to rewind to that day and have a different outcome or to wake up one morning and be right back where we left off.

Genetic counselor

We met with a genetic counselor yesterday for some peace of mind and confidence moving forward. While they can't tell us definintely why this happened, they can help us to rule out a few things.

A few potential causes:
1. Nature. Sometimes things just don't develop--probably the most common. Nothing can be done about it.
2. Genetic kidney disorder that was passed down and manifested in it's worst case.
3. Chromosomal abnormalities that extend beyond the renal system, but affected it's development.

While they say that Potters sequence typically isn't a genetic condition, a small percentage of people with the condition actually do inherit it. If either parent carries a gene abnormality for kidney malfunction, it can be passed onto the child. Sometimes this means the child will have kidney issues, varying from mild (abnormal tubes, etc) to severe (no kidneys). You can usually tell if a parent has this by having an ultrasound done on your renal system, showing any abnormalities. They actually said some people can be missing a kidney their whole lives and have no idea.

Also, we did a full medical history on both of us, and our families extending to 1st cousins, aunts/uncles, and grandparents. While I have a pretty darn healthy family (DH's family has some cancer, mostly lung from smoking), there are some red flags raised of course with my irregular periods, so they're suggesting some bloodwork to further explore the issue to rule out a chromosomal disorder as being the cause of my hormonal imbalances.

Lastly, they are recommending that I get tested for Fragile X syndrome, one of the most common causes of mental retardation and autism. I think this is a little bit more of a stretch, but the best assurance they can give us to rule out issues moving forward.

Right now they're doing some legwork with our insurance to see what they'll cover and what we'll have to pay out of pocket for. After that, we'll evaluate what we want to have done.

So if they find nothing wrong with us, the chances of something like this happening again are somewhere in the 3-8% range. If they find something wrong with either of us, it would be more like 15-20%. With our next pregnancy, they will suggest an ultrasound around 15-16 weeks--the earliest that Potters can be detected. Luckily, they didn't suggest any other sort of testing (amnio, CVS, etc) in future pregnancies.

None of it seems particularly complicated or invasive and actually a few of these items would serve us well not just for peace of mind, but to be able to offer our future children this information for their medical histories. i.e. --if one of us has a kidney issue and that's what caused our baby's death we could go on to have a child who appears completely healthy, but they will carry this gene and it can manifest itself in a variety of ways, but it will most likely show up in some form. But that would give them the heads up to examine our child for any potential issues so that they can be addressed early.

So I'm glad we went to get an idea of what our options are and to talk about the likelihood of it happening again. I just wish that any of this offered us an ounce of prevention, but it just doesn't.

Vanity

I still look like I looked while pregnant. My belly hadn't popped (even at 21 weeks) but I definintely looked like I'd gained weight. My pregnancy acne has lessened, but hasn't gone away completely.

I gained 10 lbs while pregnant and while I lost 5 of that so far, I have another 10 or so that I gained while TTC from the herbs that I was taking. So I'm stuck between maternity clothes that need to be lasso'd onto me and prepregnancy clothes that look like I'm squishing myself into a tube of toothpaste. I have bulges in places I've never had bulges before. I have a fear that as my hormones continue to go back to normal, I'm going to continue to lose breast volume and they'll sag.

I know everyone says to not let these things bother you, that it's just what happens when you get pregnant... but what about when you're not pregnant anymore and you have nothing to show for it?

I don't feel attractive and I'm daunted by the task of losing the weight. I'm normally a very healthy eater (even while pregnant), but since this all happened, it's been restaurants, take-out, and heat n' eats--none of which is very good for me. And the cycle continues--the food makes me feel lazy, so I'm too lazy to get back on track.

What to do, what to do...

Controversial consent

The day before I went in to be induced, I had to go to my doctor's office to sign a consent form for the procedure. Luckily, the person on the phone had already kindly warned me what the form would say--that I was consenting to an "elective abortion," even though she understood that this was not my true choice.

Still--really?!

I understood why I needed to sign a release form that stated that I was willingly having my baby removed from me, but I wish they would have had a "no way out!" stamp they could have put on the top or some kind of "fatal condition" checkbox marked. Because lord knows I really need to feel judged at this moment and to have "elective abortion" listed in my medical records.

So I feel this should be addressed. While I don't really feel the need to defend what we chose to do, I will elect to explain.

Some people find out their children have fatal conditions and choose to carry them to term (or until nature takes its course), giving them every second of a good life that they can give them. I'm glad that they have the right and ability to choose what was best for them--legally, mentally, physically, and (if applicable) religiously. Taking a child to term with a fatal condition is an amazing, selfless act and my heart goes out to everyone put in this situation, no matter what they decide.

When we found out what had happened and understood the particular details of Potters sequence, it was clear that letting her go immediately was the route for us to give our baby the best life that she could have had. She had already swallowed all of my amniotic fluid and without any renal system, she couldn't pee it out to make her comfortable, expand my uterus, and recycle the fluid to develop her lungs.

So no fluid, no moving, no comfort, slowly deforming in a uterus that won't expand... I couldn't do that to her. I couldn't crush her to death with my own body. I also couldn't wait and allow her to get to the point that she would try to gasp for breath upon delivery with undeveloped lungs. That was not the life that I wanted for my baby, even if it meant keeping her with me longer.

Call it what you want, but I'll always believe it was the right thing to do and that I gave my baby the best life possible for every single second of it. If the circumstances would have been different, I honestly can't say what I would do because it truly is a situation that you can't comprehend until you're in it. And I hope you never are.

How are you doing?

First off, I apologize if I haven't replied to a message that you've sent me. I've been trying to reply to everything, but I know some things have fallen through the cracks along the way. I'm sorry. Please know that I appreciate your thoughtfulness very much. I don't know how I'd be doing without the constant flow of love and support that I've received from all of you.

How am I doing? If you ask, I usually reply with, "Okay." but I don't know if that really gives you any description, so I'll give it a shot here.

Considering the circumstances, I think I'm doing pretty decent. I'm not laying in bed, listening to sad music and crying--not that I think there's anything wrong with that. I get out of bed, go to work, usually manage to get some work done, and by the end of the day I'm pretty drained. I've spent lots of quality time with friends and family, asked for help when I needed it, and generally feel like I'm doing what I'm supposed to be doing.

Sometimes I still feel a little out of it or distracted, but most of the time I feel like me. I'm able to laugh, chat with people about other things, and usually I can focus on a task.

But it's still hard. There's a lot of talk about the baby and what happened. Sometimes I feel guilty for dominating conversations and for bringing it up when I want to talk about it, like I'm being an attention whore. But I still feel like there are explanations to make to people and keeping them up to date on how I'm doing both physically and emotionally.

So while I think we're going through a normal grieving process and that's good news--it still pisses me the hell off that we're in this situation to begin with.

I've had more flashes of anger when I think about how excited we were for our big ultrasound and how we got the rug pulled out from underneath us. Even when I was cautious at the beginning of our pregnancy, I honestly never thought that anything would go wrong. This has shaken my faith to the core. I'm not a particularly religious person, so I don't mean "faith" in that way--I'm moreso referring to the immense amount of fear that I now have as I realize that anything can be taken away from me--from any of us.

Anything, at any time.

2 week post partum checkup

Yesterday wasn't a great day. I had what should have been my post partum checkup with my doctor, but since I'm still spotting we couldn't do the exam. So I'm stuck going back in 3 weeks for the full exam.

My symptoms have been as good/minimal as we could hope for and when we went over my delivery (which I will write about some day) he said that I had one of the very best he's ever had to do under those circumstances. But not exactly something to enjoy patting yourself on the back over.

We went over my laundry list of questions and chatted for awhile. He helped to settle some of the fears that I shared before about if it could have been a bad egg from late ovulation, anything I did, etc. We are also taking him up on an offer to meet with a genetic counselor to see if there is any testing we can have done to rule out other conditions. Sure, they tell you this probably isn't genetic, but quite frankly with the amount of fear that we have right now, I'm happy to rule just about anything out.

We talked about my long cycles and when my period may reappear and how long we should wait. They weren't planning on monitoring my betas, but since I have long cycles, they're going to test my betas at my next appointment to make sure they're decreasing appropriately. Then they'd like me to complete two full cycles to flush out my uterus--and if they're long cycles, I can induce a period with provera. More than anything they said it's the minimum of 12 weeks for my uterus to contract, heal, and return to it's original position. So I'm glad there weren't any 6 month-1 year curveballs thrown our way.

I'm trying to think about what else he told us, but I don't have my question list with me. And I'll probably explore the "When will you TTC again?" question in some detail soon.

I went to work afterwards and for the rest of the day, I just wasn't myself. Maybe it was revisiting what had happened in such detail, maybe it was returning to the "scene of the crime," as the last time I'd been there was to sign my release forms and and DH's last visit was for the big (clusterfuck of a) ultrasound.

Or maybe it was just a reminder that this is something that didn't happen and go away. I'm stuck carrying it with me now and that just fucking sucks.

Bitterness and regret

C'mon... You didn't think I'd get through this without some crazy thoughts of bitterness and regret, did you?

The good news is that I'm not a terribly angry person. It takes a lot to make me explode and when I do, I get over it fairly quickly. I believe they call people like me "a slow boil."

Well, I'm simmering a little bit right now.

I have a great life. I really do. Any I've meant every single word that I've said about how grateful I am for what I have--a wonderful husband, a caring, loving, and relatively healthy family, great friends, a good job, a roof over my head and two beautiful cats to love... But WHY OH WHY couldn't I have this one item too? Bad things happen to everyone, I understand that--but why couldn't it be my car breaking down, a job loss, or some other kind of shit luck? Why did it have to be my own flesh and blood taken from me? Dammit!

To be honest, I've never had a loss that was really close to me. I've watched and futily tried to help when friends have lost parents, grandparents, loved ones, best friends, etc--but me? The closest to me have been my sister's best friend, a priest at my church that I adored, and my great grandfather that I barely remember. So this grief thing is pretty new to me--and talk about trial by fire! I know it's nothing like losing someone you've loved for years and developed close knit bonds with, but it's a painful, painful loss nonetheless.

She never had a chance. She never got to breathe air or play in a garden or know what it's like to have her momma hold her close. I never got to see her smile, look in her eyes, and play with her.

And then there's the guilt. Thank you jeebus for 9 years of Catholic school that taught me so well how to agonize. You can tell me something's totally not my fault, but these ideas will still creep into my head, but I will say that I have been able to push them out fairly quickly. And luckily everything that I've read about Potters Syndrome helps to alleviate these things as well... but they still happen.

Was it a bad egg because I ovulated so late? Did all of those early ultrasounds affect development? Was it something I did? Did I not drink enough water, causing this spiral of low fluid early when it was desperately needed? Did I get enough calcium? Did I sleep on my back too much and cut off circulation when my baby needed better blood flow? Was it that one taste of alcohol that I had when I accidentally picked up someone else's drink (I'm still pissed that my water was moved without my knowledge)? What if one of these things happened on the day that those cells were supposed to be dividing, causing this awful chain reaction that couldn't be undone?

I know it's silly. I know it is. Medical studies prove otherwise. But they can't prevent these thoughts from creeping into my brain.

So I guess all I'm saying here is that I needed to put these thoughts in writing so that I could look at them, reassure myself that there's just no way they could have played a factor, and move on from them.

xoxo

Caught offguard

So I'm meeting with my boss and coworker in the central area of our company and our Starbucks is blasting the newly remastered Beatles collection. I was almost sick to my stomach as I knew it was only a matter of time before "Hey Jude" would pop up.

And then there it was. Clear as a bell and reverberating through my brain. Fuck. It's a song that I like to listen to by myself when I'm feeling up to it--those are the circumstances under which I'm comfortable with it! But not like this. Not catching me offguard and holding me hostage during a business meeting!

About 30 seconds in, I can already start to feel my face get hot and I can feel my eyes just darting around, looking for some sort of escape, telling myself to tune it out and be a big girl.

But then my boss looks at me and says, "Yeah. This probably isn't a great song to hear right now."

That was it. Without even thinking, I closed my notebook and put it down and just managed to say, "I've gotta go. I'll be back" before I broke into tears and hurried into the bathroom where I managed to collect myself after a few minutes.

I knew they understood why I left and I knew they wouldn't think less of me for doing it. But I still wasn't sure how to walk back into the meeting and continue without just breaking down into tears again. So you know what? I went to my desk, took one of my prescribed xanax, and just sat there for a few minutes (Hello? The song is like 7+ minutes long.)

I've been doing my best to not use the drugs that have been offered to me, but you know what? Fuck it. Sometimes you just can't be the hero.

My Game Face

I've always had this amazing ability to respond to stressful and emergency situations. I stay cool, I think clearly and strategically, and I get the job done. DH and I have always jokingly referred to it as my "military attack mode." Whatever. It works, so you can't really knock it.

It's served me well over the years, both personally and professionally. I'd venture to say that both coworkers and friends alike would have me pretty high on their emergency phone tree. I've pulled off complicated events that seemed no-win situations, avoided disasters, stopped people from bleeding, and been a first-responder on many a traumatic scene.

But afterwards? I typically lose my shit. I shake, I cry, and when it finally hits me what just happened I finally get to let the emotions wash over me and then I'm all better.

This time? Not so much.

I'm pretty effing proud of my game face. I got through appointments with specialists and a call into a Dr.'s office that was straight out of a bad Lifetime movie. I had two doctors stand together and tell me that there was zero chance that my baby would live and that it would be better to let it go now rather than allow it to be crushed in a uterus that would never expand. We both teared up, asked a few questions, and then walked out of the doctor's office with a no doubts in our mind that this was the only way.

I'm not going to lie. I cried like a baby. I sobbed and collapsed into my husband's arms in the hospital hallway. We continued to hold each other up and drag each other to the car where I had to lean out of the door as I dry heaved from my sobs. And like an out of body experience, I can almost see us in that same hallway in my head.

I cried each time I talked to someone new. I cried when I thought about what was about to happen, what my baby might already be going through, and for all that I was losing. I thought that all of this crying meant that I "got it."

I had such a clear understanding of what lay before me--I was about to labor and deliver a baby that wouldn't live. I worried that this would taint all future deliveries and I forced myself to look at the bright side at every possible angle.

Game face=on.

But I guess I didn't know it at the time that it was my military attack mode taking over. I felt very sad, but still relatively clear headed considering the circumstances. I was proud of being able to go through labor and delivery and remaining calm.

I was so happy that I changed my mind on my labor plan as I realized that my baby needed me and everything that I could offer her. I would not trade those moments with her for anything.

But now? I'm back at work and apparently the game face has left me. Life is moving on and I'm realizing what I must now carry with me for the rest of my life--I'm a momma to a baby who died. This will never ever change no matter how much time passes or how life changes in the meantime... Wow.

Don't get me wrong. I'm still very much grateful for the life that I have and the love of both my husband and my sweet baby Jude, but at the same time, I guess I just don't have the clarity that I had a week ago. Everything feels so cloudy and overwhelming.

I can't believe that my baby was taken away from me. I can't believe that this all happened. I can't believe that my DH and I have the cremains of our child in a little box on a shelf.

I can't believe that I'm not pregnant anymore. I was so, so proud to be carrying my husband's baby and to be opening the door to the next stage of our life together. I can't believe that trying to conceive, getting pregnant, and feeling secure in having a healthy baby is so, so fucking far away.

This hasn't changed what I want. I want to be a momma to a baby who gets to stay. But the problem is that more than anything I want to be the momma to a baby who just isn't here anymore.

Cruel jokes

So my milk started coming in Tuesday night--I could feel my boobs starting to get heavier and more full. I was with friends, so I iced them when I got home. I've been living in a sports bra ever since and last night I started with the cold cabbage leaves. Aaaaahhh, relief!

I have some concerns that my boobs are warm to the touch, rock hard (well, I expected that one) and do have some serious lumps in them. I might have to call the doctor's office since warm-to-touch was on their list of warning signs. I started taking benadryl at night to try to dry them out a bit. Fun, fun, fun, right?

Yesterday we started shopping for cremains containers. This was another item that we surprised ourselves by changing our minds on. A local funeral home donates this service rather than have standard hospital removal (can you believe that kind of generosity and compassion?) And DH has asked that we pick out something that's nice, not morbid, and that he can keep in his office. We didn't find anything that he felt was precious or unique enough, so we're headed to the antique mall today to do some shopping.

And then we'll head to the funeral home to pick up our daughter.

I don't even know what to say about this. And I don't think I need to paint a picture, either.

Speaking of the funeral home, I had been feeling really good on Tuesday and my sisters had been in/out to help me around the house (we've had a lot of family events this summer that I planned so things were quickly spiraling out of control in the housekeeping department) and then it was just me and my mom. The phone rang and it was the funeral home saying that they had all of the proper paperwork and with my permission, they'd proceed.

Thanks. I really needed a phone call to confirm that yes, you can cremate my baby and now I'm trapped with the knowledge that you're doing it right now (or within the next 24 hours since you also informed me that I can pick her up tomorrow.)

Breathe. We knew this was what they were going to do and we knew we'd never see her again. Nothing here is a surprise. Just breathe.

All I can say is at this point is I'm glad that it was me who got the call and not DH. He's taking it really hard and didn't have the instant "at your fingertips" support system that I've had. But he's now reaching out to friends and getting the support he needs.

I keep repeating to myself, "one day/hour/minute at a time," but it's funny--that's the only choice we're given in life is to live one day/hour/minute at a time. I say this to give myself permission to change my mind about what I need or want, but it just strikes me as an interesting phrase.

People are always saying it like instructions--just take one day at a time. But to me in my head, I'm kinda like, YAY! Only one day at a time--because god knows I'm not ready to handle more than that.

Oh, and I've also been struck with an unbelievable amount of regret that I just didn't give the baby my maiden name as a middle name. She doesn't have a middle name and I don't know why I didn't think of it since we were considering it for a middle name anyway. *sigh* But there's no point in changing it--It's just a death certificate and not a birth certificate since it was stillborn.

Okie dokie. That's enough for today. TTYL
xoxo

Let it out and let it in.

It's cliche, yet so very appropriate...



Hey Jude, don't make it bad.
Take a sad song and make it better.
Remember to let her into your heart,
Then you can start to make it better.

Hey Jude, don't be afraid.
You were made to go out and get her.
The minute you let her under your skin,
Then you begin to make it better.

And anytime you feel the pain, hey Jude, refrain,
Don't carry the world upon your shoulders.
For well you know that its a fool who plays it cool
By making his world a little colder.

Hey Jude, don't let me down.
You have found her, now go and get her.
Remember to let her into your heart,
Then you can start to make it better.

So let it out and let it in, hey Jude, begin,
You're waiting for someone to perform with.
And don't you know that its just you, hey Jude, you'll do,
The movement you need is on your shoulder.

Hey Jude, don't make it bad.
Take a sad song and make it better.
Remember to let her under your skin,
Then you'll begin to make it
Better better better better better better, oh.

Na na na na na ,na na na, hey Jude...

You only get to choose what you hold onto

My dad strikes again.

When he came to see me and the baby, he told me that, "All there is in life is love. That's what gets us through and that's what we hold onto."

So that's what I choose--I choose love and I choose to let it multiply and thrive.

I choose the love of my beautiful, sensitive husband, my friends and family, and yes, the love that I have for my baby and that I know my baby has for me. I'd rather spend 6 hours with her (seemed like 10 minutes) than never to have known the love of cuddling and kissing her, even though she was already gone on arrival. I'm going to hang onto that love and take it with me.

I surprised myself in so many ways this past weekend. It quickly became obvious that I wasn't having a miscarriage. This wasn't something that would just go away. I had a baby. And even if that baby was coming into the world already at peace, it still needed it's momma. So that's what I chose to be and I am so, so glad that I did.

I know to some it may be strange that I'm here and I'm talking about this so openly and sharing my grief, but honestly I've always been one to wear my heart on my sleeve and when I have the words, I share them.

I have my dark moments. I've cried until I couldn't breathe. But when I have that moment to gasp for breath, I'm so grateful to have that breath to take.

We all have choices of what we hold onto in life--our bad childhoods, our fears, our insecurities, etc. But really--the easiest and most beneficial choice is to hang onto the love. I don't consider it an act of strength. It's just life.

Too sweet to stay

The past two days have blown my mind and changed my life in ways that I never expected, nor thought possible. In fact, just about everything I expected or worried about turned out to be the exact opposite. I'll share more as I can pull my thoughts together. For now I'm just going to record what I want to remember the most.

Our little girl would have turned out to be so beautiful. For as small as she was, she had chubby little cheeks, her dad's nose and hair color (on her eyebrows), and my chin and feet and hands--long and slender. I don't know whose lips she had, but they were so full and lovely.

I couldn't stop staring at her perfect little nose and sneaking a peek under the blanket at her perfect little bubble toes and the tiny creases on the bottom of her feet. Even when there were people in the room, I didn't want to take my eyes off of her. I'd see them again another time, but this was all of the time that I had.

So lovely, so peaceful, so gentle.

Baby Jude
August 29, 2009
12 oz, 10 inches


(EDIT: Yes, those feet are almost exactly to scale.)