Showing posts with label caleb. Show all posts
Showing posts with label caleb. Show all posts
Friday, April 12, 2013
Three Years
Three years on, it doesn't hurt as much - it even takes me a moment to realize what day it is. Three years on, that makes me feel like a terrible mother. Three years on, it feels like a dream and I have to read my own words to remember everything. Three years on, that makes me feel like a terrible mother. Three years on, I still have random moments of sadness, when I see a little boy that is the age Caleb should be, or when I see a cute outfit for a baby boy (though he'd be long out of baby clothes by now). Three years on, that reassures me that I haven't forgotten him and haven't moved on without him - but that life did go on...no matter how much I didn't want it to three years ago.
Thursday, April 12, 2012
Two Years
I keep thinking this is the one year anniversary, but no, sure enough, two years have gone by. It doesn't matter; I can remember it all with the slightest provocation. I wonder what you would have been doing now. Two years old. A toddler, for sure. Dark hair like mine? Light like your dad? Brown eyes? Blue? It pains me that I'll never know. You'd be talking a mile a minute, I'm sure. Running. Playing. A sturdy little toddler boy. A sweet kid, no question.
I wish with all my heart this would have had a different outcome.
Love you, little one.
I wish with all my heart this would have had a different outcome.
Love you, little one.
Tuesday, April 3, 2012
Remembering
I was just reading a post on the blog written by one of my (too many)
loss buddies. She, too, lost a son and now has a beautiful daughter at
home. Her second pregnancy was a much more difficult journey than mine,
but reading her blog today about pPROM just brought memories flooding back.
It made me remember the bleeding, my water breaking (twice), the emergency room, the option to terminate the pregnancy given by one doctor, the tiny bit of hope by another, the optimism I felt at home (of course it would be okay!), the confidence I felt while doing research and doing every single thing right during those days of bedrest, and then the horrible, horrible, horrible feeling of realizing I was going into labor. I remember my family being around me when I started to feel off, I remember going to rest in my bedroom, I remember Chris checking on me, I remember hoping hoping hoping praying hoping it was just gas. I remember realizing that I could time the pains. And that we needed to go into the hospital. And being on the maternity ward with my comparatively small belly. And god, just everything from that awful night. It was awful. I was lucky that he was born alive and I got to "meet" him, but that doesn't mitigate the fact that I have those terrible memories burned into my mind. I left the hospital less than 24 hours later, with Chris but alone. I still have some flowers that people sent that I dried. A couple plants sit in my kitchen. A box crammed full of cards and 20 weeks of memories sits in my basement. A music box engraved with his name is in Carys's room. Baby boys still make my heart hurt.
I was feeling terribly guilty about that; that I still hurt at announcements that people are having boys. Carys is my world. I wouldn't trade her for anything. But that doesn't mean that I stopped wondering what could have been or about the little boy who would have been her big brother.
It made me remember the bleeding, my water breaking (twice), the emergency room, the option to terminate the pregnancy given by one doctor, the tiny bit of hope by another, the optimism I felt at home (of course it would be okay!), the confidence I felt while doing research and doing every single thing right during those days of bedrest, and then the horrible, horrible, horrible feeling of realizing I was going into labor. I remember my family being around me when I started to feel off, I remember going to rest in my bedroom, I remember Chris checking on me, I remember hoping hoping hoping praying hoping it was just gas. I remember realizing that I could time the pains. And that we needed to go into the hospital. And being on the maternity ward with my comparatively small belly. And god, just everything from that awful night. It was awful. I was lucky that he was born alive and I got to "meet" him, but that doesn't mitigate the fact that I have those terrible memories burned into my mind. I left the hospital less than 24 hours later, with Chris but alone. I still have some flowers that people sent that I dried. A couple plants sit in my kitchen. A box crammed full of cards and 20 weeks of memories sits in my basement. A music box engraved with his name is in Carys's room. Baby boys still make my heart hurt.
I was feeling terribly guilty about that; that I still hurt at announcements that people are having boys. Carys is my world. I wouldn't trade her for anything. But that doesn't mean that I stopped wondering what could have been or about the little boy who would have been her big brother.
Tuesday, March 8, 2011
Offical records
Caleb's birth certificate came today. I finally was ready to get a copy of it, plus we needed it for taxes, so it was good timing.
It was a bit startling, because there's a giant "deceased" stamp across it. I guess I didn't realize they did that. But I'm so glad to have it and that it exists, period. I know not every state issues birth certificates to babies born at Caleb's gestational age, but here in Nebraska, a baby born with a heartbeat is considered a live birth and gets one. It's such a relief to know that there's an official, real record of his short time on earth - that in 100 years if someone is looking up the history of our family, his name will be right there. Proof positive. He wasn't just a figment of my imagination, though sometimes it feels like it was all a dream.
I had to laugh, though, because they spelled my middle name wrong. Whoops. It'd be a funny story to share with him when he got older if he was around to do so. ::sniff::
It was a bit startling, because there's a giant "deceased" stamp across it. I guess I didn't realize they did that. But I'm so glad to have it and that it exists, period. I know not every state issues birth certificates to babies born at Caleb's gestational age, but here in Nebraska, a baby born with a heartbeat is considered a live birth and gets one. It's such a relief to know that there's an official, real record of his short time on earth - that in 100 years if someone is looking up the history of our family, his name will be right there. Proof positive. He wasn't just a figment of my imagination, though sometimes it feels like it was all a dream.
I had to laugh, though, because they spelled my middle name wrong. Whoops. It'd be a funny story to share with him when he got older if he was around to do so. ::sniff::
Wednesday, February 9, 2011
Blame Game
Last year, on April 5, I was 18 weeks and 3 days pregnant. Late that night, I felt a sensation like a water balloon popping and a gush of blood. I was sure my water had broken. First thing in the morning, I went to the midwife's office. The baby's heart was beating away, loud and clear. She gave me a fern test, which tests for amniotic fluid. It came back negative. My big anatomy ultrasound was scheduled for 20 weeks exactly; she decided to move it up a week - three days from then.
Two days later, my water broke for sure. This time it was clear, and I immediately went to the ER.
Five days after that, Caleb was born.
I'd had very minor spotting at the beginning of the pregnancy, but around 15 or 16 weeks it picked up, and there was bleeding to some degree nearly every day. I learned later that bleeding like that can be a very typical symptom of cervical changes. I also learned later that the fern test isn't accurate when accompanied by blood and the blood can obscure the amniotic fluid, giving a false negative.
I question everything. I blame myself, but I trusted my caregivers. I thought they would take care of me and my baby.
Why didn't the midwife tell me, after I'd gone in several times for bleeding, that I wasn't a candidate for midwifery care anymore? Why didn't I get an ultrasound to look for the source of that bleeding? Why didn't she know that the presence of blood could give a false negative on a ferning test? Why didn't she order an ultrasound immediately upon my coming in with the concern that my water had broken? In retrospect, waiting three days was completely insane. But I trusted her when she said everything was okay. Why didn't she consult with one of the doctors at that point? The midwife practice I was seeing was in a hospital, and shared office space, staff, and the L&D area with both the regular OBs and the high-risk doctors. Why didn't I insist on a second opinion??
I'm convinced that my water broke that first time, and that it broke a second time two days later (the bag can reseal, temporarily or permanently, after breaking).
If I'd gotten an ultrasound at 15 weeks when I started bleeding, would they have discovered that my cervix was shortening? Would I have gotten a cerclage at that point? Would that have saved Caleb?
If she'd used ultrasound to check on my fluid levels instead of using a ferning test, would she have discovered that my water had broken 48 hours before it broke "for real"? Would I have been admitted to the hospital at that point, given antibiotics earlier, gone on bedrest earlier? Would the bag of waters resealed and stayed resealed? Would that have saved Caleb?
We'll never know if different care would have changed the outcome. Maybe it would have been the same and he would have died no matter what we did. But maybe he would have had a chance if I'd been more knowledgeable; if she'd have been more aggressive.
I still believe in the standard of care that most midwives provide for low-risk, uncomplicated pregnancies and births. I do believe that when I started bleeding at 15 weeks, the midwife should have bowed out of my care. I do believe that when I was sure my water broke at 18 weeks, she should have bowed out of my care. I don't blame midwives in general. I'm not even sure I blame her specifically. I should have spoken up. I should have insisted on an ultrasound. I should have asked for a second opinion. I didn't. At the least, we share blame. At the most, as his mother, the blame falls on me for not protecting him.
The what-ifs in do nothing but frustrate and sadden me, so I try not to think about them too much.
But please. Be an advocate for yourself and your baby. If something doesn't feel right or you don't feel like the care you are receiving is enough, speak up. Your baby's life may depend on it.
Two days later, my water broke for sure. This time it was clear, and I immediately went to the ER.
Five days after that, Caleb was born.
I'd had very minor spotting at the beginning of the pregnancy, but around 15 or 16 weeks it picked up, and there was bleeding to some degree nearly every day. I learned later that bleeding like that can be a very typical symptom of cervical changes. I also learned later that the fern test isn't accurate when accompanied by blood and the blood can obscure the amniotic fluid, giving a false negative.
I question everything. I blame myself, but I trusted my caregivers. I thought they would take care of me and my baby.
Why didn't the midwife tell me, after I'd gone in several times for bleeding, that I wasn't a candidate for midwifery care anymore? Why didn't I get an ultrasound to look for the source of that bleeding? Why didn't she know that the presence of blood could give a false negative on a ferning test? Why didn't she order an ultrasound immediately upon my coming in with the concern that my water had broken? In retrospect, waiting three days was completely insane. But I trusted her when she said everything was okay. Why didn't she consult with one of the doctors at that point? The midwife practice I was seeing was in a hospital, and shared office space, staff, and the L&D area with both the regular OBs and the high-risk doctors. Why didn't I insist on a second opinion??
I'm convinced that my water broke that first time, and that it broke a second time two days later (the bag can reseal, temporarily or permanently, after breaking).
If I'd gotten an ultrasound at 15 weeks when I started bleeding, would they have discovered that my cervix was shortening? Would I have gotten a cerclage at that point? Would that have saved Caleb?
If she'd used ultrasound to check on my fluid levels instead of using a ferning test, would she have discovered that my water had broken 48 hours before it broke "for real"? Would I have been admitted to the hospital at that point, given antibiotics earlier, gone on bedrest earlier? Would the bag of waters resealed and stayed resealed? Would that have saved Caleb?
We'll never know if different care would have changed the outcome. Maybe it would have been the same and he would have died no matter what we did. But maybe he would have had a chance if I'd been more knowledgeable; if she'd have been more aggressive.
I still believe in the standard of care that most midwives provide for low-risk, uncomplicated pregnancies and births. I do believe that when I started bleeding at 15 weeks, the midwife should have bowed out of my care. I do believe that when I was sure my water broke at 18 weeks, she should have bowed out of my care. I don't blame midwives in general. I'm not even sure I blame her specifically. I should have spoken up. I should have insisted on an ultrasound. I should have asked for a second opinion. I didn't. At the least, we share blame. At the most, as his mother, the blame falls on me for not protecting him.
The what-ifs in do nothing but frustrate and sadden me, so I try not to think about them too much.
But please. Be an advocate for yourself and your baby. If something doesn't feel right or you don't feel like the care you are receiving is enough, speak up. Your baby's life may depend on it.
Sunday, December 26, 2010
Christmas
Christmas was hard, knowing that we should have had a cute three-month-old in red and white striped footie pajamas being passed around and spoiled with "Baby's First Christmas" ornaments and toys well beyond his age ability. Instead, almost no one mentioned him. Thank god for my mom, who *did* remember and gave us an ornament...but instead of "Baby's First Christmas" it said "Our baby angel".
So not fair. Babies should not die.
So not fair. Babies should not die.
Sunday, October 17, 2010
They just don't understand.
Note: This is a post that I wrote but never published back in May, just a few weeks after Caleb was born. I'm not sure why I never published it. I'm sharing it now because I know it contains thoughts universal to those who have experienced similar losses.
I know a lot of people don't understand. They don't understand why I'm grieving at all, much less why I'm still grieving. It's not like I lost a "real" baby, you know? But I did. I lost a real baby, a real baby who I held and named. Yes, I was only pregnant for five months. I don't even know what color my baby's eyes were. Once he was born, I was only with him for a few hours - alive for far less than that. If you've never been pregnant, you might not ever understand what it's like to lose your baby like I did. You must think I'm insane to let five months affect me like this. But if you have had a baby, perhaps you can imagine. You must remember how excited you were. How you loved that baby - the idea of that baby, if nothing else - since you peed on the stick. How comfortable you were after that 12 week mark passed. How you fell hard for that little baby doing flips at your NT scan. How all of your future hopes and dreams centered on the little baby you planned on bringing home. The baby was literally a part of every decision you made - what you ate, what you were going to do today, what you were going to do in a week, month, year, ten years. By 20 weeks, you'd made some concrete plans. I was in love, utterly and completely in love with Caleb before I even knew who he was. I was in love with the idea of him, of my hopes for him, of my dreams for us. Once he was born, I feel in love with him - concretely in love with HIM, the tiny little baby I held in my hands, and not the vague future I'd imagined. You loved your baby beyond words the first time you saw him, didn't you? I did too.
I didn't just lose my son. I lost all those hopes and dreams and imagined futures.
I didn't just lose all those hopes and dreams and imagined futures. I lost my son.
I know a lot of people don't understand. They don't understand why I'm grieving at all, much less why I'm still grieving. It's not like I lost a "real" baby, you know? But I did. I lost a real baby, a real baby who I held and named. Yes, I was only pregnant for five months. I don't even know what color my baby's eyes were. Once he was born, I was only with him for a few hours - alive for far less than that. If you've never been pregnant, you might not ever understand what it's like to lose your baby like I did. You must think I'm insane to let five months affect me like this. But if you have had a baby, perhaps you can imagine. You must remember how excited you were. How you loved that baby - the idea of that baby, if nothing else - since you peed on the stick. How comfortable you were after that 12 week mark passed. How you fell hard for that little baby doing flips at your NT scan. How all of your future hopes and dreams centered on the little baby you planned on bringing home. The baby was literally a part of every decision you made - what you ate, what you were going to do today, what you were going to do in a week, month, year, ten years. By 20 weeks, you'd made some concrete plans. I was in love, utterly and completely in love with Caleb before I even knew who he was. I was in love with the idea of him, of my hopes for him, of my dreams for us. Once he was born, I feel in love with him - concretely in love with HIM, the tiny little baby I held in my hands, and not the vague future I'd imagined. You loved your baby beyond words the first time you saw him, didn't you? I did too.
I didn't just lose my son. I lost all those hopes and dreams and imagined futures.
I didn't just lose all those hopes and dreams and imagined futures. I lost my son.
Friday, October 15, 2010
National Pregnancy & Infant Loss Remembrance Day
I'm sure every single person who reads this blog is already aware, but today is National Pregnancy and Infant Loss Remembrance Day. Please visit IAmTheFace.org to donate, upload a picture of yourself, and show support. They are trying to get 2,000 pictures from 2,000 women who have experienced loss in order to represent the number of women and families who lose a pregnancy or infant every day. Every day. Can you imagine?
Sunday my parents and grandma and I went to a memorial service that the hospital holds each year for all the lost babies and children. Tuesday marked six months from Caleb's birth and death. Today is this important day, and in honor of Caleb, I'll be going to the hospital to donate some outfits for babies born too tiny - they had nothing that would fit Caleb except a hat. I'll also be going to a candlelight vigil and balloon release tonight (anyone in Omaha: Heartland of America Park at 7pm!) to remember Caleb...
and Adrian
Aidan H.
Aidan
Aurora
Avery
Avery and Alexander
Babies Holmes
Brody, Logan, and Wyatt
Christian
Ella
Evel
Evelyn
Isla
Jacob
Jillian
Joel
Jonah and Noah
Liam
Maddie
Nolan
Oliver
Olivia H.
Olivia
Peyton
Reid
Ryan
Sawyer
Sophia
Stevie
Sylvia
Valentina
and all the names I can't list here (if I missed your child, post in the comments and I'll add!), and all the babies that were gone to early to have names.
To all of them, I remember. You can remember by lighting a candle in honor of today at 7pm to take part in the Wave of Light.
Sunday my parents and grandma and I went to a memorial service that the hospital holds each year for all the lost babies and children. Tuesday marked six months from Caleb's birth and death. Today is this important day, and in honor of Caleb, I'll be going to the hospital to donate some outfits for babies born too tiny - they had nothing that would fit Caleb except a hat. I'll also be going to a candlelight vigil and balloon release tonight (anyone in Omaha: Heartland of America Park at 7pm!) to remember Caleb...
and Adrian
Aidan H.
Aidan
Aurora
Avery
Avery and Alexander
Babies Holmes
Brody, Logan, and Wyatt
Christian
Ella
Evel
Evelyn
Isla
Jacob
Jillian
Joel
Jonah and Noah
Liam
Maddie
Nolan
Oliver
Olivia H.
Olivia
Peyton
Reid
Ryan
Sawyer
Sophia
Stevie
Sylvia
Valentina
and all the names I can't list here (if I missed your child, post in the comments and I'll add!), and all the babies that were gone to early to have names.
To all of them, I remember. You can remember by lighting a candle in honor of today at 7pm to take part in the Wave of Light.
Monday, August 30, 2010
Crawl under a rock
Tomorrow is my 30th birthday. Friday is Caleb's due date. I'll never be able to forget his due date because it's so close to my birthday. I had it in my head that maybe I'd go into labor a few days early and we'd share a birthday. Or even better, he'd be born a few days early and I'd still be able to say I was 29 when I had him. I should be worrying about my mucus plug falling out or my water breaking in the middle of Target, not worrying about whether surgery is the right decision and whether I'll ever be lucky enough to be pregnant again. Can this week just please be over?
I miss him so fucking much.
I miss him so fucking much.
Thursday, July 1, 2010
Holiday cheer
I cannot WAIT for the 4th of July! It's my favorite holiday by far. Granted, I will have to deal with seeing the person I was talking about in my previous post (the friend that I've cut out as much as I can), but I'm hopeful that fireworks and s'mores will remedy that. What CAN'T fireworks and s'mores remedy, really? Not much, methinks.
I can't believe how fast this summer is going. It's hard to believe that it's been 10 weeks since I lost Caleb, and that when I was pregnant with him I thought this summer would drag on FOREVER. Not so! His due date is just around the corner...less than two months away. And with it is my birthday. I didn't remember until today how close our birthdays were supposed to be - mine is August 31; his was supposed to be September 3. Damn!! The two will always be associated in my mind.
I've spent most of the last 10 weeks thinking about next time. We've had so much advice from so many friends and family, and I seriously appreciate all the different viewpoints (and trust me, this post is directed at no one in particular...we've been hearing all sides for weeks now!!). Because my cycles were so irregular before - like, it's amazing it happened so fast with Caleb - I'd like to get going sooner rather than later [see: turning 30 in August]. The sad fact is that no matter what, if we get pregnant anytime in the next two years, this next baby (pleasepleaseplease let there be a next baby) wouldn't have been here had Caleb lived. However, I hope that our next child never feels like they are just a replacement, because truly they will have to some extent saved me. I did talk to the doctor about whether waiting any additional time could be beneficial; she assured me that it made no difference whether we waited three or four or five months. There have been some studies that have shown better outcomes if you wait a year or two, but, um, no way [see again: turning 30 in August]. This journey has already been long enough without stretching it out even further by waiting that long to even start trying. And it might take that long to just get pregnant, who knows?? I feel so much joy and hope and the prospect of finishing what we started back with our Big Fat Positive and I know that I'm ready when my body is. But I would never ever pressure Chris into trying if he wasn't ready. Ok...that's a lie. I would totally pressure him. But I'd never ever actually try if he wasn't fully into the idea. The sight of a plus sign on a test is going to be emotional enough; I don't need to feel nervous about his reaction on top of that - the same reason I never threw out the birth control pills before he was ready (despite the suggestions of several friends, an aunt, and a fortune teller.) (Ok, the fortune teller may not have said EXACTLY that but I was trying to convince myself that's what she meant so that it would be FATE that got me pregnant and not me cheating on birth control....who can argue with FATE?) (Well, clearly I can since I talked myself out of it.). Hopefully he comes around to three months; if not, then we'll wait four. In the long run, it's just a month and in the long run, September 3 is just an arbitrary goal that I seriously understand may not - probably won't - happen. I mean, it'd have to happen on our first shot, and while I'm sure Chris's boys are good swimmers, I'm not sure they're THAT good. I'm going to be gutted on September 3 no matter what, and if I have a bit of excitement to look forward to that day, then I'll take it. And if it doesn't happen....well, it'd be just a sprinkle of disappointment on the sundae that is life.
Wait, what?
Worst analogy ever.
In sad news, my mom found out that the college she's worked at the last four years is closing suddenly. She just found out yesterday - after a student called to ask her about it, no less - and school was supposed to start in just a few weeks. They're not sure if they'll be able to pay the teachers for July and August (which was in their contracts). She's completely devastated, and I spent today crying with her. I know it doesn't seem like a huge deal, but especially in this economy, especially in the post-secondary teaching world....it's going to be difficult to find a new position. I know that she just feels like the universe is dumping everything on our family and she's just waiting for the next shoe to drop. Hopefully fate is one-legged and there's not another shoe coming.
Good Lord, what is with these terrible analogies today??
In happy news, it's fricking beautiful out. Like the best weather we've had all year. I kind of want to take the next week off and just lay out back reading and sit on our porch and go camping and hiking and possibly float down a river in a barrel and be outside constantly. Mmmm. Just thinking about that makes me feel all warm and fuzzy. Is it wrong strongly resent work for keeping me inside during this weather?
I can't believe how fast this summer is going. It's hard to believe that it's been 10 weeks since I lost Caleb, and that when I was pregnant with him I thought this summer would drag on FOREVER. Not so! His due date is just around the corner...less than two months away. And with it is my birthday. I didn't remember until today how close our birthdays were supposed to be - mine is August 31; his was supposed to be September 3. Damn!! The two will always be associated in my mind.
I've spent most of the last 10 weeks thinking about next time. We've had so much advice from so many friends and family, and I seriously appreciate all the different viewpoints (and trust me, this post is directed at no one in particular...we've been hearing all sides for weeks now!!). Because my cycles were so irregular before - like, it's amazing it happened so fast with Caleb - I'd like to get going sooner rather than later [see: turning 30 in August]. The sad fact is that no matter what, if we get pregnant anytime in the next two years, this next baby (pleasepleaseplease let there be a next baby) wouldn't have been here had Caleb lived. However, I hope that our next child never feels like they are just a replacement, because truly they will have to some extent saved me. I did talk to the doctor about whether waiting any additional time could be beneficial; she assured me that it made no difference whether we waited three or four or five months. There have been some studies that have shown better outcomes if you wait a year or two, but, um, no way [see again: turning 30 in August]. This journey has already been long enough without stretching it out even further by waiting that long to even start trying. And it might take that long to just get pregnant, who knows?? I feel so much joy and hope and the prospect of finishing what we started back with our Big Fat Positive and I know that I'm ready when my body is. But I would never ever pressure Chris into trying if he wasn't ready. Ok...that's a lie. I would totally pressure him. But I'd never ever actually try if he wasn't fully into the idea. The sight of a plus sign on a test is going to be emotional enough; I don't need to feel nervous about his reaction on top of that - the same reason I never threw out the birth control pills before he was ready (despite the suggestions of several friends, an aunt, and a fortune teller.) (Ok, the fortune teller may not have said EXACTLY that but I was trying to convince myself that's what she meant so that it would be FATE that got me pregnant and not me cheating on birth control....who can argue with FATE?) (Well, clearly I can since I talked myself out of it.). Hopefully he comes around to three months; if not, then we'll wait four. In the long run, it's just a month and in the long run, September 3 is just an arbitrary goal that I seriously understand may not - probably won't - happen. I mean, it'd have to happen on our first shot, and while I'm sure Chris's boys are good swimmers, I'm not sure they're THAT good. I'm going to be gutted on September 3 no matter what, and if I have a bit of excitement to look forward to that day, then I'll take it. And if it doesn't happen....well, it'd be just a sprinkle of disappointment on the sundae that is life.
Wait, what?
Worst analogy ever.
In sad news, my mom found out that the college she's worked at the last four years is closing suddenly. She just found out yesterday - after a student called to ask her about it, no less - and school was supposed to start in just a few weeks. They're not sure if they'll be able to pay the teachers for July and August (which was in their contracts). She's completely devastated, and I spent today crying with her. I know it doesn't seem like a huge deal, but especially in this economy, especially in the post-secondary teaching world....it's going to be difficult to find a new position. I know that she just feels like the universe is dumping everything on our family and she's just waiting for the next shoe to drop. Hopefully fate is one-legged and there's not another shoe coming.
Good Lord, what is with these terrible analogies today??
In happy news, it's fricking beautiful out. Like the best weather we've had all year. I kind of want to take the next week off and just lay out back reading and sit on our porch and go camping and hiking and possibly float down a river in a barrel and be outside constantly. Mmmm. Just thinking about that makes me feel all warm and fuzzy. Is it wrong strongly resent work for keeping me inside during this weather?
Tuesday, June 15, 2010
Planning Ahead
When I was pregnant with Caleb, I was extremely superstitious. I didn't buy anything for him until well into my second trimester. I didn't want to jinx anything. By the time my water broke, I had purchased a few outfits, but everything I had for him fit into one small box that is now packed up at my mom's house waiting for baby number two.*
I've always loved baby things, and started keeping a bookmark folder full of things I loved - toys, nursery decor, clothes, furniture - well before I was pregnant. Like maybe two years before I got pregnant (don't tell my husband!!). I came close to deleting it after Caleb died, but instead just renamed it and moved it so I wouldn't see it every day. After a month or so, I started slowly saving new things to it. Just one here, one there...but it was a start.
Yesterday I got an email that Threadless was having one of their rare $10 sales. Threadless is a community-based t-shirt design company, and on any given day there's a 90% chance that either my brother or my sister is wearing one of their t-shirts and a 60% chance that they both are (sometimes the same design). I don't wear t-shirts, but when I discovered that they sell onsies and kid's tees, I was beyond excited. So cute! When I found out I was pregnant with Caleb, I started stalking the Threadless site, waiting for one of those sales. The sale never happened in the five months that I was pregnant, so Caleb never got his Threadless onsies.
When I got the email, my heart leapt - and then sank. I had no reason to buy them.
But then. Then I had a revelation. Last time I was so cautious. I did everything "right." And a fat lot of good that did me. So screw it. I was going to take advantage of that $10 sale. And I was going to do it now, before the designs I loved so much went out of production.
And I did. I bought my next baby some onesies and some baby tees. I can't worry about what might happen next time. I am going to fully embrace the next pregnancy and the next baby and not be so superstitious. World, you will know when I'm pregnant the second the pee dries on the stick. I'm not wasting a moment before celebrating.
And maybe I'll have another loss. Maybe there won't be a next baby. I hope there will, but maybe there won't. And if that happens...well, I suppose the clothes will go to a niece or nephew. But I can't let that fear control me. I did last time, and I regret it.
So yes. I bought my as-of-yet-nonexistent-2nd-baby some clothes. And it felt great.
*I kind of love the idea that the next baby will have hand-me-downs from his or her older brother - just like in a regular, non-dead-baby family!
I've always loved baby things, and started keeping a bookmark folder full of things I loved - toys, nursery decor, clothes, furniture - well before I was pregnant. Like maybe two years before I got pregnant (don't tell my husband!!). I came close to deleting it after Caleb died, but instead just renamed it and moved it so I wouldn't see it every day. After a month or so, I started slowly saving new things to it. Just one here, one there...but it was a start.
Yesterday I got an email that Threadless was having one of their rare $10 sales. Threadless is a community-based t-shirt design company, and on any given day there's a 90% chance that either my brother or my sister is wearing one of their t-shirts and a 60% chance that they both are (sometimes the same design). I don't wear t-shirts, but when I discovered that they sell onsies and kid's tees, I was beyond excited. So cute! When I found out I was pregnant with Caleb, I started stalking the Threadless site, waiting for one of those sales. The sale never happened in the five months that I was pregnant, so Caleb never got his Threadless onsies.
When I got the email, my heart leapt - and then sank. I had no reason to buy them.
But then. Then I had a revelation. Last time I was so cautious. I did everything "right." And a fat lot of good that did me. So screw it. I was going to take advantage of that $10 sale. And I was going to do it now, before the designs I loved so much went out of production.
And I did. I bought my next baby some onesies and some baby tees. I can't worry about what might happen next time. I am going to fully embrace the next pregnancy and the next baby and not be so superstitious. World, you will know when I'm pregnant the second the pee dries on the stick. I'm not wasting a moment before celebrating.
And maybe I'll have another loss. Maybe there won't be a next baby. I hope there will, but maybe there won't. And if that happens...well, I suppose the clothes will go to a niece or nephew. But I can't let that fear control me. I did last time, and I regret it.
So yes. I bought my as-of-yet-nonexistent-2nd-baby some clothes. And it felt great.
*I kind of love the idea that the next baby will have hand-me-downs from his or her older brother - just like in a regular, non-dead-baby family!
Wednesday, June 2, 2010
Roller coaster
And that's how it goes in the life of a DBM*.
Up.
Then down.
Then up.
Then down.
High on top of the world one minute when you're feeling confident in the future, then completely gutted the next minute when you read about it happening for a second time to someone else.
Today should have been the first day of my third trimester. I should be huge. I was already huge! I should be huge-er. I really, really miss being pregnant. I really, really hate milestone days like this. I really, really hate that I still have these days in my head and that they're still marked on my calendar (even though they're scratched out...I still know what is under those heavy pen marks). I should make it through the rest of the summer without a date like this slapping me in the face; other than Caleb's due date this was the last big milestone.
Up.
Then down.
*Dead baby mama.
Up.
Then down.
Then up.
Then down.
High on top of the world one minute when you're feeling confident in the future, then completely gutted the next minute when you read about it happening for a second time to someone else.
Today should have been the first day of my third trimester. I should be huge. I was already huge! I should be huge-er. I really, really miss being pregnant. I really, really hate milestone days like this. I really, really hate that I still have these days in my head and that they're still marked on my calendar (even though they're scratched out...I still know what is under those heavy pen marks). I should make it through the rest of the summer without a date like this slapping me in the face; other than Caleb's due date this was the last big milestone.
Up.
Then down.
*Dead baby mama.
Tuesday, June 1, 2010
Around the corner
It's been a really good week. Being so confident in the upcoming tests has done amazing things for my emotional well-being. There are only two possible outcomes: they find something, or they don't. And I'll be thrilled with either one. If they find something, we can fix it. If they don't find anything, then it really was just a terrible fluke and chances are it won't happen again. At least it shouldn't. I made great strides with karma over the weekend by making a preschooler's LIFE by giving her a pack of glow sticks (which she continually called glue sticks, only adding to the adorableness). It wasn't perfect. I felt a few pangs of loss when playing with her 7-month-old brother, who is doing his part in keeping the cute baby tradition alive in their household with his easy smile and eight-mile-long eyelashes and giant blue eyes. Seeing his dad interact with him took me straight to how Chris would have been with Caleb. Carrying his car seat into the restaurant where I ate with his mom and dad was a physical reminder of what I should have had. Changing his diaper, pinching his toes, tickling his chubby legs...I should have had that. I want that. I hate that I don't have that. But knowing that the testing is being done gives me confidence that I will have that. It just won't be with my first baby boy, Caleb. Which is unfair. So flipping unfair. But I will have it with his little brothers and sisters. (However, despite this leap forward, I haven't made it so far as to unhide all my pregnant and new mom friends from Facebook. One thing at a time!)
But it was a very normal holiday weekend. I hung out with my family, I hung out with friends, I even got to hang out with my husband a bit! There was no crying. There was a lot of laughing. The raw open edges of my heart have worn away to a dull ache...always there, but not always causing pain. Normal. I can haz it.
But it was a very normal holiday weekend. I hung out with my family, I hung out with friends, I even got to hang out with my husband a bit! There was no crying. There was a lot of laughing. The raw open edges of my heart have worn away to a dull ache...always there, but not always causing pain. Normal. I can haz it.
Tuesday, May 25, 2010
Never the same
As I was walking my dog today, I was struck with a sudden and almost overwhelming sense of permanence. I knew that this was a forever thing, obviously. I'm not dumb. As much as I hope and dream and cross my fingers and pray and beg, I know that Caleb isn't going to magically be safe in my belly again. But today, it just hit me.
No matter what happens in the future, no matter how many kids I go on to have (hopefully a lot), I will always have a dead baby. This will always be a part of me. It's never going to go away. Every family picture ever taken from now on will always be one family member short, until the day I die. Even then, my funeral will be missing one mourner.
I am always going to be the mother of a baby who died. This is for always. I will always have the title of dead baby mama.
And I don't want it. I was okay with that title for a few weeks, but I don't want it anymore. Please, won't someone take it away from me? Take it back. I am not strong enough to have this be a part of me forever. I don't want to always be that person whose baby died.
I know I'll have other titles in life. Daughter, wife, friend, niece, cousin, hopefully mother again...Some will be just as important as being Caleb's mom. And they're all just as permanent.
But I don't want this one.
No matter what happens in the future, no matter how many kids I go on to have (hopefully a lot), I will always have a dead baby. This will always be a part of me. It's never going to go away. Every family picture ever taken from now on will always be one family member short, until the day I die. Even then, my funeral will be missing one mourner.
I am always going to be the mother of a baby who died. This is for always. I will always have the title of dead baby mama.
And I don't want it. I was okay with that title for a few weeks, but I don't want it anymore. Please, won't someone take it away from me? Take it back. I am not strong enough to have this be a part of me forever. I don't want to always be that person whose baby died.
I know I'll have other titles in life. Daughter, wife, friend, niece, cousin, hopefully mother again...Some will be just as important as being Caleb's mom. And they're all just as permanent.
But I don't want this one.
Thursday, May 20, 2010
This I know
There are so many things I don't know about you, Caleb. I don't know what color hair you would have had - or if you'd have had any at all (you were bald as a doorknob when I met you!). I don't know if you would have had your dad's brilliant blue eyes (I hoped so) or my big brown ones. I don't even know if you would have looked like a Caleb. I don't know when you would have taken your first step or said your first word. Maybe big goofy Riley would have inspired you to say 'dog.' I don't know what your favorite color would have been, if you would have preferred the swings or the slide, or what flavor of ice cream would have been your favorite. Would we have celebrated your birthday with a theme? Maybe you would have been into trains, or dinosaurs, or baseball. I don't know if you would have taken after my side of the family and been tall, or your dad's and been average (okay...short!). I don't know what subject in school would have been your favorite, what you would have majored in at college, or what your first job would have been. Working at a fast food place? Mowing lawns? Maybe your dad would have hooked you up with a job at Google. I don't know if you would have gotten married and had kids of your own. There is so much I don't know and will never know.
Here is what I do know:
I know you weighed 9.5 ounces and were 9.5 inches long.
I know you had long, slender fingers, the teeniest fingernails, and big feet.
I know you had a perfect, tiny, ski-jump nose.
I know you had your dad's chin.
I know when you were born you tucked your hand under your chin, which is the same gesture I make when I'm thinking.
I know that when you were six weeks old, you looked exactly like a jellybean with a heartbeat.
I know that when you were thirteen weeks old, you waved to us during the ultrasound, and that you jumped and flipped around so much that the tech had a hard time getting the measurements she needed.
I know that whenever the midwife tried to listen to your heart with the doppler at the office, you'd move around and make her job difficult, but when I did it at home you'd sit in the same place and let me listen.
I know that you had just started making your presence known to me in the form of kicks and wiggles.
I know you liked it when I read Shel Silverstein poems to you. (Or at least I like to think so.)
I know I wanted you more than anything.
I know I loved you more than anything.
I know you were safe and warm in my belly, until you weren't.
I don't know what impact you would have had on the world.
All I know is the impact you had on my small world.
Here is what I do know:
I know you weighed 9.5 ounces and were 9.5 inches long.
I know you had long, slender fingers, the teeniest fingernails, and big feet.
I know you had a perfect, tiny, ski-jump nose.
I know you had your dad's chin.
I know when you were born you tucked your hand under your chin, which is the same gesture I make when I'm thinking.
I know that when you were six weeks old, you looked exactly like a jellybean with a heartbeat.
I know that when you were thirteen weeks old, you waved to us during the ultrasound, and that you jumped and flipped around so much that the tech had a hard time getting the measurements she needed.
I know that whenever the midwife tried to listen to your heart with the doppler at the office, you'd move around and make her job difficult, but when I did it at home you'd sit in the same place and let me listen.
I know that you had just started making your presence known to me in the form of kicks and wiggles.
I know you liked it when I read Shel Silverstein poems to you. (Or at least I like to think so.)
I know I wanted you more than anything.
I know I loved you more than anything.
I know you were safe and warm in my belly, until you weren't.
I don't know what impact you would have had on the world.
All I know is the impact you had on my small world.
Wednesday, May 12, 2010
One Month
It's been one month since you were born, Caleb.
It's been one month since you died, Caleb.
I miss having you safe inside me. I miss thinking about what the future would hold for you. I miss imagining what your nursery would look like - I had everything all picked out. I miss anticipating this Christmas - our first Christmas together as a family. I miss wondering what you would have looked like. Would my brown eyes and brown hair beat out your dad's light hair and beautiful blue eyes? Would you be tall, like me? Fair-skinned like your dad?
Most of all, though, I miss you.
There were a lot of big events that came together this week in the perfect storm of making me lose it. Sunday, Mother's Day. Today, one month anniversary. Friday, I would have been 24 weeks, the time when chances were good you'd be able to live outside me. Yesterday that all came together and I almost had a panic attack. My chest got tight and I couldn't breathe, I felt lightheaded, like I might throw up. I had to call one of my best friends to talk me down.
I want you back, baby boy. I want you to be a physical presence in my life every day, not just a memory.
How do I reconcile what was the worst time of my life - your death - with what was the best time of my life - getting to meet you?
I'm reading a book that describes losing someone like this:
"When someone dies, it feels like the hole in your gum when a tooth falls out. You can chew, you can eat, you have plenty of other teeth, but your tongue keeps going back to that empty place, where all the nerves are still a little raw."
Caleb, I miss you every day. I will always miss you. Even ten years from now, when I'm playing with your little brothers and sisters and I'm not grieving every moment, I'll miss you.
Love you so much, little guy.
It's been one month since you died, Caleb.
I miss having you safe inside me. I miss thinking about what the future would hold for you. I miss imagining what your nursery would look like - I had everything all picked out. I miss anticipating this Christmas - our first Christmas together as a family. I miss wondering what you would have looked like. Would my brown eyes and brown hair beat out your dad's light hair and beautiful blue eyes? Would you be tall, like me? Fair-skinned like your dad?
Most of all, though, I miss you.
There were a lot of big events that came together this week in the perfect storm of making me lose it. Sunday, Mother's Day. Today, one month anniversary. Friday, I would have been 24 weeks, the time when chances were good you'd be able to live outside me. Yesterday that all came together and I almost had a panic attack. My chest got tight and I couldn't breathe, I felt lightheaded, like I might throw up. I had to call one of my best friends to talk me down.
I want you back, baby boy. I want you to be a physical presence in my life every day, not just a memory.
How do I reconcile what was the worst time of my life - your death - with what was the best time of my life - getting to meet you?
I'm reading a book that describes losing someone like this:
"When someone dies, it feels like the hole in your gum when a tooth falls out. You can chew, you can eat, you have plenty of other teeth, but your tongue keeps going back to that empty place, where all the nerves are still a little raw."
Caleb, I miss you every day. I will always miss you. Even ten years from now, when I'm playing with your little brothers and sisters and I'm not grieving every moment, I'll miss you.
Love you so much, little guy.
Sunday, May 9, 2010
Mother's Day
When a baby arrives,
be it for a day, a month, a year or more,
or perhaps only a sweet flickering moment-
the fragile spark of a tender soul
the secret swell of a new pregnancy
the goldfish flutter known to only you-
you are unmistakeably changed...
the tiny footprints left behind on your heart
bespeak your name as Mother.
(Kimberly de Montbrun)
Happy Mother's Day to anyone out there who has ever been a mother; whether you were able to parent your child for forty years or only knew about them due to a pink line, you're still and always will be
A Mother.
be it for a day, a month, a year or more,
or perhaps only a sweet flickering moment-
the fragile spark of a tender soul
the secret swell of a new pregnancy
the goldfish flutter known to only you-
you are unmistakeably changed...
the tiny footprints left behind on your heart
bespeak your name as Mother.
(Kimberly de Montbrun)
Happy Mother's Day to anyone out there who has ever been a mother; whether you were able to parent your child for forty years or only knew about them due to a pink line, you're still and always will be
A Mother.
Friday, May 7, 2010
Dead Baby Etiquette: A Fieldguide
I was so lucky this week to get to see two great friends and spend some time with them. They share one trait that made them wonderful to see: They asked about my baby.
I get that people don't know what to say, so they often don't say anything. That they might have questions, but don't want to make it upsetting for you, so they don't ask. That they think it's easier on you if they pretend it never happened.
But I love my baby. I want to talk about him, just like any new mother wants to talk about her baby. I want to tell his story. I want to share pictures. I want you to know him like I knew him, since you'll never get to meet him.
And both these friends did just that. They cooed over pictures and said how adorable he was (which isn't easy to do...he was a micro, micro, micro, micro preemie and not everyone can overlook that and see the cute little boy underneath). They both noticed his perfect little nose and long fingers. They both asked questions about him, about his birth. They both told me they didn't know why this had to happen to anyone. That it was unfair. That they were sorry.
Neither of them has ever lost a child, but they both managed to do exactly what I needed. And for that, I thank them from the bottom of my heart. Caleb does, too.
I get that people don't know what to say, so they often don't say anything. That they might have questions, but don't want to make it upsetting for you, so they don't ask. That they think it's easier on you if they pretend it never happened.
But I love my baby. I want to talk about him, just like any new mother wants to talk about her baby. I want to tell his story. I want to share pictures. I want you to know him like I knew him, since you'll never get to meet him.
And both these friends did just that. They cooed over pictures and said how adorable he was (which isn't easy to do...he was a micro, micro, micro, micro preemie and not everyone can overlook that and see the cute little boy underneath). They both noticed his perfect little nose and long fingers. They both asked questions about him, about his birth. They both told me they didn't know why this had to happen to anyone. That it was unfair. That they were sorry.
Neither of them has ever lost a child, but they both managed to do exactly what I needed. And for that, I thank them from the bottom of my heart. Caleb does, too.
Tuesday, May 4, 2010
Last picture
While uploading the pictures from Aruba, I discovered the last picture of me pregnant, taken four days before my water broke and nine days before Caleb was born:
I have such mixed emotions while seeing it. One, holy belly, Batman! I didn't remember it being so large - I guess because it grew over five months. But seeing it reinforces the fact that I WAS pregnant. Sometimes it feels like a dream, but looking at the picture, seeing myself with a pregnant stomach...yes, I was. Two, since I didn't realize I'd been so belly-licious, I didn't realize my body had already changed so much since giving birth. Compared to that I'm supermodel belly flat. Of course, compared to a supermodel, I might as well still be five months pregnant, but still. Three, I wish I'd known everything that was about to happen so I could prepare. I never got to take a 19 week picture. I was on bedrest when that milestone came about.
Check out the difference between 17 and 18 weeks...Caleb must have had a growth spurt that week!
Sigh. I miss being pregnant. Sometimes I wonder if I'm just not wishing or praying hard enough for this all to not have happened and to still be pregnant. I'd give up everything I own to have him safe in my belly again.
I have such mixed emotions while seeing it. One, holy belly, Batman! I didn't remember it being so large - I guess because it grew over five months. But seeing it reinforces the fact that I WAS pregnant. Sometimes it feels like a dream, but looking at the picture, seeing myself with a pregnant stomach...yes, I was. Two, since I didn't realize I'd been so belly-licious, I didn't realize my body had already changed so much since giving birth. Compared to that I'm supermodel belly flat. Of course, compared to a supermodel, I might as well still be five months pregnant, but still. Three, I wish I'd known everything that was about to happen so I could prepare. I never got to take a 19 week picture. I was on bedrest when that milestone came about.
Check out the difference between 17 and 18 weeks...Caleb must have had a growth spurt that week!
Sigh. I miss being pregnant. Sometimes I wonder if I'm just not wishing or praying hard enough for this all to not have happened and to still be pregnant. I'd give up everything I own to have him safe in my belly again.
Monday, May 3, 2010
Mountains and valleys
Yesterday was a rough day. Thank god for Chris...he pulled me through with dinner and Family Guy. There wasn't any one thing that happened that made me so sad; the grief just randomly comes and punches you in the (babyless) gut, and the tears start rolling. Sometimes I think I'm crying because I miss Caleb, sometimes because I miss being pregnant, sometimes because I WANT to be pregnant, sometimes because I'm so scared to try again, sometimes because I fear not being able to get pregnant again, and sometimes because I worry that if I do get pregnant that this will happen again. And sometimes just because.
I think that as it gets further away from Caleb's birthday that the sad times actually hit harder. It seems backwards, but all the happy, normal times between the sad times made those times all the more difficult. When you're low already, as I was in the days following his birth, going a little lower doesn't make much of a difference. Getting hit by a train isn't so different than getting hit by a bus. But when you're feeling happy, going low just hurts so much more.
Aruba was definitely a high point. We went with great people, and for much of the time I was able to feel normal and not like a Dead Baby Mama.
I saw some enormous iguanas, which are all over the island...
...including this poor guy, who clearly had a rough life - missing part of his tail and one of his front feet!
I saw blue parrot fish and puffer fish.
I fed the flamingos (which aren't native, just part of the hotel's attractions).
They are LOUD (and frankly, kind of dumb).
I saw the biggest hermit crab EVER.
I saw this bird (I think a dove?) with a target around his eye begging some kid to shoot his eye out.
I went on a pirate ship.
I went on a party bus.
I had some drinks (but surprisingly, did not get wasted at any point, though looking at the second picture you might beg to differ).
Unlike, say, these guys.
(Don't ask.)
I wore a ridiculous hat, which I did not need booze to be persuaded to do. Chris, however, was slightly drunk at this point. And not happy that I slapped a sombrero on his head. And then forced him to take a picture.
I wrote our names on the wall (and in a corner, secretly wrote Caleb's name too).
Chris managed to get burned while reading on the beach despite the fact that he was completely in the shade AND it was dusk.
We booked a couple's massage on a private island off the coast. Okay, it wasn't really private, there were probably 100 people there. But it was a huge and everyone was spread out, and you had to be a hotel guest (or pay an exorbitant fee for a massage like we did) to access the island. You got there by grabbing a speedboat taxi on the mainland. It was absolutely beautiful and so serene. The first two pictures are of the little massage hut, and the last one is of the island itself. (And I probably shouldn't say that this was our second massage of the trip, should I?)
Let me just say that getting Chris to enjoy a good massage is one of the best things I've ever done.
Lastly, we enjoyed lots of beautiful sunsets.
(Note the boob tan in that picture. Eeek.)
Aruba really IS "One Happy Island," and thank god, because that's exactly what I needed.
I think that as it gets further away from Caleb's birthday that the sad times actually hit harder. It seems backwards, but all the happy, normal times between the sad times made those times all the more difficult. When you're low already, as I was in the days following his birth, going a little lower doesn't make much of a difference. Getting hit by a train isn't so different than getting hit by a bus. But when you're feeling happy, going low just hurts so much more.
Aruba was definitely a high point. We went with great people, and for much of the time I was able to feel normal and not like a Dead Baby Mama.
I saw some enormous iguanas, which are all over the island...
...including this poor guy, who clearly had a rough life - missing part of his tail and one of his front feet!
I saw blue parrot fish and puffer fish.
I fed the flamingos (which aren't native, just part of the hotel's attractions).
They are LOUD (and frankly, kind of dumb).
I saw the biggest hermit crab EVER.
I saw this bird (I think a dove?) with a target around his eye begging some kid to shoot his eye out.
I went on a pirate ship.
I went on a party bus.
I had some drinks (but surprisingly, did not get wasted at any point, though looking at the second picture you might beg to differ).
Unlike, say, these guys.
(Don't ask.)
I wore a ridiculous hat, which I did not need booze to be persuaded to do. Chris, however, was slightly drunk at this point. And not happy that I slapped a sombrero on his head. And then forced him to take a picture.
I wrote our names on the wall (and in a corner, secretly wrote Caleb's name too).
Chris managed to get burned while reading on the beach despite the fact that he was completely in the shade AND it was dusk.
We booked a couple's massage on a private island off the coast. Okay, it wasn't really private, there were probably 100 people there. But it was a huge and everyone was spread out, and you had to be a hotel guest (or pay an exorbitant fee for a massage like we did) to access the island. You got there by grabbing a speedboat taxi on the mainland. It was absolutely beautiful and so serene. The first two pictures are of the little massage hut, and the last one is of the island itself. (And I probably shouldn't say that this was our second massage of the trip, should I?)
Let me just say that getting Chris to enjoy a good massage is one of the best things I've ever done.
Lastly, we enjoyed lots of beautiful sunsets.
(Note the boob tan in that picture. Eeek.)
Aruba really IS "One Happy Island," and thank god, because that's exactly what I needed.
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