Questions??

I blog much more often on my baby blog, but I understand that might be difficult to visit if you're fresh (or not so fresh) off a loss of your own. Trust me, I've been there. I know the sadness, the jealousy, the anger, the frustration....all of it is normal.

If you have ANY questions about the TAC or anything else, please feel free to email me at the following:

largirl (at) gmail (dot) c0m

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.

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.

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.

Friends in High Places

You know what's a stinking miracle?

That my future baby's life might be saved because of the internet.  And that's literally.  No exaggeration.

If you remember, it was only after Trisha had her talk with Dr. Haney that I even started looking into incompetent cervix as a cause. I was quite certain it wasn't going to be that. Hell, I was positive.

So when first Dr. Haney, then my local MFM, then a third doctor at UCLA all confirmed that IC was very likely the cause of my loss, I was floored. And mad at the health care system. How could my very competent OB continue to call it a fluke?  After my last appointment with her, I was...well, not confident in my treatment plan for next time, but comfortable that there really wasn't anything else to do.   And I was so wrong.

If it wasn't for Trisha, I never would have even considered that IC could have been the cause of Caleb's death. If it wasn't for Trisha, I never would have found Dr. Haney. If it wasn't for Trisha, I wouldn't have my TAC right now.

Isn't that insane? It blows my mind.  And I know at least two people who have gotten TACs because of this blog, so the *literal* circle of life (living babies!!!!!!!!) continues.

One Year

It's frankly impossible to believe that one year ago today I delivered Caleb. Impossible in every way - how did I survive a full year after my baby died? How has it been that long? How hasn't it already been a lifetime?

Happy birthday, tiny man. I miss you.

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::