Here's part of a comment I posted to Angel Mom. I thought it applied to my page as well:
...I wish there was an answer. For you. For me. For all of us that have joined with out thought or knowledge of one another in this very painful yet strong and beautiful club we call; parents in mourning.
We will get through this. We have gotten through what we thought was the worst part. The actual event. Somehow I keep revisiting that part in my mind over and over wishing I could go back and have those few moments just one more time. Even if it does come with the pain.
Our children don't have the mothers that we were before this, your right. Yet isn't it possible that we're somehow better? Better listeners. Better protectors. Better at picking up every detail of their childhood. Better at savoring every moment. More appreciative of them and of this beautiful and precious gift bestowed upon us once again...being a mommy.
Monday, April 30, 2007
Thursday, April 26, 2007
Speaking of Over Protective...
I took Little One to the dentist today. He did so well, he's my hero. I get nervous at the dentist and shaky. He sat there, got two tiny cavities DRILLED and filled with no anesthesia! No topical, no shot, no gas. The dentist told him to raise his hand if it hurt. He never did so the dentist kept going until he was done. Little One got up when it was over said,"Thank You" and walked away. With a smile, no less! I on the other hand would have had the shots (as many as possible) and STILL been a baby about it. I hate going to the dentist. So anyway...
The dentist comes out (before) and gives me this long speech about how children do better apart from their parents and why I shouldn't go in. I agreed but said I was still going in with him. We were called back a few minutes later and his assistant tells me I should stay in the waiting room. No, I'm going in with him! "Oh, I see" she almost whispers as she cautiously slithers away. We get comfortable (as if thats possible) in the room. Mr. Dentist comes in and AGAIN lectures me on why I shouldn't be in there and tells me that if Little One gives him any problem he will stop and refer me to another dentist, whom he adds would not let me back there with Little One.
By now I, yes I not Little One am experiencing pre-seperation anxiety and my eyes start to mist. I then tell him "Look, I've gone through eighteen years of infertility, and lost two babies before him. I'm NOT leaving him now!" He gave me a blank, almost hurt stare and turned away and finished his job without another word to me. I felt like crap. I played the dead babies card. I swore to myself that I would NEVER do that! Here I was telling an almost complete stranger about my babies for my own gain (his sympathy I guess.) I was so ashamed I cried. Yes, that would be ME bawling like a baby in PUBLIC. I felt like I had betrayed my babies and their memories.
It appeared to have worked.
When he was done with Little One he turned to me with a pained expression and said, "My wife and I went through infertility too, and we lost a baby before our little girl. I'm sorry." What? In all my self pity I didn't even recognize that he was hurting too. Wasn't I supposed to have some sort of sixth sense about these things now? If I am, I haven't as of yet had that sense bestowed on me.
I left feeling sympathy for the dentist, pride for my Little One and ashamed of myself.
The dentist comes out (before) and gives me this long speech about how children do better apart from their parents and why I shouldn't go in. I agreed but said I was still going in with him. We were called back a few minutes later and his assistant tells me I should stay in the waiting room. No, I'm going in with him! "Oh, I see" she almost whispers as she cautiously slithers away. We get comfortable (as if thats possible) in the room. Mr. Dentist comes in and AGAIN lectures me on why I shouldn't be in there and tells me that if Little One gives him any problem he will stop and refer me to another dentist, whom he adds would not let me back there with Little One.
By now I, yes I not Little One am experiencing pre-seperation anxiety and my eyes start to mist. I then tell him "Look, I've gone through eighteen years of infertility, and lost two babies before him. I'm NOT leaving him now!" He gave me a blank, almost hurt stare and turned away and finished his job without another word to me. I felt like crap. I played the dead babies card. I swore to myself that I would NEVER do that! Here I was telling an almost complete stranger about my babies for my own gain (his sympathy I guess.) I was so ashamed I cried. Yes, that would be ME bawling like a baby in PUBLIC. I felt like I had betrayed my babies and their memories.
It appeared to have worked.
When he was done with Little One he turned to me with a pained expression and said, "My wife and I went through infertility too, and we lost a baby before our little girl. I'm sorry." What? In all my self pity I didn't even recognize that he was hurting too. Wasn't I supposed to have some sort of sixth sense about these things now? If I am, I haven't as of yet had that sense bestowed on me.
I left feeling sympathy for the dentist, pride for my Little One and ashamed of myself.
Wednesday, April 25, 2007
Never Over, Just Better
I guess I always thought (wished) that after enough time had passed it would be a faint sweet memory to recall at will. NOT.
The death of my baby was the single most traumatic, horrific thing that I have ever experienced... and you wouldn't even believe the things I've been through. Anyway, that being said, I always felt it would dissolve away with time somehow. Don't get me wrong it does get better, but its just NEVER OVER.
I got pregnant (with the help of an excellent Infertility Doctor) six months after my daughter died. I didn't tell anyone I was going through the treatments again because I couldn't face them with a negative result. When it worked I couldn't tell too many people because I didn't want to write a "How and why my my baby died" speech AGAIN. I was and am grateful for every second of my pregnancy but I lived EVERY DAY in FEAR that this was the last day that my baby would be safe and alive in my womb. My own body had already betrayed me twice.
I had pre-eclampsia and was on complete bed rest from month two to delivery. I was told I had an incompetent uterus and needed a cerclage. I opted not to get one only to find out months later that I was misdiagnosed. The thing is that instead of just enjoying this little miracle growing inside of me I lived in fear. I had a baby shower and all that fun stuff but...as I opened each gift I was thinking of what to say when my baby died and I had to return them.
When he was born (emergency c-section) I thanked God for allowing me to see him healthy and crying and I just knew he wouldn't make it through the night. When morning came and he was still fine I felt like I had just won the lottery. Now not only do I get to have him one more day but I didn't have to be whisked away and hidden from all the others new mothers so I didn't have to hear their babies cry. Again.
For about the first year of his life I just knew that every sound was him choking, every sigh his last breath and every goodnight kiss a final farewell. I am still VERY protective of him but...I have learned that he's here to stay, and that thankfully it will be him at my funeral the way it should be.
Though the memories are now much more beautiful than sad it's just better, not over. She is and always will be a part of our family and our everyday lives. I am thankful that I can identify with and am aware of a huge part of the population now that I didn't even know existed (P.I.M.)
I just feel that in all my caution I robbed my new little one of a carefree easy going childhood.
The death of my baby was the single most traumatic, horrific thing that I have ever experienced... and you wouldn't even believe the things I've been through. Anyway, that being said, I always felt it would dissolve away with time somehow. Don't get me wrong it does get better, but its just NEVER OVER.
I got pregnant (with the help of an excellent Infertility Doctor) six months after my daughter died. I didn't tell anyone I was going through the treatments again because I couldn't face them with a negative result. When it worked I couldn't tell too many people because I didn't want to write a "How and why my my baby died" speech AGAIN. I was and am grateful for every second of my pregnancy but I lived EVERY DAY in FEAR that this was the last day that my baby would be safe and alive in my womb. My own body had already betrayed me twice.
I had pre-eclampsia and was on complete bed rest from month two to delivery. I was told I had an incompetent uterus and needed a cerclage. I opted not to get one only to find out months later that I was misdiagnosed. The thing is that instead of just enjoying this little miracle growing inside of me I lived in fear. I had a baby shower and all that fun stuff but...as I opened each gift I was thinking of what to say when my baby died and I had to return them.
When he was born (emergency c-section) I thanked God for allowing me to see him healthy and crying and I just knew he wouldn't make it through the night. When morning came and he was still fine I felt like I had just won the lottery. Now not only do I get to have him one more day but I didn't have to be whisked away and hidden from all the others new mothers so I didn't have to hear their babies cry. Again.
For about the first year of his life I just knew that every sound was him choking, every sigh his last breath and every goodnight kiss a final farewell. I am still VERY protective of him but...I have learned that he's here to stay, and that thankfully it will be him at my funeral the way it should be.
Though the memories are now much more beautiful than sad it's just better, not over. She is and always will be a part of our family and our everyday lives. I am thankful that I can identify with and am aware of a huge part of the population now that I didn't even know existed (P.I.M.)
I just feel that in all my caution I robbed my new little one of a carefree easy going childhood.
Saturday, April 21, 2007
Saturday, April 14, 2007
Forget-Me-Not
Spring is here and everyone is planting. Every where I go I see people buying flowers, seeds, trees, shrubs, just about anything they could plant.
I'm thinking that with hearts so light and everything blooming and gardens being planted and replanted, well... I wish my baby girl could share in this. So...
I found these cute little canisters with Forget-Me-Not seeds at Target. I bought way too many and printed these little labels. I affixed one to each can and sent them to a select few of my closest family and friends. The labels actually serve a two-fold purpose, they first and foremost remind them of my baby girl and second...they cover up the price.
Now (if they actually plant them) every time they see these shy yet beautiful little blossoms they'll remember her...and smile.
Sunday, April 08, 2007
Murphy's Law?
My husband surprised me with a dinner date tonight.
This is what happened.
We get to the restaurant and find that they have misplaced (forgot to write down?) our reservations. After waiting too long we were finally seated.
Not a good table, not a nice location. We decide to let it go and enjoy our dinner.
Ha. They brought us BOTH the wrong meal. That just doesn't happen. They take it back and finally bring us the right plates. Mine isn't cooked the way I ordered it. I don't send it back because I'm hungry and don't want to wait another hour. At least she noticed (all by herself) and asks if I would like to send it back. I said no. She apologizes.
In the meantime...I try to be brave and order a drink I've never had before (I rarely drink, and when I do it's NOT wine). Red wine. Their best. She brings it. It's beautiful. I smell it. I shouldn't have, now I'm afraid to taste it. I talk myself into it, how wonderful it's going to taste and how well it goes with my food and how it looks so sophisticated. I take a sip. Ew! Yuck! How do people drink that stuff? How do they drink it and smile. Ew! My husband is laughing now and in all his sophistication, tastes it. After making an 'I just sucked a lemon' face, his whole body shivers. Now I'm laughing.
The food sucked, the wine really sucked, but the company was great.
This is what happened.
We get to the restaurant and find that they have misplaced (forgot to write down?) our reservations. After waiting too long we were finally seated.
Not a good table, not a nice location. We decide to let it go and enjoy our dinner.
Ha. They brought us BOTH the wrong meal. That just doesn't happen. They take it back and finally bring us the right plates. Mine isn't cooked the way I ordered it. I don't send it back because I'm hungry and don't want to wait another hour. At least she noticed (all by herself) and asks if I would like to send it back. I said no. She apologizes.
In the meantime...I try to be brave and order a drink I've never had before (I rarely drink, and when I do it's NOT wine). Red wine. Their best. She brings it. It's beautiful. I smell it. I shouldn't have, now I'm afraid to taste it. I talk myself into it, how wonderful it's going to taste and how well it goes with my food and how it looks so sophisticated. I take a sip. Ew! Yuck! How do people drink that stuff? How do they drink it and smile. Ew! My husband is laughing now and in all his sophistication, tastes it. After making an 'I just sucked a lemon' face, his whole body shivers. Now I'm laughing.
The food sucked, the wine really sucked, but the company was great.
Another Anniversary
Today is my anniversary.
23 years.
We've been through valleys, yes but also hills. Hills and mountains so high you feel you own the world, only to drop so low you can't see the light at the top. You have faith that it exists. You just can't see it.
In all our years together the worst thing we've been through is the agony and torment of watching helplessly as our three and a half hour old firstborn baby girl died in my arms. Six months earlier we mourned our very first baby. My very first pregnancy ended after only seven short weeks.
The best things we've been through are, well, some of the same things but more. Many more. The first pregnancy. I NEVER thought I would experience what it felt like to be pregnant. I was so grateful. My second pregnancy too. So grateful and so, so scared. Thanking God every time I threw up. Thanking him for every minute of everything about it. Even after she had died I remember being so thankful that I had the chance to experience morning (all day) sickness, feeling her move inside of me, giving birth, the instant, unconditional love that surrounds and overwhelms you when you hold your baby in your arms for the first time, even lactating for two weeks after. My third pregnancy with a live, healthy, take home baby at the end. The days we met, and the days we adopted our older children. Though none were infants, the dreams we had of giving them a life out of 'the system', of being a real, a normal family. The soft and beautiful and carefree days we spent in fun and laughter as a family. The nights we spent in passionate love. Our faith, our love and our hope.
Happy anniversary Mr. C, I love you!
23 years.
We've been through valleys, yes but also hills. Hills and mountains so high you feel you own the world, only to drop so low you can't see the light at the top. You have faith that it exists. You just can't see it.
In all our years together the worst thing we've been through is the agony and torment of watching helplessly as our three and a half hour old firstborn baby girl died in my arms. Six months earlier we mourned our very first baby. My very first pregnancy ended after only seven short weeks.
The best things we've been through are, well, some of the same things but more. Many more. The first pregnancy. I NEVER thought I would experience what it felt like to be pregnant. I was so grateful. My second pregnancy too. So grateful and so, so scared. Thanking God every time I threw up. Thanking him for every minute of everything about it. Even after she had died I remember being so thankful that I had the chance to experience morning (all day) sickness, feeling her move inside of me, giving birth, the instant, unconditional love that surrounds and overwhelms you when you hold your baby in your arms for the first time, even lactating for two weeks after. My third pregnancy with a live, healthy, take home baby at the end. The days we met, and the days we adopted our older children. Though none were infants, the dreams we had of giving them a life out of 'the system', of being a real, a normal family. The soft and beautiful and carefree days we spent in fun and laughter as a family. The nights we spent in passionate love. Our faith, our love and our hope.
Happy anniversary Mr. C, I love you!
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