Dear Georgie,
Please talk to your little brother. He seems to find it funny to play little pranks on me and not move when I jiggle him, poke him, sing to him or talk to him. You were always really good about this when you were inside of mommy. Well, now mommy needs that reassurance more than ever. I'm sure you saw my frantic attempts this morning to get him moving, including wolfing down Cap'n Crunch at breakneck speed (which did result in about 30 movements in 10 minutes) as a last resort.
Please talk to your little brother. Please tell him how afraid mommy is this time around, as if he didn't feel it enough. Please tell him I need him to move just a little more regularly for me.
Love you. Miss you.
Mommy
Monday, February 27, 2012
Saturday, February 25, 2012
Parallel Plans
Dave and I had our 24 wk growth ultrasound on Friday. Twenty minutes before the appointment was to start, I was convinced our baby boy was gone, or at least dying. He hadn't moved much that morning, and I was convinced I would show up for the appointment with eager anticipation, only to have the ultrasound tech tell me there was no heartbeat.
The ultrasound went great.
Trauma and PTSD are powerful grips on the heart.
I am in a strange place.
Today I received some fabric samples for my baby boy's crib bedding. I was convinced for a long time I wasn't going to set up his nursery until he was here. After some thought and reflection, I think it will be really good for me to focus on this in preparation for his arrival. I am hoping to keep the fear and panic at bay so that I can do that for him.
Today I also bought some cupcake cups and decorations (owls, of course) for Georgiana's first birthday in heaven. God, it pains to me even type those words. Today is one of those barely breathe kind of days, where the sheer sorrow of her death is enough to overwhelm me completely.
I came home and set the cupcake decorations next to the fabric samples on the kitchen table. I wasn't even thinking about it, as I was tidying up, coming home, and cleaning the kitchen. When I was finished, I looked over at the table and realized the two items were sitting right next to each other. And it was too much.
Her birthday: I don't even know how I feel on this. I have received a couple of disappointing responses to this from close family members, and have tried to let the anger and disappointment go on that. It's much easier said than done. I feel torn. I want to celebrate, and I also want to crawl into a hole and maybe never come out. March looms, and there's nothing I can do about it other than admit myself to the crazy ward and beg for medication until April. I'll get an idea for her party, and then I think, no, that will make me too sad. Or, no, that will make someone else too sad. This is so hard to do. Life is so hard right now. How can I have so many years left without her?
My son, his nursery: He doesn't feel real in a lot of ways, although I know he's real because I feel him move. I have dozens of pictures of his face, more in fact than I have of my daughter at this point. I thank God for his little nudges, and then I go into near panic attacks when he goes to sleep and doesn't move for awhile. Three months left, and...I don't know. Women have done this before me, so I'll do it too. I need to go into the nursery and separate out what he can wear that I had for her, and then figure out where to put the rest of her things. Or the rest of the baby girl things. Whatever they are at this point. It's too much right now, so the door stays shut.
Parallel plans, and my heart feels torn not just in two directions, but in a dozen different directions. I am taken back to the last day I saw her coffin above ground, and I wonder how I have survived. When the heart smashes and breaks and never goes back to what it was, how does the body survive? How is it that we survive this?
The ultrasound went great.
Trauma and PTSD are powerful grips on the heart.
I am in a strange place.
Today I received some fabric samples for my baby boy's crib bedding. I was convinced for a long time I wasn't going to set up his nursery until he was here. After some thought and reflection, I think it will be really good for me to focus on this in preparation for his arrival. I am hoping to keep the fear and panic at bay so that I can do that for him.
Today I also bought some cupcake cups and decorations (owls, of course) for Georgiana's first birthday in heaven. God, it pains to me even type those words. Today is one of those barely breathe kind of days, where the sheer sorrow of her death is enough to overwhelm me completely.
I came home and set the cupcake decorations next to the fabric samples on the kitchen table. I wasn't even thinking about it, as I was tidying up, coming home, and cleaning the kitchen. When I was finished, I looked over at the table and realized the two items were sitting right next to each other. And it was too much.
Her birthday: I don't even know how I feel on this. I have received a couple of disappointing responses to this from close family members, and have tried to let the anger and disappointment go on that. It's much easier said than done. I feel torn. I want to celebrate, and I also want to crawl into a hole and maybe never come out. March looms, and there's nothing I can do about it other than admit myself to the crazy ward and beg for medication until April. I'll get an idea for her party, and then I think, no, that will make me too sad. Or, no, that will make someone else too sad. This is so hard to do. Life is so hard right now. How can I have so many years left without her?
My son, his nursery: He doesn't feel real in a lot of ways, although I know he's real because I feel him move. I have dozens of pictures of his face, more in fact than I have of my daughter at this point. I thank God for his little nudges, and then I go into near panic attacks when he goes to sleep and doesn't move for awhile. Three months left, and...I don't know. Women have done this before me, so I'll do it too. I need to go into the nursery and separate out what he can wear that I had for her, and then figure out where to put the rest of her things. Or the rest of the baby girl things. Whatever they are at this point. It's too much right now, so the door stays shut.
Parallel plans, and my heart feels torn not just in two directions, but in a dozen different directions. I am taken back to the last day I saw her coffin above ground, and I wonder how I have survived. When the heart smashes and breaks and never goes back to what it was, how does the body survive? How is it that we survive this?
Monday, February 6, 2012
The One Where I [Almost] Saved Her [Him]
I had a nightmare last night. If I mention that to the non-BLM world, the comment at this point is, "You're pregnant. Don't pregnant women always have crazy dreams?"
Alright, listen up, world that knows pregnancy but not baby loss: You want to talk about crazy dreams? Talk to a mommy who has lost a baby and is now pregnant after loss. Or even better. Just talk to a baby loss mama. You don't even need pregnancy thrown in there.
The dream world is interesting. In the beginning, I used to beg God to let me see visions of Georgiana in my dreams. I still long for that, but it doesn't seem that's going to happen anytime soon. Instead, my mind replays her death in my dreams. Either (1) I tell someone (usually urgently) that she died; or (2) she dies; or (3) she has just died and I am looking at her in her coffin.
I know. Fun.
Now that I'm pregnant, a lot of different elements tend to mesh together, and my dreams are a place where all my sorrow and fear come to the forefront to play out in scenarios. In my dream last night, it was a replay of what happened with Georgie, only different. I was in the hospital and my water had just broken and I was bleeding (this happened with Georgie, only after we found out she was gone). Only this time it didn't seem to be odd to me that I was bleeding. I kept saying to the doctor that we were going to save this one. I can only assume I was talking about the little baby boy currently growing inside me. At the end, I gave birth.
And at the end, I had no idea whether the baby (Georgiana or her brother? Not sure, the dream wasn't clear) lived or died.
I woke up to that. My heart started out heavy this morning.
I went to work and had an email from a friend from the BLM community. She had her rainbow baby. I was so happy about this. This is a woman who has tried for a living child for probably 8 years or so. She had several fertility issues, miscarriage, an ectopic pregnancy, and then lost her little girl at 22 weeks. She has had a very hard road, and her little rainbow boy is just beautiful. My heart felt lighter.
I then received the news that another good friend of ours lost her baby boy this past weekend. He had several health issues that were diagnosed in the womb, so it wasn't necessarily a surprise, but you all know that really doesn't make a difference. My heart is so heavy for her and her husband. I just think back to where I was, almost a year ago, shattered in pieces and trying to find a dress for my daughter's funeral.
No words of wisdom from this post. Just a lot of sadness.
Alright, listen up, world that knows pregnancy but not baby loss: You want to talk about crazy dreams? Talk to a mommy who has lost a baby and is now pregnant after loss. Or even better. Just talk to a baby loss mama. You don't even need pregnancy thrown in there.
The dream world is interesting. In the beginning, I used to beg God to let me see visions of Georgiana in my dreams. I still long for that, but it doesn't seem that's going to happen anytime soon. Instead, my mind replays her death in my dreams. Either (1) I tell someone (usually urgently) that she died; or (2) she dies; or (3) she has just died and I am looking at her in her coffin.
I know. Fun.
Now that I'm pregnant, a lot of different elements tend to mesh together, and my dreams are a place where all my sorrow and fear come to the forefront to play out in scenarios. In my dream last night, it was a replay of what happened with Georgie, only different. I was in the hospital and my water had just broken and I was bleeding (this happened with Georgie, only after we found out she was gone). Only this time it didn't seem to be odd to me that I was bleeding. I kept saying to the doctor that we were going to save this one. I can only assume I was talking about the little baby boy currently growing inside me. At the end, I gave birth.
And at the end, I had no idea whether the baby (Georgiana or her brother? Not sure, the dream wasn't clear) lived or died.
I woke up to that. My heart started out heavy this morning.
I went to work and had an email from a friend from the BLM community. She had her rainbow baby. I was so happy about this. This is a woman who has tried for a living child for probably 8 years or so. She had several fertility issues, miscarriage, an ectopic pregnancy, and then lost her little girl at 22 weeks. She has had a very hard road, and her little rainbow boy is just beautiful. My heart felt lighter.
I then received the news that another good friend of ours lost her baby boy this past weekend. He had several health issues that were diagnosed in the womb, so it wasn't necessarily a surprise, but you all know that really doesn't make a difference. My heart is so heavy for her and her husband. I just think back to where I was, almost a year ago, shattered in pieces and trying to find a dress for my daughter's funeral.
No words of wisdom from this post. Just a lot of sadness.
Sunday, February 5, 2012
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