Taking the Plunge

By this time tomorrow, hopefully I will be holding my third child, my second little girl.

A lot of things have happened this past week. We were originally due July 26, with a scheduled c-section for July 16. When I visited the high risk doc for my last U/S this past Monday, he told me my amniotic fluid was too low and that I needed to deliver as soon as I reached term.

So we have a c-section scheduled for 9 am tomorrow. I'm nervous. I'm excited. I'm hopeful. I'm afraid.

We had a good NST today. I'd like to say that reassures me, but I have learned from experience that there's no reassurance until the baby is safely breathing in your arms. Even then, it's a little shaky. The death of one of your children just inevitably changes your view on how fragile life truly is.

I have a completed nursery, a nursery for a girl. I used a few items from G's nursery, and it makes me more happy than pained to look at it. I get momentary catches of panic when I think of the possibility that I'll have to put things away without a baby here. For the first time in two years, I opened the pink tupperware containers that contained my beautiful Georgie's clothes. I washed them, carefully, and they are folded in drawers waiting for a little girl that I pray to God we have the chance to meet.

Please pray, friends. I know that chances are in our favor, but it's hard to feel that when you've known such tragedy. We'll update you all tomorrow!

I never had a chance to post about Davey's first birthday. Here's a pic I just love from the party (I look very large and PG, but my hair is really shiny due to those awesome pregnancy hormones!! Dave looks almost delirious. It was a good day :)

Right Where I Am: Two Years, Two Months and 28 days

I've never participated in this before. I never felt like how I felt changed much until recently. I'm sitting here in the soft light of the morning, watching birds fly by our birdhouse and grab little bits of seed. Bingley, our big yellow dog, lays a few feet away, snoring like a grizzly bear. My little golden haired beautiful boy is standing at the coffee table, dancing to a Blues Clues episode.

And for a few minutes, I feel peace and contentment.

As short as six months ago, I think I wouldn't have been able to say that.

For over a year after Georgiana died, I woke up and every morning was Groundhog Day. I would painfully open my eyes, and she's dead, she's dead would run over and over in my mind. In the early days, it was so much I thought I would go insane from it. I could hardly pull myself off the pillow. As time went on, it was still there but somehow I pulled myself and dressed myself for work like an automaton, despite the horrible chorus in my head.

These days, I wake up to the sounds of Davey chatting to himself on the monitor. It's the most beautiful sweet sound, and his presence calms me.

Right where I am now, I don't go visit Georgie's grave. It brings back too many horrible memories for me, and usually puts me in a funk that lasts for days. I've just recently gotten to the point that I'm ok with not going, and don't really care too much what anyone else thinks on this. I talk to her everyday in my mind, usually in the quiet moments. Sometimes I ask her what she's doing, if she saw that, if she'll protect her little brother, watch over us. Other days, my mind drifts back to those horrible moments, when the doctor told us she couldn't find a heartbeat, laboring with her in the hospital, standing at the cemetery and wrapping my arms around her tiny coffin, wanting to take it with me and run away from everything. Those moments still flash, but thankfully their hold is not as strong.

People used to tell me that time heals all wounds after she died. No, it doesn't. Those of us who have lost a child know it's a wound that never heals. But it softens, so that I can still enjoy my life and days, something I never thought I'd be able to do again after we lost G. I can notice the birds now, my dog snoring, my son, and say a small prayer of thankfulness in those moments. I never thought I'd make my way out of the heavy fog of grief to be able to enjoy those things again. But I have. It's a whole lot of heaven punctuated by small moments of hell, but I'll take the heaven as much as I can.

Everything

I don't even know where to start. I've been away from here for awhile, almost 3 months, I think. I've been reading everyone else's posts and keeping up, and I miss you all! I would love to come to the next rainbow baby convention, though I'm not sure how to drag 2 rainbow babies in tow who are less than 14 months apart.

So much has been happening these last 3 months.

One, I am as big as a house.

Right, right, you say...every pregnant woman says that about herself.

No, really, everyone. I am huge. My face looks like a full moon right now. I feel huge. Let's just put it this way. I'm closer to the hub's weight than I am comfortable with.

But let's get to the important part. For now, this little one looks great, is passing her tests at the high risk doc, is [mostly] passing her NSTs, and for all these things I'm grateful.

Her?

That's right. I said her. See...they had said we were having another boy. Then they said they were having a girl.

I cried for probably 10 minutes straight at the doctor's office when they told us. Dave and Davey were with me. Of course my crying made Davey burst into tears.

It's been hard to characterize this pregnancy. With Davey I was so hopeful and yet so afraid at the same time. Lots of near panic attacks. Lots of laying on the bathroom floor in the stall at work, trying to use the Doppler to find a heartbeat. Combine that with a sleepy, chill baby, and I was a wreck most of the time.

This little one is different. They have all been different. I don't spend nearly as much time terrified as I did last time. I think this is for a lot of reasons. One, she moves pretty consistently, not like Davey who would go for 2 hours at a time with one little nudge, sending me in panic to labor and delivery many times. Two, I'm distracted by a one year old right now, a very busy one year old who is on the verge of walking, likes to put everything in his mouth, and is going through major cling-to-mom/separation anxiety right now. Three, I've had a child live, and it just seems to make my perspective different.

Don't get me wrong. I've had my share of PTSD with this child. I've woken up more than I'd like to admit in the middle of the night and pulled out the doppler because I don't feel her moving, convinced it's over. We had a small scare with the placenta a little earlier on. Right after our 28 week U/S, my high risk doc looked at me and casually said, "So, have you had any bleeding?"

"Bleeding?" I said, dumbfounded.

It turns out my placenta was close to my cervix, and he expected me to start bleeding, sort of like a placenta previa situation. That put me on major panic for about 3 weeks, until suddenly, the issue corrected itself.

Also, I have two wonderful and beautiful cousins who reached out to me a couple of months ago and asked me if they could throw me a baby shower.

A. Baby. Shower.

You BLM's out there all know the fear and sadness those words strike in our hearts. My mom told me to just think on it, and not say no right away. So...I did. I thought on it, and prayed on it, and tried to run through in my mind how something like that might go.

And about a week after they asked me, I told them yes.

We had the shower on Saturday. It turned out...lovely. I mostly dreaded it all week, and come Saturday morning, I lay on my bed, with my head on my husband's shoulder, bawling my eyes out and telling him I couldn't go. Also, I was sweating like you couldn't believe, despite the fact that my thermostat said 67 degrees.

He let me cry, and let me talk to him about how sad I was, how it all made me so sad about Georgie's shower, and how I couldn't stop thinking about the little gold shoes that were out on the table at her shower. These were the shoes we buried her in. I just couldn't shake the image or the memory, or the gut wrenching awfulness of it all.

I began to think that I couldn't trust myself to go to this shower and hold my you know what together. After about 20-30 minutes of crying, I mustered up my courage, got dressed, and left with my mother in law with me. I'm not sure if she could tell I had lost it or not, but I didn't say anything and neither did she, thankfully.

I only cried a little while opening some gifts, but it really was a wonderful time. Most importantly of all, my sweet and thoughtful cousins had set up a little table with 4 white frames. The big white frame had a little print in gold and pink that said "I'm the little sister."

The other three white frames had an ultrasound pic of baby girl, a picture of Davey from Easter, and one of the beautiful pictures of Georgie in her christening gown taken at the hospital after she was born.

And I was just so touched that all my children had been included. It made it just perfect.

Not sure if I'll every go to anyone else's shower ever again, but I have told myself to at least consider it, because a shower for me turned out so much better than I could have guessed. I would have missed out if I had just said no, and it was really a day to celebrate a new little girl in our lives, but also remember and honor our other little girl that's no longer here, and any opportunity where many people remember her is oh so special to me.

Other things...I should probably get started on the nursery. I've collected some things, and have completely infringed upon this.  I'm not ashamed to say that I'm basically copying the big elements of her daughter's nursery.

Am also starting to think that I've bit off more than I can chew on that one. Who knew wallpaper was going to be such a pain? But I've already committed and bought two fabulous (more expensive than I wanted) rolls of wallpaper from Anthropologie.

Now it's time to commit and get going on this business. However, I've waited until I'm almost 35 weeks preggo. Not smart. Not smart, folks. I feel a little deflated and haven't even begun yet.

Also, this baby has forced me and Dave to somehow organize the gazillion books we own in this house. That's a good thing. As painful as ripping off a band-aid, but good. We've had to make hard decisions. Letting go of a good book is like letting go of an old friend.

In other news....I need advice from you mamas out there.

1. How am I supposed to handle a one year old and a newborn while recovering from a c-section? Any good advice or advice for good mixed drinks welcome here, as either will probably help.

2. For those of you that cloth diaper, I need deets. Davey has a redness on his bottom that will not go away. I have tried Nystatin, Monistat, Aveeno baths, granola crunchy disposable dipes like Earth's Best and Huggies Pure and Natural, cloth wipes, you name it. I've let him crawl around with no diaper, and he has, I'm not kidding, actually stood himself just so he can pee while standing. What a little man. It was cute, but still nothing is helping. I think I'm going to have to go cloth on the little boy. Need major advice on this.

This girl is supposed to come July 16. I can hardly wait.

Two years

Two years ago today, we lost our sweet Georgie.

Last year, I felt overwhelming fear and panic. I was so convinced something else terrible was going to happen to us, to Davey who was 7 months in the womb.

This year, I feel heavy, sluggish in my grief. I feel the weight of it, but not so much the gripping fear. I've felt so tired from feeling so sad about it all. I think a baby in the grave, baby in my arms and baby in my belly is just too much this year, and my heart has just gone into numb mode. I feel the grief, though, because all I've wanted to do is sleep or sit in the shower and cry. Fortunately, having an almost 10 month old means neither is much of an option right now.

So for today, help me remember our sweet G and light a candle for her second birthday with us tomorrow.

What I've Learned (Part I)

I'm supposed to be studying for the bar right now. I've been studying for 5 weeks solid and I'm experiencing some major burnout.

I've spent the last 15 minutes thinking about the following.

1. I don't like Panera coffee. Not at all. Especially the Hazelnut. This is what happens when I get adventurous.
2. What exactly is a crime of moral turpitude?

I've also been watching a mom and her little boy eating lunch together. I would guess he's 3. He's got this gorgeous strawberry blonde hair, little boy khaki cargoes, and a slightly mischievous look on his face.

It's amazing to me how much more things hit me now that I have Davey. I've been watching them and thinking, I get to do this someday with my little boy. It's almost unbelievable sometimes that I have this little human I get to take care of everyday, who depends on me for everything. What an incredible and life-changing responsibility.

It even gets to the point lately where I tell my husband that nobody better EVER mess with my kid. I think these are mostly the PG hormones talking, and he seriously thinks I'm crazy. Ok, I do sound a little crazy, especially when I'm making these proclamations at 10 pm at night while having a hot flash in bed while he's reading next to me.

I think probably 50 times a day how cute my kid is, and how this beautiful, fun, laughing little child, who is so beyond my wildest dreams, with this perfect round little face and gorgeous smile could be mine. He is somehow SO much cuter than me or my husband, but I see little bits of both of us in him. But he is most definitely his own little person.

How you doin'?

The new thing lately is trying to figure out what will make him laugh. He loves to laugh, but he gets bored easily, and if I try the same thing several times in a row, it really doesn't work.

Last Saturday, I started tapping my fingers on the kitchen table when he was eating. This was so hilarious he was making that sucking-his-breath-in type laugh that nearly had me on the floor, I was laughing so hard at him.

I tried it again the next day.

No go. He just raised his eyebrow at me like, "really, mom?"

I'm perfectly willing to admit as well that my husband is funnier most of the time than I am. I tend to be a little more serious than Dave, and I think Davey picks up on my super neurotic vibes sometimes. So when I try to make him laugh, I get the raised eyebrow more often than not, while Daddy can do the exact same thing and send him rolling.

Which is why last night was so fun for me.

I walked into Davey's room while my husband was getting the bath ready for him. Davey was on his tummy and kept putting his head down on the mattress and popping up to look at me. I finally figured out what he was doing. When he popped his head back up the next time, I cried out "Peeky boo!" This sent him rolling in laughter. We did it another probably 30 times before he got in the bath, and he just laughed harder and harder each time. I was loving it. Then my husband started doing it to him, and Davey just looked at him like "seriously, dad? You're totally interrupting play time with mom right now!"

Every once in a while, mom is funny too!

I've been thinking a lot lately about what I've learned in the last few years since the tragic death of Georgie. None of these are brand new, and are probably spoken by most people who go through such things, but they're still pretty relevatory to me. I'm hoping that by reflecting on these things, I can remember to keep a thankful attitude and not get bogged down in things that really don't matter.

I've learned:

1. I really do love the small moments the most. Coffee on a Saturday morning, petting my dogs, watching my son and husband play with each other. These small things are what I remember. Now that Dave and I have to really watch our budget now that he's in a lower paying job that he loves and we have a baby and another on the way, I don't miss all the going out, dinners, extra stuff that we used to be able to buy all the time. These little moments are my favorite.

2. How excited I am about a life with my son. Every new moment is just enchanting to me, and I consider myself so damn lucky that we have him, and that it didn't take us long to conceive him, especially considering how completely sad and stressed we were at the time. I think I've gone through the worst, but then I think of others, those who can't conceive as easily, who lost their miracle baby that they conceived after years of trying, and it takes my breath away, it's just so heavy.

I've got more, but I've gotta get back to studying. Only 15 days until the exam, so I probably won't say hi again until afterwards. Wish me luck!!

And then there were 1+1+1= 2 {3}

I feel amazingly blessed lately. My husband and I talk all the time about how you never really know the full meaning of love until you have a child. And we had that when we had our first. But now we can express it as parents. And we have a little boy who is full of such joy, such innocence, such pure wonderful goodness, that my heart has not stopped overflowing since he was born.

I write this post and I look over at him on our Angelcare monitor (I will probably use that until he's 4, I know nobody here judges me) and I look at his beautiful little head full of soft golden hair. He is laying on his side, his chubby little hands clasped in front of him. And I just swell with love for this incredible gift, this little cherub child who dropped out of heaven and is with me every day.

How can we be SO lucky?

And we have a little brother on the way. So (WOW) so unexpected and unplanned, and yet so wanted. We know the greatest loss. We have nothing but sheer joy at the thought of another baby. I have seen two ultrasounds, and this little boy took me and his daddy quite by surprise, but I am thankful for yet another opportunity to parent a child. We are just about 14 weeks. So many things can still go wrong, and there is so far still to go. Still plenty of time for me to spiral into panic meltdowns, multiple times a day.

And I can't help but think that I am now carrying my third baby, and only entertaining the possibility of the second child to bring home. And I linger on the unfairness of it all, and allow myself to feel a little bit of the rage that still sits inside of me, and I feel a momentary chill that my first child is housed in a cemetery. And that is our lives.

I'll take the joy, though, and run with it as much as I can. It's all we can do.

Please pray for your family. This little one is so loved already. God oh God please let him come home with us.

Flesh and Bone

Kind of an odd title for a post, I know. A lot of thoughts have been brewing lately. I know the holidays had a lot to do with it. I floated into the holidays expecting sunshine and roses (after all, we have Davey, right?) and got hit with the grief a little harder than expected.

My birthday is Sunday and I still have the vague sense of not wanting to celebrate. I just wish both my children were with me, and instead every single celebration has a gaping hole, whether I acknowledge it or not.

People kept telling me all Christmas day, "Just wait until NEXT Christmas! Davey will be SO FUN next year!"  All I could think was that meant that this Christmas was supposed to be the Christmas that Georgie was so fun.

Lately I'm really loving rocking my son to sleep. We are in that transition phase where Dave is starting to put him to bed sometimes, but I still have the magic touch when putting him to bed. And those moments are the favorite part of my day, when my son's warm, soft little body is just turned to me and he looks at me in the dark while drifting to sleep. In those moments, there is just nothing but the two of us, and I forget all my worries and minor stresses that plague my mind more than they should. And I marvel that in all my grief, panic and sorrow, my husband and I somehow made this beautiful little human out of our love for each other and the small shred of hope that we clung to desperately. I just marvel at this weight in my arms, this heavy dream of mine, now real and with me.

I love to rock him. It's so quiet, and I just hear my son breathing, slower and deeper as he settles in. I know that his favorite place is mommy's arms. Many nights it all overwhelms me, and the tears fall silently in the dark, as I feel closer to his sister in those moments than all the rest of the time.

There are a lot of parents who have given me a lot of unwanted advice on the rocking, telling me that he'll get too used to it and won't be able to go to sleep on his own. I know that these are parents who have not lost a child, and I suspect that those mothers who are not able to hold all their children may think differently about this.

I will rock him whenever I want because it is a great privilege I've been given. I will rock him until he no longer lets me. These are things I will hold in my heart when he is old enough to rock his own children.

Remembering Eliza

Beautiful little one with your unique and lovely name. Remembering you, today, sweet girl, and asking you to send love from heaven to your mama, daddy and little sister.

I will light a candle tonight.

Remembering Andrew

Remembering Andrew Steven Wilson today. Of course I never saw him in person, but I know how greatly loved and missed he is through the eyes and heart of his mama. I pray for Brandi, her husband and baby Benjamin today as they mourn such a great, great loss.

I will light a candle tonight for this little soul in heaven.

Oh my God I love this kid

Beautiful little baby feet. And a little baby laugh that is even better.

Empty and Full

Wow it has been such a long time.

I've been trolling around here and keeping up with my regular blogs, but really haven't posted lately. Most days, I tend to have a blog post or two rolling around in my head, but lose it by the time I think about actually sitting down and posting.

I look back on my life since May and simply marvel at how lucky and blessed I am to have my son. Somehow, on an early morning in May, a healthy, beautiful baby was born to me and my husband. Our  second child. Alive and breathing, and well. It takes my breath away when I think about it, how full and happy I feel actually getting to be his mama.

And existing alongside my full and happy heart is an emptiness that will always be there, I'm sure. I still have days where the grief hits me hard, but usually it only stays around for a little while, instead of days at a time. Of course, holidays are the big ones. But in the small moments too, and even sometimes when I see my son sleeping and an image of his sister comes to me. I think they would have looked pretty different with their eyes open. But they look very similar with their eyes closed, and the panic can rise before I even catch it.

I'm so thankful to my daughter for so many things, and they reveal themselves more and more. The whole everything happens for a reason line of thinking is total B.S., but I can still see some good from her death.

With Davey, every small thing is such a wonder and I find myself with a constant sense of gratitude. I can hope I would have been that way if we had lost Georgie, but if I'm being honest with myself, I'm not so sure. I don't take anything for granted with him. I relish each day, and all the experiences, even if it means most of my clothes end up with drool on them at the end of the day and having little baby fingers pulling at my hair.

Don't get me wrong. I'm worn out. Exhausted even, most days. Having a 6 month old and working full time (oh and did I mention I'm studying for another bar exam??) is super tiring. But at the same time that I'm so tired, I'm so happy. I was tired in 2011, too. Tired from grief, from anxiety, from lack of sleep since Georgie left us. Pregnant at the tail end of the year with Davey and completely fried. That's not necessarily a tired that I ever want to return to. The tired I feel now, it's simply wonderful.

Other goings on with us?? Since Davey, Dave took the bar here and got a job as an Asst District Attorney. He couldn't be happier. Life is full of being parents and working, and taking care of the house. I don't have much time for myself, and frankly, it makes me ecstatic. Caring for my child is so much more fulfilling than having hours and hours to myself. In 2011, if I could have rid myself of hours in a day, I would have. After she died, I just had hours and hours staring me in the face, and I could have just crawled in a hole and died myself.

I miss her lately. I feel her void strongly, perhaps even stronger sometimes now that Davey is here. But he also fills our world in a way that pushes the grief out to the edges sometimes, and I am so in love.

How could I have been such a miserable wreck during my pregnancy with him, and somehow he is so sublimely happy and easygoing all the time? It just goes to show, BLMs, don't let the rest of the world tell you to put on a happy face when you're absolutely terrified. It doesn't seem to matter!

Here's a few pics of the last few months. I'm going to try to be more regular about posting. Enjoy!

                            These are obviously in no particular order. This was a particular cheery Sunday
                                                                    morning in October.

 He was only about 4 weeks in this pic. I thought it was funny because he was so upset, then suddenly decided he wanted to yawn and stretch out.

 Ah gone are the days when he naps in the crib/bassinet. It's the swing or nothin', folks.

 Is it just me, or does this paci look absolutely ginormous? Wow he was so tiny!

Thanks to the beautiful bili light box (please God can none of my other children have jaundice?), he lost his umbilical cord approximately 6 days after coming home. He's been an innie ever since.

                                                                Baby feet. <3

                                                     He just couldn't get more perfect.

 Not sure what this look on his face is, but I love it. I laugh every time.

Cuddling with mama the afternoon of his baptism.

 Awkward hair coming in, hair falling out stage. Totally adorable.

 One of his first smiles. He thinks daddy is so funny.

 What's with that face? This kid knows how to contort his face like no other.

The family hanging out on a Friday night. The furbabies in the background.

Snoozing with his Ya Ya.

The meltdown face. Seriously, pick me up, like, RIGHT NOW.

 I dig the tummy time, but I'm not really so good at it yet.

 What??? Daddy passed the bar? Awesome!!

 This is every morning with Davey. Utter happiness. How did I have a kid that is a morning person??

 Hanging with Uncle Hunter.

 Helllooooo Ladies.

 Naked time!

 What's up, mom? Yeah, dad and I are just chillin'.

 I love this face.

 Davey's first Walk to Remember in Dallas!

 That's right. I'm a rainbow baby. Check out my awesome hoodie.

 Wow he loves this thing. And don't even come near him with the rainforest jumperoo. He likes the farm theme.

 Littlest pumpkin. October 2012.

 Bingley and Quatro looking bored.

 Cutest pooh bear ever! Halloween.

Ray of sunshine--a normal moment for Davey.

Lately

Lately, between my job, house, husband, and new baby boy, I've been pulled in about 1,000 different directions. Switching from diaper changes to lawyer think is an odd transition. I'm exhausted. I'm bone-tired. It's exhilarating.

I welcome it. I was bone tired last year at this time from grieving, from the constant ache of missing my daughter. Having her little brother here has been healing for me in a way I didn't anticipate. Now focusing on both of them, but with him in my arms, I can still ache for her, but it doesn't ache so bad. I don't feel it as strongly.

My son is 10 weeks old today. He has a social security card and a real, live birth certificate. And somehow by the grace of God, he's still alive. I'm astounded by it. I can't help it. Before him, I only knew the sadness of my child that had died, and it seemed as if that was destined to be my reality. Despite the rarity of these situations, I was convinced it would happen again. So far, it hasn't. So far I've changed countless dirty diapers, fed him countless bottles, given him a bath every night, and am always cleaning spit up from my clothes, and I am so so thankful for this.

One of the few items I have from Georgiana is the hospital blanket she was wrapped in. You know, the ones all the hospitals have, with the little multicolored baby footprints on them? Her little blankie has a small spot of urine from her body after she was wrapped up in it. My guess is that maybe only mamas that have lost will understand this, but there was a time when I would have given up my life to make sure nothing happened to that blanket and the little spot on it. It was a tangible reminder of her, that she existed here in bodily form. That little spot of urine connected me to her, and was, and still is, so so precious to me.

I am ecstatically happy to be able to change any diapers for my now living second child. It all gives me great joy, and I'm glad to have this perspective, though will never understand why it came at such a high price.

Tired. Overwhelmed. Grateful.

4 weeks old

Dearest Davey,

You have brought so much light into my life and your daddy's life! You are such a character! You're just a dreamboat, both in your adorable little face and cute little body, and your easy personality. I am so excited to see what the future brings with you!

Your sister would have been 15 months old today. I know she watches over you. I love you both so much!

Mommy

Nearly a month in

I have so many things to say and yet am just left speechless most of the time lately.

I came home nearly a month ago from the hospital with a living child, my son.

I left the doors of the hospital holding an infant carrier. I spent the nights in the hospital with my second baby staring up into my eyes, alive, breathing.

We came home. Every cry, every breath, every gaze, is heaven.

I'm exhausted, exhilarated, fulfilled, and yes, still sad. Her brother coming home has brought on very intense grief and longing for my baby girl.

It's an odd existence, this happy and sad, but I spend most of my days right now humbled at the great gift we've been given in our little Davey, who is such a beautiful child and such a joy to us, and when he pierces the dark night with his cries, it overwhelms me with gratitude.

He looks like her in a lot of ways, and yet is definitely his own little person very separate from his sister. Yet I am glad to look at him and see the resemblances. I feel closer to her. I ask her to watch over him every time I place him in his bassinet. I am still afraid, and am getting that it never goes away. But I am so happy too.

Going to post some pics soon.

Joy

David William Illingworth III

"Davey"

Born May 24 at 8:10 a.m.

7 lbs 11 oz

20.5 inches

Our first son. A little brother. Our hearts overflow.

T-3 (give or take a few minutes) hours

It's 4:35 am. We have to be at the hospital at 5:45. I should be in the shower right now, but wanted to take a few minutes and remember how I feel in this moment.

I slept pretty fitfully last night, but I'm glad to have gotten any sleep at all. When I had imagined the night before, I figured I would have settled into a chair with my doppler all night long. As it was, I slept off and on, periodically checking his movement and heartbeat. I had odd dreams. Dreams that made me sad, where I was trying to explain to the L&D nurses that my daughter's name is spelled with one "n" and not 2.

By this time in my pregnancy, I had lived an entire life with my daughter in my mind and heart. I had pictured her running through the grass in a dress, 4 or 5 years old, with curly blond hair. I had pictured Saturday morning talk sessions lying in bed with her, like I used to do with my mom when I was a teenager.  I pictured watching her walk down the aisle to meet the man of her dreams for the rest of her life.

Then my heart was shattered, and that entire life of hers that I had lived in my heart was the only one I would ever see with her.

I have started to let myself think on this just this morning with my son. As I feel him move inside me, I'm starting to think this might really happen. That I might have a beautiful boy child to call my own, to call my son. That I will have a son when he is 2 years old cuddle with me and call me his mama. That I will have a smart, maybe quiet, thoughtful little boy, like his daddy, who sees the world around him and sees endless possibility in it, like me. That he will amble up to me as a gangly teenager and give me an awkward hug. That he will smile at me before he drops me off at my seat at his wedding, before he turns to wait for the woman of his dreams to meet him.

My heart is filled right now. With fear, yes. With some sadness for my girl. But also with joy.

All the emotions I have suppressed for this long and harrowing journey of carrying him are at the surface. I cannot wait to meet my son. This feels very different and separate from my time with Georgiana, and I am so grateful for it. I can feel her as she watches over us. I have asked her many times to take care of all of us, because we are afraid and we know that many things are out of our control.

Say prayers, everyone. Hope to see you on the other, happier side of this shortly.

Happy Mother's Day

Happy Mother's Day to the strongest, most wonderful women I know--those mamas who have to endure this day missing one or more of their children.

We remember. We remember, and we celebrate all your babies, no matter where they are.

Two Week Countdown

As of today, there are 14 days left until I hopefully meet my son.

At this point, I am such a mix of emotions I'm starting to feel like they're all just canceling each other out. It's to the point where I just feel mute, and almost paralyzed about the whole thing.

It's like I don't want to talk too much about it because I don't want to invite tragedy again to my little corner of the universe. Just fly under the radar until we get to May 24.

This probably makes no sense, but it does just literally feel like I'm holding my breath. Like I'm stuck in one of those moments where you catch your breath, and you just stay that way. And there's nothing else you can do but keep holding on as the day approaches.

Nights and mornings have become really hard. I'm not getting a lot of sleep, and the mornings where I wake up and just happen to catch him at the beginning or middle of a sleep cycle damn near terrify me right now. I lay there, just begging him to move. He always does, eventually. It seems I'll have a day where I start to feel comfortable and actually start to believe in this happening, and then the next day I'm just filled with panic.

I'm hoping a little of this goes away after he's born? Ladies?

Most mornings, though, I look down and this is what I see down in the middle of my feet:

I'm not real sure how to break it to Quatro at this point, that after 5 years of sleeping in my bed, he's not going to be welcome here anymore in a couple of weeks. Poor little fuzzball.

These Days

These days I am preparing for my son to come home. He is supposed to be here May 24, less than 3 weeks away.


These days I go to work, clean my house and try to keep occupied. I think about May 24. Then I have to stop thinking about it or it's too much to take.


These days I wake up between 5-12 times a night. When I come back to bed, I can always count on Dave to ask in the darkness whether he's moved yet. Because these days I don't go back to sleep until I feel him move. 


These days every stranger in the world asks me when I'm due.


The due date question is always a little odd. I end up answering with some version of "Well, he's coming home on May 24."


This is usually followed by the standard "Is this your first?" My answer always leaves people a little confused, especially when my husband is with me and they see no child with us.


That never stops being hard.


So as I said, I am making preparations for my son. A new life. A new person. One that I am not convinced will be coming home to us, so I guard my mind and try to convince it that all this cleaning, preparing, baby-clothes washing, etc...is just because, not because we're preparing for a baby.


We put the crib together this afternoon. I couldn't help it. I cried. It has chips on it and is a little dirty. It looks a little like a crib for a second baby. How can that be when its first baby, the baby that was meant to christen it as a little one's bed, never slept in it?


Brooke was right in her most recent blog post. She was quoting from a book she's reading where a woman lost her child.  The woman said that visitors came by, offering condolences, and said "life goes on."  This was what the woman thought in response:


What nonsense, I thought, of course it doesn't.  It's death that goes on; [he] is dead now and will be dead tomorrow and next year and forever.  There's no end to that.  But perhaps there will be an end to the sorrow of it.  Sorrow has rushed over the world like the waters of the Deluge, and it will take time to recede.  But already, there are small islands of--hope?  Happiness?  Something like them, at any rate.


This is so my world right now. My mind has a daily attempt at reconciling the fact that I have one child in the grave and another alive inside of me. The whole death part of it doesn't go away, and it stings just as bad some days even now as it did hours afterwards. Especially as I prepare myself for the hospital, the stay, etc...my mind cannot help but compare how different this time it will be if all goes well. And I can't help but be sad, for myself, for my daughter, because of it. 


I have been pretty melancholy today. Sundays usually do that to me. It was once my favorite day of the week. Not anymore.


Now onto other things. Here are a couple of sneak peeks of the nursery:

I am in love with these Aden + Anais swaddle blankets. (see top left) 

 It's a little dark and grainy, but oh...I love the color of this room. I'll get a better pic later when there's more sun.

 I have already bought him the Big Bird, zebra, and blue dog. D and I also bought him some fab Dr. Seuss and Winnie the Pooh. I'm hoping that our little boy will be a little nerd like the two of us. But let's be honest, I'll just take alive. The rest will fall into place.

Changing table, pretty much put together. Bing stands guard in the background. He's been relegated to the hall. I just can't have my leaky dog leaking in my baby's bedroom. I draw the line, even with cute pups.

I continue to be so sad for Becky, who lost her rainbow baby. I'm still in some sort of state of shock. It doesn't really make me afraid for myself, though I don't even know how that's possible. Mostly it just makes me so sad for her, a kind of sadness I can feel as if it were my own. I'm excited for my baby, but let's admit I'm a pretty cynical mama at this point.

One last thing: Mother's Day. Yeah, pretty makes me as sad as it did last year. I was talking to Dave about this after church this morning. I remember last year, when I stood up at church when the priest asked all the moms to stand up and be recognized. I was broken, in more ways than I could ever explain. My body still healing from birth, and I hadn't yet started really taking care of myself again, i.e. no makeup or hair done, who knew what I was wearing, and I didn't even notice. I stood up and wondered who would look at me and wonder where my child was. But in an odd way, it would still be recognizing her, because there were no more children to make me a mother at that point.

This year, I'll stand up, 36 weeks pregnant (hopefully),  and people who don't know me will think how sweet it is that a pregnant mom, obviously with her first child, is standing up on Mother's Day for the first time. And they won't know that this will be my second Mother's Day to be a mom. And it makes me sad. I cried a little in the car about it. Dave just held my hand.

2 other fun bits. I had my last ultrasound on Friday. Davey-boy is measuring a whopping 6 lbs 4 oz, which means he's closer to a 37 weeker in size than a 35 weeker. Also, in the last two weeks, he decided to flip back around, so that his head is back up and near my ribs. 

C-section it is, then. It already was, but it appears as if God is giving me no choice or chance to be regretful about it.

I am so in love with this little boy. Please God, let him live.

The Nursery and Heartbreak

This weekend I washed, folded and put away all my baby boy's clothes and blankets.

It wasn't like last time. Last time, I had set aside an entire weekend to do this. I relished it. I washed the clothes, looked at each one, smelled them after they came warm out of the dryer, folded, re-folded, and organized them in my baby girl's nursery.

This time, I was methodical, detached, matter of fact. I barely looked at the outfits. I put them in the drawers, in no real particular order. There was no re-folding. I shut the drawers, and felt the vague sense of panic I always feel when doing anything to prepare for this baby.

Earlier yesterday, Dave and I went to Babies R Us and found some blankets, since of course all the blankets I had for Georgie were pink, purple or otherwise girly. We bought some nice little boy blankies, and some other gender neutral items.

I had on my list that we needed a GroEgg thermometer, which gives us the temperature of the room and tells us whether we're in the appropriate range for our baby. It was part of my small anti-SIDS item list, which I never would have conceived of if my first baby hadn't died.

As we were wandering the store trying to find the thermometer, we kept running across other items that we weren't sure if we needed or not. A couple of times Dave asked me if we needed such-and-such, and I just shrugged my shoulders. And I began to feel so angry. Angry that there I was again, at Babies R Us, buying items for a baby that isn't here yet. Panicked that he is going to die. Angry that my first baby did die. That I have to live with that everyday, that every morning I wake up to that reality. Angry that I can't use any girl items for a boy who likely never would have existed if his sister had made it. Angry that Dave and I aren't old pros at this whole parenting a baby thing, as we should be by now, with a 13 month old in tow.

Compound that with the fact that on the way to Babies R Us, I was checking my BLM blogs, and I read about a family in Alaska. A family in Alaska who had a stillborn little boy last year due to some defects. They were expecting their rainbow baby girl, and when I read the post, titled with her name "Evelynn Augusta Rasmussen," I read it with anticipation of learning her birth story.

But no, the post told me that their little rainbow baby girl died two days after she was born.

Heartbroken, shattered, for these parents doesn't even begin to describe how I felt, how I feel.

I have been reeling since yesterday. As I thought of what these parents are going through right now, again, I couldn't help but be brought back to last March, when all I could feel was death, the death of my child, and my own desperate pleading to God to take me too. The intensity of the sorrow, the horror, the pain, the darkness, it comes back to me even now. It frightens me to no end. I have told Dave many times there is no way I can re-live what we had to endure last March, what we still endure. It might be the fatal blow to any sense of hope I have left. To read of a family who has gone through what we did, and now goes through it AGAIN with their second child, and to also have no living children, just brings me to my knees.

I don't understand it. And it frankly pisses me off. Why? WHY would God let this happen again? What is the point of all of this? Yeah, yeah, I get it, we live in a fallen world, God doesn't control our choices, right. But doesn't God make choices too? What choice was made when my daughter's life support system was made with a huge flaw, when her umbilical cord was basically not attached to her placenta? Who do we blame then? What about here, when a stillbirth, which is one of the most horribly devastating things I can possibly fathom, happens, and then the next baby dies after only two days? What then?

And what about these parents, who are now enduring another funeral, burial plans instead of coming home plans for their rainbow baby? I HATE IT.

I woke up in the middle of the night sad, teary-eyed and panicked, thinking of this family. Reaching with my heart across the miles and wondering if this mama was awake, and thinking that she probably was. And I could feel her despair. My heart ached for my girl, ached for this mother and father, for their two children that are gone.

I am so sad and so angry for this family I can hardly stand it. It makes me want to scream and break things. It makes me want to yell at people who don't know anything of this reality that not only does it happen, but that it happens twice to some people. And these people don't deserve it, these people are good, kind people, who do everything right and only want to bring home their child, alive.




This is the kind of thing that just crushes my spirit. Please keep this family in your prayers, though I even question those right now.