Taken Back

This time of the year always gets me. The January-to-March time, ever since Avery died. These last weeks when she was still alive three years ago. Three years? It sounds like it should feel so long ago, like I should be so removed from it by now, but really it was just a breath ago. Time somehow passes, but a piece of me stands still, frozen in that moment forever. Anything can take me back to it, and make it feel like yesterday. A song, a smell, an article of clothing- anything - can trigger it, like a time warp. As if it's happening right now. I just can't forget it. And I can't ever forget her. Even if I could, I wouldn't want to. This is all I have left of her. Even this aching in my heart is better than having nothing left of her.

We had two ultrasounds in February of 2010. One at 20 weeks, and another at 23 weeks, which was actually tomorrow, three years ago. Looking back, there was a difference in her appearance the second time, just two weeks before she was gone. The tech said she was sleeping and it was the reason she was so inactive. Her chin was resting against her chest exactly how it rested when we held her lifeless body. I truly believe her health was already declining at this ultrasound. Sure she may have been sleeping but it was probably because she was so deprived of nutrients and blood flow. So tomorrow marks three years since the last time we saw our little girl alive...

I try not to allow myself to dwell on her last days. I try not to wonder about her suffering or possible pain. I try not to imagine that she felt any discomfort. I like to think that maybe she just fell asleep and peacefully slipped away. And then I step back from it and realize how horrifying it is that this all happened in the first place. That it happened to my little girl. That it happened inside my body. It may have been nearly three years ago, but the reality of it still shocks and astounds me. How did I go through this? How is this my life?! Why does this happen? Why me?!

And that's my broken record. On and on, as another year pushes us even further away from her and the time she was here.

Torn

I ran into two different things today that made me question blogging altogether. I am actually torn over whether or not to continue doing so, despite the fact that it's been something I enjoy and something that has been very beneficial to me emotionally.

On Instagram, a mother of three, who is a gifted and inspiring author and blogger, was berated by a very rude person, who ridiculed her for giving her children no privacy and claimed that she was exploiting them and her life and was openly boycotting her. All of the mother's followers defended her and stuck by her side but the words were still said and I'm sure they bothered her to some degree. I don't think she has done anything wrong or has disrespected her children by sharing her life (with them included) on her popular blog. But someone else did. And reading her comment and the comments in response to it made me feel like I couldn't breathe. How would I be able to handle something like that if it was directed at me?! Where do you draw the line on over sharing anyway?

The second thing I happened to run into today was an article from a mom blogger who found that a photo of her children was taken from her blog and altered in a way that made it disturbingly vulgar. She warned readers of the creeps that linger online and reminded fellow bloggers to be extra careful. But how careful can you be?

I post many photos of Jude on my blog and of course there are a sacred few of Avery that are very sensitive in nature. Can these photos fall into the wrong hands? Is there anyone out there that can hurt us with our own photos? I don't post anything questionable, like nude bath photos so does that keep my blog safe? Does anyone even read it anyway? And if no one really reads it, what's the point of putting us out there for disgusting people to defile? I've had my concerns about this before. Maybe I was right in that all along.

There is a part of me that feels like I'm slowly cutting myself off from the world. I don't really have many friends anymore. It's been ten months since I have regularly used Facebook. My Instagram account is private and I am picky about who I allow to follow me. (So what makes my blog so different? Photos that are kept private on my Instagram are posted freely on this blog for anyone in the world to see.) I've always been creative and enjoyed expressing myself. If I stop doing that, what would happen? Nothing. Probably nothing. I think I would just miss it.

But I wouldn't miss the worrying. I wouldn't miss being nervous that I said too much or that I would insult someone who didn't understand my grief-induced ranting. I don't feel like I have made a difference with my writing and my sharing. I haven't helped anyone. So maybe all I'm doing is leaving the door open to any creep who could gawk at my family. It's sad that the world is so ugly. It's pathetic that these things are even an issue.

So I'm not sure what I will do in the future. If I do continue, I just may not share so many photos. I can always write offline where I know my words are safe. And so is my family.

What do you call it??

I keep feeling the need to have a specific term for my child-bearing situation. The "I can't have any more children" statement is too vague and gives false implications. It makes it sound like I have physically lost my fertility or my ability to conceive. Though I don't get pregnant quickly, I am still very much able to... I just shouldn't. I'm just too high risk to safely carry.

It seems cumbersome to state "I've been medically advised not to have more children." That leaves too much room for questioning. And way way too much room for people to insist other possibilities that involve me having another baby under the care of other specialists or after more testing. This is bothersome because I have a hard enough time accepting the reality, and I don't need anyone feeding me false possibilities. If it were possible to safely have another baby, I would not have been advised not to have any more. My doctors, my husband, and I know much more about my case than anyone else. So their suggestions really are unnecessary.

In a way, I feel like I have some sort of infertility issue. My body can conceive but it cannot carry a baby to term. The placenta always fails and forms clots and infarctions. My babies literally begin to have their blood flow and nutrients cut off from them... and in Avery's case, completely cut off. :( I researched the types of infertility and it all seems to refer to the ability to get pregnant at all. Even though the terms don't fit by definition, I feel like I identify with it... possibly secondary infertility... in that my body does not allow me to have a baby (after having one) and I wish so desperately that it could.

I'm not sure why I feel the need to have a medical term for this. Maybe I just don't want to have to explain things. I know as Jude gets older, people who are ignorant enough to somehow not know what's going on in my life (and those damn nosey strangers) will be giving me the "it's time for another one, eh?!" comments. I'm aware that I could just chuckle (while I die inside) and brush off the comment, especially with a stranger, but on the other hand, it really annoys me that people think they can just say whatever they want, and treat sacred, potentially tender topics so cavalierly. Not every supposed typical life event is very typical for everyone. Sometimes I like to make people aware that they need to be more sensitive and more careful with their words, though it can be awkward. I'm never rude or insulting, just honest. So if I get asked anytime soon when we're going to have baby number three (oh, they better not say number two), I may have to be honest and give them that long-winded answer about being medically advised blah blah blah...

And that's when it would be easier to have a simple term. Like if I had an answer like "I got my tubes tied" or "I'm battling infertility"or anything else that would clearly imply no more babies, the nosey questioner wouldn't prod any further. If I lied and said we don't want any more children, I may get a barrage of questions about why we don't. That would just be a huge mess, especially since I desperately do. I have learned that people can be crazy and there is no limit as to what may come out of their mouths.

Maybe I dwell on things too much. As I lay in bed alone at night while my husband is at work, trying to fall asleep. As my only living child sleeps quietly in the Pack N Play next to my bed, I think and I think. I prop myself up on one elbow and peer over at Jude, lightly illuminated by the TV playing One Tree Hill episodes on Netflix because I'm too scared to sleep in the dark. I watch him until I'm sure I can see him breathing, and then I lay back down to try drifting off again. In all of these moments, I ponder things I shouldn't even think about. I try to name my situation, as if giving it an official title makes me less of a freak of nature and more of a normal occurrence in medical history.

I guess I want to wrap all of this anguish and devastation up into a tidy little box and not have to rummage through it and unpack its contents every time someone blindsides me with an overly personal question. If I could just instead point to the label on the box, they would know what I have to endure and leave it at that, without offering me medical advice or trying to talk me out of the blatant evidence I have about my own body. Even if this all just seems silly, it would just be easier. And in these situations, easy is something I could use a bit of.

18 month doctor visit

Today, Jude had his 18 month well baby appointment. He weighs 25 pounds (66th percentile) and is 31 inches tall (8th percentile). He's a little on the short side right now, but his doctor was very pleased with his growth and thinks he's a healthy weight. I worry about weight since it's in my genes to be overweight and I have been since I was four (doctors couldn't figure out why, of course). I never want Jude to spend any of his life hating his body and feeling worthless so I was happy to be told that his weight is perfect and healthy.

I had to fill out a questionnaire of the things Jude is able to do, marking them yes, no, or not yet. He did pretty well on most of it, but scored lower in the communication section. No, Jude doesn't really talk yet. Regardless of this, I know Jude is able to speak. I know his mental capacity does not affect this milestone. Mentally, he is 16 months old, not 18. And though he cannot speak yet, I know he understands when we speak to him. I think that is much more important. What would be the use of being able to say words if you didn't comprehend them?

I guess now I have to replace my worry about him not walking with the worry of him not talking. Usually, he starts doing the thing I'm worrying about not too much later. I'm just going to calm down and just keep loving my baby and teaching him. He will do it when he's ready.

On a better note, I'm so proud of Jude. He is walking so much! I think he'll start running any day now. I love when he walks and rests his hands behind his back, above his little bottom. I love how he'll walk with his hands up to keep his balance. I love the sound of his little feet against the floor. Right now, his favorite toys are balls, books, and blocks. (Random 'B' theme!) He carries his books around. He and I throw his little basketball back and forth to each other. He likes to stack his Megablocks... or just carry them around. He's still crazy about music and loves pounding on the keyboard with Daddy. If he's having a meltdown in the car, playing music calms him down and sometimes even puts him to sleep. He loves bananas, yogurt, and cheese the most lately, but he seems to eat absolutely anything. He loves water and doesn't even care for juice. He loves being outside. He'll go to the door and start blowing kisses, his way of telling us he wants to "leave" and go outside. He still doesn't care about watching TV, which is fine with me. He loves to steal my iPhone though so he can press the home button and summon Siri. He has at least 12 teeth. He won't really let me get a good look. He loves to help us brush his teeth. He brushes his own hair. He's mostly wearing size 12 months clothing (some 6-12, some 9-12, some 12-18), wears a size 4 diaper, and size 5 shoes. His favorite song seems to be "Locked Out of Heaven" by Bruno Mars. There's a part where Bruno goes "Oh yeah yeah... Oh yeah yeah yeah yeah" followed by an "UGH!" If we sing the first part to Jude, he chimes in with the "UGH!" It's so funny!! He even does it while listening to the song. He's so smart! I love this guy!

I can't believe how quickly time is going. I actually started looking up ideas for Jude's 2nd birthday. It's crazy to even think about. Where did my tiny boy go? :')