2013

This year was much different. It was probably the most healing year I've experienced since Avery died. Life was relatively normal this year. Of course, it wasn't without conflict, but it wasn't fraught with profoundly earth-shattering circumstances to hurl us off course like previous years. I struggled horribly with my anxiety in the first few months and it wasn't until my writing took off that I felt some relief from that.

Possibly the most thrilling and notable detail of this year would have to be my novel. I can't stress enough how writing has saved me. I was becoming a shell of the person I'd been, so full of fear and sadness. I was constantly worrying about something, convinced that demise was certain at any moment. Writing gave me a reprieve, new thoughts to dwell on, something to be excited about. My characters became special to me and their fictional world my refuge. It might sound crazy to those who don't write, or to those who haven't experienced emotional turmoil. But this was the change I needed. 

Sure, I still have my occasional setbacks and I still have bouts of anxiety and worry, but I am no longer paralyzed by the darkness that was consuming me. My monthly doctor appointments don't grip me with fear any longer. I've learned to contain my thoughts better. 

The struggle I do still deal with is the insatiable desire for more children. As Jude gets older, it only gets worse. He is growing up alone, not even with any cousins, and I long for him to share life with someone like him. I grew up with three brothers who, to this day, remain my very best friends. It hurts that Jude won't know that bond. I find myself still holding onto hope that someday surrogacy will be possible, because that's all I have. I'm not sure what plans God has, but hope is greater than despair. 

New babies are still painful to me. Pregnant women still have me turning my head the other way. It still hurts very much and it's so difficult to be stuck in this place where everyone else around me can move along in their life while I cannot. 

I turned the big 30 this year, which I'm still in disbelief of. I don't think 30 is old, I just can't believe that I'm here already and that time has gone so quickly. Jude turned two in July and that is crazy to me as well. Didn't we just bring him home? 

We lost Bailey this year, but I was surprised to find how quickly I was able to get past it. I guess after losing my own daughter and my grandfather, the loss of a pet wasn't quite the crisis I'd imagined it would be.

Daniel left his CNA job at the health and rehab center and now works at a hospital. He's so much happier and I love that. Lately he's been caring for an elderly man in his home a few days a week and that has definitely helped us out financially. Less stress is nice! Next week, Daniel will begin nursing school to get his RN. I know that will open up so many more opportunities for him and a better life for us a family. 

I pray 2014 is gentle and kind. I pray I can continue on this better path. I look forward to watching my precious boy grow and learn. I will be finishing my book soon and will be publishing it in the coming months. I am very excited about that! 

Where have I been?

I'll tell you where...

I've been on the computer lots and lots in my spare time, but not for blogging. I mentioned a couple posts ago that I have been writing, to say the least.

I am currently on chapter 17 of my novel. It takes up all my free hours of the night, after Jude goes to bed. Most nights I stay up much too late as the words just flow and the story comes to me. I am loving every bit of this.

After I finish my book, and revise and edit a million times of course, I will be self-publishing it. I am very excited, but also a bit nervous. My book is very special to me. I'm almost certain it's freed me from my debilitating anxiety (not all gone, but I am much more myself now, instead of that psychotic other). I've fallen in love with my characters, and I feel that it is a slightly unique storyline. So, I do worry that people won't like it. It's fine if they don't, I guess... I just worry they'll let me know! I'm not sure I can handle that. But my desire to put it in the hands of people who will enjoy it and fall in love with it far outweighs the fears. Plus, it would be amazing to hold a physical copy of my book in my hands. Dream come true, for sure.

So, that's where I have been. I don't like that I never posted Jude's birthday. He had such a great party and we really enjoyed his day together. Maybe sometime this week I will do a few photo posts to catch up on everything. Not that anyone is pining for it, but because it's nice to look back on these precious times.

Jude's 2 Year Photos {by Mommy}

I purchased a cardboard block letter from Hobby Lobby a couple of weeks ago and painted it red for a little outdoor photo session with Jude on Friday evening. It was terribly hot, Jude wanted to run around and play instead of pose, and he didn't care much for the boring photo prop, but I am definitely satisfied with the shots that I did get of him. It was nearly "golden hour," my favorite time of the day, and my boy was oh so handsome. While I was following him around, snapping away, he randomly gave me a flower for the very first time. This mama's heart was overjoyed.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

I love you, my beautiful boy.

Writing therapy

As I've mentioned very recently, I have been struggling a lot with my anxiety and have even questioned if I've also been on the verge of depression. It's been an extremely dark and difficult few months, as I had not been able to shake any of these debilitating feelings. 

I always loved to write. Not just blogging or journaling, which I've always enjoyed and liked keeping up with. But fiction. I've always been a reader and I developed an interest in creating my own stories when I was very young. It had been a while since I'd really written anything of merit until about April, when an idea came to me and I ran with it. I'd missed creative writing and bringing characters to life. Creating people that readers fall in love with and care about. I wanted to write the kind of story I would want to read. Something that stays with you long after you put it down. Something that can bring you to tears. Something special and emotional, like the novels John Green writes. 

And so it is, that I am on chapter 11 of my first real substantial novel. Some days it's all I can think about. Because I've invested myself in this story, I have not been focusing on the troubles in my life that ail me. I find joy in the reactions of those closest to me that I have been sharing my pages with. I am moving them with my story and I love that. I thrive on it. It's been making me so happy lately and I haven't felt this good in months. I'm falling in love with characters that don't even exist, and bringing them to life, giving them a story. I love it. 

I'm not sure what will come of my novel. I've been looking into publishing it independently, even as just an e-book. If I'm being honest, I think it's just as good as books out there, and better than a lot I've read. Maybe I'm biased. ;) But I think it could be something... and a lot of people could enjoy it. 

Regardless of what it becomes, I'm grateful to have something I can feel good about, an outlet that I can enjoy. Something that makes me feel happy and helps me forget the things that bring me down. I'm grateful for the gift of creativity. 

Right where I am 2013: three years, three months, eight days

Just like the past two years, Angie at Still Life with Circles, has encouraged us all to share right where we are at this moment in our grief.  My post from last year can be found here.

So, where do I stand in this up and down journey on this rugged terrain of grief? My grief has changed shape and size in the past three years, as life takes me down more paths that intertwine with this same road that I've trudged along. Right now, I am stuck. That's the only way I know how to describe it. Losing my daughter, Avery, three years ago at 25 weeks caused a ripple affect that has not seemed to cease. It's brought about so many other circumstances that I was never prepared to face, and now, I still face them everyday.

My son, my Rainbow Baby, will be two years old next month. As he gets older, my insatiable desire for more children gets stronger. Because of the unpredictable nature of my high risk pregnancies, I have been strongly advised to never attempt another pregnancy again. This has been a struggle that I still have never been able to accept. Right now, I am watching everyone who was pregnant with their Rainbows along with me become pregnant once again. Their bodies no longer fail them. They've seemed to be able to remedy what caused them to have their losses. But not me. Even those who have the exact blood clotting disorders I do have gone on to have healthy, full term pregnancies, and are having third babies now as well. My premature Rainbow was nearly lost as well, my body barely responding to what was supposed to fix it. All of this leaves me with so much anger. I don't understand why my body was not made for the one thing my heart has always longed for. I am grateful for my precious Jude, but I never wanted him to be alone.

When I had Jude by emergency c-section while on blood thinners, it caused me to develop blood clots in my lungs. I was hospitalized for his last week in the NICU, and it was one of the most traumatic experiences I've ever endured. I thought I would be over it by now, but it still haunts me. I have been left with a ridiculous struggle with anxiety. Because of the clots nearly two years ago, I am on coumadin and have to get my blood checked once a month (PT/INR). My anxiety has turned these routine finger pricks into horrifying moments to dread all month long. As they get closer, I am filled with fear. I know there is nothing to really worry about, but I cannot shake the feeling of dread over it. Things that never would have bothered me before have my stomach in knots now. I worry that I could lose my husband. I worry that my son could get cancer (ever since his febrile seizure seven months ago). I think about things no one should dwell on. I rob my life of the joy I should have by marring it with the fear of what isn't. I truly cannot control this and sometimes it consumes me.

Right now, I long for another daughter. I so badly want to be able to raise a little girl. I eat my heart out at the store, glancing over the sweet pinks and frilliness of the baby girls' section, knowing that the only baby girl clothes I'll ever buy are in a box in the top of my closet, purchased for a sweet girl that never made it home. I long for the little sandals and the dresses. The dolls and the bows. I love having a son, but I want a daughter again too. I was supposed to have that. I feel like there will forever be a gaping hole in my heart without a daughter to watch grow up. I'll never see my little girl as a bride. Never share girly heart to hearts or give mother-daughter advice. There's so much I can't have and I am dreadfully aware of that. I wish I didn't want it so badly, but I do.

I have a hard time with people who question my situation, just shrugging it off like I could just go to a specialist if I want another baby. They don't understand how serious it is. I almost died twice having my son. He almost died. My daughter did die. Since there are no guarantees at all when it comes to pregnancy for me, how could anyone think I should try going against the advice of more than one doctor? Then people nonchalantly suggest adoption, as if I've never heard of it before. That is not something that we can afford. And my heart aches for my child, so adoption does not heal what is broken. My dream is surrogacy, if that is even possible one day. If someone is truly selfless enough to give us the greatest gift imaginable. It's a huge deal. And very unlikely, but even so, I still keep a mental log of my favorite names... just in case.

I am convinced that if what happened to Avery was the end of our losses, that I would be a much better version of myself now. I grasp onto my loss more tightly than I would if we hadn't lost our future children as well. When I was pregnant with Jude, and everything was going perfectly, I felt at peace. I thought of her lovingly, without so much pain attached to her memory. I felt like I could survive and move past it, always carrying her close but never letting her death define me. But as soon as things went badly with Jude, and I lost all of his future siblings, a dark cloud moved in and it's hovered over me ever since. I'm stuck in the mud. I'm standing still while everyone moves on... But at least I'm standing.

Goodbye, Bailey

 

On June 10th, our beloved pug of 13 years, passed away.  He had been deaf for some time and his health was deteriorating quickly so it wasn't much of a surprise that it was his time to go. I always feared losing Bailey in all the years we loved him, but when it finally happened, it was admittedly not the tragedy I had pictured. 

I remember when we got Bailey. In January of 2000, my parents came to pick me up from school (I was in 10th grade) and when I approached my mom, she had something furry sticking out of her coat that she was trying to keep closed. I'll never forget when he popped his little face out and I saw him for the first time. He was so cute and tiny, almost silly to look at. I paraded him around to my friends, so proud of my cute new friend. 

It took us a couple days but we finally all agreed on Bailey's name (Parker and Cyrus were also in the running). I spent his first night on the floor outside of his cage while he cried in between sleeping. It didn't take long for Bailey to get his chubbiness that we loved, exaggerating his wrinkles even further. He was fun and sweet, chasing my little brothers around the house. He would come running the second you called his name. He loved treats and pizza crust the best. I loved how he always wanted to be where we were. If you left the room, he followed, just to be close by. 

Bailey was never aggressive, never threatening. He was the perfect dog for us. He lived with Daniel and me for 14 months after we got married. He was such a good sport, moving to a new place and then moving back home after our new landlords didn't allow pets. 

I always loved Bailey's snoring and I'll miss that. He was always wagging his tail... even up until the last minute. What a good boy. It's hard to believe he's gone now, the last piece of childhood faded away. 

Now, I have personal insight to the whole 'comparing losing a pet to losing a baby' issue that exists in the baby loss community. I have come across so many women who have had someone try to comfort them by saying they can relate since they lost their dog. I had that said to me as well. Now, after losing Bailey, I can honestly say that it is not the same thing whatsoever. Yes, I was sad losing Bailey. At times I felt like he was my baby, but that was before I ever had my own baby. It is very different to birth a child that is your flesh and blood, than to raise an animal in your home. Losing Bailey did not paralyze me in any way. Losing my daughter has marred me for life. It does seem that the people who try to compare it don't have children of their own. They must not, because then they would understand what they're saying. I hope that doesn't offend anyone, but I have yet to meet a bereaved parent who has not been hurt by that false sentiment. The life of our children cannot be compared to that of an animal or anything else. No two losses are the same. Comparisons are not necessary, no matter what they are.  It's okay for someone to consider their pet to be their child, but they cannot assume that someone else would hold their pet to the same esteem as their lost child.

So, with that tidbit of recently affirmed knowledge, I say goodbye to a dear old friend, who made life sweet and memories sweeter. We love you, Bailey!

Dreams are mean

Last night, I had such a sweet dream. It was very unrealistic, which isn't like my usual dreams. Surprisingly, I tend to have dreams that do a good job of coinciding with my normal life. Once in a while I'll get an odd surprise, but not usually. I never dream that Avery is alive. I only ever once dreamed that she came back to life after she'd been born, but that was years ago, just days after she died.

And last night came a dream that I never have because my mind knows better. It knows it's not possible. Last night, I dreamed I was pregnant with a third child. There was no fear, as if it were just a normal thing for me to get pregnant again. I'm not sure if Avery existed in this impossible universe, but I know Jude did. In the dream, we also quickly found out that this unexpected baby was a boy. There were no thoughts in my mind that he could ever die or that I was in any danger. It all just felt so calm and easy, like I assume most normal women feel when pregnant. I remember being excited to pick out a name. And just like in real life, if we were able to have another son, we chose the name Jonah.

I remember feeling so happy and so delighted over Jonah. I was excited that Jude would be getting a brother and that we would get to raise another baby. But then, inevitably, I woke up and Jonah disappeared. There won't be a Jonah.

And as I brushed my teeth and recalled the dream, I felt angry. I want to accept the fact that I can never be pregnant again, but if my mind is going to betray me (even in my sleep), then this will be so much harder than it already is. I wish so badly the dream could be real, without any possible consequences.

I just wish I could have Jonah.

Anxiety lives here now

It's been over a month now since I've blogged. In my last post, I talked about my returning anxiety and how it had been worse than ever. I talked about how I hoped it would go away. But the truth is, it hasn't.

I have anxiety almost daily now. More often than not, I live in fear. Jude gets a heat rash and I worry and obsess that it's something worse (ruined my Mother's Day over that one). I see a fictional male character on a TV show that has cancer and I get worried that Daniel could have cancer. I see a child on Instagram who died of cancer and I worry that Jude could get cancer and die. I worry that he could get meningitis and die. I worry that he could have another febrile seizure. I just worry that he could die. (I still make sure he's breathing when he sleeps.) I get a headache and think about brain aneurysms. I live in dread of my monthly blood check appointments. I worry that my blood pressure will be high (so then it is). I worry they will find something wrong and make me go to the hospital. I worry they will charge me too much money when I already can't afford it. I get a pain in my stomach and I worry that my medication is making me bleed internally. I get a pain in my leg and think about clots, which is the exact opposite of the previous thoughts. I find myself just waiting for one of those sudden gasp moments when something awful occurs. Why do I let my mind dwell on these awful things? I hate what I have become. I really can't live like this.

I'm so desperate for peace at this point, that I'm willing to look into medication for my anxiety. A phlebotomist at the doctor's office recommended the medication she takes so I looked it up and found that people who take blood thinners shouldn't take it. Great. I wonder if this is the case with all or most medications. I really hope not. Someone also recently told me that vitamin K is a good natural supplement for anxiety... and vitamin K is exactly what I cannot have also because of my blood thinners. It counteracts it. I guess I have a lot of research to do before I fork out the money for another doctor to see me.

I have my monthly blood appointment in just three days and I am filled with dread. They are every 28 days but I feel like I am there so often. I feel like my life is consumed by this, by my medical health. It makes me feel like I'm unhealthy, even though I have no real reason to believe that. My medication prevents any possible clots from forming and my appointments make sure my dose isn't making my blood too thin or keeping it too thick. But my mind has a way of twisting that and turning it into something to fear and hate and dread. I cannot help it. My doctor is a hematologist at a cancer center so I go to a cancer center for my appointments. I sit with all of the cancer patients and I guess sometimes I feel like I'm as sick as they are. But I'm not! I am alive. I am well. I am not fighting for my life. I know that. But with any and every discomfort I ever feel, I worry. I worry that my heart is bad or that something is wrong. Why can't I just remember always that I am young and healthy and that my medication is keeping me even healthier and safer so I shouldn't worry?

I also wonder if I have depression as well as anxiety. Sometimes I just cannot handle my life. I am not exaggerating when I say that I come across a new pregnancy announcement every day. Lately, it has sure been that way. And I can't take it. It makes me angry. It makes me sad. It makes me hate myself. I despise this path I am on. I hate what God has allowed for me.

I don't want to adopt. It doesn't solve any of this. Surrogacy is so extreme and so difficult. I'm not even sure if that's possible for us. And it sure as hell is not the same as being able to carry and birth my own baby. Can I really allow someone else to carry my child? To share all of those beautiful full-term things I lost with both of my babies? I'll do what I have to, I guess. I just don't want Jude to be it. I want to experience these sweet things again. Baby things. I want my baby girl I was supposed to have. Or another baby boy. I don't care. Just someone alive. Someone healthy. Someone mine.

Even if you remove all of these emotional issues I have, I'm still so insecure, it's ridiculous. That's always been a struggle of mine, but through all of this, I think it's been magnified. I'm always pulling at my clothes, worried about how they are accentuating what I hate most about my body. I can't just enjoy being with people without worrying what I look like. I've never liked my body and I have never felt good about myself. That's just the truth.

I apologize for this being such a dark and ugly post. But it's what's real and it's what my life is right now. I feel like a failure for allowing this darkness to take a hold of me. If I could help it, surely, I would. I pray I can come away from this, medicated or not. I just want to live. I want to feel joy. I want to enjoy my family and what I do have. I want to be foolishly optimistic. I want to be unrealistically happy. I just want my life back.

Anxiety Returns

I believed I was all better. I hadn't felt paranoid or anxious in a few months. Not since Jude's seizure, really. It all began last Friday, when Daniel and I were out celebrating our seventh dating anniversary. It was one stupid thing after another, all strung together to pull down my happy mood.

I'm also struggling with all these pregnancy announcements, that seem to be pouring in daily. BLMs and non-BLMs. I think almost everyone who was also pregnant while I was pregnant with Jude is already having another one. I know if I had the choice, I wouldn't be ready to make Jude a big brother for probably another year, but just watching everyone else have their own choice and the ability to add another baby to their family has awakened a fierce ache. It feels a lot like the ache I had when Avery was gone and I was watching everyone else have their healthy living babies. Just so happens, last weekend, another announcement struck me at a vulnerable moment and I fell apart.

I felt so angry at God. In my head, I yelled at Him, asking Him why He chose this for me. And even if He didn't choose this plan for my life, how could He allow it while I had such a desire for the opposite? Why would He allow this desire to anchor so deeply since childhood? Then, inevitably, the guilt over my anger, mixed with the pain, and just made for a really down evening. It also set the stage for what was to come over the week.

Oddly enough, just like last April, my period decided to be late. Three days this time. I was supposed to get it Saturday, so when Tuesday rolled around, and it still hadn't come, I was panicking. The same thoughts from last year surfaced. The possibility of losing another baby or losing my life trying to get that baby here plagued me constantly. These situations are so painful for me, like being kicked right in the face. It's insulting to pray away what you wish so badly you could have. You are forced to not want what you really do want.

Daniel couldn't take it anymore and went out and bought me a pregnancy test. I never thought I'd have to take one ever again. I was so scared of what it would say. I felt like I was about to find out if I would live or die as I watched the test. When it came up with just one line instead of two, I burst into tears, clutching Daniel so tightly. I was so relieved that no one would be dying... but I was all over again, so upset that this is my reality. That I live a life like this where I'm denied so much of what I dreamed of... and having it anyway, could literally kill me... or innocent babies.

I thought things would be looking up after that. But I guess all of the anxiety and the fears came to head on Wednesday. That night, right before Daniel had to leave for work, I started having an anxiety attack. I was having hot flushes and nausea. It was coming in waves. Finally, being alone and fearing I should go to the hospital, I called my mom. I felt bad waking her, but she was exactly what I needed, especially since Daniel was at work. She knew I'd been under a lot of emotional stress lately and felt that my symptoms came from that. I hoped she was right. After all, some of my biggest fears involve my health and ending up back in the hospital like I was for my clots. But thank God, after talking to my mom for a while, my symptoms started to fade. She calmed me enough to distract me and the symptoms stopped completely.

I was so relieved that it was all in my head. I looked up the symptoms of anxiety attacks and I had almost all of them. Wow. It's never gotten that bad before. I spent the next day with my brothers and parents and I felt much better getting out of the house. There were a couple anxious moments over the weekend, but somehow I managed.

Today, I finally feel more like myself. I'm a bit disappointed that I have allowed myself to get that low again, to where I let my emotions make me physically ill. I'm aware that I can't help it, but I wish I was stronger. Some people suggest taking medication for my anxiety, but I would much rather not, if I can help it. I'm not against it and I believe it can be extremely necessary for people. But I would really like to try getting through this without it.

I really don't want to live this way. I don't want the joy of others to bring me so much pain. It makes me feel ugly. While I never wish any ill will toward them, it still makes me feel bad about myself that I don't know how to separate their happiness from my misfortune. I wish their blessings didn't trigger the inevitable reflecting of myself. I just want to be happy and enjoy what I do have, without being so reluctant. I don't want to compare myself to everyone else and feel so deprived. I pray it's something that will fade over time.

I'm hoping and praying that things get better from here and that the anxiety stays away!

Baby Girl

What's it like to hold your own chubby pink baby girl? What's it like to buy all sorts of pink and fill a room with girly cuteness? What's it like to hang and fold the sweetest of dresses? What's it like to paint tiny finger and toenails? What's it like to attend playful little tea parties, and watch your little girl breeze through the room dressed like a princess? What's it like to braid her soft hair on her small head, or give her a ponytail? What's it like to have your daughter?

I am left only to imagine what all of this is like. I've spent countless hours imagining all of this. The absence of this. The loss of this. I ache for my little girl. The one I lost. The one I can't have. I never dreamed I would never have the chance to have another girl after we lost Avery. I thought surely we could fix this monstrous defect inside me. That medical intervention would be all we needed to get the rest of them here. The sweet little lives I dreamed of bringing into this world. The ones that will never be. Who would they have been? I'm sure at least one would have been another girl. I still desire that so much. I ache to raise a little girl. To have the sweet relationship I share with my own mother. To watch her grow into a beautiful woman.

I had my heart set on raising my little girl. More than halfway through my pregnancy, I never thought I would lose her. I didn't know I'd be faced with a future without her. I believed she was my future, for the rest of my life. Then the rug was pulled out from under my feet, taking her away with it. All the plans and the dreams that were planted in my heart the moment she was planted in my womb. I have a daughter... but I don't. I have my daughter waiting for me and I will be with her again one day in Heaven, but here, my arms are aching for her. Aching for a little girl.

Sons are amazing. I would know, I have one. He satisfies my desire of having a son. He fills my heart with joy. He is exactly the son I dreamed of raising, when I named my first son Jude long before I even married his father. His entrance into this world was not what I had in mind, but I'm just thankful he made it here at all. If given the impossible ability to have more sons, I would accept them in a second and be grateful for them and love them completely as well. But still, my heart would ache for what I was supposed to have here.

I just wish so badly I could have another daughter to watch grow up. I think about it so often. I feel so incomplete. It's so difficult to have already lost what you wish you could have.

Jude's 2nd Haircut

We finally gave in and decided to let go of Jude's longer hair. It's been a while since anyone has mistaken him for a girl, so that's not the reason this time, but lately, during his baths, when all of his hair is slicked back, wet, away from his little face, I'd been wishing he could look like that all the time. We bought him some kids hair gel, but it was just too long to stay any way we styled it. We already know what Jude looks like at this age with long hair, but not with short, cute, styled hair. That was how I decided to part with Jude's returning curls once again. Tonight, we had our hairdresser sister-in-law, Margaret, cut it.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

A part of me was afraid I'd regret having Jude's hair cut so short, but when I saw how cute he looked with his hair styled, I fell in love all over again. He looks so different! But oh so handsome. I love his little face. You can definitely see it (and his little ears and sweet little neck) much better! I love my little cutie!

April Fools

I have always disliked April Fools Day. Even as a kid, I was overly compassionate (not gullible, there's a difference) and I despised the embarrassment that would ensue when I fell for a friend's poor excuse for a joke. I don't know who came up with this ridiculous day, but I'd like to think that they didn't intend for it to be used to harm and hurt anyone. I think the jokes were meant to be light and silly. But they never are.

Of course, as anyone would expect, my biggest April Fools pet peeve is the fake pregnancy announcement. I hope to not rant too much or make a huge deal about this but honestly, I have yet to come across a baby loss mom or a woman struggling with infertility that isn't hurt by these "jokes." To us, it's not a joke whatsoever. It's a serious, sacred thing to be pregnant. Even before I lost Avery, I held it to that high esteem. I can't fathom how not everyone does. My loss didn't change that, I grew up that way. I understand that everyone is different.

Sadly, there have been several women in the baby loss community who were berated for expressing their feelings about the "joke," hoping to spread awareness that there are countless numbers of women out there who could be hurt by it. I cannot believe they were treated so poorly, with such ugly words thrown at them for being honest and asking for sensitivity. I try to put myself in a "normal" person's shoes and look at it from their point of view. I still can't imagine getting so defensive and going against a person who knows such agony and defending a stupid joke over their pain. If I had no idea what losing a baby (or what not being able to have the kids I wanted to have) was like, I'd be grateful for the heads up, as I may not realize that it could be hurtful. I would never want to unknowingly hurt someone with something as petty as a joke. It's okay to not know. Our community doesn't expect people to understand. But we ache for sensitivity and validation. That's why we share our hearts... to raise awareness. We have to journey through this life without our babies. We need help from those around us. It makes it so much more bearable when we feel like people care. I just don't understand why people could get so angry to find out that certain jokes hurt people. It's sad that we live in a world where people don't want to choose compassion for the needs of others. Instead they get defensive and mean. I wish it could be different.

Real pregnancy announcements strike my heart with this searing ache that I can't really describe. It's not a spiteful jealousy, but I long to be like the woman expressing her joy. When I see/hear an announcement, it's like someone held up a mirror for me to look at myself. In my reflection, I see a broken mother with an incredibly flawed body, with arms only half full. The announcements remind me of what I have lost and of what I cannot have. They have nothing to do with the mother sharing her happy news, or with her precious unborn baby. But it reignites this internal struggle I've been battling to be content and happy with what God has allowed for my life.

That being said, I know many other women who struggle with pregnancy news for similar reasons and with similar feelings. I'd do anything to be pregnant again. It's not a joke to me. So to see an announcement that is intended to fool people and see them accept all the kind congratulations and excitement from the gullible ones for a baby they essentially made up, just hurts. Some may think it's overly sensitive, some may think it's asking too much because everything is going to offend at least one person... But why can't some things in life just be universally sacred? Babies/pregnancy/baby loss. Cancer. Handicaps. Things like that should never be joked about.

I was watching Jimmy Fallon last night and Alec Baldwin was one of his guests. Alec told a story about how he pulled an April Fools prank on his daughter by pretending he was having a heart attack. He went as far as to let her call 911 before finally letting her know it was a joke. He laughed as he told the story and thought nothing of it. Okay, that's just rotten. How could you put your child through that for even a minute? To let them think you may be dying and they're about to lose you. I would be so upset with my dad if he did that to me (he would never). It would hurt me that he would put me through that for the sake of a prank. Jokes and pranks should leave everyone laughing at the end with a playful, "Oh, you got me! Good one!" Not trying to stop tears as you realize no one is dying or trying to hold your heart together as you are once again reminded that pregnancy is something that brings you devastation while others can easily throw it around like it's nothing. It makes you feel all alone all over again.

I wish we were more unified as people. That we would understand that everyone has their battles and that we all need grace for those journeys we walk through. No one likes to be the so-called party pooper or to demand people to meet their needs. But we could all think twice about the things we say or do that could cause people unnecessary pain, and not just on April Fools Day, but in our day to day lives. Why is it so hard to be nice? To care? To lighten the burden even just a little for those going through hardships. To have patience and understanding for people who seem to have unrealistic needs. It may seem ridiculous from the outside, crazy even, but just have a little grace. They walk a much different road, one that they'd never want you to walk down, even if you chose to show them no compassion. <3

Jude's 2nd Easter / 20 Months Old / Mom's Birthday

It's amazing to compare Jude this year to the tiny, baby version of Jude from last year. To see how he interacts with the activities of his second year of holidays. I love to watch him take part and enjoy it, even though he doesn't understand the purpose yet.

Jude on his first Easter

Jude doesn't understand who Jesus is yet, or what He did for us, but soon he will. It will be an honor to teach Jude about our Savior. I never got to teach Avery about the God who loves us. Instead, she saw His face before she could even see mine. On Easter, I can't help but think of those I love that are celebrating this victorious occasion with Jesus. This is our first Easter without my grandpa... and our fourth without Avery.

It's difficult not to let my mind wander to my childhood, egg hunts in my grandparents' yard, never dreaming of a day when my grandpa wouldn't be there. And it's also difficult not to see the countless precious Easter dresses that adorn the sweet little girls, and not to think about how I can never buy an Easter dress for Avery, or for any other daughter of mine. The desire for that is becoming unbearable.

Despite the hardships of this path I'm on, I am also delighted constantly by my little boy. It's an odd existence, really, to be so conflicted yet so overjoyed at the same time. I once heard it described like train tracks, with joy and sadness running alongside each other. It describes it perfectly.

Jude added so much joy to this special day. I loved his white oxford shirt with his aqua and white checkered tie (That may have been my favorite part). I let him have his Easter basket this morning while Daniel slept (he works nights and sleeps during the day... still). He got a Transformers kite, a bubbles gun, and some blue Peeps. Jude likes Peeps (It's adorable to watch him eat one). We went to my parents' house early, since today was also my mom's 52nd birthday. After Daniel met up with us, Jude went on a little egg hunt. He opened each egg, which contained a Peep, and took a bite of each one before putting the eggs in his basket. Such a silly boy!

 

 

After he'd found all of the visibly placed eggs, we brought out the kite, which I think Daniel enjoyed more than Jude did. Jude watched it for a few moments, but then continued his joyful trekking through my parents' backyard. He loves being outside and he loves walking and exploring, sometimes losing his balance in the thick grass, but getting back up to his feet immediately. I could never tire of watching him enjoy himself, watching him learn about his world.



Jude's goodies from my parents

 

My mom's birthday cake

 

I really cannot believe that Jude is already 20 months old as of today. What an eventful day! I don't know how it's possible that his birthday is in just four months. I still feel like we just recently had his first birthday! Time is seriously going much too quickly. He is growing up too fast. I'm thrilled he's growing up at all, but I wish I could stop time and live these days in slow motion. I miss my tiny baby that's swiftly growing into a little boy. I could go on and on but I'm quite certain that's another blog post in itself.

Today was a lovely family day. There could never be enough of those. :)

The Inevitable

I've been a part of this awful wonderful community of women since I started my blog in June of 2010. The community of baby loss moms. Before I started my blog, I was alone. I was the freak of nature whose baby died inside her. I knew no one like me. The only outlet I had was, sadly, Facebook... the vast sea of normal people with constant pregnancy announcements and photos of living chubby pink babies. I felt so alienated. So isolated. I didn't start getting better and healing until I started finding mothers like me.

I had so much anger, so much pain, so much grief... I didn't know what to do with it. How to express it and how to just release all of the pent up emotions that were plaguing me. Finally, when another baby loss mom's blog inspired me to start mine, it was the best thing that could have happened. I was able to get all of those tormenting thoughts out but I also found so many other women out there who had been thrown into this journey around the same time I had.

We'd all lost our firstborn babies within months of each other. We were all in the very early raw stages of our grief, some of us still trying to process our losses, some of us still waiting for the results to tell us what had happened to our babies. We went through so much together, pouring out tortured posts and leaving each other encouraging and loving comments. We started adding each other on Facebook and being a part of each other's lives. I didn't feel so alone anymore. It made such a difference to have people that understood this. It was vital in trying to heal.

The next step we all worked toward was being ready for our Rainbow Babies (a baby born after a loss... the rainbow after the storm). It seemed we all started getting pregnant around the same time, one after another, until we were all pregnant again together. It was very exciting and hopeful, sharing these sacred pregnancies together, sharing our fears and understanding each other's worries. And of course our babies are all pretty close in age (though Jude came a bit earlier than he was supposed to). One by one, we had our precious Rainbow Babies. Each miracle entered the world, healthy and perfect. It was glorious.

But then things changed... It was me who quickly found out that Jude would be my last. It was me who was told not to have any more children. Even though I have come to know a few other women who have the same exact blood clotting mutations I have, I was the only one who didn't have a successful Rainbow pregnancy with the same corrective medical regimen. The other women carried to term. None formed blood clots. None had their future children taken away from them. It was just me. My body still failed to sustain my unborn child. My emergency c-section almost killed me... twice. I was the only one with complications. What is wrong with me? Why can't I just be like them?

Even though all of these new realities came to be, I was, for the most part, still the same as these mothers. We were torn between happiness and sadness. Thrilled to finally hold our living, breathing children like we'd always dreamed. But we were sad because it reminded us all over again what we'd lost with our first babies. We were all experiencing what we'd bawled our eyes out for through dozens of agonizing, sleepless nights. It was glorious. And we all shared it together. First smiles. First visits to the cemetery to meet big sister/brother. We all understood each other. I felt like I belonged so well, though I knew one day, it would change again...

And that time has come. I knew it would. I was fully aware it would happen. I don't think I expected it to start happening so soon, but it has. My baby loss friends are slowly getting pregnant again. I'm surprised by how much it bothers me. I am, without a doubt, happy for them all. I would never want any of them to be in the same boat as me. I wouldn't want them to never have more babies. I know I would if I could! I would never want any of them to think they have attributed to my struggles. Trust me, the struggles were already here! I have no bitterness or ill will toward them. Am I jealous? Sure. My feelings all stem from how I feel about myself... how I feel about the cards I have been dealt... the horribly unfortunate flawed nature of my body and its inability to do the one thing I desire more than anything. The sadness I feel is not geared toward these lovely mothers. It is not their fault. They're just doing what they have every right to do... what I wish I could do. And I feel sorry for myself. I'm slowly becoming different again. But I'm so glad they're not like me.

I feel stuck in my grief. I like I can't move on like I would be able to if I could continue having more children. I feel like I grasp onto Avery tighter than I would if I could have another daughter. Not that she could or would be replaced. But that ache in my heart to raise a daughter could possibly be quenched. I wouldn't know what it would be like to raise Avery and watch her grow up, but I could experience a daughter and all the girly sweet things I would have experienced with Avery. Now, none of that is possible and I am left with dreaming of what could have/should have been. I can't fully move on because I am still being injured by all of this. What took Avery nearly took Jude and it's taken away all of the babies I thought I would have... All the babies I wanted so badly and still do. I will never feel life fluttering away inside me ever again. I will never bring another life into this world. I will never caress another newborn cheek in the middle of the night. I'll never cradle another tiny body close to my chest. I still can't get over that. I can't get past it. It's all I've ever wanted. I'd do anything to change this.

I get so angry when I think about all of this. About this life I have been given. This life sentence of losing so much of what I wanted for my life. I planned it all out since I was a kid. But I'll tell ya... This body of mine has really screwed up so much of my life. I've always hated my body, but never more than I do now. There's this sense of betrayal. A sense of failure... That because of my body, I cannot do what a woman is made to do. That a life was lost because of my body and another was severely compromised because of it as well. It really takes a toll on how I feel about myself. I know it's not my fault. But my body, inside and out, has always been what's wrong with my life. I always feel like I'm trapped inside this disgusting shell. I wish I could just break out of it and be normal. Be happy.

I wish we could start talking about another baby and decide when we're ready to start trying again. I wish we could make another pregnancy announcement and tell the world with excitement that Jude is going to be a big brother. I wish we could reuse all the precious clothes we loved on Jude. I wish Jude wouldn't grow up alone. I wish he could know what it's like to share life with a brother or sister who would always be a friend. I wish I could watch my belly slowly get bigger, counting the weeks with joy. I wish I could feel the kicks and the rolls once again. I wish I could feel the excitement of the ultrasounds and the thrill of the gender reveal. Keeping the list of names. Journaling every little tidbit. Dreaming of who it is dancing beneath my heart. I miss it. I miss all of it. I hate how much I want it. I swear I was given the wrong fate. Why has God allowed me to grow up with this insatiable desire if He knew I'd be denied it? I just don't understand.

New Ink

I finally did it! I got my tattoo for my little boy. I've been wanting to get his name done for quite some time now. After much font searching and deciding, I got it done Tuesday, the 19th. I love it. Now I've got tributes to both of my children and that makes me very happy.

I'm so proud of Jude. He is the light of my life. He is the joy in my heart. He is my world. His name so delicately etched on my arm is my way to honor him and his importance in my life. He saved me from my despair. He was strong and stayed here with me. He is my little hero. I can't even express how much I love him. He graces this world with every little smile. I know he's going to do amazing things. I'm proud to bear his name on my skin.

Avery's 3rd Birthday

{To read Avery's birth story, written on her first birthday, please click here.}

I am sure I've already said it but I still can't believe it's been three years since Avery came silently into this world. It sounds so much longer ago than it feels.

Avery's day this year was gentler at first than I expected. Daniel, Jude, and I went out for the day. We stopped at Old Navy to buy Jude a shirt for St. Patrick's Day this weekend. Daniel and I can never help browsing over the girls' clothes, and today was no exception. I mentally pick out outfits I wish I could buy for Avery... ones that could hang in her closet... ones I would love to wash a fold... ones I'd give anything to watch her run and play in.

We settled on a green polo for Jude, since the boys' section is almost always lacking the same kind of cuteness as the girls' clothes. From there, we had lunch together at Texas Roadhouse. It's always strange going out on this day... We're not celebrating something... not quite. But in my family, we always go out for dinner on our birthdays and I guess I don't want Avery's to be an exception.

When I'm out in public on this day, I can't help but think about how isolated I feel, watching strangers around me. They have no idea that this day is the day I gave birth to my dead daughter. As the host asked me how I was, and I generically answered, "Fine, how are you?" he had no clue what today actually was for me and how I actually am. When the waitress thanked us at the end of our meal and told us to have a great night, she had no idea we'd be spending the evening in a cemetery, releasing balloons for our absent baby girl. I know everyone has their own story and their own trials and pains, but so often, I feel so alone. I feel like there aren't many people like me around here, in my day to day life.

After we ate, we stopped at Michael's to buy Avery some decorations for her stone. Jude was getting bored so Daniel took him outside. I browsed the aisle's on my own, picking out a few Easter decorations for next week. I remembered to check out the yard decor section. As I looked through, finding a pretty white ceramic bird on clearance, I thought about how pathetic it was that I was shopping for my daughter's birthday presents in the garden section... that essentially, we get to buy her lawn ornaments. It's an empty feeling, really. But it's all we have. It's the only way we can take care of her and treat her.

Next came Publix, the grocery store, for balloons, fresh flowers, and a small cake. This part always stresses me out. I don't like being asked whose birthday it is. I don't like having to feel the awkwardness that ensues when I answer honestly that the balloons are for a release for our daughter. I am aware that I don't have to disclose anything about the function, but in past times when I have tried to be vague, it has backfired and turned out worse than just telling the basic truth. Thankfully, the woman who filled the balloons, the woman at the bakery, and the cashier didn't pry. Jude even got his own little balloon to keep him busy while we waited for the 13 we needed. It was his first balloon and we had to tie it to his belt loop.

My family and Daniel's met at the cemetery at 7:00 pm. My cousin, Rachel, came this year, which I loved. She and I have grown extra close in the past year. I'm almost 12 years older than her, but as she's growing up, she's quickly becoming a close friend. Even though she's only 17, and not even a mother, she somehow has this compassion and understanding for the life I live. She's very sensitive to it and she loves Avery as if she knew her inside and out. Not many people care the way she does and I cherish that.

We each wrote a message for Avery on our balloons. Jude wanted to explore so it was a bit more difficult this year, but we managed. I'm usually surprisingly affected by releasing the balloons to Heaven but I was too distracted this time. I guess that makes it easier. We decorated Avery's spot with some pink roses, a tiara, a bird statue, a new pinwheel, and a pink stuffed bunny. I think it looked very sweet, though of course not as sweet as she would have looked if she was here to enjoy her birthday.

 

We take a family photo each year in front of Avery's plot. This year, it didn't turn out so well. Jude had no interest in posing. It was windy and chilly and getting dark. And we just weren't in the genuine smile mood. I guess this photo shows our mood quite well. But it's real. And I like that.

My dad took us out for pizza afterwards and that was nice. No matter how "well" the day goes, it's still not what I wish it was. It's never going to be what it's supposed to be. That's the problem. March 13th should mean nothing to us. Avery was supposed to be born at the end of June. She was supposed to be my summer baby. But instead, we're stuck with the "should have beens" and "what ifs" and Sharpie scrawled balloons in a cold cemetery at dusk to "celebrate" her birthday. I can't get over how ugly that is. I can't get over how scarring and wrong it is to survive her.

So each year, and every day in between, we remember her. We honor our daughter because that's all we can do. We are left with almost nothing. We cling to all the pieces we can. Keeping her alive through these special dates, remembering the short time she was here, beneath my heart, is the least we can do for the little girl who changed our world. She made me a mother, made Daniel a father. She waits for us in Heaven. We will hold her again. So I won't forget her. I won't stop loving her and missing her. She is mine.

Happy birthday, sweet Avery... As long as I'm living, my baby you'll be.