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! 

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.

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.

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.

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!

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.

Day 9: How Three Years Feels

I still cannot believe we're already hitting the three year mark on this road without Avery. So much has changed and yet so much has not changed at all.

I live my day to day life in a relatively normal way, enjoying Jude and Daniel, and taking care of our home. It's the moments that come and the occasional thoughts that haven't really changed. I still want my daughter here. I still miss her. I still feel the scars of those traumatic days that I somehow lived through. They were so emotionally scarring, something impossible to get over. I live on but I don't move on. That is my child. I carried her. She's me and Daniel, just like Jude is. I dreamed her whole life out. That love doesn't just stop. The pain of losing that entire life doesn't just shut off when the pregnancy is over.

I really believe I'd be a bit better off if my situation were different. If Jude didn't have to be the last child we have, I think I'd have a healthier heart and mind. I wouldn't ache so much inside. I will never raise a daughter. I will never buy those irresistibly sweet little girl outfits that rip my heart out when I see them in the stores. All I'll ever have are the few outfits we bought for Avery that still sit in a box in the top of my foyer closet. I can't part with them; they're a fraction of all I have of her... which isn't much to begin with. I lost Avery, and the future daughter I wanted to have. I never thought Jude would be it. I always hoped we had learned all we needed to know from Avery to save Jude and the rest of our children from the same fate she suffered. I thought I had the magical fix during Jude's pregnancy. But that still wasn't enough. It started to happen again. It would have happened again.

I try to be graceful. But sometimes I feel angry. Sometimes I just feel so bitter about all of it... that we couldn't change it, couldn't fix it. That the agony didn't end with losing Avery. We had to lose our future babies too, and endure a rough and frightening start with Jude, that nearly took my life and left me medically dependent. Most times, I just don't understand.

I know if things had turned out differently-- if the Lovenox injections and folic acid pills had been the successful regimen it was supposed to be-- I would still miss and love and ache for Avery, but I think the pain would fade a bit into the background, and not be such an agitated sore. I felt myself healing and accepting Avery's absence when I was pregnant with Jude. As soon as things went wrong at 31 weeks and my doctor gave me the news the changed my entire future, I felt that band-aid rip off, tearing flesh with it. A new wound, a new scar, a new loss. And that's where I am.

Yes, it's been three years since we lost Avery. It sounds like a long time from the outside. It sounds like enough time to get over a baby we didn't know... if you have no idea what losing a baby feels like. Three years is like three months. It doesn't take long for the time to pass, but time and grief are irrelevant to each other. If anything, the passing of time makes it harder. It's been longer since we've been with Avery and were able to touch her, feel her, hold her. As time goes on, everyone forgets. The world moves on even when we don't. I am always feeling like most people in my life forget her, don't count her, and don't remember what we went through. If they do, they don't show it. Some do. Most don't. I wish people would approach the situation through my eyes and not theirs. It's my situation after all. I need the acknowledgment. I cannot be denied her or what I've been through. It makes the difficult life even worse. It makes it harder to truly heal.

My desire is to be the kind of person Avery would be proud of. I want to be strong and happy and inspirational. I don't want to be praised or applauded, but I don't want to be the walking sad story who drags around the darkness of her struggles. I'm trying to be better and feel better. I'm trying not to want what I've always wanted because it hurts too much. I am a work in progress. Always.

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? :')