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! 

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.

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.

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.

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.

Not allowed

Tonight (yes, after American Idol), I was watching the local news and there was a story about a wife and mother who desperately needs a kidney donor. My initial thought was that I wish I could help her. Of course, even if I was a match for her (I'm not), I would not be able to do something like that. Major surgery doesn't go well with someone on blood thinners... and surgery was how I got my blood clots in the first place.

After seeing that woman's touching story, I kept thinking about all the things I wish I could do for people. I used to donate blood, back before I was married... before I knew anything was wrong with me. I didn't mind doing that. I enjoyed feeling like I was helping. Now, with two blood clotting mutations, I am not a candidate for donation. Every time I see one of those blood mobiles parked somewhere, I feel a little guilty that I can't help.

Another thing I would love to do, is surrogacy. I would have no problem carrying a child for a couple facing infertility. I love being pregnant. My heart breaks for those who cannot conceive and who ache to hold their own baby. I know what that longing is like. I wish I could help even one couple. But of course, as we all know, my body cannot handle pregnancy. I can get pregnant, I just can't stay pregnant without my body failing the baby. I can't even carry another of my own babies without the risk of death (for both of us) let alone for someone else. I wish that weren't at all the case.

I've always enjoyed taking care of other people or using my abilities or resources to bless others. I know if I was the one in need, I would pray someone would step up to help. I wish these issues in my body didn't have to affect so much of my life and my desires.

I'm sure there are dozens of other ways I can help people, especially in situations close to my heart. I just have to realize them and go for it.

2012 : Finding peace

We started out the year hopeful that it would finally be a calm and normal one. We craved an eventless year. Needless to say, 2010 ravaged and destroyed us to the core. 2011 was definitely better, but still pulled the rug out from under our feet and knocked the wind out of us. 2012 was both good and bad. Joyful and agonizing. That's life, though, isn't it? The bitter sweetness. The constant conflict of happy and sad.

January

Jude turned a whole six months old this month. Four months adjusted, sweet thing. My biggest memory from this month is when Jude had solid food for the very first time. Homemade banana purée. I was excited to see him try something new but so sad watching my baby grow up so quickly.

This month my grandpa celebrated his 80th birthday. (We didn't know it was his last.)

February

This month was tragic. I never blogged about what happened. I meant to but it just seemed at the time that there was no way to put it into words. Our family's pastor and dear family friend lost his 20 year old daughter, Hannah. A gun went off by accident, striking her in the head. She was in a coma for several days. Despite incessant prayers from literally around the world, beautiful Hannah, who we watched grow up, went to be with Jesus. It really shook my faith. I couldn't understand why God didn't save her. I couldn't believe He could allow that to happen to her precious family. Hannah was so young, so innocent. I still think about her all the time. I still ache for her parents and her little sister.

I've since stopped being angry at God for taking Hannah, just like I eventually had to stop blaming Him for Avery's death. I don't believe God does these awful things to us. No doubt, He is aware they will happen beforehand. But no one is exempt from the perils of this fallen world. God knew Hannah would die. He didn't like it. But He will make sure her legacy changes the world. He'll make sure her death was not in vain. He'll make sure souls are saved and hearts and lives are changed because of her. He'll use tragedy to bring about victory. In one way or another, He will and He has.

Also in February, my parents took my family and my brothers away to Tennessee, as they'd been planning for weeks. It was exciting to go away and get a break from everyday life. To take Jude somewhere fun and make some memories with him. At just 6.5 months old, Jude saw snow fall. It took me 28 years to see it!! It was definitely a sight for us Florida folk. We enjoyed our time there as a little family.

March

We celebrated (if you can call it that?) Avery's 2nd birthday in Heaven on the 13th. We released balloons at the cemetery and decorated her grave just like last year. It was surreal and bittersweet to have Jude there for it. For Avery's first birthday, I was 11 weeks pregnant with him, so unsure of whether he would make it here alive. But Jude was able to release a balloon for his big sister this time. I'm sure he had no idea he let go of the string, much less that he was even holding it, but it was still a touching sight for me.

In March, Jude also got his first two teeth and tried a sippy cup for the first time. ;)

April

Jude was sick for the very first time. He was put on nebulizer treatments but was better so quickly. It took him 9 whole months to catch anything! That's pretty good, I think. We're still weird (or just paranoid preemie parents?) and sanitize everything out in public, like restaurant tables and high chairs, shopping carts, etc. I guess it's paid off!

I stopped using Facebook. Yup. Life is so much better. My anxiety, sadly, just cannot take it.

This month, Jude also fell in love with swimming in the pool, usually with my dad. I loved watching him splash and enjoy the water.

April 14th marked six years since Daniel and I started dating. ;)

May

Daniel turned 25.

My grandparents celebrated their 61st wedding anniversary.

Jude had a follow up eye appointment (last one was when he was 5 weeks old). He was perfect, even when they put drops in to dilate his eyes! His eyes were still perfectly healthy. (The reason for his eye appointments was because preemies can suffer eyesight damage from receiving oxygen.)

June

June 1st marked TEN years since I graduated high school Yikes!! Where has the time gone?!

Daniel and I had the honor of photographing my cousin, Jason's wedding. I was very happy with how the photos turned out. It was a lovely day!

We experienced our first ever tornado while at my parents' house one weekend. We all actually had to cram into the bathroom to take cover. It was so loud but was over so quickly. The damage was pretty bad. Trees broken, screen, ripped, roof damaged, glass broken, cars dented... It was crazy!

Avery would have been two at the end of this month had she not passed away. I'll always think of that as my would-be due date of June 22nd comes and goes.

June 30th marked five years since Daniel and I got engaged. ;)

July

Jude experienced his first 4th of July and saw fireworks. We weren't sure how he'd react, but he loved them! We found it a little sad that this holiday was Jude's last 'first.' It goes so quickly!

Daniel and I took Jude to visit the NICU where he stayed for almost five weeks. All the nurses remembered him and were so excited to see him. It was so neat to be back there and to look at the isolette where Jude spent his first few weeks of life. We're so blessed that he's so healthy!

We went away to the beach over night with my parents and brothers. It was Jude's very first time at the beach. He enjoyed the sand and he even liked the Gulf! It was amazing to watch him experience it all for the first time. I love it so much!

This month, Jude started crawling and pulling himself up to stand. He's always a little late with his milestones but as a preemie, it's expected. I know he's smart and that he's just growing and learning at his own pace!

We had Jude's 1st birthday party on the 28th. It was a photo theme, (surprise, surprise!) "One Year Old in a Flash." The colors were aqua and red. My mom and I worked really hard to put it together. It was so much fun and I think it came out great! Jude had such a great time, and a lot of people showed. It was so lovely that my grandparents were able to make it. It was the first and last time my grandpa has ever been to my house (We've lived in three different houses since we've been married and my grandpa didn't get around well). I'm so glad he came. So special.

Thanks to my grandparents' generous birthday gift, we were able to finally buy Jude a 'big boy' car seat and get him out of his infant car seat at a year old!

On July 31st, our sweet boy turned one! His first year went so quickly but was beautiful nonetheless. I spent a lot of it feeling extremely happy but reluctant for time to pass and for Jude to grow up. It was a struggle for much of the year, actually.

August

I think this month was the peak of my anxiety issues. I spent so much of the year, since my blood clots the previous August, battling paranoia and fear over my health. Any twinge of anything sent my mind racing, thinking I was forming a clot or even the opposite extreme... that my Coumadin was causing me to bleed internally. It was ridiculous! I felt like a slave to fear and it was no way to live. I hated it so much. I even started getting anxiety attacks at my monthly blood checks (INR). The one this particular month had my pulse at 127 bpm. The nurses didn't understand my anxiety and started throwing around heart conditions. That did NOT help my fear and got me worrying I had heart problems for a while. I seriously contemplated trying to get on medication for my anxiety. I've since calmed down a lot, but if I'm being honest, would probably still benefit from taking something. :/

September

The 1st marked an entire year since Jude graduated from the NICU. Unfortunately, this day, my grandpa was also admitted to the hospital for congestive heart failure. He never came home. On September 6, my Poppop passed away. It was (and still is) a huge devastation to my family. I still can't believe it sometimes. Aside from Avery, he's the first close family member I've lost. I miss him so much. It's not the same without him here.

Daniel left his CNA job to help take care of my grandma.

Jude stood on his own, got his first diaper rash, got his first fever, moved up to a size 4 diaper, and started waving this month.

October

Daniel and I celebrated our 4th wedding anniversary. How has it only been 4 years? I feel like we've lived a lifetime together!

Daniel went back to his old CNA job. He made plans to go back to college and eventually become an RN.

I turned 29! Again, where are these years going??

Jude was Superman (sort of) for Halloween.

November

On the 12th, Jude had a febrile seizure, which was absolutely horrifying. We were visiting Poppop's grave and it just happened. An ambulance came and Jude spent several hours in the ER. He was perfectly fine and bouncing around like normal by the time we left. I was very scarred for a while after that. At Jude's follow up appointment with his doctor, a blood retest was ordered. The results came back elevated in some areas that concerned the doctor. He wanted Jude retested in two weeks to make sure the levels returned to normal. I worried so badly and was extremely fearful for those two weeks. I cried a lot, so afraid something was wrong with my baby boy. It was the longest two weeks of my life. But thank God, after his retest, his results came back perfectly normal. And that changed a lot of things for me. It helped me finally feel content with just one living child. (I'd still change it if I could.) I stopped dreading Jude growing so quickly. It just helped me heal a lot so I could just live in the now and enjoy my little boy without so much reluctance and wishing.

I saw my doctor for the first time in nine or so months (I usually just see nurses at my monthly visits. I only see the doctor once or twice a year now.) Speaking to him eased so many of my fears and he reminded me how safe I am on my blood thinners. I was so grateful to be able to shed so much of that worry I was carrying around for no reason.

Jude started taking steps this month!

We celebrated Jude's 2nd Thanksgiving. He was teething, working on two molars, so he couldn't fully enjoy eating Thanksgiving dinner for the first time. Bummer!

December

It was so much fun seeing Jude enjoy the Christmas season this year. He loved seeing all the Christmas trees at Home Depot (that's where we Florida folk get our trees!) He loved seeing the lights on our house. He loved the lit up Christmas tree with all the pretty ornaments in our house. He loved our nativity scene and always wanted to hold baby Jesus.

My favorite thing during the season was when we took Jude to the zoo to see Santa and all the lights. He loved it so much! I can't wait to go again next year!

Christmas was so special with Jude. He understood a little better this year.

Jude got a little better at learning to walk. He finished out the year with seven being his record number of steps before falling. ;)

--------------------

And that was our 2012. More for my documentation than anyone's enjoyment, I'm sure! My little journal to Jude is much more detailed with some tidbits written for just about every single day. I couldn't bear to stop documenting his days when his first year calendar ended in July, so I kept going, writing it down in a journal. I love keeping track of all his amazing sweetness. I'm sure my above recollection of the year is proof of my notorious sentimentality. I have always been this way, but losing a child and only having the chance to enjoy one child makes it even stronger.

2012 was both wonderful and hard. We always struggle with money. We struggle with our absent child. We struggle with peace. We struggle with the new losses we've acquired this year. This year, I believe we healed the most over our personal struggles. I did lose my grandfather, but besides the pain of that, I'm learning to live with the pains I've been dealing with since Avery died. The pains since I found we couldn't have any more babies. I've found so much more peace in my heart, even while acquiring more hurt. It's a different kind of pain, losing a grandparent. It's inevitable. Never easy, never wanted. Not a day goes by where I don't think about him...

But I thank God for the gift of peace this year. I so greatly desire to enjoy my life and the blessings we do have. I want to dwell on the good and not the bad. I don't want to forget Avery (it's not possible), but I want to feel joy over her life, not just the grief over her death. I will always miss her and grieve her, but I can't live in that devastation anymore. I have to piece it back together for Jude. He won't carry that grief. He will know of his sister, but he didn't experience her loss. I need to be the best version of myself for my little boy. I can't very well do that if I'm still broken and still pining for what I've lost, past and future. He is enough and I can't ever let him question it.

I will still have my moments, my days, of when I fall back into those sad thoughts and bitter mindsets. Loss doesn't go away. But I can choose joy. And that's exactly what I'm doing for 2013. I pray it's our best year yet!

Fear and healing

I never dreamed fear could have a positive outcome. It has plagued me through so many seasons of my life in the past nearly three years. My fear has kept me from so much joy. It's caused anxiety, paranoia, and even hypochondria. But this time, my fear actually set me free.

How could that be? Fear is not from God. Perfect love drives out fear. (1 John 4:18) But in this case, I believe God used my greatest flaw -- my uncontrollable, sometimes paralyzing tendency to worry and fear -- to heal a very broken piece of my being.

This terrible, unnecessary fear set deep within me four days after Jude's seizure. He had a follow up appointment with his pediatrician two days after that horrific ordeal. Everything looked great, his ear infection had even cleared up already. Jude's doctor looked through the charts from the hospital and was not pleased with the practically inconclusive blood test results from the ER. They hadn't been able to get a good sample of Jude's blood so it clumped up a lot, throwing off some of the results. He wanted us to take Jude to get another complete blood count (CBC) just to be thorough. We did just that and I didn't think much of it because Jude seemed fine and it was just a precaution.

Two days after the test, Jude's doctor called me and told me that his levels were a bit off, some varying drastically since his ER lab results just two days prior. His platelets were low and so were his white blood cells. As soon as he mentioned white blood cells, my mind immediately shot to cancer. I felt so sick with worry. The doctor explained that he believed they were both low due to viral suppression from the high fever, seizure, and ear infection. He spoke to a hematologist, who happened to specialize in oncology, just to verify and she completely agreed with him but she wanted Jude to get retested in two weeks to make sure his levels returned to normal. Cue the longest, most fearful two weeks of my life (well... Since the 31 weeks I was pregnant with Jude).

Before hanging up with Jude's doctor that afternoon, he assured me it wasn't time to worry. He expressed his belief that it couldn't be due to any cancer (because you know I asked him about it!) but he confessed his concern. When I hung up, I was close to tears and felt no peace at all. There was no way I could refrain from worrying.

All day, I had a knot in my stomach and that night, after Jude went to bed, I couldn't stop crying. I couldn't help but imagine his next results being no better or even worse. What would it mean? What if something was horribly wrong inside his little body? What if the seizure was a gift from God, so we could find out something was wrong with him before it was too late? All of these morbid fears forced their way into my thoughts. My imagination reeled with sickening visions of losing my baby. I suddenly felt like I was no longer guaranteed a life with my son. I felt like all my mothering duties may be temporary. It was a sick and awful feeling and I tried so hard to push it all away. But over the two weeks, it kept rearing its ugly head.

During that time, Jude started cutting two molars and one incisor all at once. Before we realized this, Jude's appetite changed and he wasn't eating well. Of course, my fear caused me to think something was wrong with him, that he was getting sick from whatever horrific thing was brewing inside him. Noticing the swollen gums, I felt some relief but nearly everyday, Daniel had to convince me that Jude was okay for one reason or another.

For those two long weeks, I felt like I was holding my breath. I was dreading the day we'd have to take Jude back for more blood work. I was dreading the phone call that would proceed. I imagined how my stomach would drop when my phone would ring and I'd see Jude's doctor on my caller ID. I pictured our conversation going so many ways, but naturally, against my will, what I pictured always left me feeling sick to my stomach. But then there was another side of me that couldn't wait to get it all over with. I wanted to be able to really enjoy the Christmas season and I couldn't manage to really do that with all of the fearful unknown looming over my head.

Finally, the day came and went. I prayed so much everyday leading up to it that Jude was healthy and strong. And he is. I burst into tears of relief on the phone with Jude's doctor. He knows me well enough by now and was not surprised by my reaction.

I believed in my heart that Jude was fine but my fear kept telling me I was wrong. It kept whispering ugly lies and planting that seed of worry. It really ate a hole. It festered and tormented. It was so unbearable at times. I felt so weak. I was disappointed in myself for folding so easily. Like it didn't take much for me to fall apart. That I couldn't face the situation with faith and trust, boldly and gracefully holding my head high like a dignified woman of God. But after weighing all of the things I've suffered through concerning my children, I decided to give myself a break. It's okay to be scarred by what's happened to me. I need to be patient with myself. It will take time to live confidently and to shake that paranoia.

So how did all of this fear and obsessive worry actually benefit me? During all of the stress, I kept thinking to myself how hard it was to worry so much about one person. To have so much of my heart, life, and love invested in one person. If I had to worry so much about the well-being of just one person, how could I manage that much more worry for the well-being of even more? The way I started to see it, the more children you have, the higher the chance of something awful happening to one of them. And half of my children are already dead so the odds don't look so hot. Morbid "humor" aside, I think I've endured too much for my heart to handle worrying for so many lives. I carry enough concern for Jude.

The other way the fear helped was in how much I despised the way our normal life twisted into a huge fear fest. I desperately wanted to return to our normal days. I wanted our old life. I missed it. I missed my biggest problem being how I couldn't have all the kids I wanted to have. I decided I'd gladly take that problem over there being something wrong with Jude. I willingly surrender the dreams of my future children for Jude in all his perfection. I'd much rather have "just" him than the possibility of others.

For the first time since I found out I couldn't have any more children, I am content with it. I never thought I would say that. That is the healing the fear brought. It was the lesson it taught me. Jude is enough. He has always been enough but I always longed for more as well. Now, I'm okay. Of course I would have a few more children if things were different and I still wish that were so, but It's okay that I won't have Jonah or Uriah or Ezra (a new beautiful favorite). It feels amazing to accept that. I feel more whole than I have felt in a long time. If it was even possible to love Jude more than I already did, I do.

I feel like the wounds from the babies that were taken away (past and future) have finally stopped bleeding. I feel like I can live my life now. Like I can be happy. That I don't have to be defined by my grief or my suffering. Yes, I am a baby loss mom. Yes, I have two children. Yes, my daughter is in Heaven. But I cannot live in that devastation anymore. Life is beautiful. My family is beautiful. I have so much, despite what I've lost. I know the Glory of God and the love of a husband and son. With humbled and gracious tears in my eyes, I know full well that I am blessed.

 

 

 



Jude's 2nd Halloween

I have to say that I'm not completely crazy about Halloween. My brothers and I grew up trick or treating and wearing costumes each year. I never thought about it until high school when I had a teacher who made us watch movies about how evil Halloween is. So now, in my adulthood, having children of my own, I question what I'm to do with Jude and how to approach the day each year from here on out. Especially as the world gets uglier, how much can you trust strangers who are handing out candy from their front steps? I do not judge anyone that takes part in Halloween festivities. We just haven't decided if it's for our family.

On the other hand, I am so afraid to miss opportunities and to miss memories with Jude. I do not ever want to look back and have regrets. I don't want to wish I did something differently. He is all we get. I don't have a chance to learn with him and do things differently with my third, fourth, fifth child.

That's why we dressed Jude up last year. He was a candy corn. Such a tiny little thing, about 13 weeks old, but only 4 weeks adjusted. We didn't take him out, just to my parents' house to show off his cuteness.

This year we did the same, sort of. At the last minute, we went looking for a costume, but really couldn't find anything that was his size, that we liked enough, that wasn't a massive rip off. We settled on a Superman shirt with a cape on the back from Target. He can wear it whenever because it's just a regular shirt. I love that much more than blowing money we need on something silly he would wear for a couple hours at best. I must say, he was a very cute Superman.

I'm not sure what we will do next year when he's old enough to trick or treat and he's walking and talking. I guess we'll just have to see.

Capture Your Grief : Day 22 // Place of care

I love my doctor. I love her staff. I always enjoyed going to my appointments. It makes me sad to think I'll never go there again for another pregnancy.

Capture Your Grief : Day 18 // Family portrait

There will always be someone missing in our family portraits. Each time I look at the three of us together, I think how there should be a fourth. I can't help but remember how incomplete my family is. Do not be mistaken, I am so grateful for Jude. We are so blessed that he is here and not with Avery, but that doesn't change our grief over her or the grief over the children we thought we would have but can't. It's not easy to accept that -- to accept the demise of a lifelong dream. I spent my entire childhood, dreaming of a life I will never have. It takes time to get used to this reality.

We are aware of adoption. We are aware of surrogacy. That doesn't mean either are easy or possible. So this is our family. The three of us -- always 'minus one'. Together by the Grace of God. Blessed to be a family. Blessed to share this life together.

Happy Birthday, sweet Jude

It's July 31st. I can't believe it.

A whole year has gone by, yet I feel like Jude just came into the world. Right now, last year, I was in the hospital once again, staying overnight for observation after another bout of high blood pressure. My doctor had me admitted, mostly for my own peace of mind, since she knew how fearful I was for Jude's safety.

Before discharging me the morning of the 31st, my doctor ordered an ultrasound, just to be extra thorough. Within minutes, I was told Jude would be coming in an hour because the pressure in the cord was very high and causing him too much stress. It was such a shock at first. At first I felt relieved, like I'd finally be able to breathe for the first time in eight months, knowing that, sadly, he'd be safer outside of my body. But then I was overcome with so much reluctance, holding my belly for the last time and feeling Jude's last kicks while I waited for them to take me away for the emergency c-section. I couldn't shake the notion that my pregnancy was being ripped away from me prematurely, once again.

I was put under for the c-section because I had been on blood thinners. It was too dangerous for a spinal; I could have bled out. So being put under was the only option, which also meant Daniel wasn't allowed in for Jude's birth. I still hate these situations. That neither Daniel nor I were there to see our sweet boy come into the world. Daniel only saw Jude for a few seconds before they whisked him away to the NICU, where he stayed for the next 32 days.

Jude Wesley was born at 12:37pm, at 31 weeks gestation, weighing 3 pounds 1.1 ounces, and was 15.5 inches long. I was told he was very content for such a premature baby. He was born so stressed, but calmed so much after. My body was doing to him exactly what it did to Avery. The placenta was once again failing. My doctor later said Jude probably wouldn't have made it another day. I am so grateful, so thankful that I knew to go to the hospital the previous evening. That I had the intuition that something wasn't right. I thank God for the wisdom of my doctor, who did exactly what was needed before it was too late.

Our families all met Jude within a couple hours after his birth. I was still recuperating from the bleeding issue I had during my surgery. I didn't get to see my little boy at all the day he was born. It's so strange to think about that. He was here but I wasn't with him. Definitely not the typical birth experience. Neither of mine have been, that's for sure. I wish I knew what it was like to carry a baby to term, to go into labor, to give birth to a living baby that I immediately get to hold, and to take that baby home just a day or so later. I'll never know. But I do know the joy of my sweet Jude... and that's definitely enough.

I am so honored to be Jude's mom. He is an amazing baby, such an incredible little person. I can already see his personality and his little heart. He is precious and sweet. He is silly. He is so strong, the first thing he ever was, here in this world, fighting to live. My tiny son is my hero. He is truly a miracle. Truly.

And today, Jude turns 1. It's bittersweet for us. We love our little boy and he just gets bigger and bigger everyday. We miss the tinier days. They get further away with each moment that passes. We embrace these new moments and we love and savor them, but we know we can never go back. We can never share these same sweet stages with any other children. These were the sacred times we lost with our only daughter, and these are the times we cling to with our son. Despite that, today is a victory. Jude is here. He's healthy and alive. He gets to grow up. I just wish he wouldn't do it so quickly!

Jude, Daddy and I are so proud of you. You fill our lives with so much joy. Each day is beautiful just being with you... watching you learn and play, seeing your smile and hearing your laughter. I love you more than life. Happy 1st birthday, sweet sweet boy.

“... and she loved a boy very, very much-- even more than she loved herself.”
― Shel Silverstein, The Giving Tree

Trying cloth diapers

In the past several weeks, I started looking into cloth diapering for Jude. I thought saving money on disposable diapers sounded like a good idea, if cloth could work out. So finally, I got a small stash of Thirsties cloth diapers, consisting of three covers and three cloth inserts. I chose that brand based on the cheapest set, actually. I didn't want to spend too much money if it ended up not being for us.

I was excited when the package came in the mail a few days ago.

I admit, I'm a sucker for the cute prints and pretty colors.

 I couldn't wait to see Jude wearing his new diaper. :)

Of course, he looked so cute. It seemed comfortable and like it moved easily with him. I felt like it fit him well.

Today was day four of trying cloth. I'm only doing it part time since I only have enough for three diaper changes. Jude still sleeps in a disposable. I am nervous about leaking at night, since he sometimes has that problem anyway. Yesterday was the first time he went 'number 2' while in cloth. I can't say I enjoyed the extra tasks that came with cleaning him up. That is the part I was worried about (especially if out in public). It's the one thing that makes me unsure of cloth altogether, to be honest.

So, after four days, I'm still not sure whether or not to purchase more cloth and work toward full time cloth diapering. I'm not sold on the Thirsties brand. I do think they absorb and hold everything in well, but sometimes I feel like I'm not placing the cloth in right, since there are no flaps (like Flips) or snaps inside to hold it in place (like GroVia). Or maybe I should purchase other types (like all in one's or pockets) and see if they work better for us. I do like the idea and I plan to keep using my small stash. I want it to work out, even if it's just during the day.

I'm glad I'm even trying this out. I don't want to miss out on any experiences with Jude. I won't have another chance with another baby to see if I like cloth diapering. So now I won't ever look back and wish I'd tried it. I never want to have any regrets, no matter how big or small! :)

Right where I am 2012: two years, two months, eighteen days

Angie at Still Life With Circles has once again asked babylost parents to speak about our grief, where we are right now in it. I didn't participate last year, but this time I'm giving it a try.

This time last year, I was about 22 weeks pregnant with my Rainbow baby. I remember seeing Angie's post about Right where I am and thought it was a great idea but I was trying to hold onto my hope instead of focusing on my grief. I was still not guaranteed the life of my unborn son, thus my reason for trying to ignore my negative thoughts. Nonetheless, I was still very anxious, being just three weeks away in my second pregnancy from the week I lost my Avery. And being pregnant again brought me back to what it felt like for Avery to be alive. After a while, all I could remember was her death and her absence. It swallowed up her short life so quickly. Her being alive inside my womb felt more like a dream. Being pregnant with Jude brought it back to me. I could remember again how happiness and life felt.

Now, this year, Jude is ten months old (eight months adjusted). My grief is better in some ways and worse in others. I healed so much in the year after Avery's death and stillbirth. It had taken so long for me to forgive God and not blame Him. It had taken months to recover any semblance of normalcy or to even function without any debilitation. Now, the grief has changed. I have times of bitterness and anger.

When Jude was born nine weeks early (via emergency c-section) so much of my healing wounds were torn open. Jude was supposed to be my Rainbow after the storm, not the calm before another storm. What took Avery nearly took Jude as well (I have blood clotting mutations) and I nearly died of pulmonary embolisms just four weeks after his birth. That and the four and a half long weeks in the NICU were so emotionally taxing.

All of these complications led my doctor to strongly advise that we not have any more children. Since then, I have been mourning the children I always wanted to have, their names already on a list in the back of my journal. All I ever wanted in life was a house full of children. But I have to erase my dreams of them and forget the names I love and will never get to use. Jealousy creeps in when I see siblings together, since Jude's only sibling is dead and we can't give him another. I fear he'll grow up feeling alone. And sometimes that makes me feel guilty.

I wanted so badly for my pregnancy with Jude to be perfect and successful. Since it wasn't, it took the wind right out of my sails and set me back a ways. And it's a different path than I was on before. The old path was raw and new but it held a lot of hope for the future. This new path is so final and dark and I have to fight my way off of it. My faith has been shaken a lot. I struggle in my walk with God. I don't know why He allows these things, and especially to me who deeply desires exactly the opposite. That is a daily struggle for me.

So is the struggle against bitterness. I find it so hard to watch other women have typical pregnancies and births. I feel so cheated of a full-term pregnancy and a normal, exciting delivery. I wasn't even there for Jude's. I had to be put under because of bleeding issues. And with a stillbirth, well, that's just not a normal birth at all, needless to say. So when I hear people cringe and complain over how many hours they were in labor for and how awful it was to push out a living-screaming-breathing- healthy baby that they get to take home in just a couple days, I just want to scream my lungs out. I didn't get any of that. I would give anything for it. Same goes with pregnancy. I am paralyzed with anxiety when I hear some women complain about the discomforts of a healthy pregnancy when I feared death all through mine, while enduring daily injections to keep him alive. That, there, is my bitterness. I desperately want it to fade away. I don't want pregnancy and childbirth to be a sore topic for me. But right now, it is.

I still consider Avery my daughter. When so nosily prodded by strangers in public, I answer that I have two children, and I am never afraid to let them know that one of them is in Heaven. I just cannot deny her existence. Maybe there will come a day down the road when I won't count her to meaningless strangers, but for now, I can't imagine doing so. She is waiting for us in Heaven, after all, and we, and all of those that deny and forget her will see her face to face.

I'm also in a place in my grief where I am angry. I'm angry that my only daughter is not here and that it doesn't appear that many people care. I've been informed of some very ugly comments that have been made in the past by people who've known me my entire life. I am angry that I have to justify how I've gone about my grief (considering my own flesh and blood to be my own flesh and blood) and how I handled the most devastating and horrific situation of my life (that I actually saw and held my daughter when she was born, just like countless other mothers of stillborn babies).  I resent that other people, who have absolutely no idea what it's like think that they have the right to give their opinion. That we should have to abide by their timeline and what they think is "normal" for such a tragic event. It wouldn't hurt them to love and support. If it makes me happy to rightfully consider Avery my daughter, then they should consider her my daughter as well. It wouldn't affect them at all, but it would make my life a lot easier.

People around me actually make my grief worse. Those that don't support me or who have obviously forgotten Avery just make it harder for me to heal. If they would just embrace what's happened to our family, I wouldn't feel so alone. I would feel less empty because Avery would be remembered and I'd feel like she meant something.

On the other hand, I am happier than I have been since Avery was alive. Jude is beautiful, healthy, and smart. He is the joy of my life. He is my love. I cherish him, every little thing about him. I am reluctant to watch him grow so quickly, but I'm so grateful he has the chance to. I practically mourn each piece of clothing he grows out of, as well as each precious stage he surpasses. It seems as though I'm constantly in a happy/sad state. So happy to be sharing these amazing and priceless moments with my sweet boy, but so sad that I'll never experience these moments again, with him or anyone else. I savor each second of his small body in my arms, his chubby cheek resting on my chest, and I thank God he is here. I marvel daily that Jude is mine and that he made it... that he came to stay.

And that is where I am, grasping onto the beauty in this life. I still miss my sweet girl. I'm in awe of my little boy. And oh, how I love them both.

Mothers Day

Yesterday was my third Mothers Day. It used to be a day I couldn't wait to celebrate and be a part of. Instead, the day has been more of a struggle than a celebration. Tearing off a band-aid instead of feeling honored. While it does get better each year, it's still not a day I particularly look forward to.

2010 was terrible. Avery died just two months before. I was stuck in that awkward place where you know you're a mother because you created life and gave birth, but you feel like you have to justify your motherhood to other people. Out of sight, out of mind, I guess... So much pain over the people who don't wish you a 'Happy Mothers Day.' Not a good first Mothers Day at all.

2011 was a little better, but still very difficult. I was almost 20 weeks pregnant with Jude and still not sure he'd even make it out alive. I was never guaranteed anything with him. Each week was a victory. It was horrifying to be wished a 'Happy future Mothers Day' by someone close to me. It's devastating to think that your family has possibly forgotten your baby... or doesn't count her as part of the family.

2012 has been the best Mothers Day yet, but definitely not flawless. I was fearful all day that someone was going to wish me a 'Happy first Mothers Day.' I just didn't want to feel hurt. I wanted to enjoy the first Mothers Day with a living child. Thankfully, no one said anything hurtful. But it was still a day of mixed emotions. I'm not the mother I always wanted to be. I miss my little girl. I'll never be a mom to many. Yet, I am grateful to be a mother at all. I am grateful to have a perfect daughter waiting for me in Heaven. I am grateful that Jude is here. But I never wanted him to grow up alone. It's still a healing wound. Mothers Day brings all of that to attention and makes it easy to focus on.

I am so in love with my little boy. I know I dwell on the things I have lost in my life, but do not mistake it for ingratitude. I am learning to live with these realities. Even so, it is effortless to enjoy Jude and everything he adds to our lives. His smile, his laugh. His sounds, his sweet baby smell... So many beautiful things that make him incredible. It's an honor to be his mother. That is definitely something to celebrate.