This week.

I can think back to the days just after losing her. I remember feeling so alone. In the midst of all the love and support, I remember thinking to myself that they just didn’t get it. I heard it all. I think a lot about the day after, and what I wished someone, anyone, would have said to me. ” I wish someone had been honest enough to stop saying “it’ll be okay” and start saying “ this is going to be the worst pain you’ve ever felt in your life, but you’re going to be strong, and overcome it, and come out better because that’s who you are. I could have used that support. The truth is, as I sit here today, that I am part of an elite club, the kind of club that no one WANTS to be a part of. I didn’t WANT this. I didn’t WANT to be the mama of a dead baby. I didn’t want to grieve. I didn’t want to fold up tiny pink dresses and lock them away. I didn’t want to see myself like this. I didn’t want to WANT to find ways to replace her, and know that truly, I never will. When you’re little, you play pretend. You play house, and there’s a mommy and a daddy, and there are babies. In those games you play when you’re younger….the baby never dies. The baby never goes away. Why is that not something you can even fathom as a reality until it hits you? I wish there had been something to prepare me for the possibility that she might not be. I just wasn’t ready for it. This week, as we near ever closer to her birthday, I find myself thinking again of those days, and I find…whether I admit it or not, that it’s consuming me. Does this hurt ever stop? Does it ever change? Will I eventually wake up without the stabbing pain that comes with knowing my daughter is dead? The truth is, I’ve been overcome with anxiety. The kind that…at times can be debilitating. I find myself crying, in the bathroom, in the middle of the day, for what often feels like no reason, but I know the truth. Daniel, he tries so hard. He listens to me, he loves me, and he knows. Deep down, he knows that my repetitive words, my constant “I’m fines” are just lies. Lies not to make him feel better, but to make me feel better. He knows my heart, he knows my hurt. All the lies in the world couldn’t keep him from knowing how I truly feel. It strikes me as odd sometimes that it still hurts like this after all this time, when it doesn’t hurt anyone else. What are these feelings I am holding on to? What is the normal way to grieve your child? What is the correct feeling? Is it normal that sometimes, in the middle of the night, when I just can’t sleep, I walk quietly into the kitchen where her things are and just stare? Is it normal that I play her songs, that I imagine what it would feel like to sing them to her? Is it normal that I sometimes feel like I am doing a disservice to Owen by still wanting her and needing her so much? How do you define normal in a situation that is affected in so many aspects, in so many ways, to so many people? What is right? It’s hard to grieve for her outwardly, it’s awkward. Few people want to hear about your dead daughter. Few people really care. Besides that, what can I tell you about Bells that I haven’t already said? What can I tell you about the amazing being she was even though I didn’t even really know her? I can tell you I love her. I can tell you that I have a lot of guilt, a lot of anger, and a lot of unresolved feelings. I lock those feelings in a box, and I struggle with them daily. I try to work them out, I try to make them make sense. Underneath those feelings, is the most important one. It’s love. I’ll never forget her. It’ll never go away. The trick will be opening up that box, letting out my anger, my guilt, and my grief, so that all that remains is….love.

Blllehhhh

I'm happy for you. Of course I'm happy for you. I, of all people in your life today realize how important this is to you. I understand how monumental just the CONCEPT of this is for you. I've watched you wait, I've watched you want, I've watched you cry. There was a part of me that thought this would never happen for you. And so...in my own way, I have done all I can to fill that gap. To help you heal, and keep that whole from being open, and gaping. I've tried my hardest to give you what you were lacking, never thinking, despite how much we hoped, that what you were missing would come back. It did though. And yes, I'm happy for you. On the other hand, though, I'm apprehensive. For you, for myself. I fear you'll get hurt...and what will i do if this hurts you? How will I behave if once again your heart is broken? I'll behave like I always do. I'll quietly, dilligently, collect the pieces, and do my best to put them back together. I'll hold your heart in my hands carefully, in the way that only I can, and I'll take care of you. I always do that. I fear I'll get hurt. I'm scared of the part of me that already is. This is huge for you, and I know that. But...where does that leave me? Is this jealousy I feel? Tension? A territorial feeling that stirs and makes me want to jump in front of you and keep you to myself. I know I can't. It's a petty feeling. And I know that. This is why I type it here, cryptically, knowing that you know me well enough to figure me out, but hoping you never do. I let it all out here...because telling you how I fell would mean admitting that I feel it. It would mean admitting that while I'm happy for you, and I love nothing more than to see you smile, I hate it. Those are my smiles. My laughs. Excitement for me. The one who is, but isn't really. In the long run, in the grand scheme, I worry where I'll be. Where I used to be all you needed, am I still? I hate myself for feeling this way, for not being able to control it. For the rogue tears that stain my cheeks, and the tell-tale breathing that keeps me grounded in the now. I close my eyes, and take a deep breath, and tell myself it's all going to be okay. When we've had nothing else, we've always had each other. And nothing can change that...can it?

The Rainbow After The Rain

It's been awhile since I've blogged, to be honest, things have been busy, and hectic, and there just hasn't been time. Last night though, for the first time in a long time, I felt something that compelled me to write, something that moved me to words. I'll share it with you now, if you like.

    Last night, I was holding Owen in my arms, in the darkness of our room in the late night hours. He'd woken up feeling terrible, with the same cough and congestion that he's had all week long. I turned the light on, got his bottle, and held him close to me. Putting the bottle in his mouth, i began to sing to him, the same church songs I always sing to him, they relax him in a different way. As i began singing to him, a smile spread over his face, and his big eyes opened. There, staring at me, were the biggest brown eyes you've ever seen in your life. It was a magical feeling. I got lost in those eyes for a few minutes. Thinking how truly amazing they were. They were my eyes, a trait he'd gotten from me. So familiar as I looked into them, i could see myself, i could see that he was mine. It occurred to me, not for the first time, that i'd never seen a red head with brown eyes, and i realized again that I liked that. How unique my baby would be, and how lucky to have a quality as amazing as it is. 

     Staring at him though, I began to feel other feelings. As you all know, now, there is only one picture of my baby Bella that I have after she was born. I can't go back and change that, although I wish so much that i could. There is nothing about the picture to give me any idea what she'd look like today, all it is is a picture of her tiny hand. I'll be forever grateful to that doctor for having the soundness of mind to take at least one. What I thought about though, was if my sweet girl would look like Owen does. Would she have those same big brown eyes, that seem to look into your soul? Would she have had that fire red hair like he does, a true sign that she was her father's daughter? I wonder if she'd have had dimples like his, or that smile that's contagious. Gosh, I love his smile. I wonder so many things about her. 

   Having a rainbow baby is really a daunting task. While you are so grateful for everything he is, everything he's doing, that he gets to do, that he's still here, and breathing....there's always this nagging in the back of your head about what should have been, what could have been. I read a question at one point that said: "You are given two choices: Move on with your life with no regret, or go back in time, knowing everything you know now, and save your baby. Which would you choose?" This question is one that fills my mind regularly, and yet...my answer is still the same. The initial reaction was to say that I'd go back in time and save Bella. I'd give anything to hold her. Further thought into the question, however...leads me to this: If i HAD saved Bella, if...by some miracle, she had survived all our problems, there would be no Owen. And...am I willing to give up that smile that warms my heart, and those big brown eyes that make me fall so deeply in love with him that it actually hurts? How do you make the decision to trade one child for the other? Could you? That'd be almost like telling me I could have Bella back if  I was willing to give up Jason. As much as I'd love to know her, to hold her, and kiss her, and sing to her, I'm not sure it's worth what I would lose. Is that wrong? Does it make sense? Being a bereaved parent surely is hard work. 

     The year is already half over, which means we are coming up rather quickly on her 3rd birthday. I have a lot of ideas about this one. So much I want to do. My biggest hope is to have for her a headstone. Tucked under a shady tree, a place where I can go...somewhere that's ours. I think she'd like that. A letter inside a balloon, to tell her how much I love her, and send it to the heavens. Bubbles from her brothers, with her newest little brother a part of it this time. She is his guardian, I know that. I don't believe I'd have made it through my pregnancy without her. And those fruity pebble cupcakes. The trademark of my little pebbles, my beautiful baby Bells. Someday all of this will make sense I hope. I wonder if she will always come to my mind in these ways. If my thoughts of her will always hurt, if I'll ever really understand them. Sometimes I think, probably not. 

You have every reason to be happy, so why do you cry?: Dealing with "the big p"!

I have a brand new baby boy. He's got fire red hair and facial expressions that could bring a smile to anyone's face. He's soft and snuggly, and he smells of formula and baby lotion. He's perfect...everything I could have ever asked for and more...

So....Why am I so sad? It's a little frustrating, and honestly makes me feel like a pretty terrible parent, and an ungrateful person. I waited so long for him, prayed so hard for him, worried so much for him, and labored so intensively for him...and here he is. Only.....I can't bring myself to love on him. And then I think back to my Bells. Who I so longed to hold, and who I lost. WHY should I feeling this way? Shouldn't I be grateful for this second chance? Shouldn't I be embracing every SINGLE second of him, every minute that he's little? Shouldn't I pull him close and nestle myself into his neck...and be intoxicated by his smell? Then why aren't I? How many of my friends would kill to have a soft, sweet baby in their arms? How many of them would love to shower their affection and attention and maternal instincts on someone? And here I am wasting it....

This is such an intensely terrifying feeling. I feel angry all the time. I feel sad that I'm angry. I feel disconnected. From everyone. From this beautiful baby. From his older brothers. From their daddy. I can't seem to get it together, I can't seem to do small things, that should be so simple. I can't make a bottle without having a breakdown, I can't hear him crying without crying with him. I'm together enough to know that I have a problem, and together enough to  know what that problem is. I suffer from Post Partum Depression. That's right. The Big "P". And although I was at first, I'm not longer afraid to admit it. I realize what a big deal it is, and how hard it is, as a mother of a new baby to say those words. "I know I'm supposed to be happy, this is supposed to be the most exciting time of my life...and yet....all I want to do is cry." I realize how hard it is to face to judgement. From those you love, from your spouse, from yourself. I think the hardest part has been how hard I am on myself. Not only am I dealing with the things that come with this issue, I'm dealing with the guilt and self doubt that I have because I'm feeling this way. The truth is though, that I'm not alone. There are women all over the world suffering from PPD, and far worse than I have it.

The biggest problem I imagine is that I just don't feel like I can do anything right. I don't feel like I matter to anyone, like I'm important. What can I contribute to this little life when the life I have isn't much to be excited about. I'm 25 years old, and I haven't accomplished much. The last few years of my life have been hard, and I don't consider them a success. What can I teach him about being a grown up when I don't even know that much? How can I raise any of these kids to be decent, productive people, when I don't even feel like I am. It's a hard pill to swallow, yet I do...everyday. I wake up at 0530, for the babies first feeding of the day. I stare at him as he eats...anticipating the day before me. After his feeding, I lay him in bed next to his daddy, head into the kitchen to have a cup of coffee. During which, I wake up my other two boys, and attempt to get them dressed for the day. Once they're dressed, they sit down for breakfast, at which point I get little red dressed for the day. It's hard to get going, it's hard to function, but I do it, and for that at least, I am proud. By the end of these long days, I fall into bed, and pray for sleep. Sleep that doesn't always come because of the anxiety that comes with having a new baby. And...this new found anxiety that the house has to be spotless clean at all times. No dirt on the floor, nothing on the counters, no dishes in the sink. It drives me nuts. It keeps me up nights if it's not done before I go to bed. It's an insane feeling.

I don't think I ever realized what a big deal this could be until I began feeling it this strongly. Sometimes all I want to do is sit somewhere where it's really quiet and cry it out until it's not there anymore, and then go  on with my life. I wanna talk to someone, I wanna know what to say. I wanna make sense. I wanna feel something that makes sense. Bah, well enough rambling I guess. The point in all this was simple. PPD is just like any other "illness" out there. It's depression, and it's serious. If you or anyone you know is a new mother, and things just don't seem right, encourage that person to get help, or seek help yourself. Talk to them, don't sit by idle...because you don't know how just a little help, and little intervention might help....it could make all the difference in the world.
 

Introducing: Owen James William Gilman

This is Owen. I can say with much certainty that he has already won my heart. When he was only a day or so old, I coined him "Lil Red", and it seems fitting to me. He's the spitting image of his daddy, and when you put the two of them together, there's no denying that he's a mini Daniel. 

There have been a few people asking how he came to be (as in...his birth story) and how we're doing now. So---to update family and friends, here I go:

On March 13, 2013, at about 830 pm, my water broke. Hard to explain this as anything except for totally disgusting. And it stayed disgusting for a long time after that. LOL. I told Daniel I needed a shower before I went ANYWHERE, because I had no idea how long it would be before I was going to get another one. We headed into the hospital after that, where they did the test to confirm that my water had broken. It was positive, and once that was done, they brought the doctor in. In my life, I couldn't have possibly asked for a better OB to deliver Owen. She was amazing. They moved me from OB Triage to L&D, and hooked up my IV right away. After that, they started me on IV fluids and a pitocin drip. We all rested, watching TV and getting as much sleep as we could as the pitocin increased and the contractions got stronger and stronger. The doctor came in about 1am and checked me again to find that my cervix wasn't changing at ALL and I was REALLY uncomfortable. We couldn't figure out what the deal was. Checking on little Owen a little closer, we realized he was pretty far up, and apparently not interested in coming anytime soon. We all decided that that was okay with us, but we opted for the epidural so that I could at least get some rest. The anesthesiologist came in to do the epidural, and before I knew it, I was laying in bed resting. Feeling the contractions, but not feeling any pain...it was wonderful. They attached a fetal heart monitor to baby internally so that we could monitor him, since he didn't want to stay on, and a monitor that would tell us exactly what the contractions were doing to my cervix each time they came. We all continued to rest, until about 20 minutes or so to 3am. The doctor came in again and told me they were going to check me again, and see if we were making any progress. At this check, I was a good 6, but still not progressing as quickly as I should have been. It was frustrating. She left for a quick minute and then came back, a little concerned. She told me that baby's heart rate was decelerating with each contraction, which is the opposite of what it's supposed to do. She checked me one more time, and told me he felt pretty low for 6. She told me she'd be back, and we'd decide where to go from there. At 5 minutes to 3am, I woke up Daniel and told him I needed him. The doctors were worried about our little man, that maybe the cord was wrapped somewhere...one way or the other, he was in distress, and that wasn't okay. The doctor came back in and told us her plan of attack. We trusted her fully, and were willing to do what she thought was best. And so, at just 6 cm dilated, I was instructed to bear down, and see if little Owen would come down with my push. If he did, we were going to push him out. 6 cm or not. And we were going to do it fast. If he didn't, then we were going to the OR for a C-Section. Either way, we were getting this baby out, NOW. The few minutes after that are kind of a blur to me, and the entire 24 hours after that are pretty fuzzy. What I remember goes like this: They put me on oxygen because my levels were low, I had the shakes that I nearly couldn't control, and I was terrified and tired. The anesthesiologist came back in, gave me another dose of the epi medicine, and I wasn't feeling as much pain anymore. The doctor instructed me to push, and I did...and then baby got stuck. His heart rate continued to decelerate, and as hard as I pushed, I couldn't get him out. Crying, I told her I just couldn't do it, I didn't have it in me. She looked at me, with a look I will NEVER forget and told me "You have to. We have to get him out, NOW." I remember something clicking in my head, and I thought of Isabella. All I could think was that I had come this far, I had waited this long, and I was going to lose him. And that was going to happen because I wasn't strong enough. Because I did something wrong. And that wasn't going to happen. So, I took one more deep breath and one more push. With a LOT of help from the doc, we got little Owen out, and she put him on my chest. Seeing him, she laughed and said "This little monster was playing with us." It turns out, his cord was no where near his neck, and far as we could tell, he was in no immediate danger. He was crying, he was alert, he was pink...he was everything a baby should be. And...he was in a hurry. They took him away from me, and to the table to clean him up, and measure him, and make him cry some more. 

I could see the conflict in Daniel's eyes as I looked at him, he wasn't sure whether to go to his newborn son, or to stay with me, who wasn't doing very well. The only words I remember saying to him were "Go see your baby." And I meant that. You only have your first born child one time, and I didn't want him to miss a single second of that. After we got the baby out, the doctor focused her attention on me. I delivered the placenta, and immediately started feeling a little better. Until....we couldn't get the bleeding to stop. After soaking through 10 rags in delivery, the doctor told me that I had cervical tearing, and would need to go to the OR.  This meant more anesthesia, and who knows how long before I would get to hold my new baby boy. Farther than that, I have little recollection. I know they took me to OR, I know they gave me a generous amount of anesthesia, and I know that I can't tell you more than 5 things about my son on the very first day of his life. Thank god his daddy was so amazing and was there to take care of him. This is a picture of me the first time I held my son, and I don't even remember it. 

The recovering process has been slow. I've been up and about, but I lost a lot of blood, and there is certainly a lot of pain that comes with the type of surgery I had to have. Owen is doing beautifully now though, and continues to be the biggest blessing. I will never forget the feeling of thinking I was going to lose him, and I don't take it for granted at all that he's here and that he's ok. Every day he grows and changes, and makes me love him even more. I'm a lucky mommy and I know that. I know that Bella was with us in that delivery room, in the operating room with me, and everyday as her baby brother grows and develops. We have a real life angel, and we couldn't be more blessed for that. 

 

 

38 Weeks

So...here we are. 38 weeks and counting. He's still not here yet, and I'm beginning to believe he has no intention of coming out anytime soon. This is aggravating to both me, and his daddy, who is anxiously awaiting his arrival. It's interesting really. I'm not having the usual "I just want this baby out of me, I don't care how it happens." emotions that usually come at the end of the pregnancy. In fact, I'm perfectly content with him doing whatever it is he needs to do. However, my body is tired of pregnancy. It's been a super hard one, and to be honest, has had me seriously debating about whether or not D and I should be done having kids after this one. Part of me kept holding out hope, believing that someday we'd have another baby girl. To be honest though, there's a part of me that believes that Bella was to be my only little girl. She is special in a million little ways, and maybe this is just another one. There was a reason that she wasn't meant to be, and yet...there's a reason that she WAS. I'm beginning to believe that I just have to embrace that. And...I'm starting to be okay with it. I have 2 AMAZING little boys, who literally amaze me, impress me, and make me proud of them every single day. All I can really do is guide them, watch them grow, and hope I am turning them into the kind of men that will someday make amazing fathers and husbands. In my tummy, there is a little rockstar. He kicks, he flips, he punches, he's a beast. And he's going to make his appearance any day now. And he's our rainbow baby. The baby we never thought we'd have. The baby that D has been waiting his entire adult life for. That's huge. So maybe, just maybe...all of that is plenty. My body is tired. It's tired of pregnancy, it's tired of childbirth. It's tired of pain. Maybe it's about time we make the decision that these 3 kids are not perfect, but they are perfect for us...and that our little family is perfect. I dunno. I'm so torn about it...so up in the air. It's a difficult and rather permanent decision to make. I'm so afraid to make the wrong one, and then later be aggravated that I no longer have the option of making a different decision. Ahh, it's confusing. But...i digress. 

At this stage in our pregnancy, little Owen is quite a monster. He's weighing in at 7 lbs 4 oz, which is about 4 weeks bigger than an "average" baby at this stage. The doctors believe he's also going to be pretty long, i can't wait to see. We are, last i heard, 4 cm dilated, totally effaced, and baby is head down and engaged. We're not entirely sure what he's waiting on, but he's ready whenever he's ready, I guess. I'm definitely nervous for the labor and birth process. I remember having a very high pain tolerance for both of the boys, but with this one...i'm not so sure. I've been in pain for so many weeks, i think i might trade virtually pain free for au natural. To be honest, I have my "non medicated, in labor for 16 hours, and stitched up from my tear" badge. I'm not sure i want another one. LOL. We haven't really 100% established a birth plan. We both know what I want, for the most part, but we aren't really wanting anything set in stone. Things could change. 

Well, just a little update, and a little of my random thoughts. Off to make lunch, since the 3 year olds don't feed themselves. (Why not, i wonder? :D) Until next time. 

Because Of You

Today I am a little over 36 weeks pregnant with an amazing little boy. Every morning I wake up and can feel him kicking, punching, flipping, and playing. I close my eyes and i try to take it all in. These last few weeks have been especially difficult for me. He's been trying his very hardest to come out early, and my body doesn't seem to be letting him. Either that, or my body wants him out and he is not interested. It's frustrating because it feels like no matter what I do, I'm in constant pain. I find myself feeling like I'd do pretty much anything to get him out....I'm so tired of being in pain. Then I close my eyes again, and I think to myself that I must seem pretty selfish. I know how lucky I am. I know that I should be thanking god each night that I fall asleep to his little kicks, and wake up to his hiccups. I know that I should be feeling blessed that we've made it this far, and appreciate that he needs all the time inside of me that he can get. I know that I should realize what an incredible gift it is that we've made it this far. I look at this picture and I feel like I've overcome a MAJOR milestone. Can this finally be happening for us? Can this beautiful little boy really be ours, can he be coming? Its humbling. After Bella, we had so much apprehension. Should we keep trying? Are we destined for this? Maybe God is trying to tell us that 2 is enough. And then...there was Owen. With so much strength, determination, and heart, he told us that he was here to stay, and that he wasn't giving up. Because of Isabella, I know how to love him. I am capable of giving him all I have, with my face lifted to God and my spirits high. Because of her, I know what loss feels like...I know what heart break is...and i know what it means to go home with empty arms. For these reasons....I know neither of us will take him for granted. And i know what a big deal that is. Please don't mistake my impatience and discomfort for complacency. I realize what an incredible gift I have growing inside of me. I know how important it is that he grow and be healthy and strong. I pray for it everyday. Forgive me for wanting to establish some degree of normalcy, some degree of comfort...and figure out how to start this life with him in it. Forgive me for impatience that comes only from discomfort...and not from irritation. Soon enough I'll be holding him in my arms, and I can get back to being a mommy, a wife, and a person. My angel Bella can look down on him and continue to help him grow. And i know how special that is too.