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.

A different light

It seems as though my life has changed a lot in the last few months. Truth be told, its a little refreshing. In September, due to circumstances that we didn't understand, we lost our house. It wasn't our fault, yet errors were definitely made on our part. Daniel would go to work everyday, and his paychecks, as they were, would keep food on our table (where ever we needed up that night) and a roof over the heads of our babies...who needed us to be strong, even though we felt like we were at the end of our rope. We turned to a few different places and people, with no real luck...and no real idea what we would do. We felt lost and useless and frustrated. We talked about things we didn't want to think about and discussed all of our options...even though we didn't want to. We spent our nights where we could, and our days walking the malls.....doing anything to keep out of the hot car. We were....destroyed. several months pregnant with the child that daniel and I had longed for..finally healthy...we began to wonder what we were going to do....how would we ever get out of this hole?? Our lives changed pretty drastically in a minute, tho. One night, in particular, when daniel and I had spent the day trying to figure out where we`d go next....after having scraped together all the money we had....we had just about given up. I get this message on Facebook that was the LAST thing I expected. My Aunt Emily, (my dads sister) who I really didn't know very well and had only ever seen a few times, had offered her home to me and my family. Offered me a job, a place to lay my head, and family to help me through this difficult pregnancy. She didn't lecture me about how we got here, she didn't make me feel like I was failing my children, she said in a few short words "we`ve all been there, and we`re going to get you back on your feet." I could try for ages and not be able to express my gratitude to her for taking a leap of faith, helping us and doing what she never really had to. Each day, I go to work, at a job that I truly love and am really good at. I come home to my HUGE family, where were never alone, and I love that. I learned a lot about who I can and cant trust and who will really and truly have my back. The truth is, I found help, and a life and a home in a place where I never thought I would. I found comfort and protection in a place I never would have thought to look. Thanks to my Aunt and Uncle, my kids had a Halloween. They had a family thanksgiving, and there will be presents under the Christmas tree. They have warm clothes, and new toys and friends. I'm SO grateful for this life that I've found... that has been given to me....and I'm hoping someday to be able to repay them...and show them true gratitude for the impact they've had on my life. It can truly only go up from here. For this blog pot, this evening...when my mind is racing, I send a heartfelt thank you to my Aunt Emily and Uncle Jason for everything they've done and continue to do for us everyday. To my cousin Brittany, who babysits my little chubbs so that i have the freedom and peace of mind to go to work each day. Who listens to my stresses and doesnt judge me. Who always has snacks and ice when my baby belly requires it. I'm lucky to have such amazing family in my life, and I know that. I'll never take it for granted.

One month

Can it already be that time again? Am I really sitting here staring at her tiny stocking thinking again that she should be here? Imagining her soft skin, her tiny curls, little bows in her hair...and that little Christmas dress. That beautiful baby girl whose laughter should be ringing in my ears this holiday season....but it's not. And it won't be. Ever. Remembering that sucks. As if that wasn't crappy enough all on its own, December means that next month is her birthday, and my darling, angel baby girl will be 2 years old. Its hard to believe that its been that long when many days I find myself still trying to wrap my head around the fact that she's actually gone. I've been putting a lot of thought this year into how I want to celebrate my little girl's birthday and I keep coming up short. The only thing that really stands out in my mind is that I want her to have somewhere. Ever since I did a little research, I realized I could have had her buried...and a gravestone is something I so badly want for her. I want somewhere to go when missing her gets to be just a little too overwhelming. I want somewhere I can run to when I need her too badly. I want somewhere beautiful where I can take her flowers, and decorate on holidays, and bring her cupcakes on her birthday. I want her to have something more than balloons and a memory. I need that. I've had her on my mind nearly non stop this month...there's just so much to miss.
Little Owen kicking and moving in my belly is bittersweet. It makes me so happy and so grateful that he's here and that he's OK...on the other hand, his kicks remind me of the way she used to kick me, the way she used to play with her daddy...the feeling I used to have just knowing she was there. Sometimes I find it hard to separate the two. I wonder if that's a normal thing. Since I lost Bella, a few of my friends have joined me in our silent ranks, in the pain that only a grieving mother or father can know. It feels different to now have people who I can really share this experience with. People who can really say "yea I get that." And they're close to me...and they are not just words....they really do get it. And so we talk, and we remember...and we know that everyday is a battle but we fight it. Its nice to no longer be fighting alone.
Christmas is a hard time of year for me. It reminds me of all I don't have...and all I can't have. But it also reminds me of all my blessings. Family, my beautiful children, my husband...all those things that make it worth it when I have to get out of bed each morning and face a world that doesn't have her in it. Yes, there's much to rejoice in this year, and every year after. She's not with us in body, but we have an ever present, very real angel to adorn the top of our tree...and that's pretty special.

Bella, Baby G, Owen, and Hope.

Pregnancy Week 22. I've been waiting for this week, this post for awhile now. A lot of thoughts, and emotions have been poured into it, I've been working on it...in pieces for weeks now. Week 22 is bittersweet for me, it's hard. Here's the thing about losing a child. Once it happens, the "what if's" never really go away. So...here we are, smack dab in the middle of a (for the most part) healthy pregnancy, with a baby boy who, every single week proves to me how strong, determined, and permanent he is. And yet....so did she. All throughout our pregnancy with Bella, it never occurred to me that something could go wrong...until it did. And now, it's hard for me to imagine that a pregnancy CAN go ok, that things WILL be fine, and that we WILL hold our son...crying screaming and BREATHING.
         I saw the doctor yesterday, and they used the doppler to listen to his little heartbeat. Believe me when i tell you that his heartbeat is a sound I will NEVER get tired of listening to. There were a LOT of things about this appointment that were hard for me. Firstly, we're rapidly entering the point of the pregnancy where things went badly for my only daughter. Secondly, we've officially crossed into the difference between a miscarriage and a stillbirth which means, that's right, our little Owen is a person. (Not that we didn't always see him that way, just as far as legalities go.) Thirdly, they took me into the same little room they had me in right AFTER they told me that Baby G was gone. This little room, to me, signifies all things bad in pregnancy. Don't put me in that room anymore. Don't remind me of all the bad...I'm reminded of that everyday. Remind me of the good. Of the positive. Of what WILL be, of what SHOULD be...not of what wasn't, and what can never be.  
        So this week, will be a challenge for me. It will be full of trying to be optimistic, trying to focus on the good things. All the while, I'll be counting every kick, freaking over every ache and pain, tripping over anything out of the ordinary, and generally getting myself all worked up for what is likely NOTHING. Here are the facts. There's literally a .4 percent chance that the same thing that happened to Bella would happen to Owen. This chance is lessened dramatically by the fact that there is no exidence of placenta previa with this pregnancy. In fact, my placenta is as far away from my cervix as it's possible to be at this point in the pregnancy. That's GREAT news...and it means that what happened to Bella pretty much CAN'T happen again. And yet here I am....a week and a half from that point...around nearly the same time in the year that we got the news about Bella's and my condition. Needless to say, I'm freaking out. Every appointment has me on edge, waiting for the bad news...waiting for the shoe to drop....and then breathing the sigh of relief when, this week, we found his heartbeat, it's strong, he's still kicking, and i DON'T have to say goodbye to him. Yet. 
        Is it possible that God has decided we're ready for him? That Daniel may finally be blessed with the child he's always wanted, and that I may have done enough suffering...that my losses have been enough? Is it possible that this is really happening? That we'll get to hold him and touch him, and kiss him? That we'll watch him grow?  That years from now, I'll be watching him graduate preschool and start kindergarten? Is that really in the cards for us? Is Owen to be our rainbow baby? You can see I have a busy, busy brain. 
         So this week, I ask for prayers. I ask for love, support and understanding as I worry, fret, and freak needlessly. I ask you to understand, although I know many of you truly can't. I ask you to know that I don't try to be a downer, i don't TRY to look for the negatives...I just pray. Everyday I'm grateful for everything that Owen is, and everything I'm SURE he'll be...as soon as I get past everything that isn't, wasn't, and can't be. If you understand, tell me that, share your story, sympathize with me. If you don't understand, but you want to...ask. Nothing helps more than talking about her...about him, about it all. 
           Today, Tomorrow, And Yesterday.....we choose Hope. We remember. We keep moving forward, bringing the past with us, rather than living in it. We choose faith. We love, we lose, and we learn to live again. Every single day.