Quotable quotes

Again, from my Robert Kinkade day-by-day calendar:

"Learn the fine art of choosing what you will allow into your life, mind, and heart on a daily basis."

"Hope is a very resilient quality."

I own this calendar because it was a gift, and because the person who gave it to me liked the artwork on each of the pages. And, yes, the quotes are a little lame and corny. But the lameness is acceptable to me when it gives me something of a mantra for the day. Surround yourself with positive energy and all that crap.

I have something of an irrational fear of a mid-term loss. All of the women that I know (online) that have had more than one stillbirth have had one at term and one somewhere between 20-22 weeks.

So, a cornball and lame mantra works for me. Hope is a very resilient quality. Come on, powers that be - keep on infusing me with new shots of hope.

Today

“Resist the urge to take on all your complications at one time.”
– Thomas Kinkade: Lightposts for Living Day-by-day Calendar

I think this speaks to why I am so hesitant to have people talk about my life as it will be when I have this baby. By talking about the eventuality of birth, and assuming a positive outcome, I feel like I am being refused the months of time that I require to mentally prepare for the tasks at hand.

I need to get through today - mentally, spiritually, and physically whole. Please don't ask me to consider tomorrow. I will consider tomorrow when it is tomorrow.

How often have we been offered the advice: take one day at a time, live in the moment, worry for the future is fruitless and destroys the satisfactions of today. Yet people are constantly asking us to Live for the Future. When are you going to settle down? When are you getting married? When are you having kids? What are you doing for Thanksgiving?

I am happy today. I am okay today. My oldest son is still dead, but I am coping today. This baby is alive and I can rejoice in that today. Please just let me be who I am... today.

Beautiful Dawn

Take me to the breaking of a beautiful dawn
Take me to the place where we come from
Take me to the end so I can see the start
There's only one way to mend a broken heart

Take me to the place where I don't feel so small
Take me where I don't need to stand so tall
Take me to the edge so I can fall apart
There's only one way to mend a broken heart

Take me where love isn't up for sale
Take me where our hearts are not so frail
Take me where the fire still owns its spark
There's only one way to mend a broken heart

Teach me how to see when I close my eyes
Teach me to forgive and to apologize
Show me how to love in the darkest dark
There's only one way to mend a broken heart

Take me where the angels are close at hand
Take me where the ocean meets the sky and the land
Show me to the wisdom of the evening star
There's only one way to mend a broken heart

Take me to the place where I feel no shame
Take me where the courage doesn't need a name
Learning how to cry is the hardest part
There's only one way to mend a broken heart

-written by Ruth Moody of The Wailin' Jenny's

Go to http://www.thewailinjennys.com/video.aspx to see the music video for this song. You must hear the music to appreciate it the way I do.

Reading

Yay, I am reading something non-grief and non-Babyloss related. Since I am sure you are all dying to know, and have been scanning my Reading Recommendations for updates, here it is:

Beauty Tips from Moose Jaw: Travel in Search of Canada


This is a travelogue of Mr. Ferguson's many trips around Canada, to some of the wildest outposts and tamest cities. I am really enjoying it. It is an abridged and distorted history of our country, as seen through the eyes of a man visiting historic locales. He also wrote Canadian History for Dummies, and thus has a wealth of historic Canadian historical facts at his fingertips. His writing is rather engaging, though I wonder about audience (some of the references may be too obscure for non-Canadian readers). Anyways, if you are looking for a fun little trip through Our Home and Native Land, this is it.

P.S. Has anyone else read this?

I have work to do

I have not fully recovered from my pregnancy/baby envy. And I am starting to realize that I might not recover from that particular ailment any time soon (if ever). I still see a belly in a department store and stare at the woman with scorn and disgust. And don't get me started on the teenagers with their belly's and strollers in the mall.

It's too bad, really. I would like to be one of those people who smiles at pregnant woman with that twinkle in my eye and "congratulations" in my face. Wouldn't that be a nice way to be? But frankly, I am not that person and may never be.

I am still utterly shocked when I overhear people in casual conversation discussing what will happen "when the baby comes." Or watching rerun episodes of Friends, seeing Rachel discussing her plans to move out of Joey's apartment when the baby comes. Or even worse, hearing my own family talking about what they are going to do with the Babe when s/he comes. I am working really hard on the "when, not if" mindframe, but I cannot get my mind around how the rest of the world just takes the safe arrival of a baby so completely for granted. It utterly mystifies me.

Now that most people know that my belly harbours a little life (and is not just a summer beer belly), I have started thinking more about how I expect these people to fit in our life when the baby is born. And I realized last night that all of my mental preparation has been for me and my husband alone. Who am I kidding? Of course all the grandparents and friends and relatives will want involvement in this kid's life! And that thought scared the crap out of me.

I realized that I feel like this: if I bring a real live screaming baby home into my house, I am not sharing him/her with anyone! OK, the father may have some pull on that issue, but no one else.

Since this viewpoint is not realistic, I have about 5 months to get my brain straightened out on this issue. Yes, I am going to have to share. With people who annoy me.

In the same series of revelations, I realized that there are several people who are deeply ingrained in my life that I am harbouring some serious resentment towards. In particular, a couple who is part of our family who did the worst - they weren't there for us in the way that I thought they would be. To me, this is the worst of crimes, but a crime that the offenders rarely know they have committed. So it is sort of small of me to carry resentment towards them. But I do. And these people will have the expectation that they will be a part of the Babe's life. More crap that I have to deal with.

Oh, well, at least I have 5 months, right?

The question of eternity

I was watching Criminal Minds this evening and the episode featured a mother who secretly gave her son up for adoption so that no one would know that his father was a serial killer and sexual psychopath. At the end of the episode, the following quotation (I don't know who the author was) was given:

"The things we do for ourselves die with us, what we do for others live on eternal."

Of course, I see everything through the eyes of my experience. And I like the quotation in the sense that the things we do for our children will live on, even though they do not. And, if we play our cards right, it may be possible to have our baby's legacies become a comfortable and unforgettable part of our family histories.

That is what I want for my son. I want his brother/sister to be proud of him, to love him, and to see him as a valuable part of our family, despite the fact that he isn't physically present with us. I feel that way about my ancestors - I am proud of them and I love them (in a way), despite the fact that I have never had the opportunity to meet them. I realize that our subsequent children will not feel the depth of emotion that I feel or that my husband feels. And I do not ever want them to feel that they are trying to live up to some unachievable ideal that having an angel for a brother would set. But if a small fragment of our love is passed on to our other children, I will feel that I have found victory for my son's legacy.

When I look through my family history, a Canadian pioneer's history, there are several instances where infants died and were buried on the family property. Though the birth and death dates were recorded, it was a different paradigm. Nothing else was ever recorded about these children, though a few lived for almost 2 years. It saddens me that no one ever recorded what their favourite foods were or if there was a special teddy bear or blankie that they loved. Those are the things of memories. Those are the things that we need to pass forward. Who cares about names and dates? We can get those from reading headstones. In our family histories, we need to mark the personalities of those we love.

My son was an acrobat. We would play games together - he would push out on my stomach, pushing it into weird shapes, and I would push back. When he stuck out an arm or a leg in a way that I knew it was an arm or a leg, I would try to grab it through my belly. That would make him mad! He was an independent soul.

He made me crave sweets...he was just like his dad - a chocoholic. He wanted pies and cakes and cookies and, most of all, chocolate. He would dance like a maniac when he had all that sugar - he was very spoiled.

He was very active. He often had the hiccups. When I would lie in bed at night, it would make me crazy. I could feel a tiny, rhythmic bumping way down in my pelvis. Like someone tapping a steady beat on the inside of my cervix. How uncomfortable! And how lovable, all at the same time.

I have never loved anyone in the way that I loved him. I guess that is what people are saying when they say that becoming a parent changes you. The way that you love your child is something indescribable when you haven't felt that love.

Those are the things that I want my children to know about their brother. He was more than a couple of faded hospital polaroids and a granite stone in the cemetery. He would have been a great older brother, with plenty of character to spice up our family. His life, though short, was a life well worth remembering.

That is what I can do for my child.

Nothing profound...

My husband bought the cutest little jean outfit for the Babe today. Seriously, there is nothing sexier in the world than a man who buys baby clothes and then rushes home to show me how cute they are.

I am dealing a little better with the congratulations, etc. as people slowly hear the news at work. It is still slightly annoying, but I am coping better.

I need to do laundry, my house is one big dustbunny, and all I want to do is sleep. I need domestic help - my husband can't do it all.

Now if you want to read about something profound, go see Catherine or Sarah.

Issues, issues

Do we all have those benchmark children in our lives? I do. I know many other dead-baby moms have them. Those babies that were supposed to be best friends with our babies, since they had due dates a few weeks apart.

I saw my benchmark child for the first time this past weekend. 19 months makes that less tragic for me. So, this is what a 19 month old looks like. This is what a 19 month old behaves like. This is the little person who might have been our son's friend. Huh. There you go.

Surprisingly, I wasn't all that distraught by the experience. I have known for months that our paths would cross - this child belongs to a close relative, after all. I did expect to be more traumatized.

In many ways, I am lucky to have only one benchmark child to live the rest of my life watching. How many of you have half a dozen kids that are the age that yours would have been? We are the childbearing age, with friends and family of childbearing age. Which means that we can mark what we are missing by watching what others have.

I will admit, however, that I don't have much inclination to get to know this child. I don't have a distaste for her, just full-fledged disinterest. It doesn't help me in any way to agonize over the might-have-beens that are so obvious when I see this little person dance around. The walking, the talking, and the chubby legs. I am much better off not thinking about it all.

I have wondered (and am glad to know that there are women who can answer from their perspective) if Mommies who have older living children have the same obsessive-compulsive desire to monitor the growth of the benchmark children in their life. I am simply curious. I know I expend a lot of energy wondering what it might be like to have a 19 month old. Perhaps if I had experienced having a 19 month old before I would spend less time wondering what it would be like and actually mourn what it is that I know I am missing. What do you think?

----

Today marked the end of holidays for me. Which meant that me (and my blossoming tummy) went to work for the first time in several weeks. Which meant that there were more people to tell. I think that I was disappointed that there wasn't more excitement at my announcement. I am so bi-polar on this issue - I want people to leave me alone and then they do and I am disappointed. My department is almost exclusively made up of men, which may account for the lack of interest. And, curiously, 3 of the men have had pregnancy losses in their families. So perhaps they were intentionally respecting my privacy. Or perhaps my caution and lack of exuberance set the tone for the whole exchange.

It amused me, however, to have a casual conversation in the cafeteria with two women who spent half of their time glancing at my belly. They will see confirmation of their suspicions soon enough. I have decided to let their eyeballs do the discerning, rather than make some sort of formal announcement to every casual acquaintance that I have at work. Doing that would only open the door to conversation that I may not yet be prepared for. I need a chance to get used to talking to people I trust about this baby before I deal with people I barely know.

---

This baby is getting a bit more active. I thank everything for each of those little movements that say there is a little life in there. It is so hard to believe sometimes. I am just killing time until the 20 week ultrasound. I wonder if that will make it all a little more real. I just can't even imagine that in 23 weeks or less there may actually be a child of my blood living in this house. It's like I am not even scared about anything - I just have a really hard time believing it at all.

This is a crazy, crazy world that we live it.


P.S. I haven't seen Snakes on a Plane, nor do I expect to ever see it. Seriously, it looks like a terrible movie. So I get no end of pleasure making a mockery of something that I know nothing about...

Farewell privacy

What is better than sharing your news of a subsequent pregnancy with 200 of your family's closest friends/relatives? Let me see: life as a male praying mantis, being trapped with snakes on a plane, working on Christmas Day, skinning your knees and then falling into a vat of rubbing alcohol...

I think you get the idea.

This past weekend was just so uncomfortable. Most people at our family event were kind and excited and simply wished us "congratulations", which I could (sort of) deal with using a fake smile and quickly walking away or changing the subject. Then there were the ones that wanted to carry on the conversation...when's the big day, how have you been feeling, no morning sickness? I seriously considered making a placard to wear that said "thank you, end of January, fine, not really", but certainly that would have prompted more curiosity. I was going to tally the number of "how are you feeling?"s, but lost count early on in the day.

One family friend who really wanted to talk about this pregnancy accosted me when I sat down for a little rest (lordy, I was tired). She wanted to know all the details. When I was a little curt and evasive, she looks at me knowingly and says "You are nervous" to which I agreed. She then assured me "don't worry, they will monitor you really closely and everything will be okay."

OK, trying to be nice, I know. But I had 3 non-stress tests, 3 OB visits, and 3 biophysical profiles done in the week before our son died. I saw our GP the day before he died. He was being monitored. This woman knows none of this and was trying to be comforting. I just wish that people didn't feel the need to do that. They are talking to a person that lives in a different reality than they do. I just don't perceive the world in the same way that they do.

Another woman, a dear family member this time, was wholely drunk at the end of the evening and wanted to talk about the pregnancy when I was making farewells. She started off with "You take care of yourself so that nothing happens to this one" then proceeded into something like "don't worry, you're not going to do anything so that this one dies" then ended with a resounding "it'll all be okay". Or something like that. When I saw the direction the drunken spiel was heading, I tried to pull away and leave, but she had me by the arm. My brain went into panic mode and I honestly don't remember what all she said. I simply remember being mortified and astounded, all at the same time. The brain doesn't always remember specifics when you are in retreat mode.

I sound so much like I am telling stories to garner sympathy. But what I feel like I am doing here is writing it out to see if I feel the same way about the situation when I see it in black and white. For now, I think that I do. I feel like, now that people know that there is a new little human growing in my belly, all the respect for privacy that I may have had in the past is eliminated. I know that that is a part of any pregnancy - I have done this before. It is just that I feel as though I should be afforded extra respect in light of the fact that I have been here before, with an empty crib and broken heart to show for my troubles.

Much of my discomfort comes from two sources. First, I have spent the better part of the last 19 months building up a little castle of security around my life and my heart. I have my handful of people who understand me and don't judge me. I have learned how to deal with and distance myself from those who don't understand, but that I have to deal with on a regular basis. A blooming belly seems to instantaneously destroy that shelter that I have built in my life. My life and my family is now open to the prying eyes of the world. Strangers feel free to ask you all sorts of uncomfortable questions. Family members read this as the signal that I am ready to move on and it is okay to treat me as if I am the person that I was this time 2 years ago. I am not. And it scares the living daylights out of me to have all that security, false as it may be, so suddenly ripped away from me.

The second source of discomfort is likely the sensation that I am now supposed to "move on". I am constantly feeling as though this baby is seen as a replacement in the eyes of the world. I do not feel that way and it maddens me to think that anyone else might feel that way. Of course, I don't know what anyone else is thinking and I am not giving much credit to the people around me. But it is that faint possibility that anyone might think "well, good, enough thinking about that dead baby - she can forget about him now" that makes me cringe around everyone.

I should spend less time worrying about what anyone else thinks. I know what I think and I know what my husband thinks. And frankly, we are the only two that matter. But a lifetime of concern about the impression that I leave with others (gee, thanks Mom for that character trait) is impossible to abandon when you are suddenly feeling exposed and defenseless.

I guess what I am saying is that I don't know how to be so happy about the Babe and so sad about our son all at the same time. And making it a public affair makes it harder for me.

"Fine, thanks"

I am at a family function for the weekend. Current tally:
- 4 how are you feeling?s (in that irritating, overly concerned voice)
- 1 uninvited belly rub

This was in the group of 20 people that met tonight. Tomorrow night will feature 200 more candidates for the hated comments.

I just don't want to talk about it, people. I just don't.



P.S. The contractions have settled down a bit. So have my husband and I. I sure hope that these contractions are done for the next 24 weeks.

Neuroses

Well, I made my first panicked trip to see my local medical practitioners. I have been experiencing painless contractions off and on. They have assured me that all is well with the Babe and that there is no evidence of physical changes in me. So, not premature labour.

Nonetheless, it is terrifying when things aren't just tripping along. I am stressed. My husband is stressed. The doctors are kind and understanding, but keep telling me that there is nothing they can do about it.

So I am kind of on a modified bedrest. I am supposed to "take it easy" and see how things go. Activity seems to exacerbate the problem, so yep, that's me, laying on my left side watching reruns on daytime television. My holidays are over on Sunday so, if things worsen, I will call my doctor and get a release for real bedrest. Fortunately my job is not physical, so I suspect that I won't have to stop working. But I am more than willing to spend the next 24 weeks in bed if I need to.

Those kicks are pretty precious at this point.

Pregnancy talk

Well, the kicks are starting to be just a little less random now. I cannot express how much I love the kicks. But that does not negate the fact that they just feel weird. Weird-good, but weird. And Babe has a deadly aim when it comes to my bladder (and this is only the 16th week).

Secondly, a cause for concern. I have pain in my right hip, which is severely exacerbated by sleeping on my left side. What do we all know about right-side sleeping? I know the left is best, but is the right okay? Since I am relatively convinced that our son died sometime during the night, I have something of a fear of sleeping. According the the research of Dr. J Collins, the mother's blood pressure drops at about 2 a.m., which results in less blood pressure in the umbilical cord. So I am willing to attempt to sleep through abject pain in my hips if left-side sleeping is required. Of course, the Babe is really small right now, so cord compression isn't a huge worry for me quite yet (just a nagging fear). But, from experience, I know this hip thing isn't going to get any better.

Interestingly, the one thing that is causing me the most anxiety is having the general community start to find out about this pregnancy and stop me to wish me congratulations. Yes, I realize that this is something normal and nice, but it gives me anxiety attacks. And my acting is terrible - I can't look the person in the eye, I give one-word answers, I take the first avenue of escape. I wish I could be more normal about this. I wouldn't say, exactly, that I am afraid of people jinxing things with their naivete, but I think that may be the problem. If they pretend like everything is normal and don't acknowledge the fact that things may be precarious, I am annoyed. If they say something about how things may be precarious, I am annoyed. The general public can't win with me. I guess I just don't want to talk about something so precious to me with relative strangers. I can hardly bear to talk about this baby with my immediate family. There are about 3 people that I can comfortably talk to (in real life) and the rest cause me anxiety.

And finally, the whole "mother-to-be" and "father-to-be" phraseology is annoying to me. I believe that a person becomes a parent at the moment of conception, not at the moment of birth. Especially the mother (sorry Dads), since she has to take special care of herself for 9 months on behalf of the new little life.

Don't I sound grumpy? I'm not a grump - I just play one on my blog.

Not exactly cravings, but...

...I am eating rather strange things.

For lunch today - two eggs, scrambled with salt and pepper, with about 1 cup of mashed potatoes with butter, salt, and pepper. It was delicious, though not exactly what I would call a normal meal.

Sadly, everything that I might normally consume in reaction to cravings seems to cause painful intestinal distress, including:

• fries, and anything else deepfried
• Chinese food
• milk products, including ice cream and puddings, etc.
• (pasturized) feta cheese a.k.a. the cheese of the gods

Does anyone feel sorry for me? I know I do. At least I still have mashed potatoes.

P.S. I finished the scrapbook page from hell. On to the next one!

Where did the summer go?

I have an excellent job, as defined by having excellent holiday time. So I take a relatively long summer vacation. My husband has similar flexibility, which makes our holidays quite relaxing.

This summer has had more family engagements and commitments than normal and I have to go back to work in a week!!! I am so unprepared for this. The weeds are taller than my perennials. My house is rather messy. I have achieved none of my usual summer-related goals.*

I have been busy feeling sick, feeling achy, and growing a baby, but really, does that count so much? It isn't like life is going to get less busy when** the baby gets here. It would really help to get some of these chores done when I don't have work to worry about.

However, the biggest chore that was not finished this summer is the scrapbook that I am creating of our son's life. I am including all the activities and photos of the pregnancy that I can, and will include all the post-death paraphernalia that we have collected. All in all, I am pleased with the result thus far. But I am only into pregnancy month 5, and I really want this done before Babe gets here. I know that I still have 173 more days to get this thing done, but I am SOOOOOO anal about it. I have been working on the same page (off and on) for a week. I accept nothing less than perfection. So that really means that 173 days is not enough time.

I hope that I can do this. I want it done for our son's birthday. If only we had a decent craft store in town, where I could get the embellishments that I want without having to try to make pages without them or go out of town to get them. I am sure that would solve all my problems...



*My husband has been working his butt off, doing all the usual chores (and some unusual ones, too), without much help from me. This is why the house is not in a state where it should be condemed, but rather needs a little more TLC than just one person can possibly give (especially when the other person makes messes instead of cleaning them).
**notice the use of when, not if. Pretty good, no?

But I'm a *nice* person????

It must be the absolute desolation that exists in some part of our hearts, as grieving parents, that causes outbursts in blog comments. Or is it the relative anonymity of the internet that allows us to type things that we would never, ever say. Or is it just the nature of blogs?

I have recently commented on a few posts that I felt were important for me in my journey of grief. I honestly make every attempt to maintain a non-hostile tone in any comment that I make. But I know that it is so easy to misread and misunderstand TONE in anything that is written. The reader just doesn't know me, so I guess it can be pretty easy to feel like I am attacking them or their principles, when really I promise that I would almost *never* do that.

I did once, and promptly went back and apologized. It isn't my place to write offensive attack comments on someone else's blog. So trust me, my comments are always meant with the utmost of respect for the initial blog writer and for other commenters.

There is something about anonymity that bothers me (very hypocritical, I know, since I have made every attempt to keep my true identity secret for this blog). Here is one of the reasons why:

When I first began my career, I was working sometimes 16 hour days. I was in a blur of trying to understand the scope of my job, trying to see where I fit with the organization, and trying not to fall flat on my face. In the midst of all of this, I know that I wasn't doing my job perfectly - I had only worked there 4 months. But lordy, I was trying.

I was starting to develop about an iota of self-confidence when, one morning, my manager comes into my office and says "don't worry about the email - I don't believe any of it". I hadn't had time to check my email yet that day (working too hard), so I looked. I had received an anonymous email from someone that I had done some work for in the company. It was cc:'d to my manager and basically said that I was incapable of doing my job and that I should either be fired or I should be assigned someone to oversee everything that I did.

Looking back now, I know that it was all crap. Honestly, though I made mistakes, I was doing my job with just the same amount of proficiency as anyone would have, given 4 months experience. And, I would say that I was doing better than many would have in my position. I am still angered that the person who sent the email didn't have the guts to talk to me or my manager personally. Cowardly.

I guess that comments on blogs don't quite fall into the same category. And I guess that we all leave the comment section on our blogs active for one reason - it allows us to gain valuable insight and advice from people that are in the (relatively) same position that we are. And I need to remember that simply having buried a baby does not make any of our collective life circumstances identical beyond that one fact.

But, honestly, I am a nice person. Honest.

Why I read blogs

When I read the thoughts of other moms with similar experiences, it helps me to understand myself and my reactions a little better. So I must write in response to Catherine's recent post.

I think I understand what Catherine is talking about here, and I really appreciate the opportunity to think about what she is saying. It is all just so impossible to truly comprehend. If I lose this baby, I cannot tell you how I will react. Have I considered the possibility? Yes. Fully? Probably not. Will I survive? No choice.

But what it comes down to for me, I think, is that I am something of a hopeful person. In the middle of all of the worst, I still carry a beacon of hope. Today, I find that I am cheerful. I am buying baby clothes and looking at the few nursery items we have decided we still need (want). I am working really, really hard at saying when instead of if.

I am absolutely not saying that what Catherine wrote about is untrue; in fact, it is probably quite true in my case. But there is something in my personality that forces me focus on the chance that we will bring home baby and rages against the possibility of anything else.

Catherine, thank you for sharing this.

He makes me better.

My husband has made me promise not to overuse the Doppler. He is right, you know. There is no reason to Doppler the brains out of this baby. I don't like it, but I shouldn't Doppler 3 times a day just because it is cool and I like to hear the baby. We own the Doppler to ease my mind when it requires easing, not to inundate Babe with ultrasonic waves at every opportunity.

Which is why I am excited for today's prenatal appointment - I get to have my doctor Doppler the baby. And that is good. I have felt little flutters all morning, so have no fears of problems and I get to hear a heartbeat this afternoon.

The nightmares have begun - well, technically they have just intensified. Two nights ago, I dreamt I was miscarrying and woke with a terrible pain in my midsection from really having to pee. Last night was about being incapable to breastfeed. A few weeks ago, I was presenting at ER because I knew that the Babe was going to be stillborn if there wasn't intervention and no one would listen to me.

Fortunately, I have been able (thus far) to shake off said dreams. Of course these dreams are going to dog me - I worry in my waking hours, so what do I expect?

As much as I hate to admit this, I am much better equipped to deal with these worries today that I would have been one year ago. I am not saying that I am glad that conception took a full year, I am just saying that things are possibly a little easier at this time. I would trade off this current peace of mind to have this baby already here and in my arms.

I was also thinking about all the of the emotional/spiritual changes that I have experienced since our son's death. About the people that I have met, the insight that I have gained, the empathy that I have developed, the relationship that has grown between the two of us, etc. These are important and beautiful things, and I cherish them. But if I were ever given the opportunity to change that one important fact - my son died - there would be no moments of thought before I said "do it - let him live". I think that most of the women/men who read here would understand what I am trying to say. I hate it when people tell me that these things were the gifts of my son's death, as though I should be grateful that he died, as though these things give meaning to his death. There is no meaning and I am not grateful. What I am grateful for is that I have managed to find some richness in my life despite the fact that he died, not because he died. And I am grateful for the people who have made that possible.

And, my love, the person who makes me better is you.

Home again, home again...

Fabulous wedding.

Stressful moments.

Whilst out killing time, a crazy old lady sitting on a bench in the mall yelling "when's the baby due?" across the corridor at me.

My expanding belly making my pregnancy the worst-kept secret of the evening (who cares, no one asked me about it, so I don't care if they "figured it out"). It was both mildly amusing, and slightly annoying to hear "good luck with everything" from those who had figured things out.

I bought myself a Snoogle,* in the hopes that it will making left-side sleeping possible and bearable. Something that I wasn't fanatical about with my son, and something that I am fanatical about now (one more on the list of would it have made a difference?). I slept on my right side, and sometimes woke up in sort of a half-on-my-back position, despite the mountains of pillows that I propped on all sides of me. I slept on my own for the last months of pregnancy, with hip pain, peeing in the night, and 15 pillows making it impossible to do anything else. The Snoogle takes up much less room, and will hopefully make the pain less and bed sharing possible. The last thing I want to do is keep away from my husband from October through January.

Here's another comment that I want to add to my list of hates: "I am so glad to waited until you were ready to get pregnant again." I recognize, of course, that this is partly our doing, since we told less than a handful of people that we were even trying. But isn't that typical? Most people don't have a problem with sub-fertility or infertility, and can't even imagine that it is possible to take more than 3 months to get pregnant. I imagine most people will think the same - that we waited. Which is nice, in a sense, that they acknowledge our son's presence in that way, but is upsetting in that it negates our hellish, year-long expedition into charting, semen analysis, HSG, internal ultrasound, worry, and heartache. We have had a taste of sub-fertility, and my respect for those with fertility issues is enormous. So this expectation of immediate pregnancy after "waiting" makes me feel irritable, on behalf of all couples who deal with fertility issues.

Glad to be home for a couple weeks before undertaking yet another similar expedition.



*I think it is hilarious that the company shows, in its suggested sleeping positions, a very pregnant woman sleeping on her back. Is it just me, or does anyone else thing that the model is wearing a prosthetic tummy and no one at the photo shoot had a clue of how dangerous that could possibly be???

On the road again...

Just what my pained pelvic region needs - another car trip. But off we go on yet another adventure in nostalgia. A dear friend is joining the ranks of us "marrieds" this weekend, so off we go.

Please, please, please let there be no comments that make my stomach drop 15 feet, my knees weak, my breath leave me, and the colour drain from my face. People that knew me 10 years ago but don't know me now might be just the people to make those comments. And I now have a belly that is hard to hide.

Though my skin is getting thicker by the day, I still cannot blow off the things that people say to me. But that just isn't my personality - I must fester and muse and worry until it loses its pain, or I have something else to fester over. At least my husband loves me this way (not exactly loving the trait, but still loving the person).

No stress, zen, la la la. I can do this. Besides, we have a great hotel room to escape to if escape is warranted.


P.S. I am switching fully to maternity clothes. Each time I do laundry, the regular clothes that don't fit get moved into a Rubbermaid tub. Maternity clothes make you look pregnant.

Happier times?

Perhaps in a unconscious throwback to youth, when (through the idealizing rose-coloured glasses of time) things were a lot simpler, I have filled the air in my house with the anthemic strains of Van Halen, Def Leppard, Bon Jovi, et. al. This baby is going to be an 80s rock fan, not by choice, but by pure inundation.

I want to point out that I am not at all interested in anything that involved or involves David Lee Roth. Anyone seen the bare feet and the bluegrass band? I feel sorry for the bluegrass band.

And no Poison for me. I still don't get the hair and makeup. I suppose that my love of "we're not going to take it" is a bit contradictory, considering the Twisted Sister get-up, but what can you do? Twisted Sister did a lot less strutting, in my opinion.

Rock on, baby.

From the minds of...

I shared our news with the in-laws 6 year old. Conversation like this:

Me: Auntie is going to have another baby.
6: How do you know?
Me: I went to the doctor.
6: Oh. So does that mean I am getting another cousin.
Me: Yep.
6: (exasperated) I have sooooooo many cousins now.*

Cut to the end of conversation, as joined by my husband:

6: Does Uncle know?
Me: Yes.
6: How does he know?
DH: I was there.
6: (quizzical look)
Me: (exasperated - like I want to explain the facts of life to a 6 year old) He came to the doctor with me.



*6 doesn't have any other actual cousins (living), however, does have a number of second and third cousins that are referred to as cousins.

I love technology

Unbeknownst to me, my darling husband won an eBay auction for a Doppler last week. It arrived in the mail yesterday. He found Babe's heartbeat immediately, after me not even being able to find my own. I apparently suck at positioning the wand, but bing-bang-boom he found 158 beats per minute.

So, problem 1 solved. Problem 2, that of gas and bloating I seem to have under control, via careful monitoring of food intake. I bought PopTarts today. Oh, yum.

As for Problem 3, a.k.a. Am I really feeling kicks? I am going to have to go with a resounding "yes". The movements are just too organized for random gas bubbles.

So how about this one? I recently heard that soy may be toxic for baby in pregnancy???? Is this just one more crackpot internet theory, or have any doctors out there actually bought into this theory?? Should I toss my brand-new carton of soy milk?

And HELLO MILO!!!!! And thanks to DBM for this update!