Unexpected and Strange Sight

Tonight my husband took care of BB while I had a much-needed nap. When I woke up, the house was empty. So I walked over to my in-law's, where I knew they would be visiting.

On the way, I fought the urge to hurl my body at the ground, flail my limbs, and scream my agony for my dead son. He should be at Grandma's, too.

It's a bust (ha, ha, a little breastfeeding humour there)

So there were only 3 mother women at the Breastfeeding Mom's group this morning. I didn't really connect with any of them. One was particularly annoying. And there were no formal introductions, so no simple way to bring C. into the conversation.

I don't mind talking about C. when it is natural to bring him into the conversation. But I don't think that I am going to get to the point where I say "So.... I had a dead baby. How 'bout you?" when there is a lull in conversation.

It was a little sad, though, to watch their older children play. There is about the same difference between my two kids and their two kids. And that is something that my heart notices.

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Thanks to everyone for popping in to say "hi." Especially those of you who lurk or don't comment much. Sometimes I feel like I send words out into the ether and no one notices. Now I am certain that someone notices. Thank you, my friends.

Do you see what I see?

Okay. Now go leave me a note on the post below. Or I will send the horrifying Toothy Monster after you. I'll warn you: he drools.

I'm just plain snoopy

So I got a couple of (really nice) anonymous comments. Which is cool. But not knowing who you are or where you are from makes me SOOOOO curious. Who are you? Why do you read? Are you a regular or did you just happen to come across my blog and found you could offer something to the conversation?

Rather than pick on my very sweet anonymous friends, let's play a game. According to my stats, I get about 40-50 visits a day. So I would love to know who you are. Leave me a comment. Like this:

Hi, Siku the polar bear here. From Churchill, Manitoba, Canada.*** I'm not a regular reader. I'm a bear. Bears can't read.

Or something like that. Just a few words. You can remain anonymous, I'm okay with that. Just leave me a little "I wuz here" note. To satisfy my curiosity.


P.S. This game can be played by lurkers and non-lurkers alike. Just so you know.

***You may want to get out to Churchill and see the polar bears before they're all gone. Just a thought.

3... 2... 1... JUMP!

OK. So I have been too chicken to go to any Mom's groups. You know the anxiety. But I have decided that I will get my sh*t together, pack a diaper bag, and go to the Mom's group that is run by Public Health. On Friday.

God, it makes me nervous. I am hoping that we do that thing where everyone sits in a circle and introduces themselves and their child. If this happens, I am planning on saying "Hi, I'm [delphi]. I have two children. Our oldest son, C. died during labour in 2005. This is his younger brother, [BB]. He is five and a half months old." Get it out of the way, you know? Because I would hate having to answer the questions over and over with each woman individually.

But maybe I am imagining this group to be more like a support group than a Mom's group. I don't know what happens at Mom's groups. Maybe they don't go around a circle and introduce themselves. Since this one is run by Public Health, I do know that they often get people in to speak to the group. Smart doctory-type people. So maybe there isn't as much interaction between the women. I don't know.

I do know that I have no REAL friends in my city - only women that are high-level acquaintances. There aren't going to be any real friends unless I get off my tukas and do something about it.

And C. can't be an excuse.

Even when you think you are "safe"

My darling husband helped out with a local memorial ceremony this weekend. After it was over, we went for pizza with some of the other people who helped. One (sort of weird) older gentleman asked "Is this your first?"

I bet that was the first time my grief counsellor watched one of her clients field that dreaded question. And I did it with class.

Updated to add: This wasn't a Babyloss Memorial. Just a general memorial. Or else the above would be TOO idiotic!

Gratuitous Babywearing Conversation with Myself

So I have a rather addictive personality. In that I easily become obsessed with certain things. I come from a long line of actual addicts, so it doesn't surprise me. So I have always had an aversion to all compounds that could hurt me if I became addicted (i.e. drugs, alcohol). Sure, I enjoy a bottle of wine now and then. But I don't make a habit of it.

Currently, I am obsessed with baby carriers. I already own this ring-sling.
It is a great option, but it is better with a smaller baby. I find the single-shoulder carry starts to get uncomfortable after 20 min. with my 18 lbs boy. And I stand with one hip jutting out to counterbalance, and that hurts my back.


So I think that I want a wrap carrier. The local store sells this one. My concern is that it is made of a cotton jersey knit. I have heard that the more stretch the fabric has, the more you have to adjust it while wearing (the weight of the baby stretches it out and then it isn't tight enough). Wraps are also kind of cumbersome for quick trips - it takes time to tie them. And the ends will drag on the ground while you are tying it (bummer if you are trying to put it on outside without getting it dirty). But it completely distributes the weight of the baby around your torso, which I love. I bought a length of cheapo fabric from Walmart to try some carries and loved the concept.


It is quite obvious, however, that my husband is NOT going to wear BB like the guy pictured above. I have yet to convince him that slings are manly attire. On the advice of a friend, I am considering the Er.go carrier. She drools over it, and she is the owner of everything from a Baby Bjorn (she hated it) to an organic cotton mei tai. The Er.go is rather manly, don't you think? So, if I am going to spend another $100 on a baby carrier, I should consider getting something he would wear too, right?

Anyone have any experience with the Trek.ker? The sales people at the Baby Gear store are pretty pushy about those, but my friend claims that the Er.go is better. But then again, the Trek.ker is Canadian (buy local, people!).







Does anyone have any preferences they want to share with me? I can't justify getting another ring sling (i.e. the beloved Ma.ya Wrap). But I am interested in opinions regarding the other options.

Following Niobe's lead

This rating was determined based on the presence of the following words:

• dead (2x)
• crap (1x)

Assuming those words were scanned from the post below.

Yikes

I had a gave birth to a dead baby in a hospital after a well-monitored pregnancy, so this scares the crap out of me. Any perspective I ever had on the idea flew out the window January 2005.

I just can't stand her.

I don't know why.

Here is a list of possible reasons why:

1. the first time we met, it was 10 months after C. died. She was on mat. leave. She talked about her son the whole time. Then verbally stumbled through the minefield when she asked about my kids.
2. she is covering my mat. leave and people like her.
3. she took her schooling through a correspondence course (it shows in her work, too) and seems to believe it is the equivalent to a degree earned at a reputable university.
4. she dresses inappropriately for her figure and for a professional environment.
5. she is overly familiar with clients.
6. she felt it appropriate to discuss her high school drinking binges at the corporate Christmas party - A Series of Unfortunate (and Unfunny) Anecdotes.
7. she didn't kowtow to me at all when she was my underling.
8. she is just a person that I wouldn't ever like, no matter what life circumstances were involved.

If it is reason 1, then I should just accept that I won't ever forgive her the injury to my soul when I was at my most vulnerable.

If it is reason 2-7, I should just get over myself already. So she works where I work. She won't replace me and she isn't better than me. I shouldn't feel so threatened.

If it is reason 8, I should just be happy that I only have to work with her, not live with her.

Sadly, it is very likely that she will still be employed in my department when I return to work next January. And, also sadly, I sort of wish that we could be friends. How often do you meet women the same age as you with similar interests?

It frustrates me when I can't tell if something is a grief response or just plain old cattiness.

The babies are here! The babies are here!

Catherine, I am doing my happy dance around my living room. You should see the butt wiggle!

Hooray!

Firsts?

We went out to a gathering of my work colleagues on Friday. It was generally enjoyable. But there was a conversation that has been eating at me.

"Is this your parents' first grandchild?" she asked. The woman who sat with her husband in the pew at C.'s funeral.

I didn't know what to say. So I chickened out and answered, "Yes."

Trying to turn the conversation I mentioned my husband's nieces.

"So this is [your husband's parents] first grandson?" asked another woman. The woman who wrote C.'s obituary.

I nodded half-heartedly.

They were trying to be nice. They put up with me gushing on and on about BB for 3 hours. They were just trying to make conversation.

But why couldn't they remember that BB is NOT our first child? And choose their words accordingly? And why couldn't I muster up the courage and find the right words to gently remind them about our perfect son C.?

So, from now on, when someone asks me if BB is the first grandchild, I will say "C. was their first grandchild and BB is their second." For my sanity.

Okay, I admit it (again)

I hear of other people having their first babies and I want to cry. My heart races and my stomach drops.

This is old, people, really old. Can't 2.5 years of this be enough? Why do I relive my trauma every time some high school friend's boyfriend's sister has a baby?

Blogger is possessed

Where is my post? Where is it?


***UPDATE**** There it is.

Lest we lose focus...

...I have nothing but the highest respect for stay-at-home-moms. I'm doing it right now. It ain't easy, my friends.

Here I am.. No, over here!!

Sorry. Signed up for facebook and got distracted from blogging. Now I am settled over there. I finally gave in to the demon, since my family has taken to communicating this way. I'm not happy about it (now how am I going to feel superior? - I don't facebook, thanks.), but it's done.

The wedding was bearable. I was surprised at how many times my heart tugged in C.'s direction. There really is something about a wedding, isn't there? Surrounded by all your family, but one. A day of hope and expectations. Jokes about how many kids the happy couple will have. Cooing over my living child. Many, many missed opportunities to say "BB looks like C."

Happily, there were few clueless comments to report.

Do you have women in your life who's only topics of conversation are their kids and the general state of procreation around them? The ones I know are stay-at-home-moms, but I wouldn't pin that as a general characteristic for all SAHMs.

Anyway, one particular SAHM had a grand old time laughingly describing her last labour in intimate detail. That was fun to listen to. I didn't join in - since no one is really that interested in hearing about C.'s labour (they get that look on their faces) and I am not going to talk about BB's labour like it was my only experience.

Then conversation turned to the noise level and how BB couldn't sleep with the DJ screaming (yep) into the microphone. SAHM told me that I should try having a 4 year old and 2.5 year old at home - then I would know noise. I resisted the urge to remind her that my 2.5 is just exceptionally quiet for his age.

All-in-all, not bad. Not bad at all.

Love is...

...when, despite the blinding headache you are left with due to sleep deprivation, you think of the 3:30 a.m. booby call with a smile. Because your silly little baby was laying there, kicking his feet on his mattress so hard that his little butt was bouncing everywhere, smiling the biggest gummy smile imaginable, and reaching his hands up to you.



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Thank you for all the moral support re: the previous post. I would like to have the guts to correct people, and I should. It just gets tiring, though, you know? But then when I am in the privacy of my own home, it really hurts that people would forget C. so easily. So it seems that I protect the people that hurt me at the expense of my own peace of mind. Really, I should stop letting others have so much control over my emotions. Easier said than done.

We are off to a wedding for the weekend. I will attempt to keep a list of all the well-intentioned but clueless comments so that I can share them with you come Monday.

Irking me

I know why people give me "new mom" advice. This is the first time a baby has lived in my house under my care. But when I get all this commentary about how "the first one is always easy to take care of - just wait until the second one", I want to scream "THIS IS MY SECOND ONE!!!!"

But where would that get us?

Random Thoughts

My baby has given up pooping. And sleeping during the day. Otherwise, he is perfect. He giggles. My heart fills when he giggles.
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I just googled a friend from high school. Gotta love that google. Lets you find out where people are and what they are doing without actually having to talk to them. Now I know where/what to avoid to not see this person again. Hurrah!
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Lori's piece here is amazing.
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Should I facebook?
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Should I go to my high school class reunion?
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Do you grow your own herbs? Why? What?
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I am going to wash sheets and hang them on the line to dry. It is a beautiful sunny day. I cannot wait to sleep in those sheets.

As Promised

Here are the pretty pictures.

My labour of love. My Love's labour (though he hates all things landscaping related - except if it involves a pressure washer). He indulged my need to landscape in that Summer of 2005. Good for the property value, good for water consumption (mostly it is a drought tolerant landscape), and good for my soul.

P.S. It is my intention to add pictures from Summer 2006, then on to 2007. We'll see if that happens. First, I need to do a LOT of weeding.