It's the end of September. Although I don't talk about it as much as I talk of Landon, if things had been different, I would have been throwing a big first birthday Rainbow baby party, it probably would have been today. There would have been tons of people here, or in the church fellowship hall, or the firehouse community room, or somewhere. I would have cooked too much food, made a special cake, overbought presents, and come home dead tired. Instead, we had a nice family day here at home. I fixed burritos with copycat spicy white queso sauce. We put the girls to bed, took Aidan to the "hot" (warm) tub for a dip, got him to bed, and I'm dead tired.
My due date with my first rainbow pregnancy was September 17th or 19th. I don't remember now. I feel bad about it, but I just don't.
I was scared to death that morning in January 2010 when I saw those 2 pink lines for the first time since Landon. There was a living being inside of me, for the first time since he was ripped from my womb. I was almost hesitant to believe it. Of course we didn't even wait a day before telling everyone. And I do mean everyone. We both even posted it on Facebook. It was so soon after Landon, about 7 months after he was born, that his death was still front and center in everyone's mind. We got tons of congratulations.
I remember I went out and bought 2 new maternity tops right away. I believed it was my last pregnancy, I was determined to make the most of it. I ordered 2 pairs of maternity jean shorts (jorts?) off of eBay. I had never been pregnant through the dead heat of summer, so I had no shorts. Two weeks. Two weeks was how long I got to bask in the glow of new pregnancy. I went in for my early OB visit, and my doctor wanted me to have an ultrasound that week, for dating purposes. Because I was absolutely not a candidate for vbac, he wanted to be absolutely sure that my dates were right. My office visit was on Wednesday. The ultrasound was on Friday. I of course went online to see what an ultrasound of a 6 week 4 day baby would look like. He or she should have had a head and tail end and a heart beat. Friday came. I was excited and scared. I hopped up on that table, the ultrasound lady who had shown me my other babies was working.
She started the scan. Asked me multiple times if I was absolutely sure of my dates. We were actively trying to get pregnant, I probably could have pinpointed to within an hour of when we conceived! Of course I was sure. There was no heartbeat, no fetus at all. Just an empty 4 week sac. I knew it was over. But no one else would accept it. I went for I don't know how many blood draws. My hcg was rising but not doubling. I had more ultrasounds that pregnancy than I did with Aidan or Landon. It never changed, and by the next-to-last one, that little sac was shrinking. It took two more weeks before I actually miscarried. It was all through valentine's day.
I was sad. But I was still so broken over Landon, that I just didn't have the energy to fall apart over it. I only cried once. In the OB office, talking to the midwife. I asked her why my body kept killing my babies. She had a heck of a time trying to convince me that the 2 losses were totally unrelated. As I left she said there was no need to wait, go get pregnant. It took longer than I thought it would, but get pregnant I did. And we all know the rest, I have two gorgeous rainbow baby girlies. Who I wouldn't have, if my September baby had made it.
After the miscarriage, I discovered a truly amazing online loss support group for older moms. I've made several true friendships through there, that I also would never have without having lost my little September baby. I like to think that maybe Landon needed a sibling in Heaven with him. I miss them both, but will see them again someday. For now, I'll just give my three earth bound angels and their daddy all my love.
Sunday, September 25, 2011
Monday, September 12, 2011
It does affect me.
I can't believe it has been ten years. It seems like just yesterday, but was a lifetime ago. I was living in a little one bedroom, furnished apartment, working 12 hour night shifts. I had worked the night of the tenth, came home that morning, took a shower and went straight to bed. I slept with a TV on at that point (before kids started sharing my bed and/or room), and kept hearing the words "plane", "crash" "World Trade Center", just over and over. At that time, I had no idea what the World Trade Center even was, I'm not a city-type person. I had no concept of how deeply the hatred of Americans runs in other parts of the world. My biggest concern was how not to enrage my ex husband.
Those words kept repeating, I thought I was dreaming. Eventually, the repetition of those words was enough to wake me. I still remember rolling over, and focusing on the TV, just in time to see one of the towers collapsing. Once I was awake and coherent, I was piecing together what the news was saying, what was going across the screen. I figured out that what I had seen was, in fact, real, and that it was a re-play, not live action. I had slept through the entire attack.
At first I, being an optimist, thought what a bizarre series of accidents. I didn't WANT to believe that anyone could have done something so horrendous on purpose. I didn't WANT to accept that we had been attacked. On purpose. But, by the time I headed back into work at 7:00 that evening, my heart was broken, I had to accept that this was a planned, purposeful attack.
What went through my mind? For starters, the evenings when I was in Junior High, watching on TV as Bush, Sr talked about Operation Desert Storm. I knew in my heart that we were at war again. It may not have been declared, but it was a war. Next, I wanted my mom. Nothing else would do, I wanted my mom, at least to talk to her. I knew nothing had happened in our little hick town neck of the woods, but I still needed to know she was OK. She works for the local school system, and was in class when it happened, but I still needed to talk to her. I also remember thinking how broken hearted my Popaw would have been, if he had been alive to see it. He had been dead just over four months. It's funny the things that ran through my mind along with the fear. I was actually afraid to head out to work, wondering what more could happen.
I worked in a nursing home, and some of the more lucid residents were very upset, several told about their experiences with Pearl Harbor, wondering if it were the beginning of World War III.
I don't think I was as heartbroken then about the attacks as I am now, as a mother. I think I was more numb than anything that day. I wanted to be in denial about it, but how could I be, when the footage was everywhere. Every channel. Round the clock. NO escaping it.
I remember passing the Speedway gas station on my way in to work, and there was a traffic jam. Everyone in town was trying to get gas. Everything was in slow motion.
I remember the footage of people jumping out of the towers. That still haunts me. How terrifying their last minutes on earth must have been. How horrible, that they chose to jump to their deaths rather than face the inferno inside those buildings.
I remember what a perfect, clear, beautiful day it was, the sort of day you savor as you know you're headed fast into the winter months. The sky was so blue here that day, as it looked on TV in New York. I kept thinking, in my confused wonderings, "How can this be real? It's such a pretty day. How can this be happening on such a perfectly sunny day?" Like, bad things should only happen on cold, rainy, foggy, gloomy days or something.
As time passed, and the numbness, the shock, wore off, other things occurred to me. Thousands of moms lost their kids. Kids lost their parents. Wives lost husbands, husbands lost wives. Sisters lost brothers. Everyone who died was loved by someone, there was someone to mourn each and every life lost. We, as a country mourned, but imagine having lost your best friend, your lover, the father of your children, having to raise those kids alone, and explain to them what happened. Someone, some group of someones, did that to us. On purpose. Dammit, on purpose.
Now, as a mom, I'm faced with knowing that the day is coming that I will have to explain to Aidan, to Rebekah, to Gracie, exactly what happened on that day in September 2001. A good friend of mine was faced with that this very year, she has a first grader and a kindergartner. She just gave them the bare bones version of it, but even that is scarier than any ghost tale they may hear at a campout. This is real, and was done ON PURPOSE.
I've seen some really disturbing opinions today. People saying they just don't care. Because it doesn't affect them. Saying that we, as a country, are making too big a deal of it. We need to just leave it alone, why are we dedicating a whole day to something that happened ten years ago. That line of thought sickens me. I am very proud to live in America. I'm proud of my home, of my town, of my state, of my country. I love what America has always represented, I love the very thing our attackers hate, our Freedom.
If you live in America, if you're an American, then 9/11 DOES affect you, whether you want to believe it or not. Even though I was no where near any of the attacks or carnage, I was attacked that day. So were you. So was your neighbor, so was the man on the street, the cashier at the grocery store, the old woman in the nursing home, the baby being born. America, our way of life, our security and stability, was attacked. Those who DID die that day and in the days following, they DESERVE to be honored, remembered, prayed for. The survivors, who lost someone they loved, deserve our prayers, our recognition.
I have a friend who is a widow now. No, her husband didn't die on 9/11. He died in August of 2010 in Afghanistan. Her kids have to go to a grave to visit Daddy. My first crush, a guy who was at my 6th grade camp as a counselor, was one of the first local boys killed in the war that was sparked by these attacks.
Our way of life has changed in so many ways. Just traveling by plane has become an ordeal. The security measures are in place for a reason, and I'm glad of it, but I wish there was no need for such drastic measures. Gas prices are up. The economy is in the toilet. People have lost hope in the American Dream. All because a group of terrorists attacked US. On purpose.
There've been other American tragedies. Pearl Harbor. Katrina, and most recently Joplin. My heart breaks for all of those lost, but 9/11 was just different. Yeah, death is death is death. But. Pearl Harbor, God, that was bad. Of course I don't remember it, but reading about it, visiting the Memorial, all of that really hurt my heart. However, those killed, they were enlisted. They were attacked in a war, they were pretty well informed of the risks. I don't think for a minute that what I've just said makes their deaths any less tragic. However, innocent civilians were targeted and killed on 9/11. Not as an act of war, but as an act of terror. All those people did was go to work. That's it. And never came home.
Katrina and Joplin were acts of nature. Horrible, scary acts of nature. People died, the damage and destruction was devastating. But, what makes the attacks on 9/11 so much more frightening to me, is that there was a human being behind them. A person, with a mother and a father, not only planned this, but executed it as well. How sick, depraved, evil, must a person be to even imagine doing something like that? And then to organize enough equally evil, depraved, sick people to execute it? That, my friend, scares me. Until that September day ten years ago, I had so much faith in humanity, I believed that most people are good. Then that innocence was stolen. I still want to believe that most people are good people, but now I know that true evil really exists, and I am a target, as are all Americans. Just for being American. Yes, it affects me.
Do I let that affect how I live my life? Not really. I pray a lot, for my safety, for the safety of my loved ones, I pray for our leaders, for our soldiers. I still enjoy life. I love my husband, our kids, my mom, my family.
I think that September 11 should be a National Holiday. A day to remember and mourn what we've lost. A day to be with family, to rejoice in what we haven't.
Also, we should all take time to thank a service man or woman for what they do to defend our way of life. We take so much for granted, but really, how hard is it to say those 2 words? Thank. You.
Those words kept repeating, I thought I was dreaming. Eventually, the repetition of those words was enough to wake me. I still remember rolling over, and focusing on the TV, just in time to see one of the towers collapsing. Once I was awake and coherent, I was piecing together what the news was saying, what was going across the screen. I figured out that what I had seen was, in fact, real, and that it was a re-play, not live action. I had slept through the entire attack.
At first I, being an optimist, thought what a bizarre series of accidents. I didn't WANT to believe that anyone could have done something so horrendous on purpose. I didn't WANT to accept that we had been attacked. On purpose. But, by the time I headed back into work at 7:00 that evening, my heart was broken, I had to accept that this was a planned, purposeful attack.
What went through my mind? For starters, the evenings when I was in Junior High, watching on TV as Bush, Sr talked about Operation Desert Storm. I knew in my heart that we were at war again. It may not have been declared, but it was a war. Next, I wanted my mom. Nothing else would do, I wanted my mom, at least to talk to her. I knew nothing had happened in our little hick town neck of the woods, but I still needed to know she was OK. She works for the local school system, and was in class when it happened, but I still needed to talk to her. I also remember thinking how broken hearted my Popaw would have been, if he had been alive to see it. He had been dead just over four months. It's funny the things that ran through my mind along with the fear. I was actually afraid to head out to work, wondering what more could happen.
I worked in a nursing home, and some of the more lucid residents were very upset, several told about their experiences with Pearl Harbor, wondering if it were the beginning of World War III.
I don't think I was as heartbroken then about the attacks as I am now, as a mother. I think I was more numb than anything that day. I wanted to be in denial about it, but how could I be, when the footage was everywhere. Every channel. Round the clock. NO escaping it.
I remember passing the Speedway gas station on my way in to work, and there was a traffic jam. Everyone in town was trying to get gas. Everything was in slow motion.
I remember the footage of people jumping out of the towers. That still haunts me. How terrifying their last minutes on earth must have been. How horrible, that they chose to jump to their deaths rather than face the inferno inside those buildings.
I remember what a perfect, clear, beautiful day it was, the sort of day you savor as you know you're headed fast into the winter months. The sky was so blue here that day, as it looked on TV in New York. I kept thinking, in my confused wonderings, "How can this be real? It's such a pretty day. How can this be happening on such a perfectly sunny day?" Like, bad things should only happen on cold, rainy, foggy, gloomy days or something.
As time passed, and the numbness, the shock, wore off, other things occurred to me. Thousands of moms lost their kids. Kids lost their parents. Wives lost husbands, husbands lost wives. Sisters lost brothers. Everyone who died was loved by someone, there was someone to mourn each and every life lost. We, as a country mourned, but imagine having lost your best friend, your lover, the father of your children, having to raise those kids alone, and explain to them what happened. Someone, some group of someones, did that to us. On purpose. Dammit, on purpose.
Now, as a mom, I'm faced with knowing that the day is coming that I will have to explain to Aidan, to Rebekah, to Gracie, exactly what happened on that day in September 2001. A good friend of mine was faced with that this very year, she has a first grader and a kindergartner. She just gave them the bare bones version of it, but even that is scarier than any ghost tale they may hear at a campout. This is real, and was done ON PURPOSE.
I've seen some really disturbing opinions today. People saying they just don't care. Because it doesn't affect them. Saying that we, as a country, are making too big a deal of it. We need to just leave it alone, why are we dedicating a whole day to something that happened ten years ago. That line of thought sickens me. I am very proud to live in America. I'm proud of my home, of my town, of my state, of my country. I love what America has always represented, I love the very thing our attackers hate, our Freedom.
If you live in America, if you're an American, then 9/11 DOES affect you, whether you want to believe it or not. Even though I was no where near any of the attacks or carnage, I was attacked that day. So were you. So was your neighbor, so was the man on the street, the cashier at the grocery store, the old woman in the nursing home, the baby being born. America, our way of life, our security and stability, was attacked. Those who DID die that day and in the days following, they DESERVE to be honored, remembered, prayed for. The survivors, who lost someone they loved, deserve our prayers, our recognition.
I have a friend who is a widow now. No, her husband didn't die on 9/11. He died in August of 2010 in Afghanistan. Her kids have to go to a grave to visit Daddy. My first crush, a guy who was at my 6th grade camp as a counselor, was one of the first local boys killed in the war that was sparked by these attacks.
Our way of life has changed in so many ways. Just traveling by plane has become an ordeal. The security measures are in place for a reason, and I'm glad of it, but I wish there was no need for such drastic measures. Gas prices are up. The economy is in the toilet. People have lost hope in the American Dream. All because a group of terrorists attacked US. On purpose.
There've been other American tragedies. Pearl Harbor. Katrina, and most recently Joplin. My heart breaks for all of those lost, but 9/11 was just different. Yeah, death is death is death. But. Pearl Harbor, God, that was bad. Of course I don't remember it, but reading about it, visiting the Memorial, all of that really hurt my heart. However, those killed, they were enlisted. They were attacked in a war, they were pretty well informed of the risks. I don't think for a minute that what I've just said makes their deaths any less tragic. However, innocent civilians were targeted and killed on 9/11. Not as an act of war, but as an act of terror. All those people did was go to work. That's it. And never came home.
Katrina and Joplin were acts of nature. Horrible, scary acts of nature. People died, the damage and destruction was devastating. But, what makes the attacks on 9/11 so much more frightening to me, is that there was a human being behind them. A person, with a mother and a father, not only planned this, but executed it as well. How sick, depraved, evil, must a person be to even imagine doing something like that? And then to organize enough equally evil, depraved, sick people to execute it? That, my friend, scares me. Until that September day ten years ago, I had so much faith in humanity, I believed that most people are good. Then that innocence was stolen. I still want to believe that most people are good people, but now I know that true evil really exists, and I am a target, as are all Americans. Just for being American. Yes, it affects me.
Do I let that affect how I live my life? Not really. I pray a lot, for my safety, for the safety of my loved ones, I pray for our leaders, for our soldiers. I still enjoy life. I love my husband, our kids, my mom, my family.
I think that September 11 should be a National Holiday. A day to remember and mourn what we've lost. A day to be with family, to rejoice in what we haven't.
Also, we should all take time to thank a service man or woman for what they do to defend our way of life. We take so much for granted, but really, how hard is it to say those 2 words? Thank. You.
Tuesday, September 6, 2011
Chances worth Taking
It is hard for us to take chances. When you've been hurt by something, it's hard to open yourself up to that same sort of hurt again.
I've mentioned before that Larry is my second husband. The first one was just bad. He wouldn't work, he'd lie about working for weeks, til I would really push about where the paycheck was. He was abusive, mentally, emotionally, and physically. He had me so emotionally dead, that I didn't care about anyone or anything by the time we finally split up. I had no self esteem, he had convinced me that I was so worthless no one would ever want me. I had a miserable excuse for a life. It was bad. I wasn't even allowed to wear make-up.
When we split, I hated myself. I hated men. I hated everything. Hate was eating me from the inside.
I swore I'd never let that happen to me again. It was a lot of work getting past all of that. A lot of work. I figured the only way to keep it from happening again, was to never get into any sort of long term commitment again. That worked well for me for a while.
After a couple of years of that, I realized that I was lonely and unfulfilled. I hadn't stopped wanting to have kids, not at all. But, I didn't want the husband to go with it. But I also didn't want to be a poor single mother. And, we would have been poor. I made enough to support myself, but it wouldn't have been any sort of life for a child. I slowly felt myself becoming more open to a second marriage. Slowly. I surely wasn't rushing into anything.
I started dating people I might be serious about. But for one reason or another, it just didn't work out with any of them. Til I met my Larry. Marrying him was the biggest leap of faith I'd ever taken up til that point. Thank God, things worked out, and I'm so happy with him. He's NOTHING like the first one, at all. He's so good to me. We rarely fight. I live my life to be a good wife for him, and he strives to be a good husband. I feel like I'm right where I'm supposed to be. I'd take every minute of the bad years of my first marriage a hundred times, if I knew he'd be waiting for me on the other side of it. That was most certainly a chance worth taking.
I worked in nursing homes my whole adult life, until right before I had Aidan. I had worked at one early on in my career, and it was a miserable experience. Add that into the miserable home life, and all I had of the place was bad memories. Several years later, I decided I needed a job switch, and the place was hiring, offering the wages I wanted and the hours I preferred. So, I went and applied, was hired on the spot. I ended up loving it the second time, and worked there for nearly 3 years before quitting to become a stay at home mom. That was another chance worth taking.
Then came Landon. Nothing in my life has ever hurt me as badly as seeing him so sick, so lifeless, and then watching him die. I pray daily, several times daily, that I never have to feel THAT kind of hurt again. He was born dying. As badly as I wanted him to live, as hard as I pushed doctors and nurses and specialists to make him live, we knew he was dying. It still hurts. It will always hurt.
At his funeral Larry's aunt blatantly asked if I was able to have more kids. She was just the first to ask, it was asked a lot more times, and in different ways over the next year or so. Of course I was able, but how could I ever do that again? How could I take that chance? How could I give my heart that freely, that completely, again, knowing how things could end?
I won't lie. I WANTED to try again. I WANTED, craved, needed another baby. Not to replace Landon, but to complete my family. I never intended for Aidan to grow up as an only child. Larry had already decided on the day Landon was born that we would, in fact, try again, as soon as I was ready. He told me that night that he had a strange feeling we would have twins, a boy and a girl. He was half right.
I was so scared to think of being pregnant again. The idea of pregnancy, for me, had been soured and tainted by the worst pain of my life. I know I had Aidan, who was perfect, a perfect pregnancy and delivery, but it was so hard to think about that when all I could focus on was what happened to Landon. The doctor who delivered Landon, and the doctor that I saw for all of my OB visits, both were really encouraging in their outlook for me to have another baby. They both promised me that I'd be watched really closely and would be delivered immediately if any problems were detected. What killed Landon would have been found by ultrasound or non-stress test. I really think that late ultrasounds and non-stress tests should be routine in all pregnancies, but that's my soapbox.
So, we were told to wait six months to try, and we did. By December, the 6 month mark, I was pretty ready. As ready as I'd ever be. We found out in January of 2010 that I was pregnant. I was scared to death. I wanted to be happy. I think I was happy, briefly. By the time I had fully accepted that I really was pregnant, I was miscarrying. You'd think that would have made me even more hesitant to try again, two losses in a row. But, I'll be honset. I was sad, but not devastated, the way I would have been if I had miscarried without ever losing a full term infant. That miscarriage pushed me to an almost obsessive determination to have another baby. After I was cleared to try again, I was like a madwoman. I spent a small fortune on ovulation tests, pregnancy tests, basal body thermometers. I would take pregnancy tests every single month, whether I had any symptoms or not. Month after month of negatives.
I was starting to get angry. In addition to the sadness. Landon's first birthday came and went. The anniversary of his death. Praying, pleading, for a chance to have another baby of my own. Scared to death of the pregnancy,but still praying for it nonetheless.
I was so scared of being pregnant again, but so scared of never being pregnant again. I felt like I was going crazy. Also wondered if I was cheating Landon, was my obsession with getting pregnant again overtaking the grief? A good friend of mine from an online loss group said that her doctor told her, "You're going to grieve whether you're pregnant or not. I see no reason to wait." And it is true, being pregnant didn't take a thing away from Landon, any more than it took away from Aidan. There's room in my heart to store love for all my kids, grief for Landon, hope for the future, all of it.
So, when I finally did get pregnant, I knew something was different. Figured it was a multiple pregnancy. Don't know exactly why, but I knew in my heart it was twins before that ultrasound. For one thing, my bloodwork came back with off-the-charts high numbers. But even without that, I think I knew it.
When it was confirmed by ultrasound, I was still shocked. Shocked that the pregnancy was even viable. And then the fear set in. I was so afraid the entire time I was pregnant. I don't think I ever fully relaxed. When I'd talk about the babies, I would say, "If they're born healthy" or "If they're ok". It was never "When the twins are born." Even the night before my c-section, I was full of "if's".
Then they were born. And it was amazing. Hearing each of their first cries, when Landon never made a sound. Holding them without any tubes or wires attatached. Being able to nurse them, burp them. Seeing them poop like they were supposed to. TAKING THEM HOME. All of that was so precious to me. Now, today, they turn five months old. And they're still amazing me every single day. They're rolling and laughing so much. So funny. Their brother is their favorite plaything. And he loves them so much.
Definitely a chance worth taking. I'd do it all over again. No regrets.
Gracie
Gracie again. This picture smacked me in the face with how fast they're growing up!
This picture of my sweet Rebekah makes me want to go get her out of bed just to kiss that mouth.
And, for good measure, here's big brother, in the outfit he picked out for himself, celebrating the end of Summer!
I've mentioned before that Larry is my second husband. The first one was just bad. He wouldn't work, he'd lie about working for weeks, til I would really push about where the paycheck was. He was abusive, mentally, emotionally, and physically. He had me so emotionally dead, that I didn't care about anyone or anything by the time we finally split up. I had no self esteem, he had convinced me that I was so worthless no one would ever want me. I had a miserable excuse for a life. It was bad. I wasn't even allowed to wear make-up.
When we split, I hated myself. I hated men. I hated everything. Hate was eating me from the inside.
I swore I'd never let that happen to me again. It was a lot of work getting past all of that. A lot of work. I figured the only way to keep it from happening again, was to never get into any sort of long term commitment again. That worked well for me for a while.
After a couple of years of that, I realized that I was lonely and unfulfilled. I hadn't stopped wanting to have kids, not at all. But, I didn't want the husband to go with it. But I also didn't want to be a poor single mother. And, we would have been poor. I made enough to support myself, but it wouldn't have been any sort of life for a child. I slowly felt myself becoming more open to a second marriage. Slowly. I surely wasn't rushing into anything.
I started dating people I might be serious about. But for one reason or another, it just didn't work out with any of them. Til I met my Larry. Marrying him was the biggest leap of faith I'd ever taken up til that point. Thank God, things worked out, and I'm so happy with him. He's NOTHING like the first one, at all. He's so good to me. We rarely fight. I live my life to be a good wife for him, and he strives to be a good husband. I feel like I'm right where I'm supposed to be. I'd take every minute of the bad years of my first marriage a hundred times, if I knew he'd be waiting for me on the other side of it. That was most certainly a chance worth taking.
I worked in nursing homes my whole adult life, until right before I had Aidan. I had worked at one early on in my career, and it was a miserable experience. Add that into the miserable home life, and all I had of the place was bad memories. Several years later, I decided I needed a job switch, and the place was hiring, offering the wages I wanted and the hours I preferred. So, I went and applied, was hired on the spot. I ended up loving it the second time, and worked there for nearly 3 years before quitting to become a stay at home mom. That was another chance worth taking.
Then came Landon. Nothing in my life has ever hurt me as badly as seeing him so sick, so lifeless, and then watching him die. I pray daily, several times daily, that I never have to feel THAT kind of hurt again. He was born dying. As badly as I wanted him to live, as hard as I pushed doctors and nurses and specialists to make him live, we knew he was dying. It still hurts. It will always hurt.
At his funeral Larry's aunt blatantly asked if I was able to have more kids. She was just the first to ask, it was asked a lot more times, and in different ways over the next year or so. Of course I was able, but how could I ever do that again? How could I take that chance? How could I give my heart that freely, that completely, again, knowing how things could end?
I won't lie. I WANTED to try again. I WANTED, craved, needed another baby. Not to replace Landon, but to complete my family. I never intended for Aidan to grow up as an only child. Larry had already decided on the day Landon was born that we would, in fact, try again, as soon as I was ready. He told me that night that he had a strange feeling we would have twins, a boy and a girl. He was half right.
I was so scared to think of being pregnant again. The idea of pregnancy, for me, had been soured and tainted by the worst pain of my life. I know I had Aidan, who was perfect, a perfect pregnancy and delivery, but it was so hard to think about that when all I could focus on was what happened to Landon. The doctor who delivered Landon, and the doctor that I saw for all of my OB visits, both were really encouraging in their outlook for me to have another baby. They both promised me that I'd be watched really closely and would be delivered immediately if any problems were detected. What killed Landon would have been found by ultrasound or non-stress test. I really think that late ultrasounds and non-stress tests should be routine in all pregnancies, but that's my soapbox.
So, we were told to wait six months to try, and we did. By December, the 6 month mark, I was pretty ready. As ready as I'd ever be. We found out in January of 2010 that I was pregnant. I was scared to death. I wanted to be happy. I think I was happy, briefly. By the time I had fully accepted that I really was pregnant, I was miscarrying. You'd think that would have made me even more hesitant to try again, two losses in a row. But, I'll be honset. I was sad, but not devastated, the way I would have been if I had miscarried without ever losing a full term infant. That miscarriage pushed me to an almost obsessive determination to have another baby. After I was cleared to try again, I was like a madwoman. I spent a small fortune on ovulation tests, pregnancy tests, basal body thermometers. I would take pregnancy tests every single month, whether I had any symptoms or not. Month after month of negatives.
I was starting to get angry. In addition to the sadness. Landon's first birthday came and went. The anniversary of his death. Praying, pleading, for a chance to have another baby of my own. Scared to death of the pregnancy,but still praying for it nonetheless.
I was so scared of being pregnant again, but so scared of never being pregnant again. I felt like I was going crazy. Also wondered if I was cheating Landon, was my obsession with getting pregnant again overtaking the grief? A good friend of mine from an online loss group said that her doctor told her, "You're going to grieve whether you're pregnant or not. I see no reason to wait." And it is true, being pregnant didn't take a thing away from Landon, any more than it took away from Aidan. There's room in my heart to store love for all my kids, grief for Landon, hope for the future, all of it.
So, when I finally did get pregnant, I knew something was different. Figured it was a multiple pregnancy. Don't know exactly why, but I knew in my heart it was twins before that ultrasound. For one thing, my bloodwork came back with off-the-charts high numbers. But even without that, I think I knew it.
When it was confirmed by ultrasound, I was still shocked. Shocked that the pregnancy was even viable. And then the fear set in. I was so afraid the entire time I was pregnant. I don't think I ever fully relaxed. When I'd talk about the babies, I would say, "If they're born healthy" or "If they're ok". It was never "When the twins are born." Even the night before my c-section, I was full of "if's".
Then they were born. And it was amazing. Hearing each of their first cries, when Landon never made a sound. Holding them without any tubes or wires attatached. Being able to nurse them, burp them. Seeing them poop like they were supposed to. TAKING THEM HOME. All of that was so precious to me. Now, today, they turn five months old. And they're still amazing me every single day. They're rolling and laughing so much. So funny. Their brother is their favorite plaything. And he loves them so much.
Definitely a chance worth taking. I'd do it all over again. No regrets.
Gracie
Gracie again. This picture smacked me in the face with how fast they're growing up!
This picture of my sweet Rebekah makes me want to go get her out of bed just to kiss that mouth.
And, for good measure, here's big brother, in the outfit he picked out for himself, celebrating the end of Summer!
Tuesday, August 30, 2011
No Place Like Home
We made it home yesterday. We had an amazing time! The babies were fantastic travelers. The did great!
We got into Pigeon Forge on Thursday evening, about 8:00 pm. While I got the girls settled in, Larry and Aidan left to get some food. We had Krystal burgers...sliders... I was happy. We decided that we weren't going to eat anything that was available around home. After we ate and bathed all the kids, we all crashed. Woke up the next morning, and met my great aunt and uncle for breakfast. Such a coincidence that they were also in town! They live about 3 hours from here, and Aidan has only seen my aunt once that he's big enough to remember. She came to see my grandma, her sister, about 2 weeks ago, and they came over here. Aidan fell in love with her. Her name's Velma, and he calls her "Molma". When we walked into the restaurant, and he saw her, he went outside of his mind. He was so happy! When he got calmed down, he asked, "Where Dellie at?" (He calls my Momaw "Dellie".) That tickled aunt Velma.
After breakfast, we drove over the mountain into Cherokee, but stopped at the top to change diapers, feed babies, and let Aidan see it all. So beautiful up there! My aunt and uncle were also up there, sight seeing, so he got to see his "Molma" again. We took some pictures and enjoyed each others' company for a while, then went our separate ways.
In Cherokee, we went to two different feed-the-live-bears places, and bought a ton of food trays so bubba could feed them. The girls just rode in their stroller, and were so good. We attracted a lot of attention. It was so fun, and,as always, I was so proud of my kids.
The first bear place also has goats, monkeys, lemurs, and even a tiger. There were some teeny, tiny baby goats. So little, in fact, that one squeezed out of the fence and took up with Aidan. He loved it, wanted to bring it home!! It was so little that when I texted a picture of Aidan and the goat to my grandma's phone, she thought it was a cat!
That night, we went to a bar-b-que place for supper. I went up to the salad bar to fix a salad for Aidan and me, and when I got back, Larry was telling the waitress about Landon. I tell about him a lot more than Larry does. She was so sweet, and told us that she had lost a little girl at just 29 days. It sucks to meet others who know that pain, but it's also a blessing, to know that I'm not alone. To meet someone who doesn't look away, look at their shoes, change the subject, who actually asks questions about him, rather than pretending he didn't exist. I got a little teary talking about him, but that's ok. Everyone in that place could look at us, and know that we have 3 kids. She was the only one who knew we actually had 4.
I know when we go out to eat, all 5 of us, people's first thought is, "Oh,crap, I hope they don't sit THEM by us!" But, know what? My kids are pretty good. Aidan does really well in public places, and the girls are so mellow nowadays. They don't disturb anyone. Rebekah did take a crying spell, but I was able to comfort her pretty quickly.
We also ran into a WalMart that night. We can't NOT go to WalMart, we're the PEOPLE of WalMart!
The next day was sort of a lazy day, I took Aidan swimming in the indoor pool, while Larry chilled with the girls. I wanted to take them swimming, but for an indoor pool, the water was awfully cold.
That night, we went to a CiCi's pizza. I really wish that all of ours around here hadn't closed down. We all love it. Then we took the kids to a go-cart track/amusement park. That was so much fun! Larry took him twice on a go-cart, and I took him twice on bumper boats. We had a blast, and a kid who was nearly asleep before we even hit the hotel!
We got up yesterday morning, packed all of our stuff, and headed home. The weather all weekend was gorgeous! I'm so thankful for such a fun, nice, beautiful trip. Grateful for our safety while traveling, and just thankful for the ability to do that.
Since we got home, I've been working on laundry. It's amazing how much laundry can accumulate in 3 days with no washer and dryer! It is almost done, but it keeps piling up! Never ending!!
We got into Pigeon Forge on Thursday evening, about 8:00 pm. While I got the girls settled in, Larry and Aidan left to get some food. We had Krystal burgers...sliders... I was happy. We decided that we weren't going to eat anything that was available around home. After we ate and bathed all the kids, we all crashed. Woke up the next morning, and met my great aunt and uncle for breakfast. Such a coincidence that they were also in town! They live about 3 hours from here, and Aidan has only seen my aunt once that he's big enough to remember. She came to see my grandma, her sister, about 2 weeks ago, and they came over here. Aidan fell in love with her. Her name's Velma, and he calls her "Molma". When we walked into the restaurant, and he saw her, he went outside of his mind. He was so happy! When he got calmed down, he asked, "Where Dellie at?" (He calls my Momaw "Dellie".) That tickled aunt Velma.
After breakfast, we drove over the mountain into Cherokee, but stopped at the top to change diapers, feed babies, and let Aidan see it all. So beautiful up there! My aunt and uncle were also up there, sight seeing, so he got to see his "Molma" again. We took some pictures and enjoyed each others' company for a while, then went our separate ways.
In Cherokee, we went to two different feed-the-live-bears places, and bought a ton of food trays so bubba could feed them. The girls just rode in their stroller, and were so good. We attracted a lot of attention. It was so fun, and,as always, I was so proud of my kids.
The first bear place also has goats, monkeys, lemurs, and even a tiger. There were some teeny, tiny baby goats. So little, in fact, that one squeezed out of the fence and took up with Aidan. He loved it, wanted to bring it home!! It was so little that when I texted a picture of Aidan and the goat to my grandma's phone, she thought it was a cat!
That night, we went to a bar-b-que place for supper. I went up to the salad bar to fix a salad for Aidan and me, and when I got back, Larry was telling the waitress about Landon. I tell about him a lot more than Larry does. She was so sweet, and told us that she had lost a little girl at just 29 days. It sucks to meet others who know that pain, but it's also a blessing, to know that I'm not alone. To meet someone who doesn't look away, look at their shoes, change the subject, who actually asks questions about him, rather than pretending he didn't exist. I got a little teary talking about him, but that's ok. Everyone in that place could look at us, and know that we have 3 kids. She was the only one who knew we actually had 4.
I know when we go out to eat, all 5 of us, people's first thought is, "Oh,crap, I hope they don't sit THEM by us!" But, know what? My kids are pretty good. Aidan does really well in public places, and the girls are so mellow nowadays. They don't disturb anyone. Rebekah did take a crying spell, but I was able to comfort her pretty quickly.
We also ran into a WalMart that night. We can't NOT go to WalMart, we're the PEOPLE of WalMart!
The next day was sort of a lazy day, I took Aidan swimming in the indoor pool, while Larry chilled with the girls. I wanted to take them swimming, but for an indoor pool, the water was awfully cold.
That night, we went to a CiCi's pizza. I really wish that all of ours around here hadn't closed down. We all love it. Then we took the kids to a go-cart track/amusement park. That was so much fun! Larry took him twice on a go-cart, and I took him twice on bumper boats. We had a blast, and a kid who was nearly asleep before we even hit the hotel!
We got up yesterday morning, packed all of our stuff, and headed home. The weather all weekend was gorgeous! I'm so thankful for such a fun, nice, beautiful trip. Grateful for our safety while traveling, and just thankful for the ability to do that.
Since we got home, I've been working on laundry. It's amazing how much laundry can accumulate in 3 days with no washer and dryer! It is almost done, but it keeps piling up! Never ending!!
The babies' first night ever in a hotel!
Aidan at the top of the mountain
Aidan on an old fire engine at a roadside fireworks/souvinier shop
Babies and the goat
Aidan loved the goat!
Babies on a covered bridge in Cherokee
Aunt Velma (Molma), Grace, Rebekah, Aidan and me at the top of the mountain
Rebekah
Me & My kids!
Gracie
Thank God for my blessings.
Thursday, August 25, 2011
Surprise Vacation!
I feel as giddy as a kid on Christmas Eve! We're leaving in 12 hours to go down to Gatlinburg/Pigeon Forge for two nights. It's not a huge 2 week vacation, but it is more than I thought we'd get this year! Larry took all of his vacation time when the twins were born, and was a tremendous help to me. Last year we went down three times, and I was so grateful for that. I just looked at it as stockpiling vacation memories for this year, which I hoped would be vacationless due to birthing. He just decided around 5:00 or so this evening that we would go! I'm so excited!
I'm blessed. I got a double birthing, and a vacation! We spent the majority of last summer lost in the land of trying to conceive. The twins were the only pregnancy that we actually had to "try" for. And it took longer than I had expected. Still was only a drop in the bucket compared to some of my friends, who have been trying for years and years.
The last trip down last year, was my mom, Aidan and me. I found out I was pregnant just a couple weeks after we got home. But, I can't claim that they're my souveniers as my husband wasn't with us.
Aidan had a blast every time we went down. He acts like he remembers it, but I'm not real sure if he actually does or not. I do believe that he's old enough this year to remember it for a long time.
I'm still such a kid at heart. My very favorite thing to do on a Smoky Mountain vacation is to drive over the mountain into Cherokee (North Carolina) and go to the "bear zoos" and feed the bears. And I've passed that love onto Aidan. As he was falling asleep tonight, he was talking about feeding the bears apples. I had shown him pictures earlier in the day, from last year.
I am excited, but nervous, about taking the twins away from home. Will they sleep? Eat? They're really easy to take on outings such as grocery store or restaurants. But three days and two nights? I do have one thing going for me, though. They're still sleeping in their swings, I'm not ready to evict them from my room yet. So, we're loading both swings up in the van to take with us. So, that's one thing that'll be just like home for them.
I'm sure I'm overpacking, but I'd rather take too much than not enough. Babies get dirty, and I can't stand the thought of my kids wearing dirty clothes for any longer than they have to. So, I have two outfits each in the diaper bag that will be up front, and about eight each in a suitcase, plus 4 sleepers each, 100 diapers (I know we won't use that many in 3 days, but still...) I'm taking 10 bottles, that's one day worth, and my dishwashing liquid and bottle brush. And the formula,of course. And every bib we own. Even at home, we go through all of them in just a few days, so I'm hoping that they'll last the whole 3 days! I'm taking their baby washcloths and towels. I don't want to use old rough hotel towels on my little girlies!
Aidan is much easier to pack for! He's such a big boy now.
I have one last load of clothes in the washer, as soon as I switch them over, I'm heading to bed. Here are some pictures from our trips last year. Enjoy!
Wonder if they were as blessed this spring as we were?
Watch for new pictures of our larger family, sometime this weekend!
I'm blessed. I got a double birthing, and a vacation! We spent the majority of last summer lost in the land of trying to conceive. The twins were the only pregnancy that we actually had to "try" for. And it took longer than I had expected. Still was only a drop in the bucket compared to some of my friends, who have been trying for years and years.
The last trip down last year, was my mom, Aidan and me. I found out I was pregnant just a couple weeks after we got home. But, I can't claim that they're my souveniers as my husband wasn't with us.
Aidan had a blast every time we went down. He acts like he remembers it, but I'm not real sure if he actually does or not. I do believe that he's old enough this year to remember it for a long time.
I'm still such a kid at heart. My very favorite thing to do on a Smoky Mountain vacation is to drive over the mountain into Cherokee (North Carolina) and go to the "bear zoos" and feed the bears. And I've passed that love onto Aidan. As he was falling asleep tonight, he was talking about feeding the bears apples. I had shown him pictures earlier in the day, from last year.
I am excited, but nervous, about taking the twins away from home. Will they sleep? Eat? They're really easy to take on outings such as grocery store or restaurants. But three days and two nights? I do have one thing going for me, though. They're still sleeping in their swings, I'm not ready to evict them from my room yet. So, we're loading both swings up in the van to take with us. So, that's one thing that'll be just like home for them.
I'm sure I'm overpacking, but I'd rather take too much than not enough. Babies get dirty, and I can't stand the thought of my kids wearing dirty clothes for any longer than they have to. So, I have two outfits each in the diaper bag that will be up front, and about eight each in a suitcase, plus 4 sleepers each, 100 diapers (I know we won't use that many in 3 days, but still...) I'm taking 10 bottles, that's one day worth, and my dishwashing liquid and bottle brush. And the formula,of course. And every bib we own. Even at home, we go through all of them in just a few days, so I'm hoping that they'll last the whole 3 days! I'm taking their baby washcloths and towels. I don't want to use old rough hotel towels on my little girlies!
Aidan is much easier to pack for! He's such a big boy now.
I have one last load of clothes in the washer, as soon as I switch them over, I'm heading to bed. Here are some pictures from our trips last year. Enjoy!
Wonder if they were as blessed this spring as we were?
Watch for new pictures of our larger family, sometime this weekend!
Sunday, August 21, 2011
This week, last year
One year ago right now was a pretty emotional, exciting, and happy time. Mixed in with a touch of sadness, for that's always there, and a lot of fear.
My sister-in-law was 39 weeks pregnant with my niece. I was freaking out. Because, as a babyloss mom, I will never take any pregnancy for granted again. I've learned the hard way that pregnancy, even full term pregnancy, doesn't always guarantee that you're going to bring a baby home. I wanted so badly to be excited. I was excited, just reservedly so. My sister-in-law was the first pregnant woman close to me since Landon. She was carrying the first girl in the family.
They wanted me at the hospital when she was born. The hospital where my boys were born. What if she was put into the same room where we learned Landon was in trouble, minutes before my emergency c-section? Could I walk in there, sit with her while she was in labor? Could I really do that? I knew I would, but I was so afraid I would lose it. I wanted to meet my niece as soon as possible after she was born. I wanted to be in the hallway outside the room, just like I was when they had my nephew. Just like they were when I had Aidan. I wanted that. I wanted to be normal.
But would I be able to? How could I walk through those double doors? The same doors I walked through 14 months earlier, only to be wheeled out with a teddy bear and bereavement literature (while my child was still alive)? How would I deal with hearing babies' first cries, knowing that my own never, ever made a sound? How? Why, oh, why, does everything have to be so tainted for me now? Why in the world did the thought of celebrating the birth of a baby that I already loved so much, have to smack me in the face with my own grief and pain? Would the nurses remember me, the one with the dead baby? Would I get the sad looks, people walking on eggshells to avoid "reminding me" of what happened?
My sister-in-law and I go to the same group of doctors. In fact, we saw the same doc throughout all of our pregnancies, but luck of the draw had different docs delivering all of our babies to date. Would they look at me with pity? I was, at that point, pretty well known around the OB-GYN office. After Landon, I got pregnant again within 6 months and miscarried. They knew me well. I didn't want to be treated with kid gloves. I just wanted to go to the hospital, meet my niece, and handle it like a big girl.
All that was on my mind that week. My mom and I had taken Aidan to Gatlinburg for a quick vacation at the end of July, to be back in time for the birth. I remember the Ripley's Believe it or Not Museum was supposed to have the world famous fertility statue in August, supposedly those who touch it get pregnant right away. I wanted to go in August just for that reason, I was starting to get so desparate. We weren't able to go in August, though. I was a little bit sad.
On Tuesday of that week, the 17th, I found out I was pregnant. I was too scared to be happy. I had been pregnant 3 times, but only had one baby here with me. I didn't trust pregnancy, didn't trust my body. I had very little hope that I would actually be bringing a baby home with me. This was the first pregnancy that we didn't tell everyone we knew before the test had even dried. We agreed to wait til we saw a heartbeat. After the miscarriage, and Landon, I knew that I would get an early ultrasound. Then, after we made that agreement, we pushed it a bit further. Don't tell anyone til we HEAR the heartbeat, which would be somewhere between 10 and 14 weeks.
So, we told no one. Wednesday, my sister-in-law had her 40 week OB check, and it was decided to take the baby by c-section on Friday, the 20th. I was actually relieved. Like I said, I didn't trust pregnancy any more, and in my mind, the quickest route out was best. She was happy, too.
On Thursday, we went to Costco, and I discovered that I was bleeding. I had my mind made up that I was miscarrying. I wasn't even going to call the doctor, was just going to let it happen. Larry talked me into calling on the way home that afternoon. The nurse told me to go straight to the lab for a blood draw, and to repeat it on Saturday.
I broke down and called my mom and told her what was going on. She was optimistic, maybe it wasn't anything bad. OF COURSE it was something bad. It always goes bad with me, doesn't it? Well, other than that perfectly healthy 2 year old in the back seat. That turned out pretty well, if I do say so myself. But, everything but him. It all goes bad.
Costco is about 30 or so minutes from home. We didn't even go home, just went straight to the lab, gave my blood, and went home and waited to miscarry.
There was never any more bleeding, at all.
Friday morning,I woke up in panic attacks. It was THE DAY. The day I would force myself to take one step at a time, through those doors, onto that labor and delivery floor. Onto that floor where my heart was ripped right out of me. Oh, how I wanted to just skip it. Just stay home and pretend like it wasn't happening. Todd and Valerie were bringing my nephew to me that morning, he was going to stay here. My grandma was coming over to stay with both boys while I went up there. How easy it would have been, to just stay home and play with the boys all day. Life as usual.
But I'm not a coward. I never thought of myself as strong. Til Landon. The very child who was making me feel all this fear and panic, was the one who showed me my true strength. I still don't think I'm strong, but everyone else says I am. I just do what needs to be done, no matter how it scares or hurts me.
There's another reason I was determined to make myself go up there. My brother. He was there when I woke up in recovery. He prayed over me. He got to see Landon before the mobile NICU took him to Miami Valley. He went to Miami Valley every single day to see my little boy. He made sure Larry and I ate. He brought me ice cream. He was on my left, Larry on my right, as my little boy died. He held my son after he was dead. He grieved right with me. He led so many prayers. He took care of getting the preacher to come several times. He was with us the third night, when they warmed Landon up after the cold treatment. He. Was. There. My sister-in-law was there a lot too, but she had to work (Todd was laid off) and also there was no one to keep Gavin. But, my brother was there for the very saddest, most heart breaking, painful thing that has ever happened to me. He got to hold Landon. Kiss him. Cry over him. He carried the casket from the hearse to the gravesite.
My sister-in-law was 39 weeks pregnant with my niece. I was freaking out. Because, as a babyloss mom, I will never take any pregnancy for granted again. I've learned the hard way that pregnancy, even full term pregnancy, doesn't always guarantee that you're going to bring a baby home. I wanted so badly to be excited. I was excited, just reservedly so. My sister-in-law was the first pregnant woman close to me since Landon. She was carrying the first girl in the family.
They wanted me at the hospital when she was born. The hospital where my boys were born. What if she was put into the same room where we learned Landon was in trouble, minutes before my emergency c-section? Could I walk in there, sit with her while she was in labor? Could I really do that? I knew I would, but I was so afraid I would lose it. I wanted to meet my niece as soon as possible after she was born. I wanted to be in the hallway outside the room, just like I was when they had my nephew. Just like they were when I had Aidan. I wanted that. I wanted to be normal.
But would I be able to? How could I walk through those double doors? The same doors I walked through 14 months earlier, only to be wheeled out with a teddy bear and bereavement literature (while my child was still alive)? How would I deal with hearing babies' first cries, knowing that my own never, ever made a sound? How? Why, oh, why, does everything have to be so tainted for me now? Why in the world did the thought of celebrating the birth of a baby that I already loved so much, have to smack me in the face with my own grief and pain? Would the nurses remember me, the one with the dead baby? Would I get the sad looks, people walking on eggshells to avoid "reminding me" of what happened?
My sister-in-law and I go to the same group of doctors. In fact, we saw the same doc throughout all of our pregnancies, but luck of the draw had different docs delivering all of our babies to date. Would they look at me with pity? I was, at that point, pretty well known around the OB-GYN office. After Landon, I got pregnant again within 6 months and miscarried. They knew me well. I didn't want to be treated with kid gloves. I just wanted to go to the hospital, meet my niece, and handle it like a big girl.
All that was on my mind that week. My mom and I had taken Aidan to Gatlinburg for a quick vacation at the end of July, to be back in time for the birth. I remember the Ripley's Believe it or Not Museum was supposed to have the world famous fertility statue in August, supposedly those who touch it get pregnant right away. I wanted to go in August just for that reason, I was starting to get so desparate. We weren't able to go in August, though. I was a little bit sad.
On Tuesday of that week, the 17th, I found out I was pregnant. I was too scared to be happy. I had been pregnant 3 times, but only had one baby here with me. I didn't trust pregnancy, didn't trust my body. I had very little hope that I would actually be bringing a baby home with me. This was the first pregnancy that we didn't tell everyone we knew before the test had even dried. We agreed to wait til we saw a heartbeat. After the miscarriage, and Landon, I knew that I would get an early ultrasound. Then, after we made that agreement, we pushed it a bit further. Don't tell anyone til we HEAR the heartbeat, which would be somewhere between 10 and 14 weeks.
So, we told no one. Wednesday, my sister-in-law had her 40 week OB check, and it was decided to take the baby by c-section on Friday, the 20th. I was actually relieved. Like I said, I didn't trust pregnancy any more, and in my mind, the quickest route out was best. She was happy, too.
On Thursday, we went to Costco, and I discovered that I was bleeding. I had my mind made up that I was miscarrying. I wasn't even going to call the doctor, was just going to let it happen. Larry talked me into calling on the way home that afternoon. The nurse told me to go straight to the lab for a blood draw, and to repeat it on Saturday.
I broke down and called my mom and told her what was going on. She was optimistic, maybe it wasn't anything bad. OF COURSE it was something bad. It always goes bad with me, doesn't it? Well, other than that perfectly healthy 2 year old in the back seat. That turned out pretty well, if I do say so myself. But, everything but him. It all goes bad.
Costco is about 30 or so minutes from home. We didn't even go home, just went straight to the lab, gave my blood, and went home and waited to miscarry.
There was never any more bleeding, at all.
Friday morning,I woke up in panic attacks. It was THE DAY. The day I would force myself to take one step at a time, through those doors, onto that labor and delivery floor. Onto that floor where my heart was ripped right out of me. Oh, how I wanted to just skip it. Just stay home and pretend like it wasn't happening. Todd and Valerie were bringing my nephew to me that morning, he was going to stay here. My grandma was coming over to stay with both boys while I went up there. How easy it would have been, to just stay home and play with the boys all day. Life as usual.
But I'm not a coward. I never thought of myself as strong. Til Landon. The very child who was making me feel all this fear and panic, was the one who showed me my true strength. I still don't think I'm strong, but everyone else says I am. I just do what needs to be done, no matter how it scares or hurts me.
There's another reason I was determined to make myself go up there. My brother. He was there when I woke up in recovery. He prayed over me. He got to see Landon before the mobile NICU took him to Miami Valley. He went to Miami Valley every single day to see my little boy. He made sure Larry and I ate. He brought me ice cream. He was on my left, Larry on my right, as my little boy died. He held my son after he was dead. He grieved right with me. He led so many prayers. He took care of getting the preacher to come several times. He was with us the third night, when they warmed Landon up after the cold treatment. He. Was. There. My sister-in-law was there a lot too, but she had to work (Todd was laid off) and also there was no one to keep Gavin. But, my brother was there for the very saddest, most heart breaking, painful thing that has ever happened to me. He got to hold Landon. Kiss him. Cry over him. He carried the casket from the hearse to the gravesite.
Todd, Landon, and Me
How could I skip out on his very happiest moment, when he didn't falter through my very saddest?
I couldn't. And I wouldn't. I went. It was hard. Very hard. My heart stopped when I got off of the elevator at the 4th floor. But, one foot in front of the other, I walked to the waiting room, where my mom and Valerie's parents were waiting. Within a few minutes of us getting there, the text came, she was here and fine! 9lbs and something, I think 2 oz, but could be wrong. A picture came through. She was pretty!
Todd came out and got our mom and his mother-in-law to go back and meet her. He showed us video of her crying. How amazing!! A baby's first cries are always a miracle, but to me, after Landon, it was like hearing God speak.
Now, keep in mind, I still thought I was miscarrying, and nobody but Larry and my Mom even knew I was pregnant.
While I was waiting my turn to meet my niece, I got a call from the OB's office with my beta results. I can't remember now what they were, but it was super high. I googled beta results, and my numbers were double what the high end of the chart said they should be for my dates. So, I googled that and learned that it was either multiples or a molar pregnancy. I googled that. Learned that it can be cancerous. Great. I figured I was going to lose the baby and die, too. I kept all that inside.
It was finally my turn to go back and see miss Allyson. Valerie was in the same recovery bay where I woke up to be told my baby was dying. I had ONE moment where my knees nearly buckled. Then I saw her. She was so perfect, so beautiful, so healthy and perfect. And looked like Landon. I had considered the chance that I might someday have a baby who would look like him, but it never occurred to me that Todd would. She had his hairline,and dark hair like him, his forehead. And she was beautiful, and I fell in love. At that moment, my heart made a huge stride in its healing journey.
I cried, I'm not going to deny it. I cried for what I had lost, I cried with joy for what had just happened to our family, and I cried with a little bit of relief. Seeing her, seeing a happy ending to a pregnancy, I felt like *maybe* I would be OK, *maybe* I would have another healthy baby some day.
One of the nurses, Jenny (I've written about her before) who was with me for Landon's birth, came to his funeral, was just really sweet to me, was with Valerie for Allyson's birth. She came and hugged and held me while I cried for a few seconds. Seeing her hit me pretty hard, but was good, too. I wanted so badly to tell her that I was pregnant again, but I thought I was miscarrying.
It was two weeks exactly after she was born that I had my first ultrasound and saw two babies. No molar pregnancy after all.
Now, a year later, I have two of the healthiest, happiest, prettiest, sweetest, most wanted and appreciated, loved, baby girls on the planet. I also have a one year old niece!! The last year has flown by in the blink of an eye. (It didn't feel like that while I was pregnant, that's for sure. Now, though, looking back, it did fly!)
Todd and Valerie had the kids' birthday party this evening. I made their cakes. It felt good to be celebrating. Allyson helped me so much. Just seeing everything go right, really and truly helped me to get through all my fears while pregnant with the twins. Happy Birthday, Allyson... or "Bee Ally" as Aidan calls her!!!
And, just for good measure:
One last one.. the only kink in a fantastic day:
Yes, that's a Costco size jug of Downy all over the floor. It hadn't been opened yet. The spin cycle must have jiggled the dryer enough to knock it off. That was fantastic right in the middle of cake making!!!
Friday, August 12, 2011
Just missing someone
I had a birthday "party" for my Mom last night. Our parties are wild, let me tell you! By wild, I mean with children running around! Mom has six grandchildren, my nephew Gavin is 4, my Aidan is 3, Landon would be 2, Allyson will be 1 next week, then my twins, Bekah and Gracie are 4 months. She's not doing too badly for someone who thought she'd never be a grandma!
I cooked a meal that looked like it belonged at a Baptist dinner on the ground. I made fresh green beans, (I broke them myself and cooked them all day long in some pork fat, mmmmm!), chicken and dumplins, meatloaf, corn on the cob, mashed potatoes, and a 7-layer salad. Plus a cake. Then, mom's friends brought cornbread and cookies and a couple other desserts, and my Momaw made a strawberry jello poke cake. Good food! All from scratch, every bit of it.
I know some women say they make dumplins from scratch, but I can tell that just means they scratch their hiney and knock the can of biscuits against the counter. I start with flour and work my way through it. I'd be embarrassed to do otherwise. I admit, I'm a fatty, and I cook like a granny. My husband told everyone that he only married me for my cooking.
We had a great night of food and family and friends. And kids! My mom is never happier than when she's surrounded by all of her grandbabies. All of her grandbabies. I hate that term. It isn't all of her grandbabies, and it never will be. No matter what, there'll always be one missing. But, I really seem to be the only one who hangs on to that. I think everyone that was here, at some point last night, said that phrase. Except me.
I cooked a meal that looked like it belonged at a Baptist dinner on the ground. I made fresh green beans, (I broke them myself and cooked them all day long in some pork fat, mmmmm!), chicken and dumplins, meatloaf, corn on the cob, mashed potatoes, and a 7-layer salad. Plus a cake. Then, mom's friends brought cornbread and cookies and a couple other desserts, and my Momaw made a strawberry jello poke cake. Good food! All from scratch, every bit of it.
I know some women say they make dumplins from scratch, but I can tell that just means they scratch their hiney and knock the can of biscuits against the counter. I start with flour and work my way through it. I'd be embarrassed to do otherwise. I admit, I'm a fatty, and I cook like a granny. My husband told everyone that he only married me for my cooking.
We had a great night of food and family and friends. And kids! My mom is never happier than when she's surrounded by all of her grandbabies. All of her grandbabies. I hate that term. It isn't all of her grandbabies, and it never will be. No matter what, there'll always be one missing. But, I really seem to be the only one who hangs on to that. I think everyone that was here, at some point last night, said that phrase. Except me.
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