Shadows

Two years ago today was the day before I went into labor, the day before my heart broke, when I was still serenely happy. I spend these days chasing the shadows of what we were doing two years ago.

Goog.le Calendar just e-mailed me to remind me that Maddie's birthday on the 7th. How thoughtful, as if I could ever forget my firstborn, my first little angel.

Circles

Sometimes I feel like I am walking around in circles with my grief. Shoot, I think I have even named a post this before.

Maddie's birthday is in a couple of weeks. It hurts so much to know it has been a whole additional year since I last got to hold her, to kiss her. I so desperately want to hold both of my girls. That sounds like such a simple statement, almost hollow in its simplicity... But I don't know how to say it in a way that imparts the desperation with which I feel it. I want the hands of a two-year-old, not an urn. I want to be thanking God as I watch her enjoy life, not for taking care of her. I want to have her and Alice play, not just to have to pray about her with her.

Always it is longer and longer since we last saw her. Alice's first birthday is also coming up two weeks after that - it is so hard being so torn in my emotions for two very different babies.

Sigh.

I know I am getting old and impatient and unhip... And I largely don't care. I absolutely hate the phrase "FML.". I think I hate it because people use it so flippantly. "I slept through class, FML. I can't go to this concert, eff my life."

I don't wish on anyone for their lives to be destroyed, but I think it is obvious that the people whose lives have been "effed" are almost never the ones using this phrase. For most who read my blog, you feel the pain daily of it having been too long since you held your baby, and the worse pain of knowing it will only be longer and longer until the day you die. THAT is life-altering pain. Death and illness, tragedy and loss. I wish the people who were so flippant would gather some perspective and see how this affects others, those who try to dwell on the positives and grow from their pain.

That sounded preachy, and I didn't mean it to be. FML, I guess?

The Futility

I so very, very often go over the time we got to spend with Maddie, as short as it was. When the grief and despair are at their worst (like right now), I sometimes think of the futility of singing to her, rocking her, kissing her. She was already gone, she never got to experience them. It is my firm belief she knows our love in Heaven, but those motions... those were for us. I so desperately wish I could have done something for her.

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Very Superstitious

I’ve always thought superstitions are largely silly. For the most part, I still do. JTD got a job at the hospital where Maddie was born, and I never thought twice about it. I wouldn’t hesitate to move houses or jobs just because they were what I was doing when Maddie was born – those things aren’t associated with her, they were just coincidences.


However… I do find myself avoiding certain stupid, inane things that I did in the hours and days preceding her birth. The weekend before she was born was the 4th of July, and so we’d gone shopping for her crib and nursery furniture. It was to be delivered the next week (which it still was, and is in the nursery still). We had been using that room for storage, so we had to get a bunch of junk out of there. My grandpa and dad came over on the day before I went into labor and helped JTD move stuff, and I lifted a few pillows and things. After we were all done, we went to a local place and got sodas. I can’t even drive by there now without having a fit of sadness.

On the day I went into labor (the 6th), I thought I just had the flu until the contractions really started coming. I had a fever, vomiting, and back pain, but didn’t know what it was. I stayed home from work, and was lying on the couch watching whatever was on TV. There were a couple of old sitcoms that were on when I started having contractions, and I won’t let anyone in our house even flip to them if I see them on.

While Alice and I frequently go to the hospital to visit Daddy, and the entire OB ward has been redone, I can’t even look in the room where she was born. This one makes a little more sense than the others, but it’s still just an irrational block in my brain.

I wonder if everyone has these weird things that they avoid and fear? I’m guessing that they’ll be there for forever – but in a way, it almost seems like they’re healthy. They’re fixed things upon which I can pin my fears and emotions.

Hush, Little Baby

There are so many lullabies out there, and it's almost like they're all taunting those whose babies passed away by telling your baby to not say a word, to not cry.

Regardless of that, though, I've always related the song "Hush, Little Baby" to Maddie - for a bunch of different, personal reasons.  As many know, the song has a bunch of lyrics like this:

"Hush, little baby, don't say a word.
Mama's gonna buy you a mockingbird.
And if that mockingbird don't sing,
Mama's gonna buy you a diamond ring.
And if that diamond ring turns brass,
Mama's gonna buy you a looking glass." 

All of the lyrics have the mother trying to make a bad situation better for her child.  (Granted, she's only doing it by buying stuff, which is illogical, but that's not germane to my point.)  It sometimes hits home how much I ache to do things to make this situation better for Madeleine, something that I never can do.  I would do anything, give anything to make this okay, to bring her back.

Goodbye, 2010...

I joked recently that 2010 was the year spent mostly on my couch (which is true - the one-year anniversary of my cerclage and beginning of bedrest is coming up in 12 days!).  It was so very much more, though.  2009 was the saddest year of my life, and 2010 was the happiest.  I am so immeasurably blessed, and it just fills my heart.

I keep watching my itty bitty baby get bigger and bigger, and my heart swells.  I am so proud of that smiling face, the light in her eyes when she sees her daddy or I.  I never imagined being this blessed.

I also find myself still hurting.  I think daily of what it would be like if Maddie were here, too, if we had both of them.  I try to imagine if she'd be a chunky little cherub like Alice, or if she'd still be lithe and lean.  I wonder if her hair would be dark, or if it would be blonde.  I wish I could feel her holding my hand, and seeing her hug Alice.  I also have so much anxiety over Alice - it isn't helped by watching a lot of SVU lately at night while A is asleep, but I am so worried about someone hurting her.  I am so afraid of the things I can't control in her life - and I know it's because of the total lack of control I had with Maddie.

Argh - anyway.  Here are some pictures of my beautiful girl - we don't have any New Year's Day ones, because our household all got the flu last weekend.  Happiest of new year's to all of my dear friends!

What's in a name?

I first off wanted to thank Jill from Footprints on our Hearts (LINK) for the wonderful, beautiful, absolutely perfect keychain that I was lucky enough to win for the 25 Days giveaway!  You're amazing, Jill, and I am just so grateful!  I got a picture of it on my keychain, but it wasn't blog-worthy in quality.

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I've been getting lots of the "Is Alice your first child?" questions lately.  Every single time, my heart says, "No" - but I sometimes struggle with my answers aloud.  I usually try to say, "She has an older sister in Heaven," but there are admittedly times when I just don't have the strength to get into that.  It hurts to explain, and it hurts to not explain.  There is truly no right answer.

It would help if there were a way we could easily identify ourselves.  It's easy enough to explain my fertility issues - "I'm a PCOS-er," or "I had to do IVF" (whatever acronym they may understand).  There really isn't a quick way to explain being a mother of a child who has passed on, however.

The common one we've adopted is "baby loss mamas" - but something about that one bothers me a little bit.  To be precise, it's the word "loss" - I didn't misplace Maddie.  It wasn't thoughtlessness or anything I could have controlled that took her away from me.  I know precisely where she is at all times.  It's a well-meaning term, but a little laden with blame.

Slightly better is "orphaned parents," but that one just confuses people.  "So, you're a parent, but your parents died?"  Not easy to explain.

Is there a better term of which I'm just not aware?  When it comes down to it... does it really matter what I call myself?  No matter what you call it, I still can't hold my daughter, and it hurts even if I don't have a name for the emotion.

I hope the holidays are a time of healing and love for all, and brings them closeness with those they've lost.

Alice was lying in my arms just now sleeping. As I watched her beautiful face, I began to cry harder and harder. I am so overwhelmed by my love for her, and so deeply missing Maddie. I have been blessed beyond measure with both of my girls - but the injustice of losing Maddie hit me fresh. I asked myself "why" with the same vehemence that I did in the early days - it isn't fair to JTD or I, certainly, but it isn't fair to her. She deserved to laugh, to cry, to love.

I miss you, Maddie. I hope you can feel how very loved you are always. I am so, so sorry.

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Pregnancy and Infant Loss Awareness Day

I am just remembering my beautiful little Madeleine today, as well as my wee one from so long ago.  Also remembering the beautiful little babies of all of the beautiful women I've met online.  Love to all.

Happy 1st Birthday, Madeleine Rose

I'm not going to post much in-depth about Maddie's birthday, mostly just because it was incredibly quiet and private, but I thought that this was beautiful in its own way, and wanted to remember it.

JTD unfortunately had to work today from 10 a.m. - 10 p.m. (he has a huge project that is going in place this weekend).  Since he won't be home until well after dark, I picked up several balloons and took them in for us to release together at the hospital (which is where he works, and also where we were one year ago today).

We let go of the balloons, and most of them rose together and started off on their flight as expected, in a path going directly east with the wind.  One of the balloons, however, was very, very slow to rise.  It stayed near us for a while, and finally started rising - but it went north (where we could see it much better).  Rather than going the same direction as the others, it made its own way where we could see it.  As the balloons rose, it started to sprinkle (it rained a year ago today, too) - and the one balloon kept going north.  It got several blocks north, and then circled back a little bit with the wind before finally heading east.  It slowly made its way out of sight, probably 5 minutes after the others had disappeared. 

I'm not even sure what all of that means, but it reminded me so much of how Maddie was such a fighter.  She was the embryo that stuck through the FET, she grew and blossomed, and she didn't want to come out when my body went into labor.  She kicked up until almost the end (I remember her last kick, as if she was saying goodbye), and they had to do several rounds of Pitocin (she was delivered feet-first).  Much like that balloon, she stayed with us for as long as she could.  I am so grateful for every second that we had with her, and that we continue to have with her.

"One year ago today I was..."

One year ago today, I was in labor with Maddie.  I can't stop thinking about it, I can recall what we were doing each and every minute of the day.  She was born at 12:08 a.m. on July 7, 2009 - but I know precisely what we were doing every minute before and after.

I didn't really prepare for this being so hard - I know I've got a ton more hormones surging through my body right now, but I didn't expect it to be so fresh and raw.

Thank you so much, everyone, for all of your thoughts and love - I probably won't be able to say much tomorrow, but please know that I am so grateful for the outpouring of support.  Knowing that so many others love our little girl just means so much more than I can say.

Why Can't I Have Both?

One thing I've been thinking a lot about lately is the whole "I wish Maddie were here" thing.  For most people, it's true that, if their babies they lost had made it, their subsequent children wouldn't physically have been here.  We're in the unique position that this isn't really the case.  Maddie and Baby A were embryos that were frozen at the same time, and both were transferred at later dates.  Their DNA and (I believe) souls were already formed and were just waiting for us to transfer them.  In fact, we still have two babies frozen.  It's entirely possible that, if Maddie would have lived, that we could have had both of our little girls with us at some point. 

So, why couldn't I have both of them?  I wish with all my heart every day that it were the case, why couldn't I have it?  I know that the simple answer is because it wasn't God's will.  This is what He needed it to be - He needed Maddie to be born as she was, to give us the gifts that she did.  He is keeping her safe and happy forever.  I find beauty in the fact that my girls are technically genetic twins, and I firmly believe that they will be close despite everything.

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I read about this (LINK) on LFCA the other day, and immediately showed JTD.  He agreed with me that we really want our babies to know all about the IVF/FETs, and how much we wanted them.  I ordered a copy of this, and hope it will be delivered this week - I just wanted to share it with any other IVF/FET moms out there.

28 weeks 3 days

This past Saturday was the official start of the third trimester!  It was a very happy day - I just can't believe that we got here.  It's so reassuring to be at a point where the survivability rates are so high.  Obviously we don't want her to come anytime soon, but it just makes me feel so good to feel like she's going to come home with us. 

The following is a little bit of a rant - I'm just warning anyone who may want to not read it in advance, so that they can close out if needed.  And I know not to get upset about Facebook, as it's completely ridiculous, but it's just frustrating that it's one of the ways that people can invade my life who normally wouldn't be there.  I absolutely don't want to sound judgmental or at all self-righteous - just frustrated and determined.

Anyway - I decided to post a pregnancy-related Facebook status (which I try not to do all that often) celebrating the occasion.  We received a lot of congratulations, but I received a message from a woman who is about three weeks further along than I am (she's one of those people who friended me even though I only ever really talked to her for a grand total of about 20 minutes in high school).  She sent me a long message about how lucky I should realize I am, that she went through two years of trying to conceive (without any doctor intervention) and an early miscarriage, that I should realize what I've been given because of what she'd been through.  She had sent me something similar back when she first found out that we were pregnant, making sure that I knew how hard her journey had been. 

I have to admit - I thought for a fleeting second about taking the low road.  I thought about responding that we'd only been able to conceive via IVF after five years of trying, that I'd had both a previous miscarriage and the most devastating loss of my entire life when our little girl was stillborn, that I was enduring a lot of physical pain currently that I welcome with open arms if it means Jota's safe.  I would never, ever respond that, though - while she's a one-upper, I don't ever want to be that person.  I don't want to use my grief and life for dramatic effect, I don't need to prove what we've been through to anyone - it's not for anyone else to know.  Plus, who wants to win the "I've got a sadder story" award?!?  And, ultimately, the problem with one-upping is that someone can always one-up you.  I know of so many people, both in real life and through their stories online, who have endured so much - things that I can barely even fathom. 

I don't want to think we have it tough - I think this is the happiest time of my entire life, as I have an absolutely inspiring husband, an amazing little girl in Heaven who I know is safe, and a beautiful little girl who is thriving inside of me.  I obviously ache for Maddie to be here in my arms, but I also celebrate where she is, and that I know she's happier than I could ever have made her.  Our infertility and loss brought us here, and "here" is full of promise and hope.

So Sweet

I signed in to Facebook over lunch to see that the wonderful and sweet Jen (from HERE) had made this absolutely lovely photo for Maddie for International Babylost Mother's Day:

I'm just in love with this, and am so very grateful.  It's just so lovely and sweet.  Thinking of all of the other mothers who have lost their children.

Appointment yesterday

We were at 27 weeks and 2 days yesterday when I had my OB appointment.  No ultrasound this week, just a manual exam.  All was "long, closed, and tight."  I was measuring at 28 weeks, even though I somehow lost two pounds last week?  All of that good news hasn't necessarily stopped me from panicking today as she keeps kicking around/at/(hopefully not) in my cervix.  I was so glad and grateful for another fantastic appointment, though.

I was on the way home and saw a mother pushing a stroller.  I had such strong emotions in such a short time - I thought about how I pray and hope that we'll be able to push Jota around soon, but then thought about how I long to have that opportunity with Maddie.  So often I'll wake up in the morning and think about how I'd love to be getting her out of her bassinet and having her lie in bed with me for a little bit before getting ready - since I can't, I talk to her urn and try to let her know how very much I love her.  It's so hard - we only got to have her in our arms for such a brief time that sometimes it feels like I am crazy for longing to have her back there so much.

No Complaints

I try not to ever complain about this pregnancy.  I worry, I fret, I stew - but I try not to complain about this amazing, wonderful blessing.

The truth is, there are some things that are rough, in all honesty.  It's been 13 weeks and 4 days that I've been on bedrest/work restrictions.  My legs have throbbed since about 2 weeks after the cerclage.  My back feels horrible.  I still have a ton of pressure and pain in my cervix, and every single one of these Braxton Hicks contractons terrifies me.  I mourn Maddie, and am scared to be too excited for Jota.

However, then I think about some of the horrifying stories I've read, and how much worse than me people have it.  My story isn't really that unique, it won't be remembered in medical journals or circles - I have lots of physical and emotional stuff going on related to this pregnancy and Maddie, but there are women who have endured so much worse.  While my babies are remarkable, I really am not.  I don't mean that in a self-depricating way, or like I'm looking for compliments - it's true.  Thousands and thousands of women have done this, and that gives me hope.  That keeps me from wallowing in the "poor me" syndrome to which I could easily fall prey.

I will happily do all of this and so very, very much more to keep Jota safe.  I would give anything to have my family safe - I know that I can't do anything to bring Maddie back, but I can absolutely help Jota.  I will do it, and rejoice for the opportunity.

Perspective

I just saw a really dumb image on a TV commercial.  It was for some local lawyer or something, but it showed a man standing out in the middle of a hedge maze.  The only thing was that he was at least 2.5 feet taller than the hedges, and he was just looking out in the distance - how is it a maze if you can see over it?

I keep wishing I could just see over the hedges right now (not likely even in practical senses, since I'm all of 5'2"...).  I would be able to see past all of this worry.  I worry that the baby won't be healthy.  I worry about my body not cooperating, and that it will hurt her.  I worry that I'm getting blood clots or something in my legs from lying down so much, even though I get up to go to the bathroom, and exercise my legs at least once an hour.  I worry that the stomach problems I'm having right now are going to somehow hurt the baby.  I worry that something is going to happen to my husband, whom I love so very much.  I worry that I won't be a good mom, if we're blessed enough to have this little girl be born healthy.  I worry about Maddie, and that she feels our love.  I worry, I worry, I worry, and it seems like all I ever think about (or post on here).

It would be so much easier if I could just pull up and view the maze from above.  I know, though, that God sees my maze from above, and that He's guiding me through it, turn by turn.  I'm just not going to be able to see the end until we're out of it, and I just have to trust.  I just need to remind myself of that, as I try and break free and guide myself blindly - and that there are mazes that are so much more complicated than mine.  I'm so blessed to have the support and love that I do. 
(I apologize that the analogy is a bit corny - it just seemed apropos.)

New Territory

I survived.  I made it past the 21w3d mark.  I have to admit - Monday was worse than yesterday was, because I kept thinking things like, "At this time with Maddie, I was just getting to the hospital."  "At this time, she kicked me for the last time."  When I woke up yesterday, everything was already past the 12:08 a.m. mark.

So, now I am more pregnant than I ever got to be with Maddie.  I am so grateful for this opportunity and this little girl inside of me - I just want to give her everything I can.  I worry so much that this won't happen for us, but I also worry about my abilities to be a mother.  I want to be amazing.  I don't want to do the things to this baby that made me hurt as a child.  I spend a lot of time worrying that I'll be selfish, impatient, or angry - that I'll be unkind or act inconvenienced.  I don't ever want to do that to my baby.  I know no parent is perfect, but I just want to do this right.  I want to give this baby the best of everything, as I try and give Maddie all of the love I have while she's in Heaven.

21 weeks 2 days... almost 21 weeks 3 days

I first wanted to thank people for their overwhelmingly sweet reactions to my post yesterday.  I hope I didn't come off as complaining - I just don't want any other women receiving judgment, so I figured I'd be a jerk and be vocal about it.  :)

Today is 21 weeks and 2 days, which obviously makes tomorrow 21 weeks 3 days.  At this exact point in our pregnancy with Maddie, I was in the hospital in labor, waiting to deliver our beautiful little girl.  (She would eventually come at 12:08 a.m.) 

I don't know why, but I'm having a harder time with this than I did with her due date, or with most other things.  I am so incredibly thrilled for this baby to be doing well (praying that continues to be true), but I feel a little like I'm betraying Maddie.  As of 12:09 a.m.. tomorrow morning, I'll be more pregnant than I ever got to be with that wonderful, beautiful little girl.  I pray that this pregnancy continues on for many, many more weeks, but I just feel bad for Maddie for some reason.

I know that this is entirely illogical.  This pregnancy is a totally different pregnancy than Maddie's, and it in no way negates her.  I logically know that today and tomorrow are not milestones that belong to anyone else, or even really matter - I just feel that little pang and pray for the happiness of the beautiful little girl that is while I hope and pray for the safety for the little girl to be.