I miss you

Before you read this, please understand that this isn't going to be like any of my other posts.  Its not something I write with a light heart.  Its something I need to get off my chest.

Today marks a day that will forever be burned into my brain.  2 years ago I gave birth to an amazing little boy.  From the amnio that we'd had done, we know he was perfect.  From every ultrasound we'd had, he kicked and squirmed like he was determined to be a soccer player or something.  He was, by all accounts, going to be perfect- a handful, no doubt (hey, he had 2 older brothers to imitate)- but absolutely perfect.

On July 8th, 2009, I went in for my check up.  I was 19 weeks along.  I had my boys with me.  At first he couldn't find the heartbeat with the doppler.  He didn't act worried- he went and got the ultrasound machine, claiming that our baby was probably just lying in a weird way.  My doctor asked my boys if they wanted to see their little brother.

I knew something was wrong.  My little squirmer wasn't moving. 

My doctor still tried to assure me that things might be ok.  He sent me down for a better ultrasound.  I knew my boy was gone.  They told me that, from the looks of it, he stopped growing at 15 weeks along, so that's when he most likely passed.  It will always be a question in my mind if the amnio I'd opted for had been the cause- the 2 instances coincided so closely together.

After a lot of issues with insurance and what not, we ended up having to deliver my baby instead of getting the "easier" D&E.  Christopher Scott was born at 12:10 a.m. on July 10th. 

In a way, it was a good thing we had to deliver him.  I ended up getting an infection that they had to treat with antibiotics.  If we'd gone to PP to get the other procedure done, who knows what could have happened to me.  It was too hard to want to hold him after he was born- I couldn't even look- but they gave me a box with some things in it, including a picture.  I've yet to look at it, but its there.

Now that its been a couple of years, I'm doing better.  Its still hard- like when I look at Nicholas and wonder what Christopher would have been like- but I'm not a mess.

There are some things I learned after losing him that you don't fully grasp unless you're in that situation- things like, don't call someone who has just lost someone they love unless you can keep it together.  The last thing they should have to do during that time is help YOU with YOUR grief.

Also, I will NEVER say "I understand" or "Everything happens for a reason".  You never actually CAN understand since every situation is different and -even if you can give the exact reason why God allowed it to happen- no one cares when they're going through that.  I've learned that the best thing a person can say is "I'm here"- and then hold on for the ride, because its an emotional roller coaster.

I asked a friend the other day (who had gone through a similar situation) when I would ever feel completely normal, and she made a good point- this IS now my "normal".  Some days I'll feel great.  Some days I won't.  Some days I won't think about him at all- and that's ok.  Some days I'll remember that I haven't thought about him and I'll feel guilty- and that's ok, too.

I also realized that there is NO timeline for grief.  Everyone says that, but what people say and what they expect are 2 different things.  Its one thing to say you feel down or upset about losing him a month or 2 after it happens, but after a while, most people patiently (and some not so patiently) listen to you, all the while wearing a "you're not over it yet?" look on their faces and once you're finished, they ask if you've talked to someone yet.

Well, duh- YOU are someone.

Not once did I say I'm DEPRESSED or SUICIDAL.  I just said I'm feeling "DOWN" or "OFF".  I didn't ask for answers or for you to even open your mouth.  I needed to talk.  To open up.  If people need someone to vent to about their crappy bosses and horrible traffic they encountered on the way home, shouldn't I get to vent about losing my baby?  Not once would I ever listen to someone say,"Argh!  My husband is SO annoying!  He pissed me off SO bad!  He REALLY hurt my feelings!" and then come back at them with,"Have you talked to someone about how you feel?"  Tomorrow, your boss might give you a deserved raise; traffic will clear up, and your husband might apologize.  I won't see my baby until I get to Heaven.

I understand there's a reason for everything, or, more accurately,"Romans 8:28 (King James Version)
"And we know that all things work together for good to them that love God, and are the called according to his purpose."  I look at Nicholas everyday and think about the fact that -if we'd had Christopher- Nicholas wouldn't be here.  And then the guilt comes.  I think about what the world lost when Christopher died and what the world gained when Nicholas was born.  I know God has a plan for all that has happened, and its not my job to "figure it out" but to watch it unfold.  Its not always easy to remember that- and its NOT something I wanted to hear right after we lost him- but I get that.

In the mean time, today marks a sad and special day.  It was the day I officially said,"See you later" to my baby and the day that my baby got to get his first hug from God.  Sometimes I remind myself when Camo doesn't check in on time or when Jacob rides his scooter too far out of my line of sight, I ALWAYS know where my Christopher is- he's in the safest arms of anyone I've ever known.

And I'm sure he's running around, causing everyone in Heaven to laugh, and talking their ear off.  He IS, after all, my son.

Hey! Its a circus!

They fly through the air with the greatest of ease- that daring young man on the flying trapeze.

Some people might think that old song is about a circus performer; those of us that have boys, know better.

Today I spent a good portion of my day running all over the house trying to keep my boys from killing themselves through a series of death defying feats and wrestling matches. Sure, head trauma SOUNDS like a great time, but its all well and fine until you get the hospital bill.

For the most part, I've grown accustomed to the many daring actions my sons have performed over the years. When I hear crying now, my response is usually, “Who did what?”, and I will rarely make my way to the scene of the crime, insisting that -unless legs have been broken or they have a sucking chest wound- they need to come to me because I wasn't the one who decided to jump off the top bunk; jump off the dresser; get their hand stuck in the crib bars; etc. I've gotten wiser in my old age- unless I'm looking to increase my activity level, running to them for every cry will do nothing except cause me to lose patience and breath.

Please don't take anything I say the wrong way; I actually LOVE having boys. Do you know how many parents take a CPR certification class and NEVER get the chance to perfect their skills? And I got to not only perform CPR, but the Heimlich as well- all in one week in my first 2 years as a mom! I have learned that most head wounds- though messy- are not always serious; I've also learned the different types of bugs that are okay to eat (FYI- pill bugs are perfectly safe and great “pre-munching” entertainment!).

Maybe I'm sick and twisted (very likely), but I find it amusing to watch the faces of new moms as they stare intently at their toddler boys at the park. They don't want to be “helicopter moms”, hovering closely and suffocating their sons' experiences, but fear keeps them from sitting down and relaxing. So, they stand there, rocking back and forth, waiting, ready to sprint like Superman the moment Jr. starts to take a tumble. The problem is, I learned long ago that you'll never reach them in time, and the fear on your face will cause them to scream bloody murder even if they aren't hurt. The best approach, I've found, is the “ignorance is bliss” approach. Its a kind of “If a child falls on the play ground, but no mommy is around to hear him scream, does he make a sound?” approach. Its all very Zen.

After having boys, I also don't worry about germs as much anymore. Sure, there are some instances where a good hand-washing is in order; and I will NEVER allow the 5 second rule at a truck stop; but I've seen Jacob crawl under chairs at a doctor's office and come out chewing on something- after that, you kind of stop worrying about keeping them “germ free”. When your child says, “Look what I found, Mom!” as they're leaving a park restroom -don't ask- the least of your worries should be shopping cart handles.

Its just a dent- it'll buff out

My youngest, Nicholas, no longer has his new baby smell.

Just so we're clear, I mean that in the metaphorical sense, not the literal. Personally, I could do without the dirty diaper/spit up smell that comes in most brand new models, so I'm definitely not going to complain about losing that.

No, I'm talking about him officially losing his “newness”. With cars, it might be that first scratch or spilled soda on the interior; with a new house, maybe its the family dog peeing on your brand new carpet; with my brand new baby, though, I let him roll off the bed.

Its not like I intentionally invited him over the edge into the abyss. I set him on the bed in a mound of blankets and then turned my head for a millisecond.  Unfortunately, that was the millisecond my sweet little 2 month old decided to roll over for the first time.

Just so we're clear, he's ok. However, the new baby feel? Right out the window. He made it through his first tumble alive. He's no longer a baby- he's a warrior. He stared death in the face and mocked it openly.

Ok, so I might be overstating the direness of the situation.

Its funny how parents' reactions change with each child that comes along. When my oldest son fell off the bed-

Yes. He fell off the bed too. Its nearly a right of passage for the boys in our home. I don't know why- it just is.

Anyways, when my oldest son fell off the bed for the first time, I practically wanted to take him to the hospital to get an entire work up- EKG, EEG- the works. When my 4 year old fell off the bed, I was scared, cried, but then started to laugh when my husband pointed out that if he makes it nowhere else in the world, he'll have a lucrative career in the circus because his flip technique was impeccable. Today, when Nicholas fell off the bed, I sat down at this computer, updated my Facebook status detailing my failure as a mom, and then proceeded with this entry. 

Not that I want another child- I've said that a 3rd boy was God's way of saying "don't do it again"- but I'm wondering if I would just toss him off the side of the bed to get it over with, saying,"You're going to do it anyways..."

Too much? 

Self Esteem? What's that?

I've figured out that becoming a mom can really mess with your self-esteem.

Sure, you did something that no man could do- and kudos to you for doing it!- but I'm pretty sure- no, I'm positive- that if men were actually ABLE to give birth, the human race would have ended with Cain...

and I'm not so sure I would have blamed Adam in the least.

So, maybe boasting about my ability to run the race that is "labor and delivery" is less of an accomplishment and more of a walking, talking testament to my insanity.  When you really think about it, all moms are masochists.  Even if you didn't willingly go through labor or a c-section- if you took the adoption route- you still made a conscious decision to let your heart walk around outside of your body.  If that's not asking for pain, I don't know what is.

And then, after its all said and done, not only do you have a baby to show for your efforts, but now you have many other "badges of honor": bags under your eyes from lack of sleep, a saggy stomach, stretch marks, and swollen- well, yeah.  I'm actually in awe of the women I hear about with kids only 10 months apart- with them, for WANTING their husbands near them so soon after, but also with their husbands, for not being scared off.

Me?  I did everything but put up a barbed wire fence around my side of the bed.

Of course, my husband is wonderful.  He tells me I'm beautiful everyday.  I love his dishonesty.  Its like that song that says "Tell me lies, tell me sweet little lies"- it NEARLY changes my perception of myself momentarily when I look in the mirror.

Nearly.

Until my  sweet, honest 4 year old climbs onto my lap and says,"I love how fluffy you are, Mom."