This pregnancy I have become a master at defense mechanisms. Not by choice really, but it seems to be my standard operating mode- Full Shields Up.
I spent the entire pregnancy with Frostina being scared. Petrified would be a better word. I was sure that at any moment it would all go wrong again. I fretted and cried and fretted some more. I made myself miserable with stress and fear and worry. I'm not upset at myself about it because it was the only way I knew how to be pregnant after a loss. It was my standard operating mode.
This time around things are very different. For one thing, I have Frostina to chase around. Plus there's the international move, trying to find a new house, and getting my new life sorted here in Florida. I am busy and have much less time to sit around being scared.
But it's more than that I think. I think this time around I just can't be fearful the entire time. I can't be worried all the time that this baby will die. I barely survived a fear-filled pregnancy and I think I just can't do it again. So my smart little brain has figured out how to put the walls up and help me to focus on the rest of my life, not just the pregnancy. I have no idea how it happened or how long it will last. I may wake up tomorrow and feel completely different,,, and that's ok,,, but for now this is how I feel and what seems to be working for me.
A bit of the old me has crept back in. The old me that stayed away from sad and scary stories. The old me that truly believed that ignorance in some cases is bliss. The old me that actually allows myself to believe that being pregnant means you will be coming home with a living baby in the end. I'm not as foolish as the old me though. I do know that avoiding bad thoughts and stories doesn't protect you from having them happen. This time I am choosing to focus on the positive as opposed to hiding from the negative.
I have found myself shying away from many of my old haunts here in the internet. I am no longer drawn to every sad story of women who like me have lost children. Not because I don't care about them or don't relate anymore,,,, because I still do. But more because I don't need to connect to the pain of others the way I used to. There was a time when I craved that kind of affirmation, to know I wasn't alone. But now it all feels a bit too much, a bit too indulgent, a bit like I need to spend my time focusing on my life as it is now.
Trust me, this is not a happy, I'm over it now post. I'm so not over it. But I can't dwell on it like I used to. I can't let it consume me day in and day out. I have to do things like paint Baby Olea's room in the new house and go through Frostina's old clothes to see how many are suitable for the sunny Florida climate.
I have to move forward and live my life. And for now that means not dwelling so much on the past. Never forgetting my beloved son of course, but perhaps filing things away. Away behind the defensive walls, behind the shields. The way you put important things away in a very safe place you know you can revisit when you need to. Put away for safe keeping as opposed to being put in a frame sitting in your front room.
Dealing with the loss of a child is never easy, but it's even more difficult when you are an expat living far from home. Life will never be "normal" again and so now the challenge is to find my new normal. I am now back in the USA and the proud parent of two daughters, born using two different egg donors. "Frostina" and "Olea" are the loves of my life and I feel so grateful for the amazing women who donated their eggs and made my family possible.
Showing posts with label coping. Show all posts
Showing posts with label coping. Show all posts
Tuesday, 13 May 2014
Monday, 14 October 2013
A Strange IVF Cycle
I apologise for the lack of posts about my IVF cycle. For some reason I'm having a tough time expressing my feelings about it. Not just here in this space, but in real life as well. I'm operating as if I'm not really doing this.
As if I'm not actually injecting myself with hormones that make me crazy tired and crazy emotional. As if I'm not a week away from getting updates on my donor's progress. As if I don't have a schedule that includes an estimated embryo transfer date. As if I don't have to fly to the US for transfer in a few short weeks. As if we're not putting all our hopes and dreams into this.
Because we are, and I am.
But for whatever reason, I'm not allowing myself to focus on it too much. I don't know if it's because I'm just too busy with Frostina, or if it's something else. All I know is that I want it just as much as when we were trying to conceive my son, and as much as when we were trying to conceive Frostina. I just can't bring myself to think about it too much.
It's strange.
As if I'm not actually injecting myself with hormones that make me crazy tired and crazy emotional. As if I'm not a week away from getting updates on my donor's progress. As if I don't have a schedule that includes an estimated embryo transfer date. As if I don't have to fly to the US for transfer in a few short weeks. As if we're not putting all our hopes and dreams into this.
Because we are, and I am.
But for whatever reason, I'm not allowing myself to focus on it too much. I don't know if it's because I'm just too busy with Frostina, or if it's something else. All I know is that I want it just as much as when we were trying to conceive my son, and as much as when we were trying to conceive Frostina. I just can't bring myself to think about it too much.
It's strange.
Tuesday, 28 May 2013
I Can Look At Babies Again
I've always loved children and babies,,, always.
I started as a very young babysitter for all the children in my neighbourhood. In fact, I babysat until I figured out that all the rest of my friends were going to parties that I was missing out on. I had dreams about my future babies; what I would name them, how I would dress them, and how they would fit into my life.
I loved when I would catch a baby smiling at me from across the room. That little cute face with it's little toothless smile. Ahhh, it used to melt my heart. I'd do anything for that moment.
And then something happened. My baby died at 36 weeks.
My beloved son died before he had a chance to be born. I will never forget seeing him for the first time, lifeless in the bassinet the hospital provided for him. Just a shell of a real baby, there but not there. His body was intact yet I knew his soul had already passed on.
After that I couldn't look at another baby. Whenever I passed a mother with her baby buggy I would look away, not wanting to see her living baby mocking me. Babies became a reminder of what I had lost. Each cute toothless smile was like a knife in my heart. "Look at me, I didn't die," they would say to me. "My Mom did something right and protected me, unlike you did for your baby."
Seeing a living baby became a slap in the face.
So I avoided babies for a very long time. As much as a person can avoid babies when she lives in a town full of babies.
But something has changed. Changed as a result of having my wonderful rainbow baby Frostina in my life. I can now look at babies again.
It came slowly I think, or maybe I'm just slow to notice it. But somewhere along the way, looking at babies doesn't hurt as much. Just today I was out without Frostina and I caught myself noticing all the baby girls I came into contact with. I was trying to figure out if they were older than her, or younger. If they were cuter than her or not,,,, of course none of them were cuter than she is!
That's when it hit me. I can look at babies again without it taking my breath away. Looking at babies used to be a grief trigger for me, but not anymore.
Now I just look at babies and smile again.
I started as a very young babysitter for all the children in my neighbourhood. In fact, I babysat until I figured out that all the rest of my friends were going to parties that I was missing out on. I had dreams about my future babies; what I would name them, how I would dress them, and how they would fit into my life.
I loved when I would catch a baby smiling at me from across the room. That little cute face with it's little toothless smile. Ahhh, it used to melt my heart. I'd do anything for that moment.
And then something happened. My baby died at 36 weeks.
My beloved son died before he had a chance to be born. I will never forget seeing him for the first time, lifeless in the bassinet the hospital provided for him. Just a shell of a real baby, there but not there. His body was intact yet I knew his soul had already passed on.
After that I couldn't look at another baby. Whenever I passed a mother with her baby buggy I would look away, not wanting to see her living baby mocking me. Babies became a reminder of what I had lost. Each cute toothless smile was like a knife in my heart. "Look at me, I didn't die," they would say to me. "My Mom did something right and protected me, unlike you did for your baby."
Seeing a living baby became a slap in the face.
So I avoided babies for a very long time. As much as a person can avoid babies when she lives in a town full of babies.
But something has changed. Changed as a result of having my wonderful rainbow baby Frostina in my life. I can now look at babies again.
It came slowly I think, or maybe I'm just slow to notice it. But somewhere along the way, looking at babies doesn't hurt as much. Just today I was out without Frostina and I caught myself noticing all the baby girls I came into contact with. I was trying to figure out if they were older than her, or younger. If they were cuter than her or not,,,, of course none of them were cuter than she is!
That's when it hit me. I can look at babies again without it taking my breath away. Looking at babies used to be a grief trigger for me, but not anymore.
Now I just look at babies and smile again.
Sunday, 3 March 2013
The "Me" Before
She was telling a story. Remembering things from the past. Talking about how much fun I am. Talking about how I throw the best parties. Telling everyone that I'm such a good cook. Saying how she was so happy to be moving back to London because she and her husband really missed us. They missed us because we are such good friends and we are so much fun.
Who is she? She is a friend that I met when I first moved to London almost 8 years ago. She was friends with me before tragedy hit. She was friends with the old me, the "me" before. She moved away a month before my son died. In fact, she delayed her departure so she could attend my baby shower. That was the last time she saw me until a few weeks ago.
Who was she telling her stories to? She was sharing this information with some of my new friends. Friends who didn't know the "me" before. As she was walking down memory lane, sharing stories about fun times and crazy moments I could see looks of wonder on the faces of my newer friends. I could tell that they didn't recognize the "me" that was being described in the stories. In a way, neither did I. That person seems so far away now.
It's been just over 2 and a half years since my precious baby boy died. A lot has happened since then. I have come out of the fog of early grief and despair. I have gone on to have my rainbow baby and know the joy of parenting a living child. I have slowly and deliberately carved out a new life for myself, a new normal.
I am no longer frozen in time. I no longer count each day without him. I no longer cry for hours every day. I suppose it's fair to say that I have moved on with life. I have moved forward to a place where there is still some sadness, but there is also much joy.
But I am forever changed. You can't go through something as devastating and soul destroying as losing a child and come out the other side the same person. It's just not possible. Moments like this create permanent marks in our lives. There will never be a time when I go back to being that person. There will always be "The Me Before," and "The Me After."
I don't think too much about the person I was before my son died and was born. I guess that's because it's been such a tough road to get to the person I am today. I'm still in the trenches trying to find my way to a happier place. So I rarely look back anymore.
But this week I caught a glimpse of the "me" before when I listened to her stories. And I really missed the woman I used to be. They way she talked about me made me remember just how full of life I was. How idealistic and positive I was, even in the midst of an almost 8 year battle with infertility. I had a joy for life that I haven't been able to recapture just yet.
It was quite an interesting evening. Sitting with a mix of old friends and new friends. Friends I knew on either side of the tragedy that was my son's death. Two very different sides of the same person. I could see that my new friends did not entirely recognize the woman she was describing. The "me" before threw a lot of parties and cooked up a storm, the "me" after has much fewer parties and hardly ever cooks for her friends. The old me would never turn down a chance to socialize while the new me sometimes does.
It got me a bit nostalgic about the past. I know I can't change anything. There will be no magical transformation back to that fun loving, much less complicated person. But maybe I could try and bring a bit of the fun back. Not just for them, but for me. There was a time when I loved having people over. There was a time when I loved cooking for friends. Perhaps I need to try and recapture that feeling.
Perhaps it's time for me to invite some friends over for a BBQ sometime soon.
Who is she? She is a friend that I met when I first moved to London almost 8 years ago. She was friends with me before tragedy hit. She was friends with the old me, the "me" before. She moved away a month before my son died. In fact, she delayed her departure so she could attend my baby shower. That was the last time she saw me until a few weeks ago.
Who was she telling her stories to? She was sharing this information with some of my new friends. Friends who didn't know the "me" before. As she was walking down memory lane, sharing stories about fun times and crazy moments I could see looks of wonder on the faces of my newer friends. I could tell that they didn't recognize the "me" that was being described in the stories. In a way, neither did I. That person seems so far away now.
It's been just over 2 and a half years since my precious baby boy died. A lot has happened since then. I have come out of the fog of early grief and despair. I have gone on to have my rainbow baby and know the joy of parenting a living child. I have slowly and deliberately carved out a new life for myself, a new normal.
I am no longer frozen in time. I no longer count each day without him. I no longer cry for hours every day. I suppose it's fair to say that I have moved on with life. I have moved forward to a place where there is still some sadness, but there is also much joy.
But I am forever changed. You can't go through something as devastating and soul destroying as losing a child and come out the other side the same person. It's just not possible. Moments like this create permanent marks in our lives. There will never be a time when I go back to being that person. There will always be "The Me Before," and "The Me After."
I don't think too much about the person I was before my son died and was born. I guess that's because it's been such a tough road to get to the person I am today. I'm still in the trenches trying to find my way to a happier place. So I rarely look back anymore.
But this week I caught a glimpse of the "me" before when I listened to her stories. And I really missed the woman I used to be. They way she talked about me made me remember just how full of life I was. How idealistic and positive I was, even in the midst of an almost 8 year battle with infertility. I had a joy for life that I haven't been able to recapture just yet.
It was quite an interesting evening. Sitting with a mix of old friends and new friends. Friends I knew on either side of the tragedy that was my son's death. Two very different sides of the same person. I could see that my new friends did not entirely recognize the woman she was describing. The "me" before threw a lot of parties and cooked up a storm, the "me" after has much fewer parties and hardly ever cooks for her friends. The old me would never turn down a chance to socialize while the new me sometimes does.
It got me a bit nostalgic about the past. I know I can't change anything. There will be no magical transformation back to that fun loving, much less complicated person. But maybe I could try and bring a bit of the fun back. Not just for them, but for me. There was a time when I loved having people over. There was a time when I loved cooking for friends. Perhaps I need to try and recapture that feeling.
Perhaps it's time for me to invite some friends over for a BBQ sometime soon.
Sunday, 12 August 2012
The Reality Of This Baby
As I've written about in my previous posts, I've really been all over the place emotionally since Frostina was born. At first I thought it was just normal baby blues and it would pass. Then as time went by and my feelings of overwhelming anxiety continued, I realized that maybe this wasn't something I could take care of on my own.
My first attempt to reach out didn't achieve the results I had hoped. I asked my OB (consultant) who told me that this was completely normal for someone in my situation with my history. I knew this didn't seem right so I didn't stop there. I reached out and was connected with a lovely therapist who not only has an office near me, but is willing to make house visits. Considering that Frostina is only 2 months old, a counsellor who is willing to come to me is amazingly convenient.
I had my first session with her this week and got a lot out of it. It was really nice to have someone to talk to about the jumbled up mess that is going on in my head right now. I realized that I really need to be in therapy right now. We had grief counselling after our son died and I found it amazingly helpful. We had a session with a therapist as part of our egg donation program. But since then we haven't had any kind of therapy.
In hindsight I'm not sure this was the greatest idea. We endured our entire pregnancy after a loss with no professional help. The time when you would think we would need the most support, we decided to go it on our own. I did consider it a few times, but just never got around to setting anything up. So all those fears and anxieties just built up inside me.
The result? A new Mommy who really needs therapy.
I've only had one session so far but here's what I know. I don't have post natal depression, but I do have lots of anxiety left over from my traumatic past that I need to work through. The birth of Frostina has brought back so many feelings surrounding the birth of my son. The comparisons between the pregnancies, the comparisons of the births, and the glaringly different outcomes.
Even though I have grieved my son, those feelings are still there, and having Frostina here with me just highlights how much I missed out on with him. The sleepless nights are real now, not imaginary. She has become the center of our household in a tangible way, while he was always only the center of our thoughts and dreams. He was and always will be the fantasy of a baby, his life unfulfilled, while she is the reality of a baby.
The reality of a baby. A baby who cries, and has colic, and cries some more. A baby who doesn't adapt to my idea of a schedule and won't go to sleep on demand. The reality of a baby after 2 years of dreaming about my fantasy of a baby. A fantasy baby who probably would have been very much like his sister if he had lived.
I have learned that I need to set aside my fantasies and deal with the reality of this baby. I have to allow myself to enjoy her and live in the moment. To stop trying to control everything and keep on top of all things. To not be so hard on myself. To relax more and to stress a bit less. Because she is her own little person who will exert her own will. Who will eat and sleep on her own schedule, and that's OK.
So that's what we're going to be working on in our sessions. The reality of this baby. This baby who is alive and here with us. The reality of this baby and everything that goes along with it. The fun parts and the challenging parts. The reality of this baby who we have wanted more than anything, who we love more than anything, and who has brought an amazing amount of joy and happiness to our family.
My first attempt to reach out didn't achieve the results I had hoped. I asked my OB (consultant) who told me that this was completely normal for someone in my situation with my history. I knew this didn't seem right so I didn't stop there. I reached out and was connected with a lovely therapist who not only has an office near me, but is willing to make house visits. Considering that Frostina is only 2 months old, a counsellor who is willing to come to me is amazingly convenient.
I had my first session with her this week and got a lot out of it. It was really nice to have someone to talk to about the jumbled up mess that is going on in my head right now. I realized that I really need to be in therapy right now. We had grief counselling after our son died and I found it amazingly helpful. We had a session with a therapist as part of our egg donation program. But since then we haven't had any kind of therapy.
In hindsight I'm not sure this was the greatest idea. We endured our entire pregnancy after a loss with no professional help. The time when you would think we would need the most support, we decided to go it on our own. I did consider it a few times, but just never got around to setting anything up. So all those fears and anxieties just built up inside me.
The result? A new Mommy who really needs therapy.
I've only had one session so far but here's what I know. I don't have post natal depression, but I do have lots of anxiety left over from my traumatic past that I need to work through. The birth of Frostina has brought back so many feelings surrounding the birth of my son. The comparisons between the pregnancies, the comparisons of the births, and the glaringly different outcomes.
Even though I have grieved my son, those feelings are still there, and having Frostina here with me just highlights how much I missed out on with him. The sleepless nights are real now, not imaginary. She has become the center of our household in a tangible way, while he was always only the center of our thoughts and dreams. He was and always will be the fantasy of a baby, his life unfulfilled, while she is the reality of a baby.
The reality of a baby. A baby who cries, and has colic, and cries some more. A baby who doesn't adapt to my idea of a schedule and won't go to sleep on demand. The reality of a baby after 2 years of dreaming about my fantasy of a baby. A fantasy baby who probably would have been very much like his sister if he had lived.
I have learned that I need to set aside my fantasies and deal with the reality of this baby. I have to allow myself to enjoy her and live in the moment. To stop trying to control everything and keep on top of all things. To not be so hard on myself. To relax more and to stress a bit less. Because she is her own little person who will exert her own will. Who will eat and sleep on her own schedule, and that's OK.
So that's what we're going to be working on in our sessions. The reality of this baby. This baby who is alive and here with us. The reality of this baby and everything that goes along with it. The fun parts and the challenging parts. The reality of this baby who we have wanted more than anything, who we love more than anything, and who has brought an amazing amount of joy and happiness to our family.
Monday, 6 August 2012
Someone With "My History"
I'm still waiting for answers as to what's going on with my moodiness. I did ask my doctor at my 6 week check up but he was very dismissive. He told me that if I was clinically depressed then I'd be frozen and wouldn't be able to even hold or feed my baby. He said that the mood swings I'm experiencing are completely normal for someone with "my history."
My History: Years of infertility... Finally getting pregnant... A full term stillbirth... Another pregnancy filled with fear and anxiety... The birth of my rainbow baby.
Apparently someone with my history should expect to feel like an emotional wreck? I'm not so sure all of this is normal. My doctor is an amazing doctor and I truly believe that without his vigilance and expertise this pregnancy would likely have ended like my first one. **I have good reason to think this. Have I written about that yet??? I don't think I have but I will soon.
Anyway, while his expertise in all things high risk pregnancy and placentas is amazing, I don't think that emotional issues are his strong suit. So I have a call into a therapist who specializes in pregnancy related issues. I am hoping that a sit down with her will help give me the answers I need.
Maybe the way I'm feeling is totally normal for someone with my history? Maybe it's not? Maybe I just need someone to talk to about it, especially as the two year anniversary of my son's birth creeps up on me?
I'm just wanting some answers so I can figure the best way to snap out of this. Because I really want to be able to enjoy Frostina and be the Mother she deserves without all the self doubt and anxiety.
My History: Years of infertility... Finally getting pregnant... A full term stillbirth... Another pregnancy filled with fear and anxiety... The birth of my rainbow baby.
Apparently someone with my history should expect to feel like an emotional wreck? I'm not so sure all of this is normal. My doctor is an amazing doctor and I truly believe that without his vigilance and expertise this pregnancy would likely have ended like my first one. **I have good reason to think this. Have I written about that yet??? I don't think I have but I will soon.
Anyway, while his expertise in all things high risk pregnancy and placentas is amazing, I don't think that emotional issues are his strong suit. So I have a call into a therapist who specializes in pregnancy related issues. I am hoping that a sit down with her will help give me the answers I need.
Maybe the way I'm feeling is totally normal for someone with my history? Maybe it's not? Maybe I just need someone to talk to about it, especially as the two year anniversary of my son's birth creeps up on me?
I'm just wanting some answers so I can figure the best way to snap out of this. Because I really want to be able to enjoy Frostina and be the Mother she deserves without all the self doubt and anxiety.
Monday, 30 July 2012
Fighting Sleep & Asking For Help
Lately Frostina has been fighting sleep. She's clearly tired and will fall asleep if someone is holding her. But the moment we set her down she's up again. Up and fussy. It can take some time to calm her down again and then she will sleep for a bit and then it all starts over. Lots and lots of crying. Lots and lots of time with a fussy, unhappy baby. A fussy tired baby who just won't go to sleep.
Just keep holding her? Well that would be fine if we didn't have to eat or sleep or pee, but it's not always possible to do that. Plus sometimes she will wake herself back up even when we do hold her. Everyone says that this is normal behaviour for a 7 week old baby. Everyone says it gets better. I want to believe everyone when they tell me this, but for now I'm pulling my hair out.
I have tried medicine for gas/wind which did nothing so I'm trying something new. My new strategy is two fold. First, I switched to these new bottles which are supposed to help them swallow less air, this resulting in less wind. These Dr Brown bottles promise miracles, I'll wait and see how they work.
In addition to the new bottles, I've started with a bedtime routine. We have a bath followed by a massage. Then we eat and get swaddled and put into bed. The first night this bath time routine worked like a charm. The second two nights,,, not so much. She went to bed each time looking sleepy, calm, and peaceful. This peace lasted about 10 minutes before she was back up and screaming again. But I will persevere because I'm hoping that with repetition she will figure out that bath + food = sleep.
She is the light of my life and the joy in my heart, but at this moment she is one fussy baby. I am at my wits end. I just want to make her happy. I just want her to be content and not cry all the time when she's awake. I want her to sleep well so that when she does have awake time it can be happy and fun. It may or may not be related to the colic. She may or may not actually have colic. She may just be going through a fussy phase.
Either way it's distressing and frustrating. Last night I had another meltdown about it all. When she's unhappy like this I feel overwhelmed and unable to cope. I feel like I'm not a good mother to be feeling overwhelmed and unable to cope. Then the guilt starts again because after all, she's alive. Alive and well and living at home with us. I can hold her in my arms and not just in my heart. And yet I find myself wanting to escape from the crying. To let The Hubby handle it while I curl up and cry.
I've got my 6 week post c-section appointment today. It's a bit late because my doctor has been away. I think I need to ask him about all the stress and anxiety I'm feeling. I think perhaps it's more than just having colic. I think maybe I may be dealing with some post partum depression. It's a scary thought because I've always seen myself as a stable, have my stuff together kind of person.
Accepting that I may be suffering from some kind of depression is difficult for me. Maybe this is normal? Maybe every new mother feels like this? At this point I have no idea. All I know is that The Hubby is worried about me, and I'm worried about me too. So I owe it to myself, The Hubby, and most importantly,,, to Frostina to figure it out. And to get help if that's what I need.
Just keep holding her? Well that would be fine if we didn't have to eat or sleep or pee, but it's not always possible to do that. Plus sometimes she will wake herself back up even when we do hold her. Everyone says that this is normal behaviour for a 7 week old baby. Everyone says it gets better. I want to believe everyone when they tell me this, but for now I'm pulling my hair out.
I have tried medicine for gas/wind which did nothing so I'm trying something new. My new strategy is two fold. First, I switched to these new bottles which are supposed to help them swallow less air, this resulting in less wind. These Dr Brown bottles promise miracles, I'll wait and see how they work.
In addition to the new bottles, I've started with a bedtime routine. We have a bath followed by a massage. Then we eat and get swaddled and put into bed. The first night this bath time routine worked like a charm. The second two nights,,, not so much. She went to bed each time looking sleepy, calm, and peaceful. This peace lasted about 10 minutes before she was back up and screaming again. But I will persevere because I'm hoping that with repetition she will figure out that bath + food = sleep.
She is the light of my life and the joy in my heart, but at this moment she is one fussy baby. I am at my wits end. I just want to make her happy. I just want her to be content and not cry all the time when she's awake. I want her to sleep well so that when she does have awake time it can be happy and fun. It may or may not be related to the colic. She may or may not actually have colic. She may just be going through a fussy phase.
Either way it's distressing and frustrating. Last night I had another meltdown about it all. When she's unhappy like this I feel overwhelmed and unable to cope. I feel like I'm not a good mother to be feeling overwhelmed and unable to cope. Then the guilt starts again because after all, she's alive. Alive and well and living at home with us. I can hold her in my arms and not just in my heart. And yet I find myself wanting to escape from the crying. To let The Hubby handle it while I curl up and cry.
I've got my 6 week post c-section appointment today. It's a bit late because my doctor has been away. I think I need to ask him about all the stress and anxiety I'm feeling. I think perhaps it's more than just having colic. I think maybe I may be dealing with some post partum depression. It's a scary thought because I've always seen myself as a stable, have my stuff together kind of person.
Accepting that I may be suffering from some kind of depression is difficult for me. Maybe this is normal? Maybe every new mother feels like this? At this point I have no idea. All I know is that The Hubby is worried about me, and I'm worried about me too. So I owe it to myself, The Hubby, and most importantly,,, to Frostina to figure it out. And to get help if that's what I need.
Monday, 23 July 2012
Maybe I Have Colic Too?
Frostina has colic.
It's not the worst case of colic I've ever heard of, trust me I've heard some stories. But it's distressing nontheless. She cries and screams and just won't settle. Usually it happens around 7 or 8 at night and can continue until midnight. It's not every day, although we have been on a 3 day streak.
I've read all the books and tried a bunch of different things to help calm her. Nothing seems to work except holding her close, walking around, and waiting until she finally wear herself out and falls asleep. By this time, The Hubby and I are also exhausted and we all fall asleep. After an episode of colic she sleeps very well and wakes up the next morning in a great mood. As if the events of the night before never happened.
It's strange watching your happy baby suddenly transform into a unhappy fussy little person. It's frustrating when there's nothing you can really do to fix it for her. We don't know the cause and we really can't fix it until she gets a bit older and grows out of it. Until then we just have to learn how to cope with an unpredictable baby.
I can relate to Frostina's mood swings because I am having them myself.
I'm not sure exactly what is going on with me. Is it normal baby blues? Is it post natal depression? Is my period getting ready to start again and I have PMS? Whatever it is, my hormones are still not settled and as a result I swing from feeling totally happy and in love with my baby to totally exhausted and feeling like I can't handle another night of crying.
I have noticed that my moods have a timetable of their own. I wake up each morning happy and fresh. I feed Frostina with enthusiasm and we enjoy our time in the activity center and swing. We go out for walks and sometimes meet up with friends. The two of us are a happy pair.
As evening comes, something changes. I find myelf feeling tired and riddled with fatigue. Not just physical fatigue, but emotional fatigue. It is at this point where my doubts and insecurities start to kick in. My mind fills with questions and doubts.
Did I do everything right today?
Did I give her enough tummy time?
Did I give her enough stimulation via music and the activity center?
Did I cuddle her enough?
Why didn't I manage to give her a bath today?
Is it ok to let her sleep in her daytime clothes or should I be switching her to pajamas?
Is it bad that I haven't figured out a bedtime routine yet?
Should I be reading books to her?
Am I a good mother?
Am I doing a good job?
Am I doing everything right? - I seem to be obsessed with doing everything right.
Exhausted with this list yet? I know I am.
This list of questions and doubts (and lots more) starts floating around in my head. Am I a good mother? Does the fact that I doubt myself make me a bad mother? Does the fact that sometimes I wish there was someone else who could swoop in when she's crying and make it all better make me a bad mother? Don't get me wrong, The Hubby is amazing and a huge help, but sometimes (especially during her fussy colicky moments) all she wants is me.
As the evening turns into night and these doubts and worries have had a chance to stew in my head I start to get anxious. Anxious that she will be colicky again tonight. Anxious that it's my fault that she's so fussy and won't settle. Worried that she will cry until late in the night and I won't be able to get enough sleep to make it through the next day.
This anxiety and worry exhaust me and I get to the point where all I want to do is go to bed and sleep. Of course, this isn't possible during a night of colic because no one could sleep through the crying. So I often find myself crying right along with her.
The worst part of it all is that I get mad at myself for feeling this way. After all, she is my rainbow baby. When we lost our son I longed for sleepless nights and dirty diapers. I always swore that if I was ever lucky enough to have a rainbow baby I would embrace it all. I swore I would never complain, because a fussy baby is always better than a dead one.
So I beat myself up for being ungrateful. How can I have a moment of unhappiness about Frostina when she alive and here with us?
She's my take home baby. The one I prayed for. The one I wanted more than anything in life. So how can I reconcile the fact that sometimes I just wish I could escape from all the crying? Not ever to escape from her of course, but sometimes I just wish the crying fairy would come in and calm her down and get her to sleep.
Last night I had a talk with The Hubby about my moods. He's a bit worried as well. Neither of us can figure out exactly what it is or how to deal with it. So for now we're taking it day by day and hope that in time it will go away.
That's when I realized that my moods flux just like Frostina's. We both wake up each morning happy as can be and get fussy at night. So that's when it hit me. Maybe I have colic too?
It's not the worst case of colic I've ever heard of, trust me I've heard some stories. But it's distressing nontheless. She cries and screams and just won't settle. Usually it happens around 7 or 8 at night and can continue until midnight. It's not every day, although we have been on a 3 day streak.
I've read all the books and tried a bunch of different things to help calm her. Nothing seems to work except holding her close, walking around, and waiting until she finally wear herself out and falls asleep. By this time, The Hubby and I are also exhausted and we all fall asleep. After an episode of colic she sleeps very well and wakes up the next morning in a great mood. As if the events of the night before never happened.
It's strange watching your happy baby suddenly transform into a unhappy fussy little person. It's frustrating when there's nothing you can really do to fix it for her. We don't know the cause and we really can't fix it until she gets a bit older and grows out of it. Until then we just have to learn how to cope with an unpredictable baby.
I can relate to Frostina's mood swings because I am having them myself.
I'm not sure exactly what is going on with me. Is it normal baby blues? Is it post natal depression? Is my period getting ready to start again and I have PMS? Whatever it is, my hormones are still not settled and as a result I swing from feeling totally happy and in love with my baby to totally exhausted and feeling like I can't handle another night of crying.
I have noticed that my moods have a timetable of their own. I wake up each morning happy and fresh. I feed Frostina with enthusiasm and we enjoy our time in the activity center and swing. We go out for walks and sometimes meet up with friends. The two of us are a happy pair.
As evening comes, something changes. I find myelf feeling tired and riddled with fatigue. Not just physical fatigue, but emotional fatigue. It is at this point where my doubts and insecurities start to kick in. My mind fills with questions and doubts.
Did I do everything right today?
Did I give her enough tummy time?
Did I give her enough stimulation via music and the activity center?
Did I cuddle her enough?
Why didn't I manage to give her a bath today?
Is it ok to let her sleep in her daytime clothes or should I be switching her to pajamas?
Is it bad that I haven't figured out a bedtime routine yet?
Should I be reading books to her?
Am I a good mother?
Am I doing a good job?
Am I doing everything right? - I seem to be obsessed with doing everything right.
Exhausted with this list yet? I know I am.
This list of questions and doubts (and lots more) starts floating around in my head. Am I a good mother? Does the fact that I doubt myself make me a bad mother? Does the fact that sometimes I wish there was someone else who could swoop in when she's crying and make it all better make me a bad mother? Don't get me wrong, The Hubby is amazing and a huge help, but sometimes (especially during her fussy colicky moments) all she wants is me.
As the evening turns into night and these doubts and worries have had a chance to stew in my head I start to get anxious. Anxious that she will be colicky again tonight. Anxious that it's my fault that she's so fussy and won't settle. Worried that she will cry until late in the night and I won't be able to get enough sleep to make it through the next day.
This anxiety and worry exhaust me and I get to the point where all I want to do is go to bed and sleep. Of course, this isn't possible during a night of colic because no one could sleep through the crying. So I often find myself crying right along with her.
The worst part of it all is that I get mad at myself for feeling this way. After all, she is my rainbow baby. When we lost our son I longed for sleepless nights and dirty diapers. I always swore that if I was ever lucky enough to have a rainbow baby I would embrace it all. I swore I would never complain, because a fussy baby is always better than a dead one.
So I beat myself up for being ungrateful. How can I have a moment of unhappiness about Frostina when she alive and here with us?
She's my take home baby. The one I prayed for. The one I wanted more than anything in life. So how can I reconcile the fact that sometimes I just wish I could escape from all the crying? Not ever to escape from her of course, but sometimes I just wish the crying fairy would come in and calm her down and get her to sleep.
Last night I had a talk with The Hubby about my moods. He's a bit worried as well. Neither of us can figure out exactly what it is or how to deal with it. So for now we're taking it day by day and hope that in time it will go away.
That's when I realized that my moods flux just like Frostina's. We both wake up each morning happy as can be and get fussy at night. So that's when it hit me. Maybe I have colic too?
Wednesday, 6 June 2012
Countdown To Baby... 2 Days
I am starting to believe.
We met with my consultant (doctor) today for our final appointment. We got to see Frostina on his tiny little machine and she's still doing great. Head down finally after spending most of this pregnancy transverse. Not that it matters since I'm having a C-section, but the consultant said her position will make it easier to get to her which is good. In addition we got to hear her heartbeat which is always music to my ears.
We went over the procedure and schedule for Friday. We have to be at the hospital pretty early in the morning but that's just as well because I'm sure we won't get much sleep on Thursday night. I asked all my questions and signed the necessary consent forms.
And that's it. We're done. The only thing left to do is get through the next 2 days and then deliver this baby!
Yikes!
We met with my consultant (doctor) today for our final appointment. We got to see Frostina on his tiny little machine and she's still doing great. Head down finally after spending most of this pregnancy transverse. Not that it matters since I'm having a C-section, but the consultant said her position will make it easier to get to her which is good. In addition we got to hear her heartbeat which is always music to my ears.
We went over the procedure and schedule for Friday. We have to be at the hospital pretty early in the morning but that's just as well because I'm sure we won't get much sleep on Thursday night. I asked all my questions and signed the necessary consent forms.
And that's it. We're done. The only thing left to do is get through the next 2 days and then deliver this baby!
Yikes!
Friday, 11 May 2012
Midnight Meltdown
I've been battling with insomnia again. I know it's normal in late pregnancy, but for me I think it's something more than that. You see, we are now at the point in this pregnancy when everything went wrong for my son. I know I've written about this before and don't want to sound like a broken record, but it's really hard right now.
Flashbacks to my last pregnancy.
Comparing things as best I can.
Remembering.
It's all a bit too much at times. Each week closer to week 36 (when we found out he was gone) is like the exact reverse of waiting for Christmas morning. Logic tells me that there's nothing special about any of these weeks, but fear and emotion sometimes take over and I'm a total mess.
So many milestones to get through before we can hold a (hopefully) living breathing Frostina in our arms. We already passed the 32 week mark which was the last good scan for my son. We had a very positive scan which I wrote about here. Just passing that milestone was a huge relief.
The next one is 34 weeks. I didn't have a scan at 34 weeks last time, but I did see my doctor and heard my baby boy's heartbeat. It's the last time I know for sure he was alive. This time I'm having a scan at 34 weeks so I can be much more sure that Frostina is OK.
Then I have another appointment with my doctor at 35 weeks. Not a full scan, but a normal visit. He has this small portable ultrasound machine so we will get to see her then as well. This is really important to me as we know that my son went to heaven sometime between week 34 and 36. We don't know exactly when, so that whole time will be one huge grief trigger--- sounds fun doesn't it.
It's these things and more that have been spinning around my head lately. These fears and worries that have been keeping me up at night. I wasn't sure I'd ever sleep soundly again, until a few nights ago. The Hubby is my best friend and he's also really good at knowing when I'm about to meltdown. He has this second sense of when I'm about to lose it. He sometimes knows before I do.
So the other night I was getting ready to hit the bed and battle with sleep once more. He came in and asked if I wanted to talk about anything. I said no but the tears immediately came. A flood of fear, and emotion, and tears, and snot all came rushing out at once (pretty). I have been so worried that I will let him down again. That something will go wrong with Frostina and I won't even notice. That somehow if I'd been more vigilant I could have saved our son.
It went on and on like this for a while. I'm pretty good at blaming myself for things so there was a lot to get through. The Hubby just held me and assured me that I didn't let him down last time around. That we both did the best we could and that there was no way to know there was anything wrong. He also reminded me how much more carefully we're being monitored this time and how much better Frostina is doing than her brother was.
I cried for a long time..... and then I slept. A hard sleep, only interrupted by the 4 potty breaks I have every night these days. Since then I've been able to sleep like a baby, I even took a nap yesterday. I guess I really needed that cry!
Flashbacks to my last pregnancy.
Comparing things as best I can.
Remembering.
It's all a bit too much at times. Each week closer to week 36 (when we found out he was gone) is like the exact reverse of waiting for Christmas morning. Logic tells me that there's nothing special about any of these weeks, but fear and emotion sometimes take over and I'm a total mess.
So many milestones to get through before we can hold a (hopefully) living breathing Frostina in our arms. We already passed the 32 week mark which was the last good scan for my son. We had a very positive scan which I wrote about here. Just passing that milestone was a huge relief.
The next one is 34 weeks. I didn't have a scan at 34 weeks last time, but I did see my doctor and heard my baby boy's heartbeat. It's the last time I know for sure he was alive. This time I'm having a scan at 34 weeks so I can be much more sure that Frostina is OK.
Then I have another appointment with my doctor at 35 weeks. Not a full scan, but a normal visit. He has this small portable ultrasound machine so we will get to see her then as well. This is really important to me as we know that my son went to heaven sometime between week 34 and 36. We don't know exactly when, so that whole time will be one huge grief trigger--- sounds fun doesn't it.
It's these things and more that have been spinning around my head lately. These fears and worries that have been keeping me up at night. I wasn't sure I'd ever sleep soundly again, until a few nights ago. The Hubby is my best friend and he's also really good at knowing when I'm about to meltdown. He has this second sense of when I'm about to lose it. He sometimes knows before I do.
So the other night I was getting ready to hit the bed and battle with sleep once more. He came in and asked if I wanted to talk about anything. I said no but the tears immediately came. A flood of fear, and emotion, and tears, and snot all came rushing out at once (pretty). I have been so worried that I will let him down again. That something will go wrong with Frostina and I won't even notice. That somehow if I'd been more vigilant I could have saved our son.
It went on and on like this for a while. I'm pretty good at blaming myself for things so there was a lot to get through. The Hubby just held me and assured me that I didn't let him down last time around. That we both did the best we could and that there was no way to know there was anything wrong. He also reminded me how much more carefully we're being monitored this time and how much better Frostina is doing than her brother was.
I cried for a long time..... and then I slept. A hard sleep, only interrupted by the 4 potty breaks I have every night these days. Since then I've been able to sleep like a baby, I even took a nap yesterday. I guess I really needed that cry!
Monday, 30 April 2012
Please Baby Please
Be born alive and healthy.
Seems like such a simple request and yet it's all I can think about these days.
I follow lots of blogs written by women just like me. Women who have lost babies. Women who have picked themselves up and trudged through their grief. Women who have been brave enough and lucky enough to find themselves pregnant again. Women who are doing their best to manage their fear while still trying to stay positive that their rainbow babies will be delivered to them, alive and healthy.
I've been so happy to see so many rainbow babies born lately. These much wanted babies, born to parents who know what it's like to not get their happy ending. Babies who were much loved and much wanted. Babies born into families who will treat them like the true miracles that they are. Because as much as I believe that every baby born is a miracle, I think rainbow babies are just that much more special. Special to their families in a way that if you haven't lost a baby you cannot understand.
Reading about all these rainbows has given me hope. Hope that perhaps it's my turn too. My turn to have my rainbow baby born alive and healthy. Because life can't be that cruel, right? Once you've had one terrible tragedy you surely deserve your happy ending.
Yesterday I read about another angel born into heaven. A beautiful baby girl born still at 36 weeks. Her parents lost her older brother a while back and this was to be their rainbow baby. Their happy ending. Their second chance to be parents to a living child.
Reading that post struck fear into the very core of me. It took me right back to that time and place when we found out our son had passed away. That feeling never really leaves you, you just tuck it away and try not to think about it. It reminded me that life can be that cruel, and bad things can happen over and over again to good people.
When I read this terrible news I was shocked and saddened. I was so very sad for them and in a way not ready to believe that it could happen to them again. Then the reality set in, it had happened to them,,, and it could still happen to me.
It could still happen to me.
It could still happen to me.
It could still happen to me.
I couldn't get that thought out of my head. I was struck down with sheer terror at the very thought of it. It's not that this is a new concept to me. In fact, it's something that is never far from my mind. But seeing it happen to someone I feel connected to made it just that more real. And that scared me in a way I just can't explain.
I can't handle another loss and I'm pretty sure The Hubby can't either. We are so deeply in love with this baby girl. I have been thinking about what additional questions I will be asking my doctor this week to make sure we stay on top of things this time. So that we won't be caught by surprise. So that she can be born alive.
And now that's all I can think about. Please baby please, be born alive and healthy. Because your Daddy and I really need you to be here with us. Because we just can't go through all that again.
Please baby please???
Seems like such a simple request and yet it's all I can think about these days.
I follow lots of blogs written by women just like me. Women who have lost babies. Women who have picked themselves up and trudged through their grief. Women who have been brave enough and lucky enough to find themselves pregnant again. Women who are doing their best to manage their fear while still trying to stay positive that their rainbow babies will be delivered to them, alive and healthy.
I've been so happy to see so many rainbow babies born lately. These much wanted babies, born to parents who know what it's like to not get their happy ending. Babies who were much loved and much wanted. Babies born into families who will treat them like the true miracles that they are. Because as much as I believe that every baby born is a miracle, I think rainbow babies are just that much more special. Special to their families in a way that if you haven't lost a baby you cannot understand.
Reading about all these rainbows has given me hope. Hope that perhaps it's my turn too. My turn to have my rainbow baby born alive and healthy. Because life can't be that cruel, right? Once you've had one terrible tragedy you surely deserve your happy ending.
Yesterday I read about another angel born into heaven. A beautiful baby girl born still at 36 weeks. Her parents lost her older brother a while back and this was to be their rainbow baby. Their happy ending. Their second chance to be parents to a living child.
Reading that post struck fear into the very core of me. It took me right back to that time and place when we found out our son had passed away. That feeling never really leaves you, you just tuck it away and try not to think about it. It reminded me that life can be that cruel, and bad things can happen over and over again to good people.
When I read this terrible news I was shocked and saddened. I was so very sad for them and in a way not ready to believe that it could happen to them again. Then the reality set in, it had happened to them,,, and it could still happen to me.
It could still happen to me.
It could still happen to me.
It could still happen to me.
I couldn't get that thought out of my head. I was struck down with sheer terror at the very thought of it. It's not that this is a new concept to me. In fact, it's something that is never far from my mind. But seeing it happen to someone I feel connected to made it just that more real. And that scared me in a way I just can't explain.
I can't handle another loss and I'm pretty sure The Hubby can't either. We are so deeply in love with this baby girl. I have been thinking about what additional questions I will be asking my doctor this week to make sure we stay on top of things this time. So that we won't be caught by surprise. So that she can be born alive.
And now that's all I can think about. Please baby please, be born alive and healthy. Because your Daddy and I really need you to be here with us. Because we just can't go through all that again.
Please baby please???
Thursday, 19 April 2012
Finding Hope In A Bikini Wax?
All the way back in September when I was coming off a failed IVF
cycle and just about to begin another one (the one that worked) I wrote about finding hope in a replica of one of the chimneys from the Palau Güell in Barcelona. Then just this past February I wrote about how hope has been creeping into my life without me even noticing it.
I seem to get these flashes of hope when I least expect it. They come out of nowhere, just like the horrible flashbacks I sometimes get. These flashes of hope are the exact opposite of the flashbacks of pain and despair. A yin and an yang of emotions. For a long time I only got the negative flashbacks, but now it seems that hope is doing it's best to bring balance to my grief. So even though these flashes of hope come at at the strangest of times, I'm trying my best to embrace them. Because they sure are a lot more pleasant than the painful ones.
This time around they came in the form of a bikini wax. Yes, a bikini wax. That modern day form of torture where we lay on a table with our legs akimbo and allow some sadistic spa employee to apply wax all over our nether regions and then rip out all the hair. Although I must say that after everything I've endured in the way of infertility treatments, a bikini wax can seem like a walk in the park.
Anyway, it's been a while since
I've had a bikini wax (I'm sure you really wanted to know that) so I
knew this one would be a bit more painful than normal. A fact that I
wasn't entirely thrilled about. I entered the room, undressed from the
waist down and assumed the position. In anticipation of what was to
come, I was slightly nervous about just how much this was going to hurt.
Frostina, feeling my anxiety, started to kick and move around.
It was actually a nice distraction to watch my belly dancing around while the woman was applying and ripping off the wax. She thought it was funny as well so it gave us both something to chat about. Even when I had my eyes closed, I could still feel Frostina wiggling around like crazy. It made the whole experience much more enjoyable, well as enjoyable as waxing can be.
On my way back home I was struck with a thought. I had many bikini waxes during my pregnancy with my son. Right up until a week before we lost him in fact. In all that time I don't ever remember him moving around during a wax. Not once.
That got me thinking about a question The Hubby has been asking me lately. He wanted to know if I think Frostina is more active than her brother was. I've never been able to answer that question because to be honest, I really don't remember. I was so blissfully happy after my 20 week scan and so sure he would be born alive that I really didn't pay attention to his movements.
I think that's why I didn't notice when they started decreasing, or when they stopped completely. Because it wasn't something I put any focus on. Because it wasn't important. Because of course he was going to be born alive. I had nothing to worry about.
So this was a direct comparison. A comparison between Frostina and her older brother. One that I could vividly remember and compare properly. I was caught by surprise when Frostina kicked during my waxing because this was something her brother never did. Which means that she must be more active than he was.
A comparison that gives me hope!
And if she's more active than he was then that must be because she is healthier than he was. More specifically, her placenta must still be hanging in there. Because the reason my son didn't make it was due to being starved of nutrients and space by his placenta. He couldn't move around as much because his placenta was failing. So if Frostina is so much more active then it must be because hers is fine.
We've been having Frostina and her placenta monitored very closely this pregnancy with nothing but positive feedback. But I've still had lingering doubts and fear. After all, everything was fine with my son,,,, until it wasn't. So I'm not entirely reassured by good feedback.
But Frostina kicking me like crazy during a bikini wax, something her brother never did, was different. Even though it's nothing that can be measured by science or medicine, it felt more real to me. It felt like proof that she is in fact better off than her brother was. That perhaps she is going to make it out of my body alive and healthy.
And that my friends is how I found hope in a bikini wax!
*Image from here.
I seem to get these flashes of hope when I least expect it. They come out of nowhere, just like the horrible flashbacks I sometimes get. These flashes of hope are the exact opposite of the flashbacks of pain and despair. A yin and an yang of emotions. For a long time I only got the negative flashbacks, but now it seems that hope is doing it's best to bring balance to my grief. So even though these flashes of hope come at at the strangest of times, I'm trying my best to embrace them. Because they sure are a lot more pleasant than the painful ones.
This time around they came in the form of a bikini wax. Yes, a bikini wax. That modern day form of torture where we lay on a table with our legs akimbo and allow some sadistic spa employee to apply wax all over our nether regions and then rip out all the hair. Although I must say that after everything I've endured in the way of infertility treatments, a bikini wax can seem like a walk in the park.
 |
| Not an actual photo of me. |
It was actually a nice distraction to watch my belly dancing around while the woman was applying and ripping off the wax. She thought it was funny as well so it gave us both something to chat about. Even when I had my eyes closed, I could still feel Frostina wiggling around like crazy. It made the whole experience much more enjoyable, well as enjoyable as waxing can be.
On my way back home I was struck with a thought. I had many bikini waxes during my pregnancy with my son. Right up until a week before we lost him in fact. In all that time I don't ever remember him moving around during a wax. Not once.
That got me thinking about a question The Hubby has been asking me lately. He wanted to know if I think Frostina is more active than her brother was. I've never been able to answer that question because to be honest, I really don't remember. I was so blissfully happy after my 20 week scan and so sure he would be born alive that I really didn't pay attention to his movements.
I think that's why I didn't notice when they started decreasing, or when they stopped completely. Because it wasn't something I put any focus on. Because it wasn't important. Because of course he was going to be born alive. I had nothing to worry about.
So this was a direct comparison. A comparison between Frostina and her older brother. One that I could vividly remember and compare properly. I was caught by surprise when Frostina kicked during my waxing because this was something her brother never did. Which means that she must be more active than he was.
A comparison that gives me hope!
And if she's more active than he was then that must be because she is healthier than he was. More specifically, her placenta must still be hanging in there. Because the reason my son didn't make it was due to being starved of nutrients and space by his placenta. He couldn't move around as much because his placenta was failing. So if Frostina is so much more active then it must be because hers is fine.
We've been having Frostina and her placenta monitored very closely this pregnancy with nothing but positive feedback. But I've still had lingering doubts and fear. After all, everything was fine with my son,,,, until it wasn't. So I'm not entirely reassured by good feedback.
But Frostina kicking me like crazy during a bikini wax, something her brother never did, was different. Even though it's nothing that can be measured by science or medicine, it felt more real to me. It felt like proof that she is in fact better off than her brother was. That perhaps she is going to make it out of my body alive and healthy.
And that my friends is how I found hope in a bikini wax!
*Image from here.
Tuesday, 10 April 2012
Pulling Inwards
I can feel myself pulling inwards. I'm not sure what's going on with me, but I'm finding it harder and harder to get in touch with how I'm feeling. I guess I'm just tired of the emotions, tired of crying, tired of being a slave to my feelings. So I can feel myself trying to bottle them in, as if that will make them go away. Of course I know that bottled feelings always find their way to the surface eventually, but I find myself doing it nonetheless.
I can see it manifesting in many ways. In the land of blogs I'm finding myself skimming posts that are too emotional. As if by skipping over the pain of others I can somehow smooth my own pain out. I'm also finding it very difficult to comment. Not that I've ever been particularly good at this, but lately I've been even worse. It's not that I don't care about all of you, it's just that I can't allow myself to go there enough to make a comment that would be even remotely helpful.
In my real life I am finding myself trying not to feel things, or to hide how I'm feeling around The Hubby. Easter was not nearly as difficult as it was last year. For most of the day I was fine, or perhaps pretending to be fine. It didn't really hit me until I was doing the dishes after dinner. For whatever reason, that's when the grief and sadness hit me.
Normally I would have stopped what I was doing and sought out The Hubby for comfort. But instead I cried silently at the sink. My tears and snot running into the soapy water while I was scrubbing the pots and pans. By the time the kitchen was clean again, my tears were gone and I went back into the living room as if nothing had happened.
I feel guilty for being such a sad needy person. I'm so weary of my crying outbursts, the ones where he holds me while I leak tears and snot all over him. I'm so tired of being that poor woman who's firstborn son died and who is now worried that the same fate will befall her daughter. I don't want to be that person anymore. I'm done with her.
As if I could will her away that easily.
I can see it manifesting in many ways. In the land of blogs I'm finding myself skimming posts that are too emotional. As if by skipping over the pain of others I can somehow smooth my own pain out. I'm also finding it very difficult to comment. Not that I've ever been particularly good at this, but lately I've been even worse. It's not that I don't care about all of you, it's just that I can't allow myself to go there enough to make a comment that would be even remotely helpful.
In my real life I am finding myself trying not to feel things, or to hide how I'm feeling around The Hubby. Easter was not nearly as difficult as it was last year. For most of the day I was fine, or perhaps pretending to be fine. It didn't really hit me until I was doing the dishes after dinner. For whatever reason, that's when the grief and sadness hit me.
Normally I would have stopped what I was doing and sought out The Hubby for comfort. But instead I cried silently at the sink. My tears and snot running into the soapy water while I was scrubbing the pots and pans. By the time the kitchen was clean again, my tears were gone and I went back into the living room as if nothing had happened.
I feel guilty for being such a sad needy person. I'm so weary of my crying outbursts, the ones where he holds me while I leak tears and snot all over him. I'm so tired of being that poor woman who's firstborn son died and who is now worried that the same fate will befall her daughter. I don't want to be that person anymore. I'm done with her.
As if I could will her away that easily.
Wednesday, 4 April 2012
We're All In
I had an ultrasound yesterday and all is well with Frostina. She decided to start a kung fu kicking party right before the scan began which continued throughout. This party was called, kick Mommy and the ultrasound wand. Apparently it's all the rage with the 27 week old in-utero crowd. She sure seemed to enjoy it.
After all the measurements were done which showed she's growing right on track for her age, my doctor captured this image.
Yep, that's her foot in mid-kick. She was moving around and kicking so much that the doctor had to take extra time to listen to all the placental blood flow stuff he wanted to listen to. Apparently, when your baby keeps kicking the ultrasound wand it interferes with the sound wave measurements.
It was so nice and such a relief to see her moving around like that. I am always so scared when going into these scans because I have learned the hard way that they don't always bring good news. After the appointment I called The Hubby to share the experience. He's away at the moment and couldn't come to the scan. He was just as relieved as I was. But mixed in with his relief was the worry that is always there.
As this pregnancy progresses and we get closer to where it all went wrong the last time we are both getting more and more worried. We're at the point now where she is real. Denial is gone, and we're both getting to the point where the idea that this may actually happen for us this time is within our grasp. An avid poker player, The Hubby said it best when he told me that we're at the point now where we're all in.
In poker if you think you have a winning hand you will often go all in. In the tournaments they show on TV, the professionals push their huge stack of chips in the middle with a dramatic flair. "All in," they pronounce to the crowd. They usually will stand up and pace around the table in anticipation of the cards the dealer will flip over. If the cards are on their side, they cheer and jump around victoriously. They have won the jackpot and sometimes the title. They are the winners. If the cards are not on their side, they lose and walk away in defeat.
All in. That's how The Hubby and I feel.
All our chips are on the table. We're completely at the mercy of the cards we are yet to be dealt. We will either walk away from this in victory with a beautiful baby girl in our arms, or in defeat with empty arms and broken hearts.
We're all in and it's a very scary place to be.
After all the measurements were done which showed she's growing right on track for her age, my doctor captured this image.
 |
| Caught in the act. |
It was so nice and such a relief to see her moving around like that. I am always so scared when going into these scans because I have learned the hard way that they don't always bring good news. After the appointment I called The Hubby to share the experience. He's away at the moment and couldn't come to the scan. He was just as relieved as I was. But mixed in with his relief was the worry that is always there.
As this pregnancy progresses and we get closer to where it all went wrong the last time we are both getting more and more worried. We're at the point now where she is real. Denial is gone, and we're both getting to the point where the idea that this may actually happen for us this time is within our grasp. An avid poker player, The Hubby said it best when he told me that we're at the point now where we're all in.
In poker if you think you have a winning hand you will often go all in. In the tournaments they show on TV, the professionals push their huge stack of chips in the middle with a dramatic flair. "All in," they pronounce to the crowd. They usually will stand up and pace around the table in anticipation of the cards the dealer will flip over. If the cards are on their side, they cheer and jump around victoriously. They have won the jackpot and sometimes the title. They are the winners. If the cards are not on their side, they lose and walk away in defeat.
All in. That's how The Hubby and I feel.
All our chips are on the table. We're completely at the mercy of the cards we are yet to be dealt. We will either walk away from this in victory with a beautiful baby girl in our arms, or in defeat with empty arms and broken hearts.
We're all in and it's a very scary place to be.
Tuesday, 13 March 2012
Oh Great, She Brought Her Baby
Disclaimer- This post will probably come across as very self centered. I don't usually live in that all about me place, but today I am. As a Baby Loss Mom I reserve the right to act and feel things in a very selfish way sometimes. I don't actually admit my true feelings to anyone but The Hubby and all of you, so hopefully no one in my real life knows just what a self centered bitch I can be. End of disclaimer.
As I've mentioned before, I'm an American Expat living in England. When I first moved here I joined a club for other expat women (from all over the world, not just the US). The women I have met through this club have been my lifeline and I know for sure that I wouldn't have gotten through the loss of my son without them.
Because I can never do anything half-assed, I am of course on the board of this club. Our board meets monthly to talk about what's going on and to make decisions that affect the membership. These meetings are very casual affairs held in the mornings and young children are welcome. So there are usually a few toddlers there running around while we all chat.
One of the members of the board just gave birth to her son a few weeks ago. I've written about her a few times before, most recently when I was invited to her baby shower. You can read a bit about her if you like by following this link but it's not really vital to today's story. But if you're a new reader and want a bit of background then there you go.
Having just given birth a few weeks ago I figured she would take a pass on the next few meetings. I mean, who wants to bring their newborn into a room with so many women and possibly toddlers?? Talk about a germ-a-palooza. So I figured it would be a few months before I had to endure her waltzing into the room with her brand new baby boy.
Wrong!
I found out the night before the meeting that she was coming so at least I wasn't totally surprised. But that wasn't really much time to prepare myself. I have done a good job of avoiding all newborn babies since my son died, especially baby boys. I just can't be around them because they are the physical manifestation of what I lost. My newborn son who will never grow into a toddler, or a boy, or a man. Just writing that brings tears to my eyes.
So I was hoping that she wouldn't come for a few more months, until hopefully I will have my own newborn baby. I keep thinking that once I have a real life living newborn then seeing other newborns won't hurt so much. Once I have my own newborn then seeing other newborns won't feel like a stab in the heart. Because right now, even the thought of being around a newborn baby makes me anxious, and nervous, and stressed.
I had a hard time sleeping the night before the meeting. I could feel the anxiety running rampant in my body. How was I going to handle seeing a newborn baby boy? Would I burst into tears? Would I be able to look at him? What should I say? How should I act? Would everyone in the room be able to see my discomfort and sadness? How on earth would I be able to cope?
I seriously considered not going. It's something I thought about all night and while I was getting ready the next morning. I could just not go, that way I wouldn't have to deal with the situation. Such a tempting idea,,, and yet it felt wrong. I won't be able to hide from newborn babies forever so maybe this was the time to test myself. In the end I decided to suck it up and just go.
So I get to the meeting and a few minutes later she strolls in, pushing her tiny newborn son in his buggy. My stomach dropped but I kept a smile on my face. I welcomed her and made some comment about being impressed she was out of the house and back in action so soon. I'm sure she didn't get the subtext that I was actually horrified that she was at the meeting. I don't think anyone else did either.
Of course everyone swooned over her new baby. So I figured I was off the hook because she would be so distracted with all the attention that she wouldn't notice that I was pretty much ignoring her and her baby. I figured that once the meeting got started I could focus on what we were talking about and pretty much forget that there was a newborn boy in the room.
Wrong again!
She ended up sitting right next to me. A situation I managed to wiggle out of by offering my seat to someone who had to leave early and needed to be closer to the door. I was feeling quite smug about now having a buffer sitting in between us. But alas, my smugness was short lived.
Wouldn't you know? This woman sitting between us wanted to hold the baby! Not just hold him for a few minutes, but hold him for most of the meeting. When he got hungry she also wanted to feed him. I figured he would be taken out of the room to be breastfed but his ever-so-prepared Mom had pumped a bottle for just this occasion. So now I'm sitting next to the woman who is feeding this baby, and burping him, and settling him back to sleep.
I wanted to die. Or leave the room. Or burst into tears. Or just sit somewhere else. I wanted to be anywhere besides where I was.
But the meeting was underway and I was stuck. So I did my best to focus my attention to the topics at hand. I actively participated in the discussion,,, anything to keep my focus off the newborn baby sitting inches away from me. I am amazed at how I held it together. I didn't cry or even tear up. I don't think anyone even noticed my discomfort. I was a total fake and I think people bought it.
On the outside I was the perfect face of happiness, on the inside I was crumbling into a million little pieces. Why did she have to bring her baby? Why couldn't she just have stayed away for a few more months. Doesn't she realize that the presence of her perfect, living baby boy is like torture to me?
*See I told you I was going to a very selfish, all about me place!
Somehow I managed to get through it. I'd like to think that my son was sending me strength from above. Or maybe I'm just getting better at faking it these days. Either way, I made it to the end of the meeting without the humiliation of bursting into tears. After it was over, I treated myself with a nice lunch at a very posh and grown up restaurant and did a bit of shopping. A reward for holding it together.
So there you go. A totally selfish, all about me post. I know there are other perspectives to see this situation from, but at the moment I can only see mine. And for now, I'm OK with that.
Pouring my heart out with Shell.
As I've mentioned before, I'm an American Expat living in England. When I first moved here I joined a club for other expat women (from all over the world, not just the US). The women I have met through this club have been my lifeline and I know for sure that I wouldn't have gotten through the loss of my son without them.
Because I can never do anything half-assed, I am of course on the board of this club. Our board meets monthly to talk about what's going on and to make decisions that affect the membership. These meetings are very casual affairs held in the mornings and young children are welcome. So there are usually a few toddlers there running around while we all chat.
One of the members of the board just gave birth to her son a few weeks ago. I've written about her a few times before, most recently when I was invited to her baby shower. You can read a bit about her if you like by following this link but it's not really vital to today's story. But if you're a new reader and want a bit of background then there you go.
Having just given birth a few weeks ago I figured she would take a pass on the next few meetings. I mean, who wants to bring their newborn into a room with so many women and possibly toddlers?? Talk about a germ-a-palooza. So I figured it would be a few months before I had to endure her waltzing into the room with her brand new baby boy.
Wrong!
I found out the night before the meeting that she was coming so at least I wasn't totally surprised. But that wasn't really much time to prepare myself. I have done a good job of avoiding all newborn babies since my son died, especially baby boys. I just can't be around them because they are the physical manifestation of what I lost. My newborn son who will never grow into a toddler, or a boy, or a man. Just writing that brings tears to my eyes.
So I was hoping that she wouldn't come for a few more months, until hopefully I will have my own newborn baby. I keep thinking that once I have a real life living newborn then seeing other newborns won't hurt so much. Once I have my own newborn then seeing other newborns won't feel like a stab in the heart. Because right now, even the thought of being around a newborn baby makes me anxious, and nervous, and stressed.
I had a hard time sleeping the night before the meeting. I could feel the anxiety running rampant in my body. How was I going to handle seeing a newborn baby boy? Would I burst into tears? Would I be able to look at him? What should I say? How should I act? Would everyone in the room be able to see my discomfort and sadness? How on earth would I be able to cope?
I seriously considered not going. It's something I thought about all night and while I was getting ready the next morning. I could just not go, that way I wouldn't have to deal with the situation. Such a tempting idea,,, and yet it felt wrong. I won't be able to hide from newborn babies forever so maybe this was the time to test myself. In the end I decided to suck it up and just go.
So I get to the meeting and a few minutes later she strolls in, pushing her tiny newborn son in his buggy. My stomach dropped but I kept a smile on my face. I welcomed her and made some comment about being impressed she was out of the house and back in action so soon. I'm sure she didn't get the subtext that I was actually horrified that she was at the meeting. I don't think anyone else did either.
Of course everyone swooned over her new baby. So I figured I was off the hook because she would be so distracted with all the attention that she wouldn't notice that I was pretty much ignoring her and her baby. I figured that once the meeting got started I could focus on what we were talking about and pretty much forget that there was a newborn boy in the room.
Wrong again!
She ended up sitting right next to me. A situation I managed to wiggle out of by offering my seat to someone who had to leave early and needed to be closer to the door. I was feeling quite smug about now having a buffer sitting in between us. But alas, my smugness was short lived.
Wouldn't you know? This woman sitting between us wanted to hold the baby! Not just hold him for a few minutes, but hold him for most of the meeting. When he got hungry she also wanted to feed him. I figured he would be taken out of the room to be breastfed but his ever-so-prepared Mom had pumped a bottle for just this occasion. So now I'm sitting next to the woman who is feeding this baby, and burping him, and settling him back to sleep.
I wanted to die. Or leave the room. Or burst into tears. Or just sit somewhere else. I wanted to be anywhere besides where I was.
But the meeting was underway and I was stuck. So I did my best to focus my attention to the topics at hand. I actively participated in the discussion,,, anything to keep my focus off the newborn baby sitting inches away from me. I am amazed at how I held it together. I didn't cry or even tear up. I don't think anyone even noticed my discomfort. I was a total fake and I think people bought it.
On the outside I was the perfect face of happiness, on the inside I was crumbling into a million little pieces. Why did she have to bring her baby? Why couldn't she just have stayed away for a few more months. Doesn't she realize that the presence of her perfect, living baby boy is like torture to me?
*See I told you I was going to a very selfish, all about me place!
Somehow I managed to get through it. I'd like to think that my son was sending me strength from above. Or maybe I'm just getting better at faking it these days. Either way, I made it to the end of the meeting without the humiliation of bursting into tears. After it was over, I treated myself with a nice lunch at a very posh and grown up restaurant and did a bit of shopping. A reward for holding it together.
So there you go. A totally selfish, all about me post. I know there are other perspectives to see this situation from, but at the moment I can only see mine. And for now, I'm OK with that.
Pouring my heart out with Shell.
Tuesday, 7 February 2012
The Shift
I'm not sure when it happened, but something shifted. I went from being the kind of person who thought bad things only happened to other people to the kind of person who thinks that bad things only happen to me. Other people get the happy endings, not me. "They" will get exactly what they want with very little struggle and no unexpected "surprises" in the end. I will not be so lucky. I will forever live on the wrong side of statistics. I'm the 1 in 1000, aren't I special?
Actually I lie, I know exactly when the shift happened. It was on September 12, 2010 at my 36 week scan when I was told that my son had died. All through my struggle with infertility I kept telling myself that it would all work out in the end. That once I finally got pregnant then all would be well. I naively figured that after 7 years of struggle I was owed at least that. I had an easy (minus the morning sickness), complication free pregnancy. I was finally going to have my miracle baby.
Until that day, in that room, with those words... there's no heartbeat. That's the day it all shifted for me. I somehow went from a super optimistic person to someone who realized that there would be no easy road for me. I was the kind of person that bad things happened to. Not because I had done anything wrong or somehow deserved it. But because bad things just happen, and apparently the universe has decided that they were going to happen to me.
It's hard to continue to be happy for those "other people." The people out there that bad things don't happen to. The majority of folks who never struggle to get and stay pregnant. Those who just go off birth control, get pregnant, and then 9 months later share their happy post-birth photos of their new happy family.
Please don't think that I would wish my misery on them because I don't. It's just hard to see everyone else getting what I am fighting tooth and nail for with such ease. They are in a place that I can only hope someday to be.
Now I know there will be those of you reading this who want to reach through their computer screens and give me a good old slap. I know that many of you are still deep in the trenches of infertility. A place where that elusive positive pregnancy test seems to mock you at every turn. A world filled with hormone injections and cycle dates. Your life ruled by the calendar and completely taken over by doctors apointments. A world where the outcome of peeing on a stick will either fill you with joy or send you crying to your bed.
You are probably thinking, "Who are you to talk?? You're pregnant. All I want is to be pregnant. If only I could get pregnant than I could move on from the nightmare of failed cycle after failed cycle." Believe me, I get that and I probably deserve a slap or two for feeling so sorry for myself.
But you have to remember that I have been here before. For me, just being pregnant doesn't assure me anything. The last time I was pregnant I thought I was "all clear" only to have everything ripped away from me at 36 weeks.
After the baby shower. After all the clothes had been purchased and washed. After all the baby stuff had been purchased and delivered. After that terrible day when all I was left with was a house full of baby stuff and empty arms.
So for me, the journey doesn't end until I have a healthy living baby to bring home with me. Only then will I believe that perhaps it's all real. Only then will I start to allow myself to believe that perhaps something bad won't happen to me this time. That perhaps I've had my fair share of bad stuff happen. Although just writing those words down feels a lot like tempting fate to me.
I'm not sure I will ever be able to shift back to my old self. I think I will forever be "That Woman." The woman who bad things happen to. An outsider of sorts. Struggling to fit in and just be happy for other people without letting my own unhappiness and jealousy get in the way.
Actually I lie, I know exactly when the shift happened. It was on September 12, 2010 at my 36 week scan when I was told that my son had died. All through my struggle with infertility I kept telling myself that it would all work out in the end. That once I finally got pregnant then all would be well. I naively figured that after 7 years of struggle I was owed at least that. I had an easy (minus the morning sickness), complication free pregnancy. I was finally going to have my miracle baby.
Until that day, in that room, with those words... there's no heartbeat. That's the day it all shifted for me. I somehow went from a super optimistic person to someone who realized that there would be no easy road for me. I was the kind of person that bad things happened to. Not because I had done anything wrong or somehow deserved it. But because bad things just happen, and apparently the universe has decided that they were going to happen to me.
It's hard to continue to be happy for those "other people." The people out there that bad things don't happen to. The majority of folks who never struggle to get and stay pregnant. Those who just go off birth control, get pregnant, and then 9 months later share their happy post-birth photos of their new happy family.
Please don't think that I would wish my misery on them because I don't. It's just hard to see everyone else getting what I am fighting tooth and nail for with such ease. They are in a place that I can only hope someday to be.
Now I know there will be those of you reading this who want to reach through their computer screens and give me a good old slap. I know that many of you are still deep in the trenches of infertility. A place where that elusive positive pregnancy test seems to mock you at every turn. A world filled with hormone injections and cycle dates. Your life ruled by the calendar and completely taken over by doctors apointments. A world where the outcome of peeing on a stick will either fill you with joy or send you crying to your bed.
You are probably thinking, "Who are you to talk?? You're pregnant. All I want is to be pregnant. If only I could get pregnant than I could move on from the nightmare of failed cycle after failed cycle." Believe me, I get that and I probably deserve a slap or two for feeling so sorry for myself.
But you have to remember that I have been here before. For me, just being pregnant doesn't assure me anything. The last time I was pregnant I thought I was "all clear" only to have everything ripped away from me at 36 weeks.
After the baby shower. After all the clothes had been purchased and washed. After all the baby stuff had been purchased and delivered. After that terrible day when all I was left with was a house full of baby stuff and empty arms.
So for me, the journey doesn't end until I have a healthy living baby to bring home with me. Only then will I believe that perhaps it's all real. Only then will I start to allow myself to believe that perhaps something bad won't happen to me this time. That perhaps I've had my fair share of bad stuff happen. Although just writing those words down feels a lot like tempting fate to me.
I'm not sure I will ever be able to shift back to my old self. I think I will forever be "That Woman." The woman who bad things happen to. An outsider of sorts. Struggling to fit in and just be happy for other people without letting my own unhappiness and jealousy get in the way.
Sunday, 1 January 2012
Unwinding
Christmas is over, the new year is here, and my house is once again free of visitors. I can feel my body slowly unwinding from all the activity and family time. It would unwind much more quickly with a nice glass of wine,,,, but alas, this pregnant lady is off the booze.
I'm a bundle of extra energy right now. Wanting to get the house back to normal. Washing all the sheets and towels. Taking down the Christmas tree. I know it will take me days to fully relax. I'm like this after all our family visits.
Having family come to visit is always wonderful. Having family come to visit is also always a bit stressful. Part of it is of course the fact that we live across the pond from our family so when they do come it's for a longer period of time. My parents can't exactly pop in for the weekend since it takes them 11 hours on a plane to get here. So when visitors come it's generally for 2 or 3 weeks at a time. That can be a LOT of family time... if you know what I mean.
I'm not complaining this time around though. After spending last Christmas on our own, buried in our own grief, it was nice to have a house full of happy people this year. We even invited another couple over for Christmas dinner. I cooked a turkey and all the fixings, poured lots of wine, and played a bunch of silly party games. All in all, it was a great night. I took my parents around London and we even took the Eurostar over to Brussels for a quick visit. It was very nice to see them, but I'm exhausted.
I actually felt a bit sorry for them this trip. My nausea and exhaustion kicked in on several days so we had to cancel plans. In addition, The Hubby got a terrible cold and was out of commission for almost a week. So basically they had "The Preggo" and "The Sickie" as hosts. It resulted in a few more days at home than I think they might have liked. Although they are so excited that I'm pregnant again that I think they will forgive me.
I don't feel guilty for enjoying myself a bit this year. In the year and four months since our son died we have grieved him almost continuously. At some point that grief gets softer around the edges. Somehow we find a way to be able to feel joy and happiness again. I am grateful for the happiness. Because it cuts through the pain of grief. I am grateful that we were able to have a Happy Christmas this year. Perhaps it will be the first of many more to come.
But for now it's back to reality. I've got sheets to wash, Christmas decorations to put away, and some serious unwinding to do.
I'm a bundle of extra energy right now. Wanting to get the house back to normal. Washing all the sheets and towels. Taking down the Christmas tree. I know it will take me days to fully relax. I'm like this after all our family visits.
Having family come to visit is always wonderful. Having family come to visit is also always a bit stressful. Part of it is of course the fact that we live across the pond from our family so when they do come it's for a longer period of time. My parents can't exactly pop in for the weekend since it takes them 11 hours on a plane to get here. So when visitors come it's generally for 2 or 3 weeks at a time. That can be a LOT of family time... if you know what I mean.
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| Brussels at Christmas |
I actually felt a bit sorry for them this trip. My nausea and exhaustion kicked in on several days so we had to cancel plans. In addition, The Hubby got a terrible cold and was out of commission for almost a week. So basically they had "The Preggo" and "The Sickie" as hosts. It resulted in a few more days at home than I think they might have liked. Although they are so excited that I'm pregnant again that I think they will forgive me.
I don't feel guilty for enjoying myself a bit this year. In the year and four months since our son died we have grieved him almost continuously. At some point that grief gets softer around the edges. Somehow we find a way to be able to feel joy and happiness again. I am grateful for the happiness. Because it cuts through the pain of grief. I am grateful that we were able to have a Happy Christmas this year. Perhaps it will be the first of many more to come.
But for now it's back to reality. I've got sheets to wash, Christmas decorations to put away, and some serious unwinding to do.
Saturday, 3 December 2011
Getting Ready To Say No
Thanks so much for all the comments regarding the baby shower invitation dilemma. I am leaning towards not going at this point and if I can overcome my guilt then I will not be attending. I don't know why I feel guilty about not going, but I do.
Perhaps it has to do with the fact that another mutual friend told me she won't be going either. I won't tell her story here, but basically she is fed up with the Mother to be (M2be). Like me, she feels that M2be isn't the friend we thought she was. In addition there have been some things that have happened between this friend and M2be that I wasn't involved with which resulted in very hurt feelings for our mutual friend.
The three of us, plus a couple of others who no longer live in the UK, were a very tight group at one point so this "slow unfriending" has been awkward for us all. Our mutual friend has done a much better job of disengaging from M2be than I have which has not gone unnoticed by M2be.
Our mutual friend feels that it would be hypocritical of her to attend the baby shower after all that has happened. So she let me know a few days ago that she won't come and will make her excuses. She let me know so I wouldn't be expecting to see her there, something I greatly appreciate.
I told her my dilemma with baby showers in general and she totally understands. In fact her response was like many of yours. She said that I should do what I feel is best and not worry about hurting anyone's feelings. She said that I should only do what I feel I can and nothing more.
This is where my guilt kicks in. Like many of my friends here in London, M2be is living in a foreign country far from family and friends. I can imagine that when she started trying for a baby she imagined her London baby shower filled with her closest new friends. Since then, two have moved out of the country and two of us are really not her close friends anymore. Even knowing that, she has chosen to invite the two of us who are still here.
I know it's not my fault about those who moved away, and it's certainly not my fault about what happened between her and our mutual friend. But I feel like our absence will be felt in a way that will hurt M2be's feelings. I hate hurting people's feelings. Yes, she is flying home to have a baby shower with her friends and family there, so it's not like this is her only shower,,,, but still the guilt fills me.
I am somehow stuck in this place where I try to please everyone when really I should focus more on myself. Since losing my son I'm much better at this, but the shower invitation issue proves that I'm not all the way there yet. I don't actually have to decline until I receive the actual invitation so I've got some time to prepare myself.
PS- Wow, seeing all this written down makes it look like a whole lotta drama! Ugh, I despise drama!
Perhaps it has to do with the fact that another mutual friend told me she won't be going either. I won't tell her story here, but basically she is fed up with the Mother to be (M2be). Like me, she feels that M2be isn't the friend we thought she was. In addition there have been some things that have happened between this friend and M2be that I wasn't involved with which resulted in very hurt feelings for our mutual friend.
The three of us, plus a couple of others who no longer live in the UK, were a very tight group at one point so this "slow unfriending" has been awkward for us all. Our mutual friend has done a much better job of disengaging from M2be than I have which has not gone unnoticed by M2be.
Our mutual friend feels that it would be hypocritical of her to attend the baby shower after all that has happened. So she let me know a few days ago that she won't come and will make her excuses. She let me know so I wouldn't be expecting to see her there, something I greatly appreciate.
I told her my dilemma with baby showers in general and she totally understands. In fact her response was like many of yours. She said that I should do what I feel is best and not worry about hurting anyone's feelings. She said that I should only do what I feel I can and nothing more.
This is where my guilt kicks in. Like many of my friends here in London, M2be is living in a foreign country far from family and friends. I can imagine that when she started trying for a baby she imagined her London baby shower filled with her closest new friends. Since then, two have moved out of the country and two of us are really not her close friends anymore. Even knowing that, she has chosen to invite the two of us who are still here.
I know it's not my fault about those who moved away, and it's certainly not my fault about what happened between her and our mutual friend. But I feel like our absence will be felt in a way that will hurt M2be's feelings. I hate hurting people's feelings. Yes, she is flying home to have a baby shower with her friends and family there, so it's not like this is her only shower,,,, but still the guilt fills me.
I am somehow stuck in this place where I try to please everyone when really I should focus more on myself. Since losing my son I'm much better at this, but the shower invitation issue proves that I'm not all the way there yet. I don't actually have to decline until I receive the actual invitation so I've got some time to prepare myself.
PS- Wow, seeing all this written down makes it look like a whole lotta drama! Ugh, I despise drama!
Wednesday, 30 November 2011
The Dreaded Baby Shower Invitation
I knew it had to happen eventually. I've been invited to a baby shower. It's not the first one I've been invited to since losing my son. I had a friend who was due a month after I was and my son died just as her baby shower invitations were sent out. So in the midst of all the sympathy cards was that invite. Talk about a stab in the heart. Obviously I declined that one and everyone understood since it had only been a week since my son's death.
This one is different though. Partly because of who it's for, but mostly because it's been over a year now and I think people think I'm mostly "over it" now. Over it,,,, I actually laughed out loud when I typed that. As if I will ever be over the death of my firstborn son.... but that's another topic for another day.
I haven't received the actual invitation yet, just a save the date for mid-January. I guess the hostess wanted to reach out to everyone before the madness of the holidays (that's Christmas to you Brit's,,,, not vacation). Obviously I don't have to respond to a save the date, I just need to save the date. So for the moment, I have a reprieve on making the decision on whether to go or not. And it is a big decision.
You see, the last baby shower I went to was mine. I was 33 weeks pregnant, blissfully unaware of the ticking time bomb inside me. Blissfully unaware that my son was slowly being starved and deprived of oxygen by his placenta. Blissfully unaware that just a few short weeks later I would go in for an ultrasound and be told that his heart was no longer beating.
I was "all clear." My son was almost "cooked" and I would soon be bringing him home. My Mom and Grandmother had flown over from the US to attend. It was one of the happiest days of my life. My life was perfect that day,,, nothing could go wrong.
Until it did.
I'm not sure I'm ready to go to another baby shower just yet. A day filled with happy people, baby stories, and the hopes and dreams of the Mother to be. Of course she will be happy, she deserves to be. It's her day to feel special and be surrounded with nothing but positivity. To listen to other people's stories and well wishes. It should be her perfect day, one of the happiest of her life.
I'm afraid I might spoil all that.
After all, no one wants a Debbie Downer at her baby shower. That woman who's baby died 3 weeks after her own baby shower.
So that's my dilemma. I have no idea how I will react on the day. On the one hand I may be fine. I could be swept up in the happiness of the day. I could see this as a hurdle that I can overcome. I could suck it up and be there to support the Mother to be.
Or it could all go terribly wrong. I could have flashbacks and start freaking out. Or I could just start feeling really down and then feel like I'm stuck there trying to fake being happy. My presence could make the other guests feel uncomfortable. Maybe they will feel they can't be as happy for her because they don't want to hurt my feelings.
I know for a fact that they already feel like this. One friend even asked if I was happy for the Mother to be (M2be) a while back. She said she always felt weird asking M2be about her pregnancy in front of me in case that made me feel bad. I'm sure the baby shower will be slightly different because by then they will all know that I am pregnant, but still,,,, I don't want to be a damper on M2be's special day.
There is also the issue of who M2be is. I wrote about her before here and here. She was Friend A in the story. In a nutshell, we were close friends for a while but over time things started happening that made me question our friendship. As I got to know her, I learned things that made me feel like I couldn't trust her and maybe she wasn't such a good friend after all. Then she got pregnant and said some insensitive things which really hurt me.
As a result of this, I've really backed off her. I didn't bother to have a confrontation with her because I didn't think it would help. I've just gradually stopped calling her and emailing her. I still see her in group settings but not one on one. It's worked out very well. We are pleasant when we see each other and there is very little tension between us. Of course there's a little,,, but as predicted I think she thinks it's because I have a hard time dealing with her pregnancy.
If it were someone that I'm closer too I may have more of an incentive to try and suck it up and be the better person. Something that I think all of us baby loss mom's have gotten really good at. It's definitely a skill I wasn't expecting to become so adept at. But since it's someone I'm already feeling detached from, there is less motivation to take the risk.
But at the same time, I know I can't hide from baby showers forever and maybe now is the time to do it. To jump in the deep end and hope I can remember how to swim.
Ugh,,,, I really don't know what to do.
*Pouring my heart out today with Shell.
This one is different though. Partly because of who it's for, but mostly because it's been over a year now and I think people think I'm mostly "over it" now. Over it,,,, I actually laughed out loud when I typed that. As if I will ever be over the death of my firstborn son.... but that's another topic for another day.
I haven't received the actual invitation yet, just a save the date for mid-January. I guess the hostess wanted to reach out to everyone before the madness of the holidays (that's Christmas to you Brit's,,,, not vacation). Obviously I don't have to respond to a save the date, I just need to save the date. So for the moment, I have a reprieve on making the decision on whether to go or not. And it is a big decision.
You see, the last baby shower I went to was mine. I was 33 weeks pregnant, blissfully unaware of the ticking time bomb inside me. Blissfully unaware that my son was slowly being starved and deprived of oxygen by his placenta. Blissfully unaware that just a few short weeks later I would go in for an ultrasound and be told that his heart was no longer beating.
I was "all clear." My son was almost "cooked" and I would soon be bringing him home. My Mom and Grandmother had flown over from the US to attend. It was one of the happiest days of my life. My life was perfect that day,,, nothing could go wrong.
Until it did.
I'm not sure I'm ready to go to another baby shower just yet. A day filled with happy people, baby stories, and the hopes and dreams of the Mother to be. Of course she will be happy, she deserves to be. It's her day to feel special and be surrounded with nothing but positivity. To listen to other people's stories and well wishes. It should be her perfect day, one of the happiest of her life.
I'm afraid I might spoil all that.
After all, no one wants a Debbie Downer at her baby shower. That woman who's baby died 3 weeks after her own baby shower.
So that's my dilemma. I have no idea how I will react on the day. On the one hand I may be fine. I could be swept up in the happiness of the day. I could see this as a hurdle that I can overcome. I could suck it up and be there to support the Mother to be.
Or it could all go terribly wrong. I could have flashbacks and start freaking out. Or I could just start feeling really down and then feel like I'm stuck there trying to fake being happy. My presence could make the other guests feel uncomfortable. Maybe they will feel they can't be as happy for her because they don't want to hurt my feelings.
I know for a fact that they already feel like this. One friend even asked if I was happy for the Mother to be (M2be) a while back. She said she always felt weird asking M2be about her pregnancy in front of me in case that made me feel bad. I'm sure the baby shower will be slightly different because by then they will all know that I am pregnant, but still,,,, I don't want to be a damper on M2be's special day.
There is also the issue of who M2be is. I wrote about her before here and here. She was Friend A in the story. In a nutshell, we were close friends for a while but over time things started happening that made me question our friendship. As I got to know her, I learned things that made me feel like I couldn't trust her and maybe she wasn't such a good friend after all. Then she got pregnant and said some insensitive things which really hurt me.
As a result of this, I've really backed off her. I didn't bother to have a confrontation with her because I didn't think it would help. I've just gradually stopped calling her and emailing her. I still see her in group settings but not one on one. It's worked out very well. We are pleasant when we see each other and there is very little tension between us. Of course there's a little,,, but as predicted I think she thinks it's because I have a hard time dealing with her pregnancy.
If it were someone that I'm closer too I may have more of an incentive to try and suck it up and be the better person. Something that I think all of us baby loss mom's have gotten really good at. It's definitely a skill I wasn't expecting to become so adept at. But since it's someone I'm already feeling detached from, there is less motivation to take the risk.
But at the same time, I know I can't hide from baby showers forever and maybe now is the time to do it. To jump in the deep end and hope I can remember how to swim.
Ugh,,,, I really don't know what to do.
*Pouring my heart out today with Shell.
Monday, 28 November 2011
It's Hard To Be Happy When You're Terrified
I seem to have some sort of bloggers block. There is plenty of stuff going on in my life these days but I can't seem to get them out of my head. Normally the words come freely but for some reason the past week I've had nothing to write about. I do know that I'm in a lot of denial about actually being pregnant and perhaps that's the problem.
My blog posts are mostly written in quick short bursts. Very train-of-thought with hardly any editing. I sit down and let the emotions and words flow out of me. Denial and repression make this more difficult. Because if you're trying hard to not think about things too much then there's not much left to write about.
We have told a few very close friends about this pregnancy. Each time the response is joy and happiness which I am not always able to reciprocate. One person actually asked me if I was happy about being pregnant again. My response was that it's hard to be happy when you're terrified. Which is not to say that I'm not absolutely thrilled to have another chance at a take home baby. I am, but it's hard to allow myself to go there just yet.
My natural response this time around is self-protection. Logically I know that even if I do "deny and protect" it won't hurt any less if things go wrong. I know that allowing myself to feel joy won't make it any more or less likely that something bad will happen. But at the moment I'm still feeling very guarded. It's almost as if keeping the news to myself and not starting to get prepared will somehow protect me and this baby from harm.
Just putting the pregnancy ticker on this blog page was a huge step for me. I actually got nervous before hitting the publish button. I have yet to submit my good news to LFCA (which is a great site if you haven't checked it out before) for fear that somehow it's still not real. I haven't bought any pregnancy or baby books yet either. My old books were tossed out when we lost our son. I just signed up for the babycentre weekly updates and it still feels weird.
I just can't seem to wrap my head around the fact that it is indeed happening. I am growing a baby in here.
I know I'm all over the place and perhaps that's to be expected. I also know that this baby deserves all my love and support and all the things I did for his/her older brother. So I need to get over this denial and start accepting what's happening. And perhaps even allowing myself to be happy about it without the stabs of fear that are accompanying it right now.
My blog posts are mostly written in quick short bursts. Very train-of-thought with hardly any editing. I sit down and let the emotions and words flow out of me. Denial and repression make this more difficult. Because if you're trying hard to not think about things too much then there's not much left to write about.
We have told a few very close friends about this pregnancy. Each time the response is joy and happiness which I am not always able to reciprocate. One person actually asked me if I was happy about being pregnant again. My response was that it's hard to be happy when you're terrified. Which is not to say that I'm not absolutely thrilled to have another chance at a take home baby. I am, but it's hard to allow myself to go there just yet.
My natural response this time around is self-protection. Logically I know that even if I do "deny and protect" it won't hurt any less if things go wrong. I know that allowing myself to feel joy won't make it any more or less likely that something bad will happen. But at the moment I'm still feeling very guarded. It's almost as if keeping the news to myself and not starting to get prepared will somehow protect me and this baby from harm.
Just putting the pregnancy ticker on this blog page was a huge step for me. I actually got nervous before hitting the publish button. I have yet to submit my good news to LFCA (which is a great site if you haven't checked it out before) for fear that somehow it's still not real. I haven't bought any pregnancy or baby books yet either. My old books were tossed out when we lost our son. I just signed up for the babycentre weekly updates and it still feels weird.
I just can't seem to wrap my head around the fact that it is indeed happening. I am growing a baby in here.
I know I'm all over the place and perhaps that's to be expected. I also know that this baby deserves all my love and support and all the things I did for his/her older brother. So I need to get over this denial and start accepting what's happening. And perhaps even allowing myself to be happy about it without the stabs of fear that are accompanying it right now.
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