Shields Up

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.

The Pregnancy **After** The Pregnancy After Loss

A lot is written about pregnancy loss and almost as much is written about pregnancy after a loss. I've done quite a bit of writing about it here and on various other pregnancy loss blogs, grief blogs, and on BlogHer about this very subject and I've done a bunch of reading on the topic as well. I suppose you could say I've become a bit of an expert on the subject. Not that this a subject that anyone wants to know intimately, but sadly that's how things have happened for me.

We hear about the shock and horror of the initial loss and the complete and utter devastation it leaves in it wake. We cheer for these women as they struggle to pick themselves up, dust themselves off, and put the pieces back together.

We read about their subsequent pregnancies with trepidation. We leave encouraging comments for them and wish them all the best. We wait with anticipation for them to be blessed with their rainbow babies. Those amazing and precious babies that come after a loss. We are so relieved for them when we know that they have finally had their "happy ending."

But what about the pregnancy after that?

I've just begun to navigate my way through the pregnancy after the pregnancy after loss. I wasn't expecting it to feel any different than my previous pregnancy, but it does. Last time around my experience was that every time I get pregnant, my baby dies at 36 weeks. I had no other alternative in my head. My only experience of pregnancy was of tragedy and loss.

I now know what it feels like to have experienced both sides of the coin. One pregnancy where my baby died and my life was shattered. Another pregnancy where my baby was born alive and healthy. One ride home from hospital with empty arms crying into my husbands chest. And another pregnancy where I rode home with my beautiful daughter and struggled to figure out how to get the car seat to latch into the car.

Last pregnancy I was "sure" that things would go wrong. This time I'm more hopeful. I'm less fearful. I'm able to think ahead and start looking for double buggies (strollers). Not to buy one of course, because that would be tempting fate. But at least I've allowed myself to do the research. You have no idea what a big step that is. If you've been around for a while you will remember that I didn't allow anything in my house for Frostina until after she was born.

It's not all goodness and light though. I certainly haven't reverted back to the person I was during my first pregnancy. The person who just knew that once I had my 12 week scan and all was well that I was for sure going to be bringing home a healthy baby in the end. I know all too well that there are no guarantees in life.

I know full well that even if you are a Baby Loss Mom, you don't get a free pass for all future pregnancies. One of my fellow BLM's just had her baby after her rainbow baby and it was not all smooth sailing. She had some complications right near the end that nearly resulted in another terrible loss. If it weren't for her absolute insistence that something wasn't right, and her brilliant doctor who followed her gut, things may have ended badly. Thankfully, all is well and she was able to take her beautiful daughter home with her.

I have a 50/50 history with pregnancies, which is much better than the 100% fail rate I had last time. I know those odds still look pretty grim to those of you who don't live in a world where babies die. But from where I'm sitting they offer hope. I have now lived the happy ending, and I want it again. More importantly, I believe I can have it again. That's a huge mind set change from last time around.

I have no idea if I will feel this way throughout this pregnancy. It's entirely possible that as Baby Oleo's due date approaches, all the old fears and paranoia will return. All I know is that this pregnancy is different than the last one, and I feel differently about it. It will be interesting to reflect on just how different it is as time goes on.

Have any of you been through this? If so, how did you feel during your pregnancy and how was it different than the one before? Oh, and what do you call the baby after your rainbow baby? Are they a rainbow baby as well?

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 Finally Made Chili Again- And Nobody Died

You're probably reading the title for this post and thinking to yourself, "What on earth is she on about?" So I will give you a bit of background.

If you're a long time reader of my blog you may remember this post. It was written just over a year after my son died and was born. In it I was reflecting on my journey to find my new normal. I also shared a story about how I was no longer able to make chili after his death. If you've already clicked on the link to the post then you know why chili became a grief trigger for me. But it you don't want to do that then I will give you the short version.

I made a big pot of chili for a BBQ the night before I found out my son had died. When I got home from having received the horrible news, practically the only thing in my fridge was the huge pot of chili. As part of all the preparation for going back into the hospital to give birth to my son the next morning, I had to deal with what to do with said chili.

I have been unable to make chili ever since. The Hubby has asked me several times and the result has been anxiety and tears. I know it seems silly, but that's just the way it's been.

Until now.

Last week The Hubby told me that his employees were going to be in town and he wanted to have them over for another BBQ. He gently asked if I felt ready to make chili again. Apparently they have been asking for it every time they are in town. I know I should be flattered that almost 3 years on they are still talking about my chili, but up until now it's not been something I wanted to face.

This time when he asked I felt none of the old anxiety; none of the dread; none of the sadness. I didn't burst into tears or flash back to that place where I was back home with my dead baby inside me trying to figure out what to do with a big pot of chili. Someway, somehow, this huge trigger for my grief was just gone. Instead of being a trigger, chili was simply something to feed guests at a BBQ.

I don't know how it happened, or when, but I now have another piece of my old normal back.

It was a bit of a challenge to remember exactly how I made it as I had also thrown out my recipe. But I managed to piece it together and I have to admit that it tasted really good. Everyone loved it and most people went back for seconds.

So there you have it. I finally made chili again- and nobody died!

Not So Far Away After All

Lately I have been feeling like my son is very far away. I don't mean my grief. My grief is never far away, even after over 2 and a half years. I mean that I feel like he is far away. Slipping into the background. Slipping into the shadows. Like he's somehow getting lost in the hustle and bustle of normal life.

Far away from my everyday thoughts. Far away from my everyday life. I still think of him every day, but it's different now. Now that my everyday thoughts are filled with Frostina. My everyday life is full of taking care of her basic needs. Feeding her, changing her, washing her bottles, washing her clothes, taking her places,,,, it is all consuming.

Which often leaves little space for him. So he gets pushed back. Away from my everyday life. Until he feels so very far away.

But then something small happens, and he's back. Right there. Front and center. As if he never left the middle of my heart. As if there was never anything besides his loss in my life.

This time it was a simple comment made by someone who had no idea what she was saying. Something she probably says a million times a day without even thinking about it.

I take Frostina to Gymboree classes (which she loves by the way). The current term is about to end and they are running a special if you sign up early. You get a discount and four free classes. I was asking the lady if the four free classes are part of the normal term, or if they are four extra classes on top of what you normally get. The woman explained that they are above and beyond the normal term. Bonus classes she tells me.

"You can either use them for her, or if she has any siblings you can let them have the classes."

If she has any siblings.... if she has any siblings. That sentence echoed in my head. If she had any siblings, like let's say her older brother who died before he was born. If she had an older brother who she could play with instead of just hearing his name. An older  brother who could actually play with her instead of just being able to play with the teddy bear that was meant for him.

If she had a living brother, then he could use the extra four classes.

But she doesn't, so I guess she will just have to use the classes herself.

I was overwhelmed with sadness. Her far away brother, the one who I feel is fading away, will never be able to use her extra Gymboree classes. He can't play any active role in her life, because he isn't here. And I was reminded just how sad that makes me.

I'm sad that I will never know him. I'm sad that The Hubby will never know him. But I'm even more sad that Frostina will never know him.

The tears came and I did my best to fight them off. I mean seriously, who cries at Gymboree? It took a few minutes but I eventually won the battle with my tears. And I'm pretty sure no one noticed, or if they did they were too polite  to say anything. 

That's when I realized, maybe he's not so far away after all.

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.

I'm Finally Packing For Three

It feels like my blogging life has come full circle.

Or it's about to.

Where it all started,,, it's about to return,,, but with a much happier result this time.

It's surreal on many levels.

I almost can't believe it's actually happening.

If you would have told the me of 2 years ago that this day would come I'm not sure I would have believed you.

And yet here it is.

We are planning a trip home to see the family. We leave in a couple of weeks and I've got so much planning and packing to do.

A trip we do and prepare for every year.

But this year we are actually bringing a living, breathing baby with us.

No ashes in an urn.

A real living baby.

A real living baby!!!

We get to do all the things we had planned before....

A christening.

Family photos.

Sharing our joy with our loved ones.

Such a different place from where this whole blogging journey began.

That day, almost two years ago, when I wrote this post and Finding My New Normal was born.

Friday, 5 November 2010

I should be packing right now.

I really should be packing. We are flying home to see the family for the first time since losing our son in August. This was going to be the first visit home for him to meet his grandparents and extended family. But instead of bringing home a happy baby, we are bringing home his ashes in a tiny plastic urn. Instead of being held by his loving parents, his ashes will be scattered in a beautiful place that we both love. It is not fair and I do not want to have to be doing any of this. So this is why I am not packing yet. Because once I start packing I have to face the reality that I am only packing for 2 and not for 3.



A post about packing for a trip home is where it all began.

And today I once again write about packing for a trip home.

But today things are very different than they were that dark and sad day in November of 2010.

This time around I'm finally packing for three!!!

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.

Overjoyed

I am overjoyed.

I know I've already told you this, but I think that's the best word to describe how amazing it feels to finally have Frostina in my arms. I can't think of any other way to describe it. So I won't, I'll stick to overjoyed.

The Hubby and I are overjoyed. This little girl has brought back a feeling of happiness and contentment that I think we both thought we had lost forever. When she was born she came out screaming,,, a beautiful sound,,, and The Hubby and I instantly burst out into tears too. So there we were, the three of us in a chorus of crying. We were surrounded by doctors and midwives and nurses and yet were were alone together in that room. In that special moment it was just the three of us.

The song we were singing was one of pain and loss and relief and joy all at the same time. It's amazing how much tears can communicate. Our tears on that day were a release of two years of grief plus eight years of the pain of infertility. That's ten years of struggling before we have finally been blessed with a living baby. So as you can imagine, there were lots of tears to be shed.

I'm overflowing with love for this little girl. Every morning when I wake up I have this strong need to hold her. To ensure myself she's real. Once I get her in my arms the tears flow. I cry one of those ugly snotty cries. Not because I'm sad, but because I'm so desperately relieved and happy she's here. If she were awake during this time I'm sure she would be wondering what her crazy Mommy is doing. But thankfully she sleeps through my sobs and my tears falling onto her face.

When I look at her little face I feel at peace. I think for the first time since we lost our son I can honestly say that I am able to feel joy again. Real joy and a fresh hope for the future. Please don't think I've forgotten my son who looks down on us from heaven. I haven't and never will. But I think he would want me to be able to feel happiness again. And for the first time in a long time, I think I'm going to be able to.

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!

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. 

Not an actual photo of me.

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.

A Letter To My Unborn Daughter

My dear sweet baby girl. Today I am 29 weeks pregnant with you. This is a milestone that is met with both excitement and fear. I feel guilty about the fear and sadness that has followed me through my pregnancy with you. You are a true miracle and a huge blessing. I should be shouting from the rooftops about just how happy your impending arrival has made me.

I am being given a second chance to be a mother to a living baby. You are that second chance, and yet I find myself overcome with the worry that something will happen to you, like it did to your older brother. I don't know if you know this, but you have a brother who is smiling down on you from heaven. We love him and wanted nothing more than to be able to hold him in our arms and take him home with us. Sadly, that was never to be and we can only hold his memory in our hearts.

Your daddy and I weren't sure that we could have another baby, and yet here you are growing inside me. I'm amazed at how much we already love you, even though we haven't even met you properly. I love how you seem to know when I'm worried and give me a kick or two as if to remind me that you're still there and you're still OK. I apologize that we haven't decided on a name for you just yet, but I promise you that we're working on that and will make a decision very soon.

We are already head over heels for you, sweet baby girl. Your daddy even has one of your ultrasound photos in his work planner. I think it's because he has to travel for work and wants to keep you close to him. When I saw that photo it made my heart melt. He loves you so much that we wants to be able to look at your photo while he's away and can't feel you kicking inside me. That's why it's so important that you keep growing. We need for you to be OK. We need for you to be born alive and healthy. Because I'm not sure either of us could survive another loss.

I wish that my pregnancy with you wasn't so filled with fear. A fear that sometimes drowns out the joy. Because you deserve the joy. You deserve to have parents who are excited and happy for your arrival. A happiness that isn't clouded in fear and sadness. Parents who aren't waiting for the other shoe to drop, to be told the worst possible news. You deserve that and so much more.

You deserve a mother who isn't afraid to let her friends throw you a baby shower. You deserve a mother who isn't so scared something will go wrong that she refuses to buy any baby things until after you arrive. You deserve a mother who isn't crying all the time about your brother in heaven who she misses terribly.

I don't ever want you to think that you are somehow second best, or a replacement for him, because you are not. I don't want you to ever feel like you're living in his shadow, because you won't be. But the fact is, that his death forever changed your mom and dad. We are trying our best to separate our feelings about his loss from our feelings of joy for your arrival. It's just that sometimes the lines are too blurred and we just can't manage it.

I can only hope that the day you are born alive and healthy that you can help us to heal. And that we can finally realize the joy that you will be bringing to our lives. You deserve that from us.

Just Something Else I'll Never Know

Sometimes I feel like things are back on track. In the year and 7 months since my son died and was born I've done a pretty good job coming to terms with his loss. It's not been easy, especially since I'm pregnant again, but I'm managing. But then, every now and then, something hits me out of the blue that knocks me back down again.

It can be anything really. There are lots of triggers out there. But for some reason it's the things I'll never know that get me the most. I could go through the whole list, but my heart can't take writing that kind of post right now. I'll save that for another day when I'm not feeling quite so vulnerable. Perhaps after Frostina is born happy and healthy and I'm not so worried that I also won't know those things about her. So for now I'm going to put that list aside and get back on topic.

I was chatting with a friend over lunch this week and she was asking about my pregnancy. As I was filling her in on some things the waitress came over and asked if we wanted dessert. After we both said no, I mentioned to my friend that it's probably better if I taper down on my sugars for a while as I'm pretty sure I'll be having my gestational diabetes test sometime soon. That got us on the subject of all the blood tests and injections you have to endure when you're pregnant and how you end up feeling like a human pincushion.

I mentioned in passing that I'm almost due for my anti-d injection. She had no idea what I was talking about and asked what that was. I went on to explain to her that I have an RH-negative blood type and if you have that then your body can create anti-bodies to your baby if he/she has an RH-positive one.

I went on to explain how before they knew about this, babies used to die sometimes as a result of the Mother's immune system thinking the baby was some kind of virus. So now, they give you the anti-d injections as a way to prevent your body from building up any kind of antibodies that can hurt your baby. If the baby is also RH-negative then you won't build up the antibodies, but since they have no way of knowing until after the birth, they give everyone the injections as a precaution. **I am not a doctor so please don't think that I'm any kind of expert on this kind of thing. This is just my understanding of things.


That made me think about my first pregnancy with my son. "You know," I said to her, "I don't know what blood type my son had."

It's not something I've ever wondered about before. Now that I'm pregnant again I suppose it's relevant though. Did the anti-d injections I had in my last pregnancy save me from building up antibodies against this one? Was my son RH-negative like I am? Or was he RH-positive like The Hubby? As I was at a lunch with friends I quickly let the question slip out of my mind and I went on with my day.

For some reason I woke up thinking about this question this morning. One of many questions I have about my son, who will never grow up and help me answer them. There was only one place I could think of to check for the answer. His post mortem report. Not an easy read by any account, but I felt compelled to give it a go. So I dug it out and read through it for probably only the second or third time ever.

It's a completely heartbreaking thing to read, even though I don't understand half of it with all the medical speak it contains. I scoured the entire document with it's charts and figures, but no mention of his blood type. It seems like a strange thing to leave off. I mean, they have the weights and measurements of all his organs, but no blood type?

So basically, I tortured myself with reading in detail about how my son died and didn't get the answer to my question. Nice way to spend a Saturday afternoon! I had a small breakdown after that. Not because it's so important for me to know what his blood type was, but because it's just one more thing I don't know about him.

One more item to add to the list that I'm not ready to write yet.

Just something else I'll never know.

Which Tree Are You Today?

I saw these two trees today and was struck by their stark contrast.

The tree on the left is filled with beautiful baby-pink flower buds. Some have already bloomed and the rest are just about ready to open. This tree is full of life, and hope, and possibilities. It has welcomed the spring with open arms and an open heart.

The tree on the right has no flowers on it. Instead, it's blood red branches are holding sturdy pine cones on them. This tree has endured a tough winter and is still standing strong. It is showing the world that it is not going to be defeated, that it will be beautiful again someday. There is pain in this tree that it is trying not to show to the world, instead it projects strength.

Two completely different trees and yet there is a sense that they belong next to each other. The harshness and sharpness of the tree on the right balanced out by the softness and blooms of the one on the left.

There are some days when I feel like the tree on the left. This tree is a flashback to my life before loss, a life when bad things didn't happen to me. In my early grief I thought I would never feel that joy again, but as time has gone on, I've allowed my happiness to blossom a bit.

Most days though, I still feel like the tree on the right. Battered and scarred, but still holding my head high. Trying with all my might to retain my dignity and grace even on the worst days of the storm. Waiting for the day when I will be beautiful again.

How about you? Which tree are you today?

Such A Simple Question

Is this your first?

It's such a simple question isn't it? An innocent question. A polite question. The kind of question that is asked all the time. It's part of the "getting to know you" routine. You meet a pregnant woman and you ask her if this is her first baby. No harm in that,,,, right?

This simple question is causing me much anxiety right now. Even though I knew it would happen as my belly grows, I'm still never prepared to answer it. So I get nervous and uncomfortable and never know what to say.

What is the right way to answer this question when your first baby died at 36 weeks?

Do you say no and spill your terrible life story to a complete stranger? Do you become that woman who brings up the sad subject of dead babies at fun social events? Do you become the woman who makes a perfectly nice person who was just trying to be polite feel completely and totally uncomfortable? Or do you lie and smile and say yes, sparing everyone else your discomfort?

If I'm asked by a stranger, like at a shop or in a taxi, I always say yes. I figure the person who is asking is just being polite and really doesn't care about the answer. Plus, they're not entitled to know anything personal about me. I liken it to saying "fine" when a stranger asks how I'm doing. I never feel guilty about this answer,,, this one is easy.

If I'm asked by someone who wants to know for professional reasons, like a doctor or dentist or yoga instructor, I usually say, "Well this isn't my first pregnancy." That lets them know there is history that they can either ask further about if they need to, or let it go if they don't feel they need any further info. This answer has worked out very well for me. It's the answer I figured I'd use in social settings as well,, the truth without too much detail.

A few nights ago I went to a social gathering. There were quite a few women who I had never met before, but who I will most likely see again. I'm visibly pregnant these days so of course my pregnancy was a big topic of conversation. I was asked several times if this was my first and each time I said yes. I cringed inside after answering this way. What happened to my plan to tell people this wasn't my first pregnancy? What happened to my perfect answer? Why couldn't I use it?

I left the event feeling guilty. As if I had somehow forsaken my son by not mentioning him. Maybe guilt isn't the right word. Maybe conflicted is a better way to describe how I felt. I don't know,,, I just didn't feel right about the way I handled the situation.

I've never been the kind of person to spill my guts and family secrets when I first meet someone. I have never been the kind of person who goes to a fun social event and then goes on and on about my problems. I attend social events to chat and gossip and have fun. In my early grief, these events were a way to forget about my horrible life if only for a few hours. So it's not at all out of character that I wouldn't mention something sad at an event that is supposed to be fun.

But for some reason, this is really getting to me. I feel like I lied to these women just to protect them from feeling uncomfortable. So that they could get to know the fun, happy me before I spring my tragedy on them. So I won't be seen as the woman who's baby died before I'm seen as anything else. So that they wouldn't all scurry away and be afraid to ask me any more questions just in case I had more terrible stories to tell.

Is that what it is?? Am I being selfish? Or am I just trying not to spoil a fun event with my sad story?

I don't understand why this question still catches my by surprise and takes my breath away. I should expect it by now. I should be more prepared.

After all, it's such a simple question.

Hope Creeps In

This pregnancy has not been easy on me emotionally. I suppose all pregnancies after a loss are difficult and what I'm experiencing is normal. That is if your definition of normal is rotating between fear, panic, dread, grief, sadness, nervousness, paranoia, wistfulness, longing, fixating, and terror. Since I'm always on the hunt for my new normal here, I'd say this probably isn't the best definition available. But alas, sometimes reality rules.

For the past 22 weeks I've been scared. Worried that something will go wrong like it did last time. Worried that I won't be able to handle it again. Worried that I won't be able to cope with another loss. Wondering if I was a complete crazy person to put myself in this vulnerable place again.

As time has gone on something odd has happened. Every now and then I experience this strange sensation. At first I didn't even notice it was there. It would flit in and out of my consciousness. Blink and you'd miss it.

What was this strange sensation? It seemed foreign and yet somehow familiar. Tiny butterflies in my stomach. A small smile that would creep onto my face from time to time. A skip in my step. A song in my heart. My mind starting to think ahead,,,, making plans. What was this strange sensation? 

Suddenly it hit me. I knew exactly what this strange emotion was.

It was hope.

Somehow amongst all the fear and the worry and the stress of this new pregnancy, hope had crept in. I didn't recognize it at first because I was so preoccupied with all my negative thoughts. Even if I did have awareness of it, I pushed it right back where it came from.

But this hope was stubborn. Instead of allowing itself to be pushed away, it pushed back. It came more often, screaming my name each time. "I'm back," it would shout. "Remember me? Still I pushed it back.

There is no room for hope when you're living each day in fear. Hope is the enemy. Hope makes you vulnerable to being hurt again. Protecting yourself from hope will protect you from pain,,,,, right?

But hope wouldn't give up. It came even more often, and it stayed for longer periods of time. Enough time for me to start going to prenatal yoga again. Enough time for me to start looking at baby girl nursery items on the internet. Enough time for me to buy tickets to go to the Baby Show here in London. Enough time for me to attend the Baby Show and actually enjoy myself!

I kid you not,,, I went to the Baby Show and enjoyed myself.

I'm very good at denial though and so even though hope was there, I refused to acknowledge it's existence. I got home from the Baby Show and couldn't stop talking about it to The Hubby. I didn't buy anything of course, but I had done all sorts of "research" on the latest baby buggy and nursery furniture. I was babbling on about this and that when I realized that The Hubby was smiling at me.

"What are you smiling at??" I asked him. Of course he said he wasn't smiling at anything, which made me continue to question until he finally spilled. He said it was just nice to see me happy and excited again. And that's when it hit me. Hope had crept back into my life. Perhaps not blind hope, more like guarded hope. But hope nonetheless.

This is not to say that I'm over the fear. I'm most definitely still feeling fear, panic, dread, grief, sadness, nervousness, paranoia, wistfulness, longing, fixating, and terror. It's just that now it's sprinkled with a little hope.

No Baby Shower For Me

A while back I wrote about the tricky subject of being invited to a baby shower after dealing with infertility or losing a child. Of course in my case, both of these issue apply... lucky me.

I was proud of myself that in the end I was brave enough to say no and not attend. I wrote about that as well, take a read if you wish. Now I'm faced with another baby shower dilemma, do I want one for me?

I knew it was only a matter of time before the idea of having a baby shower was presented to me. I also knew that my answer would have to be no this time. I just can't imagine getting through another baby shower with the memory of what happened the last time still so fresh in my head. When you lose your son 3 weeks after your baby shower, it doesn't exactly make you want to rush out and have another one.

I've been amazed and impressed when reading the blogs of other Baby Loss Moms who don't seem to have this same issue. I've read their posts about their wonderful baby showers and seen them smiling in the photos with total amazement. I know it's never good to compare yourself to others but I wonder how they are able to manage it?

Please don't think I'm judging my fellow BLM's. I would NEVER do that. I'm actually happy for them that they are able to embrace the day and honor their rainbow babies in such a special way with their family and friends. I suppose I'm jealous that they aren't crippled by their fear the way I obviously am. I'm jealous that I can't have a shower for this baby like I was able to do for my son.

Oh how I wish I could get to that place where I could make it through a shower for Frosty without having a total meltdown. That place where I could embrace this pregnancy with the same joy and excitement as my last one. That place where I wasn't so afraid to have anything baby related in my house.

Oh yes, you read that correctly. I can't have ANY baby items in this house before we have an actual living baby in it first.

So no baby shower for me! Not until this baby is born healthy and alive.

Instead, I've agreed to have a shower after (see, here's me being positive) Frosty is born. I don't know anyone who has done this, but I'm sure it happens. I suppose the day will be a bit different than your normal baby shower,,, in fact maybe we won't even call it a baby shower. Maybe I'll have to think of a different name for it.

I'm open to suggestions about what to call it. Also, if you know of anyone else who has done it this way, I'd love to hear how it went.

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.

Brussels at Christmas

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.

Rememberance Day

October 15th is Pregnancy and Infant loss remembrance day. We remember all babies born still, or whom we have carried but never met, or those we have held but could not take home, or the ones that came home but did not stay. I will be participating in the 7th annual Wave of Light and will be lighting a candle at 7pm in honor of all our lost angels, including my son.

Thanks to Small Bird Studios for creating this lovely image.

A Strange Patchwork Of Emotions

Yesterday I went in for my second ultrasound and blood test for my FET (that's frozen embryo transfer). Everything looks great. I've got a good triple-stripe lining and my hormone levels are good too. So I was given the go ahead to book my very expensive, last-minute flight to the US for my transfer.

It's scheduled for next week, Thursday the 13th. Exactly 1 year and 2 months after my son was born still. The significance of this date is not lost on me. I swear, you couldn't plan these things if you tried.

It's such a tricky thing trying for another baby while still mourning the one you've lost. Dates and milestones blend together in a strange patchwork of emotions. Where feelings of hopefulness exist side by side with feelings of despair. Where a simple date on the calendar can represent both the worst day of your life and the potential for a miracle.

I'm still working on the balance of hopefulness and despair. Perhaps there is never a balance. Perhaps there is never a way to work out feeling both sets of emotions at the same time. Perhaps we all just do the best we can to move forward and try not to trip over our feelings.

At the moment I'm trying to focus on my hope. I do believe that mindset can affect fertility and I want to give this cycle the best possible chance of success. I just hope I can manage it.