The longest night

On Sunday evening M and I bundled up to attend the Service of the Longest Night, sometimes called the "Blue Christmas" service.

My church position has had me head and shoulders in the sacred Christmas celebrations. My choir sang a jubilant cantata Sunday morning. We've been carolling at seniors' homes and hospitals. I've been rehearsing with soloists for tonights' Christmas Eve service.

Sunday night was just for us. The service was being held at a sister church so I had no responsibilities music-wise. The service is quiet and lovely, with the more inward carols and readings. About 20 people attended this year, and we sat in the candlelit church and listened to quite music and readings and enjoyed minutes of silence.

It was officiated by a minister I know vaguely; she's substituted at my church so I've worked with her a couple of times. I wasn't sure she would recognize me out of context. I did not know if she would know why I was there.

She did.

At the end of the service she came over and sat with M and I, talked about the difficult year we have had, what had happened with Charlotte. She asked where we found hope now. I didn't know what to say, really. I told her we have had encouragement from our doctors about trying again but we still had some realistic odds to face, which she was surprised to hear. She gave me a hug, didn't say all the wrong things, and sent us back for a slice of cherry cake.

This service could be my tradition, I think. My Charlotte part of Christmases in the future. I could picture myself stealing out from a busy house 10 years down the road to have the hour with my thoughts and my baby girl. That was comforting.

Oh, I decided to keep the glo.worm. We went out and bought replacement presents for the charity and my glo.worm is under the tree, unwrapped. No one has asked about it yet.

***

M visited the Babyland friends yesterday to drop off the baby's gift. He returned with a Christmas card, warning me there were pictures inside and I may not want to see.

Of course, I opened it.

The pictures were there, three of them. Baby in Halloween costume. Baby in front of tree and presents. Family picture in front of the fireplace, three of them. They didn't upset me. There was a folded piece of paper. I unfolded it, thinking maybe it was a note for us, but it was one of those this is what has happened this year letters, and I couldn't stop myself from reading.

I really shouldn't have read it.

It felt like a slap in the face.

She is our pride and joy and we could not be happier with the new addition to our family (the grandparents are thrilled too). She is a happy little baby that loves to smile, swim and throw her toys on the floor. She loves to splash her daddy whe he gives her a bath and have her mommy sing her Frosty the Snowman. She has been teething since she turned three months old but there are no signs of any teeth yet. She will be trying cereal for the first time on Christmas morning which I am sure will be a messy but fun experience. We are looking forward to so many more firsts with her in 2009.....

The letter was a full page, single spaced, of baby news I did not want to read. But I read it. Twice, actually.

I'm really surprised they included it, and I was outright furious at first. They're not malicious people but it felt like a horrible, mean thing to do. Why would you send a letter like that to a friend grieving their baby at Christmas? Our Christmas will be quiet and sad at best, and now I have the picture that three minutes away, a little girl who should be the age of my own baby, will be trying cereal and splashing her daddy and listening to her mommy sing.

I'm here singing Frosty to my glo.worm.

It's bad enough already. I don't need the shouldhavebeens spelled out for me in detail on snowflake paper.

It's Christmas Eve, but feels like any other Wednesday. The church service tonight will come and go and I'll make it through silent night and the reading from Luke and all of that. I'll sneak out the side door after the postlude and wind back to my car and come home. Settle in for a long, quiet night that should be anything but. Tomorrow morning we'll get up and open presents and I'll play with my camera and M with his flight simulator, and we'll eat waffles and head to the inlaws for turkey. Not a horrible day by anyone's standards, but yet still so wrong.

Just so wrong.

Merry Christmas, everyone. Such as it is.

holidays galore

This past Saturday was my birthday. I was not in the mood. The entire concept of celebrating "birthdays" is jaded to me now. The way I see it, 29 years ago my mom and dad were lucky. They were of the oblivious that knew nothing else except pregnancy=baby, and I was brought home.

I did not want a cake or a party, and my wish was granted. We did go out to dinner with another couple, who have been more supportive of us this year than most. It was delicious, expensive and very adult. We sat around eating fois gras and drinking cosmopolitans, people watching and chatting. It was a nice evening. Totally my speed.

So, my birthday ended up being a nice day afterall.

On Sunday I woke up to a surprise, AF had arrived. I was relieved as my cycles have been insanely irregular since Charlotte. 58 days, 56, 45, and now, finally 30. I feel like it's my body telling me that things are back to normal, that "trying again" is ok now.

M is a little less decisive about a future baby. He wants one, badly, but the whole HELLP/Pre-E scare was hard on him. To watch me go through what I did, to sit by and not be able to help, must have been really scary. He wants to wait until 2009 to try. I want to respect that, but the peak days of conception this month are going to be probably around Dec 28th, and I don't want to wait an entire cycle just for the sake of two or three days. I know that's silly on my behalf, and I know, even writing this now, that I'm being ridiculous, but I feel like I've waited so long already and the thought of waiting another month to start trying is so defeating. Time goes so slowly in DBL. Another month might as well be a year. I don't want to wait. I'm done waiting.

I have a couple of weeks to convince him so hopefully he'll understand.

We bought a glo.worm to give to a gift distribution charity for Christmas. I wanted to donate a gift that we would have bought for Charlotte to an underpriveged family, so M and I went shopping. It was no money, the thing only cost $10 or so, but it's cute. M saw it and was so excited- he had the old version of a glo.worm growing up and he didn't realize they were still made.

The only problem is, I'm getting attached to this glo.worm.

When we got it home and I looked at it closer, I realized it's about the same size Charlotte was when she was born. It's still in the box but I've been resisting the tempation to take it out and hug it. I feel ridiculous. I told M and he said that we should keep this glo.worm and go buy another one for the charity. Still feel ridiculous, at least my husband doesn't think I am totally losing it.

It's sitting on my desk and smiling at me right now.

Yeah, I'm losing it.

Tagged!

I've been tagged by Addysmommy! How fun!

Here are the rules:
1) Link to the person who tagged you.
2) Post the rules on your blog (copy and paste 1-6).
3) Write 6 random things about yourself.
4) Tag 6 people at the end of your post and link to them.
5) Let each person know they have been tagged and leave a comment on their blog.
6) Let the tagger know when your entry is up.

Six random things about me:

1. I drive a sm.art car. Yes, one of those. And yes, I do feel safe.

2. I am obsessed with the food network. I can watch it all day long. I like cooking myself, but I hate cleaning up, and that puts a damper on things.

3. I love word games. Scr.abble, puzzles, anything involving words (although I hate solving clues, so I'm not into crosswords)

4. I have a master's degree in classical piano performance (no one goes into that field for the money, let me assure you!)

5. I have a pet hamster named Nibbles. I wanted a cat, M wanted a dog. Neither of us would concede so we got a hamster. He's getting to the end of his lifespan now and I really, really hope he's some sort of super hamster and lives at least another year or so. He's cute and he makes me smile, and he's one of the few things that does nowadays.

6. I've never owned a camera, but my inlaws own a professional camera store so it's kind of become a protest on my account. That said, I'm ready to cross over to the other side, so I think Santa might have a solution for me!

I'm not very good at the tagging aspect of being tagged, so have at it ladies if you haven't already!

Congratulations!

When I was pregnant, on bedrest, and still with only happy endings in sight, I signed up for every baby freebie and sample I could find online. Some of the samples arrived shortly before Charlotte. The rest are still coming.

Does anyone know how to get myself off of these lists? At least weekly I get a sample or book of coupons or a "feeding guide" or "sleeping guide". Congratulations! You should be sleeping through the night by now, and getting ready to move on to solids.

Today se.ars invited me to a special Baby's First Christmas photography session, and He.inz sent coupons for stage 1 baby foods.

It doesn't really upset me. I don't break down at the mailbox when this stuff turns up in the mail. It just feels like a waste to throw it all out. The edible samples I've donated to the food bank, but the paper is just being tossed (recycled, but still).

I've scoured the mailings for an email address or 1800 number to call to remove my name. No luck. They must really want to keep me on the list.

At least the email updates "Congratulations! Your baby is beginning to smile!" were easy to unsubscribe from.

Anyone have ideas? Or is it easier to wait it out (there can't be that much more, can there?).

Pity

So, where's your tree?

Oh, it's not up yet. Probably Christmas week. We're not doing much this year- just the tree. I'm not putting up my village or the rail garlands or anything. Minimalist, this year.

Oh. giggles. Well, you should put your decorations up!

This is the summary of about four different conversations I've had this past week from friends and family. Wondering about the lack of decor at our house. There are outside lights, bare along the eave. No wreath or garland or anything like that. Inside, nothing yet. Probably the 22nd or 23rd we'll half-heartedly put up the tree, in a different room than usual so it's not in our sight all day.

It's the reactions that have surprised me. Their surprise, first. Prior to the conversation there obviously has been no thought that Christmas will be difficult for us this year.

When I say, no, we're not doing that, I can see the glimmer of recognition across the faces, and then the Oh, combined with the same tone of voice that you would use with a child who's heart is crushed after dropping a cookie. Oh you poor thing, you'll come around.

The sympathy is gone. It's been replaced by pity.

It makes me so mad I could scream.

And the verdict is....

Good.

It was lovely actually. I love my ObGyn (and what a difference that makes). All of my tests had come back fine, everything was normal. My BP was way up there because I was nervous as all hell, but it was fine at home this morning so I know that was just the nerves. She thought so too.

So, I went through the list of questions, and she seemed genuinely excited that we're almost ready to try again. I was worried that she'd think it was too soon, but that wasn't the case at all. It was a nice feeling. We went through my questions about aspirin and calcium, exercise, heparin and my irregular cycles (of which she is not concerned at all). She sent off my referrals to our MFM and a haematologist. The ball is rolling.

I mentioned the stats our MFM quoted regarding the 30% chance of reoccurance. She was great about it; we talked about the obvious risks but she kept coming back to the 70% chance of making it into the third trimester. That was encouraging. Not falsely hopeful, but encouraging.

We were sent out with instructions to Call the minute you find out you're pregnant. I don't care if it's 6am on a Sunday morning. You guys really made my day today.

Yay for nice doctors!

So, now the next step is to actually GET pregnant. We're going to wait until after my next period (God knows when that will be, considering the irregularity of my period nowadays), probably 2 or 3 weeks. Then I'll be measuring everything and tracking and driving myself crazy with all you other deadbaby moms that are in the midst of it now.

Wow. I made it through the awful, awful, treading water stage and now at least there's something to look forward to. Sure, ultimately I could end up frustrated if I don't get pregnant, or heartbroken if it ends badly, but at least I'm moving in some direction.

A sense of relief today. How's that for a change.

And the doctor says...

Tomorrow we go back to my ObGyn for a follow-up appointment. This was scheduled 6 months ago at my postpartum appt, and at the time December 2nd seemed like an eternity away. Here we are. It has felt like eternity, that's for sure.

I'm about 20 lbs lighter than the last time I saw her, although still 14 lbs away from that coveted BMI of 25. It will have to do.

We plan to start TTC after my next cycle. I'm excited, and scared. Mostly I'm looking forward to feeling like I'm getting somewhere- these past 8 months of treading water have been long and tiring. I want to get this show on the road. We have a real possibility (about 1/3) of another dead baby and should that be the case, I want to get it over with. I'd rather be kicked while I'm down than climb all the way out of this hole just to be knocked back in it.

I'm looking forward to what she has to say. I hope she's encouraging. I hope that I leave feeling like there's a chance at a happy ending in all of this.

I'm stressing. I hope my BP doesn't skyrocket over there.

Christmas prep

Our local Santa Clause parade is this coming Sunday. Yay. We have been invited to a post-parade party that we're not going to. Big surprise.

As Christmas draws nearer, I realize more and more how it's going to be so hard. I am not in any sort of the Christmas spirit. My shopping is done, many gifts are even wrapped, but I am not feeling the holiday cheer.

As part of my church organist position, I direct the choir. I haven't had much energy to put into their Christmas prep this year. I've chosen all the sad carols to sing- In the Bleak Midwinter, See Amid the Winter's Snow, that type. They either haven't noticed or are too polite to say anything. We had rehearsal last night and I hated, really hated, preparing for the first Sunday of Advent this week. I do want to celebrate light. I am not, for the first time ever, looking forward to the mandatory Christmas services and socials and carolling. I have to take part, it's my job, but I've found a switch in my mind that allows me to go on autopilot for these things. My heart is not there.

My heart is buried with my baby in a cemetery across town.

As long as I can remember, I've thought January 2nd was the saddest day of the year. The parties are over, the lights start coming down, and we all settle home for another four months of winter, with no holiday in sight. That day was always such a horrible day. Now, I'm kind of looking forward to January 2nd, when the world becomes a bit more somber, matches my mood. The parties will be over, the carols already sung, and the expectations of celebrating will be over.

We;'ve made fabulous plans for New Year's, to give ourselves something to look forward to. We made late dinner reservations, just the two of us, at one of the best restaurants in the city. We made a hotel reservation at the best hotel, where we can watch the fireworks from our window. Just the two of us. A bottle of champagne. Kiss 2008 goodbye.

Every New Year's Eve the Babyland friends host a party. We all chip in for backyard fireworks and eat nachos and wings. We've been going each year as long as M and I have been a couple. Last year, I specifically remember K and I sitting around, pregnant, sipping ginger ale instead of sparkling wine, looking ahead to this Christmas, when the babies would be here.

One baby is here. One is not.

More and more people are asking when we will try again. I guess enough time has passed that it's become an acceptable question. I don't mind answering, but I know they're thinking that a living child will erase the pain we've had. Equalize it. Make everything ok, back to normal.

What no one understands is that only a small portion of my sadness is that I don't have a baby. I know, that one way or another, some day I will have a child. What devastates me day after day is that Charlotte, my sweet baby girl, will never, ever, have a life.

And that will never, ever change.

It breaks my heart that Charlotte will never have a Christmas.

Another one bites the dust

I think we're pretty much done with the BabyLand friends.

We were doing ok there for awhile. Sure, I hadn't been near the baby since the one disastrous attempt back in July, which caused to turn down invitation after invitation to showers, christenings, Halloween parties. We were ok with that; we know our role has changed. I'm not going to put myself through baby-centered activities right now, I'm just not.

About six weeks ago the six of us went to brunch, sans baby, and that was ok. We made a commitment to get together, just adults, once a month or so. I was happy with this arrangement. Sure, we'd be out of much of social gatherings, but at least we'd have some contact every now and again with our friends.

We were supposed to get together on Friday night. It would be eight of us this time, as they extended the invitation to our friends S and P who have a one year old son, our godson. We've seen S and P pretty regularly since Charlotte, and they know the BabyLand friends through us. We've heard through the grapevine the they've all been spending a lot of time together with the kids, and we weren't surprised.

Anyway, it all started with emails two weeks ago. Friday or Saturday night? Saturday is good for us, we replied. Heather works Friday nights.

Didn't hear anything. Then, earlier this week:

Dinner reservations are made for 630 Friday night, bowling afterwards.

Oh. We replied: sorry, we can't make it to dinner, have to work, let us know what time to meet you bowling.

I finished work Friday evening. We sat around waiting for the call. 8:00, 8:30, 9:00 passed. Finally, 9:15 the phone rang.

We're not going bowling now. Everyone is too full.

Oh, well do you want to come over here?

No.

Oh, well do you want to meet for coffee?

Ok.

So, we warmed up the car and headed down to the closest coffee shop. They were waiting for us.

We chatted for maybe 20 minutes. Then they were all tired, wanted to go home.

So that was our social event for this month.

I've nothing in common with the girls anymore. The conversation was Christmas decorating, craft fairs, parties and baby food. Not exactly my choice of topics. I managed to chat about the gym, my job, things like that, but was undeniably left out of much of the conversation.

Makes me wonder how much longer this will continue.

I really, really, don't see a day where I'll be comfortable with their baby. I don't see the day where I can sit down with this little girl who is the same age Charlotte should be, and not have my heart shatter. Maybe I'll change my mind, but I don't think so.

It's one thing to run into babies I know are close in age at church or shopping, but to watch one grow up alongside is too painful. And a girl, of course.

I think it's over.

Thanks

Just a quick little note to tell you all how much I appreciated everyone's chime in on "Going Home".

I swear, without your affirmation I would think I was going insane. I would believe all the normals who say it's time to be over this.

I am so, so grateful that I have you all.

More than I can say.

Going home

On Saturday morning, M and I packed up the car and drove the 3.5 hours to my parents' house in my hometown. My father's 65th birthday party was starting at 6 p.m., to be well-attended by family and friends.

To say I didn't want to go was an understatement. I had several sleepless nights, a pit in my stomach for days, plus an hour of therapy, but I was determined. As much as I didn't want to go, I felt staying home would be harder. Family had flown in from across the country- I couldn't justify not making the drive. The party has been in the works for years really, and I had to go. It would be the first time I had seen most of them since Charlotte. I was dreading it.

There were 60 people on the guest list. I think about 50 came. We had caterers so the work was minimal. My sister and I hung balloons and streamers, made punch and put cookies on platters. I was less than cheery. I was not in a party mood.

My mom's closest sisters, who live in Toronto, had made the trip with their husbands. One aunt welcomed a new grandchild into their family two weeks ago. The pregnancy was announced 2 weeks pre-Charlotte, and I hadn't heard anything else about it. To save me, I'm sure. The only way I knew the baby was born (a boy) was from that blasted face.book. No one had said a word to me about their baby, even though my cousin and I are close in age and have always been part of each others' lives.

Well, my mom must have given my aunt strict instructions to not mention this baby, because it was painfully obvious the whole evening. She slipped a couple of times when I was across the room.

Mom and aunt discussing vegetable platters:
"Oh, this is really nice, I'll have to get one of these for .... the christening." It was a normal conversation until the last two words, which were in a deliberate hush-hush whisper.

Aunt and my sister:
"S and J had to get rid of their dog... you know, when the baby came."

I felt like a freaking leper.

It was small talk after small talk, the whole evening. All of these clueless well-meaning relatives. Mom and dad's church friends. All baby-boomers who, at least around here, are of the mindset of "bury it and die". Pretend everything is just fine. Nothing ever happened. The worst, absolute worst possible attack of dealing with a deadbabymama.

Everyone kept asking me how I was doing, then answering for me. How are you doing, Heather? Good? Keeping busy, I guess.

I would just nod and look away and hope they would move on. They did.

After an hour of this I just couldn't stand it anymore. It was only 7:00. The house was packed, the doorbell ringing every couple of minutes. I told mom I was going upstairs to lay down. I couldn't stay there. I went to mom's room and watched home improvement shows for an hour or so. I could hear laughter and glasses clinking and a boisterous rendition of Happy Birthday. M came up and sat with me, saying that mom was driving him crazy, asking every two seconds if I was okay and is she always like this.

Mom came up to say that Mr S was asking for me, he really wanted to talk. I've known Mr S my entire life, but only at the acquaintance level. I prepared myself for the full everything happens for a reason/God works in mysterious ways speech before I came downstairs. It didn't take him long to find me.

Then it happened.

How's the little one doing, he asked with a smile.

I just looked. M was beside me. He just looked too.

What? I whispered.

Oh right, you lost your little one didn't you.

Then came the Everything happens for a reason/God works in mysterious ways speech.

I lasted the final couple of hours. The crowd dwindled. I found a comfy rocking chair in the corner by the fire and sat in it, rocking, silent, for the remainder of the party. I was ignored. I was glad.

Mom was in a tizzy the next day, telling me I should really be asking my doctors for antidepressants, that everyone commented that I didn't seem very well, that she was so, so worried.

I wanted to scream. What do you expect? My baby is dead! This is it for me now, my circle of friends and family either pretend it didn't happen altogether or make me feel like I'm diseased or say the stupidest of stupid things. I can't sit and smile and pass out birthday cake while listening to hushed whispers of baby-related things that I'm not supposed to hear. I can't.

This from our huge family who sent the requisite sympathy card after Charlotte with a bare signature and nothing else. Not one of them called. Not. One.

My mom has seven sisters. One brother. Countless cousins and second cousins and then there's dad's entire side of the family.

And not one call?

And all I got at this party was Oh so you're doing well, right? Keeping busy?

People are so clueless.

It's no wonder I hate going places now. Everywhere I go I'm either ignored or I feel like a leper.

It will be a long, long time before I make the trip home again.

Step one.

Yesterday afternoon M and I went to visit our psychologist. We talked about the upcoming holidays, our plans, and hurdles we expect to encounter. It was a productive visit.

Our psychologist is employed by our hospital's Women's Health department, and she deals with people like us who have lost babies, and people with fertility problems. A pretty specialized area. She came to visit me in my hospital room a couple of days post-Charlotte, and we've seen her regularly ever since.

Yesterday, for the first time since we've started going, there was someone waiting when we came out. I had just made some black humour crack about going to Hall.mark to ask for a dead baby ornament so we left in giggles and dead baby smiles. A young woman, maybe 24 or 25, was sitting in the chair across from the office door. Dr N told her she'd be right back as she followed us down the hall to see us out.

I only looked at her for a moment, but she was obviously post-partum. Her face was tear-streaked, and her eyes had that look of glossy disbelief that was all too familiar.

I don't know her story, I have no idea really. The likelihood is that her baby just died. Here she is, at step one of this awful journey. I wanted to run over, ask about her baby, give her a hug.

She was alone. No boyfriend or husband in sight. I can't imagine going through this alone.

Again, way too many assumptions. Maybe her partner was working or ill, or maybe she wanted to come to therapy alone.

Everyday when I wake up I think that somewhere, sometimes even in my own city, someone is saying hello and goodbye to their baby. Step one. As horrible as my step one was, it was the aftermath that was worse: the days and weeks following when it really sunk in what had happened and my heart fell out.

Day after day it just breaks my heart that there are people everywhere taking their first steps into DeadBabyLand.

Welcome, friend. I wish you weren't here with us.

Defeated

Charlotte's stone is in. And beautiful. And real. I will post a picture as soon I as I can reel M in to upload it for me.

I've been trying to think of a word to describe my current state-of-mind. The best I can figure at this point is defeated. I feel so kicked down. I've reconciled so many things and have accepted that this is my life now, and I feel tired, beaten, withdrawn.

Defeated.

I think seeing Charlotte's stone really, really, solidified that my baby is dead. I know I haven't been walking around the past seven months thinking that by some miracle she was alive, but seeing it literally carved in stone changed something. My baby is dead. She really, really, is. I had a baby, and she died.

We'd like to start TTC in the new year. Problem- my cycles have been ridiculously long since Charlotte. About 8 weeks. I'm back to see my ObGyn in a few weeks and anxious for her opinion, but I figure this just can't be good for TTC.

I am now officially off of the bp pills. My bp is okay, but not great, and again, I feel pretty discouraged that I'll ever get through a pregnancy pre-e free.

We've had a huge change in our friendship circle. We have so few good friends now. I have lost all energy to talk on the phone, to attend parties, to exchange gifts. We've opted out of nearly everything these past seven months. It's to the point now where the invitations have stopped coming. I've become much more distant with my family, too. The phone rarely rings. I don't have the energy to call anyone.

I'm prepping to start my full-time university gig in January. I don't feel prepared. I feel rather unqualified and I'm scared, to be honest.

So, here I sit, in my lovely little lonely house, and realizing all of these changes, I feel truly defeated.

See, life, you got me. You really got me. You can stop now.

Charlotte's plaque

Well, tomorrow Charlotte's plaque will be installed at her grave. She's buried at the feet of M's grandfather, and since the grass grew over in the spring, you'd never even know she was there.

But after tomorrow, anyone walking by that grave will see a granite plaque with butterflies and a single date. And her name.

She'll be a little more real, at least to the rest of the world.

Makes me feel a little better.

It's so strange how these seemingly horrific things you do as a deadbabymama can make you feel better. It actually felt good calling the cemetery to say my baby's monument is ready... when can it be installed...

My baby's monument.... words no one should ever have to say.

First Snow

We woke up this morning to a world of white. 4 or 5 cm of snow covered every surface, and we could hear the radio djs grumbling, too early, too early, on our alarm clock.

The snow suits me just fine.

I need a change of scenery. A winter wonderland will fit the bill. I could also use a couple of days of all-out blizzard, where the city shuts down and we wake from hibernation a day or two later and wonder where the cars are under the endless sea of white.

But, a couple of inches is a nice start.

It's been awhile since I've written of our BabyLand friends. My one and only attempt at visiting their baby was difficult and draning. The months have ticked by and I haven't tried again. And I don't feel guilty about it. I have given myself permission to take this in my own time; maybe some morning I'll wake up and feel like I want to visit. Maybe I won't. Whatever I do is up to me.

That's my new survival tactic: Do what I want, when I want to.

Whatever you have to do, right?

M and I were invited to a Halloween party Saturday night, hosted by the Babyland crew. We had no intentions of going, and we actually had a long-standing dinner reservation at a high end hotspot where we would enjoy a very expensive, very adult evening. It was great. Seven courses later we stumbled home, content. Not great for my weight loss efforts, but great for my mood!

Yesterday we spent most of the day with my in-laws, who indeed had gone to the Halloween party. Oh, you'd hardly even know there was a baby, she said. No one paid any attention to it.

I hear this all the time. Oh, there's no evidence of a baby over there. You'd be fine.

Sure, sure I'd be.

No one gets it. No one realizes that I'm. Just. Not. Ready.

I'm not going near the place over Christmas. The holidays are going to be hard enough without a living, breathing reminder of what Charlotte should be doing. How big she should be by now.

No, thank you. I'll stay home with my thoughts, and that will be difficult as it is.

Happy Halloween

Just when I think my head is above water....

I have a day like today. And it's only half over.

Nothing major, just one of those heart-ached, woe-is-me days where it hits me from another angle that my baby is dead.

And it's Halloween. In the past, one of my favorite holidays, and how I had looked forward to having a baby this Halloween. I wanted to dress her in a costume and take her to the relative's trick or treating. I wanted to go all out on decorations and have friends over.

Instead, M and I are settling in with our beloved movie channels. I may or may not answer the door, depending on my mood in a few hours.

I miss my baby girl.

I had my internist appointment on Wednesday. I did indeed get to come down on my dose of medication, and he said I can go off of it altogether in 2 weeks. Exactly what I wanted. I don't even need to follow up with him unless my bp spikes up again.

But, surprising to me, I was very sad as I left his office on Wednesday afternoon.

I felt silly driving home, wiping away tears. I couldn't figure out why I was upset; I had gotten the news I had hoped for. It didn't take long for me to realize that popping those bp pills was one of the only physical links I still have to Charlotte; one of the only remaining pieces of evidence of her birth and the trauma surrounding it.

So, even though I desperately wanted to be free of the medication, I am sad in a way to see it go.

Physically, now I'm (almost) normal.

Mentally, another story.

Happy Halloween, everyone.

Daily Randoms

Hmm. So my weight is down to 172.5. It's slow slow slow, but at least I'm headed in the right direction.

I have 17.5 lbs to go to a BMI of 25. I'd like to be there before we TTC. As things stand, we'd like to start TTC after Christmas, so I have 2 months to lose 17.5 lbs. Probably not going to happen, realistically. I'll keep plugging away and see how close I can get.

The gym has lost its novelty, though I'm still going. I had a little hiatis at one point but I'm back on track now. I'm thinking about trying spinning, just to mix things up a bit. Anyone have any experience?

I was at cost.co yesterday buying some groceries. When I hit the checkout, the gentleman behind me commented on how healthy my groceries were. I had tomatoes, peppers, mushrooms, romaine lettuce, skinless chicken and blackberries. Yeah, pretty healthy. Story of my life. He starting making excuses for his two enormous toble.rone bars and two boxes of chocolate truffles. I just laughed and told him his choices looked a lot more appealing than mine.

Eating healthy and exercising is supposed to increase my chances of bringing home a healthy baby next time, so here we go. The healthy eating is getting old too, by the way. If anyone has some exciting low-sodium super healthy recipes, feel free to send them my way.

This afternoon I go back to my internist, Dr J. Dr J and I have a love-hate relationship. I think he's a very good doctor, but he has the bedside manner of a lamp. I started seeing him when my bp went up at 15 weeks, and I've been seeing him ever since. He saw me numerous times when I was in the hospital, both before and after Charlotte. My biggest disappointment with Dr J was when I went to his office for my first visit post-Charlotte, and his first words when he entered the exam room were Oh hi, Heather, how's the baby doing?

Um, the baby's dead. That was my response.

Oh right.

I was screaming in my head the whole time. How could you forget? I saw you two weeks ago in my hospital room obviously NOT with a baby. You gave me condolences. Plus, I have yet to see anyone besides me under the age of 60 in his waiting room. You'd think he'd at least remember me for that.

And he forgot. Thanks Dr. J.

Well, he's an internist. As a specialty I don't think they're known for their bedside manner.

So, Dr. J and I have plodded on. I am still on the blasted bp meds. My dosage has come way down, and I am finally down to a single medication. I'm hoping he'll drop the dose again today, and then hopefully a month from now he'll take me off of it altogether. Just in time for TTC. If I can help it, I'd like to be off all the drugs before we start trying. Start with a clean slate.

Oh, and guess what? Two of my undergrads took the opportunity to rewrite. One did a pretty good job, but the other? Printed pages off the internet and handed them in. With urls at the top of the page and display ads and the works. Can we say ZERO? I had to laugh. If you're going to attempt plagiarism at least retype the information!

Gave me a good laugh, if nothing else!

Angel Mommy Blog Award

Many thanks to the lovely Jen for sending me this Angel Mommy Blog Award. It's being passed to mommy bloggers who are without our babies, with the following beautiful poem.

Don't Tell Me

Please don't tell me you know how I feel,

Unless you have lost your child too,

Please don't tell me my broken heart will heal,

Because that is just not true,

Please don't tell me my son is in a better place,

Though it is true, I want him here with me,

Don't tell me someday I'll hear his voice, see his face,

Beyond today I cannot see,

Don't tell me it is time to move on,

Because I cannot,

Don't tell me to face the fact he is gone,

Because denial is something I can't stop,

Don't tell me to be thankful for the time I had,

Because I wanted more,

Don't tell me when I am my old self you will be glad,

I'll never be as I was before,

What you can tell me is you will be here for me,

That you will listen when I talk of my child,

You can share with me my precious memories,

You can even cry with me for a while,

And please don't hesitate to say his name,

Because it is something I long to hear everyday,

Friend please realize that I can never be the same,

But if you stand by me, you may like the new person I become someday.

October babies

The October babies in my circle are all out, all living, all breathing happy little bundles. All boys.

Thank you God.

There were 4 of them; pregnancies that were gleefully announced before Charlotte was born. All due in October. The final one born yesterday morning.

So, I have one November baby that I'm waiting on, and then it's clear sailing for awhile.

But there may be others- later pregnancies would have been announced post-Charlotte, and I may have been spared the news. As we've been in hibernation mode for months I may not know.

I am just so grateful that they were all boys.

The jealousy is immense, though. Especially when viewing those first happy pictures from the hospital bed- mommy still strapped to the bp cuff, baby still a little pasty. Everyone looking so purely happy. As soon as I see the email birth announcement in my inbox a pit forms in my stomach. The jealousy is all-consuming. I can hardly talk.

Makes me hate myself a little.

So, only one more arrival until my acquaintance circle is finished birthing for awhile. I can do that, I think.

In a year....

My weight loss has been sufficient enough that I am finally beginning to fit back into my pre-pregnancy clothes. Finally. That's great, but it comes with a horrible side effect. Every time I put on a newly-fitting garment my mind trails to the last time I wore it, about a year ago.

So, I've been thinking how much can change in a year.

One year ago, I was working 65 hours a week between three jobs and I didn't know I was pregnant yet. I was exhausted and in desperate need of free time, and my biggest problem was figuring out when I was going to do the Christmas shopping.

One year ago, I had no idea what "broken hearted" really meant.

One year ago, I was anxiously awaiting AF, and wondering if this was the month. (It was.)

So, so, much has changed in this year.

Where will I be a year from now? A few possibilities:

Maybe, I'll have a baby. If the stars align and the universe is on my side and I get pregnant our first month or two of TTC.

Maybe, I'll be pregnant. Lying on my left side popping blood pressure pills and hoping and praying that all will be well and I'll make it to the third trimester.

Maybe, I'll be shattered again by having another baby die. Maybe the HELLP will come back and not only will I lose the child but have worse long term effects.

Maybe, I'll have trouble getting pregnant this time and a year from now I'll be frustrated beyond words.

Time scares the shit out of me, to be honest.

What does a year mean to you? Where do you see yourself in a year?

mainstream psychology

First, thank you to all of you for your comments and support on my posts. I really appreciate it more than I can say. I don't know where I'd be without you all. I'm really relieved, and feel slightly less like an idiot, that you all think it's odd my friend forgot her due date. I was shocked, and subsequently, felt pretty isolated here in Dead Baby Land. Glad to know I have some company here (even though I wish none of you had to be here). On with today's thoughts...

I love my PVR. It's the best thing I own. I love that I can scroll through the guide and select things to record, have it remember for me without me having to actually do anything, and then, when I'm ready, I can watch it and fast forward the commercials.

In accordance with my current weight loss journey (which is going ok), I record anything and everything regarding weight loss. Someone told me that dr p.hil was doing a weight loss series on Wednesdays, so I set the PVR to record on Wednesdays. Well, it must not be every Wednesday because I sat down yesterday morning to watch what I've recorded. It had nothing to do with weight loss; in fact, the daily topic was suicide.

Charlotte's death has not made me suicidal. There have been, however (no one panic, please), particularly dark days and nights where I wanted to die. I do think there's a big difference between wanting to die and being suicidal. Ultimately, though, I can somewhat understand why people do commit suicide. I can imagine being in a hole so deep you can't see a way out. I empathize with that. If nothing else, Charlotte's death has made me more compassionate.

I had a roommate in college that was depressed, and she contemplated suicide (she's happy and healthy now, doing great). At the time, I remember wondering how anyone could ever consider that. All I could see was this 20-year old with her life ahead of her, all the wonderful things that could come her way. My perspective has changed. I can think back now and understand her despair.

So, anyway, back to the show.

He profiled one couple who's seemingly perky 17-year old daughter jumped off a bridge. The couple, understandably, was devasated, and it was complicated by the fact that they blamed themselves, as their daughter's death followed a family argument. The poor mother was a shell, and I could imagine her pain. The father was similar.

What surprised me? Dr p.hil.

He basically sat there and dished out so many of the common "feel better" phrases that no one wants to hear. You had her for seventeen years... etc. Then he looked at them and said, You can't let this ruin three lives instead of one.

The father looked up, incredulous, and spoke: But it already has ruined three lives.

I just couldn't believe dr p.hil said that. I really couldn't. I know what he was getting at. I know that we all have to move on. But still. They lost their only child. How are they supposed to move on? Where are they supposed to go? I can't get my head around this.

I neither loathe nor love dr p.hil. My mother adores his show, and I usually watch it with her when I'm visiting. I've never related to an episode like this before. Now that I had a different perspective, it was pretty crappy advice. I'd love to hear what he would have to say to us. I'd probably want to hit him.

Anyone else see it? Thoughts?

So now I feel like an idiot...

So, this morning I woke up and realized it was October 20th. This date was stuck in my mind as our friend's due date, our friend B who had a miscarriage at 11 1/2 weeks the day after Charlotte was born.

I've written about her before. The Everything happens for a reason friend.

Anyway, I had told myself to remember today because I wanted to send her a note that I was thinking of her. Her coworker delivered last week and they were due at about the same time. I figured today might be hard for her.

So, I sent a little e-card with a flower on it, and a note that said Just wanted to let you know I'm thinking about you today on what might have been baby's birthday. Simple. Not over the top sappy.

I get an email back a few minutes ago,

Oh thanks for the e-card. I forgot about it actually. I just can't wait to get pregnant again.

So, now I feel like an idiot.

Blah.

First, I feel like an idiot for remembering when she didn't. How is that possible?

Secondly, that last part of her message implies (and I know I'm reading too much into everything nowadays, it's been a character flaw lately), that she's looking towards the future. And I'm not. I'm stuck her reliving my baby's death day after day and while I'm functioning, I am not looking towards the future. Dreading the future maybe? Frightened to death of the future?

I know our circumstances are ultimately very different, but I thought that I could at least share this with her. Lend an ear on a day that no one else would likely acknowledge.

Wow. I couldn't even do that.

It's times like this that I feel that I have nothing, absolutely nothing, in common with the rest of the world.

Blah.

Dear undergrads....

A few tips for your next term project:

1. "Begun" is one word, not two.
2. The word "stuff" is generally not used in academic writing.
3. Neither is the phrase "rocked out"
4. Please please please learn the correct use of the apostrophe in it's.
5. You have spell check on your computer. Use it, but proofread too. Deign and design are not the same thing.

Thank you.

Can you tell I've lost my patience with teaching lately??

The "others"

So, a friend of mine, J., is visiting town this week. We went to university together, were great friends, and then had a stupid fight about three years ago and stopped talking for awhile. I hadn't heard anything from her until day 4 of my hospital stay, when she just appeared in my room, after hearing I was there. We've been close ever since. I can honestly say it's been the only good thing to come out of all of this.

She needed a chauffeur for a few errands, so I volunteered. We spent most of yesterday cruising around the city, and ended up at the mall. She got her watch fixed, I found a new pair of pants. Success all around.

Until.

We were on our way out when a woman and baby stroller caught my eye. I recognized the mommy, as did J, and neither of us said anything but uniformly tried to veer past unnoticed. It didn't work.

Heather! J! Oh my God! So nice to see you guys!

It was KL, another university friend, who I've only seen sporadically this year. The last time in January, when we were both pregnant.

She knew about Charlotte; we had exchanged a couple of emails after my delivery and before hers. I knew from her face.book page that she had a healthy baby girl, a little before Charlotte was due. She was basking in the glow of new motherhood.

There was no avoiding without coming off as rude. We went over, smiled at the baby (chewing on her stroller straps), made small talk. Congratulations on the baby, what is everyone doing now, that sort of thing. Then she started. And kept going.

Oh, being a mom is the best thing in the world. I so in love with her. My life was so incomplete before this and I didn't even know it. I don't want to leave her, ever. My husband is always trying to get me to go out and have a break and I don't want to. I'm with her every day, all day, and all night, and I love every second of it. She's the light of my life. I don't think I'm going to go back to work, maybe run an in-home daycare or something; I just can't imagine anyone else taking care of her. This is the best time of my life, I'm so attached. We can't wait to have more....

It went on, and on, and on. J (who is a self-declared baby-free zone), and I just stood there and smiled, and I'm thinking, she knows right? She doesn't forget what happened to Charlotte? I think I'm doing pretty good just standing here in front of this baby that's the same age Charlotte "should" be, and I don't need to hear the joys of motherhood. I don't need it rubbed into my face what I'm missing.

The conversation ended as soon as I could find an exit point, and J and I left the mall. Are you ok? she asked. I can just imagine how bad things like that must be. She was getting on my nerves and I don't even want a baby.

Yeah, really.

When I got home I was thinking, maybe she didn't know, maybe I'm imagining that correspondence from last spring. I went back through my email archives. There it was. The long condolence letter.

I really don't know what was going through her head. She adores her baby, clearly, and so should she. I adore mine too. Mine, however, will never chew on stroller straps or have her mommy talk to her in a sing-song voice, asking her to smile for the pretty lady.

In some parallel universe that could have been me. I could have been pushing a baby around the mall showing her off to acquaintances in full baby bliss. It seems so far now. I can't even imagine being able to do that. I'll never have that carefree sense of pure happiness. It's gone.

I was relaying the story to M last night. See? This is why I don't like going places. Just when I've managed to stand up straight again something so seemingly innocent happens and that's the end of that. People are so freakin' clueless. Clueless.

I want to go back and scream at her, See how happy you are? That's how sad I am! Feeling work in opposites, they really do. What can make you happiest in the world can also make you saddest. I'm on the sad side. I don't want to hear about the happy side. I really don't. Please shut up.

For a few days I'm going to hang out in baby-free zones, until my head is back on straight. On days like that I'm really reminded about how alone we really are IRL. How, unless you've been there, people really are clueless. Unbelievable.

Walk to Remember

Well, as I expected, this weekend sucked eternal suckitude.

It was all a bit too much, I think. I found Charlotte's six month anniversary hard. I was reduced to spontaneous tears that I haven't seen in a long time. Tears in the shower, tears while driving, tears during meals. Six months just seems like such a definitive amount of time. She's been gone now as long as I had her. Life is "back to normal", at least as viewed by the outside world.

Yet, I feel like crap.

The hospital's walk was nice, I guess. My parents, M's parents, attended with us. I would have rather have gone just the two of us, but people are trying to be supportive, and I'm trying to let them be, although in the end I just end up frustrated. No one can make this better. Having people try and fail makes it worse instead of better.

We drove to the park just the two of us, the four parents following behind in another car. We walked ahead of them to the lawn where the walk was supposed to start,

There were kids everywhere, running, climbing trees. Laughing. People standing around in clumps, chatting. No one seemed sad. Just me. I chocked back tears as I wrote our names on the list of families and Charlotte's name on the baby list. We pinned on our pink ribbons.

It started inside with a welcome and the obligatory poem reading. Some matter-of-factly read the list of baby names. It was noisy. A woman sat next to me with a carrier with a small baby girl, probably two or three months old.

Of course, I can't even come to a memory walk without having a baby right next to me.

I felt smothered in there. I glanced behind me to see another babylost mama with tears on her cheeks, and I felt a little less alone.

We stood to head outside for the walk. Someone tapped M on the shoulder. I heard a woman say I was working the night Charlotte was born.

When I looked at her it took a moment to register. It was D., Charlotte's nurse, who on that horrible day, said all the right things, did all the right things, made it all a little better.

She took such care of her. I can't say enough wonderful things about this woman. She treated Charlotte with such tenderness and gentleness. She prepared her keepsakes, helped us get organized for her funeral. She really was amazing. We sent her flowers as a thank-you a few weeks after I got out of the hospital.

I was so glad to see her.

She gave me a big hug and she cried with me, thanked us for sending her the flowers. My sister had a baby that died the week after Charlotte, she said. My first day back to work was the day I got your flowers and the note. That was really special.

It was her sister I had seen behind me, crying earlier.

I thanked her for taking such good care of Charlotte when she was born.

Oh, she was so beautiful, she said. I've thought about you both so many times.

And I, her.

I think the idea of a memory walk is great. The meeting room was stifling and claustrophobic, but the walk was lovely, through the crisp fall air, leaves turning colours and a cool breeze. I could breathe again outside. I could manage that. People spread out. There were babies in strollers everywhere, the younger and older siblings of the lost. We were given a sprig of baby's breath and we dropped it into the river from the bridge, and watched it float away.

In a few minutes we were back on the lawn, in the "Angel's Grove" where they plant a tree each year in memory of the babies. This year it was a short, chubby blue spruce with a perfect Christmas tree shape. 10 other trees share the grove, from the 10 previous memory walks.

A babylost mama spoke. Her son, Michael, was stillborn in 1997. Her family, along with others at the time, started this walk. She spoke of how a couple of months after Michael died, she found herself collapsed in front of her living room window, pleading that someone besides she and her husband remember their baby. The walk stemmed from that.

After the speech people dispersed around all the trees, looking at the tree from their baby's year. Kids were running, laughing. Adults a bit more somber. I was a wreck (what else is new).

We finished up back in that meeting room, listening to a CD recording of a song called "Rainy Days" by a local folk group, the Ennis Sisters. I've tried to find a link to post with no avail. I will if I come across it.

I've heard that song 1000 times but yesterday was the first time with babylost ears. It's a beautiful song, and now, so sad.

We stayed for some refreshments and shortly afterwards I wanted to go. We went home and I went to bed for a few hours.

I feel today like I did in the first few weeks after Charlotte's death. A little bit of nausea, no appetite, spontaneous tears, trouble breathing. In a way, I feel out-of-body, like all of this is happening to someone else and I'm just along for the ride. The difference is that now I'm trying to be productive while going through this. I have to teach in an hour. I have to dry the tears and focus and go on.

I so, so, wish I could just crawl back in bed with reruns of Sex and the City and just be, today.

We're back to our psychologist tomorrow. There's always something to talk about.

Six months

Well, Charlotte's anniversary is today. Birthday? Death day? Is there a right word for this?

It's been six months.

Feels like forever.

I've been retracing time in my mind for the last 24 hours or so....

6 months ago right now my sister and I were looking at wedding pictures and everything was looking fine. I had no idea what was going to happen that day.

6 months ago right now was when we had our last ultrasound and everything was fine. I thought I was safe, at least for a few more days.

6 months ago right now was when Dr D came in and told us about HELLP, and then we went to L&D.

She was born at 5:22, died at 7:32 p.m. I have a few more hours to go.

Tomorrow is our hospital's Walk to Remember. Fitting weekend for us.

I'm just so tired. This is all so draining.

The Process

I've been thinking a lot lately about this grieving process. The word process implies that it's heading somewhere, that eventually I'll end up in a different place after moving through the motions. I'm not sure about that.

I wonder if I'll ever get to the point where I can look back on this, on Charlotte, and feel anything but sadness, anger and helplessness. I don't know. Right now, it's pretty much all I have left of my baby. The anger, the tears, the breathlessness. When/if that fades, what do I have then? Really nothing. Absolutely nothing.

We'll hit six months this weekend. People are treating us as "normal" again. The Thinking of You cards and emails stopped long ago. I've started a new job. There are entire groups of people in my life right now that know nothing of Charlotte or the horror of last spring. They look at me as though I'm normal. I'm functioning. I manage. I do my work, and I do it well. Probably even better than I ever did actually. In some ways I'm more confident, with my new mean streak blazing, quick to defend and attack and at the same time slap a smile on my face and pretend that all's well with the world. I'm professional. Life goes on.

But it's all so, so fake. What people ignore, or don't realize, is that death goes on too.

I go to bed my baby is dead. I get up and she's still dead. I go to the university and lecture and go to church and blast out hymns on the organ and my baby is still dead. Nothing changes.

So, I'm wondering where this is all going.

I've been thinking about a future baby. We're not planning on TTC for quite a while yet, but IF I am blessed enough to take home said future baby, where will I be then? My Charlotte will still be dead.

I'm so confused.

We finally chose her monument. My dad manages a granite company, and he's been patiently waiting for instructions on what we wanted. For months and months I didn't want to think about it. M and I would have a quick glance at epitaphs and last a minute or two, then immediately put it away to be dealt with another day. With winter looming we wanted to get something done, so I bit the bullet and chose the epitaph.

Every life is a gift that will live in our hearts forever.

So that's it. Chapter closed?

Hardly.

Changes

M and I went to see our psychologist again yesterday. To be honest I'm not sure how much it helps us. I figure it can't hurt, and it's a dedicated hour every two weeks that we spend talking about our lives post-Charlotte.

Things are difficult for us lately. We're both extremely irritable and tense. There are minor fights all the time. Nothing serious; I'll get mad because he didn't hang up his coat again, he'll get mad because I forgot to call someone, again. We clean the house to have it turned upside down again almost instantly. Everything feels very up-in-the-air, very chaotic. Neither one of us is comfortable in this time.

So, every two weeks we sit on a brown couch in Dr N's office and blab away for an hour.

I wonder what she sees, through her eyes. Yesterday M was talking how he visited the BabyLand friends a couple of weeks ago for a family bbq they were having (I didn't have the nerve to go), and how he felt he was there, but not really there. People didn't really talk to me; I thought for sure I'd have a good chat with K but he only said about three words to me the whole night....

Dr N asked him how he felt... was M acting differently than pre-Charlotte? Did he think that his behaviour had changed?

M wasn't sure. I'm not sure either.

She then talked about the first couple of times she met us, how we were so nice, so understanding, extremely understanding. How now we seem more agressive, more angry, different.

That's normal, she said. It's healthy to have those changes after something like this.

Am I unlocking the inner bitch as a result of my baby's death?

Probably. I don't feel the same. I hardly remember what I ever felt, before this. I know I was a "nice" person. I know I would go out of my way to help someone and not cause conflict. I know I was anti-confrontational. Probably somewhat of a pushover. I think I'm still a lot of these things, but rougher around the edges. Quicker to defend myself. Less likely to care what anyone thinks. What do they matter anyway? They don't know.

There are some obvious changes. I no longer like talking to anyone on the phone. I don't like talking in general, actually. My interests are completely different. I'm annoyed with everyone, all the time. They don't know. They don't have a clue. I push them away, because they can't help. No one can help.

Just leave me alone. Leave me alone. That's the vibe I give off, I know it. Because it's true. Unless you've held your dead baby you don't have a clue what I'm going through, so go away. I don't want to hear about your crashed computer or your crappy job or the stain on your brand new sofa, all that is crap. You don't know.

Yeah, I've changed. It's been a long almost-six months. Another long six months to go before the calendar will be turned, and the "firsts" will be over. Will I change even more? Probably. I'm apathetic about pretty much everything nowadays, nothing matters much. There's nothing to look forward to, nothing that is enticing, nothing appealing. No one offers anything.

I miss my girl. That just sums it up.

An unexpected evil

Ok, that's it. I'm quitting.

I don't smoke, if you're wondering. Or drink. I'm speaking of a far greater evil in the world, at least for me, at this time.

Face.book.

I like it for some reasons. I like keeping in touch with my out-of-province friends. I like seeing so-and-so's pictures from their wedding, pics from vacation.

It's the baby pics that are doing me in right now.

Each and everytime I log on, when it takes me to "home", there is a picture there of a newborn. Newborn and mommie, newborn in crib, etc. Always with some comment attached by someone on my friend list, Oh congratulations! She's beautiful! Glad you had no problems!

I can't help myself. I click on the picture to see it larger, then flip through the rest of the album, always chronicalling the first day or so of life. Proud smiles. A mommy that's already back into street clothes. Babies without tubes or 24/7 care and a no-holds-barred outlook on a long happy life.

So, that's what it's like for the rest of the world.

I can take this torture every couple of weeks, every month or so. Lately it's been daily. Really. For the last couple of weeks I have (masochistically) observed a dozen or so happy beginnings, each one driving home how unfair life really is.

So, I'm quitting. Good bye, Face.book! You're only for happy people.

Change of pace

Up until now, my blog entries have been about Charlotte. Grief for Charlotte, frustrations with our new babylost life, so on.

Today I'm writing about weight loss.

I've struggled with my weight my entire life. I was a heavy child and teen, heavy right through university and grad school (with the occasional 20-30 lb loss here or there, with immediate regain), and finally, about 3 years ago, I lost it all. For good, or so I thought.

There were no pills, no gimmicks. I cut out processed food. I went for walks. That was it, and it worked.

Well, this year, it all came back. The day Charlotte was born I weighed in at somewhere around 218 lbs. A week later when I came home from the hospital I was 204. Another 7 dropped quickly. I was 197 for awhile. I modified my nutrition which wasn't hard as I had lost all my interest in food.

In May I rejoined my gym, beginning with a mere 3 or 4 mins at a time on the treadmill in a slow walk. The months of bedrest and the extra weight had taken a toll on my ankles- they could no longer support me very well. Slowly I worked myself up to longer walks, then started the elliptical machine and gentle weight training. I stalled a month or two later between 188-190 lbs. I stayed there for 6 or 8 weeks. The scale finally started moving again the beginning of August.

Well, now I'm at about 179 lbs, give or take a pound depending on the day. My MFM suggested a BMI of 25, which means I have 24 lbs to go. I've been lighter than that in my adult life, so I know that's not unreasonable for me. It's just going so so slowly, I feel like I'll never get there.

I obviously have metabolic issues. I would imagine anyone would after months of bedrest, then emergency surgeries, etc. The emotional side is that I have no appetite and rarely get hungry, although I'm eating textbook perfect these days- all whole, unprocessed foods- lots of lean protein, fruits and veggies, whole grains. I go to the gym 4 or 5 days a week, although I've been lazy lately, and really have to force myself. When I get there I like it. It's a true "adult" space; no children or babies in sight. I lace up my shoes and pound the treadmill. I'm up to running for 20 minutes straight now, with walks for warmup and cool-down. I alternate a minute of jogging with a minute of sprinting and I love how the sprint feels- heavy, solid, rhythmic and punishing, with the slow burn in my chest getting stronger by the end of the 60 seconds. I slow back to the jog, then rinse and repeat, minute after minute.

I follow that run with some intense circuits of free-weights, and I can see myself getting stronger. I'm mastering the plank, the squat, dumbell presses. I'm learning burpees and the bosu ball and all kinds of things I never ever thought I would do.

The doctors told me to exercise. So I'm exercising.

I can't say I hate it. I like the feeling of being tired, of being proud of what I accomplished that day. While I'm in the middle of the workout I'm looking forward to the end, when I can hobble back to my car and go home.

In the past exercise has revitalized me, allowed me to face the remainder of the day with new focus. Not anymore. I'm tired, drained, and lethargic when I'm done. It drains me rather than gives me new energy. Another side effect of being babylost.

But I'm glad I can go. As I run I imagine having a baby that makes it, and I run harder. Sometimes I imagine losing another, and I run even harder. The physical exertion feels good. There are times when I want to hit things, and there are things in the gym that are designed to be hit, which feels good. Release of energy. Whatever works.

In the end though it doesn't feel like me, the real me. I'll go to the gym. I'll work hard until I'm sweating and my heart rate is high. I'll eat the prescribed bland diet and go from there. I'll do what I'm told. Eventually I'll be back into a single-digit size and my BMI will be considered "normal" and this project will take the backburner. For now, the motivation of seeing the scale dip another number or seeing a smaller result with the measuring tape is enough to get me through some days.

Whatever works, I guess.

Any other babylost mamas struggling with weight stuff? What's your method?

Sunday

Earlier this week I got a call from the minister at my church, wondering if M and I were available to attend church today. As the organist, I'm usually there, but today was my scheduled Sunday off. She wanted us there because the little plate the church donated in memory of Charlotte was ready; there was a baptism today, they wanted to present it and use it.

I had forgotten the church was doing this. It was mentioned to me mere days post-Charlotte, while I was still in the hospital and the world had crashed down around my ears. I heard, but did not really hear, and like so many other things right now, I forgot.

I heard the voicemail on Tuesday. I mentioned it to M. He thought it would be really sad, what do we have to do? I don't want to go up or anything.

I called back the minister to ask what she had in mind. Whatever we were comfortable with. There was no standard protocol.

We were uncertain about the accompanying baptism. As we told our psychologist on Thursday, we expected that to really suck. I mean, here's the little plate. Charlotte's name is on it. Here's a living healthy baby. She gets the baptism. With Charlotte's plate.

Guess what? It did suck.

We sat in the balcony to have a bit more distance, more breathing room. The presentation was near the beginning of the service. The minister presented the little plate, explained how it would hold the oil, dedicated in memory of Heather and M's daughter, Charlotte Molly. The word daughter still sounds unnatural to me. I call her my baby. My baby girl.

In a moment the prayer was over, and on we moved to the living baby, in her white christening gown. And M and sat hand-in-hand through the baptism (it's so much easier when I'm behind the organ). I wiped away the scattered tear and sat there, moving from one breath to the next. They sang the requisite little song we sing for every baptism. The one we sang at Charlotte's funeral.

In an hour we were home again. Drained. Struck by the unfairness and injustice once again.

Our baby has a plate. Babies should have a life.

We're everywhere

The wedding was lovely. It turned out, well, not as I expected. The loveliness I expected. The weather was great, the bride's dress was gorgeous, the meal delicious. There were also a few surprises that threw me off balance a bit.

M and I arrived for the ceremony at 3:00, and found a inconspicuous seat by the wall. The venue was an odd shape, not a traditional church layout, so I could only see about half of the congregation on the other side. No baby in sight. No baby mama in sight.

Then, I saw the stroller being wheeled in, right to the front row of chairs. The carrier lifted out. I could see K., the mommy, out of the corner of my eye, rocking the carrier on the floor in front of her with her foot. A friend in front of us turned around, Doesn't K look fabulous? Gosh, you'd never know she just had a baby....

It's little things like that that sting when I wish they wouldn't. I wish I wasn't jealous. I still have 20 lbs to go, and no baby to show for it.

I asked M to switch seats with me. He was against the wall and couldn't see them. I managed ok after that.

We were one of the last to leave the hall, hoping that baby and mama would be gone ahead. No such luck. Baby was of course the center of attention, and there was no avoiding. I walked by, caught K's eye and said hi. Your hair looks great, she said, in between descriptions to baby admirers of sleeping and feeding patterns.

Yeah, that was me and my fabulous hair on Friday. (You know, I don't actually own a camera? That is the funny thing about me. And my inlaws own a professional camera store, so I have no excuse. Family gatherings are like the papparazzi around here. Quite funny actually. I'll have to get one just for the purpose of keeping my blog entertaining!)

We returned at 6:30 for the reception. K. was in the lobby, we made small talk as we found our table. I was eternally grateful to the bride, for seating us with M.'s engineering friends instead of the babyland crew. We actually had a nice meal, great conversation, no baby talk. I assumed the baby wasn't there, although I was proven wrong after dinner. I saw the mother of the groom carrying around a little dark haired person, and I though, yup, there she is. Then her dad was carrying her, showing her off to every table.


They never came to our side of the room, thank God.


After dinner we heard they were leaving to drop off the baby at K's parents. Whew. Crisis averted. I can now relax.

We headed to the lobby again while the venue was transformed from dinner to dance, and we chatted with the newlyweds, who seemed genuinely glad to have us there. We ran into other acquaintances and chatted some more. We got a drink from the bar. The mother of the bride came over, beautiful in an emerald green gown; I had never met her before. She took both my hands in hers and looked at us, I heard about your misfortune this year, she started. I wanted to say how sorry I am, and I know, because I had a baby boy, full term, that died after 11 hours....

I know how hard it is for you. You don't know if you are a mother or not, you feel like your body betrayed you. And of course, you're at the age where everyone is having babies and that makes it even more difficult. People stay away, avoid seeing you. It's not because they don't want to see you, they just don't know what to say, how to handle it. Do you have pictures? They'll mean a lot to you in years to come. M's mom told us it was a terrible, terrible day. I'm so sorry.

I nodded, and agreed. She asked M how he was doing; he said it was really hard. What else is there to say, really?

The conversation went on for some time. I felt out-of-body; the words coming out of my mouth in response to her questions, but not really being processed by my brain. Autopilot reactions.

I wrote about it, she said. Five or six years later I sat and wrote about it, and that was tremendously healing.

I said nothing. No one knows about my blog. This is my space IRL; not even M knows about this. She was right, of course: writing is tremendously healing.

She talked about how she had gone through nine pregnancies in all, resulting in three girls. 2 miscarriages before the lost baby boy who was her first, more after.

I didn't think I'd end up with the three I have now, she said, motioning to the bride and her two sisters. Good luck to you. Good luck to you.

When she left I broke down. M and I went outside for some air, and to avoid the curious eyes of strangers wondering what was wrong with me. I took my time, breathed.

When I felt ready we headed back inside, in time to watch the bride and groom's first dance. A couple of dances later the lyrics to a sappy song "Child of Mine" set me off again. Back out on the patio. Rinse and repeat.

We left really early. It wasn't even 10 o'clock. The babyland friends had not yet returned. We said goodbye to the bride and groom, who didn't seem surprised we were dipping out so early. I gave her a hug, told her how beautiful she was. I'm so glad you came, she said. I really miss hanging out with you guys. I was glad she said that.

So, home it was, to a busy house with mom and dad visiting and everything seeming too loud. I tried to sleep. I was up half the night. M was too.

On Saturday I was exhausted, both emotionally and from not sleeping. I struggled through the funeral (sad), and the wedding (tiring) that I was playing for. I fell asleep really early and got up feeling slightly better on Sunday.

And now it's back to "normal", where everyday feels the same. Detached, mundane, bleak.

I keep thinking about the bride's mother. Her little boy from 30+ years ago. The five miscarriages apart from that. How, on such a happy day in her life, the wedding of her oldest daughter, she gave comfort and hope to another babylost mama. How we're the same. We're all the same.

And I'm so so saddened, because after all that, she never did get to raise a little boy.

Wedding Day

I sit here with two hours to go before I head to this wedding. I just got back from the hairdresser, and my hair is fabulous. I usually don't care too much about such things, but damn it, if I may be in for a torturous day surrounded by babies and friends who ignore us, I'm going to do it with fabulous hair.

I'm probably being way too harsh. This wedding could end up being tons of fun. We'll see; I hope so.

I finished up my first week of classes. I am somewhat organized. Forgetful, yes. But the materials themselves have finally started to make sense, and the class is small this year, making names and faces easier to remember. A dear dear friend from undergrad is home from an almost-completed PhD, and is also doing some adjunct teaching. It was absolutely wonderful to have an old, pre-baby friend to spend time with. It's been years since I've seen him, but this week was great. I'm really glad to have a buddy on campus this year.

All in all, this weekend is turning out to be busy, over-stimulating. The wedding today. Tonight my parents show up to spend the weekend, tomorrow I'm organist at another wedding and a funeral. The funeral will be my first since Charlotte's. I don't know the family, and the service is very standard, so I'm hoping I will get through unscathed. I'll be relieved on Sunday when everything calms down. I'm not much for busyness nowadays.

M came home last night sad and defeated. He had accompanied his parents to the wake of long-time neighbour who had passed away. What he did not know was that it was at the same funeral home where Charlotte's service was, and when he got there, it was in the same room. He found that really hard. I could only stay 5 minutes, he said. I had to get out of there.

I know the feeling, all too well.

I have officially lost the week count since Charlotte. For months, every Friday I would relive that day hour by hour, thinking ten weeks ago right now...., sixteen weeks ago, etc. I lost count a couple of weeks ago, and I was glad. I'm counting months now, which is slightly less neurotic and a little more manageable. It was 5 months yesterday. I'm dreading six.

Any progress is good, I figure. I count "losing the count" as progress.

My hair and I are in for an interesting day. I will report later.

More of the same

So, it's Sunday. I'm home. Alone. I did not go to the bachelorette party. She is indeed there with the baby, right now. You know, breast feeding amongst the shooters and penis-shaped ice cubes. I'd much rather be here, sitting in my den in emotional comfort. Did not need to put myself through that. Thanks to G. and Jen who chimed in on my last post. I think we will still go to the wedding; I heard through the grapevine that the baby may not be there. Even if she is there, I would hope that we can manage to avoid direct contact.

I've been wrapped up in work the last couple of days. The university semester starts this week and I'm trying to finalize my lectures. A whole bundle of ideas, floating around in my head and the organization is not coming, which is unusual for me. I can't say I'm really surprised. I can't organize a grocery list these days, let alone lecture notes.

To you other babylost mamas out there: Has anyone else completely lost their mind?

I don't mean running-through-the-streets-shouting-craziness, but general absentmindedness. I have no short-term memory anymore, I can't keep anything organized or neat, it's very hard to follow the plot line of anything but the simplest of books or television, and I'm generally confused about most things. I've starting making lists, but I forget I've made them. I really feel like I've lost it.

My husband laughs at me because he has to repeat everything three times before I really hear it. I tune out entire minutes of phone conversations until the person on the other end notices I missed everything they just said. I'm not preoccupied with something else; it's like my brain just decides to shut down for a minute. Blank.

And yes, ladies and gentlemen, I will be responsible for the higher learning of a group of undergrads and grad students starting next week.

Good luck to me!

The isolation factor

Last night M decided to forego the baptismal service but he did go to the post-christening party at the friends' house. I stayed home, was happy to do so. I encouraged him to go if he wanted to.

He was gone almost 2 hours. I figured it must be going well. When he got home he seemed saddened, spent. It was ok, he said. I only saw the baby from a distance. I only talked to K & K (the Babyland friends) at the very end when I was leaving. I talked to mom and dad all night; I hung out on the patio. It was uncomfortable. Awkward.

Our other couple friends were also in attendance, having been named god-parents. Good to see you, buddy. That was it from them. On his way out, the new mommy handed him an envelope saying You don't want to open this. It was a picture of the baby. Of course I opened it when he got home; it felt like a dare. See, I'm opening it. Ha ha. I can't believe she said that to you. Why would she give that to us and say that? Well, it's opened. There. I'm still alive. See. Ha.

I'm getting so angry. I hate it.

I feel for him. He feels rejected, left out. The circle has moved on without us.

We're friends with another couple who actually introduced us, and we're the godparents for their baby boy that's almost one now. They know the BabyLand friends through us, but now with babies in common, apparently they've been getting together more often and do things all the time. We haven't seen them in two months. I called her a couple of days ago and we had a long chat, with the underlying theme being you need to move on. That's a whole other blog entry.

We saw our psychologist on Tuesday. We talked about the monotony of it all; my analogy of my little fish moving rocks around his tank. She talked about a book she had read, written by a widow about the first year after losing her husband. How every day was a repeat of the day before, how each day was the same. That's exactly how I feel. Get up, eat, exercise, work, eat, tv, bed. On the rare days that the sequence changes the moods remain the same. Still nothing is different.

Is this it? Is this the new normal I've been promised?

So, the next dilemma is:

I was invited to a bachelorette party on Sunday for the future sister-in-law of the BabyLand friends. I replied yes, looking forward to seeing the girls sans baby, and anxious to have a night out. M overheard a conversation last night that implied that she is indeed bringing the baby to the bachelorette party. I assumed this would have been safe territory. I jumped the gun.

Then, of course, there's the wedding itself, which is next weekend. The invitations have been in play for months, long before this drama ensued. We replied yes, months ago. Now I'm not sure. I don't want to have an emotional breakdown in the midst of someone's wedding. I don't want to spend an entire day uncomfortable and worried about who I'm sitting with for dinner. I don't want to send in a last minute regret either, as I feel like that could be a last straw in the remaining threads of this friendship. But at the same time, I'm thinking, what do we really have to lose?

What would you do?

Strange parallels

Well, it turns out that C.'s fiance just wasn't ready to get married.

If he wasn't ready to get married, he shouldn't have given her the ring.

Anyway, that's that. Thanks to all of you for your comments on the matter.

August is almost gone, kids will be back to school in a week, and M and I are still plodding along, day by day. We're nearing the 5 month anniversary of Charlotte now. I can't say things are easier; if anything, more complicated, as we try to juggle what's expected of us in a normal life to what we're actually experiencing. It's hard. It sucks.

M thinks his relationship with his Babyland friends is pretty much over. We're trying, but since my disastrous attempt at visiting a month or so ago I haven't had the courage to try again. Neither has M. We heard the baby's christening is scheduled for Wednesday; we weren't invited (and I was glad). The mass email was sent out to the circle of friends, even my inlaws got it. Apparently word made it's way back to our friends that we knew that we had been left off the invite list, and we got the obligatory phone call last night, You're welcome to come if you like.... For a while M considered it. He doesn't want to lose them as friends. I encouraged him to go if he felt like he could. I can't. A baptismal service with 4 babies, with every member of the congregation there beaming with pride for the new addition to their family. No way. I can't go. After he thinks about it some more, I'm not sure if M will go either.

God, I feel like I'm back in Junior High and am dealing with cliques and popular kids and hurt feelings and all that drama. It's exhausting.

M and I ordered some movie channels, taking our already ridiculous cable bill to new highs. We're restless. A bit bored, maybe. The distraction of 24/7 movies is working, especially now that the Olympics is over. We're watching all kinds of things that we probably wouldn't bother to rent, but that are fun if they're already on TV. Any distraction from real life is welcome.

M has handled his grief in a very physical way up until now, like a lot of men do. We have, since Charlotte, a completely developed basement, a new fence around the perimeter of our property, new brick stairs and walkways, new trees, shrubs and flowers everywhere, a thriving vegetable garden, the list goes on. He's now out of projects. There is nothing left to do. Now he's starting to reorganize things just for the sake of doing it. He can't stop, can't sit down and let things sit. As soon as he started running out of things to do he ordered the movie channels. He can't take any quiet time just yet.

When I was in university I had a pet fish, Stan, who for entertainment in his little tank would relocate his rocks, one at a time, from one end of the tank to the other, until he had a mountain at one side. Then he'd move them back to the other side. To keep his sanity, I guess. I always felt so sorry for that poor little fish. He had eaten all the other fish so he was all alone in his tank, and he lived for years. Well past the lifespan for a little fish. Oh, and he finally died when I cleaned out his tank one day and the pH changed. I killed him.

Wow, our lives are just like Stan's. Pushing rocks around. Eating our friends. Dear God.

Tomorrow we're back to the psychologist. Topic of the day- I'm now comparing my life to a dead fish.

Is all pain the same?

Last night I did my regular email check to find an message from a dear friend in the US. She was a grad school friend, I haven't seen her in 5 years, but we've remained closely in touch.

Her wedding is Saturday coming.

The email read.... I apologize for sending a mass email but I needed to let you all know ASAP.... our wedding has been canceled.

She didn't say why. My initial thought was a death in the family, an accident, somebody must be sick. Upon closer inspection, I wondered why she said "canceled" instead of "postponed". Why is she talking about returning gifts?

I sent her a quick reply and then sent an inquiry to a mutual friend who is much closer to her her geographically. His reply was waiting for me this morning. It's bad, he wrote. The groom called it off. Call me.

I sat in front of my computer this morning in shock. My dear sweet friend, C., who only days ago had emailed me pictures of her wedding dress, was so excited about finally fulfilling her dream to be a wife and hopefully a mom someday. My heart broke for her. C is a beautiful person inside and out, any man would be lucky to call her his wife. Why has her fiance done this to her? Why 5 days before their lavish Southern wedding, with guests flying in from all over the world, with the band booked and the food ordered and gifts arriving everyday, why now? Why not a couple of months ago when she could have saved face?

I can just imagine her today, in the aftermath of it all. Aunts and cousins addressing proper wedding cancellation cards (is there a name for those?), people trying to hide wedding gifts and cheer her up by pretending that it is better now than later. The chaos of wedding prep without the wedding.

I want to call her. I want to give her a hug. I've never been where she is, I've never even suffered a really bad break-up. But I feel like I know where she is. I think I know what she's feeling today. Confusion, grief beyond words, sadness, despair, hopelessness. She has lost her planned future. So did I. I know what that feels like.

I still don't know the details. I don't know if he cheated on her, if he just got cold feet, what the situation is. All I know is that her heart must be broken. Poor, sweet C. No one deserves this.

I wonder if she's looking at couples today, wondering how it is ever possible that someone gets (and stays) happily married. For weeks after Charlotte I thought, every time I saw anyone, how amazing it is that that person was once a baby. That I was even one, once. And they grew. I grew. And lived.

I wonder if she's able to look beyond the next couple of days to a new future ahead; I wonder if seeing wedding cakes and dresses and happy couples will cause her the same pain that seeing pregnant women and babies causes me. I wonder when she'll feel ready to go to another wedding.

And, this all leads to the title of my post; Is all pain the same?

I really believe that losing a child must be one of the most painful things in the world. Having your adored fiance cancel your wedding 5 days ahead? Definitely pretty bad too.

While working through my grief I've always had in the back of my mind that should I ever have a friend lose their baby, I might be able to help them. I might, by then, be able to have words as someone who's "been there" and lived to tell about it. I never thought that another situation would arise where my experience in "pain management" would apply. I think it does here.

I don't have her number; she's at her parents' house for wedding week. I emailed and asked her to send me the contact info b/c I'd like to call her. I need to talk to her.

I hope I can help her.

Slump.

According to our psychologist, M and I are in somewhat of a slump.

I feel like I'm in a slump. We're heading into the normalcy of fall and I think that's what's doing it for me. Soon summer will be over, all the faraway friends will return home to their lives, and we'll still be here.... waiting for nothing.

More and more invitations arrive that we turn down. Yesterday it was the invitation to our godson's first birthday party. I mean, no way. There is no way I can go to that. When I was pregnant one of the first people I told was his mommy, my good friend, and she was so excited that she cried. We anticipated this party, thinking of all the little ones that would be arrived by then, how full her house would be of babies. The rest of them are now here. Charlotte's not.

Babyland is a really gross place to be when your baby is dead.

For anyone who's been here/is here/may be here, how do you handle this? What do you do when your whole social circle is baby-obsessed and not only do you not fit in, but it is physically painful to participate? How far should I be pushing myself with this?

A good friend from high school is in town; I haven't seen her in almost 10 years. I'd love to see her, but, she's toting her six month old baby girl with her. I don't know if I can do that. I've been avoiding the Facebook plans for a high school reunion of us girls, I haven't participated in the comments of when and where we should meet because I don't know if I can. I read everyone else's exclamation of Can't wait to see that baby! and I think, no, not me. How can I sit a barbeque with these 4 or 5 girls and pass around that baby and not be reduced to tears?

Yesterday, our psychologist said it sounds to her like we've been locked out of our lives. It feels that way. As I graciously turn down invite after invite, I wonder when they'll stop coming.

The summer has been somewhat of a relief. My single girlfriends have all been in town- there've been drinks at martini bars, shopping expeditions, that sort of thing. It's been distracting, and fun. As summer ends so will that, then the only social events will be in Babyland, and I'm dreading it.

Sometimes I think, ok, you won't die. Just go. Do it. Move in with them for a week if that's what it takes to get over this hurdle. But in the first few moments of "trying", when the tears start coming and that ache starts in my chest, I have to get out. I can't do it.

Any advice, wisdom or experience welcome please. I need assistance here.

Physical Evidence

Yesterday, M and I were doing some "spring" cleaning.

Of course, we're pushing into late summer/fall now, but the events of this spring made the task impossible, so we're tackling it now. Yesterday the room of choice was M's office, which was supposed to be Charlotte's room.

We were just getting ready to empty it out before I was hospitalized. The paint was chosen, the bedding decided, the furniture researched. All ready to go, although none of it actually purchased quite yet. M had already started complaining about having to repaint the room- the current dark navy paint not suitable for a baby of either gender, although great as an office.

Of course, we never made it that far.

Even though the room was never officially Charlotte's, even though the pastel paint never made it to the walls and the office clutter remained intact, I still find that room hard. It held so many possibilities. When I was pregnant I would wander in there from time to time, imagine the desk replaced by a crib, imagine the rocking chair in the corner, and think of all the magical moments I would share with my baby in that room. Last night as we finished shredding documents and filling files, I found it hard to leave. M turned off the lights as he left and I just sat on the twin bed, thinking.

In many many ways I am glad the room wasn't baby-ready. That would have been much much harder. That said, it would have made Charlotte more real. To have a physical place prepared in our home would have at least given me a place to grieve, especially in those early days. When I first came home from the hospital I found the house so hard- nothing reflected a baby. The few purchases we had made had been put away by well-meaning family during my hospital stay. There was no physical evidence, aside from the heparin bruises and the purple scar on my tummy, that there ever had been a Charlotte. I remember the most intense feelings of loss and disorientation in my own home, wandering around from room to room thinking What now? That, I believe, was the worst of all.

Oh, I miss her. Sweet baby girl.

A couple of nights ago M was puttering through some digital photos on a memory card, displaying them on our TV. They were winter shots; huge piles of snow in most of them. Suddenly an inside pic shot up, my profile, side on, quite pregnant. I was adamant that no pictures be taken of me when I was pregnant, so I didn't think there were any.

The picture was taken at my parents' house, less than two weeks before Charlotte was born. So, I was 22 weeks or so. I looked really pregnant. I looked further along than I actually was, the effects of how much weight I had gained. I didn't realize how pregnant I actually was.

M was surprised by the picture as well; he had forgotted he had taken it. He rushed to turn off the settings before the picture rolled around in sequence again, but actually managed to get the shot stuck on the screen, so for ten or fifteen long seconds, my pregnant belly was displayed on our TV.

It made me sad; yet at the same time I'm glad it's there. Charlotte was alive in that picture. I was still in babybliss. The picture was probably prefaced by conversations of showers and cribs and breast vs. bottle. In that picture I was normal, and I had no idea of what the next two weeks would bring.

I told M to print it for Charlotte's memory box. One more piece of physical evidence that I had a baby and she was real.