Since we brought home little Bee, the world has opened back up. People who never even acknowledged Charlotte have been all over Adam (a whole other blog post), and we've been invited out a lot. Apple Picking parties, a wide assortment of Christmas family celebrations, dinners out, etc. All family-oriented and baby-friendly. We've even gone to some of them.
I have found myself exactly where I never, ever, wanted to be. Friends of ours suffered a misscarriage at 12 weeks the day after we lost Charlotte. They started trying again right away and it took over a year for them to get pregnant again. Then another miscarriage. Right now they're in the early stages of IF treatment, and the last I heard they had been planning an IUI for October. I don't know if they went through with it or if they were successful (or not). I've only seen them at these large gatherings where it's inappropriate to yell across the room, So, how 'bout that IUI?
When Adam came home we didn't see them, for a long time. There was a congratulatory phone call but then nothing. I understood. Completely. I didn't know for sure if it was hard for them or if they were just busy, but I couldn't imagine it NOT being hard, and I understood. If they wanted to come meet Adam that would be great, but if not, that was ok too. I got it.
Anyway, we have now rejoined the social circle that we were absent from for so long. Our first get-together was a couple of weeks ago, a cider-and-sweets post-Christmas parade thing. It was the first time they saw Adam, and I don't think they expected us to come (why would they really, as we hadn't gone to anything in so, so long). The wife was interested in Adam and asked to hold him. She cuddled him for a bit and talked to him.
The husband almost ran away.
It broke my heart, really did. He had that look, the one we all know because we've worn it ourselves. The one where your heart is breaking and if you don't get out of there RIGHT NOW you're going to lose it, your chest aches and head pounds and the grief becomes physically painful. I'm probably assuming too much but I know that look.
I can't believe I caused someone else that horrible pain.
I've read other bloggers who say that there should be a t-shirt or a badge for us babylost with new babies- so the strangers in the grocery store can know that this didn't come easy and I am not one of them. I agree. In this case though, they know all about Charlotte, watched us walk through the past 20 months or so and now we're out on the other side. And they're no closer (as far as I know, anyway). It must be hard, it has to be.
I've certainly had my share of pregnancy and babyloss emotional pain, but infertility is not something that was ever put on my plate. So, even with my new-found empathy I still don't know what to say or do. I just despise the thought that I'm making someone's already-hard-holiday a little bit harder.
Wednesday, December 16, 2009
Monday, November 30, 2009
Tuesday, November 24, 2009
Making memories
Due to my recovery, the H1N1 virus, and our general need to nest with our baby, the first month of Adam's life consisted of 1) staying home, and 2) going to the doctor. There were relatively few visitors, even, as we told people to stay home if they were sick, and nearly everyone was.
This past weekend we were invited out. Our friends were having a dinner and invited their children's godparents. Their little son is our godson. He's a little over two now, and they had another baby in July, another boy. There were to be a dozen or so people, several babies and of course, several mommies.
I was so very excited to go. With months of bedrest behind me, I was starved for some social activity. I've turned down so many invitations in the past two years. This one I was determined to accept. I wanted Adam to see other children, even though he's far from interactive yet. I wanted to go out and be normal.
So, we went. It was so funny, to cross over to the other side, to full mom territory where conversations are about poop and bottles, and the price of baby portraits. I still feel a little like an outsider. Though there are lots of things to talk about when you're in a room with moms, my priorities, my focus, is different from their's. There was a lot of talk of where to buy THE baby Christmas outfit, where the "cleanest" mall Santa was for pictures. They looked at me incredulously when I said we didn't yet have a growth chart. They were shocked when I said we hadn't set a date yet for his christening, actually, hadn't even thought about it.
Adam is alive. He's here, healthy, growing. I haven't put my parenting energy into researching baby photographers like these moms. Sure, a picture with Santa would be nice, but I haven't really thought about it. I have a fuzzy sleeper I thought would be nice for Christmas Eve but that's it. We'll get around to the christening at some point, no rush. My energy is spent marvelling, enjoying and embracing every detail of my little boy. All the other stuff is just stuff.
A few years ago M and I went whale watching. M had just bought a new camera and was determined to have good pictures of whales. If you've ever whale watched, you know that it's a split second viewing- they surface and then they're gone. He stood on the shore for an hour or more looking through his viewfinder for that perfect shot. He never got it, and never saw any whales at all. I saw dozens, as I could look around the whole shoreline at once without the constraints of a camera. I have hundreds of mental whale pictures in my memory.
This whole mom thing reminds me a little bit of that whale watching. It's so easy to fill your days and schedule trying to make memories- plaster casts of hand and footprints and staged photo shoots and the like. It's all great for those that want that, but it's never been my style. I like having a few keepsakes but more than anything I just like to be, to experience the moment and file away in my memory bank. My time with Adam is like that- we take lots of pictures, of course, but the moments I cherish most are the middle-of-the-night cuddles in the dark, the sound he makes when he finishes a bottle, the one-armed stretches above his head. Those are my special memories, and no growth chart can capture that.
Maybe I know, more than the other moms, how awful it is to JUST have that stuff- the footprints and handprints, the pictures. That's all I have of Charlotte, there are no memories, just things. This living baby- I want the memories this time. The things are optional.
This past weekend we were invited out. Our friends were having a dinner and invited their children's godparents. Their little son is our godson. He's a little over two now, and they had another baby in July, another boy. There were to be a dozen or so people, several babies and of course, several mommies.
I was so very excited to go. With months of bedrest behind me, I was starved for some social activity. I've turned down so many invitations in the past two years. This one I was determined to accept. I wanted Adam to see other children, even though he's far from interactive yet. I wanted to go out and be normal.
So, we went. It was so funny, to cross over to the other side, to full mom territory where conversations are about poop and bottles, and the price of baby portraits. I still feel a little like an outsider. Though there are lots of things to talk about when you're in a room with moms, my priorities, my focus, is different from their's. There was a lot of talk of where to buy THE baby Christmas outfit, where the "cleanest" mall Santa was for pictures. They looked at me incredulously when I said we didn't yet have a growth chart. They were shocked when I said we hadn't set a date yet for his christening, actually, hadn't even thought about it.
Adam is alive. He's here, healthy, growing. I haven't put my parenting energy into researching baby photographers like these moms. Sure, a picture with Santa would be nice, but I haven't really thought about it. I have a fuzzy sleeper I thought would be nice for Christmas Eve but that's it. We'll get around to the christening at some point, no rush. My energy is spent marvelling, enjoying and embracing every detail of my little boy. All the other stuff is just stuff.
A few years ago M and I went whale watching. M had just bought a new camera and was determined to have good pictures of whales. If you've ever whale watched, you know that it's a split second viewing- they surface and then they're gone. He stood on the shore for an hour or more looking through his viewfinder for that perfect shot. He never got it, and never saw any whales at all. I saw dozens, as I could look around the whole shoreline at once without the constraints of a camera. I have hundreds of mental whale pictures in my memory.
This whole mom thing reminds me a little bit of that whale watching. It's so easy to fill your days and schedule trying to make memories- plaster casts of hand and footprints and staged photo shoots and the like. It's all great for those that want that, but it's never been my style. I like having a few keepsakes but more than anything I just like to be, to experience the moment and file away in my memory bank. My time with Adam is like that- we take lots of pictures, of course, but the moments I cherish most are the middle-of-the-night cuddles in the dark, the sound he makes when he finishes a bottle, the one-armed stretches above his head. Those are my special memories, and no growth chart can capture that.
Maybe I know, more than the other moms, how awful it is to JUST have that stuff- the footprints and handprints, the pictures. That's all I have of Charlotte, there are no memories, just things. This living baby- I want the memories this time. The things are optional.
Tuesday, November 17, 2009
One month
Adam was officially one month old yesterday. My sense of time is so different now- I can't decide if it feels like he just got here or if he's been here forever.
Funny, I almost forgot he was a month old until we went to the pediatric dietician yesterday afternoon. So different than my sense of time after Charlotte, when, at any given time I could have told you the exact number of hours since she was born. I guess now there's more to focus on- diapers and feedings, rocking and cuddling. Less focus on counting days and hours.
I got a little sad when I realized that Nov 4th had passed me by entirely without giving it a second thought that it would have been 19 months for Charlotte.
Bumblebee is doing really well. I have been blessed with a very, very easy baby. He's very pleasant, only cries when he's hungry, and occasionally when he wants to be picked up. He can be soothed instantly, and already sleeps for pretty long stretches. Only one night-time feeding now, which is so manageable. The disruption in sleep patterns is very doable at this point- I try to have a little nap at some point in the day but otherwise I feel fine. Good. More than good, actually.
I've had a number of people comment on what a good baby he is, followed by a comment on how I "earned" this, how our loss of Charlotte somehow entitled us to World's Easiest Baby. Of course, I know that's not it, but sometimes when I look at him and think how sweet he really is, well, maybe Charlotte picked him out. Corny, I know.
A couple of weeks ago M said that he had looked at Charlotte's pictures, that he was surprised by how much she looks like Adam. It's hard to see resemblance in a 24-weeker, but sure enough when I peeked in the album there is a definite resemblance. Which makes sense, as they're siblings, but I like the idea that I get to see how Charlotte might have looked if she had gotten to grow.
There are 33 pictures of Charlotte. 7 are of decent quality, taken with the hospital digital camera before the memory card filled up. Unfortunately, they are of her when she was very very new, before a bath or clothes or before I had a chance to see her, even. The other 24 are grainy, low quality disposable camera shots that are of all of us together, but in terms of picture quality they are horrible. It is my one regret, really, that we didn't get better pictures. Considering my inlaws own a professional camera store that's 5 mins away from the hospital, it would have been so easy to get a decent camera. No one thought of it. So, my 33 grainy pictures are all I have, and all I'll ever have. Sigh.
When I looked at those pictures it was like looking at another lifetime. I still can't believe that it happened- that I was pregnant before, that there was another baby. The pictures are so, so, sad, and I can't believe sometimes that that was my reality. Still is. To the outside world now I look like a first-time mom, and in a lot of ways I feel like a first-time mom, but there's so much beneath the surface. It's a very hard thing to balance, the lost-baby/living-baby thing.
Adam is growing. We brought him home at 4 lbs 14 oz, and he was back to his birthweight a week later. Since then, he's been packing it on. 8 lbs 2 oz at yesterday's appointment. We've outgrown the preemie clothes, the 5-8 lb clothes, and are heading our way out of the regular newborn clothes. I can't believe it- I can literally see a difference in him every single day. Also a difference is his alertness, and his little personality is starting to come through. I love it- all of these changes- but it's all so bittersweet. You all know.
Funny, I almost forgot he was a month old until we went to the pediatric dietician yesterday afternoon. So different than my sense of time after Charlotte, when, at any given time I could have told you the exact number of hours since she was born. I guess now there's more to focus on- diapers and feedings, rocking and cuddling. Less focus on counting days and hours.
I got a little sad when I realized that Nov 4th had passed me by entirely without giving it a second thought that it would have been 19 months for Charlotte.
Bumblebee is doing really well. I have been blessed with a very, very easy baby. He's very pleasant, only cries when he's hungry, and occasionally when he wants to be picked up. He can be soothed instantly, and already sleeps for pretty long stretches. Only one night-time feeding now, which is so manageable. The disruption in sleep patterns is very doable at this point- I try to have a little nap at some point in the day but otherwise I feel fine. Good. More than good, actually.
I've had a number of people comment on what a good baby he is, followed by a comment on how I "earned" this, how our loss of Charlotte somehow entitled us to World's Easiest Baby. Of course, I know that's not it, but sometimes when I look at him and think how sweet he really is, well, maybe Charlotte picked him out. Corny, I know.
A couple of weeks ago M said that he had looked at Charlotte's pictures, that he was surprised by how much she looks like Adam. It's hard to see resemblance in a 24-weeker, but sure enough when I peeked in the album there is a definite resemblance. Which makes sense, as they're siblings, but I like the idea that I get to see how Charlotte might have looked if she had gotten to grow.
There are 33 pictures of Charlotte. 7 are of decent quality, taken with the hospital digital camera before the memory card filled up. Unfortunately, they are of her when she was very very new, before a bath or clothes or before I had a chance to see her, even. The other 24 are grainy, low quality disposable camera shots that are of all of us together, but in terms of picture quality they are horrible. It is my one regret, really, that we didn't get better pictures. Considering my inlaws own a professional camera store that's 5 mins away from the hospital, it would have been so easy to get a decent camera. No one thought of it. So, my 33 grainy pictures are all I have, and all I'll ever have. Sigh.
When I looked at those pictures it was like looking at another lifetime. I still can't believe that it happened- that I was pregnant before, that there was another baby. The pictures are so, so, sad, and I can't believe sometimes that that was my reality. Still is. To the outside world now I look like a first-time mom, and in a lot of ways I feel like a first-time mom, but there's so much beneath the surface. It's a very hard thing to balance, the lost-baby/living-baby thing.
Adam is growing. We brought him home at 4 lbs 14 oz, and he was back to his birthweight a week later. Since then, he's been packing it on. 8 lbs 2 oz at yesterday's appointment. We've outgrown the preemie clothes, the 5-8 lb clothes, and are heading our way out of the regular newborn clothes. I can't believe it- I can literally see a difference in him every single day. Also a difference is his alertness, and his little personality is starting to come through. I love it- all of these changes- but it's all so bittersweet. You all know.
Monday, November 2, 2009
The best and the worst
The day Charlotte was born, when we knew the likely outcome, I lay on the bed in L&D hooked up to mag sulfate, art lines and who knows what else. My sister sat next to me. At one point, she said something along the lines of You know, this is the worst day of your life.
At the time, through my medicated haze, I remember thinking This is the worst? I can handle this no problem.
She was wrong, though, that sister of mine.
The worst day, the Absolute Worst Day, came a couple of weeks later. I was home from the hospital. We had had Charlotte's service the day before. It was M's first day back to work. I was alone. I had not yet discovered babylost blogs or anything of the sort, and I had no network. The house was silent. I didn't know what to do with myself. I sat on the couch and aimlessly flipped pages of magazines. I couldn't turn on the tv for fear of seeing a baby, the phone was silent, the rest of the world had moved on while mine had stopped, and it seemed like I was completely, and utterly, alone.
That was the very worst day.
Similarly, when Bumblebee's time was nearing and things were eerily looking good, well, I didn't really expect his birthday to be the best day. And it wasn't. It was a good day, definitely had some miraculous moments, but not the best day. Maybe if I had had the picture-perfect birth experience it would have been different, but with our circumstances and my complications and NICU time etc., well, it wasn't perfect. I'm totally ok with that- the fact that he is here is more than enough for me- but I don't think I will look back on October 16th as the best day.
Our first days at home were hard. Logically I knew that having a living baby wouldn't magically make everything perfect, but I wasn't expecting the rollercoaster that took place in our first week at home. There are some crazy hormones post-partum. My loss of Charlotte became all the more real. I got a horrible cold, which meant I had to stay distant from my own baby. My anemia caused my breastmilk supply to be ridiculously low and I had to fight with that. We were paranoid over H1N1. I felt criticism from all angles on my mothering abilities- particularly MIL who was an avid non-solicited advice-giver in the early days at home.
Don't hold him that way.
Why isn't he wearing an undershirt?
My God, he's way too warm under those blankets.
You need to feed him more.
You just wait, you're going to be so sleep-deprived that you'll beg me to come over.
Um, no.
By some divine intervention (and this is going to sound really really mean), MIL got bronchitis a week ago. She hasn't been able to visit since. Things have been so much better.
At any rate, there have been many tears, many moments of feeling utterly inferior as a mom, many arguments with my husband, and much guilt. So many emotions, and while all I wanted to feel was grateful and happy, there were so many unexpected hurdles emotionally in our first few days.
It's so much better now.
We've settled into a routine, me and the Bee. He's growing well. I've figured things out. I don't feel like a first-timer at all of this. I think a lot of us babylost moms, even if we never physically had to change diapers and feed etc., well, I think there's some intuitiveness there. It all feels old to me, like I've done all this before.
In parallel to my Absolute Worst Day, today was M's first day back at work. It was just me and Adam today- he fed every three hours, he pooped every three hours, and slept in between. We cuddled on the couch in silence. I watched some TV, wrote out some Christmas shopping lists. I had cereal for lunch. Washed and folded little clothes. It was a simple day. Quiet and serene.
I don't know that I'll ever look back on Adam's birthday as the very best day. But today, today was pretty damn good.
At the time, through my medicated haze, I remember thinking This is the worst? I can handle this no problem.
She was wrong, though, that sister of mine.
The worst day, the Absolute Worst Day, came a couple of weeks later. I was home from the hospital. We had had Charlotte's service the day before. It was M's first day back to work. I was alone. I had not yet discovered babylost blogs or anything of the sort, and I had no network. The house was silent. I didn't know what to do with myself. I sat on the couch and aimlessly flipped pages of magazines. I couldn't turn on the tv for fear of seeing a baby, the phone was silent, the rest of the world had moved on while mine had stopped, and it seemed like I was completely, and utterly, alone.
That was the very worst day.
Similarly, when Bumblebee's time was nearing and things were eerily looking good, well, I didn't really expect his birthday to be the best day. And it wasn't. It was a good day, definitely had some miraculous moments, but not the best day. Maybe if I had had the picture-perfect birth experience it would have been different, but with our circumstances and my complications and NICU time etc., well, it wasn't perfect. I'm totally ok with that- the fact that he is here is more than enough for me- but I don't think I will look back on October 16th as the best day.
Our first days at home were hard. Logically I knew that having a living baby wouldn't magically make everything perfect, but I wasn't expecting the rollercoaster that took place in our first week at home. There are some crazy hormones post-partum. My loss of Charlotte became all the more real. I got a horrible cold, which meant I had to stay distant from my own baby. My anemia caused my breastmilk supply to be ridiculously low and I had to fight with that. We were paranoid over H1N1. I felt criticism from all angles on my mothering abilities- particularly MIL who was an avid non-solicited advice-giver in the early days at home.
Don't hold him that way.
Why isn't he wearing an undershirt?
My God, he's way too warm under those blankets.
You need to feed him more.
You just wait, you're going to be so sleep-deprived that you'll beg me to come over.
Um, no.
By some divine intervention (and this is going to sound really really mean), MIL got bronchitis a week ago. She hasn't been able to visit since. Things have been so much better.
At any rate, there have been many tears, many moments of feeling utterly inferior as a mom, many arguments with my husband, and much guilt. So many emotions, and while all I wanted to feel was grateful and happy, there were so many unexpected hurdles emotionally in our first few days.
It's so much better now.
We've settled into a routine, me and the Bee. He's growing well. I've figured things out. I don't feel like a first-timer at all of this. I think a lot of us babylost moms, even if we never physically had to change diapers and feed etc., well, I think there's some intuitiveness there. It all feels old to me, like I've done all this before.
In parallel to my Absolute Worst Day, today was M's first day back at work. It was just me and Adam today- he fed every three hours, he pooped every three hours, and slept in between. We cuddled on the couch in silence. I watched some TV, wrote out some Christmas shopping lists. I had cereal for lunch. Washed and folded little clothes. It was a simple day. Quiet and serene.
I don't know that I'll ever look back on Adam's birthday as the very best day. But today, today was pretty damn good.
Thursday, October 22, 2009
Home
We're home. Finally.
Thank you all for your generous outpouring of love and support. It means the world to me, and big thanks to Sally for updating the blog.
We had the amnio last Thursday, as planned. I left the assesment unit and headed straight to the maternity ward as my BP was 160/104 and they wanted me admitted right away. I was having headaches and such, the typical pre-e symptoms. There was talk of an emergency c-section that afternoon. I was not prepared for that.
At any rate, a few hours later the resident came in to tell me that the amnio was negative, that Bumblebee was not ready. She said my ObGYN felt I was stable for the time being, and that she would come in the next morning to discuss our options. The surgery had tentatively been booked for 10am on Friday morning, and they weren't going to cancel it yet.
Bright and early on Friday, Dr K came in with a team of med students and residents, and said, very definitively, that unless I had some strong objections she wanted to go ahead and deliver. We talked of the risks to Bee considering the negative amnio- potential respiratory distress, etc., and the risks of waiting considering my declining health. Seeing as I NEVER thought I'd ever make it to 36 weeks (and neither did she), the prematurity risks were pretty small in my mind, and I was more comfortable with that than I was with waiting a few days and having the potential risks of full-blown Pre-E and HELLP. Plus, my bloodwork was showing a rise in liver enzymes and a drop in platelets. BP was still 160/100 even with an increase in meds. By definition, another case of HELLP, but caught so early this time and much much less severe than with Charlotte.
I told her that I thought we should quit while we were ahead. She completely agreed. It was time.
A few hours later I was wheeled into pre-op. It was so different this time- calm and quiet, no huge emergency. I even walked into the OR. The neonates were there with a resuccitation team (I didn't like the sound of that one bit), as they knew we were delivering with a negative amnio. I was blessed with a fantastic medical team- the world's sweetest anesthesist, my beloved OB and my favorite resident and med student. The surgery was fine- no nausea or any negative reactions to anything. I didn't shake like last time. I was comfortable.
On TV it always seems like the baby is out almost instantly in a c-section. Not this baby. I'd say it was half an hour or so. They warned me of the pressure and then announced his head was out. Then he got stuck. Then I heard these little gurgles of crying and then a loud yell from Bumblee.
Do you hear that Heather? they said. He's screaming! M and I were both in tears.
He was whisked away to be evaluated and you could hear him continue to cry from the next room. A few minutes later he was swaddled and on my chest, whimpering. So very very sweet. He was ok. He even got 9/9 on his Apgars.
We held him for 20 minutes or so. He started to get a bit "moany" so they brought him back to the neonates again. They decided to go ahead and admit him to the NICU and brought Mike with him.
I sat in recovery with another lovely nurse and we gossiped about celebrities etc. It was so hard to believe that my baby was here. M would come back from time to time with updates- he was 5 lbs 5 oz., 18 inches long. He has an IV now. He's on the CPAP machine. He's ok, he holds my finger.
After my requisite time in the recovery room they wheeled me by the NICU to see him. So precious. Even under the wires and beeping monitors he was so sweet.
I was brought upstairs to the maternity floor and that's where the memories get fuzzy. I had apparently lost a lot of blood in the surgery, and my blood pressure plummetted. It went from 160/100 to 80/40 and I felt so very sick- completely nauseated, blurred vision, weak and faint. They had to up something in my IV to get the BP up a bit, but I have very little memory of the rest of the day. By Saturday morning I was feeling somewhat better, but I almost fainted several times and had to lie flat on my back in order to stay alert at all. If I moved at all it was not a good scene. Anyway, I didn't get to go back to the NICU until Saturday evening, so I missed a whole day with my bumblebee.
By late Saturday he was off the CPAP. By Sunday morning out of the incubator and into a crib. Sunday afternoon they brought him up to the maternity floor to room-in with us. Again, completely surreal. He didn't feel like mine, probably because I had lost so much time with him. He was so adorable and precious, but completely didn't feel real. Our bonding took a little time, but we're ok now.
So, we were finally discharged yesterday. My hemoglobin is very low due to the blood lossy, so I have to be careful getting up out of chairs and bed and very very careful carrying Adam. (More often than not, M and I still call him the Bumblebee.) We're settling in. He's such a sweet boy, and it's so magical to look at him and think of all the possibilities ahead.
We miss Charlotte so, so, much. Next to Adam in the NICU there was a little 24-weeker, a girl, who was almost a month old. She was a full-time job for the nurses, and there were constant alarms and buzzers and tweakings with her. It broke my heart- for that baby, for her family, and for our baby girl who didn't even make it that far. I am so thrilled and happy that Adam is here and healthy, but he will never replace my baby girl, and he shouldn't be expected to. I am surprised yet comforted by the separateness of the two babies- it is completely possible to be sad and elated at the same time, the feelings do not cancel each other out at all. I can enjoy Adam while still missing Charlotte, and I think that's the way it should be, for us.
But we're home. He sleeps next to me, swaddled in three blankies in his bassinet. His sister's picture is next to us on the dresser. This is our normal. And I'm ok with it.
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