After Carter was born, I found myself with plenty of milk and no baby to give it to, so I started pumping. It was hard at times, but it also gave me a sense of comfort. I took it slow, and pumped when I could, and if it was too much, I skipped a session. It was something I really wanted to do and I was determined to keep my supply up, because I knew I would regret it if I didn't stick out the early days.
I started filling my freezer and then I learned that the milk bank wouldn't take milk that had Tylenol or advil in it. So I dumped some milk, and planned to wean myself off the pain meds. Then the PE hit. Milk with CT scan dye, Lovenox and Coumadin is no good to anyone. I wouldn't even be able to nurse my own baby with those meds in my system.
The realization that I wouldn't even be able to help other babies with Carter's milk was heartbreaking.
I have 20 ounces of advil/Tylenol milk in my freezer. The milk banks won't take it, and it isn't enough milk to be worth anyone's time. I don't know what to do with it. I can't bring myself to throw it away - it is liquid gold - Carter's liquid gold. So it sits in my freezer - a constant reminder of my baby that I never got to nurse.
The reminders are everywhere. Carter's side of the kids' room is exactly as it was the day he was born. Every outfit and diaper is in its place, and all the baby gear is set-up and ready to go. Putting things away seems too final. Of course we know that keeping stuff around won't make our baby magically return, but how can we put things away and pretend like he isn't supposed to be here? Livie would never let Carter's things leave her room anyway, but it breaks my heart every time I walk in there.
I told Shawn this weekend that I thought I was ready for the baby swing to go in the basement. He nodded, but didn't make any effort to move it. Maybe he isn't ready. So there the empty swing sits in the corner of our living room. Silent evidence of the baby that is supposed to be here.
No comments:
Post a Comment