I miss my baby

That is all.

Now that is a great idea...

The past nine months (the number of months keeps getting higher faster than I want to believe it) have brought several brilliant business ideas to my mind. My two favorites...

1. High-end Chuck E Cheese - where they serve a one-glass limit of wine or martinis to moms, while their little angels play together and burn off energy. The beauty is that they will only let in clean, healthy, nice kids. There won't be any little Johnny to teach your kid swear words. And snot-nosed Suzy will be denied entrance. It will be quiet enough that moms can talk to each other and actually hear the other side of the conversation. The entire play-space will be visible from the location where moms sit. And no kid will ever get hurt, bored or scared. Everyone will come crabby and leave happy. Perfect, right?

This amazing idea evolved from the early days of Shawn's diagnosis when I really needed [errr, wanted?] a glass of wine and a chance for some girl-talk, but I wasn't able to leave Livie. Sadly, I never got the wine, girl talk or safe-place-to-play.


2. Glass throwing. It would be established as a 501c3 NFP - whose purpose is to assist with other's mental health of course. People could donate their unwanted glassware (tax deduction!) and those in need of a release could visit the glass throwing room, and break some glass. Throw it, stomp on it, whatever they wanted. Best part? The waste would be completely recyclable. This past week I have been furious for no good recent reason, and really wanted to break something. Throwing glass against the wall sounded heavenly. Unfortunately, I would have been stuck with the clean-up, so I nixed the idea. But to be able to go somewhere and break something on purpose? Perfect. (seriously)

(for the record, if anyone gets rich off these ideas, I want a share for being the brain child)

And that brings me to someone else's crazy idea. Making jewelry out of milk. Breast milk to be exact.

A friend told me about the creator when she read my post about having milk in the freezer that I didn't know what to do with. I found the thought insane at first. I was supposed to mail her Carter's milk?

But the more I thought about it, the more intrigued I was. I won't admit what I spent on them, but eventually I decided to order a couple of milk beads. Who knows if she actually makes them out of the milk that is sent to her, but I am going to humor my heart and believe that my milk beads really are made from Carter's milk. I don't plan on wearing my pendants - one is for my purse and one is for my drawer, but here they are:


They aren't exactly what I expected (or what I ordered for that matter) but I am not about to send more milk off, so they are what I have.  If nothing else, at least in some way, I will always be able to carry a part of Carter with me.

I chose the heart bead for obvious reasons.  I agonized over the choice for the second bead - a tear drop was a close second, but I chose the moon because moons and monkeys have come to remind us of Carter.  And it seems fitting.  The moon is a symbol of nighttime and sleep, and my little man was born sleeping.

Livie was watching me take pictures of the pendants, and started asking questions.  Prompted by something a new friend began for her son, our conversation quickly turned into a project of sorts.  The Carter Project.  Livie knows that I love taking pictures of her, but I can't take any more pictures of Carter, so instead, we are going to start taking pictures of things that remind us of him, as we come across them.  Monkeys, moons and his name.  Liv is an avid picture taker, so I am eager to see what all she comes up with.

Broken Heart

My first Valentine's Day with a broken heart. I tried to keep busy showering Shawn and Livie with everything I had.  Livie wasn't all that thrilled to model her outfit for me, but I forced her to take pictures anyway.  She was adorable.

After school, we made dinner for daddy and enjoyed an evening as a family (with a rousing game of Cooties).

I was lucky enough to get a homemade valentine from Livie that she made me with no prompting or instruction.  Love it.  And I love her - sweetest little girl ever!









Despite my best efforts to stay busy, my mind was on Carter all day.  I love you little man.

(thanks to Lindsey for introducing me to this song - I love it and listen to it constantly)

How are you?

I have never hated a question so much - "How are you?"

How am I supposed to answer that? Every time I am asked, a million possible responses swim in my mind. The question itself sends me into an internal panic. I can't actually think about my answer right away, or I risk tears. I only have a split second to triage the situation before a lapse in conversation becomes akward. "What answer do they want?" - "What answer can they handle?" - "How much do I want them to know?" - "What answer can I handle?"

Some people ask in passing because it is the socially appropriate thing to do. They are the easiest to answer. They don't want to hear anything other than, "I am good - how are you". They probably wouldn't even realize it if I answered differently.

Others though, genuinely want to know. Or at least they think they do. So what do I tell them? There are a select few that I know I can answer honestly each and every time. (and they aren't necessarily the people I would have expected them to be)  There are some though, who already think they know what my answer should be.

If I acknowledge that I am genuinely having a good day, I risk being tsk'd tsk'd, for I must be lying. If I admit to having a horrible day, I risk being tsk'd tsk'd, because "shouldn't I be over it by now?"

My standard answer has become, "I have good days and bad days, but I am doing ok". This seems to appease most people. But some press further. To those people, I have no clue how to respond. Do I insist that things are great? Do I force some tears? Do I tell them how pissed off and angry I have been lately?Because reality is that most of the time I don't know how I am doing.

Some of those in my day-to-day life seem to think that everything is back to normal for me. My childless twenty-something male co-workers have stopped acting uncomfortable around me (except for that one time when I said Carter's name in passing - you could have heard a pin drop in the room). Others have figured out that I am just good half-way decent at putting on an convincing act.

One of those insightful friends has come up with my favorite response - "How are you?" - "I am good, how are you?" - "I am good, but I know that you are lying." and then we exchange an understanding smile or two, and I'll often add a "well, I could tell you the truth, but you probably don't want to know..." which sometimes gets a giggle from those close by, and sometimes causes the mood in the room to drop and people to look around uncomfortably until someone changes the subject.

So, just so we are all clear, this is me as a hot mess:

(and this is Livie as a hot mess)

Nap time + Desitin

How many kids do you have? - What do you do? - 

 What do you and your husband want to do when you retire? - How are you?

Such seemingly benign questions have never before been accompanied by so much heartache.

Wishing for a do-over

I have tried all week to think of something else to write about.  No luck.

Blogging is way cheaper than therapy, so I guess I will just continue to pour out of my heart, whatever it is that needs to come out.

I have mentioned many times that Carter's death was completely unexpected.  On the way to the hospital, I knew that something wasn't quite right, and I had typical pregnancy worries.  But I never considered that something actually might be wrong.  During the weeks and months of getting ready for Carter, we didn't plan for the possibility that he wouldn't come home with us.  "Decide what to do if your baby dies" isn't on any of the 'get ready for baby' checklists.  It is so unfair that for those of us thrust into the situation, that the hard choices must be made so quickly.  It is impossible to have a clear mind when making decisions.

The nurses and midwives asked us if we wanted an autopsy.  Shawn and I agreed - "no".  The doctors saw the abruption on the ultrasound.  All the symptoms lined up.  We decided that we were ok accepting that it was the abruption and that we didn't need more information.

Then, they asked again.  "Are you sure you don't want an autopsy?"  -  "Yes, we are sure".

Yet again, I wish I would have heard what they were saying with unspoken words... "We can't force you to do this.  But please, have the autopsy.  You will regret it if you don't.  Days, months, years from now when the questions pop up, your only chance for answers will be gone."  ... Yet I didn't hear the hidden message.  All I heard was them asking if they should cut my baby open.  Of course I didn't want that.  How could they possibly cut into this sweet little boy?

Besides, an autopsy would take time.  And I wanted it all done and over with as soon as it could be.  As if leaving the hospital and rushing the funeral would make reality disappear.

But the unanswered questions now swim in my mind.

I am certain I had an abruption with Livie as well.  But it didn't kill her.  So why did it kill Carter?  What if the abruption wasn't the true culprit?  Or what if it was a contributing factor, but there were other forces at work that weakened him?

That morning in the hospital, when I confirmed that I didn't want an autopsy, I didn't know what information I was passing on.  Carter was a perfectly normal weight for his age.  Right-on compared to what Liv weighed at birth.  And he was big for his age - there was no way he would fit in the preemie clothes I had brought.  He had long legs, and the nurse measured his height multiple times to make sure she was correct.  These indicate that the placenta was doing its job.  Helping him grow.  What I didn't understand, was that in some situations, there could be clue inside his little body as to how long the abruption had been going on for.  Were his organs normally developed?  Or was their growth stunted?  If it appeared that the abruption had been going on for some time - what would that mean for a future pregnancy?  If he was completely normal, that would be a clue that the abruption was sudden, happening only after labor started.  What would that mean for a future pregnancy?  The doctors can't check the size of his organs from a container of ashes, so I will never know.

And then, there is the question I am scared to ask.  We agreed that we could live with abruption being the cause of his death.  So why does my mind ask more questions?  Why am I not satisfied to accept the clearest answer?

Nine days before Carter was born, we went to a birthday party.  The party was for the daughter of one of my dearest friends.  We all had a blast.  And then, the e-mail came.  An e-mail telling me that a little boy that had been at the party had the chicken pox.

I didn't know much about pregnancy and chicken pox, except that the two weren't good together.  Doctor google provided me with the info I needed: chickenpox in pregnancy... "A greater threat to a baby occurs when the mother develops chickenpox in the week before birth. Then it can cause a serious, life-threatening infection in a newborn."


Other sites suggested that stillbirth was possible.  Some sites said that the mother needed to show symptoms before there was a concern.  Other sites said that exposure in pregnancy was concern enough.  I spent the better part of that day freaking out to a co-worker.  She eventually was able to calm me down.  "You will be fine.  You can't worry about this.  After the year you have had, I promise, everything will be ok.  It has to be"  And I believed her.  I was just being a hormonal pregnant lady.  Over-reacting.


I did call the on-call midwife immediately, who suggested that we check at my next appointment to see if I was immune to chicken pox.  I never made it to that appointment, due to Carter's early arrival.

When I first looked over his sweet little body, I noticed something on his arm, but I dismissed it as 'just something'.  But now, I always wonder - what was it?  Just a mark, or the start of chicken pox?


I had been wanting to discuss my questions with my midwife, and then I ended up in the hospital for my gallbladder.  Because I pretty much have the greatest care providers ever, my midwife (came in on her day off as a friend, not a doctor) was by my side when I was brought up to my room.  The nurse asked the typical intake questions.  And then she asked a question I hadn't been asked before.  "Have you been exposed to the chicken pox in the last 3 months?"


I saw my midwife bristle at my answer.  There was an audible gasp.  It was neither the time or place for a discussion about that.  And now I am scared to talk to her.  What if there is more to Carter's story than just an abruption?  What if there isn't?  What if I am just continuing to grasp at made-up straws?  Over-reacting yet again?


I will never know.


I try to tell myself that I am ok not knowing, but that is simply not true.  I don't have questions because I want someone/something to blame.  I have questions because that is all there is to have.  I need answers, but there are none.  Too bad that there are no do-overs in real life.

Everything happens for a reason

Being back to work full-time is eating me alive.  I am going to work on cutting my hours some.  I come home so worn out.  But the days themselves are getting easier.  Slowly I am getting back into the routine of work, and the busyness of this time of year makes the days fly by.  I am hoping I can find the right balance soon.

The good days are getting better and more frequent.  The bad days are getting worse and better all at the same time.  Tears are no longer something I fight off and feel embarrassed about.  They are just part of me - and the whole Carter experience.  Sometimes it almost feels good to cry - to acknowledge my loss and let myself experience it.

In some ways, getting back into the routine of work again has been good for me.  I work with some truly amazing people who have been so good to me.  In talking to my co-workers, I have had a couple revelations lately.  Some of them are the complete inverse of what I have been trying to convince myself of.

The past 8 months have sucked.  There is no denying that.  The entire time, I have continually told myself to be thankful for what I have, and am constantly reminding myself that things could always be worse.  Every time I catch myself feeling sorry for myself (and trust me, there were plenty of times while I was pregnant that it was hard to see the silver lining), I try to narrate a pep talk in my head.  I feel guilty for not being more thankful - there are so many people who have less than I do!

But one day this past week at work, I thought to myself, "My life sucks sometimes".  And for the first time, I didn't feel guilty thinking it.  Because, guess what?  It is true!  I don't know how to explain that I haven't really accepted that fact before this.  Even if the words have crossed my lips, it all felt like a story I made up.  Even in the midst of the worst misery, I have had the hardest time accepting that this is my life now.  But that other day at work, it all clicked into place.  It was as if I could finally take ownership of my hardships, and it was ok.

I still know that things could always be worse, but it is ok that I am not happy with how they are now.  I have a right to be pissed off about the past 8 months.  It sounds so silly, but it was such a relief to accept that.

I tend to genuinely believe that everything happens for a reason.  Even if I can't see it clearly right away - there is always a reason.  Or at the very least, the events of our past lead us down the path to our present.  And if there hadn't been hardships along the way, our present would be drastically different.  How though, do I reconcile Carter dying with "everything happens for a reason"?  How or why could there possibly be a reason for us to lose our son and brother?  It is just plain old not fair.  Just because this is the way things have to be, to get us where we are going in life (wherever that is) doesn't mean that I have to like it.

Our new normal has been changing so much lately.  Evolving and becoming familiar all at once.  Livie has been asking many questions about dying and Heaven.  She checks for the moon outside nightly to say hi to Carter.  And her little thoughts continue to surprise me.

I honestly thought the mysterious falling ornament had been packed away with the rest of the Christmas things.  But, a couple days ago, Livie came running towards me with it in her hand.  "Look mom, look!  There is a heart on the bottom of this ornament!  That is Carter telling you that he loves you!"

And sure enough, when I turned the ornament over, there was a heart on the bottom.

I decided to take a picture of the ornament, and was testing out locations (I miss all the good sunshine while I am at work, and I hate taking pictures with the flash.  I never did find a spot I liked.) when I noticed that the snow-globe of the ornament was getting all cloudy.  I kind of thought to myself how disappointing that was.  It didn't look that way at Christmas, and it didn't make for a great picture now.

No sooner had I thought about it, then the ornament fell and broke.  I totally cried over the ugly thing.

Even after the cloudy snow-globe was gone, I still couldn't get a good picture of it.  Time and time again, only the base would come into focus.  I couldn't get a clear picture of the snowman for anything.  (I swear, I really do know how to use my camera)

(if you haven't figured it out in past posts - just move your mouse over the picture to see the bottom)

So, for what it is worth, here is the ornament.  Broken globe and all.

Check it out...

... A monkey butt!

While we were waiting for dinner to finish cooking tonight, Livie asked to play Thomas. Shawn dug out her train bin and Livie called me to the living room to play.

"Mom! Hurry up! I want to play Thomas with our WHOLE family". Then, she stopped and thought for a minute. "But we can't play with our whole family. Carter isn't here."

She sat there quite perplexed. What was she supposed to do now? Shawn reminded her that Carter is always in our hearts, and that was good enough for Liv. She talked to the monkey butt in her heart the entire time that we played Thomas.

What I wouldn't give for them to have had the chance to actually play together...

3 months

I took the majority of today off work. I had planned it for awhile to give myself a mental and emotional break. Unfortunately I am sick, and have spent most of the day asleep on the couch. I can feel all the strong emotions of heartache swirling inside of me, but I am too worn out to let them surface. I am exhausted. I just feel numb.

I can't believe it has been 3 months. 3 months of life without Carter. Wow.

A sad puppet (aka - 2012, you are letting me down)

Awhile back, Livie and I were doing arts and crafts (one of her favorite activities) and she asked to make puppets.  We broke out the paper bags and went to town.  She worked diligently on several puppets, and then handed one to me. "Here you go mom.  This one is for you.  It is sad - just like you."  What mom's heart wouldn't break to hear their 3 year old associate "mom" with "sad"?  That was one of many moments during which I swore 2012 was going to be better.  I promised both of us that it had to be better.

Starting in mid-December, I would wake up in the middle of the night with horrible stomach and back pains.  Although they were quite disabling, they would disappear as quickly as they came, and visits to the clinic the following day never revealed anything wrong with me.

The first couple times I convinced myself they were just flukes.  Then, I was certain that it was just something I had eaten.  But once they started to keep me home from work, I resolved to figure out just what was wrong with me.  And that is how I ended up in the ER one Friday night.  An ultrasound and a CT scan later, I was informed that I had gallstones, but my symptoms didn't point to them being the source of the problem.  "Go home.  Get some sleep.  Follow-up with your primary care provider on Monday.  Come back if it gets worse"

And come back I did.  The very next day when the pains had me in tears.  The ER smartly assigned me a different doctor this time, to get a fresh perspective.  After a blood draw, he was convinced that my gallbladder was to blame, even if the symptoms didn't line-up.  I was admitted and warned that surgery would soon follow.

Monday brought an ERCP.  In laymen's terms, they stuck a camera down my throat into my tummy.  They also pulled out a rogue gallstone.  I felt a thousand times better after they removed the wayward stone. (Who knew that one tiny little stone, blocking up one tiny little tube in your tummy could cause so much pain?)

My gallbladder was scheduled to be removed Tuesday.  Normally an outpatient procedure, gallbladder removal isn't quite so simple when one has clots in their lungs.  The ERCP and subsequent surgery involved taking me off my regular blood thinners, and being put on IV Heparin, which was stopped and started as necessary to accommodate procedures.  This means that my entire hospital adventure lasted from my ER visit on Saturday until my release from the hospital on Thursday.

When Shawn came to visit on Tuesday, he came with a present from Livie.  "Here - Liv says I am supposed to give this puppet to you"

(the sad mommy puppet)

Heart-breaking.  I don't have a problem crying in front of Livie.  I think it is good for her to know that parents have feelings too.  It is good for her to know that I miss her brother, and I am not made of stone.  But she shouldn't have to carry the burden of me being sad.

And that is why, I am going to (try to) not feel sorry for myself.  The more I tell myself that the sum of everything is no big deal - that I can handle it - the more I start to believe it.

The past week was just a blip.  The stomach-shots (a result of having to start blood thinners all over again) will be done soon.  I won't waste anymore words on the jerk-of-a-surgeon that had me so upset I was shaking for an hour after he left.  I will focus on the good.  All of my awesome friends that came to visit me.  One of my best friends that took Liv shopping for party supplies since I couldn't.  And the fact that I got to go to my 3 year old's (late) birthday party today.  She had a blast and was all smiles.  And that is what is important.  (pictures to follow)

Who needs a gallbladder anyway?

I should be released from the hospital tomorrow - one organ lighter. Full story when I can manage to sit in front of the computer for a chunk of time.

I spoke too soon.

I am back in the hospital. I hate the stress that I know this is going to bring for Livie and Shawn.

(almost) Back to (her new) Normal

On the way home from school two nights ago, Livie spotted the moon out in the evening sky.  She was so excited, "Look mom!  The moon!  It is Carter peeking out to say hi to us!"

This is Carter's container. (For some reason, I just can't bring myself to teach her the word urn.  Probably for the same reason I didn't want Carter in a casket or transported by hearse.  It just doesn't seem right for a baby.)  So now, moons remind Liv of Carter.  The entire drive home, she pointed out Christmas lights to him, making sure that she told him all about each and every house.  The backseat was full of "oohs and aahs" as she delighted in the houses that still had their display up and lit.  At some point, she realized that the moon never seemed to get farther away from her - "Mom!  The moon is following us!  Carter wants to come home with us!  He is following us the whole way home!  He will be so happy to be home!"  As the tears welled in my eyes, Liv was as happy as can be to think that her brother in Heaven was following her home.  She has adjusted to her new role as sister to a brother in Heaven just fine.

Nearly 8 months ago now, Livie watched her dad have a seizure.  In the weeks that followed, her dad was at the hospital a lot, and her mom was there with him.  Liv's world was thrown for a loop as her routine got jumbled and caregivers flowed in and out of our house.  She loved the extra time that she got with grandma, uncle and the fabulous Ms. Stephanie, but it wasn't her normal.  I tried to see her each day (even if that meant asking the sitter to keep her awake until midnight) but it wasn't always possible.

Then, once dad came home from the hospital, things were most definitely not normal.  It takes time to recover from having pieces of your brain cut-out.  But how do you explain that to a two year old?  What resulted was a crabby, unhappy, misbehaving little bird.  It took months for me to see normal Livie come back to us after that.  There were days I feared I had lost my happy, well-behaved little girl forever.

As I neared the end of my pregnancy with Carter, the majority of Livie's care still rested on my shoulders, but I tended to be a little crabby (4 hours of sleep a night and a baby nestled in your pelvis will do that to you).  I started to see the post-brain-surgery Livie resurface.  Then, Carter was born.  And there were lots and lots of tears.  Things going on that Liv didn't understand.  One night I am whispering in her ear that she might get to meet her brother in the morning, and 10 hours later she finds out that there isn't going to be a baby coming home after all.  What a whirlwind for a little girl!

Things went down-hill even more after I was admitted with my pulmonary embolism.  I saw it coming before I was even released from the hospital.  More changing of her routine.  Grandma and uncle in and out of her house again.  The insecure and naughty bird was coming back.

This time though, I was worried.  Kids are resilient, I know.  But how much can I expect one little girl to handle?  Livie had meltdowns over the smallest things, becoming clingy and distant all at the same time.  Defiant and needy, she was a different child than the one I knew.  I hoped and prayed that we would get through this.  I certainly wasn't at the top of my game - what if I couldn't help her?  What if my sweet and caring little girl really was gone forever this time?

But slowly, I have seen her settle.  She is happier again.  She listens better.  I don't see the scared look in her eyes.  Even Shawn has commented, "she seems happier lately!"  and I think she is.

I have tried hard to be strong and consistent for her, and I am starting to get my sweet bird back.

She doesn't run to check on her Carter cake every morning anymore.  I doubt she will allow it to leave the kitchen anytime soon, but it is no longer an obsession.  I have been talking about removing his car seat from the car, and I think it may actually happen without too much of a fuss.  With the stockings down and baby swing packed-up, physical evidence of his presence here is slowly fading away.  Even Carter's monkey balloon from his funeral now bounces along the floor instead of the ceiling.  So many things that we are all realizing we need to learn to let go of.

Everything is so-matter-of-fact to Livie these days.  She talks about what she wants to, when she wants to.  "Mom, remember when dad fell in the kitchen?  Tell me what happened"  "Mom, remember when my friends came to Carter's good-bye party?  Tell me about how I colored with them"

When she talks about Carter, there is an acceptance in her words that I have yet to master.  Her brother is in Heaven, and that is just the way it is.

Another first

"Your friend got a scooter for Christmas too!". The words left my mouth before I could stop them. I knew Livie would be so excited by the prospect of a 'scooting buddy' this summer, that I started telling her the good news before I even realized that she was trying to talk to me, and that I was about to speak over her own news.

So many times in the last eleven weeks (11 weeks already!) Livie has spoken such nuggets of wisdom and reassurance that I often wonder where they came from. So many times she has known exactly what to say in order to comfort me or to bring tears to my eyes - depending on what I needed at that moment. Her innocent comments come when I least expect them and most need them. But yesterday, I missed one. 

Livie was running towards me, eager and excited to tell me something. She started in, "Mom! Baby Jesus..." and then she stopped. Because I had interrupted her thought with the news that one of her friends had received the same glorious Christmas present that she had - a scooter. And whatever it was that she wanted to tell me was lost. Her mind had already moved on to dreams of summer scooter riding on the sidewalk, and all I got from her was a blank stare when I asked her what it was that she wanted to tell me about baby Jesus.

These days, her stories of baby Jesus always involve Carter in some way. And my mind was already on him after an emotional afternoon.  A story would have done my heart good.

One of my friends (and her son, one of Livie's friends, who is also the proud new owner of a scooter) recently welcomed a beautiful new baby boy into their family.  I had several friends who were due with little boys in the weeks following my due date.  All of these other little boys have now arrived safely.  And I am so grateful that my friends have been spared the the heartache that we are going through.  But I won't lie - I am also oh so jealous  heartbroken that they have their babies and I don't have mine.

Yesterday afternoon I had the great privilege to go meet one of these little boys.  I was genuinely excited to meet him, and also a little scared for my heart.  I am so glad I went.  Of course there were tears.  And I left with a deep longing for Carter that I can't shake.  But I had to see a baby sometime.  I can't go the rest of my life avoiding newborn boys.  And my friend couldn't have been more wonderful.  She let me snuggle her little guy and cry my tears.  I know she will read this, so I want her to know how blessed I feel to have such an understanding friend.

This summer our kids will scooter up and down the sidewalk.  And as we run behind them, her arms will be full, and mine empty.  I will watch her son go through countless firsts that Carter will never experience.  At some point I will learn how to enjoy those moments for what they are.  But for now, I am just thankful to have that first newborn snuggle under my belt.