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.

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.

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)

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.

Thank you

I am the delivery that every midwife dreads.

I called my midwife in the middle of the night, waking her up. I could hear it in her voice that she didn't want to go to the hospital that night, yet she didn't argue when I told her that I needed to go in. Then, she arrives to find out that the baby has no heartbeat. Not what she was hoping for that shift I am sure.

I know what a bad day at work is like for me. I have to put a smile on my face and help my clients the best I can. Even the ones that are pains in the butt. There are days that I dread going to work, and projects that make me wish I could turn around and crawl back into bed. I am sure that is what my midwife was feeling that night. If not worse. (after all, my bad days rarely involve my clients crying, or having to hold dead babies)

Yet, she made sure I was taken care of. She called in support for me and sat with me when I needed her there. She reassured me through Carter's delivery and made me feel safe.

On Wednesday, I have my 6 week postpartum appointment. And I have SO many questions. I am hoping that the placenta test results will be back, and am dreading that possibility at the same time.

Wednesday morning, my midwife will come in to work and see my name on her schedule. If it were me, I would want to turn around and go home. I know I won't be her most fun appointment all day. But I am confident that she will be there when I show up. And she will take all the time I need to get my questions answered.

I don't know how to thank her, or any of the other midwives that sat with me during my days in the hospital. How do I write thank you notes relating to my son's death? Yet I want to.

So many people have been a support to me (even when it wasn't easy) and I want to make sure they know how much I appreciate it. No one wants to go to a baby's funeral, but people came. I can't thank everyone enough - I was so scared that we would plan his funeral and no one would come.

My Monday afternoon will be spent trying to write thank you notes and letters to Livie (more on that later). I am going to get through as many thank-yous as I can, and call it good. My plan is to write to groups of people - my co-workers, Shawn's co-workers, etc. People will understand if they don't get an individual thank you note, right?

Please don't forget

Yesterday sucked.

The day started out ok - we got up and got ready to go have breakfast with Shawn's family.  Livie threw a massive fit on our way out the door, but other than that I was doing ok in the morning.  I survived through breakfast and then we headed home for some quiet time around the house, before dinner with my family in the evening.

I laid out the outfit that Carter was going to wear - a comfy brown and red fleece outfit that Liv and I had picked out together a couple weeks before Carter was born.  I'm not sure why I got it out, it just felt like the thing to do.  It is still laying on his changing table.

I had my tears and my wishing and my what ifs - looking over pictures and thinking about what could have been.  But I pulled myself together and got everyone ready for dinner.

On our way to my grandma's house, it felt like someone was missing.  Carter was supposed to be with us.  I thought for a moment about asking Shawn to turn around so we could go home and get him.  As weird as it sounds (carrying around your dead son's ashes) I really did want him with us.  Even though no one else would have understood, I still do kind of wish we had brought him with.

Livie was the star of the show at Thanksgiving dinner.  She had a couple birthday presents waiting for her which she opened with enthusiasm - some reindeer slippers from her cousin Hannah, and a baby doll stroller from Grandma and Papa.  Her antics kept people entertained all night.  Everyone was having fun. It was business as usual for Thanksgiving.  And that is the part that sucked.

People would bristle at the mention of Carter - "Olivia, what a pretty doll, where did you get it?" - "Carter gave it to me"  :silence:  Until someone would quickly change the subject.
(When I was pregnant, I bought a bitty baby doll and accessories that was supposed to be a present from Carter to Olivia when she came to meet him at the hospital.  Instead, she got it after his funeral.  She knows that he was in my belly when we bought the doll and that he helped pick it out for her.)

I tried to mention Carter once - and people quickly turned away and pretended like they didn't hear me.

It is no secret that Shawn and I had trouble coming up with boy names that we both loved.  In the end, we had a list of boy names that one of us loved.  I have written about how Livie chose the name Carter, but the other names on the list were Logan, Cooper and Sawyer.  For a long time, Livie had been campaigning for 'Cooper' and most of our family had heard her discuss it.

The only time yesterday that anyone even came close to acknowledging the fact that we have a son, was when my uncle pulled me aside to let me know "that a couple days before *it* happened" (exact words) he had gotten a dog and named it Cooper.  He was kind and genuine about what he was saying.  He hadn't known at the time that Cooper was a name we were considering, and he wanted to bring it up to us before we heard mention of his dog Cooper.  Of course he can call his dog whatever he wants, and I appreciate how thoughtful he was in pulling us aside.  But it breaks my heart that this conversation was the only one that came close to bringing Carter up.

I made it out of my grandma's house ok, but burst into tears the second that the door closed behind us on our way out.  Not only was Carter not with us - but no one remembered that he was supposed to be there.

There is no guidebook or rules about what to say or do when a baby dies.  And I am sure that everyone wants it handled differently.  So I am telling myself that our entire family didn't forget about Carter.  They just didn't know what to say.  That has to be it.  I have to let myself think that everyone else was missing his presence as much as I was.  And it was just easier to pretend like nothing had happened than to acknowledge his absence.

In the week between his birth and his funeral, everyone was sad with me.  There were plenty of tears to go around.  But now, everyone is back to their normal.  Thankful that it wasn't them or their child.

I am the only one that had the privilege of knowing Carter while he was alive.  So of course no one can possibly miss him as much as I do.  And no one can understand the hole in my heart.  But moving forward through life knowing that we are the only ones who will continue to mourn his absence is like a dagger in that hole.

I received several (much appreciated) messages from friends yesterday - you know who you are - thank you!  Carter even received a message reminding him how missed he was.

I just wish his family would have remembered him too.

Last night when I was tucking Olivia in, we said a bedtime prayer and at the end, asked baby Jesus to tell Carter how much we love and miss him and how much we wished he could have been with us today.  A couple minutes after we said amen, Livie told me - "He told him.  Baby Jesus told Carter, and he knows".   Oh how I hope that is true.

Carter's Tree

Shortly after Carter was born, some good friends sent us a seed for an oak tree. It had already started to sprout (just a tiny crack in the seed), so we planted it as a family. Look how it has grown in a month!

Livie has been taking good care of Carter's tree - watering it every 3 days, and making sure it gets the sunshine it needs. We planted it in the container that came with it, but I am thinking that we may need to transplant it before spring at this rate.

Livie

My sweet little bird is currently snuggled up next to me, asleep on the couch. I am so thankful for her.

The poor girl has had a rough month too.  She went from being massively excited for her little brother, to trying to understand what death meant.  She is a smarty pants for her age, but how does an almost three year old begin to comprehend that her baby brother had an owie too big to fix?  How do I explain to her someday that really, it was my body's fault?  Carter didn't have a single thing wrong with him.  And how do you explain it all in a way that she isn't terrified of owies?

Livie has asked numerous times why the doctors couldn't fix Carter's owie.   Afterall, they fixed daddy's owie and we have promised that they will help mommy get better.  When you are three, how do you know what owies send you to heaven, and what ones don't?

It isn't fair that she has to grieve with us at such a young age.   And it isn't fair that she has to watch her mom cry, and have to hear me say, "I am sorry, I can't _______" (pick you up, go outside, etc).  Lots of things aren't fair.

But yesterday Livie had a good day.   I can honestly say that it was probably her first good day in a month.  I might actually go as far as to say that it was probably the best day I have had in a month too. 

Livie's preschool teacher is getting married in March, and our bird has the privilege of being the flower girl.  Livie is quite excited and in preparation, looks through our wedding scrapbook almost daily.  This has led to her own scrapbook being pulled out too (and I will admit that it goes as far as her first month of life).  The first time she opened it up, she saw a picture of herself on the baby scale, and pointed to it, asking me if that was Carter.   Looking over her first page, I realized that we had some of the same pictures of Carter as we did of Olivia.  At that moment, I resolved to finish Livie's first year in her book, AND make one for Carter.

On Friday, Livie and I chose 200 of our favorite pictures (after sorting through 11,926 photos from the last three years) and sent them to Target for printing.  Yesterday morning we picked up the pictures and a new album.  And thus began our good day.

Scrapbooking is definitely not my forte.   It always sounds like such a great idea - and then I sit down and try to do it and remember that I don't have patience for things like that.  As a result I have tons of pretty paper that will probably never get used.  But I was determined to make Carter a book, and Livie was excited for a "mother daughter activity"

We chose pictures and paper together, and Livie became an expert gluer.  She alternated between working on pages for her book and pages for Carter's book.  The pages that she made for Carter were done with such care - she used her favorite stickers and each page had its own story.  (I should write down Livie's thoughts behind each page before I forget)  It was the first time in a month that I have had the energy to do something with her that didn't result in one or both of us in tears and frustrated.

A good friend had arranged for a playdate yesterday, and she arrived at our house with her daughter just as Livie's interest in scrapbooking was about done.  Liv needed a chance to play and have fun.  The girls played for over four hours straight.  This gave me a chance to relax and talk.  I don't think I realized how much I needed that until afterwards.

I have no idea how long I have known her (we tend to say preschool) and we haven't always loved each other (I remember some boy-drama during middle school summer orchestra) but this friend (who I have no doubt is reading this right now) always seems to know what I need.  So thank you.  We need to do that again soon.

Our good day ended with some more scrapbooking and an easy bedtime.  Carter's book is started - we will finish it when we get the rest of our NILMDTS pictures back.  And even though most pages consist only of pictures glued onto pretty paper, Olivia's first year is done as well.

A sampling of Olivia's hard work (clickable)

And the first pages of the kids scrapbooks