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.

Milk in the freezer and a swing in the living room

If you know me, you know that I am a huge supporter of nursing moms.   It can be great for mom, and breast milk is best for babies. I have always thought that if I had excess milk, I would donate it.

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.