Hello, dear friends. I'd planned a nice amusing blog, which I still plan to do very shortly, but instead for now I decided to ruin your happy Valentines Day with flowers & chocolate with dead baby talk.
On a Valentines Day note, we do "celebrate" the holiday. Of course, my dear friend Shannon made the observation today that I enjoyed greatly: "Come on people! The mascot of Valentine's Day is a dude wearing a diaper, flying around trying to shoot people. WTF?"
I realized then that living with a toddler, every day is Valentines Day. Dude running around in a diaper? Check. Flying around? He makes Buzz Lightyear fly around, so check. Trying to shoot people? Well, if he had better weapons, but for a 2 year old he does have good aim when trying to throw things at our heads, so I call that a check as well.
Of course, I'd much rather celebrate something like Christmas everyday. Maybe I can get Adam fat & make him bring us home stuff everyday. Just a thought.
But enough about Valentines Day before you folks who cry & moan about it just being a Hallmark holiday jump in & tell me how it's annoying.
I have a cluster fuck of thoughts as of late when it comes to dead babies...mainly my dead baby. I'd love to put it in a nice story form, but there is no such thing as "nice" when it comes to dead babies. So instead of a story form, I'm going to use dash form. Enjoy.
Well, um, not enjoy. Unless you're a weirdo who likes other peoples suffering.
-People never stop saying dumb things to you after your baby dies. Once you get over being told "this is gods plan" or "you can always have more" it doesn't end sadly. Having another baby brings out stupid, or amnesia. I mean, maybe I'm sensitive, but I've actually been asked, "so are you ready for this new baby?!" Um, I've been ready for a new baby since this time last year. Sure, it's one of those things that people ask no matter how many babies you have, but asking people whose baby died & are pregnant again after the husbands vasectomy reversal? That's kinda like the time my mom ran into a man with one arm & said, "I'm so sorry! I about ripped your arm off!" Sure, there was nothing wrong with that expression...unless it's a one armed man you're talking to & use it with. And yes, that's a true story. And my mom was mortified when I pointed that out to her. I have to try very hard not to blurt out, "Yeah, we just have to take Joel's name off the wall & move his ashes out of the room, then we'll be ready!" & watch the horror wash over the persons face as they realized what they've said.
-I've just learned that someone asked, when they found out I was being induced, "why can't they do a c-section, aren't they worried about her emotional well being?" or something along those lines. Because, you know, going through labor with my dead son was the worse thing that happened. That's like the most normal thing that happened...labor. Insult to injury? You bet. But that's the only thing I got to do with my son that other moms whose babies live get to do.
-Putting new baby clothes in drawers in the dresser, which is also where your sons ashes sit, is a very weird thing. Part of me felt like I was rubbing in his nose, "this baby is getting new clothes since you went & died on me."
-Why do people tell me I'm brave or strong? I'm not. I'm dealing with the hand I was dealt. I didn't sign up for this. I didn't volunteer to have my baby die & deal with everything it involves. Mind you, I'm not offended or anything when people say that, but I hardly think it makes me brave or strong. If I didn't want to leave Adam with a toddler & 28 cats, I would have jumped off a bridge when I found out. I just felt too much guilt doing that after I'd already let his other baby die in me. I felt like I owed it to him to stick around & clean his house from time to time.
-It's disturbing, but I find some amusement in one of the nurses, who was over the top anyway, that in her nursing notes, she actually calls our baby "the dead baby." I mean, other nurses just put "the baby," but not this one. He was "the dead baby." And what exactly does "patient bonding well with dead baby" mean? Who are these strangers to decide how I'm bonding or not? And sorry, I don't think bonding is the right word. Not that I know a better one, mind you, but I'm not thinking bonding is what I did. Mourning maybe? But the real problem for me is other dead baby moms. You know, not all of us want to hold & "bond" with the body that we would have watched our child grow in. Shouldn't that be my choice without having to worry about a sticker being placed on my chart about how I didn't "bond" with the baby? No, not everyone needs to hold & "say goodbye" in my opinion. Personally, I never got to even say hello, so I don't like it being assumed what I or others should or shouldn't do to show "positive" signs.
-Can't they work some magic where dead baby moms don't have to hang out in OB? I mean, can't the OB or midwife walk down another hall to catch the baby? We don't need fetal monitors, warmers, or anything else OB has to offer. Why stick us in OB, around other people having babies? Or why on earth expect me to stay like 2 days? Why not just walk us down the hall to meet the other parents & introduce us. "Mrs. Culver, this is Mrs. Smith & her baby. She did pregnancy correctly." Do they keep us there to monitor us for some sort of psychotic break, to see if we're going to be one of those crazy women who try to steal babies? I mean, what better place to test that than a OB department with a nursery full of babies? I just wanted the hell out of there so I could take pills & pass out on my own couch at home before the other parents who'd been friendly with us up until that point found out we were dead baby parents.
-Even when you know you did nothing wrong, you're paranoid as all hell. I mean, is Tylenol really safe? Maybe that's what did Joel in. My headaches & the Tylenol. Or maybe I bent over too much. Oh, or how about that day my midwife felt for his head, maybe she accidentally pushed his "off" button. Maybe karma does exist & this is what I get for all those times I cried to get out of speeding tickets. Yes, those are all irrational answers, but at least they are answers. And answers that doctors won't tell you are wrong, because that means another doctor didn't screw up. Some doctors...they really stick together. I still enjoy how one told me "there is no kidney condition that can cause a baby to die, it just doesn't happen." Sure there isn't. I'm happy that doctor broke up with me.
-If anything makes me brave, it's being willing to try this all again. I'm choosing that one. But if this one dies, I may just hire a housekeeper for Adam & jump off that bridge like I mentioned above.
-I actually joked today, in a horrible inappropriate way, that we should go ahead & put an urn on the list of baby things we may need.
-No, already having kids doesn't make it any easier. Everything you see your older children do, at some point, you think about the kid who you never got to hear talk, ask to watch Buzz Lightyear, have a birthday party, or even hear cry. Simple things like packing away clothes too small for them becomes a kick in your head, as you fold the tiny clothes one at a time & box them up, thinking about how your other son will never get to wear all of these expensive things your toddler outgrew after wearing it for 15 minutes. I didn't come home, look at Jules, & think, "Well hell, what was I just crying about?"
-No, having other babies doesn't make things easier either. I highly doubt I'll be handed this new baby & once again think, "Well hell, was happened in May 2009 again? I forget. Cinco de Mayo? That must be it."
-No, I won't get over it. No, it's not a phase. And yes, you're doomed to hear about this forever. I know this means that I may be a bummer to hang out with sometimes, but I promise I don't dwell in real life like I do here. Even when drunk, I promise I don't sit & cry. I'm too busy trying to make sure I don't fall down. So keep that in mind if you would ever like to hang out with me. Unless you want to get drunk & cry with me. I can do that, too.
I hope everyone had a good Valentines Day. Even though I see weird & in a mood, I promise I'm not. My fancy couch blog is coming soon. And I have a prenatal on Wednesday, so that should be fun. And by fun I mean a pain & aggravation. I wasn't a fan of prenatal visits when my baby was alive & healthy & I had no concerns about dead babies. But now, they are just chances to be told something is wrong. But at least this visit I get to complain about how I'm fairly sure I have gallstones, which are giving me "attacks" of pain & making it hurt to even breath for a few hours. If that isn't sexy & fun, I don't know what is.