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I remember what it was like to hate this time of year.  From Halloween to New Years, I was angry and sad and tired.  Facebook is rough for the “fertility-challenged.” 

Now that I have Zoey, I am guilty of posting every single minute of her wonderfulness (if you are Facebook friends with me, you know this is no exaggeration).  Part of this is because I have several friends and famly members who cannot, for the life of them, download a picture or video.  If it’s not done for them, they are confused…there are phone calls that make me want to pull my hair out (“the screen has a funny icon on it…”  sigh….)  Facebook is an easy medium to share pics.

That being said, I’m sorry that this causes pain.  I know what that is like.  I’ve tried to be more sensitive to this and will do better.

I’m still a lostbabymama too…


I had to laugh at the post on one of my favorite blogs today.  My Bittersweet Life wrote about how she was forgetting to blog now that she had her little boy.  She felt she didn’t have as much to write about (or the time to do it).  I’ve been feeling like that lately. 

Before I lost the boys, I often wondered, “what the hell do people blog about?  Nobody can really think their life is that interesting that they would have readers?  Really?”  Then I lost the boys and I realized that most people don’t blog for readers, they blog for themselves.  It’s the same reason people write journals (which, I must tell you, I’ve never been good at).  It’s not that bloggers are self-involved (as I had previously believed) but that they have a need to write and they don’t have a day job that allows them to do it.  I used to write on Surviving Baby and Belly almost daily.

That being said, I’m finding myself with less and less to write/complain about on this blog.  Belly has evolved from a place of sadness to one of worry to finally, one of happiness and joy.  Sprinkled in with all of that is a sense of loss, a fierce need not to forget the boys and desire to tell the world about my gorgeous girl. 

I guess I need to sit back and evaluate what I want to accomplish with this blog…and Fall seems the perfect time to do it…changing leaves, changing words…

Me, Hubby and Z baby were on vacation in San Diego for a week (talk about needing a Sherpa!!!).  It was lovely.  We got to visit some old friends, see the Zoo and Wild Animal Park and in general relax (well, I did, Hubby was there for a work conference).  I managed to keep Zoey from getting too sunburned and she seemed to enjoy all of the extra attention she got from her Aunties and Uncles…Zoey was an amazing traveler.  Despite being sick with a cold, she was quiet and calm on the plane, sat on my lap and looked out the window, nursed and relaxed and mainly slept all the way there and all the way back.  She’s an amazing child and I am thankful for her every day.

I was reminded again though that the grief of losing children doesn’t stop because you had another one.  On our plane from San Diego home, there were twin boys about a year old.  The mother was struggling to get on the plane with her boys and all of their gear and she made a comment about how lucky we were to have only one to deal with…Hubby looked so sad that for the first time, I realized that he still misses them as much as I do.  I smiled at her and said, “always remember you are lucky to have two…” 

I’m saddened by the loss of one of my favorite blogs Still Life With Circles.  I understand why Angie is leaving us but I’ve often, over the last 8 months relied on her to guide me through this phase of my life.  It’s hard to explain to those of you who have yet to have your next child but the grief is still there.  It doesn’t end because you’ve had another living child.  It lessens.  The joy of my little girl outweighs the sadness I feel about my little boys but that loss, it’s still there.  The realization that this is a loss that I will not ever get over is unsettling as well.  I don’t know what I thought I would feel after Zoey was born but this feeling of grief at what could have been with the boys has been unexpected.  Angie guided me through a lot.  I will miss her writing and honesty and reflection and humor.

I am totally and completely in love with Z baby.  She’s a good, sweet baby and she’s fun to take places and show new things.  My mother, with all the tact of a rhino constantly says, “did you ever think you’d love something so much?”  “Of course, I did,” I want to say, “I loved the boys with all my heart.”  Sigh.  I don’t say that because we are just getting our relationship back on track.

Anywho, not only is Z a good baby, she’s a very pretty child.  It’s like she got the best of me and the best of Tim.  Huge blue eyes, soft pale pink skin, a gorgeous smile and a great little laugh.  I know she’s pretty because she’s my child and I have to think that but…here’s the problem, people stop me in the street to tell me she’s gorgeous.  It’s become almost comical.  It took me an hour to get out of the grocery store yesterday despite only having 4 items.  I was waylaid by the throngs of Z fans cooing and smiling and laughing at her antics.  That’s a minor issue compared to the monster that has been created by this phenomenon.

Zoey loves to smile at people and get attention.  She catches people’s eyes and grins until they smile back and then she usually laughs or throws her hands up or coos.  However, if you don’t return her smile?  Well, she’s pissed.  My darling sweet child will pluck her Maggie Simpson like pacifier from her perfect rosebud pink mouth and hurl it at the lowly peon who dared not return her affections.  And then it’s followed by a yell which I can only guess means, “you are an ass!” in baby speak.

It’s her world people and we just live in it.

Whoa, what a ride it’s been friends and neighbors.  I’m back to the bloggy world from the land of Mommy.  Oh how I love the land of Mommy.  Zoey is great.  She’s growing like a weed, eating some solids (pears are her favorite), trying like hell to crawl, annoyed that Mommy and Daddy have a competition to see whose name she says first and in general, is the best baby in the world.

So let me update you on the past 7 months.

Two days after Christmas I went to the doctor for my check up.  Hot Rockstar Doctor had been concerned about my placenta previa.  He did an ultrasound and decided on an amnio.  If the results showed her lungs to be mature, he wanted to do a C-Section…the next day.  Holy not-really-ready-for-baby-a-month-early Batman!  Well, her lungs were indeed mature so she was coming.  I went to work, got my files in order, did a quick memo on who was where and what the status of the case was and left.  I came  home, called my mom to jump in the car and head to my house, packed my bag, went out and bought some newborn onesies and nighties and settle in for the arrival of my little bundle of cuteness.

The day of, as I prepared for Z’s arrival, I realized that I had never really contemplated a C-Section.  It’s a weird thing being numb from your armpits down.  Hot Rockstar Doctor cut me open, pulled Z baby out and she had a TON of hair!  A TON!!!  It was light brown with blonde highlights on the tips.  No lie.  So awesome.  She was beautiful.  My Uncle Carl – a NICU God – was there, he looked her over, pronounced her fine and they handed her to Hubby.  That’s when I tried to barf on her.  She’d get me back ten-fold later.  This whole time, Hubby has no idea that my blood pressure has dropped dangerously low because they couldn’t control some bleeding around where my placenta was attached.  The anesthesiologist whispered in  my ear that it was a good thing they waited for extra blood as they were going to need it and if I got a sudden headache to tell her immediately.  Bleeding controlled, belly sewn up and Mommy and Z baby wheeled to recovery.

And then the nurse – oh that nurse – she comes in, takes one look at the my grunting little baby and says, “She’s in respiratory arrest!!”  She snatches her up and takes her out of the room.  Hubby and I had a plan for this.  Z baby was never to be alone.  I knew people who’s babies had left the delivery/recovery room and their parents never saw them alive again.  No way, Jose, wasn’t happening to us.  He looked at me and I said, “GO!!!”  I wouldn’t see her again for 11 hours.  Uncle Carl came in and explained that she was fine, she had a little trouble clearing her throat and turned blue.  A “spell” he called it in his Southern gentleman way.  She spent the night in the NICU as a precaution and I was labelled “hardcore” by the nurses, doctors and Uncle Carl because 5 hours after my C-Section and several units of blood to stabilize my blood pressure, I demanded a wheelchair and a trip to the NICU.  I was breastfeeding my little girl, I didn’t care how much pain I was in…they didn’t seem to understand that the pain of a C-Section is nothing compared to what I’ve been through losing the boys.  My girl needed me and I was going if I had to crawl to get there.  Did I mention she’s so gorgeous?  Well, she is.

6 weeks later, Mommy and Z baby are home, enjoying getting to know each other when, out of nowhere comes a letter from my firm.  “We are sorry but you are fired,” it reads.  There are more details that I can’t share because well, I’m not sure that I’m not visiting my local EEOC office.  Yup.  After 3 years, I’m fired.

The good news is that I got to spend nearly 7 months with my little girl.  More good news is that I have a new job with the State and it’s more money and very interesting.  The bad news is that in the 4 months it took to find a new job, despite having unemployment, we drained our savings…we are broke. 

Happy but broke and I’m totally okay with that.

I dropped my basket yesterday.  That’s a polite Southern term for, “I went bat-shit crazy for no apparent nor discernible reason and/or demonic possession.”  Not because of anything particular – not grief, not worry, not sadness for Babies A and B, not concern for Baby Girl – I just lost it.

Yup, I was possessed by pregnancy hormones.

It hadn’t happened to me yet in this pregnancy were I act like a total irrational bitch and burst into terms for no apparent reason.  Well, lemme tell you, last night was the night.  I went out in a blaze of glory.  I often wondered how people could claim they killed someone and had no memory of it.  Now I know.  It was a daze of feet stomping, huffing and puffing, and I can’t even tell you why it started but it ended in me sobbing on the couch, screaming at Hubby, “you don’t care that my feet are swollen!  They look like Frodo feet!  I have Frodo feet!”  My face was bright red, hair was sticking to my wet and snotty face and I used the Puppy as a tissue (he had climbed on the couch out of concern and ended up leaping off like a bolt of lightening when I wiped my snotty nose on his ear – poor Puppy).  Seriously, it was like a scene from “The Exorcist.”

As you should do with all living beings having a tantrum/demonic possession, Hubby walked away.  He went into the office and left me alone.  When I stopped sniveling and sobbing and crying, he came back out and said, “you need to get in bed.”  At which point I actually said, “I don’t wanna!”  It was so awful and embarrassing, I can’t even tell you.  But I got up, crawled in bed, Hubby put a pillow under my legs to elevate the Frodo feet, massage them for about 10 minutes, handed me some hot cocoa and my Kindle and said, “Relax.”

When he came to bed about 30 minutes later, I was quiet, relaxed and calm.  I apologized to Hubby and said, “I can’t even tell you what happened….”  He said, “it’s okay, I think you just got tired, your feet hurt and your back hurts and you lost it.”

I love Hubby.  I’m totally going to have sex with him again…… 3 months or so.

My Aunt, who I spoke about yesterday, met me after my appointment today (everything is great, normal, on schedule, on track – it’s weird).  We were talking about the normalness of this pregnancy and how people in my life have been handling the impending arrival of Baby Girl.  Aunt G said something to me that made me take a breath, she said:

“TRUST me, you, your mom & I did not have a “normal” bring wonderful children into the world experiences the first time around.  We will over indulge and love every minute of it….we are definitely ENTITLED.  People in your life who hurt with you when you lost the boys are entitled to a little joy with Baby Girl.”*

Don’t get me wrong, I’m grateful that Baby Girl is healthy and kicking all the time but as some point, I’ve figured out that I deserve this and I deserve to be her mom.  Hell, everyone reading this blog deserves to have a child and be a mom or dad – by whatever means!  But I think my aunt’s comment made me realize that I’m entitled to smile like a jackass in the middle of line at Target and look around at all the people around me and say, “she’s kicking me.  It’s awesome.” (So what if they didn’t ask and don’t care and I end up in Dorothea Dix Mental Hospital.  Oh well).

Guess the point of this post is that I’ve fought like hell to enjoy this pregnancy, to make myself believe that she will be here, alive, screaming and healthy in January.  I’ve taken medication daily to function for my sanity and for her well-being.  I’ve gone to therapy, I know what triggers fear and anxiety and I avoid those things.  I’ve talked about being pregnant with people instead of pretending it’s not happening.

I think what I’m feeling is happy.  Oh shit.  It’s been so long, I’ve forgotten what happy feels like.  Well, I’m entitled, right?

*I am not so self-centered to think that the birth of Baby Girl will be a ground moving experience for everyone but Aunt G is right, there are people in my life who’ve literally held their breath, held my hand, or held me throughout the past 28 weeks.  They are entitled too.

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