When did THIS happen?

And just who in the hell is responsible?
Cause, I’ll kick a man’s ass over it.

August, 2007

December, 2008

*sniff*

Thoughts From The Abyss

Late at night on Sunday, December 7th, I wrote this article, for Deep South Moms Blog, about what it feels like to face the holiday season with the first instance of the due date of my miscarried baby looming. When I miscarried back in April, I knew Christmas Eve would never be the same. That is when that first lost baby was due.

As I wrote the piece, I was reflecting on how far I’ve come since those first few days after losing the baby back in April. The utter hopelessness. The anger. The confusion and pain. I realized that the pain is so deep, it’s as if it will never go away completely… but over time, it somehow becomes easier to live with, and serves to remind me to be more thankful of the loved ones I still have in my life.

It has been almost 8 months since that first miscarriage, and I was just feeling like I had come out on the other side of the deepest of the immediate grief. And I knew that it was in part due to the passage of time, and the love and kindness of family and friends. In part it has been due to my being lucky enough to be able to write about my feelings and emotions here, and receive support from all of you. (Have I said thank you? Really. Thank you so much.)

I was feeling something I haven’t felt for awhile.

Hope.

But what’s really bitter now is that a large part of my renewed hope came from the fact that I had a new life within me. A life that was crossing into the second trimester of a pregnancy that I had not even expected, but that I was starting to believe was meant to help me heal.

I spent weeks upon weeks feeling tense. I spent almost 3 months checking my underwear multiple times a day, and staring at the toilet paper every single time I wiped.

Slowly, so so slowly, the tension had just started to recede.

I had seen and heard his tiny heart beating, quickly, with vigor. He was healthy, and moving. He was ALIVE. He was going to make it, damnit. He really was.

Surely, so so surely, the tension has just started to recede.

I found myself leaving the restroom and realizing, after the fact, that I hadn’t looked at my underwear. I hadn’t checked my toilet paper.

I believed. I wasn’t just saying I believed. I really did.

It felt so good.

And then on Tuesday morning, December 9th, everything fell apart around me (us).

It was as if I’d been walking carefully on a thin sheet of glass suspended over a black abyss for months, but somehow, I’d just started to believe it was cement, and I started tap-dancing. The bottom fell out – the floor exploded, and all I had to grab for as I fell were shards of glass that cut my hands as I dropped into the abyss.

No heartbeat on the fetal doppler for us to hear.

No little, pulsing muscle in his tiny chest for me to see on mini-ultrasound.

My lovely doctor trying so hard over and over to find it. My lovely doctor getting visibly frustrated, upset, but still trying and trying. My lovely doctor giving up and telling me she was so so sorry.

Ohhh, my inability to believe this was happening… and ohhhh, my immense guilt over believing for so long that it would end this way, anyway.

And Oh, my Anger that it actually did.

My hope? Gone.

No heartbeat on a full blown ultrasound.

I stared at the screen, at his tiny body inside of me.

People, he looked beautiful and perfect on that high-tech ultrasound screen. I saw his little body facing me, as if he was looking at me to say goodbye. His tiny little arms and legs were there, framing the perfect little body in the middle.

Framing the perfect, little, middle part, where everything was silent and still.

Not really so perfect at all.

Every night since then, I’ve stayed up late, so late, doing ridiculous things like working on my website redesign. Things that I can blur my mind with. I’ve stayed up until my eyes just couldn’t see straight anymore, until I just couldn’t hold them open anymore, so that when I did lay down in bed, I’d fall right asleep.

I’m not ready for the thoughts that will come in the quiet darkness.

Every morning when I’ve awoken, I’ve had that horrible moment when I realize that, Yes, this reality is my reality. There is still a dead baby in my womb.

And when they take him from me on this Tuesday morning, I don’t know what I’ll have left to do but start to move on.

And that is the saddest thing of all.

And again, I force you to board the bumpy ride with me.

And I’m sorry about that.

No heartbeat at yesterday’s prenatal appointment.

Based on size, Fuzzball made it to 11 weeks, 4 days.

In a sense, there’s nothing more to say.

And still, there’s so much more to say.

So little desire.

For now.

More Belly, Now With Rack

Once I start taking the belly shots, you better watch out. I am prone to getting carried away.

So here is The Belly at 10weeks, 2days. Orange to celebrate Fall!

Also, with Rack. Cause you know you wanted it.

November Rack Shot is here.

“She” is currently midget-like, apparently.

When I showed off Fuzzball the other day, I didn’t mention “her” measurements. (We’ll come back to the “her” thing). The doctor informed me that she took measurements and they date the baby at 8weeks and 2 days (as of last Monday, 11.10.08).

Which is off, thank you very much, based on the “automatic” calculations done for pregnancy length based on first day of last period. According to that, the baby was about 9weeks and 1 day. It’s also off based on when I felt myself ovulate, September 19.

Ladies, can you feel it when you ovulate? Ever since the miscarriage, I felt it more precisely than ever before, complete with what’s called “Mittelschmerz.” There was actually a pain in the ovary that was releasing the egg, and I could feel it very distinctly.

On September 19, I was grocery shopping alone, getting really annoyed at the “mittelschmerz” pain while I tried to walk around grabbing food. John and I had sex before that day, not after (sorry for the TMI) so conception probably occurred on that day. Which would date the gestation at 7weeks 3 days on 11.10.08 – or with the arbitrary 2 weeks they add for your “Pregnancy,” we were at 9 weeks 3 days.

But she said the baby measured 8 weeks 2 days.

SO, they’re dating my kid a full week younger than I’m pretty darn sure she is, just based on size. Which I think is kind of weird. But to me it just means she’s small for age. And I’m hoping that’s okay.

Oh, and I’m measuring approximately “Fat As Hell” so far. I’m not even into the second trimester yet, but the growing uterus has pushed out all my old Muffin-Top Fat so I am nice and Poochy already.

Here’s a much too graphic photo of my midsection. Like my underwear? Yeah, baby, I live for TMI.

About the “her” and “she” thing – that’s just the feeling I have. I’ve felt that it’s a girl ever since very early in the pregnancy, and I have no really strong scientific reasons why I feel that way – it’s just a “feeling.”

Things that other people would point to for “proof” would be:

• sex several days before ovulation is more likely to result in a girl than a boy.  Supposedly, Boy Sperm swim faster, but Girl Sperm are stronger and live longer.
• Heart-rate over 140 is more likely to be a girl (the heart-rate was 180).  Oops, this is actually false, but is a popular myth.  There is actually no correlation between heart-rate and gender.  A boy is just as likely to have a heart-rate of 180!

Regardless, I automatically think “she” when I refer to the baby and it’s not because of anything in particular that I can describe or explain to you. It’s just… because.  I know, I’m being incredibly scientific and highly persuasive here, right?  Oh well.

I’ll let you you know after the 20 week ultie.

And if “she” has a penis, then we’ll all just know that I’m officially full of shit.

Introducing… FUZZBALL!

That’s right, you get to see the inside of my uterus. And MAN are you excited. I just know it. Because, really, how damn sexy is that? You’re looking into one of my reproductive organs. RAWR, BABY.

Just what the heck are you looking at? Well, it has to be one of the worst ultrasound pictures I’ve ever seen, but hey, let’s not worry too much about that. It was a “mini-ultrasound,” and frankly, after thinking I was just going to be hearing the heartbeat via fetal doppler, it was quite a treat for us to see Fuzzball live and in person. (Yes, that is now the baby’s official nickname and I think it’s quite obvious why.)

We saw the baby’s heart beating on Monday, friends and loved ones.

And if I even try to tell you how that made me feel… if I try to illustrate for you with words how over the moon I was… how relieved and happy and just so totally on the opposite side of the pain and anguish I was fearing I would experience in a quiet moment of seeing nothing, hearing nothing, and getting the news I was so afraid of… if I tried to explain to you how my heart was so full of thankfulness to be seeing that tiny little musclie organ woosh-wooshing away at 180bpm… if I took the time to stumble around for the right words to do that…

…well, I might just be crying.

And no one needs to see that. Boogers and snot and all that mess.

Fuzzball’s strong and healthy so far, friends. Amen.

“Baby Jerky” and other miscellaneous body parts I save.

I was so excited when Braden’s little umbilical stump dried up all the way and fell off.  The belly button revealed by that disconnection of tissue was so clean, new and ultra kissable.

He seemed unimpressed by the whole ordeal.

And I was left with a weird decision… What the hell am I expected to DO with this little piece of, well… “baby jerky?”

My first thought was that I’m sure people would expect me to throw it away.  My second thought was that I couldn’t bring myself to throw away this little piece of his body that had once connected him physically to me.

And so, almost 2 years later, I still have it.

I’ll file it under miscellaneous body parts of his that I’m going to save.

Like the hair from his first haircut back in May 08.

Do you save pieces of your kids?  I’m not really THAT weird, right?

Anyone want $50?

WINNER SELECTED!

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Caryn B

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