He doesn’t need rose-colored glasses yet; they’re built in.

These sunglasses have brought Braden great joy for the past few months.

When he first started playing with them, he was a little unsure of what to do with himself. He’d hold them up to his face, turn them, flip them.

Open. Close. Open. Close.

He would wear them on his belly. His navel was protected from the sun’s harsh rays as he spun in circles around our living room, singing.

More and more he put them on his face. Showing them off to everyone. Smiling, laughing. So proud of having them there.

Recently, he broke them.

An accident, really. He dropped them and immediately stepped on them before he could still his forward motion. I saw it happen. One of the supports snapped right off.

I wailed inside. My whole body simultaneously tightened and melted for him. I just knew there would be a complete meltdown.

I was wrong.

He sat down on the floor and delicately picked up the two distinct pieces. He was quiet. His mouth was a tiny, slighty open “o” as he sat there, brow furrowed.

He held them in his hands, looking at them, his face full of questions. *melting*

I bit my lip and I told him that I was so sorry, but there was no way to fix them. *tightness*

He just stared at me with his big, blue eyes. *melting*

I told him that they were broken, forever. *tightness*

He kept trying to piece them back together anyway. *melting*

There he sat, holding them up against one another… over and over again, because he just knew that eventually they’d be fixed again.

That is him right now.

The beautiful, innocent child, blissfully unaware that some things can never be fixed after they’re broken, no matter how hard you try to put them back together.

In my heart, I know that my jaded view is not the one I want.

I want to believe, like he does.

Moreover, I never want him to stop believing that.

Oh world, please don’t take this from him for a long, long time.

Maybe there’s time for me to learn to believe again, through him.

If you can’t have it all, take a little.

My fingers are cold.
Upstairs my child is sleeping.
I’m down here alone.

Thermostat set low
in the hopes that next power
bill will be lower.

My toes are so cold.
There’s work to do; I’m too tired -
Emotionally.

A short drive from here
women are laughing, playing.
Warm, happy, together.

Here, it is quiet.
I sit still on the couch and
ignore my numb toes.

Perhaps, in the morn
I’ll join them very briefly.
Just a quick warm up.

The worst part is, sometimes I lose the arguments.

I believe you can choose, to a certain extent, how you perceive everything around you.  What you choose to see, to acknowledge, in each moment will have a significant impact on the quality of your life.

You can focus on the positive or the negative.

I spend a lot of time focusing on negative things.

A LOT.

This is not a recent thing. This is a life-long tendency. I have wasted so much time doing this thing, this sad, silly thing.

You know how they (you know, “they” – and I’m not referring to the Underwear Gnomes, like I usually am when I whisper “they” with emphasis) publish statistics on how much of your life you spend eating, or sleeping, picking your nose, and such? I shudder to think what are the horribly consuming number of hours… days, weeks…  even YEARS of my life that I have wasted focusing on the negative.  The Poopoo Stink.  The Crud Suckery.

What she thinks of me. How they reacted to what I did. What I looked like in those pants. What he must have thought of the things I said. How I could have done that differently. How much better I wish I was.  What if I hadn’t done that.  What if I had done that.  What if I could just do everything better. Like other people do.  The way I wish it were.  The way things aren’t.  The way they could have been, if only….

Or the countless hours I’ve wasted in my shower/in bed at night/in my car/etc having fake arguments inside my head with people. Just in case. So I could practice what to say IF the situation arose.

Can you believe that?

I IMAGINE AND ELABORATE ON CONFLICT THAT DOESN’T EXIST YET.

I know other people do it, too, but that doesn’t make it any better. (Well, ok, a little bit better. Heh.)

Inspired with the idea of having Grace in Small Things (aka Waging a Battle Against Embitterment. Hell.Yes.), and by my own need to lift myself up (drag myself out of the emotional stinkhole) this year, I’m going to try something.

I’ve tried really hard, at times in the past, to focus less on negative things… especially that fake arguments thing. For the love of banana pudding (and mmmm, do I love me some banana pudding), that really has to happen less.

So I need to stop myself from doing that.  Redirect.  That will be a start.  It will help.

But what’s going to help more, is to consciously start focusing on positive things.

And my first step is going to be… instead of having fake arguments with other people?

I’m going to start making an effort to tell people I come into contact with, on a regular basis, that I value them. I’m going to tell them what I like about them. I’m going to thank them for being there.

Anyone that moves me.  The bagger at the grocery store.  My best friend.  The person I follow on Twitter. My husband (a revolutionary idea, that one).  Maybe you.

I’m going to tell these people the positive things about them that occur to me.  Or how they’ve added to my life in a good way.

I’m going to encourage them.

At least one person, every day.

It’s going to help me start feeling more positive.

And maybe, just maybe, it will give another In-the-Shower-Fake-Argument-Having-Person something more positive to focus on that day, too.

You know, something other than those damned Underwear Gnomes.

I close my eyes.

I close my eyes at night and the blackness that stares back at me from inside my eyelids is deep and dark. I know my eyelids are right there. But if I didn’t… well, I wouldn’t. And then it would just seem like… Endless Dark.

It’s what I imagine it must be like inside a uterus.

Disconnected from the day, and staring into the black nothingness, I can’t help but start to feel like I’m floating. You know, as if I’m in some kind of fluid.

My thoughts drift.   I realize that I have no real knowledge of what is sustaining me, only beliefs… feelings.

I just am.

I sense there is someone out there – very close, but in another sense, so far still. Someone who loves me, whom I do not yet really know.  Someone who wanted me; someone who is waiting patiently to meet me.

My heart is beating but, after some time, I start to feel very tired and weak. I have the sense I am fading.

I still feel, but it’s so dark, and getting darker.

Suddenly there is nothing.

In the morning, I wake again, and I get to open my eyes. I see the world around me and time marches on.

I get to keep going.  I continue to be.

I hope that they are somewhere where their eyes have opened unto the most beautiful sights they could ever dream of, and that when I get there to join them, they are bursting with stories of all the things I’ve missed while they were waiting patiently to meet me.

The Big Fat Ugly: I can haz it, too.

Ok, so.  Since I’ve started talking about the death of this baby, I’ve been letting myself vomit all these emotions and feelings I’ve had onto The Internet.  That’s infinitely cool and wonderful for me, personally, and you have all been so supportive.  And I’ve been really glad of that.  But I’ve also felt just a little, teeny bit uncomfortable, because some of you have said things that I feel give me far too much credit.  Like that I’m really strong, or handling things with grace, etc.

And while I am incredibly touched by the kindness and love in those kinds of comments and messages, I have to be honest and tell you that I am really, really not strong or graceful.  I’m just emotional and mouthy.

I let all these things flow because I’m weak, and needy, and insecure and unsure and I’m searching for meaning and grasping at anything that might make me feel better.

And I really have to do exactly what I always say I do (be honest and real here), or I’ll be a total asshole.  Yes, I let myself be really emotional, and I am sharing with you guys these big, fat, weepy, sentimental thoughts I’ve been having.

I haven’t really typed any of the ugly yet.

Oh.Mah.Gah, the ugly feelings.  The ugly, ugly thoughts I have.  To be sure, I’m experiencing plenty of anger, shock, and bitterness.  I am, by no means, immune to The Big Fat Ugly side of this whole thing.

In fact, I’m an Expert at The Big Fat Ugly.

The Oh So Not Strong OR Graceful Moments of late:

• On Thursdays they show shots of babies born that day, at a local hospital (the one at which Braden was born), on TV. I saw this the Thursday after finding out Fuzzball was dead, and busted out crying, snotting all over the couch, in a heap.  When John came over to comfort me, I had the gall to wipe away my tears and tell him I was crying because those babies were so damn ugly. (Graceful much?)

• I was reading blog posts about ordinary things this past week… and seeing people complain about… regular stuff, and gee, that is normal and that is what we all do, yes?  But right now, I am rolling in and out of The Ugly, Bitter Phase.  I have been biting my fingers not to say things on these blog posts like, “Oh, Really? You’re upset b/c you’re leaking vaginally after you gave birth to a healthy baby? F YOU. I’m wearing pads and leaking after having my dead baby scraped out of me.  Go hug your baby and shut up.” (And really, all apologies, b/c the post was great, there was nothing wrong with it at ALL.  It’s just ME right now.  I HATE feeling this way.)

• Braden has been really “2″ this past week.  More than once I have just covered my face and ears and just started breathing really hard, instead of responding when he was freaking out about something.  As if he doesn’t need me.  As if I’M the child here.  I don’t know what I’d do if John wasn’t home right now.  (Strong? Hah.)

• I completely, totally, insanely lost it and shrieked at John about his french fry selection when he brought dinner home one night.  Then I refused to sit anywhere near him for at least the next 10 minutes to teach him a lesson.  Later, I realized what a douchebag I had been.  FRENCH FRIES. Ugh.

• I really, really, really, really, really, REALLY cannot handle people saying ANYTHING to me about God right now.  This includes how I should feel about/towards Him, how I should be reacting Faithwise, what He has planned for the future, or why He let this happen, etc. I know people don’t know WHAT to say at a time like this, and are just trying to help… but in all honesty (that’s what I’m trying to do here) I am PISSED OFF.  I am REALLY REALLY hurt and REALLY REALLY mad right now.   Please just let me be mad and hurt right now.  I have a right to feel this way.  I don’t know how long it will take before I work it out.  But I AM SAD, MAD, AND CONFUSED.

For the record, I have not resented anyone else for being pregnant right now – or for actually having healthy babies. Seeing complaints about issues surrounding pregnancy/birth makes me twitch a little, yes.  But there is no actual resentment.

Mostly, I just feel sorrow when I think about the ladies I was supposed to “have a baby” with.

Like her (the first baby I lost would have been close to the one she’s about to have).

And now, her – we were really excited, looking forward to dueling belly posts.  And her, and her, and her, and her, and her, and her daughter.

And look at all these ladies on my Pregnancy Roundup.  I had so many plans to do fun things for them, celebrations and updates and photos and… well, I just can’t do it now.  I can’t make myself do it anymore, and that makes me all kinds of Angry.

It’s the Big Fat Ugly.

I always wanted a kid with an egg growing out of his head.

Dear Braden,

You are endlessly in motion!

Mommy is SO TIRED.  Mommy is SO EMOTIONAL.

Remember how Mommy keeps telling you to stop throwing your various body parts on Mommy’s belly because there is a baby growing in there and we don’t want to hurt it?  That baby is growing so much that it’s taking all of Mommy’s energy away from her.  It’s SUCKING OUT HER FRIGGIN’ LIFE FORCE.

All your silly energy is awesome.  Mommy really loves and appreciates it.  Your songs and dances make Mommy smile so much.

But sometimes Mommy just can’t keep up with you right now… and that’s okay, except when things get a bit dangerous.

So, for the next couple of months, could you please stop:

• running
• climbing
• jumping
• running
• twirling
• leaping
• running A FREAKING LOT
• taking off your diaper and peeing on the kitchen floor, THEN running through the puddle, slipping, falling and bashing your head

Because Mommy is seriously going to have a heart attack if you don’t CHILL OUT.

Love,
Mommy

My Wiggle Bean

Theme for December 15th, 2007: “Small”

March, 21 2006. The first time we ever saw Braden James Carroll. And he was, indeed, very small – about an inch long. The picture says,”9 weeks, 2 days.” That is actually the time since the start of the last period I had had at the time. It had actually been 7 weeks and 2 days since Braden had been conceived.

He was not even a full 2 months old. Just 7 weeks. And his little heart was beating. I saw it.

Seeing my son for the first time since I had learned that he was alive inside of me was an experience which sparked a feeling in me that I cannot find the words to describe. Such emotion washed over me as to literally take my breath away. It was something like having a part of your brain and your soul that was dead for your whole life just suddenly awakening and coming to life.

He did a little wiggly, squirmy dance for us while we were looking at him. From that day on, we called him “Wiggle Bean.”

I thank God for my Wiggle Bean. No matter how big he gets, I will always remember how he was once so small, and yet he was more important to me than the whole world. And always will be.