His name is Davin Carroll.
On October 3rd, 2008, I found out he was alive inside of me.
I was surprised.
I sent my husband this photograph in an email with the subject line, “Ready to rumble?”
The body of the email said, “Here comes the fear, do-do-do-do….”
I was scared.
But also, I was cautiously happy.
Before long, I was full of hope. And dreams. And the future.
My last pregnancy had ended in miscarriage at 5 weeks.
The 5 week mark came and went. Trumpets blew inside my heart.
On October 18th, 2008, I had morning sickness for the first time. I have never been so happy to feel so sick.
I turned my arms within and held my baby a little closer, starting to believe I could hold on to that sweetness forever.
On November 10th, 2008, I saw him on a fuzzy, mini-ultrasound.
I saw his heart beating. And that was it. I Believed. He could make it.
We called him Fuzzball.
I thought one day I would be rubbing his head, calling him that.
I began showing. It felt glorious.
On November 24th, 2008, I heard his heart beating. It was vigorous.
In spirit, I jumped over the moon, grabbed a star, and brought it back to earth with me. It glowed inside of me.
Up until the end, I thought he was a girl. Maybe that is because, at a time when I felt like I was filled with snips and snails, he filled me with sugar instead. And spice.
And everything nice.
On December 9th, 2008 I found out he had died.
Everything nice scattered in the wind so quickly.
I saw him on a high quality ultrasound that day. He looked beautiful to me. I wish I could see him again.
I was too shaken up to ask for a print of the image. I regret that so much.
I have a pile of things – a pregnancy test, papers, armbands, photographs. They’re just material things. They are cold. They do not kick me in the stomach. They will never smile at me or hug my neck. But I look at them; I touch them.
I think of him.
On December 16th, 2008, people I hardly knew removed him from my body by way of a cold, surgical procedure. His body was sent for testing.
He was considered biological material.
Biological material. He did not have a name then. He was labeled “the product of conception.” They cultured his cells in a lab.
Davin had Trisomy 13.
I could write a whole essay on this alone, but that will come later.
I wanted to find a boy’s name I liked that meant “Hope.”
Even though I feel very little of it right now, I wanted to name him after the thing I thought I had lost forever, but which he gave me in surplus, even for such a brief time, without receiving anything in return.
Hope
And which, I know, will return in time. In part because he taught me that it’s okay to hope again even after you think it’s impossible.
Hope
Even if it hurts. Because it tells you that you are alive. And that you want to keep living. And that you believe that each day can be new if you can just let that come back to you.
Hope
Instead, we named him Davin, which means “Beloved.”
Forever he will be.
I miss him so.
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.
Will this ever end? HELL TO THE NO!
I thought about whining to you some more about the awful moments we had during our travels this past week. I even started writing the post. It went something like this:
“Whine whine whine tantrums blah blah blah vomit simper wimper fuss diarrhea waaaahhhmbulance traffic jams, blah blah etc, etc, poor me, whine.”
About halfway through I reflected upon things and thought, hey! Maybe they don’t want to read that regurgitated poop (puns intended) that I’ve really already mentioned in quite enough detail to please everyone.
So instead? More answers to your questions – because really, I have yet to break into this homework assignment far enough, and I shall continue hammering at it, You Wonderful People! This may take some time – I don’t answer questions in a brief manner very well, so I really only have room for a handful in each post before the darn thing is long and unruly.
Feel free to add more questions on to the original questions post, and as I move through, I’ll just continue answering whatever you want to know. I’m happy to do it, as I get to it. (Yay for stupid rhymes!)
Previous Posts Containing Answers:
- Answers to “Food-Based” Questions
- The Nipple Showing Question
- Second Installment of Answers
- Third Installment of Answers
Today’s Installment:
Kat asked: “How many kids do you want to have?”
Well, when I was a kid, I thought I’d have “several.” As I grew older, “several” became more like “3.” I suppose maybe that has something to do with feeling comfortable with what you’re used to, as there were 3 children in my immediate family growing up.
I still felt that way until my recent miscarriage. During the time directly following that unfortunate event, I had episodes where I was pretty sure I never wanted to have another child. Instead, I wanted to cling to the idea of getting back the one that had died. Whatever your ideas about the death of a child may be, it is of no consequence, because what I wanted was that very same child, at that very same time, in that very same flesh. And that, friends, is impossible, so I was coming to the point of stubbornly wanting none if I couldn’t have exactly what I had wanted.
The proverbial sour grape, I guess. Probably more like the tortured, wounded heart. I needed more time to grieve.
There’s no amount of “healing” that can happen to make it all better. Writing helped. Reading and talking to others helped. Being there for other people now helps. I do better on a day to day basis, as far as managing my emotions.
Of course, being pregnant again also helps, even if I’m a nervous ninny a lot of the time. It gives me something else to worry about and look forward to, so my emotional cup is crowded with other things, and there is less room for the swirling currents of pain and sadness.
I do keep thinking about December 24. That is the day the baby was due, and it is creeping up on me. I’m not sure what I will feel on that day. Today when I thought about it, I cried a little. Perhaps playing Santa will take away some of the pain.
I am just fine now with having 2 children, but I am anticipating the impending stress of having a newborn, a 3 year old, a husband on the road, and several Internet jobs calling for my attention, all at one time. I’m thinking maybe 2 children will be enough to drive me completely batshit nuts fulfill my life. 
LONG ASS ANSWER short? Two children, kthxbai.
**************
Kerrianne asked: “Heels or flats?”
OH BABY. Shoes? We’re talking shoes, here?
I love shoes. Flats, heels, whatever!
For pity’s sake, I even over-shoe-shop for my kid! He has 6 pair that fit him right now. (Even if he did call them “shits” at one point.) Yup. I have a problem. Heh.
**************
Veronica asked: “Are you nervous about the results of the Bloggies?”
Now THAT will show you how dated these questions are.
Yes, I was nervous about the results. In many ways, I am very laid back. But I am driven, and if I enter into something, I cannot fail. Must not fail.
So yes, I was nervous. When I found out I made it to the finals, I was 100% dorkishly happy and stupidly spastic. Being there with my beloved friend Alli made it that much more golden.
We both lost to that outlandish whore, Jezebel.
Bah! We are better than Jezebel. And way, way hotter. So there.
(Seeing this hot piece win her category made it all better, though.)
**************
Marylin asked, “When are you going to get that monkey you were on about in the Blog365 forums?”
HAHAHAHA! I told practically EVERYONE that I had a monkey and it would dance for them, or I was going to get a monkey and they should pet him, etc, etc when I was on cocaine (aka participating in Blog365).
But, Marylin, I DO have a monkey.
He’s 2 and his name is Braden. You may have seen me talk about him? *snort*
As for the Hippopotamus I also mentioned a lot during NaBloPoMo? No comment. *coughmyownasscoughsneeze*
Is this post too long? Did you read it all? Do you give a crap at all anymore? No?
Good, me either. More later!
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.
Confessions of a Preggie
- Being an “Internet Pee Holder” has never been more difficult. (You know you do it, too.)
- I want to take eleventy-seven naps a day. Braden is getting sick of the closet.
- The nausea is fading now (Booyah!) and I never threw up. And I want to eat all day long. Bring on the fatness, oh yeah, baby. (I am NOT a skinny pregnant woman.)
- I really, really need to do Kegels. Pee-Pee Leaky No Sexay.
- Everything makes me cry. All shows which involve danger to a baby should be banned or I might die. Dog food commercials and grocery store fliers are even a danger, for crying out loud.
- When you are reeeeee-heeeee-leeeeee tiiiiired, shaving is SO overrated. If you don’t do it for a month, look like a freaking APE, and your husband literally tells you that’s disgusting, you should continue to not do it just out of spite. Even if you were totally about to do it the next day. Asshole.
- It is evil to be pregnant around Halloween. I HATE ALL the trick-or-treaters who DIDN’T come to my house, and left me with all the candy, which, by law, I am forced to consume myself now.
- I don’t drink caffeine during the first trimester. Just my thing. But I WOULD KILL FOR SOME COFFEE, OMG, I MIGHT CRY SOON.
- John looked at me wrong several times this past couple of months. I have devised at least 4 fool-proof ways of killing him such that no one could ever discover his remains. Unfortunately, he does not have a life insurance policy. Tooooootal murder buzz-kill.
- My boobs were one of the first things to “symptom up” with Braden. This time, no soreness… until NOW. Thanks, Braden, for tweaking my nipple and leading me to this tender discovery.
- Oh, and yeah, The Rack Is Expanding. Bow-Chicka.
- Unfortunately, so is my ass. Badonka.
“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.
Who’s bakin’ one?
After I told the blogosphere I was pregnant, I started noticing that I seem to be bumping into quite a lot of preggies around The Interwebz!
And there are so many of us all milling around that I’m having a hard time keeping track.
So, if you’re pregnant, Belly Up to The Linky!
Leave your name and due date in the name form on the linky (and your URL in the other, of course).
If you don’t have a website, you can still enter name and due date in the linky!
(Please only sign the linky if YOU or significant other are pregnant. In other words, when baby is born, YOU will be a parent.)
Maybe we can all have a chocolate night together. Or Tums. Whatevs.
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. 
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