Oof!

I finally feel like I’ve got it together (most days); juggling work, baby, home, husband and other life responsibilities. It is exhausting and consuming, but as of late, I’ve felt that I have a handle on it (most days). There are times I am so engrossed in the day-to-day necessities I forget I even reside in Griefland. And then, while traipsing along, focused on keeping all of my juggling balls in the air – WHAM - I am knocked flat on my back.

Saturday morning I walked outside into the bright, warm sunshine and inhaled the crisp, cool autumn air. It was a picture perfect fall day and it brought me to my knees. 

I went out running errands. As I drove, I admired the day and breathed in the season; my eyes welled. I pulled it together to run into my first stop. Fifteen minutes later, back in the car alone, I spot a small tree already changed color; my eyes well again. I park at the grocery store and blink hard on my way in. I manage to do all the shopping without a break down. In the car on the ride home I cannot deny it any longer. It feels like the wind got knocked out of me. It feels like there is a cinder block on my chest. I sob.

This gorgeous autumn day left me trampled.

I miss him. I want so desperately to know him.

Overcompensation

When Dragon was born we were flooded with presents. The deluge continued for months and months. It was an overwhelming outpouring of generosity – toys, books, baby gear and clothes, so many clothes! But that jaded bereaved part of me always felt that some of the gift giving was compensation for A’s death. Like people felt so bad and pitied us so much that when the opportunity arose to shower us and our newest, living baby with presents, they went above and beyond, overcompensating for their own sorrow and discomfort and for our pain as well.

This shouldn’t bother me. I feel like a jerk even thinking it. I wish I could just shut that part of me up and be grateful that so many people in our lives care about us and adore our daughter.

The same occurs when we run into folks for the first time after Dragon’s birth. To my wary ears when someone emphasizes their joy over the birth our daughter it feels more like relief regarding our son’s death and the subsequent fallout. “I’m so happy for you two!” Why because you think we’re fixed? Because you think we’re moving on and healed? Truth is we are healing and moving forward with our life but I don’t want that misinterpreted as we are “okay” or “over” A’s death. We are still absolutely broken and anguish over our missing boy each and every day. 

Related to the overcompensation is, I think, a sense of relief for family, friends and acquaintances. Relief that Dragon arrived safely. But more so, relief that this must mean E and I are doing better and that judgment alone makes my guard fly up.

When we became pregnant with Dragon six months after A was stillborn, I immediately knew I didn’t want to discuss my pregnancy or feelings with anyone other than E and some close babyloss moms who knew where I was coming from. To that end, I sent an email to all of our family, friends and even my coworkers asking them to please not ask anything and to not expect me to share much about the pregnancy. For the most part, they respected our wishes. Perhaps that restriction fed into the overcompensation when Dragon finally arrived alive and well. That I held our loved ones at arm’s length for a time that when the floodgates finally came down the gifts rushed in.

I really do wish I didn’t feel this cynical. But I can’t help but think about what the response would have been to A’s birth and homecoming had he lived. Sure our there would have been fanfare surrounding our firstborn child, but would it have been as over-the-top? 

Resurfacing

Hello out there. I realize it has been some time since I last posted. There is a negative portrayal of dead baby mamas who cease blogging after their Rainbow is born. While I can see the appeal and distraction of a new live baby, it isn’t the whole story of what’s been going on in Griefland.

After baby Dragon’s unexpected and traumatic birth, we had the usual no-sleep, constant baby-tending couple months. She then settled herself into a nice predictable routine. And then, the wheels came off. She was fussy and needy. She wouldn’t nap unless someone was holding her. She was crying while nursing and bucking at the breast. Her nighttime sleep actually worsened. I was at my wit’s end trying to understand my child and what she needed because clearly I was not guessing correctly. Meanwhile I was back to work part-time.

Fast forward another 6-8 weeks and after the pediatrician erroneously diagnosed her bloody stools as an anal fissure the G.I. specialist suggested Dragon had an allergy to the dairy in my diet. Since I have been dairy free our daughter is a happier, easier baby. AND THEN she started waking up every 45-60 minutes at night, all night long. WTF kid?! I thought we just fixed your tummy troubles. I was no longer functional – not mentally, not emotionally, not even physically (I was bumping into things, stubbing my toes…).

I’ll save you the drama of sleep training but we are making progress and finally all of us are getting some sleep.  All of that to say, I’ve been absent because I’ve been struggling to meet the bare essentials. I haven’t had the time or brain power to blog. I hope I don’t come off as complaining, I adore my daughter and am thankful for every minute we have together; I just want to explain that these first 6-months have been far more challenging and exhausting than I ever could have imagined and only now am I starting to get back to “normal” - like brushing my teeth twice a day!

Sometimes I wonder if we were “chosen” to have such a high-needs baby. If she had been our first, we’d probably be quite resentful and completely out of patience. But having lost A, our gratefulness at having Dragon keeps the rest of it in balance.

Obviously, if all my time and energy has been devoted to caring for her, I haven’t had much time to spend with A. And the chronic sleep deprivation has eroded the walls that compartmentalize my grief so when I’m laying in bed or admiring my daughter, my eyes well up and I’m flooded with memories of my sweet missing son. I really need to set aside some time to sit and be with him, to be with all the emotions. I miss him.

Most of energy still goes to treading water but now, at least, my head is above the surface. Lately I am struggling to survive but it is a different kind of survival from the grief stricken days. 

Toddler Tantrum

“I don't know about anyone else, but a massive toddler tantrum before 6 a.m. is exactly how I like to start my morning!”

This is a FB status I read recently. What I immediately thought was, “Yes please. I’d start each and every day that way if I could.” But, as always, I don’t write anything. Truth is I was rarely on FB before A died and since his stillbirth have avoided it even more so for the obvious reasons. What makes this particular post sting even more is that this girl’s son, the toddler culprit, was born a couple weeks before A. They’d be the same exact age.

I know many babylost parents have expressed it more eloquently than I, but this is just another example of how losing A has affected my parenting. Not that I took things for granted before, but when Dragonette is extra fussy or won’t nap unless she’s held, I am far more patient than I would have been if she was my first child.

I am not a saint of a mother. There are times when I cannot deal with her and pass her off enthusiastically to Daddy or Grandma. On rough days I look forward to a break in caring for her. But this newfound patience is most certainly a gift from my son. He has taught me what is really important in life and to cherish each small moment.

So when she won’t go back to sleep after eating at 3 a.m., I begrudgingly, but not resentfully, get up to walk and jostle her for an hour.

The Things People Say

There is always a concern that a rainbow baby will mislead others to thinking you are ‘all better.’ I have found that since Dragon was born only a few people have brought up A in conversation. This is more than a little disheartening. It doesn’t have to be a long, deep conversation about how I’m coping with this living infant given A’s stillbirth but even something more superficial like, “Do you think she looks like her brother?” Or “How much did A weigh when he was born?” You know, typical questions a mom might be asked when her second child is born.

So it is especially wonderful when those few people do talk about A. In particular, I was touched by a card one of my mother’s friends sent, a woman who I have met only a couple times and who (to my knowledge) has never lost a child. She wrote this:

“Congratulations! I remember feeling a little sad during my second pregnancy – not wanting to displace my first or love him less. Then number 2 comes along and miraculously it is wonderful! Your heart just gets bigger and you love even more. A is not forgotten. God bless both your children.”

It was a perfect sentiment. Without minimizing the stressful subsequent pregnancy, she made me feel like a ‘normal’ mom; plus she acknowledged A and his absence.

In contrast, I sat across the room from E’s aunt the other night. She had Dragon in her arms and we were chatting. She asked me if Dragon was my mother’s first grandchild. Obviously she didn’t think that question through, but I wasn’t going to just let it slip by; let A slip by. So I replied that A was the first grandchild for my parents and that they are over-the-moon in love with Dragon. Sheesh!

And so the quest to keep my son in people’s minds and lives continues with the added challenge that they are happily distracted by his little sister now.

Some more...

...random thoughts.

My sleep deprived brain, which is coursing with mommy hormones, is playing tricks on me. It's telling me to return to the hospital. That he is exactly where we left him. Down the hall to the corner room. Crack the door and peek in to see our precious son in the isolette right beside the window. We wanted him to experience the beautiful sunset that fateful birthday. 

Let's just go get him. He must be there, right where we left him.

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We are 5 weeks into breast feeding. My boobs leak, often. Most times it just happens naturally an hour or so before she's due to eat again. But they also leak when I think about my babies. I was laying in bed trying to fall asleep and all I could think about was sweet A. Sure enough the milk starting flowing. In a way this comforted me. My boobs, my body still recognize him as my child even if so many others no longer mention him.

Many family members and friends are lining up to meet Dragon. A few of them, for various reasons, have never seen A's photos. I want to make it a rule - If you haven't sat with us in the heartache of looking through his album, then you don't get to snuggle this warm, living bundle of adorable-ness. You cannot acknowledge half of my children. It's all or none.

And don't me started on our friends who never sent a text, card, email or called after A was stillborn. Never said a thing, even 7 months later when we got together or the first time since his birth.

But I don't make any such rules. And I don't cut said friends out of my life. I am trying to be forgiving. Trying.

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It is low tide. The waves gently carry my son further away from me. I stand on the shore his infant sister at my breast. Clutching her with one hand, my other arm reaches desperately for him. He floats calmly on the waves. I cannot reach him. I cannot put her down to dive in. I scream; call his name, implore him to come back. I crumble to the ground sobbing, knowing he is beyond my reach. I glance down at the baby on my chest and cry harder.

Why does it feel like one or the other?

Musings

This is just a quick, disjointed post of random thoughts.

I wanted this second child to be a boy. She is not. I worried (worry) about raising a daughter because of my own tumultuous relationship with my mother. Now that she’s here, I feel a little better. Perhaps I can keep the mother-daughter anxiety at bay until she hits middle school and the shit hits the fan.

I really thought this baby would look like A. She shares some characteristics – I see A in her nose and eyebrows – and her resemblance to her brother is growing as she does, but she is also her own person. Sadly, the time when she most looks like her big brother is when she is so soundly asleep that her tiny mouth drops open. With her eyes closed and her mouth agape she looks like her stillborn brother whose sweet mouth would not stay closed.

Like all babylost parents with their Rainbows, I often think how different it would be if A were here too. As hundreds of questions run through my sleep-deprived brain (When to introduce a bottle? How do we treat her crusty eyes? When will she sleep longer stretches?), I feel resentful. If A had lived, we would already be seasoned parents. We would know the answers to these questions and have loads of experience under our belts.  I also contemplate how challenging it would be to have a toddler running amok while trying to tend to a newborn. Seriously, this tiny dragon is wearing us down. I don’t know how we’d be able to manage a 15-month-old on top of this; but I still very much want him here.