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The TRUTH About Motherhood

Tag: Loss

  • I Swore I Wouldn’t be This Person

    I Swore I Wouldn’t be This Person

    I swore that I wouldn’t be this person. The woman who lost a child and then feels like she gets kicked in the gut every single time someone she knows announces their pregnancy. Fuck. I don’t want to be that person. I don’t want to suck all of the joy out of the room. I want to be happy and excited. I really do. I tell myself that I am and then it hits me like a sledgehammer, right in the heart. A painful reminder of what I can’t have, of what I’m too afraid to ever let myself want again, of what I will never get to experience again because I won’t. I can’t. I am too afraid to go through that pain again. Once almost killed me. It changed me. I don’t know if I can handle another shift like that. I might become unrecognizable, even to myself.

    I remember that morning at the hospital, seeing a small child, not even a year old, sitting with her parents in the waiting room; waiting to be called back for her surgery. I remember sitting there, with my silent womb, not a stirring, thinking to myself, I am glad I am not those parents because there is nothing worse than having a sick baby and feeling helpless. I know that doesn’t make a lot of sense. Maybe it does to someone who has been through it or maybe the pain was just too much and I had to detach myself from what was really happening to me.

    I saw that same little girl in the back when they were prepping us for surgery and I was again overwhelmed with gratitude that I was not sitting there as the parent of a child who was sick. I looked at my husband and I said (out loud), “It could be worse, we could be here with one of our girls who was sick.” He looked at me sort of bewildered. I guess he thought I was crazy because our baby was as sick as a baby could get, our baby no longer had a heartbeat. I was grateful that I could not hold my baby, see its eyes looking to me to save it, it’s cry begging me for relief; it was not tangible. My hurt was underlying. My baby was a promise that had been broken before I ever had the chance to fully appreciate it. In the first days, I wanted nothing more than to have had the chance to hold my baby but now, I know that if I had, the pain of the loss might have killed me on the spot.

    Now that broken promise haunts me. I can’t stop it from infiltrating my thoughts. I can’t stop being this fucking person who feels empty and a little bitter. I’m pissed. Pissed at the situation. Pissed at myself for still feeling so vulnerable. Pissed at myself for still getting so pissed. I fucking want to punch somebody. I’m envious of other people’s happiness and I don’t want to be that person. I want to be able to genuinely feel happy without the happiness carrying with it a tinge of pain; the reminder of my loss. I’m afraid to be around my friends who are pregnant because I’m afraid I will spontaneously burst into tears and ruin their happiness. Every first of the month, I mark the day that my baby died. It coincides with my period just to remind me that my womb is in fact empty.

    I know this sounds morbid and maybe a little crazy. I am so sick of pretending that everything is normal. I’m sick of pretending that I am all right. I’m not. All. Right. I am all wrong and I am afraid that I will not find my way back to my normal and that’s all that I want. Is normal so much to ask for? I am slowly beginning to live again but there is this damn underlying anger that I can’t shake. How does one shake the anger caused by a promise that can never be fulfilled? How do you fix a problem with no solution?

    Linking up this morning with Just Write because sometimes you just need to write it out to move through it.

  • Stream of Consciousness ~Lingering in Loss

    Stream of Consciousness ~Lingering in Loss

    loss, miscarriage, stream of consciousness, pain, pregnancy

    Loss~ Sometimes it crashes over me like a giant wave; swallowing me up and drowning me.

    I am all alone with this secret sadness.

    Everyone thinks I’ve forgotten & that I’ve gotten over my miscarriage.

    My pregnancy that I never got to share with the people I love.

    My baby who I never got to welcome into the world; into our family.

    Life carries on but I can’t forget. It’s always right here with me.

    It’s in my heart and bubbles to the surface and almost chokes me on certain occasions.

    When I see a pregnant woman who is about as far along in her pregnancy as I should be; my heart silently breaks.

    I am not bitter. I am envious that she does not know the pain of loss.

    I would not wish the loss of a pregnancy or a child on my worst enemy.

    I am sad for my baby that I will never know. I feel cheated.

    I am pissed that this happened to me.

    I long for what I should be experiencing too.

    No one hears me. When I lie awake at night unable to sleep & one of my daughters comes into get me, I lie there looking at my 2 beautiful babies and I yearn for something I’ll never know, someone I’ll never meet: my baby.

    The little life that lived inside me for only 10 weeks, who I loved more than words can ever convey.

    Loss is not fair.

    Why did this happen to me?

    Everyone gets to move on with their life but I can’t. I’m stuck in my loss being swallowed whole and I don’t think I’ll ever break free.

    I feel like everyone has forgotten; no one remembers or cares to remember the little life that almost was but my heart breaks and yearns daily to feel my baby in my arms and at my bosom. I never will.

    I try to carry on & be strong because that’s my nature. I’m not the victim who sits around and lets life happen to her.

    Though my miscarriage immobilized me completely for a month.

    Loss has crippled me emotionally.

    I pack my pain up in a tiny box & push it way, way down.

    I try not to drone on or linger too long. No one likes a Debi Downer but I’m down, down in the pits of hell alone.

    Not every day or constantly but the pain of loss lingers just beneath the surface; haunting me from within.

    Crying into my pillow in the middle of the night. Screaming, yelling hating the pain, wishing I didn’t know this pain so intimately.

    I don’t know how people carry on normally after their loss.

    I don’t know how or when life feels normal again. When does my heart stop aching?

    When can I stop pretending to be okay and actually be okay?

    There will always be a hole in my arms where my baby should be.

    There will always be a part of our family missing in my heart.

    I will never be the same.

    I will never be okay.

    My loss is my constant companion.

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  • Throat Punch Thursday ~ Baby Center & Miscarriage Edition

    Throat Punch Thursday ~ Baby Center & Miscarriage Edition

    Throat Punch Thursday, Miscarriage, D&E , Baby Center

    Baby Center Missed the Miscarriage Memo

    Miscarriage Reminder from Baby Center. Due to the holiday and a lot of moving and packing and general exhaustion in the 107 degree weather, I was a bit discombobulated and Throat Punch Thursday is a day late. Yesterday, as I was packing up our home for our final good-bye, Baby Center sent me a “Congratulations, you are at the half way mark in your pregnancy”… Only, I’m not because I miscarried May 1st at 10 weeks and 4 days. I know this because every 1st day of the month, I am stabbed in the chest with a little knife that reminds me that I am missing something followed by my shark week that starts a few days later just so the point is driven home that my womb is EMPTY. So fuck you very much Baby Center, I didn’t need the reminder of what could have been because I’ve never forgotten! I know I lost my pregnancy, I don’t need bells and whistles as a reminder.

    I got a bill in the mail today and I can’t let it go. Believe me I believe in paying for services. I pay my bills. I always have but there are some things in life that should be free and the fact that people have to be charged for these things makes me feel indignant and stabbity.

    baby center, miscarriage, pregnancy loss

    Oh yeah, the outrageous bill that I just received is what I’m being charged for my D&E. This has me truly indignant. In my mind, I KNOW it’s a surgery and it saved me from infections and all sorts of other painful repercussions but it’s not fair. I can’t even believe they charge for this. I understand that there are charges involved. I understand that doctors need to be paid, surgeons, anesthesiologists, nurses, medication needs to be dispensed but fuck me. In my heart, I don’t understand. I want to stomp my feet, scream at the top of my lungs and say “HELL NO! WE WON’T PAY for MISCARRIAGES!! THIS IS BULLSHIT!”

    No Charge for Miscarriage Please

    Paying for an unwanted D&E (is there such a thing really as a “wanted” one?) after my miscarriage is as awful as charging parents for their child’s pediatric cancer treatment. It’s like charging to give someone a drink when they are dying of thirst in the dessert. It’s like charging to throw someone a life preserver when they are drowning. It is withholding the cure for cancer because someone cannot afford the cure. It is bullshit.

    There are just some things in life that should be free and a D& E is one of those things. There’s nothing quite like billing a broken woman for her own misery. Talk about insult to injury! I want to punch the hospital billing department square in the gullet just for having the audacity to bill me for my miscarriage.  If anything, I feel like someone owes me something, an explanation would be nice. Maybe insurance should make pregnancy lossone of those things they pay for in its entirety, like getting your teeth cleaned. I’d considered it well being, its something that had to be done to keep my sanity after the loss. Paying for a miscarriage feels like paying for my own hit. I want to scream and yell for it to stop. I don’t want to pay for something I never wanted. I wanted my baby. I never wanted the miscarriage or the D&E. At the very least, maybe there should be a 6-month grace period before a bill is sent to the victim patient.

    I guess it’s all still too fresh for me because Baby Center, the outrageous bill that I have to pay for something I NEVER wanted and being told, “I Bet you wish you would have sold all those baby toys at the garage sell now, don’t you?” makes me what to throat punch the lot of them and so I am. Throat Punches to Baby Center, the billing offices and the other asshole who shall remain nameless for being completely insensitive and douche canoes.

    Who would you Throat Punch today? I know, I am in a really bad mood with this one. Sorry if I sound like a complete loon but honestly, leave it to all this emotional shit to surface right on shark week. This would be one of those posts where I cringe and hit publish anyway. I know it’s not politically correct to talk about the cost of a miscarriage or to be irate at Baby Center for sending me a reminder to celebrate the biggest loss of my life but it’s how I’m feeling today and I love you all for listening.

    I am being featured at Erin Margolin  And Your TRUTH Shall Set you Free today telling you all about my writer roots. You may be shocked at what you learn about your Truthful Mommy. I share my truth, no holds barred. Hope you will read and comment and stick around and check out Erin’s site. She is a wonderful writer and you will be glad you did. Have a wonderful weekend. Enjoy the moments with your family because that is what counts and try not to melt in this ridiculous heat. I’ll try not to bitch slap the next person who reminds me of my miscarriage.

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  • A Thousand Years

    A Thousand Years

    It seems like it’s been A Thousand Years since I first found out that I was going to be a mother for the third time. It’s been 3 months today since that test showed two lines. I was surprised and exhilarated and scared all in that moment. But mostly I was unexpectedly blessed beyond my wildest dreams. I’ve always wanted three children but it just didn’t seem to be in the cards and then it was and now it’s not. Mother’s Day was yesterday. This was my 7th Mother’s day. Every year, I thank God for blessing me with my beautiful children.Now, I know to thank God for my children every second of every day. I’ve always known that some women were not so lucky to be sitting, holding their children in their lap on Mother’s day but I never honestly knew their pain. The lingering emptiness and void that remains long after a baby is gone.

    I have been waiting for you for a thousand years

    I’ve always felt like I don’t deserve my children. I have days when I am grouchy and sometimes I am less patient than my girls deserve. I lose my temper and say “No” to a lot of requests to what seems to me to be frivolous requests. I rush them and hush them. But what if they weren’t there to ask? Then what? I’d give my life to be sure that they are here so why not give in to frivolous requests? Because maybe those requests are not so frivolous after all. I am now painfully aware how very important every moment of every day is with my children. I had to learn this lesson the hard way.

    Yesterday, I had lots of love sent my way. I thought I would be okay. It’s been two weeks since I saw that life changing ultrasound. I’ll NEVER be over it. I will never forget the baby that I was looking forward to introducing to my family this Thanksgiving. I feel like I loved that baby for a thousand years and I know I will love him for a thousand more. As far as I am concerned, I am the mommy of three babies. I just never got the privilege of holding my third baby in my arms. I feel robbed and cheated and sad. But a little part of me, feels grateful that I ever got the chance to feel that incredible love that a mommy can only feel for the baby growing inside her. It’s been a hard two weeks, the hardest of my entire life. I am learning to live in my new normal.

    I have loved You for a Thousand Years

    I feel like a ticking time bomb of emotions. The song that was playing that morning as we drove to the hospital, the very same song that I sang to my belly in the car the week before, A Thousand Years by Christina Perri, every time I hear it I bitter-sweetly smile at what might have been and cry at what I had to lose to truly appreciate what I had. I have new perspective. Mother’s Day to me is a day to give thanks for all the beautiful mother’s in my life.A day to appreciate the power of a mother’s love.

    My mother who loves me so much that she stepped back to allow me to feel my pain at my request, knowing that, as a mother, all she wanted to do was run to me and comfort me. My sister, who lost her own angel, 10 years ago. I never understood the solitude in  her pain and I now wish that I could just wrap her in love and make everything alright for her. She is so brave and beautiful. I admire her for her heart. My baby sister, who just celebrated her first Mother’s day but loves me so much that she held me as I cried and felt my pain so that the force of it did not kill me. To all my friends who have never felt this loss but love me so much that they surrounded me with love, prayer and understanding and to all of the beautiful friends and strangers who I am joined to forever in our loss., my heart goes out to all of you because I know how hard it is to lose something that means so very much. Please hold those babies you can in your arms every day and be thankful they are there and hold the ones that are not, in your heart where they will live and be a part of you forever.

    I’ll Love you for a thousand More

    Today is a new beginning. Today, I am rising from beneath the rubble of my heart. I am summoning all of my strength and I will get up out of bed, love my children with all that I am, live my life and be thankful for all the wonderful people and opportunities that I have been given. I am counting my blessings, wiping my tears away and coming back to life. I am no longer who I once was and things that seemed so important last month have no importance at all today. My priority is my family; my husband who has been my rock and my beautiful daughters who light up my life and show me how very precious life is and how very blessed I am to have them.

    Positive, how long I’ve waited for this

    An unnatural calm has over taken me

    I am happy but afraid to be excited

    Afraid my joy will be sort lived and snatched away

    My whole life this was the moment I was meant for

    But maybe it’s not to be, maybe it’s the cruelest joke

    To give such a precious git & take it away just as quickly

    I feel a sick feeling in my stomach which accompanies the thought of losing you

    I pray to God to spare me this misery

    To let us be together until the sunset of my life!

    The above quote was written July of 2004 when I was spotting with my first pregnancy.

  • The Kindness of Strangers

    The past week has been the hardest of my life, thus far. I’ve been walking around in a surreal state of existence since last Monday, only half-feeling my grief.

    I can’t seem to get the ultrasound image of my perfect baby out of my head. He looked so peaceful. In my heart, that was my baby boy.

    The girls have been distracted. I’ve gone out of my way to keep them occupied. Partly because I don’t want to see them sad, partly because I can’t survive another round of my 4-year-old ugly crying telling me that maybe if she loved the baby more, the baby would still be alive. My heart can’t handle being broken into too many more pieces or it may never heal.

    I’m not crying constantly anymore. I’ve spent most of the last week in a Vicodin induced fog and I’m all right with that. I need the physical and emotional pain dulled. Each ache and pain is a constant reminder of what I’ve lost.

    People are afraid to talk to me and when they do, I see the pity and sadness in their eyes. I’m able to talk about it now, a little bit. I still can’t say the word miscarriage aloud without crying. I’m still trying to wrap my brain around all of this. It’s hard. I’m trying to see the purpose but I can’t make myself understand.

    One thing has gotten me through without jumping out of my skin or curling up into the fetal position and dying, and that is you. All of you. Your love, support, kind words and endless prayers have given me the strength to survive this tragedy. People I have known my entire life, my parents, my family, my friends and my beautiful husband and children have been here to love me, to hold me and to give me the space I needed to muddle through.

    But you have given me a steady stream of reassurance and by sharing your stories of your own losses; you have made me feel not alone when I have felt the loneliest of my life. When I felt my whole world was spinning out of control and I was losing sight of any hope of normalcy, you have been my touchstone. A terrible thing has happened to me but through it, it’s been made clear to me how blessed I am in my life by the people I know. You are all so much more than just readers, followers and people I know on the computer, you are friends because only a friend could show such genuine love and continued compassion. Your words have saved my life and my sanity. Thank you does not seem to express the gratitude and love I feel for what you all have done for me in this past week but it’s the only words I have, so thank you from the bottom of my heart.

  • The End of the World as We Know It

    Telling my daughters was the hardest thing I’ve ever had to do. My husband decided to tell them the truth out of concern for me. My 4-year-old has been begging to be a big sister and he was afraid that in my fragile state, her relentless requests would be to torturous for me to endure. I think we should not of told her. My 4 year old took it especially hard. She is devastated. All I can do is cry.

    The morning of my D& C, I awoke at 3:30 A.M. My 4 year old woke soon after and wanted to say good-bye to the baby. She put her arms around me and whispered quietly to my belly, “good bye, baby. I love you!” Then she begged me to get a photo of her baby for her. My heart broke into a million tiny pieces. Then she looked up at me and said, “ Maybe if I knew the baby was in your tummy I could have loved the baby more and he wouldn’t have died.” I whimpered, holding back the flood of hurt and pain that wants to come crashing out and consume the entire world. I have failed her and cannot give her what she’s wanted so badly.

    5:30 am May first, 2012. It was a warm Tuesday morning. I walked into the hospital feeling lost and discombobulated, in a fog. We slowly made our way to the registration desk. It all seemed otherworldly, like it was a bad dream and wasn’t really happening but I couldn’t make myself wake up.

    After what seemed like an eternity they called us back to prep for surgery. All I could think of we’re my children; my oldest trying to understand and comfort her sister, my youngest mimicking my inner breakdown, completely distraught that the baby was dead, and my baby who I loved so desperately but would never have the chance to hold, to look into his/her eyes, to kiss and nuzzle their tiny head.

    Everyone was extremely kind to me that morning and I will always be thankful for their kindness. The kindness of strangers has truly helped me to survive the last few days. I’ve realized that sometimes its easier to speak to those who don’t really know you because they can offer an empathetic kindness and understanding unlike those who love you and have known you your entire life, because they are too vested and behind their love and support, you can see the pain and heartbreak they share with you and sometimes the burden of causing that pain is too much to bear.

    The doctor arrived and I told her that I needed one last ultrasound to be certain there was no heartbeat. I. Had.to.be.certain! There was no heartbeat only a beautiful, perfect baby with a profile that reminded me of my oldest. I was thankful for one last look and asked for the ultrasound photos so that I could grant my daughter at least this one simple request. I did not get overly emotional. I did not cry. I had my photo. In had my proof. Proof that my baby ever existed.

    The procedure was explained to me in ad nauseum and I was reassuringly told that it would be over in ten minutes. I found that to be the most unsettling thing of all that my entire life could be altered, my baby’s lifetime of promise and all of our hopes and dreams completely gone in a matter of ten minutes.

    Tuesday morning my life was changed forever. I am not the same woman I was yesterday or the day before. She is gone. I am part of a new club, the saddest club ever. The one filled with all the mothers of the world who never got to meet their babies. That morning, one of the worst of my life, I met 4 of the kindest nurses I’ve ever met, 3 out of the 4 had experienced miscarriages. Each time they offered their sympathies and shared their own loss, I found myself feeling overwhelmed by my sadness for their loss.

    I feel like a raw open wound and the wound is my heart and I’m not sure it will ever truly heal. I feel like I am on an emotional rollercoaster in hell and I cannot get off and I so desperately want to. I just want my mind to quiet and my heart to stop hurting so badly. I just want to survive. A quote was sent to me by one of my readers and it made me cry but I think it is beautiful, so I am sharing it here.

     

    “An angel in the Book of Life wrote down our baby’s birth and whispered as she closed the Book: “Too Beautiful for Earth!” ~Anon 

    It ‘s beautiful to think of it that way but it doesn’t stop the pain. I hope someday, I will meet my baby again and get the chance to hold him/her in my arms, kiss her upon her cheek and be his Mommy.

    *This and the previous post were written in my notes on my phone, as I was experiencing the hell of this week. It was written in a very vulnerable state and it may not make sense, or there may be misspellings or grammar issues, or jump all over the place because it’s hard to write logically when your world is falling apart and you can barely see to write through the tears and swollen eyes.

  • All I Can Do is Cry

    All I Can Do is Cry

    Estimated reading time: 3 minutes

    Cry is the only response my body could muster when I heard the word miscarriage.

    I want to scream but I can’t. I can barely think. All I can do is cry.

    My heart has been irreparably broken.

    This unexpected blessing that shocked me when I first saw the two lines, this baby that I didn’t deserve is now gone.

    My miracle labeled a miscarriage.

    I can’t breathe. I can’t think. All I can do is cry.

    I went in this morning because I was spotting; no cramps, no heavy bleeding; nothing. I expected everything to be ok. It wasn’t. It isn’t. I don’t know if it ever will be again.

    I can’t eat. I can’t sleep. All I can do is cry.

    We had only told a very few people, not even our little girls who have been begging for a baby brother or sister.

    I’m always afraid. Always afraid that I’ll say something too soon and something bad will happen.

    Terrified that I’ll have to explain a miscarriage, afraid my happiness will prove too bold.

    My sister lost a baby at 9 weeks. I am 10 weeks and 4 days, I thought I was safe. I wasn’t.

    The ultrasound showed 9 weeks and 2 days. That’s when our baby died.

    The moment I saw the tech’s face, I knew.

    There was no tiny heartbeat.

    Only a perfect, still baby.

    What does it feel like to have a miscarriage?

    It feels like all the wind has been knocked out of me. I feel numb.

    I want to crawl up inside myself and be still and never move again.

    I want to die. I want my heart to stop beating.

    I can’t bear the thought of people looking at me with pity. The thought of people trying to talk or understand my pain away weighs on me like an anchor around my neck.

    Just let me be. Let me feel this insurmountable loss.

    Let me cry my primal animalistic screams and pretend you don’t hear.

    Don’t touch me.

    Don’t speak to me.

    Just let me be alone with my darkness, my abyss; my hell.

    My baby was a promise for something better. The promise has been broken and I feel empty. I feel betrayed and let down by life.

    I can’t talk. I can’t breathe. All I can do is cry.

    While you are reading this, I will be at the hospital having a D & E because the thought of walking around with my perfect baby without a heartbeat inside me while waiting for it to pass on its own is too much to bear right now.

    I appreciate your love, prayers and support and I was hoping to be sharing with you our pregnancy this month, instead, I’m sharing my loss. It’s the only way I know how to move through my pain…to write it down.

    I believe that there is a reason for everything and that God has a divine plan for us all, but right now, today my heart is breaking.

    All I can do is cry.

    This miscarriage makes me feel like my body has completely failed me and I don’t know how to survive this gaping wound in my soul.

  • This is the End of the World as we Know it

    How do you say Goodbye to someone that you never really knew? This is the dilemma that I am faced with tonight. A few weeks ago a received the call that my estranged Grandmother was sick and in the hospital. I was told that it might be cancer. The news was shocking, but not like you might think.It was the shocking in the sort of a way that you might feel if a total stranger told you that they just found out that they might have cancer. You feel bad. Of course, cancer is a terrible thing to have happen to anyone. I hate cancer. But more that that, I was upset because I was going to have to be the one to tell my father.

    My father, like most Daddies to little girls, is seen through my eyes as stoic and tough. He always has been . He never cries and he seldom admits he’s wrong. He demands respect and he is an authentic man among a world of phonies. My father has never been perfect, has seldom been soft but has always fiercely loved his children. I never wanted to be the one to break his heart.There’s just something about the vulnerability of a man crying, that completely destroys me.

    Since the call, my father has returned to the states and we have learned that my father’s mother does in fact have stage 4 cancer that has spread throughout her pancreas, stomach and her lungs. Today, she decided that she does not want to take the medicine any longer because she feels out of sorts. She is a very proud woman, even when she is hooked up to machines and nearing her end. The original timeline was 6 months but with ceasing the medication and giving up the will to fight, we are assuming that it will come much quicker.

    I received another call tonight, it was to come and see my Grandmother and say my goodbyes. But the problem is that I’d feel like a hypocrite going to the bedside of a dying woman that I barely knew to say my final goodbye. For me, it would be like standing at the edge of a complete strangers bed and telling them that I will miss them and I love them. The problem is that I DON’T know her.I’m not even sure that I love her more than the stranger on the street.At this point, the only thing that we share is my father and our blood. It sounds so callous and hard to say out loud and I am sure that you think me a complete monster, but I must admit that it is the way I feel. I feel for her that she is dying and she wants to mend her fences before she leaves the world. But she has never wanted to mend the fences before. In fact, she is the one who, metaphorically, couldn’t have the fence the way she wanted it and so her temper got the better of her and she kicked that little fence until it began to break. Instead of fixing that poor breaking fence, every time she passed that fence she kicked it and kicked it until finally one day she completely broke it and then she never looked at the fence again…for 30 years. The fence was of no consequence to her.

    My heart aches for my dad, to see his mother dying.My heart aches for her that she will probably never get to mend her fences and for myself and my children, who never really got to know the woman who brought my father into the world. I pray for peace for all of us.

  • Count your blessings

    So, I always like to encourage people to count their blessings instead of their problems; You’ll be much happier and have a lot more free time! That being said, seems of late I’ve been a really bitchy a**hole about all things and everything, especially my girls. Maybe its been the lack of sleep, the week day single mothering thing, missing my husband, needing some nookie, stress…who knows what the answer may be. All I know is this is not who I am, but it seems its who I’ve become. Temporarily anyways. I’m working through it and feeling my feelings.  It’s come to my attention that I’ve been spending a lot of time on here complaining about my children. Boo on me for that.
    The reason I am saying boo on me is because I recently, last night when I couldn’t sleep, was checking out some blogs on last weeks FF and I came across one that really touched my heart. The name of the blog is Viva la Vida and I read her “Our Story” and it really reminded me of how truly blessed I really am. This woman and her husband, after being told it was medically impossible, became pregnant. There were complications and she had such a raging case of Hyperemesis Gravidarium that she had to be intravenously fed daily. She couldn’t even keep water down. Because of the condition, the doctor had her get weekly ultrasounds to check on the baby’s well being. As messed up as all this was, she got to see her precious baby grow in utero.Her and her husband were so excited to meet this baby.They had waited so long for their miracle and had held off on knowing the sex. Before her week 24 appointment, they decided to throw caution to the wind and find out the sex of the baby. The night before her appointment, she started feeling extremely sick and constipated. By the following day, their lives had changed forever. (Please go to her blog if you want the entire story. It is not my story to tell  and I can not do it the justice it deserves.) The baby they had watched grow for 24 weeks and had grown to love so much passed away, without warning and without a chance to say goodbye…or even a brief hello.
    Her story touched my heart and made me realize how grateful I am that my babies are with me. That I can touch them, hold them, kiss them, cuddle them, see their faces every morning and watch them sleep. I can watch them grow and get to know them with each passing day. It made me realize how lucky I am that they are here with me to aggravate and annoy me, at times, because being made crazy by them beats being sane without them…any day of the week. She is a brave woman to share her story. I was moved to tears when I read her story. I hope one day she will get to hold her baby boy in her arms again, in heaven.
    I get so caught up in the day to day craziness that is my life that sometimes I forget that “THIS” is everything I ever wanted! My girls are absolutely amazing. They blow my mind with their wit and beauty on a daily basis. Their souls and their intelligence beat that of any grown person,I’ve ever known.  I know women who have lost children before they were born, were still born at full term, who have lost infants, young children, and teenagers and it never seems to get easier or less painful when a Mother loses her children. The void that is left by the loss of a child is one I hope to NEVER know. So I am going to cherish my girls with all I have got for as long as I can,and if you hear me complain again from time to time….forgive me! I’m only human!