A few years ago, I mentioned the 5K walk/run benfitting a local foundation. In 2006, the year we lost our son, it was the first year of the event.

I worked days on making team tshirts for everyone. I poured a lot into those tshirts. With each one completed, it made me feel good. Like I was doing something for him. That year, we were the only group to have team tshirts. Honestly, I felt a little silly with it at first, since no one did it. I thought at things like this people made tshirts. Whenever I have done Race for the Cure, people have team shirts. So, I thought people would have these at this event too. But no one did. Except us. The directors of the 5K loved it and a picture of my hub and dad in their shirts even made their website and information card for the 2007 5k. I didn't feel so silly then.

At our support group we attended that summer, I was talking to a new couple and I mentioned Curtis' name and the woman's eyes lit up and she said "Hey! Are you guys Team Curtis? We saw the shirts you made, we are going to make some for our daughter...." It was kind of like being famous. Not so silly anymore.

At the 2007 walk? It was CRAZY to go there and see team after team with their shirts. My dad looked around and said "look at what you started."

It was pretty cool. So, I take a pretty big pleasure in knowing that we were the first ones to honor our child that way. Each year the 5K has grown with more and more people. We are never going to be the top fund raisers, or have the fanciest shirts. (I choose to make them myself as opposed to ordering them. It makes me feel good knowing I did them. But, since I have the creativity and crafty-ness of a rock, iron transfers will have to do!) But....we were the first to honor our son this way and lead the way for others to do that same.

So, I went back to work for the first time in a year.

I was put on bed rest when I was 20 weeks pregnant with my daughter. My bed rest wasn't strict, it was more modified due to low fluid. I just needed not to be driving around 200+ miles a day like I was for my job. After our daughter was born, we tried to make it work for me to be a stay at home mom. The numbers seemed like they could work. The money seemed like it was there, but despite 2 raises my husband got....we just haven't been able to cut it.

It broke my heart. I loved staying at home with her. I said over and over it wasn't about HER, it was about me. I felt I deserved it. Damn it! I lost my son. At 40 weeks! I deserve to stay at home with her and spend every single moment soaking in her cuteness and happiness.

But, we decided to try me going back part time at a less stressful position than I had been in. We found a lovely home daycare for her and are on our 3rd week of our new routine. I work about 4 hours a day and the rest I get with her.

It isn't the same, but I am thrilled I got to have 9 months straight with her. Just her and I. She is doing just fine in daycare, has adjusted well.

Me? I am still struggling. I seem to be turning to food to comfort myself (a bad habit I have had my whole life). I don't necessarily love my new position. I regret taking a less stressful position because I miss having more responsibility. I wanted the 'easy' way out at work. (I was lucky enough that my old company welcomed me back with open arms). I miss being with her all the time. I look with longing at the baby and me classes offered we can't take because I am working. I look with longing at the supervisors at my work doing the job I used to do. And do well.

I guess I don't know where I fit anymore.

I haven't known where I fit ever since we lost him. I was a mom, without a baby for so long. Then with my pregnancy with her, I was just focused on that straight for 8 months until she arrived screaming. Now I am a mom with a baby, but still missing my son so much. I don't feel like I have a career like I did.

I just don't know who I am ....and when I feel like that, the instant gratification of food is the only thing that fills me up.

For a limited time, I put a link to our fundraising page up! It is for the 5K we pariticpate in to raise money in our son's name. I like this blog to remain pretty anonymous, and on the link to his page are pictures of us, of him and so forth. This 5K means a lot to us. The funds go directly to an organization dedicated to helping families dealing with stillbirth and infant loss. They are the organization we worked with to get our daughter here safely. I honestly believe without them, we would not have her. She had a cord issue as well and the MissingGRACE orgainzation had given me all of the tools to get her here. I had the best of the best doctors working with me thanks to them and particpated in stillbirth prevention research, thanks to them. Please, if you can, donate to us. Read the page we created for him....you will see how much it means to us.

Sigh.

I did something completely moronic on Saturday. To explain, we have to back up.

We packed up his stuff in September of 07. 7 months pregnant with her, we have a 2 bedroom home, we needed to make room for her stuff. My mom offered to store everything at her place. As I packed it up, I knew it would be the last time I would ever look at the stuff. I wasn't ready to sell it or donate it yet. But I knew if I do get pregnant again, and it is a boy, we will start all over with boy clothes and boy bedding. Packing up everything was really hard. I had picked out that bedding when I was 7 weeks pregnant. I had stalked ebay for random pieces of the discontinued set. I kept a few of the wall clings. Actually, 3 of them are hanging in her closet (they just look like huge stickers. Little bugs/turtles that matches the bedding). I put one in his memory chest. But, the rest of it, was packed away.

This May, right before his 2nd birthday, we were struggling with money a bit. We wanted to take a trip up north to a condo to celebrate his birthday. We wanted to take her to go with, we want to make this a tradition as we had done it the year before. But, money was tight. I thought long and hard and asked my mom to take the stuff to a child's consignment shop, Once Upon a Child. They have them all over the place. She did it, though it was really hard for her. I just knew I couldn't do it. And my mom did it, because she loves me. But I know she did it with a heavy heart and tears in her eyes. We got some money for his things, and that helped up be able to afford the two night trip for his birthday.

Fast forward to Saturday. I had been on the hunt for a stationary jumperoo for her. I didn't want to buy a new one because I know she will out grow it soon, so I thought aout hitting up a used kid's store. They have them all over, but I was meeting a friend for lunch so I went to one over by her.

Not even thinking.

Not even thinking I was walking into the store where all of his stuff was. I spotted the jumperoo area and walked up the aisle. There was a display to my right...a crib. Filled with the turtle and bug bedding. The valances. The crib skirt. The diaper stacker. The quilt. The clock, the light switch cover and the lamp.

I felt like I had been kicked in the stomach and slapped in the face. I stared at it for a minute. I took a step forward and ran my hand over the pieces. I had forgotten about the clock. I had someone make that for me to match his room.

How could I just walk into that store and NOT remember that is where his stuff was? I was on such a hunt for her, I didn't even think. And you know, if I had thought I would have figured maybe it would have been sold. But at least I would have been prepared.

I hadn't really thought about his bedding for a long time. But now, it keeps flashing through my mind. I can see it....but the sad thing is I don't see it in his room like I used it. I see it sitting in a crib at Once Upon a Child. Not even his anymore. Just on sale for $75 for some other little baby. Some other baby will have the cute whimiscal bugs and the turtle with a party hat. The bedding I bought at 7 weeks pregnant because I just couldn't wait.

No great thoughts about it. No wonderful thought to pull it all together. Just the knowledge I am never going back to that store again. I can't handle it.

I don't think a lot of people read my blog. Sure, people stumble upon it by accident, google or something, but it is frickin' sad! People love funny, true to life blogs. I wish I had a blog like that. A blog to make you laugh, a blog to make you think. That would be cool.

Once upon a time, I wanted to write. Fiction stories, mainly. I wrote story after story. Thanking my lucky stars I went to a high school that offered Creative Writing as an elective. And you know what? I was a pretty good writer.

I never pursued it. I wasn't so good with the grammar (as I am sure you have figured out by now) or making a point. Or following a train of thought. I really didn't enjoy English classes and learning about grammar either. When I got to college, I majored in Social Work and writing took a back seat. Quite a few years later, I took a creative writing class through a community education class. Once again, I really enjoyed it, but I think I realized I wasn't that great of a writer. I was average, I just enjoyed doing it.

I do think I write about him fairly well. I think my feelings with him do come pouring out. It may be a mubled mess but I try my best to convey what I am feeling. I was asked to write a piece for a local newsletter for an organization that has helped us in our grief process. It was about having a living child after a loss and if they liked it, maybe they would use it. I tried NOT to get excited. I knew they probably wouldn't use it, as they have asked me to write other stuff they have never published. The funny thing is, when it comes to him, getting to talk about him or write about him: I just love it. It is another way I have to keep his memory going. It is another way to parent him. I was pretty sad to receive an email back saying "Gee, that was nice. Thanks!" So, yeah. Obviously, my hopes and dreams of finally being a plublished writer have been dashed. It makes me cry when I read it, it made Hub cry when I read it to him. So, there!

For your reading pleasure, however, I have included it below. I have taken the names out as I try to keep this blog as anonymous as possible.

A piece of him. A piece of her. Our version of a family.

I think it is an understatement to say we were shocked when our son was stillborn at 40 weeks. We planned 9 months for his arrival and were left with a few precious photos and an urn full of his ashes. After his death, I would often wonder out lout if I had really been pregnant. Had I really prepared a nursery? Had I really given birth? It felt like a gigantic game of pretend. A game everyone around me joined in on, and one day, we all just stopped pretending. A piece of me was gone. How could we begin to move through the grief that now surrounded our lives?

I became pregnant with our daughter 10 months after losing him. We suffered a miscarriage in betweenm so not only did we have the worry about a stillbirth; we had the worry about a miscarriage. We knew the grim realities. But, as a fellow loss mom once told me “When the fear of having a loss outweighs the desire to have a living child, I will stop trying.” So we kept trying.

My pregnancy with her was a roller coaster from day one. It was long, it was stressful, and it was joyous. Each kick, each wiggle, each time I heard her heartbeat or saw her on the ultrasound, I drank that moment in. I tried my best to be optimistic; I tried to push the fear away. I worked hard, very hard, to get my daughter here safely. Each day slowly, and I do mean slowly, inched by.

I was shaking as I was being prepared for my c-section. “It is cold in here,” I remember the nurse saying. That isn’t why I was shaking. On some level, I wasn’t convinced she would be born alive. All I knew was stillbirth. All I knew was 9 months of pregnancy and going home empty handed.

She was born screaming, which for a mom of only a silent baby, was a welcomed sound. “I want her to keep crying,” I told Hub. He just nodded. Smiled. Told me to look to my right, I could see her under the warming lights. “Is she okay?” “She’s perfect.”

We often will say the day he was stillborn was not our worst day. How could it be? We got to hold our son for the first time. We got to finally see his face after 40 long weeks. Yes, that day had some of our worst moments, but it will never be our worst day. It was all so different with her. It was all so normal. Her birth was everything we had been dreaming about. She was here. She was okay. She was coming home with us. The first time I held her felt like pure and utter relief. No one was sad. Everyone was happy. We had our baby.

We know she will grow up, and dream her own dreams. But right now, we are living our dream come true. It is a dream that was born out of losing him. After saying goodbye to him, I wanted to be the parent of a living child. I never thought that would be a dream, a want, and a desire of mine. I thought when I got pregnant with him, that was a given. But then I became the parent of a stillborn child. So, in his death, new dreams were born.

Grief is a funny thing. The first time she started to all out giggle, my eyes welled with tears. She was giggling! But I would never hear his giggle. The other day, she cut her first two teeth. Sadness overwhelmed me. Yes, I never had the chance to discover his first teeth, but on a deeper level, the grief that it is all going so fast hit me like a ton of bricks.

Hub and I have desperately tried to put the brakes on each day that is flying by. For so long we wanted time to hurry up. We wanted past that first year after losing him, past that intense, pain. Then, we wanted to get to the finish line of her pregnancy. We wished for the better part of 18 months for time to hurry up. Well, it finally is, but right when I want it to slow down. Each little milestone means so much to us. We don’t take a moment for granted. We know what it is like to wish we had our child with us, and this is everything we had hoped for. We do our best to live in the moment.

Her birth has been one of our greatest blessing. I cannot say it has healed us, because I don’t think you ever heal after losing a child. You learn a new normal. You learn to live with a piece of yourself forever missing. I lost a piece of my heart, a piece of myself, when he left us. But she gave me a new piece of my heart. It isn’t the same one he took with him, but that new piece; I think it is called joy.


Wherever my children are, they are forever the pieces of my heart. And for that, I am eternally grateful.

I often wonder what people think when they come over to our house. We have two glass cabinets on both sides of our entertainment center. On 2 of the shelves are his things. Foot print molds. His urn. 3 framed pictures. A rose. His 'baby book' which is geared toward loss. Little things people have given us that have been special.

I think if someone came to our house and saw those shelves, they would 'get it'. It is behind glass. In a cabinet. Kind of has an official, special, hands off look.

But then, there is the refridgerator. I love, love, love having a fridge covered in stuff. To me, it makes the kitchen look warm and lived in. Magnets all over the place, random pictures scattered about. I leave my nieces and nephews pictures up, my parent's Chistmas collage of pics from the year stays up year round. A picture of Hub and I from 4 years ago. Pictures of our daughter. Magnets from local establishments. A picture my niece colored for me years ago. A card my parents sent my husband, years ago. Off to the right on the freezer door is a 5x7 photo of him. It is the only picture I have with his hat off.

The company at the hospital that takes the newborn photos and usually charges new parents a bazillion dollars took it. Free of charge. I thought it was a really nice offer and agreed to have his photo taken. We had our own camera and got a lot of pictures, the nurses had a camera and took some. But even in my grief I knew I wanted as many photos as possible. They took him away to have his picture done and sent them to me in the mail. I had promptly forgotten about that extra photo until a month later when it arrived in the mail. I called Hub, all excited that we had another picture. He actually left work early so he could come see it. When he got home, it struck us that he should be racing home to see his son, not a picture of his dead son. It is all so damn sad.

It is a nice picture, I know they did some editting on it, because his head is nice and round. But it is nice to see his hair line, the tops of his little ears (so much like Hub's).

I put one of the copies on our fridge that day, and there it is. I know some people in our extended family struggle with the pictures we have around. It makes them feel sad. It doesn't make us feel sad though. He is just as much a part of our life as our daughter is. Pictures of him keep him real. But I do wonder, when people who don't really know us, or never really knew how "real" he was to us think when they wander into our kitchen. A fridge covered in photos, tons of her and one big one of him. Do they avert their eyes away? Do they look at his cute ears and sleeping eyes? Does it make them uncomfortable?

We have talked about putting the house on the market. We do need to move closer in to the city. I know it won't be happening anytime soon thanks to the housing market tanking, but one of my biggest fears is I know we would have to put away "his" stuff. Someone would see it and it would make them uncomfortable. A picture on the fridge. A teddy bear urn on a shelf...you really don't want to be confronted with that while house shopping. I just am not comfortable shoving these things in a closet. I don't want his picture off the fridge.

I miss him. I am so so so tired of missing him. It never goes away.

There are so many times that I think about him, that I want to write about him, that amazing thought I know should get written down and then life gets in the way, I am not near my computer and it slips away. So, when I do sit down to create an entry, I feel at a loss.

And while this blog is not about her, it is. It is about loving her and loving him and how they both fit into my life. This blog started long before her but I let it just sit, pretty much empty. It was after her arrival that the feelings came pouring out and I decided I need to continue to write.

So, she is 7 months now and all of a sudden two teeth appeared. I apparently have the world's easiest baby because I had no idea they were about to show. She was kind of cranky one day, but it was on a day where just daddy was in charge and mommy was out charging herself, if you know what I mean! :) I just figured her schedule was out of whack because of the difference in ways of doing things.

So, all of a sudden, a few days later, there were these teeth! I was so excited, I called Hub and told him. She has two teeth! Bottom, front. I dug around her mouth more, feeling their sharp edges...noting on her "first year" calendar the date of her first tooth.

Then I sat on the floor, held my head in my hands, and let the tears fall. With *every* joy surrounding her (which are thousands) comes absolute sadness. Not just because we should have been through this already. That is a big part of it, everything we missed out on with him, we get with her and that is hard a lot of day.

But....because it is already going by way too fast for me.

For the better part of 18 months, I was just wishing time away. I wanted nothing to do with the present and only wanted the future. Well, I got my future. And I have tried, desperately, to put the brakes on. Ever since she was born, I am trying in vain to slow things down. I really think I do a good job soaking in the moments. Laying with her on the floor. Letting her pull my hair, stick her hands in my mouth, making her giggle. Talking long walks with the stroller, dressing her in cute outfits, splashing in the baby tub... but it is all still too fast. I am afraid of it all slipping by. I have wanted this for *so* long, I was robbed of it in the last moments of my pregnancy with him, and I am *not* taking it for granted with her. But why can't I just slow time down? She will not be by baby forever.

What is sad, is I do have a "forever" baby. He will always be my tiny little dude, with sandy blond hair, tiny baby feet, tiny baby fingers.... I so badly wanted to see him grow up. Now I get to see his sister grow up and it all seems too much, too fast.

Talk about confusing, conflicting emotions.

For a long time; it was his room. When I got pregnant in the fall of 2005, one of the first things I did? Bought bedding for the room. I fell in love with a discontinued bed set, so I stalked eBay for random pieces to complete the set. I think I had the main pieces by the time I was 7 weeks pregnant. Crazy to think about, but I was really excited about that room.

So, my entire pregnancy with him was spent doing little things for that room.

It was actually in that room that I had my first weird, deep, gut feeling that he wasn't coming home. It is a weird thought I had when I was about 35 weeks along, not a paranoid thought, but a matter of fact thought. That is a subject for a different blog post though.

So, back to the room. After we lost him, we threw everything baby related around the house (swing, bouncy seat) into that room and closed the door. But the room was never off limits. I went in there often, to look around. To touch the crib. To remember and grieve. It also became a "catch all" for other random stuff, like a bed frame or a dresser we had no space for anymore.

But it was always HIS room. Blue and yellow. With cheerful bugs and turtles marching up and down the wall. "It is a turtle! With a party hat!" I exclaimed cheerfully.

When I got pregnant again, I knew I would redo the room. Regardless of gender. The bugs and turtles were his theme. I would use the furniture again, obviously. The bouncy seat and swing were brand new. But I wanted new bedding, wall art, a new paint job. Getting pregnant with a girl made that decision even easier. We would go from blue to pink, pink and more pink. In fact, in an effort to find joy in a a very scary pregnancy, I looked at crib sets at the very start. Focusing on picking out a set I loved made me smile and get excited again.

Late in September of 2007, my mom came over and started painting over his room to turn it into her room. She did a wonderful job. Her huge gift to our daughter. After she completed the pink and tan paint job, I got to work. Hanging the valance (that, once again, I had to stalk eBay for because I fell in love with a clearanced bedding set!), ordering pink and brown baskets, scouring the internet for a brown changing pad and on and on. There were those thoughts "What if I am doing this all again for a baby who doesn't come home?" But, to be fair to her and really, fair to myself, I pushed ahead.

Then, the room was complete. But...it still looked like his room. Despite the pink and brown and the clearly girly bedding with cupcakes and ice cream cones...when I walked in, it still looked like his. The furniture all in the same place. I could see a little blue paint peeking out from a corner that had been missed in our pink painting job.

So, I got to work again. I rearranged the furniture. I moved the rocking chair to the other side of the room, the bookshelf which can be placed two different ways, got laid on it's side against a wall instead of in a corner. The dresser went into the other corner.

I left the blue paint, however, peeking out. Not that I needed it, but a reminder of what used to be.

When she was born, she looked so much like him. At certain angles, it would catch me off guard. Her, with him peeking out, reminding me of what used to be.

Now that she has grown and changed, I don't see him in her every time I look anymore. I go into that room and my first thought is not "his room" like it was for 2 years. It is now her room, with burp cloths thrown on the floor, the baskets in disarray, the closet a mess....the room is lived in.

But that blue paint...it remains, and it catches my eye every now and again. Peeking out.

And with her....well, she is my 7 month old. With full cheeks. Chubby thighs, and no longer my tiny baby.

He is forever that newborn, and she is now a full blown baby. But....every once in awhile, while she sleeps, I catch a glimpse. I see both of my children. Peeking out behind those closed eyes.

So, it is Father's Day today. It is our first Father's Day with a living child.

In 06, I had just given birth to our son. In 07, I was pregnant with our daughter.

But, in 2006, I had a stack of Father's Day cards in the drawer. Being that I was due so close, I had stocked up on cards for grandpas, and great grandpas and daddy in advance. I didn't know what life would a 1 week old would be like, so on the day before my son was born, I bought 6 cards.

The next morning, I learned he was gone. What is sad, is while I was happily picking out Father's Day cards, my son was dead inside of me. And I had NO IDEA.

Looking back, I know he never moved that day, a Tuesday. I now figure he died sometime Monday night since I know I felt him that Monday. So Tuesday, I went to work, I picked out Father's day cards, I took a walk with my husband. I played with my dog. I emailed my friends. I talked to my mom.

The whole time, my son was dead inside of me. And I didn't even notice.

I cannot tell you how much the thought of this guts me. I was happily living my little life. And I didn't even know the worst thing to ever happen to me, my son's death, had already occured. Inside of me, no less. This haunts me every single day. There are a lot of other things that haunt me.

Like the image of him being laid on my chest right after he was born with his closed eyes and his daddy's nose. Looking so much like a sleeping baby, but so much like a dead baby as well.

Then when we finally decided to have the nurse take away his little body. Handing him to her and watching her walk away with him, wrapped up in a hospital blanket with his "Thank Heavens for Little Boy" onesie on.

These two images haunt my dreams, my waking moments, and every breath I take.

We wanted to take him home. I wanted to give his dad and grandpa those silly, cutesie Father's Day cards I picked out. But he died. And I left with haunting images of our short, much too short, time together and Father's day cards sitting in a box upstairs mixed in with all the other special things we had planned for his life.

I am sorry, to my dear dear husband. I am sorry I couldn't get him here safely. I am sorry you don't have both of your children to hug today.

So. His birthday came and went with little fanfare. Last year, last year it was a Big Deal. I got cards. I got letters. People remembered. This year. Not so much.

Now, I DO understand. And there were people that did remember. But compare them to the numbers of last year and it is hard not to feel slighted. Not that I am counting but last year we probably got 20 some cards, this year we got 3. And the 3 were from people you wouldn't even expect to send one.

I have to remind myself that he is *my* son. Not theirs. It is up to me to remember him. If he was alive, it would be our family's deal and not anyone elses. So I cannot get upset when a friend asks me to watch her dog that day or when friends casually invite us out for drinks.

But, that day. His birthday. He should be 2! Two!!! He should be holding up two fingers, mouth full of cake and saying "Imtwo!" all muffled like. Instead, Hub and I sat out on the deck of the condo we were staying in and drank beer and each ate a cupcake and talked. And talked. The could've and should've and would've. We went through them all. The guilt. The heartache...and the happy stuff.

Hours before we were in the pool with our 6 month old daughter. We were talking about what swimming would be like when she is older and imagining the "daddy! Watch me!" as she jumped off the side of the pool. Just them, a family of 3 walked in the door. A dad and his daughter, who was about 6, jumped in the pool together. The dad was teaching her how to swim, had her laughing so hard she could barely stay afloat. It was a nice scene, it was nice to look at a family and know that is our future. For so long, we would see parents and a little boy and look at them and know that should have been our future. It was a nice little gift on a hard day.

So, I do this weird thing since we lost him. I often look at the obits online. If I see someone who has lost a baby I often anonymously sign the online guestbook. People did that for me after I lost him and I did appreciate them reading about our son and taking those few minutes....

But, in doing that, I often reading another announcements. I will find someone who has been preceded in death by their child. My heart sadly hurts for the grief I know they endured. But, what I don't understand is that if the child was an infant, it will state that. It will say "She was preceded in death by infant daughter..." I guess I am confused as to why it says infant. I have never seen "preceded in death by toddler son" or "young adult daughter". Does an infant make people feel better? Does it soften the blow in "others" eyes?

I can hear people "at least he wasn't older" "at least you don't have as many memories when they are just a baby".

I think stating the baby was an infant somehow dimishes the importance of that little life in the eyes of the reader. I can't say for sure, because I read the infant part and my heart hurts SO much for that parent. But, honestly, I think others glance over that. It was just a baby. Just an infant. Maybe even a stillbirth. No one realizes when you carry that child...they are your child. Not just an infant. Not just an infant son. Infant daughter.

I don't want my loss "lessened" like that.

It is quiet in the house right now. Hub is gone, has to go up north to help his family put in the docks. Baby girl is sleeping in her crib after waking at some ungodly hour. I guess it isn't completely quiet because the dog is chomping on her food.

I haven't had a dream about him. People on my grief board talk about having peaceful dreams, a way of their baby telling them they are okay.

Well, I take that back. I had one dream that is clearly etched in my mind. It was back to May of 06 and I had just given birth. I was told I needed to find him to say goodbye before they took him away. The whole dream was me searching for him. The hospital was some huge house with ladders, and hidden enteries, and lofts. So I was looking and looking for him. I needed to say goodbye, but it was a wild goose chase. I could not find him anywhere. My heart was racing, I knew I needed to see him. I knew he was gone, but in this dream it was one more chance to see him. Of course, I woke up.

And that dream makes me remember sitting in the funeral home, trying to decide what we were going to do for his service. Hub was under the impression we were going to see the body again, like a viewing. I was under the impression that we weren't. So I gently touched him arm and told him no. He nodded, and agreed....but now it is a huge regret. Poor Hub. When we said goodbye to his little body, he didn't know it was forever. I did. But now that dream haunts me, much like I am sure Hub is haunted by not truly knowing it was the last time.

I am desperate to see my little boy again. I am climbing through the house, looking behind doors, wondering where in the hell he is.... and then I remember. I already had my goodbye.

In the first weeks and months after his death, I just wanted time to MOVE. I wanted it to be a year, two years, three years down the road.

Well, here we are. Rapidly approaching 2 years. In a way, it is like any period of time you look back on. "Wow! That was only two years ago?" And in some ways, it feels like a lifetime ago. I heard a saying recently "The days are long, but the years are short." That is so true. Day to day over the past 2 years there have been some long days. Hell, there have been some long hours. But I cannot believe I should have a two year old running around, tearing my living room apart.

My life feels divided these days. 3 clear segments. Before he was born. After he was born. After she was born. Obviously, after he was born and after she was born blend together. Because her birth was a happy event. Her birth gave us a renewed sense of living. Technically, we were living after he was born. We took trips, we remembered him. We lived. But we weren't _living_. Living, in it's truest sense of the word is different than just having lived. Lived feels like barely surviving. Living feels like taking an active roll in your life. She taught us what living is all about, it was something we needed to relearn. We had forgotten in the wake of his birth. We lived after he died. We knew we had to live to eventually be living again.

I know that sounds like a bunch of mumble jumble, but if you are in my head, it makes sense.

So, back to my point. It has been 2 years. Does it get better? Yes. Does it still hurt to breathe? Yes. Not everyday, but some days, it may as well be May of 2006, back in that hospital room, trying to give birth to a silent baby. To making the phone calls to our parents "we lost the baby." But other days, you get wrapped up in diapers, and silly songs, and just...well, living. But he is always there. Always. I cannot even tell you how often I think about him. It still is all.the.time. How I play the 'what if' game every single day. What IF my doctor had listened to me when I said 'he doesn't move much....' what IF at my 39 week appointment when his heartrate was so high the doctor had said "hm, that is weird...." What if. What if. What if he had been born alive. I would never know the difference. It is a hard game to play. Everyday he is there. Some people say they can "feel" their loved one with them. I don't. I don't feel him. I want to. I want to feel his presence. But I don't. That makes me sad. I don't know if he is with me like all the greeting cards told me. I hope he is, but I wish I could feel it.

After I lost him, I was desperate to find other loss parents who had gone on to have living children. I thought that was the key. I thought that would make it better. I knew I would miss him still...but I wanted that hope. Well, I am now one of those parents. We have a beautiful daughter. I won't lie, it feels pretty damn good to have a baby born alive. A baby who I got to bring home after giving birth. I now know, it doesn't make it better. In some ways, his loss hit me that much harder. I am now living everything I missed out on. I am thrilled to have that chance, but with her birth game more grief. While I knew it was a possibility, I was hoping to ease my grief, not make it deeper.

But, that being said, with deeper grief, came great joy. In this case, I will gladly to take the bad with the good.

Baby boy, I miss you.

Well, I now need to go back and catch you up.

Kick Counts, Myth, Whys, and How to Do Them: IN EVERY PREGNANCY!!!!

I have lost one child at 40 weeks to a cord accident. His death was 100% preventable. I see posts in pregnancy groups a lot and I just want to cry when I read people comment on low movement, how it is normal, how they don't do kick counts because they don't need to because "the baby always moves"

I had the world's easiest, most normal pregnancy with Curtis. I lost him one day before his due date.

I was never told to do kick counts and was brushed aside at a few doctor's appointments where I told my doctor the baby wasn't moving much. I was told "it changes as the baby gets bigger. The baby is gearing up for delivery."

This, in fact, is a myth. I often hear people say "I don't need to do kick counts, my baby moves all the time"

Doing kick counts is not about just making sure the baby is moving. It is about tracking patterns and knowing your baby's exact movements at the exact time. So, you will have a written record when it changes. Even with my daughter I had a genetic counselor tell me that I didn't need to do kick counts as long as the baby was moving. That makes NO SENSE! Which just proves to me that people don't really know how and why to do kick counts and what they are for. Since having my second child, I have learned the extreme importance of doing kick counts.

In fact, her movements showed she was in distress the night before she was born. We could have easily have lost her as well. She was taken at 35w 5d with a cord issue. Just like the one we lost her brother to. Below is a write up on how to do kick counts. This information is meant to EDUCATE and not scare. It puts the power back into your hands.

The doctor sees you 10 minutes every other week. You and your baby are together every single day. Quite frankly, you need to take control of the situation and not put your trust into someone who is not you. I did, and I lost my son. When I knew something was wrong.

I am going to give a run down here with antecdotal stuff I learned from my cord research doctor. He is working to prevent stillbirths. So many doctors tell you they can't be prevented and it is 'just one of those things". Which is a myth.We worked with him and he saved our daughter's life. Then I will link you to a few charts.

The point of kick counts is to know your baby's patterns, NOT just 'that they move'. It is to know what is _normal_ for your baby. It is to know it is normal for your baby to take 6 minutes to get 10 kicks, or it is for you to know it takes you baby 25 minutes to get 10 kicks. Not just that 'your baby moves'. Because, then if one day your baby takes 90 minutes to get 10 that greately varies from normal, you will have had history on your side to show this was not typical and that something could be wrong. You pick one time (I did two...) each day to track movements. It should be the same time each day. When you can lay down/sit down and just focus on the kid. You write down your starting time, and track how long it takes you to get to 10, and write down your finishing time and are done. I would suggest in the evening. Later at night is when your blood pressure slows as you wind down for the night and that happens for the baby as well. (Stillbirths usually occur when the mom is sleeping at night after her blood pressure has dropped and less blood flow has gone to the baby who already may be in distress due to a cord issue). So, I usually did it at 10pm at night or so. But, since I did it twice a day, I usually did it around 9am. After you get your 10, you are done.

If you do NOT get 10 in 2 hours, drink something cold/eat something and start over. If you do not get 10 in those 2 hours, go immediately in. Do not pass go. Do not call the doctor. (Why? because they will tell you to lay down and do the kick counts again. Often times, as long as there is some movement, they are not concerned ). Do not wait until there is no movement, because it may be too late. Honestly, I may not wait those extra 2 hours and try again. Personally, if it takes 2 hours and that is NOT your baby's normal pattern, I would go in. I would go in with any big deviation of the norm. If one day it takes 15 minutes, the next 20, the next 18, the next 20, and then one day it takes 95 minutes....okay, I would be concerned. Because you have had a pattern emerge and then all of a sudden there has been a complete variation of it. That is the whole point of kick counts, you WILL see a pattern develope. If you go straight in to the hospital, they have to see you.

If you call and leave a message, they can always push you off. (This was the cord doctor's advice! ) Baby's sleeping patterns CAN change which can screw up your counts. I did have one with my daughter where her pattern changed on me and it freaked me out, but she was okay. Also be aware of things like day light savings time, if that occurs (that really threw me off one day). Any movement counts as kick counts, but also be aware if the movements change to really sluggish. Baby's movements will change from huge jabs to more subtle....but towards the end if they are really slow feeling, really sluggish....I would go in. That can be a sign of low fluid. Also, if you have what is called hyperactivity, I would go in. This just isn't jarring movements for a few minutes or constant normal movement, this can only be decribed as flailing. That is the only way I can desribe it. It literally feels like the baby is fighting for their life. My daughter had this twice, the night before she was born and the morning she was born. It wasn't just painful, I seriously couldn't breathe, it didn't stop, she felt like she was trying to bust out. And it went on and on and on. She had plenty of other times where, yeah she was active, and yeah, it hurt...but nothing like this. When she was born later that day, she was tangled up in her cord. She had been in distress. (and it showed on the monitor, her heart rate was well over 220 beats per minute, not normal. Even though the nurse told me it was. My doctor, on the other hand, said 'let's get her out!')

Okay, so anyway, kick counts really can help you know that your baby's pattern is normal, that s/he is following her typical schedule. But if anything, and I do mean anything, concerns you do not hestitate. I even hesitated one night with her movements when it took longer to get the same number of movements. When a baby nears the end it is a myth that the movements "slow down" and the baby is "gearing up for delivery" (those statements drive me nuts too. Probably because I was told that 3 days before Curtis died). It is true the movements are not as hard or whatever, because the kid is bigger, but they will still be there. There still should be the same amount, in the amount of time.

You will see a pattern emerge after a week or 2 of doing kick counts and you really can use that as a launching point in the future to know if anything is wrong.chart: http://babykickalliance.org/KickCountChartPg1.pdf
http://babykickalliance.org/kickCountChart.asp
http://babykickalliance.org/KickCountChartPg3.pdf

I didn't use charts but they are a great tool, I just had a note book where I wrote down the start time, my tally, the end time and wrote on the side "12 minutes for 10 kicks" I actually like flipping through it on occasion now. It is a little record of our days together. I really do suggest writing it all down. I really feel with Curtis if I had *proof* like a kick count log my doctor would have believed me as opposed to my anectdotal "he doesn't move much" statements. But I didn't know anything about kick counts back them. I had even seen him on an u/s a few days before and he passed a biophysical. But he was NOT fine. Knowing what I know now, I know I could have saved him.

All this stuff isn't meant to scare anyone, it is meant to give you the power to help your baby if needed. My biggest compliant with doctors is they may even tell women to do kick counts but not WHY and what they can prevent. I know that scares people, but kick counts can and DO prevent stillbirths. My doctor with my daugher had plenty of patients come in and say "I was doing my kick counts and something weird is happening" and they would do an u/s and the baby had low fluid or whatever and was born with a short cord.... so, they can help prevent a tragedy. I wish more doctors would tell people the WHYs.

That is power in itself. http://babykickalliance.org/

Two more myths/facts.Cord accidents do not happen suddenly. It is a process that takes place over days, possibly weeks. Hence, why knowing your babies pattern is so important. Cord issues are not flukes. It can and does happen again. My son and daughter are proof. If you have one baby with a cord issue (including live births) you are 10 times more likely to have another cord issue in the next pregnancy....so if you have had one child with a nuchal cord or arm loop or whatever, it can happen again and this time the results could be much more dangerous.

Just think; we all know the Back to Sleep campaign, that has reduced SIDS deaths by thousands. Think of what would happen if everyone did kick counts.Cord issues CAN BE SEEN ON U/S. Often times "they" are not "allowed" to tell. Or that is what they will tell you, but they can see where the blood flow is going through the cord, and they can see if the cord is looped around the neck or leg or what have you. This is very important information to have. A friend of mine (an OB nurse!) who lost a child to a triple nuchal cord asked during her next pregnancy where the cord was. The tech told her she wasn't allowed to tell. She said there was even a mom in her room recently that had a double cord and they were not going to tell that mom. That info is SO important because that mom could be doing kick counts to look for a decrease.

A cord issue does NOT equal a cord death. With proper monitoring and kick counts, the baby can be born just fine!