For Better Or For Worse.

For better or for worse.
In sickness and in health.
Until death do us part.

Last Friday hubs and I celebrated our five year anniversary, a milestone that feels as if it has sort of crept up on me somehow. When I think back over our married life, the three plus years since we sat down and decided to start a family are a bit of a blur. A kaleidoscope of joy and pain and anticipation and grief with a miscarriage, and the loss of our first child, and the incredible blessing of getting to raise our twins, and I can't help but to feel as if we have lived a thousand lifetimes of experience over the short five year span of our marriage.

Five years ago, we, as two excited and nervous kids with our whole lives ahead of us, made a commitment to love, honor and cherish one another for better or for worse, in sickness and in health, and until death do us part.

There are areas of my life where I feel cheated - Peyton no longer being here, my lack of fertility, my inability to traditionally birth children etc etc, but one area where I know I have won the lottery is in having married a man who is my partner, my best friend, and my love.

He held my body up in support, when all I could do was collapse through Peyton's funeral.

He allowed me the space to step away from the world and embrace my grief.
Embrace my writing.
Find my new normal.

He encouraged me through two rounds of IVF and cared for me through twenty-seven weeks of bed rest.

He has proven himself time and time again to be an amazing father.

Committing my life to my husband is the single best decision I have ever made. Of course when we recited those vows, we couldn't have known that the "for worse" was to come before the "for better," but that was how it was to be for us, and as we now know all-too-well, nothing in this life can be planned on or predicted.

I have been thinking a lot about love lately, not only because of the love I feel for my little family, or because of my anniversary, but because I have been witness to such incredible acts of it lately.

Two years ago, my Uncle Eddie learned that a funny looking mole on the bottom of his foot was metastatic melanoma, and though we were told that his time with us would in all likelihood be measured in months rather than years, my uncle recovered, resuming his active life of skiing, and biking, and dancing with his daughter on the day that she walked down her own aisle and pledged to her new husband that she would love him for better or worse, in sickness and in health, and until death do they part.

This past February, my uncle learned that some pain he was attributing to sciatica was actually the return of his cancer which had spread to his spine, among many other places. This time the cancer was much more aggressive, and though we prayed for one, it was becoming painfully obvious that a miracle like the one he had experienced in healing two years earlier, was just not to be.

My aunt and uncle have been married for 47 years, and together for over 50. They have had 5 healthy children together, several grandchildren. Their "for better" was a beautiful and long lasting gift. During a recent visit, my aunt told me that she knew my uncle's battle was coming to an end, and that she wanted, as a final gift to him, to renew their vows. She said,"It may seem strange to want to celebrate, given what a sad and difficult time this is for us, but I will not have another chance to do this, and renewing our vows, in the face of his illness, is my way of showing him how much he means, and has always meant, to me, now while he can still hear it."

I couldn't help but feel my eyes welling up as I took in the bittersweet beauty of what she was planning. My aunt could have run and hid from all that was happening, as many of us would have, but instead she stared cancer, and all of the unpredictability it brings with it, in the face, and forged ahead with her plans to surprise him with a ceremony that would reaffirm for him that even knowing what she now knows, even knowing how their story would end, she would do it all over again.

A backyard celebration was planned, but last week my Uncle Eddie took a turn for the worse, and knowing that his time was limited, my aunt called in the priest. In an intimate bedside ceremony, witnessed only by the families of their five children, my Aunt took my Uncle's hands in hers, and vowed before their family, and before God, to love, honor and cherish him, for better or for worse, in sickness and in health, and until death do they part. My uncle, whose strength had already left him, rubbed at the wedding ring that he had placed on her finger nearly fifty years earlier and simply said,  "yes."

48 hours later, my uncle was gone.

Life can be crazy, and chaotic, and at times downright cruel, but it is also so full of beauty when graced by true love.

The true love of a husband who comforts his young wife through the loss of their first child.

The true love of a father, who finds the strength to heal to live long enough to see his daughter get married.

The true love of a wife, who sees beyond her own suffering and sadness, to provide for her dying husband the reaffirmation that he is the best thing that has ever happened to her - and to let him know before he passes, how very, very blessed she has felt to share her life with him.

I have lost my child, but I have still been blessed.

My uncle was dying, but he still was blessed.

My aunt has lost her husband, but she too has been blessed.

For better or for worse.
In sickness and in health.
Until death do us part.

We have each been blessed by the gift of true love, and despite the heartaches that life may throw at any couple over the course of their marriage, that is a gift to be celebrated.

Do I Laugh Or Do I Cry?

My house hates me.

Don't look at me like that - it's true.

When Peyton died, our seemingly perfect house had over $40,000 worth of unnecessary repairs come up over the first six months to a year of our grieving - talk about an expensive distraction.

Now, here I am, hugely pregnant and on bedrest, and our house has decided to turn on us again.

Honestly, at this point I no longer know whether to laugh or cry.

Yesterday morning I woke up to an odd sound. In my slumber filled haze I thought it was the dog licking something - herself, some furniture, something she had picked up off the floor. "Be quiet Charlotte," I muttered into my pillow, but the sound persisted. When I opened my eyes, I was astonished to find that the sound I heard was water dripping into the room from above our window casing. We live in the northeast and have had a TON of snow and ice in the last month - apparently yesterday our roof decided it had had enough.

I called hubs at work in a panic because there was water everywhere, and I am on bedrest, and what the heck am I gonna do about something like that? He came home and raked what he could off the roof (which, while it was a valiant effort, was kind of useless against the 8-12 inch thick ice pile-up that we have going on up there) and to both of our surprise, the water stopped.

Phew!

I had had an NST scheduled for the morning, and I asked hubs if he needed me (what I thought I was going to do, I couldn't tell you) and he told me he had it covered, so I headed off for the hospital. We were predicted to get a major storm, but luckily it was supposed to be clear until well after my appointment. I arrived at the hospital and wouldn't you know, they put me in the bed RIGHT NEXT TO that same woman from last week... the one with the junk food and the soda and the healthy babies - what are the odds? They did a BP check, overall pretty good though a little high, I am assuming from the stress of my house revolting against me, and hooked me up to the monitors.

The nurse asked how my morning was going, and I told her about the leak, at which point she told me a horror story about it happening at her mother's house, and how it did super extensive damage, and blah blah blah. She then told me to not go into the attic to check it out (like I was gonna do that anyway) and that if it started again, to let someone else deal with the leaking water. Well that is sort of hard when you are home alone. I mean if there is  a new leak that pops up, I can't just let it pour in without going over to stick a bucket under it or something.

After scaring me about all the crap that could be in our leaking water, and all the damage it could do and dollars it could cost, the nurse asked where the babies were, and I told her. She tried for a while but couldn't get a heartbeat on Baby A. The nurse kept leaving me and saying how strange it was that it wasn't monitoring, and then she would come back, contort me into some strange position where I had to hold this pad with one finger and that pad with another and I couldn't get to my ginger ale and boy did I want that ginger ale...

What may come as a shock was how unconcerned I was through this whole process. The snowflakes had been so incredibly active all morning and I think that is why. Sometimes my little baby boy A likes to hide from the NST pad so knowing this helped too.

Well an hour went by - then two, and still nothing but spotty recordings of his heartrate 99-200-154-96-202 like that it went on and on. I heard the nurse mutter something about "go see if you can find those twins" to another nurse, and a new woman appeared. She wheeled over the ultrasound machine, found the two babies and figured out the big mystery - both of the snowflakes are now lying transverse (horizontal!) Baby A has been head down and low for months, where as B will flip from vertical head down to transverse from time to time. I guess A got sick of having B sitting on his head, so he flipped too!

I have to admit, I was really frustrated and disappointed by this discovery.

I know it sounds silly to be upset over this but I really REALLY want to VBAC these babies. The nurse gave me some bullshit about how whatever the doc chooses I should be happy, and I wanted to scream because not for nothing, I know many women have c-sections without any issues, but my c-section with Peyton caused me MANY issues, not the least of which was robbing me of my fertility, so I am really not walking lightly into having another one like it is no big deal.

I am a realist, I know the possibility, and maybe the probability even, are there that I will have to c-section these babies, but that doesn't mean I am not wishing for VBAC. C-sections limit the number of children you can have, and we have always wanted a large family. I just don't think that unless you have had a c-section to bring a child into this world, and then lost that child, that someone can fully understand. It was also because of my c-section that we had to wait a year to start trying again, and another 6 months after that to discover I even had an infertility issue... so now that I am beating a dead horse here... let's just say I don't want one. I may need one, but I certainly don't want one.

Once the babies were found on ultrasound, my NST went a lot more smoothly. They checked my fluid, which they told me was wonderful, and sent me on my merry old way. I came home to find hubs working like mad at trying to get ice off the roof to no avail. I usually feel pretty grown up but I have to say, when things like this happen with our house I feel like a kid who is in over her head.

So after a long (and exhausting for hubs) day, we moved back into our bedroom last night- finally! We have been staying in the guest room for about a month - since the infamous mercury incident - and the water dripping in the guest room was just the motivation I needed to get out of there. I had been holding off, since we had put in new wood floors in the bedroom and I wanted to give them time to off gas, but I figured a month was sufficient.

 Well, to say last night was a sleepless night would be an incredible understatement. For whatever reason I was nauseous all night, and kept getting up to deal with morning sickness. At about 4AM, I finally closed my eyes and kept them shut, but wouldn't you know... 7AM I woke up to new drips - IN OUR BEDROOM! UGH!

Ty Pennington where are you!?

Hubs was outside shoveling, and looking mighty exhausted by it - poor thing! The storm we got last night was very wet and heavy, and I could see that each shovel-full was making him wish he had stayed in the midwest, rather than move up here to all this snow and mess to marry a northeastern girl!

I peeked my head into the guest bedroom to see how the dripping was going in there, and what had been a controlled drip into a bucket, had spread overnight into a splattering mess! Hubs came in and I gave him the bad news about the leak getting worse, and he headed back out, head down, to re-roof rake the roof! After that, he put more plastic and buckets and towels down in both bedrooms, and looking defeated, headed for the shower.

"We are gonna laugh about this someday." I called to him from the bottom of the stairs.
"About what?"
"About our house deciding to fall apart over the last month of this pregnancy. About not being able to get anything ready in time because of it. About all of it."
"We are?"
"Yes. We are."
"But not today," he grumbled.
"No," I admitted, "not today. But someday."

On Bed Rest, Frustration, And Searching For Hope.

Yesterday I woke up feeling a little overwhelmed. I am ashamed to admit it, because in comparison to the other hurdles of these past few years what's a little bed rest right? That being said, it's like all of my frustrations hit me at once.

I am approaching 7 weeks of bed rest. I thought last week marked 7 weeks, and then counted again to find that, no, I had somehow lost a week in there somewhere, and though the actual number of hours/days/weeks on bed rest shouldn't matter all that much, realizing I had miscounted felt like I had been duped.

I know that I have countless (up to 20 more) weeks of bed rest ahead of me, and that's okay, I am willing to do whatever it takes to get these snowflakes here and healthy, but for some reason yesterday, among all that conviction, I felt the sudden urge to get up and run away from all of this.

Well... to be fair I didn't really want to run away. What I really wanted to do was hop out of bed and clean my house. 


Hubs has been working loooong hours this week (read 6:30AM to 11:30PM long with a few breaks in there to make me dinner etc.) and spent all last weekend doing construction on our house, so to say this place is a disaster area is quite the understatement. There are dishes in the sink that I want to go do. Floors I want to mop and vaccuum. A bored silly little black lab that I would love to take to run and romp and play in the leaves. 


There are so many things I feel up to doing, but I can't.


I think if I felt more like crap, bed rest would be somehow easier to swallow, but barring some achey/crampy feelings, and the unrelenting morning sickness that I have somehow grown accustomed to, I don't feel unwell generally (although the last few days have hit me especially hard and I am wondering if I somehow a- picked up a stomach bug even though I don't go out anywhere, and b- am going to eventually get a bed sore because my rear and hips are really, really tender from all this laying around.)


Yesterday we got some really nice news, and though I can't go into it here, I was excited to talk about it with hubs when he got home. A few minutes before I expected him, the phone rang. 


It was Viacord. 


For those who don't know, Viacord is a cord blood banking service. This is how our conversation went.


"If you bank your child's cord blood," the rep was telling me on the phone, "and they need stem cells, they will always have a perfect match available to them." 
"Yes," I said, "unless the child is born with leukemia in which their stem cells don't do them any good."
"Well," he continued, "babies aren't born with leukemia."
"My daughter was."
"Born with it?!"
"Yes."
"I've never heard of such a thing."
"Well I guess I am that lucky."


He proceeded to give me the rest of his spiel, and with every word that he spoke about cord blood and stem cells and leukemia, the reality of our situation sunk in deeper and deeper. We are not a "normal" expecting couple. We are a seemingly healthy couple who had a child born with leukemia and no one seems to be able to tell us why. 


I hung up the phone and it all hit me - an onslaught of worries and fears about leukemia that I have somehow kept at bay these last 19 weeks with the exception of a few restless, mind racing nights. Up until now, I haven't allowed myself to go there. I have lived in this fantasy world of "that could never happen to us again," and then this call came in and I was forced to go "there", to that terrifying place, and I hated it. 


When hubs came home he did not find his happy wife ready to talk about our good news, but instead a a petrified mess blurting out in tears that maybe I was a fool. That maybe God tried to send me a clear message by destroying my tubes and I was too cocky and too proud to listen. That maybe He was also  making this pregnancy so difficult for a reason, and I was just too damn thick to understand.


Hubs listened patiently, in his normal agnostic-married-to-a-guilt-ridden-catholic sort of way of not understanding my relationship with/fear of God, yet totally respecting my right to my feelings, and then he told me he didn't think that was the case, and that it's okay to believe the snowflakes will come here healthy, and happy, and whole. He told me this in a way that felt somehow rehearsed, and showed me that beneath his tough exterior he was scared too, and when he left a few minutes later to start dinner, I felt like crap for having gone "there" with him, because I know he, too, tries so hard to push those fears from his mind.  


So there I was - not feeling very well, sad, overwhelmed, frustrated by the belief that I can't be like the seemingly 99.99% of this world who say to themselves, "let's have babies," and nine happy months later are blessed with crying pooping wonderfully healthy little children, and then the anger rolled in, and the depression and anxiety, and I re-traced every step I have taken on this struggle paved road to motherhood and sunk deeper into my hole. 


Basically I was having a pity party.


An out and out, true blue, feel sorry for myself and nothing and no one are going to get me out of it pity party, and that's when I saw it - a message posted by my amazing friend Lisette to her status. 


It read:
"Don't let the sadness of your past and the fear of your future ruin the happiness of your present." 


And as I read those words, something amazing happened - they started to feel true. So I read them again, aloud, over and over. I read them until they pushed away the clouds of self doubt, and fear, and anxiety, and though I had been shaken to my core by my frustrations of the day, and the conversation with Viacord, and these last two years- I allowed them to sink it. 


Yes I lost my child to leukemia and no one knows why.
Yes I am scared.
Yes I don't know what the future brings.


But right here, right now, I am pregnant, and these snowflakes are growing and doing well, and that is a blessing not to be overlooked. 


Yes it is okay for me to allow myself to feel hopeful once again.

**This Friday is our big anatomy scan. If you would be so kind, please send my snowflakes your good thoughts/prayers/positive energy/happy karma etc. etc. 

Now That I've Gotten That Off My Chest... & The Gender Guess Giveaway Winner

So there was no sugar coating my emotions on Tuesday - I was sad/ frustrated/ overwhelmed etc. etc. etc. That being said, I have had A LOT OF TIME over these last 48+ hours of bedrest to come to terms with the not so pretty news I was given, and try to move forward - while laying as still as possible of course, so that's what I am doing (for now at least, you never can predict the mood of the next post.)

So I did INDEED have a winner to my little gender guess giveaway. I will preface this by saying, again, that this is what we believe the twins to be, based on ultrasounds up until this point, but it is still too early to know definitively.

FIRST THE NEWS -

At our 14 week appointment we saw three lines and a rocket ship! You guessed it - We believe Baby A is a BOY (this one they said they were 99% sure about) and Baby B is a GIRL (This they were less sure of at this point, because Baby B hides in the shadows behind my belly button.)

The winner of my giveaway is none other than...

VIOLETT 1122 of Searching For LadyBugs!

Congrats Violett!
You can email me your address at doinggoodinhername(at)gmail(dot)com and I will get your prize in the mail for you right away!

I read Violet's latest post, and saw that she just learned the gender of her little bean as well - a boy! As a giveaway prize I wanted to get something symbolic for her, and when I came across this book, I just couldn't pass it up because it seemed extremely fitting - both because of the name of her blog, and because of the anxiously awaited birth of her little one.

How perfect a title is that? Violette, I really hope you enjoy reading this to your little baby boy when he arrives.

NOW DOWN TO THE NITTY GRITTY ABOUT THIS SCH BUSINESS-

A few commentors asked me about what could be done for this SCH, and at this point, sadly, nothing. I asked my doctor about blood thinners to bleed it out, and she said at this point that that is not something that they would try (I guess the benefit at this size clot would not outweigh the risk.) There is very little, intervention that they will do prior to 20 weeks of pregnancy, to stave off pre-term labor etc, so for now we just wait, and pray, and hope. In response to theluckylife's question, regarding how the SCH works, the damn things unfortunately are pretty unpredictable, so I will share what I have been told is a "best case scenario" for us to pray on.

SCH's can disappear in one of two ways. They can bleed out (hence the reason I asked the doctor about blood thinners) or they can be reabsorbed. If this is to happen, they say it usually resolves by about the 20th week of pregnancy. If it hasn't by then, they say it most likely will stick around for the remainder.

The increased risks associated with SCH (miscarriage, placental abruption, preterm labor, stillbirth) unfortunately remain even if the clot has resolved. I don't know why that is, they just do.

So I guess if we were sending a specific cry out to the universe, it would be for the SCH to either bleed out or reabsorb, and for the babies to be sheltered from any of these other risks. It's scary stuff to think about, but I do believe in my heart, that regardless of this latest shit storm, getting over this hurdle with healthy babies at the end of this pregnancy is a possiblity, so that is where I am trying to put all my energy.

So I guess that's about all to report from here. Hubs's cooking has improved by the day (thank Goodness) and he surprised me tonight with a yummy dish of rice, broccoli, and an organic (and of course nitrate/nitrite free) maple chicken sausage. So delish! I ate it, enjoyed it, and have thus far kept it down :).

AND SOMETHING TO SMILE ABOUT (or at least something that makes me smile) -

I will leave you with this, my latest snowflakes belly shot -
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I KNOW THIS CAN BE A TRIGGER FOR SOME, SO I AM PUTTING SOME SPACE HERE FOR THOSE SUFFERING LOSS/INFERTILITY WHO MAY NOT WANT TO SEE IT.
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I think our pup Charlotte knows something is up, don't you?

Thanks again for all the prayers!

I am a prisoner to my nose...

So the last few weeks have been pretty redundant. Wake up. Brush teeth. Back to bed. Take a few quick trips to the fridge/ bathroom. Back to bed. Take a shower. Back to bed. As you can tell... very exciting. 

I am happy to report that I have not bled since Thursday, and am crossing my fingers that this is some sort of good sign, though I know that SCH's are totally unpredictable, and no two cases seem to be the same. I have spent the last 4 days really focused on moving as little as possible and I think that is working. I have heard a few stories of SCH loss recently, and I can't lie, that's really hard. I am so incredibly in love with these two little babies, so incredibly in love, and am just holding onto the hope and belief that regardless of this damn uterine blood clot, come late February or early March, they will be here healthy, happy, safe and sound.

We went to the Doc this past Tuesday. I wasn't supposed to go until next Tuesday, but my morning sickness out of nowhere kicked into a super high gear, and I worried it might be some sort of complication due to the SCH. I am thrilled to report that once again both babes looked good on ultrasound and at one really adorable moment, they each leaned back to a laying position and put their hands in their mouths simultaneously and my heart just stopped because that was something their sister always did, in utero and in life, we even had Peyton buried with her hand to her mouth because she loved sucking on it so much, and seeing that sibling similarity between what she liked to do, and what they liked to do, was really touching.

Any guesses out there as to what sex these little snowflakes are? We have a pretty good idea, but have been told that it's still a little early to announce, because the ultrasounds at this point are not entirely reliable in that department.

To the first person who guesses correctly (or at least what we feel is correct at this point) and says Baby A is... and Baby B is... I will send you a prize :) Well in all reality, hubs will send you a prize because I don't leave the confines of my home except for doctor's appointments. Today was an exception to that rule however. Hubs told me he was worried because it looked like I "needed some fresh air" so he took me for a nice morning drive and I am so grateful that he insisted on it because the change of scenery did do me a lot of good.

You may be wondering at this point, what any of this has to do with the title of this post - "I am a prisoner to my nose." 

Let me elaborate. 

I have pregnancy nose - big time. Everything stinks. I spend little to no time on our leather couch because it is new (a few months) and stinks! stinks! stinks! Poor hubs has tried everything from baking soda to a product called Odorzout (at 45 dollars a bottle, what a waste of money that was!) to get the smell to stop offending me but it has been to no avail. Anyone have any leather smell removal tips for me? Because of this, I am spending more and more time just in my bedroom, my boring old (but not smelly) bedroom.

Beyond the issues with our couch, we have run into issues with our dishwasher where dishes literally come out smelling like vomit. I can't tell you how pleasant THAT is to deal with when you have morning sickness as it is! Poor hubs has taken every part of the dishwasher that he can reach apart, and still not found the culprit of the smell. Now, on top of all his other responsibilities with me being on bed rest, he is also stuck washing all our dishes by hand. 

Just goes to show, nothing is ever easy.

So there you have it - the reasons why I am a prisoner to my nose. I find every glass of water difficult to get down because even the clean dishes still smell dirty to me, and bottled water smells too much like plastic. I would love to spend my days watching TV (we don't have cable in our bedroom) or surfing the internet (don't have that up their either) but I can't because the couch stinks to the point that it has left me worried about whether there might be some danger to me being around it whilst pregnant even though calls to the state and federal consumer complaint departments, two pregnancy risk lines, Costco, their importer, the lab that tests Costco's products for safety, our state toxicologist, the consumer products safety commission, AND some random lab in California (yes, I know, I don't even live there but the stickers on it said that it meets California's guidelines for flammability and formaldehyde) have all assured me that while the couch may be "stinky" there is no reason to believe it is unsafe. Wow, typing that really illustrates how neurotic I have become - just another side effect of losing a child inexplicably to cancer.

So that's pretty much all the news that's fit to print here. I go back to the doctor on Tuesday to see if the SCH has shrunk at all (as of last Tuesday it was holding strong at 9cm at its largest point) and to watch my little ones dance around some more. Wish us luck!

**Also, sending prayers out to a few of my bloggy momma friends who are enduring their own trials right now, one who is facing her own SCH, and another who, though I don't know the details, is having a really tough time finding her way these last few days. Please keep them in your prayers too.

I'm still standing... er... sitting/laying

10 days. It's been 10 days since my little Peyton celebrated her second birthday in the stars, and I had my big bleeding fiasco. I have spent these days on modified bed rest, trying to free my mind from the worries that come with continued bleeding while pregnant. I've tried books, movies, surfing the internet, but the reality is that every trip to the bathroom is a reminder of this stupid SCH, and until it's presence is no longer so evident, freeing my mind from worry is not too likely.

For the most part I have put my energies into finding info that builds my optimism. I read a study saying that the risks of SCH's associated with IVF are much lower, so I have that going for me, and the vast majority of SCH women that I see on the online boards are still kickin', though there are other boards, boards that talk about loss from SCH, and as a means of self protection, I just try to ignore their existence.

I think the babies are trying to help me through this too. Though I have felt the odd "roll" here or there, being 14 weeks along, movement is not super evident as of yet, and the comfort one can get in these situations from a kick count is not yet an option for me. That being said, last night I felt quite the movement from my little baby B, and this morning, Baby A gave me what I think was the first jab of this pregnancy, and a welcome little jab in the side at that. I like to think they are saying, "don't worry mom, we are here, we are fine."

I felt Peyton begin to flutter at 14 weeks, so I guess it is not completely outside the realm of possibility with two of them in there, and my uterus being so incredibly tipped, that I should start to feel their movements ramp up in the coming days/weeks. What a blessing each movement is, a reminder that this is not for naught, and they are fine, and happy, and playing around inside of me.

I have a routine as I prepare for bed each night, of laying down shirt lifted, my eyes on my stomach just watching for the slightest movement, where I rub my belly, and remind them over and over how very loved they are, and how very wanted they are, and that it would be a really good idea to do whatever they can do to stick around and thrive.

This level of bedrest that I am on (bed to couch to bed with a few trips to bathroom and kitchen in between) is an indefinite situation, and my house is really starting to show the effects of that. I should mention that when it comes to house cleaning, I am a bit OCD. There are ways that I do things, very particular ways, ways that have been set in stone in the ten years of hubs and I living together (barring my brief absence from interest in caring for anything the year after Peyton died)  and since I have been instructed not to bend/lift/push/pull anything, poor hubs has had to pick up all the household slack before and after putting in a day at work. Sure, he doesn't do it the way I would do it, but he tries nonetheless and it's an effort that I truly appreciate.

I have to say that of all his new responsibilities, I find his efforts at dinner time to be the cutest. For the better part of our decade together, he has never had to think about what to have for dinner or trying to prepare meals. Sure, he has grilled some meat that I took out for him here or there, maybe cooked up some spaghetti, but for the most part these duties have fallen on me, and to see him present his little "man feasts" with such pride is just adorable.

In the past week and a half I have been treated to the finest in bachelor cuisine: taco salad, mac n' cheese, a really not very good chicken in peanut butter thing, a pb& j sammich, and last night, grilled cheese. Each meal is presented with a look of pride and a huge grin and I just smile and tell him it is delicious and "the best pb&j I have ever had" and he beams in appreciation, and that's all that matters. (Well, except for the chicken peanut butter thing, we were both in agreement that that tasted pretty awful.)

I guess that is really it then. I wish I had something more exciting to report, but life on bedrest fundamentally lacks any level of excitement. Please know how appreciative that hubs and I feel for all the prayers that have been sent to our little snowflakes lately. I will leave you today with some pictures of Peyton's birthday party. Though we were not able to be there, we are so appreciative that my Aunt took pictures for us. Like I mentioned earlier, it means a lot that our friends continued the celebration in her honor without us.

****EDIT - per hubs special request, he has asked that I clear his good name, and mention to the world, that last week he "attempted" to make chicken and dumplings... err... the dumplings were good.

Thanks to my sister for hosting the party at the last minute.

On Love - For Better or For Worse

This is today's Facebook status:

Four years ago today, I married my best friend, and while we never could have anticipated as we took our vows, the trials that we would face in just a few short years time, I thank God for having sent me a person of such grace, compassion, love, and strength to be my partner in love, in life, and as an amazing father to our child. 
I love you Dru. 
Happy Anniversary.

I am not usually one to do re-posts, but when I went back and re-read what I had posted at this time last year, I was struck by how true it still felt, and how fitting the words were with what we are facing IVF and infertility wise. It is for these reasons that I have decided to share last year's anniversary post with you again - with some edits in blue.

"For Better Or For Worse" - Originally posted 6/17/09

Three Four years ago today, I married my best friend, on a rainy Saturday over Father's Day weekend. We celebrated with family and friends, made commitments before God, heard toasts and danced, and dreamt of our happy future together. It's amazing how far removed you can feel from the "you" of just three four years earlier, when you are hit with something like we were with Peyton. Yet, despite all the pain and fear and sadness and anger, our love has endured.

The statistics on any marriage making it nowadays are a glass half full at best, and the statistics on marriages surviving the loss of a child are staggering (some studies citing a 90% divorce rate), compound that with divorce rates over infertility, and the outlook for a marriage surviving what we have been dealt are bleak at best.


When reflecting on the arrival of this third fourth anniversary, there is no doubt in my mind as to how we have made it through another year despite the pain of this loss... hard work. 

Marriage is not always easy, it is not always for better, but it is always our top priority. Early on in this journey through grief, we were fortunate to have parents who reminded us that we couldn't just take for granted that we would stay together through this. This dose of reality has inspired us to constantly work at keeping the lines of communication open with one another, even when it would have just been easier to shut down.

Waking up this morning and thinking about this day, about what it means and represents, I thank God for having given me the insight early on to marry not just "mister right," but the "right man." So many couples vow to be together for better or for worse, without realizing that the for betters are not a guarantee, and the for worses are not necessarily fifty years away. They repeat a chain of words that they have heard uttered hundreds of times in life, in movies, in stories, and don't really understand their meaning or the depth of that commitment. 

For Better or For Worse means, I will not run from you when times are uncomfortable. I will not start over with someone else because it is easier. I will not turn my back on you when you have turned your back on yourself. I will not judge you, but instead try to understand.

In our short marriage, the for worse came far more quickly than either of us could have ever imagined. We are just kids ourselves, we could never have anticipated being tested this way or having to endure this kind of pain. I don't know why God has laid this heavy cross over our shoulders so early on, and most days my mind just gets stuck on the anger that I feel over that, but not today. Today I am thankful for the love of the right man, my best friend.

The majority of this last year of marriage has been spent in a state of pain and sadness, and as easy as it would be to get sucked into that abyss permanently, we cannot allow this loss (and infertility) to define our whole marriage. Sometimes I forget how young we are, how many years there are still ahead. Even if just for today, in the bittersweetness of this week that meshes both a day that celebrates our commitment to, and love for one another, and my husbands first  second Father's Day, I will hold out hope and believe that we have had our share of for worse, and the for better days are still to come.

On Karma...

"Lots of people want to ride the limo with you, but a true friend will take the bus with you when the limo breaks down."-Oprah

"My Karma ran over your Dogma."-Unknown

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*A little disclaimer

This post talks about Karma and self blame. Please don't think, in reading this, that I think any of you are to blame for your losses, or that Karma played a role, I am just trying to be truthful here about what has been going through my own mind.

***

Up until September 4, 2008, my life had been a fairly typical one, a mix of good times, and not so good times, that always seemed to find a way to continue on in an upward trend.

Here is my life... in a nutshell.

I was a very happy little kid, and a pretty happy teenager. I was captain of cheerleading, nine times out of ten my grades landed me on the honor roll, and teachers usually commented that I was "very bright, but far too social" in my classes. When I went to college, I went through a really bad breakup with a person who was NOT good for me, and while at the time I thought it was the end of the world, later I realized that freedom from that type of a relationship would be one of the greatest gifts I have ever been given. My freshman year of college I got really sick with a throat infection that landed me in the hospital, and had me sidelined for the better part of my first semester, and when I came through that I went through this completely obnoxious phase of feeling invincible, and responded with a little period of rebellion that to this day makes me do a mental head slap, but for the most part wasn't outside the norm of what most kids do at one point or another. A year later I found a sense of direction, and went on to meet my husband, enjoy the start of a very successful career, and make plans to start a family... you know the rest.

I always felt peace with every part of my life (even my mistakes because I had learned from them) and if I had to do all over again, I always said I wouldn't change a thing, because it had been this succession of actions (both the right ones and the wrong ones) which led me to the exact moment of meeting my husband nearly nine years ago, and in the end, finding this amazing person to spend my life with was all that mattered. 

There is a saying about looking at life through rose colored glasses, and I think that is what I used to do, but my ability for that seems to be another victim of this loss, and when I look back now, everything seems tainted by self blame. 

Lately I can't focus on anything that represents my having any good qualities, like moments where I made someone feel loved, or proved myself to be a good friend. When I flip through scenes in my life, all I can see are moments that I might feel regret or shame over, moments where my morals and priorities were misguided, or I had been difficult or a disappointment to those who loved me, and I play through these moments wondering which one of them exactly it was that landed Karma's foot up my ass. There are idiotic moments that I used to joke about looking back on later in life, moments of being carefree and stupid that I thought would bring laughter when my life got too over-scheduled and boring. Now when I think about them I just feel dread and worry that maybe it was one of these moments that has come back to haunt me.

I am a woman.

I should have made a healthy baby.

I should be able to get pregnant.

I have failed in all these things.

Clearly I am to blame. 

When in this rut, nothing is off the table for scrutiny. Not even my accomplishments. 

I was always successful at work... is this a penance for being too cocky? 

I wanted a nice house in a nice neighborhood, one that I could be proud of... am I paying for misguided priorities?

I like to think I have always treated people with respect... is there someone from my past who feels wronged by me? 

I think you can see where this is going...

I can be very hard on myself. Brutally so. Since losing Peyton, I see myself only in the harshest light. It is a trait that my husband blames on my "Catholic guilt." I feel like maybe I have no right to happiness. Maybe Karma has deemed me not good enough. 

Yesterday I got to going down the self blame road, when something suddenly called me in a different direction. It was a conversation with a friend, an amazing loving friend, where we didn't talk about anything in particular, and yet I couldn't help feeling an appreciation for all I do have.

I have kind hearted, loving, and supportive people in my life. Some of them I have known since I was a little kid, others I met when I was in college, or during work, or fall into this newer category of people that I have connected or reconnected with because of this loss. Their commitment to me has been unyielding, and it got me to thinking... would these people who I love and admire really put in the effort to stick around me if I were really such a terrible person? 

Probably not.

The idea of Karma can be a really slippery slope. It can lead us to the darkest recesses of our minds, and make a journey that is already painfully self doubting, even worse. If Karma really existed, there wouldn't be a saying like "nice guys finish last." The truth of the matter is that some of the meanest and most judgmental people out there are also those who have never had to be tested, and some of the least deserving people, find success with the most ease. Clearly, there is no Karma in that.

Don't get me wrong, I totally believe in the golden rule of doing unto others as you would have them do unto you, but I also think that maybe I need to work on accepting the possibility that this hasn't been "done unto me" as a result of anything I have done. Maybe it has just been a run of really shitty luck that happened to someone who, like everyone else, has made some mistakes or had moments that she isn't particularly proud of, but in general, tries to be a good person.

Maybe it's time I give this person-myself, a break.

On Being "Grateful"

I hate The Beatles.

I know, I know, how could anyone hate The Beatles, right? But I do. 

Now before you get ready to hurl rocks at me, maybe I should give you a little more insight as to where this anger toward The Fab Five stems from.

For the last two, possibly three years, my husband has had our morning alarm set to "The Beatles Greatest Hits," and I challenge anyone, even the most die hard fan, to wake up day in and day out to the sound of Paul McCartney's voice, and not develop a sour taste in your mouth at just the thought of him.

Well this morning, as the CD started spinning, I realized something was amiss. Instead of hearing "Bang bang Maxwell's silver hammer came down on her head... do dee do dee do..." I heard what I thought was the start of the DMB song "Crash." Too tired to make sense of it, I rolled over, hit the snooze button, and went back to sleep.

Ten minutes later I was scrunched in a ball at the foot of the bed when the alarm came back on. Out of reach of the button, I buried my head below the pillow hoping for silence, and heard these words...

"You got your wall You got your train"
"Crash into me, baby, and I cut into you"
"In the void stream"
"Touch your leaves just so I know"
"I'm verve own and crazy"

Huh? What the?

"Hike up your skirt a little more, and shove your war to me."

Putting the pieces together, I opened my eyes, looked at the picture on my wall of hubs and I on our wedding day, and started to laugh.

So now that I am sure you are all thoroughly confused...the backstory.

Hubs and I spent our honeymoon in Mexico at a resort called Secrets in Playa del Carmen. On one of the nights, the hotel brought in a band, I think they were called "Two Guys Play Acoustic Music" to play covers of popular American songs beach side. 

There is something to be said about the affect that ambiance can have on an experience, because on that beach, with the wind blowing, the waves crashing, and my newly married finger bling blinging in the moon light, "Two Guys Play Acoustic Music" sounded great... well good... well...

When the concert was over, my husband rushed to the table where "Two Guys Play Acoustic Music" were selling CD's, and pulled out his wallet to purchase his own copy.

"These guys are GREAT!" He beamed, grinning ear to ear.

Remember what I told you about ambience?

When our plane arrived home from Mexico, hubs excitedly retrieved the CD from his suitcase, and popped it into the car's player to play on the drive home.

You know how you can go through life incorrectly singing the lyrics of songs, like "pour some sugar on me," becomes "pour some sugar ramen"? Well this CD was like 120 minutes of that. 

Disappointed for not having just discovered "the next big thing", hubs tossed "Two Guys Play Acoustic Music" into a drawer, never to be played again. That is, of course, until this morning. 

My therapist told me yesterday that she found me to be "more depressed than usual," words that, coming from her, are probably not a good sign since she gets paid to hear me cry, bitch, whine and complain on a regular basis. Hubs, I am assuming by this gesture, sensed that too.

Waking up this morning, I expected my outlook on life to be just more of the same.

 "Wah! My kid's dead. Wah! Im am infertile. Wah! Wah! Bah Humbug! Wah!"

This song reminding me of happier times, made me laugh at my husband's sense of humor, and sort of set a different, happier tone for the rest of the day.

Even when I had a bit of a mishap this morning, with my dog eating an entire box of Chocolate Chip Cookies, and me having to give her hydrogen peroxide to make her throw up, my good mood couldn't be broken.

The reminders of all I do have continued.

After fixing up the dog (yes she is okay) I logged in to read some lovely and supportive comments left for me here after my post yesterday, and went on to receive a beautiful gift in my inbox from my dear BLM friend Carly.

I am loved. Waking up to this song, today I was reminded of that.  

By my husband. By my family. By my friends both in real life and in the amazing community that I have met through this loss, I am loved. 

As I wrote yesterday, I will never be grateful for Peyton's loss. But starting my day this way, listening to a song strategically placed by my hubs to put a smile on my face, I was reminded that I still have a lot to be grateful for.



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Please also hop over and give Sami's momma Lisette some love today as she mourns the passing of her sister in law unexpectedly of a brain aneurism.

Mel's Show (instead of) Tell #62

Last month, as I had mentioned here, my husband and I celebrated our third wedding anniversary. I feel so blessed that he is my partner, and thank God every day for having led me to him. Our relationship is different than it was before Peyton's birth. Really, how could it not be? There are days when there is a distance in the silence that was never there before, and others where we hold fast to each other. We have been devastated beyond words at losing our baby girl, and for the most part have grieved in completely different ways. But through it all, we have remained together.

To celebrate our anniversary we took a few days to get away and visited Newport RI. We needed to be out of this house and spend some time on "us." We are very different, complete opposites in many respects. He keeps most of what he is feeling inside, while I pour every emotion out onto the page, this blog, or in conversation. Sometimes, on the darkest days, I have wondered if there is anyone, my husband included, that really "gets me" anymore. During this trip he showed me that he still does.

In early June I had written a post about my journey through this grief. It is actually the post that I am most proud of, and for some of you will be a repeat, but I am including it below. The post was entitled Sea Glass. It read:

It was recommended months ago that I find a journaling through grief group to help me process some of the emotions that came with losing Peyton. I was lucky to find a group to meet with on a near weekly basis, and the support from these women over the last several months has meant more than any words that I could write. This weekend I went on a retreat with them to the Mercy Center in Madison. I walked along the shoreline, combing the sand for something to bring back to Peyton that was representative of my experience with the group. I found three beautiful shells; one yellow, one orange, and one brown and white, that looked like the face of an eagle. I also found three beautiful pieces of seaglass; blue/green, clear, and brown. When I went for my daily visit with Peyton on the top of the hill where she is buried, I shared with her my experience from the weekend and what I had found for her. I described to her what shells were, how they ended up on the beach and what they looked like. I told her why I had chosen the ones I had, and detailed the vibrance of their colors. Then, placing them near her picture, I moved on to tell her about the three pieces of seaglass that I was holding in my hands; and in starting to speak about them, realized just how much their experience mirrored mine.

I told Peyton how most people find seaglass on the beach and admire its beauty, without giving much thought to all it has endured to wash up there. Like the bottle that these smooth pieces of glass came from, at first I was shiny and full and had purpose; but then she passed and it shattered me. Sharp and broken, I cut out in every direction, the pain so overwhelming that it hurt those who reached out to hold me. The grief and the anger dulled my spirit, and the waves of emotions pounded me relentlessly. The reminders of losing her were everywhere, crashing down on me without reprieve. As I entered Peyton's bedroom - crash. As I passed happy mothers on the street - crash. As I felt the emptiness she left in my arms - crash. I tossed and turned in that current, and was left disoriented by its attack. My sense of direction gone, I just prayed to safely reach the shore. In an instant, I, like the broken bottle, lost my ability to hold, support and protect what had come from within me. The tears washed over me, leaving only dullness where there had once been shine, and yet through it all, like the sea glass, I am still here.

This beach is certainly not what I had expected, and sometimes when the tide comes in real high, I can feel the waves coming back for me, but I won't give in. I know that no matter how safely I land in the sand, the rhythm of those waves will always be close enough to feel, but I am staking my claim on this piece of shoreline, and in doing so, know that I will be left standing. I am forever changed. My life had been clear and transparent, each step seemingly planned out for me before I reached it, my purpose well defined. Life has deepened me, washed a different perspective over me that I could never have imagined, and left me worn. I, like the blue/green, clear and brown shards of glass that I found this weekend, have stood in the path of the universe, feeling each blow in its efforts to pound me out of existence, and like the shards of glass, have not been lost to the sea.

People walk the beach and see pieces of seaglass, something tangible to take home as a reminder of a trip, but I know that there is so much more to their story. I know that these smooth little stones hold a special kind of beauty and wisdom, one that can only be attained by surviving the journey.

And so this brings me to the showing. After spending the day talking and walking through Newport my husband pulled me into a shop. "I found you the perfect anniversary gift," he told me, with pride in his eyes. Taking my hand, he brought me to a glass case. "See," he said pointing, "one for each year we have been married, and it's seaglass, just like you." I was so touched. This was the first time he had ever told me that he'd read my blog.

And so today I share with all of those following mel's show and tell , my beautiful seaglass necklace, the gift that means more to me than any other. When my husband couldn't find the words to tell me that he still understands, that he still "gets me", it was with this necklace that he showed me.

A Family, A Mountain, A Moment

This weekend, my husband and I spent a lot of time together, just the two of us, hiking and talking. We visited People's State Forest in Barkhamsted on the Fourth of July, travelling along the Jesse Gerard Trail. We talked about life, about our surroundings, and of course, about our sweet little Peyton. Having nearly reached the top of the mountain, a butterfly, small and white, floated between the two of us, lingering for awhile. I always associate butterflies with Peyton now. We had decorated her steel crib in the hospital with butterflies in a desperate effort to make it feel less cold and clinical; and it has been during some of my lowest moments at Peyton's grave, that these beautiful little creatures have appeared and brought comfort. "Look, it's Peyton." I said to Dru, and we followed as she floated and fluttered before us, up a path and to a beautiful lookout.

The view from atop this rock overlooked the Farmington River, with it's kayakers in brightly colored vessels dancing along the river's bends down below. I wondered how many miles away could be seen from here, and marvelled over the sense of calm that the area below us held from this vantage point. It's amazing how disconnected I have been feeling from that calm these last several months. It was because of the peace in this area that we had decided to settle here, to start our life, to raise a family. My heart welcomed the peace this day. "I can't imagine anything more beautiful than this place?" I said. The view was literally taking my breath away.

I told Dru I felt like Peyton was there with us, that she had offered us this moment, this reprieve to sit among beauty, among each other and be at peace. We thought of her, talked about how we wished she was taking this adventure with us, strapped to our back in a carrier. For a moment, up on that overlook, I imagined how wonderful that would have been. We were not, of course, the first people to discover this lookout, and the remnants of a campfire laid charred in the rock where we stood. I reached into the fire and pulled out a large piece of charcoal, handing it to Dru. "Write her name," I said, "I want a record of her here." We walked the rock finally choosing an area that faced what we thought to be the most beautiful view, and Dru went to work.

As we stood back to admire his handywork, the sun came shining upon us with all of its brightness, allowing us to cast our shadows and love down over her name.

We sat there with her for awhile, breathing her in, before readying ourselves to head back to the trail towards home, looking over our shoulders once more at the name of our lost child on that rock, among so much beauty.

I know in my heart that Peyton had brought us there, to share that place, that moment. I could feel her love and presence all around us. I knew that we had shared this experience, all three of us, as a family.

(Father's) Day

I can see it in our nieces faces,how they always light up when they see you, how you offer seemingly endless energy when you play with them.

I could see it in the way that you joked lovingly with my full belly, how you got anxious with each phonecall as we neared my due date, and spent hours getting the carseat just right in preparation for Peyton's birth.

You were meant to be a Father.

I don't know if I ever told you this, but it was you that made me want to have a family.

I have been so fortunate to receive your love, to know your kindness, and I wanted to share that- you, with a child.

I guess that's what saddens me most this Father's Day.

We live in a world full of men dodging responsibility and child support, a world where entire television shows are centered around child denial and paternity tests, and it just seems so unfair.

Unfair that you, who so wanted and loved our child, who studied through weary eyes the packets of information that they gave us, even when it didn't make sense, and searched and searched for options and ways to keep her with us, you, who were so obviously born to be a Daddy, should have to be childless on your first Father's Day.