Yesterday daddy and I took your brothers to watch The Lorax. It was nice to hear them laugh. Daddy too. I tried my best to have a good time but the truth is all I thought about was you. I kept thinking that if you were there, you'd be snuggled up against my chest where I could keep you warm and protect you from the noise.

I miss you. I'm never going to get tired of saying that. I never knew I could miss someone like this. When we got home from the theater, I began to cry. It felt so strange being out as a family without you, because you ARE a part of this family.

I know I shouldn't torture myself with the what-ifs, but sometimes I can't help it. I'm in so much pain, I'm surprised I can function at all. The days seem so long, I don't know what to do with myself. This time was for you. I had seven glorious weeks off to be with you, but you're not here. And who was I kidding, anyway? I wasn't going to return to work. I wouldn't have been able to leave you. Anyone who knows me, knows I'm a mommy first.

A couple of days ago, I opened your box. I sobbed as I went through it. Daddy told me I shouldn't have opened it, but I needed to feel you close.

I still can't believe you're gone. I miss your somersaults inside my belly. I miss all the hopes and dreams I had for us. You're gone and I'm left behind with a broken heart and the residuals of your brief existence. A memory box, baby clothes, an empty bassinet, maternity bras I'll never wear, two breasts full of milk- all constant reminders that you were well on your way into our lives. You're still a part of our lives except now we'll have to go visit you at a cemetery. We'll never get to hear you giggle or watch you grow or hear you say "mamma" or "dadda" or have you wrap your little hand around my index finger....I could go on and on.

I never knew it was possible to hurt this badly. 

I love you, my little angel face.

Mommy

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I should've held you longer. I should've kissed you more. Words could never describe how much I miss you. This heartache is emotionally and physically painful. Sometimes, I hurt so bad, I feel paralyzed, like I can't move or talk. I just want to lay still and cry.

The first day I pumped your milk, I sat in our rocking chair, crying incessantly. That was your milk. Your food. It was meant for your perfect, little, soft mouth, not for a cold, hard, plastic cone. 

For many months, I had been looking forward to breastfeeding you. Daddy got us a beautiful rocking chair and I had pictured you nestled comfortably in my arms, freshly bathed, in a sky-blue cotton onesie, with your lips latched onto my breast, suckling mommy's milk.

It's been nine days since your birth and I can't help but wonder how many baths I would've given you by now or how many times you would've fallen asleep on my chest with our hearts side by side, beating in sync or how many pet-names I'd have for you. Your brothers know how much momma loves pet-names. Honey-bear, snuggle-muffin, sugar-plum...those are just a few of my favorite.

I miss you, angel. I keep trying to figure out why God needed you more than I did, but I suppose it really doesn't matter. Nothing will make this pain go away. I ache inside, every second of every day. It makes me angry and jealous when I think of all the mommas who got to leave the hospital with their precious, little bundles and I left with a memory box. I can't even bring myself to look inside the box yet. I know what's in it- some pictures, a cast of your sweet, tiny feet, a lock of your hair, your hand and foot prints, the only little outfit you ever wore, the blanket you were wrapped in....I just don't know how long it'll be before I have the courage to look at it. 

My sweet Ian, I want you to know momma loves you. I always did. When I found out you were coming, I was very confused and lost, but I always loved you. For the rest of my life, I will feel like something is missing. The day God decides to take me too, I will not be afraid, because I know you will be waiting for me and I will hold you and kiss you endlessly for all of eternity.

I love you, my little darling.

Love,

          Mommy

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Heartbroken

I just don't understand why...he had just been kicking and flipping the night before.

This heartache is almost unbearable. The tears won't stop. I can still smell him on me. That sweet, fresh baby smell is impregnated into my skin. Every time I close my eyes I see his face. I wish I could've seen his eyes just once.

On Friday night, Joe and I decided it was best if the nurse took his body away. We knew we had to say goodbye at some point and we didn't want it to be as we left the hospital. We both held him for a while and told him how much we loved him. We cried together and told him how sorry we were that we couldn't save him. We rubbed our faces against his and kissed him as much as we could. Joe told the nurse she could take him. It hurt so bad knowing he'd be going to the morgue and not the nursery. We watched her as she pulled his little bed out, knowing that would be the last time we'd see him. Joe laid behind me, with his arms around my shoulders and we sobbed together.

I could've never done that alone. I'm so grateful my husband was there to share the pain with me.

Yesterday I lost it. I screamed and cried uncontrollably. Joe tried his best to hold me, but I didn't want to be held. I didn't want anything but my baby. The same one I carried inside me for 39 weeks. The one who made me nauseous and tired and hungry for so long. The one who I longed to hold and feed and bathe. I wanted to feel his slippery little body in my arms. Nothing else would please me. No words of comforts or hugs or bible verses. Nothing.

I ripped a box of his clothes open and I held them tight against my chest. Hot tears made their way across my cheeks. 

What am I supposed to do with all this sadness? The days seem so long. The nights seem even longer. I can't function. My life will never be the same...

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I Miss You

My last appointment before my c-section was today at 10:15. Last week when I made the appointment I would have never imagined I'd be at a funeral home instead.

It's hard to look down and not see my big pregnant belly. It wouldn't be so hard if I at least had my little angel to hold, but the cold, harsh truth is you're gone.

I keep going back to Wednesday night, when I was sitting on the couch, watching my belly wiggle into all sorts of odd shapes. Daddy had his hands on my bump and he was telling me how excited he was about getting to hold you soon. I could see the excitement in his eyes. And your brothers.....wow....they were counting down the days on the calendar. They were anxiously awaiting your arrival as well.

Thursday morning is such a blur. My back started hurting around 5a.m. I didn't think much of it because I was no stranger to aches and pains by this point. But this time it didn't get any better. It only started to get worse. I woke up daddy, called grandma and got ready to go to the hospital. I quickly threw a few things into the diaper bag daddy got us for Valentine's day, including a little pair of yellow duckie pajamas and we took off to the hospital. The pain was becoming more and more intense, and by this time I had realized you hadn't moved much since late Wednesday night. I started to pray for some movement, but it was hard to concentrate with the contractions getting stronger and stronger.

The second that nurse put the doppler on me and couldn't find a heartbeat- I knew. Finding it had never been a challenge and I knew you were gone. They quickly brought an ultrasound monitor and gave eachother strange looks. They were trying not to worry me, but I already knew.

They immediately prepared me for a c-section. Daddy sobbed as they pulled you out with your cord around your neck. I've never heard him cry like that. They put your little head by mine and let me kiss you. Your face still warm from my womb. You were so handsome.

I can't believe you're gone. I miss your kicks and flips inside me. Your things are in boxes in the corner of my closet. Grandma packed them away for me because she knew I wouldn't be able to stand the sight of them.

Right now, I'm angry. Angry that I never got to see your eyes. Angry that I never got to hear you cry. Angry that I have staples across my abdomen, but no baby to hold. Angry that you're gone.

I miss you. I hate that I had to sign your tiny body away to a funeral home today. Today, when I should have been making the last minute preparations for your arrival.

It hurts to say your name. It hurts to have to explain to your brothers that you're in heaven. It hurts to breathe. It hurts to want to hold you so badly. I feel so empty. My sight is clouded by tears 90% of the day. Your brothers know I'm hurting for you.

I love you Ian Daniel. I hope you know that. Daddy loves you too. We found out you were on your way at a very strange time in our lives. I was beyond shocked when I found out you were coming, but you brought me peace and joy.

My heart aches for you, my sweet baby. Even when I find a moment of peace, my heart throbs with pain. I don't know how I'm going to get through this, but I promise you, your short life will not be in vain. You have changed who I am forever. I will never be the same.

I love you.

See you in my dreams tonight my precious little piece of heaven.

Love,

Mommy

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Broken

It's 2:11 a.m. I took two sleeping pills, yet I am still awake.

I'm still trying to come to terms with what has happened. I keep going back to Thursday morning, wondering if there is anything I could've done differently to save my baby.

I carried him one day short of 39 weeks. He was full term. Ready to come out and live outside my womb. His clothes were all ready for him. His brothers were anxiously counting the days until his arrival.

It wasn't supposed to happen this way. He should've been home right now, ready for his 2 a.m. feeding. Latched onto my breast. Falling asleep in my arms. We were ready for him.

My arms feel so empty. I miss him. I miss his little kicks inside me. A piece of my heart is missing. I can't believe he's gone. I never even got to see his eyes.

I don't know how I'm going to make it through this. The days go by so slowly. I need him.

I'm broken.

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When You Are Drowning Use Your Children As Floating Devices

There will be times in life in which you will feel like you are in the middle of the ocean, with nowhere to go, no one to help you, no hint of dry land in sight... Just little ol' you and the massive, cruel, cold waves of the ocean. And just when you think all is calm and you're gathering the strength and the energy to keep your head above the disgustingly salty sea water- BAM! outta nowhere, another wave will hit you over the head and drag you down as deep as oceanly possible, pounding on you so hard, it'll make you wish you were already dead, so that you wouldn't have to suffer through the unpredictable currents of life's oceans.

And you just want to cry and give up and whine about how unfair your life is. 

Then you remember that giving up is not an option, because you have little people who are watching your every move, depending on you, not only for all of life's basic necessities, but for love, support and comfort, as well. They will grow up and become YOU- the same you who let the waves of life win the battle or the YOU who fought back as hard as humanly possible even when the odds were against you.

Today, I sit in front of my computer monitor with a bag of frozen veggies on my face, in a desperate attempt to ease the pain caused by a toothache, my bank account is several hundreds of dollars overdrawn, the month of December starts tomorrow, bringing with it a whole new batch of bills and holiday expenses, my husband is unemployed and my growing belly is making it harder and harder for me to accomplish the simplest of tasks....but I know someone, somewhere has it ten times harder than I do and is managing to stay afloat.

I can turn around and see my babies quietly watching T.V. Some parents aren't as fortunate. They have to visit their children in hospitals and pray to God that they will make it through the night.

Tonight, when I feel like I'm drowning, with nowhere to go and nothing to hang on to, I will hang on tight to my babies and trust that they will bring me out to safety. They will show me what unconditional love looks like, even after I've taken out all of my frustrations on them. And they will find reasons to smile and make me smile with them, because they love me and they need to keep swimming, no matter what.

It's funny how I brought them to life thinking I would always be the one to protect them, and here they are, little as can be, helping me keep my head above water. So, bring on the waves! I've got secret, magic floating devices.

This 'life' thing...it's complicated stuff. Bittersweet. Sometimes a little more bitter than sweet. But who knows what tomorrow will bring? 

Words Will Come...

I'm pregnant. Fourteen weeks and two days, to be exact.

I'm blank and a little bit numb. I don't know how I feel about it yet. I'm sure deep (deep, deep, deep) inside I am thrilled. But on the surface I am still a bit confused. There are times when I completely forget about the little human growing inside me and I start to make plans for vacations and large purchases and then I realize that by then I'll be too fat to do anything. And then there are times when I sit in wonder if it'll be a boy or a girl and my mind gets extremely creative with potential names for both genders.

Things are complicated right now. Not exactly stable in more ways than one. I just started a job as a teller at Wells Fargo about three months ago and I had plans to go back to school and do so many things. Things that I had never had the opportunity to do because of my legal status and then because I had little boys who needed me or because I was always broke or tired or busy......and right when I was getting ready to branch out and make me proud of me, I get knocked up.

I suppose it will all be OK. It always has been.

I wanted to write more, but I am still blank.

Words will come....