....even though my baby is gone.
Things have been hectic and busy lately, as they usually are with six (living) children. We started school last week, and I have finally come up with a school schedule that I think I might be able to manage....of course, we are less than a week in, but I'll maintain my optimism.
But tonight, the sadness hit me again. I watched my slideshow again, and then I listened to the song that really makes me cry - Do You Realize
and I cried and cried and cried. When I listen to this song, I feel like my heart is being ripped apart and I just want to hold my baby again. I'm so sad that I never got to know her alive. I've probably said that before on this blog, but what else do I have to talk about? I had such a very short amount of time with her and not one moment with her alive. Okay, that's not true, I had her inside of me for almost nine months while she was alive. And maybe if I were a better mother, I would have bonded with her more while she was still inside me. But I feel like I bonded more with her dead body. I don't know what that means, so I won't try to analyze it.
A few weeks ago we went four-wheeling Josh's Toyota. It can hold exactly eight people. While I was still pregnant, we had talked about going four-wheeling before the baby came since we would no longer all fit in Josh's car afterword. We all had fun, but it just kills me that our fun outing was enabled by the death of my baby. I recognize that it would be stupid to never do anything again that we wouldn't have been able to do had Lillianna lived, but still...
Had she been born alive, she would have been 5 months old tomorrow. Really more like four months, since she probably would have stayed inside of me for another month or so had there not been a knot in her cord. I have the cutest Naartje outfit that Jane wore for size 3-6 months. It is such a precious, darling, tiny little outfit. I never ended up putting it away, so every time I fold laundry it is there at the bottom of the clean laundry basket. By now she would have been wearing it and looking so dainty and feminine and sweet. I wonder how it would have fit her at this point.
Dominic and Jane both became nursing monsters when my milk came in after Lillianna was born. It was initially welcome as I needed help with engorgement. Recently, I have become fed up with nursing the giants as often as they would like so I have begun extensively limiting their sessions. Had Lillianna been born alive, I would still be a full time nurser of a baby who needed it. So why am I fed up with nursing the giants? Does it mean I would be fed up with nursing her if she were here? It seems unlikely, since I have never resented nursing a baby before. Still it feels like I am betraying her somehow that I am annoyed by nursing the others.
There is a grief support meeting this coming Tuesday. I have only been once before, but I think I should go. It would be good to make time just for Lillianna since there doesn't seem to be time to feel sad for her during most days. I'm kind of depressed.
Sunday, August 14, 2011
Thursday, May 19, 2011
More Guilty Little Thoughts...
I saw the term "true knot" today to describe, well, a true knot in the umbilical cord. I'm surprised I hadn't heard this specific term before since it is exactly what happened to Lillianna and it's apparently commonly used medical terminology.
So, I've been googling "true knot" and learning all about them. Though still highly unlikely to occur, it happens more often with a longer than average cord. Apparently, the baby's activity level can be somewhat of a determining factor in cord length. The more the baby swims around the longer the cord gets. And obviously, the more the baby swims around, the more likely they are to swim a knot into the cord.
I had an anterior placenta which is not problematic other than cushioning the kicks from my baby, making movement much more difficult to detect. I have always felt fetal movement fairly early, often getting the faintest little flutters around 14 weeks. When I hadn't felt even the vaguest movement by 16 weeks I began to seriously worry. By 18 weeks I was in a full blown panic and imagining all kinds of terrible scenarios and ran off to get an ultrasound.
At that point Lilliana was fine. I have no idea when she put the knot in her cord. But maybe, just maybe, she knew that I was getting agitated and worried and she just wanted to let me know that she was okay. Maybe she started swimming around more and more trying to tell me, "it's okay mama, I'm right here, can't you feel me swimming all around?" And in her efforts to reassure me, perhaps all the while she was lengthening and stretching her cord until it was long enough to swim a knot into it.
I know she didn't mean to leave me. She was only trying to make me feel better so I wouldn't worry. But if I hadn't worried so much, maybe she would have just relaxed and slept peacefully. And right now I would be holding her and nursing her and watching her chest rise and fall as she slept.
*Yes, I'm aware that this guilt is also irrational.
So, I've been googling "true knot" and learning all about them. Though still highly unlikely to occur, it happens more often with a longer than average cord. Apparently, the baby's activity level can be somewhat of a determining factor in cord length. The more the baby swims around the longer the cord gets. And obviously, the more the baby swims around, the more likely they are to swim a knot into the cord.
I had an anterior placenta which is not problematic other than cushioning the kicks from my baby, making movement much more difficult to detect. I have always felt fetal movement fairly early, often getting the faintest little flutters around 14 weeks. When I hadn't felt even the vaguest movement by 16 weeks I began to seriously worry. By 18 weeks I was in a full blown panic and imagining all kinds of terrible scenarios and ran off to get an ultrasound.
At that point Lilliana was fine. I have no idea when she put the knot in her cord. But maybe, just maybe, she knew that I was getting agitated and worried and she just wanted to let me know that she was okay. Maybe she started swimming around more and more trying to tell me, "it's okay mama, I'm right here, can't you feel me swimming all around?" And in her efforts to reassure me, perhaps all the while she was lengthening and stretching her cord until it was long enough to swim a knot into it.
I know she didn't mean to leave me. She was only trying to make me feel better so I wouldn't worry. But if I hadn't worried so much, maybe she would have just relaxed and slept peacefully. And right now I would be holding her and nursing her and watching her chest rise and fall as she slept.
*Yes, I'm aware that this guilt is also irrational.
Saturday, May 14, 2011
Resonance
So I went to a fascinating new therapist who had a completely bizarre and different approach to therapy. I don't really want to get in to detailing her techniques here, but it was intriguing to say the least. Anyway, she told me to come back to my blog and write another post. So that's what I'm doing even though I don't know what I want to write about at the moment.
Josh has been amazing and wonderful during his time home. The other night at bed time, Dominic was having a temper tantrum and Josh sang "Hush Little Baby" to help sooth him and calm him down. I didn't think anything of it at the time, but later Josh commented that it was difficult for him to sing that song again. I had forgotten when writing Lillianna's birth story that as he carried her down the hospital hallway to tuck her into the freezer he was singing that song to her. When he reminded me of that, I told him how glad I was for him that he thought to do all these little things with her like singing to her and swaddling her and what not. He looked mildly surprised and said that he didn't really have to "think" to do them, those were just things he had done with all of his babies.
As we were talking, I could see how very very sad he was feeling at that moment. My heart ached for him. I was glad that he was talking about it and that he was crying and expressing his grief because that is the normal and right and healthy thing to do. At the same time I wanted more than anything to take his hurt away and make it better. Then I realized that he must feel the same towards me when I am outwardly showing my heartache and sadness. And again I am amazed at this wonderful man that I married. The patience and compassion and love he has freely given to me while his own heart is hurting so much...it is so deeply moving, and yet that can hurt as well. I want to give back the selfless love and support that he has given to me and yet I feel inadequate to do so.
Moving on...
I just watched my slide show again. It is put to the music "Time In a Bottle", which is perfect. It is excruciating to watch. When I see the images of me holding my sweet baby girl I'm overwhelmed by so many emotions. I find myself smiling at her sweet little face. I call to mind what it felt like to hold her in my arms and how her skin felt against my skin. My arms actually start to hurt from the longing to hold her again. I want to snuggle her into my chest and touch my lips to her face and caress her skin. Then as the pictures go on, I see Josh holding her, kissing her, swaddling her and just fathering her and my heart breaks again for what he has lost.
I want my baby back. I want her so much. I have never longed for anything so much in my life.
Josh has been amazing and wonderful during his time home. The other night at bed time, Dominic was having a temper tantrum and Josh sang "Hush Little Baby" to help sooth him and calm him down. I didn't think anything of it at the time, but later Josh commented that it was difficult for him to sing that song again. I had forgotten when writing Lillianna's birth story that as he carried her down the hospital hallway to tuck her into the freezer he was singing that song to her. When he reminded me of that, I told him how glad I was for him that he thought to do all these little things with her like singing to her and swaddling her and what not. He looked mildly surprised and said that he didn't really have to "think" to do them, those were just things he had done with all of his babies.
As we were talking, I could see how very very sad he was feeling at that moment. My heart ached for him. I was glad that he was talking about it and that he was crying and expressing his grief because that is the normal and right and healthy thing to do. At the same time I wanted more than anything to take his hurt away and make it better. Then I realized that he must feel the same towards me when I am outwardly showing my heartache and sadness. And again I am amazed at this wonderful man that I married. The patience and compassion and love he has freely given to me while his own heart is hurting so much...it is so deeply moving, and yet that can hurt as well. I want to give back the selfless love and support that he has given to me and yet I feel inadequate to do so.
Moving on...
I just watched my slide show again. It is put to the music "Time In a Bottle", which is perfect. It is excruciating to watch. When I see the images of me holding my sweet baby girl I'm overwhelmed by so many emotions. I find myself smiling at her sweet little face. I call to mind what it felt like to hold her in my arms and how her skin felt against my skin. My arms actually start to hurt from the longing to hold her again. I want to snuggle her into my chest and touch my lips to her face and caress her skin. Then as the pictures go on, I see Josh holding her, kissing her, swaddling her and just fathering her and my heart breaks again for what he has lost.
I want my baby back. I want her so much. I have never longed for anything so much in my life.
Friday, May 6, 2011
Anxiety
Today I have had anxiety. Lots of it. I don't know what anxiety is like for other people. For some, it involves worrying about any number of things. I imagine that for others, like me, it's far less tangible. The vast majority of the time, if someone asks me, "What are you feeling anxious about?", I have absolutely no freaking clue.
So I'm going to try to describe what anxiety "feels" like to me. I can feel a physical sensation of tension around my heart and in my head. I feel sobbing and hitching and hysteria somewhere deep inside of me, but it won't come out. It's not that I'm restraining myself and holding it in. It's more like it's locked away tightly in a little steel vault hidden deep inside my chest and I don't have the key. It seems to desperately want to get out. This metaphorical metal box shudders and shakes and bounces around from the effort of whatever it contains trying to escape. The vibrations build up the pressure so that it is throbbing in my chest and in my skull. I tap my fingers or jiggle my knee trying to let some of the pressure out. I even try to jump-start the release of whatever is contained within that vault with some practice sobs, but it doesn't work. There are so many cushioning layers of numbness between the Vault of Pain and the surface that all I can feel are the shock-waves of whatever it is that wants to get out.
And that is my best description of anxiety.
So I'm going to try to describe what anxiety "feels" like to me. I can feel a physical sensation of tension around my heart and in my head. I feel sobbing and hitching and hysteria somewhere deep inside of me, but it won't come out. It's not that I'm restraining myself and holding it in. It's more like it's locked away tightly in a little steel vault hidden deep inside my chest and I don't have the key. It seems to desperately want to get out. This metaphorical metal box shudders and shakes and bounces around from the effort of whatever it contains trying to escape. The vibrations build up the pressure so that it is throbbing in my chest and in my skull. I tap my fingers or jiggle my knee trying to let some of the pressure out. I even try to jump-start the release of whatever is contained within that vault with some practice sobs, but it doesn't work. There are so many cushioning layers of numbness between the Vault of Pain and the surface that all I can feel are the shock-waves of whatever it is that wants to get out.
And that is my best description of anxiety.
Sunday, May 1, 2011
Let's Talk About Feelings
Today I feel sad. Really really deep down heavy crushing sadness. I'd try to describe it more, and the physical sensation of sadness in my heart, but all the description that come to mind seem so cliche.
I watch Lillianna's slide show over and over. I told Josh that when I watch it I just want to live inside of the pictures so that I can hold her again. He didn't appear to relate so I asked him about that and he said, "Well, if we are wishing for things we can't have, I just wish that she never died."
That makes more sense. I, too, wish that more than anything. But it is less tangible to me. I can imagine what she would have been like alive, but I have never seen her that way. I don't know her, at least outside of my body that way. I'll try an analogy. Maybe a person who lives on the street and has no money might fantasize about winning the lottery and all of the wonderful things they would do with all of that money. But it's just a fantasy. Something they never have known, and likely they never will. So instead they might think back to a time when they had somewhere to live, even if it was just a run down little shack, and they were in debt, and rarely had enough to eat. They might long for that time back because it's the best they ever had.
I don't know how clear that analogy is and I'm pretty sure it sucks. In case it's unclear, Lillianna alive = fantasies about the lottery, something I will never know first hand; holding Lillianna dead = the run down miserable shack that I used to have and was the best I've ever known of her.
More clear? Less clear?
The fondest memories I have of my baby are in those pictures. I wish I could go back in time and hold her forever.
*No disrespect is meant to homeless people, and I'm very grateful that I have a home and food and whatnot.
I watch Lillianna's slide show over and over. I told Josh that when I watch it I just want to live inside of the pictures so that I can hold her again. He didn't appear to relate so I asked him about that and he said, "Well, if we are wishing for things we can't have, I just wish that she never died."
That makes more sense. I, too, wish that more than anything. But it is less tangible to me. I can imagine what she would have been like alive, but I have never seen her that way. I don't know her, at least outside of my body that way. I'll try an analogy. Maybe a person who lives on the street and has no money might fantasize about winning the lottery and all of the wonderful things they would do with all of that money. But it's just a fantasy. Something they never have known, and likely they never will. So instead they might think back to a time when they had somewhere to live, even if it was just a run down little shack, and they were in debt, and rarely had enough to eat. They might long for that time back because it's the best they ever had.
I don't know how clear that analogy is and I'm pretty sure it sucks. In case it's unclear, Lillianna alive = fantasies about the lottery, something I will never know first hand; holding Lillianna dead = the run down miserable shack that I used to have and was the best I've ever known of her.
More clear? Less clear?
The fondest memories I have of my baby are in those pictures. I wish I could go back in time and hold her forever.
*No disrespect is meant to homeless people, and I'm very grateful that I have a home and food and whatnot.
Saturday, April 30, 2011
Pictures Are Up
Guilty
For the past several days I've been doing nothing but immersing myself in various baby loss blogs (well that and playing stupid arcade games on facebook), and I've noticed that most bereft parents feel a large amount of guilt, most of which is over things they had no control over whatsoever. However, among all the irrational guilty thoughts out there, I haven't seen the one that has been itching most annoyingly at my brain. It's a pretty crazy one, are you ready?
I feel guilty that I thought of it. I feel guilty that I sat there ahead of time and thought of the worst possible outcome and then it happened. It's not that I feel guilty for thinking such terrible things. No, I think that if I hadn't thought of it, it wouldn't have happened. If I didn't notice and obsess and worry so much and come up with the worst case scenario, then things would have gone on as normal, and she wouldn't have been dead inside of me. If I didn't panic and run off to the midwife there would have been nothing amiss to discover. I would have just kept on being pregnant and given birth to a live baby maybe a week or two ago.
And since I already know how ridiculous this thought is, and that it's complete and utter nonsense, and I still feel it anyway...how do you argue with that?
Maybe if I had started off with this little gem with my therapist she would have realized that I had a whole lot more crazy going on than being religiously oppressed.
I feel guilty that I thought of it. I feel guilty that I sat there ahead of time and thought of the worst possible outcome and then it happened. It's not that I feel guilty for thinking such terrible things. No, I think that if I hadn't thought of it, it wouldn't have happened. If I didn't notice and obsess and worry so much and come up with the worst case scenario, then things would have gone on as normal, and she wouldn't have been dead inside of me. If I didn't panic and run off to the midwife there would have been nothing amiss to discover. I would have just kept on being pregnant and given birth to a live baby maybe a week or two ago.
And since I already know how ridiculous this thought is, and that it's complete and utter nonsense, and I still feel it anyway...how do you argue with that?
Maybe if I had started off with this little gem with my therapist she would have realized that I had a whole lot more crazy going on than being religiously oppressed.
So What I'm Really Trying To Say Is.....
Maybe if I really just over the top post here, like several times a day, and put every little bit of nonsense that flows through my head, I can speed up this whole grieving process. Because I hate it. And the sooner I'm done with it the better....not that it probably works that way. But I feel like crap. All the time. And I want it done with. So if publicly embarrassing myself and turning off my "uncomfortable feelings" filter and obsessively posting, obnoxiously so, maybe one day I'll come over here and find I have nothing to say.
Getting Down With My Bad Self
So, yes, I've decided to give myself online therapy in the form of blogging and turning my mental/emotional battles into a spectator sport. I had to fire my therapist for being stupid. Here are my complaints about my (former) therapist:
1. At my first meeting wither her, she told me that 20% of all pregnancies result in miscarriage and maybe it was just my time. I have had a miscarriage, so A) I've already had my "time", B) I know that a miscarriage can be devastating but it is absolutely, unequivocally not the same experience as a stillbirth at 36 weeks, C) 20% of all pregnancies most certainly do NOT end with a nearly term healthy baby suffocating to death due to a knot in the cord. It's not just "one of those things" that many women of child-baring age have to go through. It's tragic. It's horrible. It's unexpected.
2. She thinks I'm a religious zealot. In discussing reasons why I think my baby might have died (in the more cosmic sense, obviously we know the physical reason), I put out there that maybe I wasn't doing a good enough job at getting my kids to heaven so God did it for me with Lillianna. I honestly can't imagine that it's that uncommon for a grieving parent to try to think of God-reasons along with a healthy dose of guilt as to why their child died, but in my case it apparently makes me a religious nut-job.
I discovered this when I was talking about some communication issues with my husband. I was looking for help on better ways to communicate with my husband when I am having anxiety (I'm crazy and I really torture him, though he'd never admit it). She immediately assumed that my issues stemmed from trying to live up to some religious ideal of submissiveness.
Anyone who knows me knows that I am quite comfortable saying anything and everything that is on my mind to my husband. Not only do I tell him what I think, I also tell him what I think he thinks, what he should be doing, insist that I know his brain better than he does and I'm mouthy and obnoxious and don't have much of a filter.
I tried to explain this to her, and she asked knowingly, "ah, but then do you feel guilty for saying what you think?" I admitted that if I said something truly mean or rude or hurtful then yes, I did feel guilty, but for the most part I usually don't go that far. She seemed thoroughly unconvinced.*
3. She asked about my Easter. I told her I had a wonderful Easter with my family and some very dear to my heart friends of the family. I told her we had tons of fun and we sang karaoke and we laughed and it was an overall positive experience.
She responded with a big smile and said "That's great! It looks like your depression may be starting to lift!"
I know I had to have looked utterly perplexed. Trying not to sound too argumentative (maybe I have some religious ideal about being submissive to therapists), I said, "Well, um, I've had depression for over 12 years now...." The unsaid part obviously being, "...and you seriously think that NOW, just after my baby died my depression has magically disappeared because I had a good Easter???? Idiot?!"
However, since she didn't hear the unsaid part she quickly explained that she meant the grief-related depression might be lifting. I didn't hear much of what she said for the remainder of the appointment. Apparently having a good time with close family and friends and grief are mutually exclusive. And it's perfectly reasonable for a doctor of psychology to think that it only takes a few weeks to get past.
And I rebel vehemently against this line of thought because I KNOW that my already fragile mental health is in a very precarious spot right now. I already know that I want to shut off the sadness and avoid the whole stupid grief thing, and I know that when I do my anxiety goes through the roof. I was talking with one of the few people who "gets" me recently who also also suffered some recent tragedy in her life and she said that she felt like a sociopath since some of these things have happened....completely unable to feel, and yes, extreme anxiety. That's exactly how I "feel".
And guess what? I actually WANT to be mentally healthy! For the first time in a long time I went into therapy with an open mind, ready to work on and discover the healthiest way to "grieve". I'm good enough at shutting myself down I don't need my therapist to do it for me. I'm not going to talk to most people about my "feelings" so if I do, especially if your my THERAPIST, don't dismiss them! Don't tell me that since I already have anxiety and depression I don't need to attribute my current anxiety and depression to the DEATH OF MY BABY - it could just be one of my normal depressive or anxious episodes and I shouldn't try to attach more meaning to it. But gee, the fact that I developed my long-term on-going anxiety and depression so many years ago directly after the deaths of loved ones....well no, why should the death of my own child exacerbate the problem?
So I do have qualms about sharing my "feelings". I genuinely fear people thinking that I am using my baby's death as an excuse to be the same unstable freak I have been for years. So maybe Qualmful isn't such a stupid name for this blog after all. But for my own sake, I'm going to force anything I have inside of me out through my fingers here. I'm going to be qualmless and shameless* and anyone who wants to know "how I'm doing" can find it here because I am utterly incapable of being this direct in person.
4. (I bet you thought I forgot about my list after that rant) She gets $50 every 15 minutes. And she only schedules 45 minute appointments. If I was going to pay someone that much money to be stupid I can just pay myself.
* Amusingly, to me anyway, after she suggested that I was too submissive I had Josh call and cancel my next appointment for me.
**Until such a time as I change my mind and refuse to share anything with anyone online or otherwise and least of all, myself.
1. At my first meeting wither her, she told me that 20% of all pregnancies result in miscarriage and maybe it was just my time. I have had a miscarriage, so A) I've already had my "time", B) I know that a miscarriage can be devastating but it is absolutely, unequivocally not the same experience as a stillbirth at 36 weeks, C) 20% of all pregnancies most certainly do NOT end with a nearly term healthy baby suffocating to death due to a knot in the cord. It's not just "one of those things" that many women of child-baring age have to go through. It's tragic. It's horrible. It's unexpected.
2. She thinks I'm a religious zealot. In discussing reasons why I think my baby might have died (in the more cosmic sense, obviously we know the physical reason), I put out there that maybe I wasn't doing a good enough job at getting my kids to heaven so God did it for me with Lillianna. I honestly can't imagine that it's that uncommon for a grieving parent to try to think of God-reasons along with a healthy dose of guilt as to why their child died, but in my case it apparently makes me a religious nut-job.
I discovered this when I was talking about some communication issues with my husband. I was looking for help on better ways to communicate with my husband when I am having anxiety (I'm crazy and I really torture him, though he'd never admit it). She immediately assumed that my issues stemmed from trying to live up to some religious ideal of submissiveness.
Anyone who knows me knows that I am quite comfortable saying anything and everything that is on my mind to my husband. Not only do I tell him what I think, I also tell him what I think he thinks, what he should be doing, insist that I know his brain better than he does and I'm mouthy and obnoxious and don't have much of a filter.
I tried to explain this to her, and she asked knowingly, "ah, but then do you feel guilty for saying what you think?" I admitted that if I said something truly mean or rude or hurtful then yes, I did feel guilty, but for the most part I usually don't go that far. She seemed thoroughly unconvinced.*
3. She asked about my Easter. I told her I had a wonderful Easter with my family and some very dear to my heart friends of the family. I told her we had tons of fun and we sang karaoke and we laughed and it was an overall positive experience.
She responded with a big smile and said "That's great! It looks like your depression may be starting to lift!"
I know I had to have looked utterly perplexed. Trying not to sound too argumentative (maybe I have some religious ideal about being submissive to therapists), I said, "Well, um, I've had depression for over 12 years now...." The unsaid part obviously being, "...and you seriously think that NOW, just after my baby died my depression has magically disappeared because I had a good Easter???? Idiot?!"
However, since she didn't hear the unsaid part she quickly explained that she meant the grief-related depression might be lifting. I didn't hear much of what she said for the remainder of the appointment. Apparently having a good time with close family and friends and grief are mutually exclusive. And it's perfectly reasonable for a doctor of psychology to think that it only takes a few weeks to get past.
And I rebel vehemently against this line of thought because I KNOW that my already fragile mental health is in a very precarious spot right now. I already know that I want to shut off the sadness and avoid the whole stupid grief thing, and I know that when I do my anxiety goes through the roof. I was talking with one of the few people who "gets" me recently who also also suffered some recent tragedy in her life and she said that she felt like a sociopath since some of these things have happened....completely unable to feel, and yes, extreme anxiety. That's exactly how I "feel".
And guess what? I actually WANT to be mentally healthy! For the first time in a long time I went into therapy with an open mind, ready to work on and discover the healthiest way to "grieve". I'm good enough at shutting myself down I don't need my therapist to do it for me. I'm not going to talk to most people about my "feelings" so if I do, especially if your my THERAPIST, don't dismiss them! Don't tell me that since I already have anxiety and depression I don't need to attribute my current anxiety and depression to the DEATH OF MY BABY - it could just be one of my normal depressive or anxious episodes and I shouldn't try to attach more meaning to it. But gee, the fact that I developed my long-term on-going anxiety and depression so many years ago directly after the deaths of loved ones....well no, why should the death of my own child exacerbate the problem?
So I do have qualms about sharing my "feelings". I genuinely fear people thinking that I am using my baby's death as an excuse to be the same unstable freak I have been for years. So maybe Qualmful isn't such a stupid name for this blog after all. But for my own sake, I'm going to force anything I have inside of me out through my fingers here. I'm going to be qualmless and shameless* and anyone who wants to know "how I'm doing" can find it here because I am utterly incapable of being this direct in person.
4. (I bet you thought I forgot about my list after that rant) She gets $50 every 15 minutes. And she only schedules 45 minute appointments. If I was going to pay someone that much money to be stupid I can just pay myself.
* Amusingly, to me anyway, after she suggested that I was too submissive I had Josh call and cancel my next appointment for me.
**Until such a time as I change my mind and refuse to share anything with anyone online or otherwise and least of all, myself.
Friday, April 29, 2011
Done-ish
Okay, so I just typed out my baby's birth story. As I re-read it I feel like I left lots out and at the same time I wrote too many inane details. I'm also not happy with a lot of my awkward wording. But I think the most important parts are there. I was going to put the beautiful slide show from NILMDTS on another page, but apparently it's in the wrong format so I can't upload it.
ETA, but I just watched it again and noticed that no matter how lovingly I caress my computer screen as her pictures go by, it feels nothing like my baby and my fingers feel stupid for having tried.
ETA, but I just watched it again and noticed that no matter how lovingly I caress my computer screen as her pictures go by, it feels nothing like my baby and my fingers feel stupid for having tried.
At A Loss
I wanted to write and share about my experience with the loss of my sweet baby, Lillianna Marie. I have no particular goal in mind and no vision for what this blog will be like. I just know that I'm lost and I'm stuck. I didn't want to put the sad stuff on my regular blog page and hopefully soon I will put a regular post up over there.
Maybe I'll figure out how to identify how I'm feeling by trying to write about it. Then again, maybe I will write angry complaints about the professionals who are supposed to be helping me and the stupid things they have said.
Right now though I am just at a loss. I don't know how I feel, though I assume this unpleasantness is probably "grief", whatever that is.
Okay, I just looked it up -
Maybe I'll figure out how to identify how I'm feeling by trying to write about it. Then again, maybe I will write angry complaints about the professionals who are supposed to be helping me and the stupid things they have said.
Right now though I am just at a loss. I don't know how I feel, though I assume this unpleasantness is probably "grief", whatever that is.
Okay, I just looked it up -
–noun
1.
keen mental suffering or distress over affliction or loss; sharp sorrow; painful regret.
2.
a cause or occasion of keen distress or sorrow.
So I guess that is what I'm supposed to be doing and feeling.
So anyway, I guess I'll just set the bar really low and write this just for myself and whatever random things I want to put out there. Maybe I just need a pseudo-public way to let the world (in theory) know about my baby and know that I'm sad and miserable without her. Maybe I'll use this space to be overly dramatic and faux-deep. I don't know, it's my freaking blog and I'll do whatever I darn-well please - except, apparently, use real cuss words.
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