"Just Breathe" by Pearl Jam
Yes, I understand that every life must end, aw-huh,..
As we sit alone, I know someday we must go, aw-huh,..
Oh I'm a lucky man, to count on both hands
the ones I love,..
Some folks just have one,
yeah, others, they've got none, huh-uh
Stay with me,..
Let's just breathe.
Practiced are my sins,
never gonna let me win, aw-huh,..
Under everything, just another human being, aw-huh,..
Yeah, I don't wanna hurt, there's so much in this world
to make me bleed.
Stay with me,..
You're all I see.
Did I say that I need you?
Did I say that I want you?
Oh, if I didn't I'm a fool you see,..
No one knows this more than me.
As I come clean.
I wonder everyday
as I look upon your face, aw-huh,..
Everything you gave
And nothing you would take, aw-huh,..
Nothing you would take
Everything you gave...
Did I say that I need you?
Oh, did I say that I want you?
Oh, if I didn't I"m a fool you see,..
No one knows this more than me.
As I come clean, ah-ah...
Nothing you would take,..
Everything you gave.
Love you till I die,..
Meet you on the other side.
Monday, October 29, 2012
Sunday, October 28, 2012
Tough Week
This week has been a tough week for me. A part of me wonders if it is because I am starting to reduce the dosage of my anti-depressant, but really, I think it's just been a hard week. There have been several milestones that have happened and it starts the grief process all over for me. But now I don't have the luxury of sitting at home and just being with it.
One week, one day, 12 hours and 4 minutes ago I officially had been without Alfy longer than he had been with us. It didn't really hit me that the milestone had passed until Tuesday. Tuesday, Oct. 23 was the one year anniversary of when I had quit smoking and Tony had quit chewing. Tuesday, Oct. 23 was the day that I found out I was pregnant with Alfy.
Then, to top it all off, my co-worker had her appointment yesterday in which she could find out the gender of her baby. She'll be 20 weeks along on Monday. Is it creepy that I know that? I suppose to some it might be. I can't help it though. I am acutely aware of how her pregnancy is progressing. Every Monday marks another week for her. Every fourth Friday she has her OB appointment and arrives at work about 10:30am. I dread the day when she will be farther along in her pregnancy than I ever was in mine. It's so unfair.
I'm not sure if I've spoken about this situation at work before. If I have, don't worry about reading further, but I need to vent again. This particular co-worker, we'll call her A, had really started becoming part of my support system, at work and even in general. One of her best friend's lost her husband unexpectedly, her friend was about 15 weeks pregnant when this happened. Well, with my new found expertise in grief I tried to provide as much support as I could to A. In that process, I really started opening up to her about my grief process, which I haven't really done with many people (not that many people have seemed to be all that interested). A few weeks after that, we working together at a Saturday program. After the program was done, A came into my office and told me she needed to tell me something. She was pregnant and would be 14 weeks along on Monday. She didn't want me to hear it from anyone else in the office.
What? You're pregnant? Really? At first, I didn't think it bothered me too much. I could see the distress on A's face so I just sat and listened as she told me the story of her pregnancy. It hadn't been an easy road for her and her husband. They had been trying to conceive for about 4 years. One month before they found out they were pregnant, they had been told that IVF or adoption were their only options for kids. Then, low and behold, a miracle baby happened. A miracle baby that would be due the following spring, the time of year they had always dreamed they would have a child. Shortly after telling me, I thought, "Well, if anyone deserves to be pregnant, it sounds like it's her and she won't take it for granted."
Unfortunately, I have not been able to keep that thought in the forefront of my mind. The more her stomach grows, the more my jealousy grows. The more her stomach grows, the more my guilt for my feelings grow. The more her stomach grows, the more I think, "Why? Why does she get her dream and I didn't?" The more her stomach grows, the more distant I become. The more her stomach grows, the more I hate the distance.
The sheer amount of emotions I can feel within a few seconds is unreal. Every time she walks past my office door, or stops in to say hi, really any time I see her I feel happy-positive-exicted-hopeful-sad-hurt-panic-anger-jealousy-guilt-crazy-brokenhearted. It's all I can do to keep from completely breaking down, over and over and over and over again every day.
I feel like someone has committed the ultimate act of betrayal against me. I'll be here for you and support you and really get you to open up. Then, when you're least expecting it, I'll tell you all about how I get the one thing you can't have and I knew about it the whole time I was being your friend. I know that sounds totally neurotic, but I can't help it. I have to consciously push that thought from head hundreds of times a day. It's that overwhelming irrationality grief thought taking over.
A has a new wardrobe, I presume maternity clothes. Mine are packed up, put away in a tub where I don't have to see them. There's a whole stack of them in the tub with the tags still on them. I never got to wear them. I still have a giftcard in my wallet to Motherhood Maternity. I never got to use it.
I heard another co-worker chatting with her yesterday as I was microwaving my lunch about picking colors for a room and how it could be hard if you didn't know the gender of your child or how it could put you in a corner and make it difficult for future children if you did find out. What would you do with boy stuff if you had a girl later? If only that were going to be my biggest concern if I am ever pregnant again.
I honestly don't know if I heard if A said she knew what the gender was. I put my lunch in the microwave and then I ran (not really, more like walked at my quickest, non-alarming pace) to the bathroom. I sat in a stall and I cried. I cried so hard I couldn't breathe. Then I put myself back together as best I could and went about my work as if nothing had happened. I didn't want to be "that girl" at work. Who are we kidding? I already am "that girl." Co-workers already avoid talking about A's pregnancy in front of me like they would avoid the plague (minus the one above but the conversation had already started and stopping it would have been even more awkward). But now I know how I react when someone does talk about her upcoming bundle of joy. I completely lose it.
It's a Catch 22, you're damned if you do, damned if you don't. Maybe I should just find a new job.
One week, one day, 12 hours and 4 minutes ago I officially had been without Alfy longer than he had been with us. It didn't really hit me that the milestone had passed until Tuesday. Tuesday, Oct. 23 was the one year anniversary of when I had quit smoking and Tony had quit chewing. Tuesday, Oct. 23 was the day that I found out I was pregnant with Alfy.
Then, to top it all off, my co-worker had her appointment yesterday in which she could find out the gender of her baby. She'll be 20 weeks along on Monday. Is it creepy that I know that? I suppose to some it might be. I can't help it though. I am acutely aware of how her pregnancy is progressing. Every Monday marks another week for her. Every fourth Friday she has her OB appointment and arrives at work about 10:30am. I dread the day when she will be farther along in her pregnancy than I ever was in mine. It's so unfair.
I'm not sure if I've spoken about this situation at work before. If I have, don't worry about reading further, but I need to vent again. This particular co-worker, we'll call her A, had really started becoming part of my support system, at work and even in general. One of her best friend's lost her husband unexpectedly, her friend was about 15 weeks pregnant when this happened. Well, with my new found expertise in grief I tried to provide as much support as I could to A. In that process, I really started opening up to her about my grief process, which I haven't really done with many people (not that many people have seemed to be all that interested). A few weeks after that, we working together at a Saturday program. After the program was done, A came into my office and told me she needed to tell me something. She was pregnant and would be 14 weeks along on Monday. She didn't want me to hear it from anyone else in the office.
What? You're pregnant? Really? At first, I didn't think it bothered me too much. I could see the distress on A's face so I just sat and listened as she told me the story of her pregnancy. It hadn't been an easy road for her and her husband. They had been trying to conceive for about 4 years. One month before they found out they were pregnant, they had been told that IVF or adoption were their only options for kids. Then, low and behold, a miracle baby happened. A miracle baby that would be due the following spring, the time of year they had always dreamed they would have a child. Shortly after telling me, I thought, "Well, if anyone deserves to be pregnant, it sounds like it's her and she won't take it for granted."
Unfortunately, I have not been able to keep that thought in the forefront of my mind. The more her stomach grows, the more my jealousy grows. The more her stomach grows, the more my guilt for my feelings grow. The more her stomach grows, the more I think, "Why? Why does she get her dream and I didn't?" The more her stomach grows, the more distant I become. The more her stomach grows, the more I hate the distance.
The sheer amount of emotions I can feel within a few seconds is unreal. Every time she walks past my office door, or stops in to say hi, really any time I see her I feel happy-positive-exicted-hopeful-sad-hurt-panic-anger-jealousy-guilt-crazy-brokenhearted. It's all I can do to keep from completely breaking down, over and over and over and over again every day.
I feel like someone has committed the ultimate act of betrayal against me. I'll be here for you and support you and really get you to open up. Then, when you're least expecting it, I'll tell you all about how I get the one thing you can't have and I knew about it the whole time I was being your friend. I know that sounds totally neurotic, but I can't help it. I have to consciously push that thought from head hundreds of times a day. It's that overwhelming irrationality grief thought taking over.
A has a new wardrobe, I presume maternity clothes. Mine are packed up, put away in a tub where I don't have to see them. There's a whole stack of them in the tub with the tags still on them. I never got to wear them. I still have a giftcard in my wallet to Motherhood Maternity. I never got to use it.
I heard another co-worker chatting with her yesterday as I was microwaving my lunch about picking colors for a room and how it could be hard if you didn't know the gender of your child or how it could put you in a corner and make it difficult for future children if you did find out. What would you do with boy stuff if you had a girl later? If only that were going to be my biggest concern if I am ever pregnant again.
I honestly don't know if I heard if A said she knew what the gender was. I put my lunch in the microwave and then I ran (not really, more like walked at my quickest, non-alarming pace) to the bathroom. I sat in a stall and I cried. I cried so hard I couldn't breathe. Then I put myself back together as best I could and went about my work as if nothing had happened. I didn't want to be "that girl" at work. Who are we kidding? I already am "that girl." Co-workers already avoid talking about A's pregnancy in front of me like they would avoid the plague (minus the one above but the conversation had already started and stopping it would have been even more awkward). But now I know how I react when someone does talk about her upcoming bundle of joy. I completely lose it.
It's a Catch 22, you're damned if you do, damned if you don't. Maybe I should just find a new job.
Monday, October 15, 2012
Pregnancy Loss and Infant Awareness Day
As many blogs for BLMs have probably started today, today is Pregnancy and Infant Loss Awareness Day. Did you know that there is a whole month? That's right, a whole month to recognize all the precious babies lost too soon. And it's October.
I know, I know, October is also Breast Cancer Awareness month. We are ALL aware of that. Pink everywhere. Pink ribbons, pink shirts, pink shoes, pink incoporated into every NFL team's uniform/field/apparel. Everyone knows someone who has been touched by breast cancer directly or indirectly. Everyone also probably knows someone who has been touched by pregnancy and infant loss too. But you don't see any ribbons or colors or special outfits for all of our babies, gone too soon. It makes me that much more sad and mad too.
In order to help educate others I've been doing this blog and I've been posting articles on my Facebook page that I hope convey the importance and meaning of my son and of other babies taken too soon. I don't know if anyone has learned anything or not, but I hope it at least opens their eyes to us in the Baby Loss world. Here is an article that I found shortly after losing Alfy. It is one I shared on my FB page today. It makes me miss my son, Alfy, so very much.
The heartbreak of infant loss = Milwaukee, Wisconsin Journal Sentinel
By Laura Schubert
Did you know that October is Pregnancy and Infant Loss Awareness Month? I'll bet not. Despite the infant mortality crisis that's been at the forefront of Milwaukee's public health news for months, the only people who have more than a cursory comprehension of what it means to lose a baby are those who've lived it.
Infant loss is nature's cruelest practical joke. It's investing all of the required time and effort into pregnancy, only to be robbed of the result. It's cradling a body that grew within your own and trying to reconcile the cold, lifeless form in your memory of the baby who turned double flips in your womb.
It's worrying that you'll forget what your child looked like and snapping an album's worth of photos that no one will ever ask to see. It's sobbing so hard you can't breathe and wondering if it's possible to cry yourself to death.
Infant loss is handing of a Moses basket to the nurse who's drawn the unfortunate duty of delivering your pride and joy to the morgue and walking out of a hospital with empty arms.
It's boxing up brand new baby clothes and buying a 24-inch casket. It's sifting through sympathy cards, willing your foolish body to stop lactating, clutching your baby's blanket to your chest in hopes of soothing the piercing ache in your heart.
It's resisting the urge to smack the clueless individuals who compare your situation to the death of their dog or who tell you you'll have another baby, as if children are somehow replaceable.
Infant loss is explaining to your 7-year-old that sometimes babies die and being stumped into silence when she asks you why. It's watching other families live out your happy ending and fighting a fresh round of grief with every milestone you miss.
It's being shut out of play groups for perpetuity. It's skipping social events with expectant and newly minted mothers because, as a walking worst-case scenario, you don't want to put a damper on the party.
It's listening to other women gripe about motherhood and realizing that you no longer relate to their petty parental complaints because, frankly, when you've buried a baby, a sleepless night with a vomiting toddler sounds something like a gift.
Infant loss is pruning from your life the friends and relatives who ignore or minimize your loss. It's recognizing that, while they may not mean to be hurtful, the fact that they don't know any better doesn't make their utter lack of empathy one whit easier to bear.
My baby girl would have been 5 years old this month. I don't know what she'd look like, what her favorite food would be. I've never had the privilege of tucking her into bed, taking her to the zoo or kissing her boo-boos. I will never watch her graduate or walk down the aisle.
Infant loss is more than an empty cradle. It's a life sentence.
Tonight was also Day 15, the Wave of Light, for the Capture Your Grief 2012 Project. Everyone who has lost a child was to light a candle at 7pm local time and let it burn for one hour. The idea being that there would be a constant wave of light around the world for our children. Last week we had agreed to eat dinner with some friends of ours. I had only seen them once or twice since we lost Alfy. We took our candle with us and asked if we could light it at their house. Of course they said yes. We lit the candle at 7pm sharp and then shared a moment of silence, in honor of Alfy. I am grateful they let us share our light with them. Here is Alfy's light. Ironically, we just received this candle and holder from Tony's mom yesterday as a thank you for watching their dog. It couldn't have come at a better time.
As time continues, I hope I am able to share more than just his light.
I know, I know, October is also Breast Cancer Awareness month. We are ALL aware of that. Pink everywhere. Pink ribbons, pink shirts, pink shoes, pink incoporated into every NFL team's uniform/field/apparel. Everyone knows someone who has been touched by breast cancer directly or indirectly. Everyone also probably knows someone who has been touched by pregnancy and infant loss too. But you don't see any ribbons or colors or special outfits for all of our babies, gone too soon. It makes me that much more sad and mad too.
In order to help educate others I've been doing this blog and I've been posting articles on my Facebook page that I hope convey the importance and meaning of my son and of other babies taken too soon. I don't know if anyone has learned anything or not, but I hope it at least opens their eyes to us in the Baby Loss world. Here is an article that I found shortly after losing Alfy. It is one I shared on my FB page today. It makes me miss my son, Alfy, so very much.
The heartbreak of infant loss = Milwaukee, Wisconsin Journal Sentinel
By Laura Schubert
Did you know that October is Pregnancy and Infant Loss Awareness Month? I'll bet not. Despite the infant mortality crisis that's been at the forefront of Milwaukee's public health news for months, the only people who have more than a cursory comprehension of what it means to lose a baby are those who've lived it.
Infant loss is nature's cruelest practical joke. It's investing all of the required time and effort into pregnancy, only to be robbed of the result. It's cradling a body that grew within your own and trying to reconcile the cold, lifeless form in your memory of the baby who turned double flips in your womb.
It's worrying that you'll forget what your child looked like and snapping an album's worth of photos that no one will ever ask to see. It's sobbing so hard you can't breathe and wondering if it's possible to cry yourself to death.
Infant loss is handing of a Moses basket to the nurse who's drawn the unfortunate duty of delivering your pride and joy to the morgue and walking out of a hospital with empty arms.
It's boxing up brand new baby clothes and buying a 24-inch casket. It's sifting through sympathy cards, willing your foolish body to stop lactating, clutching your baby's blanket to your chest in hopes of soothing the piercing ache in your heart.
It's resisting the urge to smack the clueless individuals who compare your situation to the death of their dog or who tell you you'll have another baby, as if children are somehow replaceable.
Infant loss is explaining to your 7-year-old that sometimes babies die and being stumped into silence when she asks you why. It's watching other families live out your happy ending and fighting a fresh round of grief with every milestone you miss.
It's being shut out of play groups for perpetuity. It's skipping social events with expectant and newly minted mothers because, as a walking worst-case scenario, you don't want to put a damper on the party.
It's listening to other women gripe about motherhood and realizing that you no longer relate to their petty parental complaints because, frankly, when you've buried a baby, a sleepless night with a vomiting toddler sounds something like a gift.
Infant loss is pruning from your life the friends and relatives who ignore or minimize your loss. It's recognizing that, while they may not mean to be hurtful, the fact that they don't know any better doesn't make their utter lack of empathy one whit easier to bear.
My baby girl would have been 5 years old this month. I don't know what she'd look like, what her favorite food would be. I've never had the privilege of tucking her into bed, taking her to the zoo or kissing her boo-boos. I will never watch her graduate or walk down the aisle.
Infant loss is more than an empty cradle. It's a life sentence.
Tonight was also Day 15, the Wave of Light, for the Capture Your Grief 2012 Project. Everyone who has lost a child was to light a candle at 7pm local time and let it burn for one hour. The idea being that there would be a constant wave of light around the world for our children. Last week we had agreed to eat dinner with some friends of ours. I had only seen them once or twice since we lost Alfy. We took our candle with us and asked if we could light it at their house. Of course they said yes. We lit the candle at 7pm sharp and then shared a moment of silence, in honor of Alfy. I am grateful they let us share our light with them. Here is Alfy's light. Ironically, we just received this candle and holder from Tony's mom yesterday as a thank you for watching their dog. It couldn't have come at a better time.
As time continues, I hope I am able to share more than just his light.
Saturday, October 6, 2012
Six months
My sweet little Alfy was born six months ago today. There are moments it feels like it was just yesterday and other moments where it feels like a lifetime ago. So much has changed since that day in April.
A lot of my posts as of late have focused on my anger, my discomfort with others and my crazy thoughts. Unfortunately there is still a lot of that floating around in my soul. But, there are also many things that have brought a smile to my face, like my hubby. So, in honor of my precious little boy, I am going to share the afternoon (more like after 4pm) adventures I had with his dad today.
I've realized how much my husband and I are meant for each other. I'm sure that sounds cheesy, but it's true. There are so many little nuances about him that just make me giggle and smile, his love to "dance," his singing in the shower, the excitement he shows at some of the smallest things, his caring heart, his crazy attempt today to make biscuits that were star shaped. I would not be where I am right now without him. He is such a wonderful husband and father.
Today, we went to the cemetery to visit Alfy. I took a camera with me so I could get some pictures for the "Capture Your Grief 2012" project I've been participating in on Facebook (finally, something positive from Facebook!). We took pictures of Alfy's marker and his spot at the cemetery. We walked around to visit Alfy's neighbors. I was saddened to see that there is a girl close by who passed when she was only 13 years old, her name was Jenna. I wonder what her story is. I said a little prayer for her and all of his neighbors. I was surprised to see how many soldiers from the military were around him. It was comforting though, he is surrounded by so many brave individuals. Tony joined me in all of this and didn't think it strange or weird.
After our visit with Alfy we drove to the Russell Stover's candy store in town. They are the only place in the state of Nebraska that sells Blue Bell ice cream, of which Cookies N Cream is my favorite. It is the best ice cream ever!
On the way back to the interstate to head home, I remembered there was another picture I wanted to take for the project, a picture of the hospital and window of the room where I delivered Alfy. Tony drove around the parking lot with me for about 15 minutes as we tried to decide where our room was from the outside. The land mark that we used to decide which room was ours was the cemetery across the street. It's not the same cemetery that Alfy is buried in, but it's right next to it. The whole time I was in the hospital delivering Alfy, staring out the window I was staring at a cemetery. Isn't it ironic, don't you think? (cue the Alanis Morisette song)
Anyways, the point to the stories above is to demonstrate how Tony is with me, every step of the way. While our experiences are unique they are the same. We can share them with each other. We've reached a point where we feel comfortable sharing absolutely anything with each other, unafraid of how the other might react or what the other might think, because, at the end of the day, we'll still be there for each other. I wish I could say we were this way before Alfy, but I don't think we were, at least not on the level we are now. It's a good thing I have him, because who knows where I would have ended up without him. He is my rock, my partner and my best friend. He is the father of my child. I love him so very much.
Today, six months after saying goodbye to our son, I am so grateful to have Tony next to me.
I am sad and peaceful today. Alfy, I love you and I miss you.
A lot of my posts as of late have focused on my anger, my discomfort with others and my crazy thoughts. Unfortunately there is still a lot of that floating around in my soul. But, there are also many things that have brought a smile to my face, like my hubby. So, in honor of my precious little boy, I am going to share the afternoon (more like after 4pm) adventures I had with his dad today.
I've realized how much my husband and I are meant for each other. I'm sure that sounds cheesy, but it's true. There are so many little nuances about him that just make me giggle and smile, his love to "dance," his singing in the shower, the excitement he shows at some of the smallest things, his caring heart, his crazy attempt today to make biscuits that were star shaped. I would not be where I am right now without him. He is such a wonderful husband and father.
Today, we went to the cemetery to visit Alfy. I took a camera with me so I could get some pictures for the "Capture Your Grief 2012" project I've been participating in on Facebook (finally, something positive from Facebook!). We took pictures of Alfy's marker and his spot at the cemetery. We walked around to visit Alfy's neighbors. I was saddened to see that there is a girl close by who passed when she was only 13 years old, her name was Jenna. I wonder what her story is. I said a little prayer for her and all of his neighbors. I was surprised to see how many soldiers from the military were around him. It was comforting though, he is surrounded by so many brave individuals. Tony joined me in all of this and didn't think it strange or weird.
After our visit with Alfy we drove to the Russell Stover's candy store in town. They are the only place in the state of Nebraska that sells Blue Bell ice cream, of which Cookies N Cream is my favorite. It is the best ice cream ever!
On the way back to the interstate to head home, I remembered there was another picture I wanted to take for the project, a picture of the hospital and window of the room where I delivered Alfy. Tony drove around the parking lot with me for about 15 minutes as we tried to decide where our room was from the outside. The land mark that we used to decide which room was ours was the cemetery across the street. It's not the same cemetery that Alfy is buried in, but it's right next to it. The whole time I was in the hospital delivering Alfy, staring out the window I was staring at a cemetery. Isn't it ironic, don't you think? (cue the Alanis Morisette song)
Anyways, the point to the stories above is to demonstrate how Tony is with me, every step of the way. While our experiences are unique they are the same. We can share them with each other. We've reached a point where we feel comfortable sharing absolutely anything with each other, unafraid of how the other might react or what the other might think, because, at the end of the day, we'll still be there for each other. I wish I could say we were this way before Alfy, but I don't think we were, at least not on the level we are now. It's a good thing I have him, because who knows where I would have ended up without him. He is my rock, my partner and my best friend. He is the father of my child. I love him so very much.
Today, six months after saying goodbye to our son, I am so grateful to have Tony next to me.
I am sad and peaceful today. Alfy, I love you and I miss you.
Tuesday, October 2, 2012
Distored Thoughts
I'm not sure yet if I want to/should be sharing this here, but I'm going to anyways. Tony and I have started talked about trying to conceive again. And I must tell you, it's a terrifying thought for me, especially right now. Saturday will mark six months since Alfy was born and gone. Ironically, it will also mark the one year anniversary of when he was conceived. All this dawned on me yesterday, it made the day hard.
Tony and I have spent a lot of time the past couple of weekends with our nephew. He's about 8 1/2 months old right now and so cute I could just eat him up. My nephew's parents, my sister and new brother-in-law, got married two weekends ago and my cousin this past weekend, so there has been lots of family time. Seeing my nephew has created that want of another child for both Tony and me. But with that want comes great fear.
I don't know that I could go through a pregnancy that was on virtually the same timeline as my pregnancy with Alfy. I know Tony wants to have more children so badly, as do I, but I don't know if I can do it right now. On the flip side, there is a fear in me that if I wait too long, it won't happen and I will have missed out entirely. I doubt this to be the truth, but it's still there.
I also fear what kind of mother I might be to a living child. Already, my view of pregnancy and how to prepare for another child has become totally distorted. The thoughts that run through my head are nothing like what a "normal" woman preparing for another possible pregnancy might have and are nothing like what I had when I was pregnant with Alfy. I think about the cemetery and the fact that we purchased three plots side by side, one for Alfy, one for me and one for Tony. Is the plot next to Alfy still available? Should we consider buying it now to be prepared, just in case? Can we put a flat marker there like Alfy's or does it have to be a standing monument? I can't remember the rules at the cemetery, two standing monuments and one flat marker, but can you add in additional flat markers? it creates an almost panic like feeling in me that another lost child would not be able to have the same marker. I also think about if and when I might find out about another pregnancy, I will immediately go and buy a little girl preemie outfit and a little boy preemie outfit. I didn't have any outfits for Alfy when he was born. I wasn't prepared like I should have been. I think about our spare room with the crib still up that will need to come down, yes that''s right, down not up. But then that thought sends me into a whirlwind of panic and guilt that I didn't have the room put together for Alfy when he was born, but I don't think I could take down another room. I think about baby showers and the fact that I don't think I would want to have any, but how would we go about getting all the stuff needed to have a child? Honestly, I think I would purchase most of it after-the-fact, if we even got to that point. Otherwise, I suppose just the bare necessities will do.
These are the thoughts that run through my head when I think about trying to try to conceive another child.
Tony and I have spent a lot of time the past couple of weekends with our nephew. He's about 8 1/2 months old right now and so cute I could just eat him up. My nephew's parents, my sister and new brother-in-law, got married two weekends ago and my cousin this past weekend, so there has been lots of family time. Seeing my nephew has created that want of another child for both Tony and me. But with that want comes great fear.
I don't know that I could go through a pregnancy that was on virtually the same timeline as my pregnancy with Alfy. I know Tony wants to have more children so badly, as do I, but I don't know if I can do it right now. On the flip side, there is a fear in me that if I wait too long, it won't happen and I will have missed out entirely. I doubt this to be the truth, but it's still there.
I also fear what kind of mother I might be to a living child. Already, my view of pregnancy and how to prepare for another child has become totally distorted. The thoughts that run through my head are nothing like what a "normal" woman preparing for another possible pregnancy might have and are nothing like what I had when I was pregnant with Alfy. I think about the cemetery and the fact that we purchased three plots side by side, one for Alfy, one for me and one for Tony. Is the plot next to Alfy still available? Should we consider buying it now to be prepared, just in case? Can we put a flat marker there like Alfy's or does it have to be a standing monument? I can't remember the rules at the cemetery, two standing monuments and one flat marker, but can you add in additional flat markers? it creates an almost panic like feeling in me that another lost child would not be able to have the same marker. I also think about if and when I might find out about another pregnancy, I will immediately go and buy a little girl preemie outfit and a little boy preemie outfit. I didn't have any outfits for Alfy when he was born. I wasn't prepared like I should have been. I think about our spare room with the crib still up that will need to come down, yes that''s right, down not up. But then that thought sends me into a whirlwind of panic and guilt that I didn't have the room put together for Alfy when he was born, but I don't think I could take down another room. I think about baby showers and the fact that I don't think I would want to have any, but how would we go about getting all the stuff needed to have a child? Honestly, I think I would purchase most of it after-the-fact, if we even got to that point. Otherwise, I suppose just the bare necessities will do.
These are the thoughts that run through my head when I think about trying to try to conceive another child.
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