distractions

April is coming.  To most April means sunshine and warmth, an end to a long winter.  To me... it's a celebration of the birth of three of the most important people in the world to me.  My husband and best friend (yes this refers to the same person), my childhood friend who has always been there for me, and my 2nd child (G, her smile brings me happiness).   But also it is the angelversary of Gabbie and marks a full two years devoid of watching a tiny baby growing and loving, passing milestones and learning, giving wet kisses and big hugs with little arms.  And I'm so sad.  And terrified.

If it weren't for this blog could you tell?  Would you know of the nightmares that wrap me in fear and leave me wimpering and sobbing in the darkness protected by the arms and love of my best friend? Would you know of the occasional breakdowns of my walls when strength is just depleted and I fall to my knees and cry and pray that this baby will be ok? Would you know of the brilliant flashes back to that April? I can't keep them out of my head some days.  I can't keep her little face away.  I can't keep the sound of the doctor's voice when she said "no I'm sorry" out of my head.  I can't keep the pictures of prepping for a c-section so sick from the drugs they gave me to try to induce my body into labor, but knowing it was going to be to have a baby that would never cry; I'd hoped with every molecule in my body that they were wrong.  I can't keep the fears away, they sometimes distract me.  Perhaps this is similar to post traumatic stress disorder? I tell myself over and over and am constantly reassured by doctors and nurses that we are doing everything to keep this baby, her sister, safe. I tell myself this.  I try to convince myself.  I know this.  I know that the only control I have is my reaction.  But some of my reactions are uncontrollable.  I can't stop the anxiety each time they try to find the baby's heart beat.  I can't stop the thoughts, they come so fast, so suddenly.  I push them away but sometimes the damage in my heart is already done.  I can't keep the nightmares away in the darkness. They are getting more frequent. I can't breathe when I think about scheduling a c-section.  Gabbie's was scheduled and only 5 days before it her heart stopped.  Independent events, I know but the anxiety is there.

I'm so afraid of disappointing the girls, especially G.  She's so excited.  So flippin' excited.

She wants so badly to walk the baby in a stroller and hold her.  What if the baby doesn't come home?  "What ifs" are dangerous things.  I can't prepare for her not to come home and I can't prepare for her to come home.  What if she does? What if she doesn't?  Is there something that was a sign that Gabbie wasn't going to make it? No.  There was no sign. No factor.  She wasn't sick.  My body gave her too much room.  I'm big again.  Is this baby sick? No.  Is there some sign that she might not make it? No.  But until I hold her pink and breathing in my arms I can't breathe, rest, believe. There is very little control over real fear and anxiety. The things that help are going to my doctor appointments and hearing her heartbeat or seeing her on the sonogram screen.  These good news-visits are a welcome distraction that break the anxiety at least temporarily.  Like today, the sonogram technician looked to see if the cord was wrapped around her neck.  I got to see a perfect curve instead of a cord between her ear and her should.  There was just a soft smooth "c".  And I thank God for this wonderful news.

I am thankful for these breaks.  And for all the pain of losing Gabbie I am thankful for what I've learned because of her.  I could not have ever fathomed the depth and capacity of love I am capable of.

 I will never take for granted my kids, or the love of my husband, his strength and compassion and my need for him.  I will be constantly reminded to never be selfish of my time because time is so limited.  I know now how very little control we have and that knowledge alters your outlook on life.  I understand the strength of fear; horror movies cannot possibly compare or simulate fear like this.  I will forever be grateful for the number of people who have reached out to us, who send butterflies (they always come when I need the reminder the most that we are not alone), for friends and family who worry too about this baby and pray for her safe arrival.  So, I smile. I stay distracted.

I play with G. I try to find ways to show S she's important. I try to document through pictures the beauty of pregnancy.

I enjoy the time I have right now with the kicks and taps of a healthy baby. I enjoy cuddling with D at night when she moves around beneath his hand on my belly, tapping out acknowledgement that she knows daddy is there.  I find strength in D who I know is anxious too, but he understands this loss and hope better than anyone else.

I'm turning 34 and have never felt more vulnerable to life, and circumstance, and possibility of pain.

There's 2 months left. There's 2 months left to enjoy what will most likely be my last pregnancy and to fear every second that one more of my children might make it to heaven before me. 2 months is an infinite amount of time and I'm struggling to breathe.