My strength can be found in sweet girls.

Gabbie's angelversary was Friday. We spent it with butterflies. She visited me as a wounded and beautifully flawed Blue Morpho butterfly just as last year. She sat on my finger and softly fluttered. And I cried. Because I miss her.  Because I love her.  Because I still don't understand. Because I'm afraid that it's getting closer to 38 weeks with this baby and I don't know what I'd do if next year I have to visit with two butterflies. 

But we had a nice day at the conservatory and lunch, and then shopping for G's birthday present at build-a-bear, and then for her party goods and the balloons for her and Gabbie. But it was raining too hard to release them Friday night so we waited. 

Friday night D got very sick and he and I were up all night. He slept all Saturday while I prepared for the G's party on Sunday. All day G kept asking to release Gabbie's balloons to her but I told her we had to wait until daddy was better so he could do it too. She was so good all day and so excited for "the best birthday ever". 

Sunday came and D felt better. We assumed it was just food poisoning so we went on with the party. 20 people. 

Sunday night we released the balloons to Gabbie. S said she wished that the balloons would bring Gabbie back down from heaven. When I tucked G into bed Sunday night she asked me, "mommy do you member when we went to church and they talked about the man who died and went to heaven?" 

"Yes baby, his name is Jesus. "

She said, "mommy what if Jesus loves balloons and tried to take one from Gabbie."  

"Oh baby, Jesus loves Gabbie, he wouldn't want to take her balloons. He is taking care of her until we can see her again. He wants her to be happy just like us."  

She thought about this for a second. "You know what mommy?  I bet Gabbie would give him a balloon If he wanted one. She got two and she'd share if he really liked them."  

"Yep I bet you're right, now close your eyes birthday girl and go to sleep. Did you have a fabulous birthday?" 

"Mommy I had the best birthday ever!"

"I'm so glad. Love you baby."  

I thought then how much I was blessed. But that night I came down with the virus D had had. I feel terrible that we had all those people over. I hope no one gets it. It took only about 4 hours for me to become dehydrated. I ended up with contractions less than every 7 minutes. So needing fluids I went to the hospital to be treated in L&D and then I came home and slept. Literally almost unable to move because my body aches so bad the girls and D took care of me. G was so excited to bring me flowers home with her bright yellow daffodils, and S took care of her sister without a word. The house was quiet all day which almost never happens. At bedtime G came in my room and peering over the footboard of the bed with big worried eyes she said, "Mommy do you think you'll feel better tomorrow?"

"I hope so baby."

"I really miss hugging and kissin you."  

"I know peanut. I'll try to be better ok?"

"Ok mommy. I love you."  And she went off to bed. 

I wonder now, and often, how did I raise such caring sweet babies?  How did I get so blessed to have girls who care more about others all the time?  Perhaps it is for this reason that I was strong enough, brave enough to try again for a baby?  Their sisters, Gabbie's and the new one, give me strength. I don't know what I'd have done without them two years ago. They are part of the reason I got out of bed when it felt I'd left my heart behind in the hospital. 

All this talk of butterflies

A couple months ago I bought a new car.  I was so excited.  I sent a message to a couple people with pictures of the car and said, "now it just needs some butterflies."  I always thought that driving someone else's car was awkward because you were unfamiliar with pretty much all of it.  Everything from where the lights could be found to turn them on and instead the windshield wipers start going, to parking on the wrong side of the gas pump and having to get back in and weave around the lot like an idiot to get to the right side always make me feel inept and uncomfortable.  It was so long since I had a newer car and in fact I've never owned a new-off-the-lot car that it felt so good to be excited and tell people.  Butterflies would make my new ride feel more like home not because I wanted the adornment but because I still wish I'd be driving 3 girls around instead of two and that was my way of making sure she always rode with me.  Most responded with the same excitement as me, but one person responded with the comment that "butterflies don't go with everything." Now anyone who knows me knows how much butterflies mean to me, and as for the  motivation of the comment itself  I've moved beyond it.  Maybe I got them on a bad day, at a bad moment, I don't know it doesn't matter any longer.  I don't hold grudges or hurts because life is too short.  Since then, I'm coming to conclusion that however ill-spoken the comment was at the time, and although it hurt me when it was said, the message of the comment is true.  Butterflies do not go with everything.

Butterflies do not go with broken hearts or sadness or death.  Once the person is gone, no amount of butterflies can go together to have that person hug you or smile at you or hold your hand. She may be my butterfly but I'll never hold my 7lb 15 oz baby not watch her turn into a silly and beautiful two year old.

Over a year ago I ordered a bear from a website ran by another grieving mother.  The website is a legacy to her daughter.  They created weighted bears that are as heavy as the childwas that had gone to heaven.  They are as heavy as your physical loss.  I received my bear in the mail yesterday and it is absolutely beautiful and perfect.  G wanted to sit with Gabraella bear all day.  She sat next to it and watched tv.  She wanted the bear to ride her rocking horse and play cow girl with her.  She called her "she" and "her".  We had to go to the bank and she wanted to bring her with.  When I said no she then wanted me to leave the tv on for Gabraella Bear so she wouldn't feel lonely. (I obliged, when a little girl asks a question like that, of course you say yes.).  When we got home she wanted to play dress up with her.  I told G we didn't have clothes for bear.  G's response was to tell me it was ok, since the bear was little still she would show Gabraella Bear what she could do when she got bigger.  She told me how heavy the bear was, but then went on to say that a big sister is always strong enough to carry something so heavy.  And I watched and listened. And while my heart was warmed by the antics of an almost four year old little girl, it also broke into tiny fragile pieces.  How terribly wrong that she should play with just a bear with a butterfly bow and not her real sister.

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Butterflies do not go with playing dress up.  Butterflies do not go with play time. Butterflies can not serve tea or ride like a cowgirl.  Butterflies cannot sing along with "Frozen" on tv.

But... as was shown today, butterflies can stimulate love, and joy, and conquer fear.  We went to the butterfly conservatory in Canada.  G couldn't wait to point them out to me, S kind of wanted them to land on her, sort of.  I just wanted to be visited.

Sky was petrified about hurting them until I got her to hold one.

 

And her fear was conquered with a smile.  My heart soared, I'm so proud of her.  

And then there was G.  My fearless loveable warrior of light and spotter of butterflies.  She doesn't have much but she'd offer me her world while she sweetly and proudly pointed out every butterfly in it.

And then there's Gabbie.

And as we walked around and had to be careful where we walked I came across a wounded butterfly sitting in the middle of the path.  A Gabbie butterfly.  So I helped her up and there she sat.

On my finger safe from feet.  And she visited with me for many minutes.  Flapping softly her wounded wings.  Wounded just like my Gabbie.  And beautiful, perhaps to beautiful in its wounded state to be from this Earth, just like my Gabbie.  

So, no, butterflies don't go with everything,but if they conquer fear, bring joy, and closeness to all my babies I'll make sure they are everywhere.  Butterflies are a constant reminder of how quickly life can skip away, and they remind me to enjoy the people who mean anything to me, because you literally never know when they are going to be gone.

Because butterflies have brought me closer to some of the most wonderful people.  Butterflies have given me some peace where often there is darkness. 

So today, on the day you left us, 

We miss you sweet baby, so much there are no words to express how much.  

You'd be 2 today.  So happy second birthday in heaven.  

two sides, one huge mess

I have been sitting on this blog for a while now.  I'm tired.  I'm not ready.  I'm beginning to feel rushed, as though I'm running out of time.  I have a list a mile long of chores to do.  Chores that  don't need doing but "need" to be done, if you get my drift.  I must be nesting.  I'm moody and irritable.  I'm defensive.  I'm teary.  I must be nesting and a complete inner disaster.

I cried the other day after I posted on FB a status about how important it is to count kicks.  Why didn't I count kicks before? Every.  Single. Day.  Why?  I know I'm not supposed to blame myself, but after two years I still do.  Now would have been the week two years ago that if I'd really been counting instead of just "paying attention" to her movements I might have saved her.  Me.  Her only bridge to help.  And I didn't.  I'm a fuck up.  I'm a self centered, self indulgent, person, and perhaps I don't deserve another chance.  That's how I feel today.  Inside, that's how I feel many days.  Some days I don't care very much for parts of myself, or even like those parts. And that's sad.  Even I'm sad for that pathetic "me", the other "me," the confident, sweet, responsible, intelligent side of me is sad for that sorry "me".  

It is as though I'm two.  One half knows rationally that I try my best, and like most parents wonder if my best is good enough.  That same half knows how unlikely it would have been for me to save her, that 1 in 4 pregnancies end in miscarriage or stillbirth and none of those women did anything wrong.  One half, the rational half understands how important it is to like yourself, to show growing girls how to be strong and love themselves.  Rational me understands how breakdowns, though necessary sometimes, need serve a purpose.  So the rational half often puts a proverbial reassuring hand on the other's shoulder to calm the crazy half down.  

But then there's the side two.  The side you saw a few lines so.  Side two is still a mess.  Side two blames herself, carries around guilt in a transparent bag and her heart, red and raw on her sleeve if you take the time to look.  Side two wants to cry frequently and throw self indulge in pity parties.  Side two is a quiet voice in the back of my head who repeats herself over and over like a subliminal message tape and if rational me isn't careful enough the pitiful rubs off and strong, rational me loses it.  But then quietly, with whatever dignity the strong side has left, I quietly gather the pieces of myself back together pick them up, brush them off, put them back in place and carefully so as not to shatter again, and then retreat until the glue dries and I feel presentable.  

Gabraella's angelversary is one week away.  I miss her so much and it is unfathomable to me that we'd be weeks away from trying to bring her baby sister into this world.  I'm trying all I can to do this right, to be a good mom, and a good wife, to be worthy of this tiny little miracle's love.  But the balance is not perfection and its so hard to let go of all the control.  Maybe that's why I feel this insatiable urge to control the aspects of this house.  Maybe that's why the nesting and prep is becoming obsessive.  Originally I wanted nothing to do with prepping for her, for fear of have it all prepped and then have to see it all of she doesn't come home. That part of me still exists, I think it's the safe part, but the rational post knows that if it's not done now it'll never get done by the time the need to have it done arises. So on some days I want to control the house preparation for her to the most minute detail.  It's all because I can control that much at least.  

Wow am I a mess.  I wonder if I'm even doing a good job at the facade of normal.  

So what did we learn today from this crazy rant?  I need to talk nicer about myself, . If I were my friend I'd have left myself a long time ago.  I need to find a better balance.  I need a clean house. (Ha... that's funny and becoming totally true.)  I need a plan so I can control the controllable better.  I need to learn to listen better to myself, both sides and clean up clean up this huge mess.