Happy Birthday, Charlie

I should have a huge mess to clean up. Wrapping paper all over the floor, tablecloths to wash, dishes to do, trash to take out, and me scrambling to make room in my freezer for leftover birthday cake that no one would take home because my friends don't let their kids eat sugar or food coloring, both of which I love to put in birthday cakes. 

It would have been chocolate with baby blue icing and dark blue trim- blue icing between each layer, so that when you cut the cake it was brown, baby blue blue, brown, baby blue blue on the dark blue plates. Three tiered, with the top layer removable so that he could have it in front of him to blow out his first birthday candle and put his hands all in the icing. I even had a glittery blue "1" that was leftover from Adaline's first birthday because I finally found a pink one for her cake and decided to save the blue candle for "one day when we had another baby." The room would be full of way too many red balloons that my dad would have made a whole production about blowing up, because he's famous for carrying his helium tank to all of our parties. And it wouldn't be a birthday party without him singing at least a couple of lines of "Happy Birthday" in the helium voice. 

Instead, today I walked out to my son's grave and remembered the day we buried him. I stood in the very same spot I stood at his burial, underneath a tree branch that is now home a wind chime made out of angels. I'm not sure where it came from, and even though we don't believe in angels, I cant bear to take it down. As David and I walked out to the graveside  we both remembered how frail and weak we felt as we walked out to lay him to rest. It all felt so unfair, and it still does. It still is. 

We should be celebrating, but instead we are remembering his very short life and thinking of all the things we will miss out on. All the birthdays, all the firsts, all the memories that we should be making with him- all these things that we expected to be doing that we can't do. We can only hold the memory if his incredibly short time with us and try to focus on what we do have, not what we have lost. We try to spend our days being grateful for our children and that we have made it through the past year with our relationship and our lives in tact. But not today. 

Today we grieve: not only the loss of our son, but for the loss of all the things that go along with having a child. For his first birthday and his 30th birthday, for his wedding day and his high school graduation day. For his first steps, his first soccer game, and his first date. We grieve the child that we lost because he was amazing and special and we fell in love with him, but we also grieve the life that we wanted so badly for him to live. And today is just one of the many birthdays he doesn't get to have. 

Babies in a bucket

Charlie's birthday is on Saturday, so Im working on a letter to him. Thankfully, I have these girls to help me through the week.

Callie and Wendy's Birth Story

*warning: contains detailed information*

If you are tagged and you don't want to read this, I promise it won't hurt my feelings. I just thought I'd share this story with some of my closest friends, other mom's, and ladies who may one day give birth. Also, due to the fact that there are two babies, and things in our lives were completely different this time, it is a long story.

The pregnancy

The circumstances of getting pregnant this time were much different from my previous two pregnancies. In the past, we were trying, but not with any real motivation. This time, we were really trying and extremely hopeful. I was very lucky to have gotten pregnant on the first attempt, after losing our son to SIDS and being in need of a great deal of hope in our lives to move forward. I was using ovulation strips, and I tested positive on a Friday, a negative on Saturday, and just for fun I took one on Sunday. It was also positive. I thought they were bunk, and just told myself I'd never use them again. Little did I know, I likely ovulated two times, which is fairly common during times of stress and after not menstruating for a long time.

During the aftermath of Charlie's death, David and I found ourselves looking up at a chunk of rainbow in between dark clouds in the sky on two separate occasions. Those two days were beautiful, and I'll never forget the little bits of color that brought smiles to our faces during such a tragic time. The look on David's face when Shondra, our longtime ultrasound tech, told us that we were having two babies is forever burned into my head. She said, "There's two!" and I thought, "Two what?" Shock, awe, excitement- all around disbelief. We were having not one, but two, rainbow babies. Rainbow babies are what babies are known as when they follow a pregnancy , birth, or child loss. While it was overwhelming and a little scary, it was incredibly exciting and a little perfect.

My pregnancy went swimmingly well. As we prepared our lives for a whole house full of girls, we tried to push back the thoughts of preterm labor or the idea of them being born too early. I made lists, restrictions for myself, and did everything I could to make sure that I was aware of the causes of preterm labor. When I made it to 35 weeks, and we were cleared to deliver at our regular hospital, there was such an incredible sense of relief that washed over the both of us. Perhaps that relief led to a relaxation that triggered labor, because at 35 weeks, 1 day I went into labor. 

The Birth

Most of my latter days of pregnancy were pretty slow. It was hard to move around, and I didn’t have a lot of energy. But, David and I had rearranged the whole kitchen on Thursday. Let me rephrase this: I pointed where I wanted things to go, and David moved stuff around. We had this idea that the inclusion of a kitchen table in our lives would minimize the mess that Adaline made and give us a place for family time each evening. So on Friday, David worked outside for most of the day and I had sat around and played with Ada and watched some horrible television programming. Finally, I got up and cooked dinner to be had around our kitchen table in our newly arranged kitchen. Roasted chicken, collard and kale greens, roasted root vegetables, and steamed mushrooms. We ate, laid around the house and fell asleep early.

I awoke to needing to go to the bathroom and felt very well rested. I assumed I'd been sleeping for several hours. It was 11:30- we had been asleep for an hour and a half. David was wide awake as well, and he laid in bed and read comic books on his newfound love, the Nexus 7. I was on the couch watching netflix, and as I was drifting off, and it felt like one of the babies kicked me in the cervix. I thought it felt mighty low, but turned over and attempted sleep. But then I felt a warm gush and stood up very quickly to realize that my water had broken. I called out to David, asking him to come and letting him know what happened. We immediately began packing, gathering things up to leave. My water was just leaking away, but I wasn't having any contractions. David called our family and Aundria, our longtime friend who is also a midwife. She had agreed to be with us for the birth. Since my previous labor had been only 3 hours, we were in a rush. I was not going to have these babies in the back of my minivan.  

I took the other half of the Dramamine that I'd taken last January on the way to the hospital to keep from being nauseous. We got on the road, and I began to have very mild contractions. Adaline was in the back of our minivan and had woken up. We told her that the twins were coming, and that she would get to meet them soon. When we arrived at the hospital, she was very excited. The nurses began strapping me in to the monitors to get the babies heart rates, and my contractions were picking up but still pretty mild.

The nurses told us that our family had arrived, so we sent Adaline with grandparents and Aundria joined us in the room- OB room 5. There are 6 rooms on the floor, and we have now birthed in 3 of them. I was anxious to get the typical hospital routines over with, so that we could get on to the birthing. Since I've had GBS twice and my test results had not yet come back I knew I had to have the antibiotics. The first nurse who came in to stick me stuck me in a weird nerve ending in my wrist that caused a sensation like an electric shock to go down my hand. The second nurse got the IV in quickly, and we started the antibiotics for the GBS. My contractions began to become a little more intense, more like my uterus was contracting across the bottom than just up and down. My legs began to shake, and I felt very cold. As the iv emptied, I was finding myself ready to get into the shower and feel the relief of the almost hot water. My OB arrived, and after a quick ultrasound confirmed that Baby B was still breech, and that we'd have to do a breech extraction after A was born.

As my contractions grew stronger, David and Aundria stayed closer to me. It seems like I went in and out of the shower several times, finding comfort in the water. As the contractions came on, I'd lean on David and get through them. Every now and then Aundria would let me know that it seemed like they were getting stronger, and I felt like I was getting close. As I stood in the shower, I could feel Baby A's head moving down through the birth canal and I began to feel the urge to push with each contraction. I sat on the toilet and I felt relieved that I was off my feet but that there was not additional pressure on my bottom. Two babies in my belly threw me off balance more than usual, and I was afraid to squat, for fear that I'd tip right over. I was ready. I knew I couldn't resist the urge to push any longer, so Aundria went to tell the staff and I climbed into the bed. A quick check put me at 8cm, so I got back out of the bed and my OB left the room, assuming it'd be an hour before I had a baby. Aundria caught Baby A in the shower just a few minutes later at 4:08am, and put her up to my chest.

She was white, covered in vernix, and so tiny. Fragile. And then loud. Her bottom lip trembled, and then she made the same kissy face that Adaline made when she was born. I handed her to Dave and moved to the bed as my OB made her way into the room. The moments after I got into the bed both all blur together and are something I can remember so clearly. I remember looking at my stomach and realizing I was going to have to do it again, that there really was a second baby coming out. I felt so torn between looking at and wanting to hold the sweet baby I'd just given birth to, and knowing it was time to move towards getting her sister out. I looked between my legs at my trusted OB, who I was quickly realizing was about to cause me a lot of pain. I was so tired, and I just didn’t want to do it. There were a lot of people in the room, all looking at my vulva. I wanted to take a nap.

As my OB inserted her hand inside of my body, I suddenly wished I had opted for some pain relief. For the first time in three labors, I wanted to scream about how badly I wanted drugs. Thankfully, the process went very quickly, and although I wanted medication in the 4-5 minutes it took to happen, I am glad I'd not chosen the epidural. Baby B had turned transverse, so my OB just flipped her into vertex position with the help of her partner, who simultaneously performed an external version. I felt the urge to push and I pushed through one contraction. The nurses standing around me we are being extremely verbally supportive. At the next contraction, I felt her head crown, and her body come out very quickly. Baby B was born at 4:28 am. She laid on my chest for a couple of minutes- white like her sister and just as tiny. Then, out of nowhere she was taken to the warming bed to have fluid suctioned out. I delivered the placenta, and my OB, Aundria, and I looked it over. It was very cool- and huge.

Afterbirth/NICU stay

I was feeling okay, and I was anxious to find out what was happening with Baby B. As always, I wanted a shower and to get up out of the hospital bed. I got up, got in the shower quickly, put some clothes on, and made my way out to the nursery to see Baby B and David as Aundria was kangarooing Baby A (hospital policy does not allow us to hold babies in the hallways). After a few minutes I realized that I wasn't okay- the after pains were going to be worse than the last labor. I was sure it would pass, so I slowly made my way back to my room and put Baby A to my chest to nurse. Within a few moments, my pants were soaked through, and I was bleeding a lot. The pains were growing increasingly stronger, and I just wanted it to quickly be over. Aundria was with me to let me know it wasn't abnormal- but everyone wanted to be pressing on my belly. And it hurt, and I was stressed out, and I was exhausted. I still wanted to just have everything be perfect and be holding my two babies and taking nap. I opted for a pitocin shot, hoping that it would speed things along and allow me to take control over my body and to be able to focus on our baby in the nursery.

David was really upset about Wendy's (baby b) condition, and when he came into the room it was clear that he'd found out that they intended to transfer her to Kosiar Children's Hospital NICU. Our new family would be separated. It's scary to have a kid in respiratory distress after losing a child. He laid with Calliope (baby a) as Wendy was being looked over by the Kosair transport staff. I was still having pains, and not really able to get up. I was really angry with my body for not cooperating because I wanted to be a part of what was going on with Wendy. The exhaustion was closing in on me, and I could see that my nap was far away. Finally, I began to pass clots. Each time, I'd feel a huge sense of relief. David left with Wendy, and things began to settle down. It was just Calliope, Aundria and me. I'd grown quite dizzy, and couldn't really get up and move around. After finally getting most of the clots out and changing my bedding, I finally got a nap. In hindsight, I should have let Aundria rub on my belly and get all the clots out much more quickly, but I was stressed out and it was hard to deal with the pain.

My hospital released me that evening on a day pass to see Wendy and Callie stayed with my Mom at the hospital where I gave birth. When I walked in, she was covered in tubes and cords, naked on her belly underneath a warmer. She had a ventilator, an ng tube (feeding tube), an IV, a heart monitor, respiration monitor, and an oxygen sensor all on her little 4 lb, 11 oz body. She was unable to be picked up. Over the next couple of days, as I was separated from her and David was with her, it became quite clear that she would stay an Eleanor Wendy and that the baby that was with me would stay Calliope Jane. We originally thought we'd see which name fit which baby, but we weren’t going to rename babies after the experience we were having.

When Callie and I were finally released on Monday, I took her to Louisville to my Mom's house so that David and I could switch off being with Wendy in the NICU. Between this and the three days I'd spent separated from Wendy, I was operating on very little sleep and having one baby in the hospital and one out was difficult. Callie spent one day out of the hospital and then her temperature dropped and she was unable to get it back up on her own so she was admitted into the NICU as well. Her billiruben levels were pretty high, and she had to be put under strong lights, but she was okay.

It was when Callie was admitted that I realized that my babies weren’t sick, there was nothing “wrong”- they were just preemies. Most preemie babies experience similar problems and each day closer to their due date brings them a step closer to being able to go home and able to physically function like a full term baby. We spent a total of 10 long days and nights at the NICU, which would have been impossible without so much support from our friends and family. It was really hard, but it was amazing to watch the progress that their little bodies made each day. The NICU staff was amazing, and we were able to bring them home yesterday knowing that they are both okay. Now we have all three of our girls at home, and we are all cozed in awaiting a winter storm. Ill make sure to get some more pictures posted soon :)

 Wendy with Daddy 

 Wendy in her gloworm blanket

 Callie, one day old

Their first time together

The Holiday Post

Thanksgiving was hard enough. There were moments throughout the day when I wondered what he would be eating, what he would be doing, what he would be getting in to. But all in all, I got through it. Just like I get through every other day- somehow. Focusing on what I do have, not what I don't.

When I was wrapping Adaline's Christmas presents yesterday, this great sense of loss came over me and filled my whole body. All the things I'd never get to do seemed to crash down upon me at once. Never wrapping a gift for Charlie. Never getting to see him play with a toy, never watching his face as he realizes something he wanted was under the tree, and the worst- never getting to spend all day on Christmas sitting around happy with all my children around me.

I've tried not to allow myself to fall into the whole, "you miss people around the holidays even more" mentality, but I think there is something about all the warmth and happiness that accentuates the darker side of our lives. It feels like we should grasp at every opportunity to be happy and to feel surrounded by the ones we love, but at the same time there is an incredible sense of guilt for being happy and focusing on our child that is alive. It may be that this is the first time. Every time a holiday comes up, or anything different happens in our lives, it's easy to think, "This would be Charlie's first _______." Hopefully next year will be easier.

Could I Get a Free Pass, Please?

One of the things that the loss of a child brings is this constant knowledge that you can't rely on some idea that everything's going to be alright. Because it just might not. I wake up sometimes to check on Ada breathing, and just assume she isn't going to be. When I hear sirens, there is just a part of me that expects it to be David in an ambulance. There's a huge part of me that just makes the assumption that more tragic and terrible things will happen to me.

I wish there was a way to get some kind of free pass for the rest of my life. I mean, I lost my kid, I really don't deserve to get breast cancer, right? No tragic car accidents, no miscarriages or child deaths, no hard shit to get through. I'd be able to calm down and feel a lot better if I had some kind of promise that I've already dealt with the hardest thing I'll ever have to deal with and that nothing will ever be this hard again.

We've been pretty lucky in life, I suppose. David and I have taken quite a few risks, and all in all there's only been one really bad thing that has happened. I just wish we could make some agreement with someone that if we just promised to live a very mundane, non-risky lifestyle then in return we would just be left alone and not have to deal with any more bullshit.

I wish for this free pass as we are getting closer to our new arrivals, and I worry about the worry that I will experience once they are here. Isn't that just dandy, worrying about how much you are going to worry? I hope to be able to eventually come to peace with the twins sleeping, but I don't see it happening anytime soon. Although this has been an incredibly stressful pregnancy, there is a feeling of protection as long as they are still living inside of me. I can't protect them once they are born- and I can only stay awake to watch them for so long before I'll have to sleep. It can't happen again, it just can't.

Six months, half a year, just yesterday and forever ago all at once

No matter how I look at it, it's just the same. It's only been so long since Charlie passed away and there is nothing I can do to rush the processes that we have to go through to heal, or probably better said- recover. Six months ago today, we woke up to our worst nightmare and while I can still relive every moment in slow motion in my head, at least I didnt wake up panicking to make sure my daughter was alive this morning.

I'm ready for this time period to be over. 2013 can't come and go fast enough for me, I just can't wait to get through this next year. I'm ready for the designers of infant clothing to come up with new stuff so I can stop running into people who have the same guitar jumper Charlie was wearing when he died, not to mention all the outfits he wore when he was here with us. I'm ready to stop jerking my head up every time I hear sirens and hoping nothing else has gone wrong. I'm ready to have holidays where I don't  think "this would be Charlie's first Halloween," and Thanksgiving, and Christmas, and New Year's, and his birthday. I'm just ready to move faster than time is allowing for- which I guess is probably to my benefit. There's just such a big part of me that wants to skip this whole part of my life and move on to being a fully functional person again.

We're coming to a close in this time of limbo in our lives. After spending months with my mom, we're getting ready to be back in our house 100% of the time, beginning the super-nesting period for the twins, preparing for my husband to come off of his medications, and making plans for next year so that he can be home a little more. Things are about to get really different, really fast- just after we finally got used to them being how they are right now. But I guess that is the whole point of trying to create something better than just a new normal, right? You have to keep moving forward, even when it's not comfortable. 

"Two for the Price of One"

I get this at least once a week. My belly has grown to the size where there is no question about whether I'm expecting and the questions about when I'm due are never ending: "How much longer do you have," "When are you due," "It looks like you don't have much longer to go," and various other unsolicited comments from every lady at the grocery store. When they find out it's twins they almost always reply the same thing, " Oh, you are so lucky- two for the price of one!"

And it feels like someone has punched me in the gut.

They don't know, and I'm not going to tell them, about Charlie. So I just let it roll off my back and join the other comments that  people make without realizing how much they sting: "Oh, Ill bet your husband wants a boy!," "Three girls! Are you going to try again for a boy?," "It's hard with two kids, I cant imagine going from one to three," "Oh, I bet Ada will be a good big sister" and etc.

The worst is when someone says this phrase to me who does know about Charlie's death. "Oh, you are so lucky, two for the price of one." Don't they understand what the "price of one" feels like to me? It's a hefty goddamn price. That it's not the same as when someone gets to have two babies, but only had to be pregnant one time? That I'd rather  be pregnant twice than to have babies that are at a higher risk for SIDS, for preterm labor, and about ten zillion other things?

And furthermore, I'd consider myself so far from "lucky" at this point.

But they don't think about it that way- it's not on their radar. People look at this situation and thing that it's just perfect that after losing Charlie, I would get pregnant with twins. And in some way, it is. My third pregnancy was supposed to make us a 5 person family, I was supposed to have three kids, not two. But now I'm supposed to have four kids, I have already had a boy, Ada has already been a good big sister, and I do know what life with two kids is like.

But you can't explain all of that to every lady at the grocery store, or even to your friends who are well meaning and just happy for you.


Charlie would be 8 months old today if he were still with us. We celebrated our 10 year anniversary last week, along with our halfway point in this pregnancy and it was happy. I will always miss him, and it felt like there was a huge part of our lives that was missing, but I am grateful for the twins and grateful to have my husband and daughter. Life is not great, but it could be so much worse than it is.