So much has been going on lately. Not all of it good. Both of our cars broke down, one of them twice. As in, lots (and lots) of money. They're both running again, thanks to our great family and friends who stepped in to help us out.
Miles had his follow up ultrasound to check his kidney. It came back a week later and the news was not good. His hydronephrosis has gotten worse, his right kidney is now a stage 3. We are going to PCMC tomorrow to see a pediatric urologist to see what the next step is. From what I've read on Dr. Google, it's probably going to mean surgery. He's only 8 1/2 months old. I can't even fathom having to check him into the hospital for a surgery. We'll see what happens tomorrow.
Sophia started first grade. The first week, I was a mess. I watched the clock for 7 hours, waiting to pick her up. I can't believe that my little baby girl is in full time school. For the next 12 years. It makes me want to cry. She likes it okay. She has a lot of friends in her class, and I think her teacher is going to be great for her.
I need to start updating this blog more often. I think about it every day, but always seem to freeze up when it comes to opening it. Too much going on in my head and I feel like if I open it up, there will be trouble.
Tuesday, August 26, 2014
Monday, July 7, 2014
These Dang Kids
These kids are amazing. Some days it stops me in my tracks. How did I manage to become so blessed? How did I live before they came along? Mike is really the best thing that ever happened to me, because together we made these unbelievable children. My life is really wonderful, and I am thankful.
Friday, May 2, 2014
Spring
We finally got some sunshine today. We walked Sophia home from school. Apparently, our bodies can't handle so much fresh air. We all fell asleep. The kids are still sleeping, And it shows me just how loud the neighborhood is. The windows are open and I think we're finally brushing winter off for good. (Which is a big deal! )
Thursday, May 1, 2014
Baby
There are times that I wish that Miles was able to nap without me holding him. My house would be a little cleaner. I would be able to do some me stuff. But then I would miss his smile when he wakes up and sees me. I would miss his happy gurgles and his little hands reaching for my face. My house will stay messy. My bows will go unmade. My baby will get mom's snuggles and kisses and whispered promises for as long as he needs them.
Wednesday, February 26, 2014
Charlotte,
A whole nother year without you. Those are hard words to write. A whole year of sunrises and sunsets. Every time the sun sets, another day has gone by without my little girl.
Some mornings, I wake u p and I'm confused and surprised that you're not here. This life that we have now, you belong in it. And you're not here.Sometimes I feel you, but more often, I think I just create an extra space for you in my head, just in case. Every sunrise for seven years, I have looked for you. In every pink and purple cloud, in every burst of the sun.I want to shake the skies until they release you. I search for your face, even still- it's almost like you're lost and I am still looking for you, hoping you'll come home. I feel like you're growing up somewhere. Going to school, having sleepovers with friends. I can picture so clearly the life you should have had here with us. But you're not here, and I'm not there. Some other world is raising my daughter.
I've spent a lot of time the last three years being angry. I pushed it back for so long because I know it wont change anything. But I've let it wash over me sometimes, and I am sorry for that. It makes me wonder if you would even recognize me now. I am so different than I was then. I see the world in different colors. Sounds are not the same. Everything is louder now. Would you know who I am? Would you remember me amid all of my new crazy? I'm in here somewhere.There is this hollow inside of me, this empty space that is reserved for the rise and fall of the insane sadness that is all I have left. The empty space that I fill with the wonderings of why you couldn't take your first step. It's filled with all of the breaths you didn't take. Sometimes, I wonder if you took me with you.
Those are the nights and the days and the weeks that my heart is pounding through my chest, shattering every piece of myself that has grown back together in mismatched pieces. Those are the nights I never want to sleep again and all I want to do is sleep. The days when I want to be alone and I need to be surrounded.
Some days I feel like I'm stepping over the memory- just to make it through the day, I walk past what I don't want to remember. Push the confusion away and keep walking. But then I hit the wall and there's no door and there's nowhere else to go. I fall to the floor and the confusion is twice as big and twice as loud. Sometimes the weather changes and the sun is shining on the snow and all I can see is your casket in the shade of the pine tree. The sun is blinding against the blue sky and the winter will never end again. These are the hardest days of my life, and they happen again and again. Every year without you.
But there are moments that I can see clearly. When your brother is asleep, i see your face. When your sister laughs, I hear your voice. Even if these memories aren't real, I will hold onto them until I can hold onto you.
A whole nother year without you. Those are hard words to write. A whole year of sunrises and sunsets. Every time the sun sets, another day has gone by without my little girl.
Some mornings, I wake u p and I'm confused and surprised that you're not here. This life that we have now, you belong in it. And you're not here.Sometimes I feel you, but more often, I think I just create an extra space for you in my head, just in case. Every sunrise for seven years, I have looked for you. In every pink and purple cloud, in every burst of the sun.I want to shake the skies until they release you. I search for your face, even still- it's almost like you're lost and I am still looking for you, hoping you'll come home. I feel like you're growing up somewhere. Going to school, having sleepovers with friends. I can picture so clearly the life you should have had here with us. But you're not here, and I'm not there. Some other world is raising my daughter.
I've spent a lot of time the last three years being angry. I pushed it back for so long because I know it wont change anything. But I've let it wash over me sometimes, and I am sorry for that. It makes me wonder if you would even recognize me now. I am so different than I was then. I see the world in different colors. Sounds are not the same. Everything is louder now. Would you know who I am? Would you remember me amid all of my new crazy? I'm in here somewhere.There is this hollow inside of me, this empty space that is reserved for the rise and fall of the insane sadness that is all I have left. The empty space that I fill with the wonderings of why you couldn't take your first step. It's filled with all of the breaths you didn't take. Sometimes, I wonder if you took me with you.
Those are the nights and the days and the weeks that my heart is pounding through my chest, shattering every piece of myself that has grown back together in mismatched pieces. Those are the nights I never want to sleep again and all I want to do is sleep. The days when I want to be alone and I need to be surrounded.
Some days I feel like I'm stepping over the memory- just to make it through the day, I walk past what I don't want to remember. Push the confusion away and keep walking. But then I hit the wall and there's no door and there's nowhere else to go. I fall to the floor and the confusion is twice as big and twice as loud. Sometimes the weather changes and the sun is shining on the snow and all I can see is your casket in the shade of the pine tree. The sun is blinding against the blue sky and the winter will never end again. These are the hardest days of my life, and they happen again and again. Every year without you.
But there are moments that I can see clearly. When your brother is asleep, i see your face. When your sister laughs, I hear your voice. Even if these memories aren't real, I will hold onto them until I can hold onto you.
Wednesday, February 12, 2014
Still
Still, nearly seven years later, my heart is screaming. Why. What did I do. Why. Why. What did I do. Tonight, all I want to think about is her. I want to close my eyes and hold my breath until I can remember her smell. The way she felt in my arms. The way she felt in my body. The life that came before her death. I want more. I want photographic evidence she was here. I want to plan a sleepover for her giggling friends. I want to hold her hand. I want to hear her voice. I want to feel her breath in my hair. I want. I want. Why. Why. Why. Still, Why.
Sunday, December 22, 2013
Miles
Seventeen days ago, our son was born. Right now, his daddy is feeding him a bottle, slowly. Little man has been spitting up for a few days. I think his tummy is upset right now. I'm trying to remember what I ate that would have made his tummy hurt. I have no idea. But before I forget more than I already have, this is his story.
Mike and I got to the hospital at 5:45am on Thursday, December 5. I was there for prep at 6, surgery at 7:30. The receptionist was nice. That has nothing to do with anything, but it's true. We got into a room a few minutes later, and I got my beautiful gown on and we got the tv turned on to the news. The nurse came in and asked the question we would hear at least 30 times that day, "does this little one have a name?" He didn't yet. I signed all of the hospital forms, answered a million and one questions, some more than once. The nurse explained the process we were heading for. My doctor came in and said hello. I got my IV started, and I think the anesthesiologist came in and explained his part. I got up and walked to the OR. I thought that was crazy, having to walk to the OR. Mike got into his "bunny suit" and we went to the OR. When we walked in, "Somewhere Over The Rainbow" was on the radio. I think that helped me calm down. I got up on the table and the anesthesiologist had me lay on my side so he could start the spinal. I asked for some acid reducer because I've had such bad reflux the past few weeks. It tasted like.. nasty. The doctor put in the spinal block, and it hurt. I started freaking out a little, but nothing compared to the panic I had with Sophia's c-section. As soon as the spinal was in, he had my lie down and they started getting everything ready. The anesthesiologist was amazing. He explained everything to me every step of the way. He told me if I felt like I couldn't breathe, to look at the monitor. I wasn't on oxygen yet, but my O2 was at 98. The spinal just made me feel like I couldn't take breaths. I stared at that monitor a lot. They checked my numbness, and put up the curtain. The doctor said she was starting. I had a warming blanket on my arms, and Mike was holding my hand. I kept an eye on the clock, because my doctor had told me that the surgery would last about 45 minutes. My doctor told me at one point that it was taking a little longer because of my scar tissue. Finally, they opened up and saw the baby. They started trying to get him out. And they tried. And they tried. They were joking about how he didn't want to come out. At one point, I felt someone pushing hard on my upper belly. I asked if someone was sitting on me. My doctor said, "it probably feels like that, but no." Finally, finally, they pulled our baby boy out and handed him to the nurse. She said he had red hair, and I almost jumped off the table. They took him to the warmer and started to clean him up. I honestly don't even remember if he was crying. Over the speaker in the OR, someone came on and said they needed the anesthesiologist in anther OR (I wish I could remember his name, because he was amazing!) they said that the "31.5 weeks twins were coming." It was a few minutes before he came to where I could see him and apologized and said he needed to leave for an emergency, but that if I needed anything at all, to let someone know, and he would be back. I told him no problem, I was fine! They wrapped my baby up and brought him over to Mike. His apgar scores were 9 and 9! Mike showed him to me, and I kissed him. Mike got to hold him the entire time they were tying my tubes and sewing everything up. All of the sudden, we were done and it was time to go. Our son was born at 8:05am. He weighed 6lbs, 2.6 ounces. He measured 20inches. The doctors/nurses got me onto another bed and handed my son to me. I held him on the way up to the room. My baby boy. Safe and sound. Mike told me they had to use a vacuum to get him out, because he was so stuck. The nurse said we would have to measure and keep an eye on his head because of the vacuum. But his head was fine. A small bruise, but it was gone in two days. My dad arrived and took some pictures, but I wouldn't let him hold the baby. We had promised Sophia she would be the first one to hold the baby. Mike's parents arrived shortly after, with our proud big sister. She sat down and held her brother. She glowed. She hasn't stopped glowing.
Mike and I got to the hospital at 5:45am on Thursday, December 5. I was there for prep at 6, surgery at 7:30. The receptionist was nice. That has nothing to do with anything, but it's true. We got into a room a few minutes later, and I got my beautiful gown on and we got the tv turned on to the news. The nurse came in and asked the question we would hear at least 30 times that day, "does this little one have a name?" He didn't yet. I signed all of the hospital forms, answered a million and one questions, some more than once. The nurse explained the process we were heading for. My doctor came in and said hello. I got my IV started, and I think the anesthesiologist came in and explained his part. I got up and walked to the OR. I thought that was crazy, having to walk to the OR. Mike got into his "bunny suit" and we went to the OR. When we walked in, "Somewhere Over The Rainbow" was on the radio. I think that helped me calm down. I got up on the table and the anesthesiologist had me lay on my side so he could start the spinal. I asked for some acid reducer because I've had such bad reflux the past few weeks. It tasted like.. nasty. The doctor put in the spinal block, and it hurt. I started freaking out a little, but nothing compared to the panic I had with Sophia's c-section. As soon as the spinal was in, he had my lie down and they started getting everything ready. The anesthesiologist was amazing. He explained everything to me every step of the way. He told me if I felt like I couldn't breathe, to look at the monitor. I wasn't on oxygen yet, but my O2 was at 98. The spinal just made me feel like I couldn't take breaths. I stared at that monitor a lot. They checked my numbness, and put up the curtain. The doctor said she was starting. I had a warming blanket on my arms, and Mike was holding my hand. I kept an eye on the clock, because my doctor had told me that the surgery would last about 45 minutes. My doctor told me at one point that it was taking a little longer because of my scar tissue. Finally, they opened up and saw the baby. They started trying to get him out. And they tried. And they tried. They were joking about how he didn't want to come out. At one point, I felt someone pushing hard on my upper belly. I asked if someone was sitting on me. My doctor said, "it probably feels like that, but no." Finally, finally, they pulled our baby boy out and handed him to the nurse. She said he had red hair, and I almost jumped off the table. They took him to the warmer and started to clean him up. I honestly don't even remember if he was crying. Over the speaker in the OR, someone came on and said they needed the anesthesiologist in anther OR (I wish I could remember his name, because he was amazing!) they said that the "31.5 weeks twins were coming." It was a few minutes before he came to where I could see him and apologized and said he needed to leave for an emergency, but that if I needed anything at all, to let someone know, and he would be back. I told him no problem, I was fine! They wrapped my baby up and brought him over to Mike. His apgar scores were 9 and 9! Mike showed him to me, and I kissed him. Mike got to hold him the entire time they were tying my tubes and sewing everything up. All of the sudden, we were done and it was time to go. Our son was born at 8:05am. He weighed 6lbs, 2.6 ounces. He measured 20inches. The doctors/nurses got me onto another bed and handed my son to me. I held him on the way up to the room. My baby boy. Safe and sound. Mike told me they had to use a vacuum to get him out, because he was so stuck. The nurse said we would have to measure and keep an eye on his head because of the vacuum. But his head was fine. A small bruise, but it was gone in two days. My dad arrived and took some pictures, but I wouldn't let him hold the baby. We had promised Sophia she would be the first one to hold the baby. Mike's parents arrived shortly after, with our proud big sister. She sat down and held her brother. She glowed. She hasn't stopped glowing.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)