Following other bloggy mommas with the right where I am right now in my grief project.
It's been 11 months and 16 days since our little Evan Riley was born and died and resuscitated. Evan died twice. The first was moments after birth in the arms of an unknown doctor or nurse when his oxygen starved little body shut down, the second 4 days 2 hours later in my arms surrounded by family and a very close friend.
I feel numb, in disbelief that it has been almost a year exactly since our adorably handsome perfectly chubby baby boy was born. I'm incredibly pissed off that we're not pregnant again yet. It was almost 11 months after Julia that Evan announced his presence (morning sickness). Its now after 11 months and still no two pink lines. I'm angry that my second child has been taken from me when I just want my baby to raise. I'm jealous of my daughter who gets to mommy him until I kick the bucket. I'm frustrated that I've no children to nurse, clean up after, wash clothes for, babyproof the house for, arrange playdates with their cousin, frantic midnight phonecalls to my inlaws for advice on how to break a baby's fever, no diapers to change, nothing, I mother a child who was barely here, and another who was full term and healthy before birth then decided to be born backwards and is now dead. I mother one grave while longing for a second with my girl's name on it for the world to see. I long for a place to go and mourn her. I long for my babies stories to be told so the world doesn't forget them.
I long, kick, scream at the sky and sob for a child to love and raise and spoil to bits. I long to see my grandmothers hold their greatgrandchildren before they die. I long to see joy and happiness in my husband's eyes as he holds his child, his healthy living breathing child. I ache for my son. My arms ache to hold him and warm him, to kiss his booboos and clean scraped knees, to use scooby doo bandaids and clip playing cards in his bike wheel spokes. To have mudpie parties and excursions into the backyard finding worms. I've said repeatedly "I'll hold a baby slug at this point, just let me hold your baby! I'll give your arms a break for a while..." I hurt because my son's blanket no longer smells like him. I burn as his adorable clothes and toys sit unused in boxes, patiently waiting the "next baby" to use them. I envy my sister in law who is leaving her baby girl with our mother in law to babysit as she goes back to work. Meanwhile, I went back to work 3 months after I laid my son to rest. I resent and yet can't resist my niece some days. She gets to grow up where her cousins don't. They'll be forever young while she grows up and grows old. She'll never know Julia or Evan aside from pictures and stories.
I'm eager to get the investigation report from the ambulance company of Evan's birth. I yearn to know what happened to Evan after he was delivered from my womb, while he was in transit from one hospital to the other, after he died. Was he carried to the morgue still swaddled in his blanket? Did the morgue people cry at how perfect he was and how unfair that he should be in such a cold and sterile environment instead of in my warm and loving arms? Did the funeral home people cry as they bathed him and combed his soft hair nicely into place before swaddling him back into his diaper jammies and blanket and placing him in his casket before we got to see him? Do the cemetery staff wander over to the infant section and just sob at all the tiny babies that represent broken hearts and lives?
I cringe when I walk into Evan's nursery and see his things with their light coating of dust. The crib bedding that I so lovingly washed and dried, the stuffed animals that keep his picture company, the books on his bookshelf that I never got to read him. I melt when people comment on how perfect and precious and "he looks so perfectly normal!" when they see his pictures. I silently pray each night when I take my folic acid tablet that this month will be the magic lucky month. That I'll conceive and Evan will be a big brother, Julia a big sister. I hesitate to finish Evan's baby book as that symbolizes the end of him. I'm still stunned that my baby boy is gone. That he's really truly gone and all we have left to remember him are a few bits and pieces that he touched, a myriad of pictures taken and a couple keepsakes from both hospitals.
I treasure the tiny bloodpressure cuff a nurse handed to me after I first got to see my son in Special Care Nursery. I regret not responding as the nurses tried to get my attention to see Evan after he was born. I hate that I never got to touch him seconds after birth, that he didn't get skin to skin time with me until he was 12 hours old. I regret not demanding more skin to skin times while in NICU, that more people didn't come to visit us so we could introduce them to Evan as he was. That my parents only got one snuggle with him before we turned off his life support. That my brothers never got to hold him.
I have sleepless nights wide awake with "what if's", sleepy days where I can't face the world as the world still turns when mine doesn't. Forcing myself to congratulate coworkers on their new babies when secretly I wish they knew what hell it was for me to see a live baby in another mother's arms when my babies are in the ground. I'm paranoid that the next baby we have will be buried with their big brother, and the next baby and the next. I'm scared to death of having a c-section and still not taking my baby home. I'm petrified that I'll never see my husbands eyes light up with tears as he introduces our baby to our church family on baby's dedication Sunday. I'm horrified to think that the rest of my 20s will go by and I'll still be childless. (So I'm 28, almost 29.) I hate it when people say "you're still young, you can have another" when they don't know what a twisting knife in the gut that comment is.
I'm in a fog planning Evan's first birthday, half wanting it to never come, half wanting it to be just over and done with so I can bury myself in my bed and sleep for a week.
that's right where i am, right now.
Thursday, June 02, 2011
Posted by Ausmerican Housewife - Creating with Kara Davies at 23:40