Jumbled emotions and waiting.

It has been two years and four days since we lost Rhys. The last month has been one of mixed emotions, confusion, lots of feelings, and lots of love, too. This year we both had our rough spot closer to his birthday, back in August. I am not sure what it was, but we both felt it. We did not do a cake this year, or anything special. I feel a little guilty about that. We didn't burn a plate on his day, either... but we remembered him in our own individual ways. It still hurts, it still sucks. It always will. We are functioning, for the most part, most of the time. We are raising beautiful children that lived, and remembering the beautiful baby that didn't. There is joy in memories, and such sadness, too; guilt about whether or not we are doing the right things to remember him, about whether or not we are loving the living children as much as we possibly can; fear that something could happen to them.

Adding to the jumble of emotions this year is the fact that I just learned I am pregnant again. This fills me with joy, but also with a heart stopping fear. I have known for nearly two and a half weeks, and today went to get my estimated delivery date. They did an ultrasound and saw a gestational sac, but could not find anything in it. Hopefully it's just too early. The doc said it looks like I am about six weeks along, and scheduled me to have another ultrasound on the 9th. He did not seem pessimistic, but was clear in telling me that there is no way to tell right now if I am developing a baby or if there is non-uterine pregnancy. I have already been having bad dreams... I can't help but dread the worst.

I want to say we've had bad luck, that life doesn't favor us because we lost a beautiful baby boy... but I also feel that isn't fair. We have two beautiful children, who bring us all the joy and frustration that beautiful children bring. We live with a huge and painful scar. All the hope and fear that comes with this pregnancy is not going to make a difference. Ultimately, I just have to wait.

I am waiting, breath bated, butterflies of hope in my belly and shadows of fear on my heart, I am waiting.

Fear

Today Rowan went to the hospital for an MRI. Because he is only three, they put him under anesthesia. I think that it would not have been so awful for me if this had been a year and a half ago. I guess I cant say for sure, but today was... beyond horrible.

It started with the build up, as all hard things do. For the last couple days I have had horrific images running through my head... having to see him the way I saw my other son, having to feel his cold skin, and having to make those phone calls... to stay sane and tell other people that I have lost a child. I lived it in my head in flashes, and each one came with a sharp pain deep in my heart.

I haven't slept much. I haven't been concentrating. I cant control this fear. I told myself that the risk was low. I told myself that it is for the better. Doctors do this all the time. He is a strong and healthy boy. No amount of justification took away that fear.

Being in the hospital was hard. Being in those rooms. It wasn't, but it may as well have been the room that Rhys went to, where they tried so desperately and so fruitlessly to bring him back to life. Those rooms weren't, but may as well have been the rooms that my children played in, blissfully unaware of the grief surrounding their parents. They may as well have been the rooms that we cried in... well, I did cry in them. I couldn't help it. I was so scared.

Then I watched them put him out. I watched him and was so scared, waiting for something to go wrong. I watched him breathing and sleeping, his chest rising and falling as it was supposed to be. I kissed his face and could do nothing but wait.

Things went perfect. Rowan went through his scan with no problem, and he woke up with no problem. He is my perfect boy.

But after today, I feel so broken.

Happy Birthday, Rhys

Today is a day of cakes and decorations, the first taste of chocolate, messy faces, laughter, love, pride and adoration.

On Sami's first birthday she started walking for the first time. We had a pool party. On Rowan's first birthday, he got to spend time with his Uncle Cooper. He got a musical turtle and Thomas toys that he loved endlessly. I burned some plastic in the oven and it made the cupcakes taste bad. On Rhys's first birthday... I wrote a blog, wishing that I could be creating memories with my son.

Rhys Tracy Zael Prescott was born at 9:50 AM on 17 August 2012. He was 8lbs, 10oz and the most perfect, beautiful baby ever born.

We were fortunate enough to have five weeks and five days with him.
Happy First Birthday, my son Rhys.

Not sad... something else.

Days like today I feel like I should just be put somewhere alone, to live out this punishment for whatever cosmic crime I have committed. I just want to be by myself. I want to let my sadness out in whatever form it happens to be manifesting itself in, rather than let it be crankiness, irritability and impatience.

I fought with my husband today over nothing, I think because we are both sad. He said he feels nothing. I won't push, because maybe that is what he wants to feel. I sort of wish I could feel nothing, just for a little while.

Instead I feel like I snap easily. I don't have the patience for my kids... my beautiful, living, breathing children. I am short with my husband. I don't have it in me to perform day to day tasks. The laundry is piling up, so are the dishes. I just want to scream.

Why can't my sadness just be sadness? Why does it have to be irritation? Or anger? Or the desperate need to just be alone in the quiet?

PSA

Hey heart.... stop it! Stop being broken.

I  mean it. I am tired of it.

Unexpected trigger

A warning to my readers, this post is graphic and possibly very upsetting.

Today was a beautiful day. I was happy and spending time with my beautiful children and my husband, and feeling motivated to try something new.

We had a gallon of milk in the fridge about to go bad, so I figured I would try and make some feta cheese! How crafty! How exciting!

I put the milk on to slowly boil and put the kids up to their beds for a nap. Todd was getting ready for work, and I was watching my milk warm. It took a long time to boil.

Finally is started steaming, and I would stand over it and stir. The smell was not unpleasant to me but for some reason it was making my stomach turn. As I kept stirring and it got hotter and hotter, I just kept feeling sicker and sicker. I wanted to be by it, watch it boil, tend the project... and be by the smell... but I also wanted to run and cry and vomit.

I couldn't figure out what was wrong with me. The milk achieved boil, and I pulled it off the heat and added the lime juice and vinegar. All of a sudden it hit me... as the smell wafted up to my face it hit me... it was the same thing I smelled as I gave my infant son CPR. The smell of the milk, warm and curdled. When I gave him CPR his stomach emptied. It got all over me, all over him and the floor. I had a baby blanket that I'd wipe his face with as I tried to resuscitate him.

All that night in the hospital that I what I smelled on me. I smelled it as they told me my son was dead. I smelled it when I made the phone call to my family. That smell... the death of my son.

It really ruined my day. I feel so upset, so heart broken all over again. What a horrible memory. It made everything so fresh.

Wee ones.

There is a really big empty spot in me where my son once was. I held him, and talked to him. I nursed him and loved him and was his mother. I had three beautiful children, and now when people ask me how many kids I HAVE, I am force to say two. I HAVE two amazing and beautiful children... and for that I am blessed.

... but I should have three.


Today my husband told me he would love to have another, if only we didn't have to endure the horror that is me being pregnant... well, not in so many words, but that is the general idea.

Pregnancy does NOT suit us. When we are pregnant... yes we, because he suffers too... we are not compatible. I get sensitive, and scared, and anxious. I feed off of all the insecurities that I might feel on any given day. My expectations of him SOAR. I think "Why should I do the dishes?! Why should I cook and clean, work and deal with the kids... I'm busy creating life here!!!" and then I get belligerent when he doesn't read my mind. It's not fair to either of us. And he withdraws. He finds other things to occupy his time because he can't handle that.

So how do I fix that? I can try and make promises, but we all know all reality goes out the window when pregnant hormones kick in.

Part of me is begging to have another, begging for the life in my arms. Begging for the sweet baby breath, the soft snugly head to rub my chin on, the soft little one inch of foot to rub my thumb along. Babies are amazing, and I don't feel like I would be having one to replace my dear Rhys.

NOTHING. NO ONE. will ever replace the child that I lost. The little boy that I am supposed to be loving right now will NEVER have a replacement.

That is not to say I can not love another child.

We love Sawyer. My sister-in-law has an amazing little baby. I thought meeting him would be the end of me. I thought jealousy, shame, fear, sadness... I thought all sorts of negativity would overwhelm me upon meeting him. All I felt was LOVE. Pure love, as any mother to any other mothers child would feel. The feeling of needing to love and protect and nurture.

The bottom line is that babies are amazing...and that I have drank too much tonight and so should stop talking.

Good night.