17 Going on 16

Days, that is. Until a certain someone's first birthday.

With a little over two weeks to go, I've been engrossed in party planning. Engrossed meaning admittedly going overboard. My vision is coming together but not without its share of stress. As of this moment, we have 40+ invitees and I estimate that aside from a few declines, most will likely show. And our home is simply too small to accomodate that many guests in one place at one time. So, we are depending on Mother Nature to cooperate for an outdoor fiesta. (No silly tricks like a thunderstorm or tornado, ya hear me?!) I've been paranoid that we don't have enough outdoor seating for everyone, so I'm currently researching local farms to purchase some hay bales. To fit in with the whole cowboy theme and all.

Our wooded backyard is quite the hangout for mosquitos so we've been treating the lawn with every chemical known to man to keep them at bay. The last thing I want is for my guests to be attacked by bloodsucking insects and leave with favors of welts.

The biggest stressor is that DH and I just aren't seeing eye to eye about the fundamentals of this affair. I see a first birthday as a fairly big deal. He sees it as just another birthday - one that the kid won't even remember - and so, he thinks we should cheap out as much as we can. Granted, I'm no longer working and money is tight. But I still want to celebrate and do it up right. After all, he's our first son (and possibly only since I am well aware there are no guarantees) and he is only turning one once. It's been a battle of wills and lesson on compromise. After a dramatic "negotiation" regarding the cost of the cake, we are now in agreement and satisfied with our remaining budget. A quick visit to the crafts store and some grub from the grocery store and our corral will be complete.

All in all, I think we'll stay below $300, including invitations, food, decor and gifts. Astronomical, maybe. But it is an important day and I want to treat it as such. We can scale back for future years. But there's something about the first birthday.

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Today is the second anniversary of our second miscarriage. Two years since my little Snowflake was lost. It was fitting that today was pretty shitty in and of itself. Devastating news about a friend. A lingering headache. A disastrous dinner. I'm surprised I'm not in bed already, trying to forget the past 24 hours.

I remember my grief so profoundly. Of course, the knowledge that a real live baby is sleeping upstairs dulls the pain. But I still remember. And I still feel that gaping hole where a part of me is missing.

I've been going back and forth in my mind lately, pondering if I should give names to the babies I lost. Calling them Angel and Snowflake just seems so inconsequential as of late. Part of me feels like they deserve real names. And I should honor them like so. But on the other hand, I never knew their genders. I only have wild guesses linked to ancient instincts. Is it really suitable to name them under these circumstances?

I am still wavering. But no matter the final decision, these anniversaries are always tinged with heartache. I know my babies live in Heaven and serve a much higher purpose than I could imagine but what I wouldn't give to touch their tiny hands and kiss their tiny mouths. I miss them oh so much.

In Pursuit of Magic Tricks

We may have cracked the code at getting Nate to go down without an hours-long temper trantrum. The magic to this CIO thing is keeping him down. That's the trick I need to master.

After a 90 minute stretch last night, Nate woke up expressing his extreme discomfort through abbreviated grunts that reminded me of Morse Code. I delayed entry into his nursery, waiting with bated breath for tranquility to return. But, alas, it wasn't meant to be.

After much hesitancy, I went in, picked him up and cuddled him in the nursery. He smeared the remnants of his tears on my camisole as he searched for a boob. I obliged, recalling that he was too distracted during our earlier playdate to be bothered with nutrition. I suspected that he was now compensating for the lack of calories.

I was able to get him to go down without protest once he was satiated. I succumbed to sleep myself but 2 hours later, my dreams were disturbed by panicked cries. In the shadows, I could see spit-up under his nose. The ugly, uninvited return of reflux. I picked him up and he began choking and gasping for air. I patted and rubbed his back, cradling him close to me. Eventually, the episode ended but he continued to be disgruntled. Despite my best efforts, I was consumed with fatigue and brought him to bed with me, where we both slept comfortably until 730am.

I know, I need to grow a backbone. But the positive side is that we can get him down in the crib. That part is getting progressively easier. We just need to work on prolonging the stretches. One step at a time, I say.
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Today marks the one-year anniversary of Snowflake's unfulfilled due date. The memory of her loss still stings, as I think back to the blood, the cramps, the fear, the agony of waiting for confirmation of what I already knew to be true. I could never forget my baby girl. I will always miss her and this date will always carry with it a somber tone.

Instead of celebrating a one-year birthday, I'm on the brink of a 1/2 birthday. And despite my melancholy, I could not feel more fortuitous.

In Remembrance

In honor of Pregnancy and Infant Loss Awareness Day

The two larger candles are for my babies who sleep in the arms of Jesus: Angel (born at 5 weeks gestation on August 27, 2005) and Snowflake (born at 11.5 weeks gestation on July 9, 2007). They watch over and protect the third candle which represents my Sunshine. My gift from above. My "third time's a Prince Charming". My Nate.

I lit the candles and brought Nate over to pay his respects. His eyes were fixated on the flames as they flickered to and fro. The shadows danced on the wall, as if his brother and sister were enticing him to join. He was captivated for one minute. One minute that felt like an eternity, as I observed my past and my present collide. I know it's most likely wishful thinking but I choose to believe he was spiritually connected to his siblings for that brief period.

When people look at me, they see I have a living child. A beautiful boy. They see I'm fairly young. They may even wonder if he was an "accident", unexpected. Or if he came easily to us. They do not see the emotional scars I carry along with the baby on my hip. They cannot see the wounds from my IF crusade. I guess I keep them hidden quite well.

They do not see the other children I held in my womb. The children who were born too soon. Their memories live on through bittersweet anniversaries that only I recall.

Tonight, I remember the babies we can't hold in our arms. But we forever hold them in our hearts.