Thursday, March 31, 2011


Hi, I'm Laura, and I like to put my cart before the horse.

I'm not pregnant, but I hope to be, as soon as possible.  Please & thank you. Either way, I read a post on Sarah's blog about baby names, and it got me to thinking about one of my favourite baby girl names.



At my bachelorette many moons ago, my girlfriends requested this song on my behalf (I believe I may in fact have insisted they do so). I triple-dog-dare you not to grin when you hear this song. Go ahead and listen, I'll wait...

Anyway, I'd mentioned to my husband how much I loved the lyrics, and how the name just makes me undeniably happy. Perfect for a rainbow, no?

My husband disagrees, doesn't like the line, "Making love in the afternoon with Cecilia up in my bedroom". He's already anxious we'll end up with three rocket (read: smoking hot) daughters and he'll need to sharpen up his bow staff skills (of which he has exactly: None) to keep the boys at bay.

Anyone watch the show, How I Met Your Mother? We just started watching, so we're years behind, and all backwards. In one of the episodes, one of the main characters (Marshall) becomes drunk with the power of custom signage, and he produced this beauty, which makes me VERY happy. It sums up my favourite of the song lyrics perfectly:

I've already thought of reproducing the signage if we had a little Cecilia of our own for her nursery.

Tuesday, March 29, 2011

My Favourite Photo

On a less depressing note, here's my very favourite photo of Jack, taken on the Wednesday after he was born (his only Wednesday alive). We were in the car (I sat beside him) on our way to see our family doctor for our mandatory 4 day check-up. The next day we were in the hospital, so this is my last "well" photo of him.

I love the whole outfit (pjs), I love his little knees and his long fingers (he got them from his dad). I love his little hand by his mouth (I have ultrasounds of this very position). I love his little hat (which was way too big at a size 0-3 months, rather than newborn).

I love him. I miss him. Terribly.

[edited to add: okay, possibly not less depressing]

NICU Nightmares

As much as I try to remember the good times we had with Jack, my mind often drifts back to our time at SickKids.  I remember when we first heard whispers of being transferred there, I was relieved he would be seen by some of the best doctors in the world. It still hadn't occurred to me he was being transferred there because he was dying.  I guess my mind wasn't letting me go there, even though he had coded, and been intubated and was unconscious.  Looking back, they had told us they had heavily medicated him because he had suffered a seizure that morning and was in pain.  I thought his eyes were closed because of the medication, I didn't realize they would never open again.

The ambulance ride to SickKids went so quickly. I remember feeling giddy on the ride over as I've never been in one before and the sirens were blearing.  We went through a side entrance into the hospital, through some underground entrance so people couldn't see us. Scott drove from our first Toronto hospital to SickKids to meet us there, so it was just Jack + me + the two transportation ladies.

Originally they took us to the Pediatric Intensive Care Unit (PICU), because the NICU was full. The nurses there were sweet, but the head Pediatric lady was a stone cold bitch who kept asking me the same questions, making me feel like I had done something wrong. Jack was referred for a CT Scan of his brain to monitor the swelling, so off he went.  While he was gone, Scott and I went to find our parents who we had called to let know of the situation. When Jack was back, he still had little tiny yellow ear pillows, meant to protect his ears from the loud CT Scan.

We were told the NICU had a spot for Jack, in isolation (because of the Meningitis which they still weren't sure of), so he was transferred there after about 4 hours in the PICU.

It's the little things I remember now.  Like all the tubes.  He had arm tubes all over his right arm, including a board to help support it all since he was so tiny. He had a breathing tube and another tube to remove liquids from his stomach. They did a great job of keeping that thing cleaned out and clear.  Over the course of his stay there, he had so many tubes and needles and everything, it was awful. He eventually had them in the side of his head as the others kept collapsing. Wanna see something heartbreaking? That's your shot right there.

His little hands were covered in bruises and puncture wounds from the needles. That really bothers me.

I remember the tiny circles meant to hold the various monitors on his body. They had different prints/objects on them and I would tell Jack what ones he had "collected" each time they changed (which happened often as the monitors would lose their stickiness). "Jack, you're a lucky boy! Today you have a ducky, a sail boat, a bear, a heart, and a doll. What a lucky boy you are to have all these nice things", I would tell him.

Gah, I'm crying too much to type... I'll try more later.

Monday, March 28, 2011

Back to Work Anxiety

Just over a month from now I head back to work.

It's not like I didn't know it was coming (I specifically remember asking whether I had to go back to work right away after we lost Jack). But today I got the call from my Assistant Director at work and my return to work day is somewhere around May 2nd.

I'm pretty straightforward with her (she had a daughter 2 years ago through a sperm donor as she's single) and told her I am looking forward to coming back, though I don't intend to stay long if I have any control over it. I know she "gets" it, and would likely expect nothing less of me. She was excited I even wanted to come back to her department (the notoriously difficult one at my work).

I got off the phone with her and lost it. While I'm looking forward to heading back, and being with my friends at work once again, I'm going back- without a baby.  When I left there in December, I left knowing it would be a little more than a year until I was back in that seat, at that desk.  I was wrong. I'm back 8 months too soon, and without a baby at home.

I won't be facing the usual questions about my toddler (I don't have one, remember?).  I'll have people telling me how sorry they are for my situation... but none of them will really understand what I've been through... I gave birth, fell in love, watched him suffer, kissed him goodbye, chose an urn, and had my heartbroken. I lived an entire lifetime (Jack's entire lifetime) inside 10 days... Because of this I am not the same person I was before all of this.  To resume another part of my old life is going to be HARD on me.  Even the little things like being on the Go Train to work (public transit), it is likely someone remembers me from being pregnant last year and will want to ask me about my child... But I'm pretty sure the answer I have to give isn't what they want to hear, and definitely not what they are expecting to hear.

On the superficial side, I don't even fit into my pre-pregnancy clothes even though I lost all my weight months ago.  My shirts are too short, and my hips are slightly too wide. I need a bunch of new clothes, since it's been nearly a year since I wore my regular clothing and I don't like any of it anymore. But I ask myself whether it's worth buying new clothes, all the while hoping they won't fit me in another couple of months? Do I buy new maternity clothing? What a weird thing to do, but at the same time, if Scott and I get what we want I will be pregnant-ish each time I head back to work for the next several years. So why buy new non-maternity dress clothes, right?

I hate that this is something I even have to think about.  I should be worried about tummy time, and getting into a sleep schedule... FML.

Saturday, March 26, 2011

I want him back.

It hurts too much.  I miss him too much. I just want him back.

I want to feel his warm little body, kiss his tummy, his face, his fingers. I want to lie with him on my chest.

I want to change his diapers. He wasn't alive long enough for his umbilical cord to fall off- he had a clamp on the whole time. I'm sad about that too. I wanted to see whether he would have an innie or an outie. I want to kiss that too.

Another Stroller Day. Another one without him.

I don't even dream of him.  Even in my dreams, I'm sad and missing my baby.  I thought dreams were supposed to be happy and hopeful.

My husband has dreams of another little boy, but not Jack.  A cute little baby boy, but not as cute as Jack.  He sees the other little boy, he knows that he is ours. But it's not Jack.

It can never be Jack. That's sad.

Friday, March 25, 2011

The One Where I Speak in Emoticons

Today, Scott is in Chicago where my penpal B lives.  He's there with his Dad, on what has become an annual tradition: visit one of the original six hockey teams each year.  They've already done Boston, last year I (along with Scott's mom) joined them in NYC, and this year is Chi-town.  If I had gotten my ass in gear, I would be there too.  But I didn't, so I'm not.

Good news is they are back Sunday, so only 2 sleeps without Scott.  I, not unlike a lot of other BLMs, am paranoid that something could happen to him while he's away.  It won't, but I'll still be nervous until he's back.

Anyway, I decided I should accomplish something not including caulking, grout, or paint today.  I needed to pick up a few things at Shopper's Drug Mart (including a ticket for the $43 million dollar lotto draw tonight... 'cause my luck has been amazing lately, oh wait...).

I needed a new mascara since my current one is getting kind of yuck, and I was approached by the lady who services the cosmetic's department.  She happened to be pushing a new product line which increases the lash growth, darkness and thickness. Kinda like that Latisse stuff Brooke Shield endorses...  I actually had a friend who uses a similar product from Sephora (a liquid you apply to the lash line), and it really works... So knowing a little about the product, I told her I couldn't use it because pregnant women can't use it (as per my friend).  As soon as I said it, I knew her next question would be whether I am pregnant.  I responded with, "no, I'm not pregnant.  But I will be soon, so I can't use it".  I know this is an unusual statement, so she kind of looked at me like, "wtf?".  I just smiled and put my usual mascara in my basket, thanked her for her help, and continued to another aisle to get some more stuff.

Crisis averted, I'm thinking I'm good, right?

Nope. She follows me, and continues to tell me about a friend of hers who is pregnant.

Me: :|

Her: Do you have kids?

Me: :|

Her: :|

Me: I did, I have a son. But he died just after he was born.

Me & Her: :|

Her: I have a friend.  Similar thing happened to her.  She now has twins.

Me: :| That's what I'm hoping for. I'm hoping for 2 babies. Then 2 more.

Me: :( ... then :'(

Her:  I'm sorry to make you cry.

Me: It's obviously not your fault. Hearing about your friend, that gives me hope, so thank you.

Her:  :) Good luck.

Me: :'( & :)

I gather my things quickly, pay and leave.

The end. Seriously. Come on lotto ticket... And Sunday when Scott will be home again.

Thursday, March 24, 2011

Caulking and other drama

I found something I dislike more than I dislike all the painting I've been doing around here. It's caulking, and it sucks. Mostly, it sucks because if you have too thick of a bead of caulking you get smears and it's hard to control. Too little and you get gaps, which you have to go back over and fill- risking the thick bead.. GAH. Rinse & repeat.

Today is a beautiful day here in Toronto. No idea what the temperature is, as I haven't stepped foot outside today (though I will have to venture to the grocery store later), but it looks cold. Still thinking about how I might have wheeled Jack out in his stroller, all tucked into the bassinet with all his blankets & that little sleeping bag-like thing for babies (the name escapes me).  I think about these things a lot when the sun is shining, and I think of them as Stroller Days.

I'm still sad, and thankfully a lot of my friends still remember.  It's funny how some people's great nature shines at times like this. I have many friends (brag, much? ha), but it seems like the ones I barely knew are some of the best ones at times like this. One such friend, a colleague from 6 years ago writes me randomly, once every couple of weeks to let me know she's thinking of us. Another, who is actually a friend of a friend writes me just as randomly to let me know she thinks of Jack every day and prays for us all. Very sweet that girl.

I was speaking to yet another friend briefly today, and she asked me how I stay positive. For the record, it's not all rainbows, unicorns, and sunshine around these parts.  I cry. I sob. I plead and beg for Jack back.  But I keep thinking to myself it won't always be like this. Yes, he will always be missing, and our lives will never be quite right.  But one day there will be another baby who lights up my life. One whose crusts I cut off of p&j sandwiches, one whose sloppy, drooling face I wipe. One who I bathe and tickle and kiss as I tuck him or her into bed at night.  Then, after that one baby, I hope there will be more.

I know these thing take time, and I know there are losses after losses (some people seem to have no luck if it weren't for bad luck). But I need to retreat to my blindly naive world sometimes and think that good things will eventually happen for us. I have to believe our next baby will be a take home and keep forever baby, even though that may not be the case. If I don't believe in it, it can never happen... What's that Wayne Gretzky quote everyone always screws up? "You miss 100% of the shots you don't take".

So I keep taking the shots, even though they won't all hit the net. They won't all come close. I'm sure I'll take some penalties and have to sit in the penalty box from time to time. I know I'm offside a lot.. Okay, enough hockey references, I don't even know what I'm talking about anymore. :)

But when I'm feeling especially sad and lonely for that boy I once held, I think to myself... A year or so from now I will be here. I'll be drinking coffee, holding a snuggly little baby in my arms.  I'll always remember, and I'll never forget what losing Jack was like. But I will be happy again. It has to happen.

Wednesday, March 23, 2011

Change Something

Are You Happy?  By Alex / HeadUp and David Meiklejohn
Print available for purchase here.
My husband and I have a renewed drive to complete many of our household projects (we've been renovating for 5 solid years, since we moved into our little bungalow in Toronto). We're trying to decide whether to move or stay here. We have room for 1 baby here, and once our baby arrives it will force us to seek out more space for him or her to grow.  Of course our plan with Jack...

Either way, we want to make things here better whether it is to improve resale value, or whether it's to make us enjoy our time here more... In the interest of decorating the renovated parts of our home, I have my eyes peeled for art... 

I love all things wordy, my husband loves inspirational messaging. I stumbled upon this poster on one of the decor blogs I follow a couple of months ago. It now hangs in our bathroom, reminding us we need to change something in order to be happy. Love it.

Tuesday, March 22, 2011

Is it possible to be too optimistic?

Some days remain better than others.  I cry, whether in 30 second bursts, a quick sob, or an all-out, fall to my knees tantrum.  I'm beginning to think I always will, because he'll always be in my heart.

It's hard to go through each day, knowing this is what has become of my life. This is not what I wanted. This is not what was supposed to happen. I'm supposed to be a mum with a little boy, carrying on obliviously in my day-to-day life. But I'm not.

So I have measures to cope with this stuff, so I don't find myself depressed. Because I easily could. I've heard so many people tell me (those WITH children), that they couldn't do what I've done (picked myself up, dust myself off, and keep on living). I don't know what to tell them.  We BLMs have 2 choices:

1) live
2) die.

#2 isn't an option of me, thought I'd be lying if I said I hadn't thought it would be easier. To know I'm going to live my life, be walking around with a gaping wound for the next 65 years... It's exhausting, unimaginable, and daunting... But it's not an option. I would never, and could never do that to my family, friends, and most of all my husband. He keeps me alive. I live for him, for us, and for our future babies.

My husband copes by not really talking about Jack. We do, but it's in quick bursts, and then the topic is changed as quickly as it came on.

My coping mechanism? Copious amounts of optimism. I believe know we will have more beautiful babies.  I'm convinced it will happen sooner rather than later (don't tell me it won't, I'm well aware it could not...), and we will keep our next baby and the ones which follow forever. We've paid our dues, we've squared up our bill with fate. The next ones are ours to keep. Did I mention the forever part?

Part of this optimism, which is what I worry is stupid, is that I keep planning for these future McBabes. And not just in my mind....

All through my pregnancy with Jack, I kept an eye out for the perfect child-sized chair for his nursery. I wanted somewhere to take his photos on a monthly basis to show his growth from month-to-month. I wanted something which would eventually be a cozy spot for him to settle into and "read". It needed to be small because his nursery is small. Also, small=cute. 

I failed to find one to buy while I was pregnant, and actually forgot about it until last week or the week before (it all blurs) when I found the perfect child-sized arm chair, complete with matching ottoman at HomeSense. It is light blue with off-white/cream giraffe prints (matches our nursery to a T!) . This is the fabric:

Stretch Blue Taupe

So, what did I do?

I bought it. I brought it home with me, and put it into Jack's nursery. I confessed to my husband what I did and showed it to him as soon as he got home. I fully expected him to roll his eyes and tell me we have enough baby stuff (because we do). Instead he smiled, told me it was adorable, and hugged me while we looked at the nursery, stuff to the walls with baby stuff... Hopeful.

He did tell me I should probably wait on buying more baby clothes.

Great advice... Advice I had planned to heed until while out with a friend yesterday we stumbled into a Gap Factory store. 

And I left with 2 co-ordinating baby onesies. One blue. One pink. "If you think I'm cute, you should see my mom" on the pink, "If you think I'm cute, you should see my dad" reads the blue one. Good, now we're set whether we have a boy or a girl.  

I'd show you a photo, but I'd have to find my digital camera, which is a task for another day.

I couldn't help myself, I think a part of my being able to prepare for future kiddos is buying things in anticipation of them. Before you assume I've lose my mind since losing Jack, I feel you should know I did this long before I was pregnant with Jack, basically ever since my husband and I were engaged to be married.

To summarize, I'm crazy, and possibly way too optimistic. I'm aware this stuff could come back to bite me if we have problems achieving and maintaining a pregnancy (something we've never faced ourselves). But you know what? I have a whole nursery full of reminders of what has been and is no longer... The result of waiting until he was a sure thing... At this point, I need a little optimism to get me through the day.

Friday, March 18, 2011

Another Chapter...

I feel guilty today. Have been for a while now...

I've been so wrapped up in wanting to make another baby, and dreaming of McBabe #2 and the life we will have with him or her. I feel guilty, because wanting another makes me feel like I'm giving up on Jack, when he was our dream just a few short months ago.

I realize this is illogical, that we can't have Jack. I just can't help but feel badly for all the things he will never get to do. That we will do without him.

He'll never smile. He'll never kiss his momma or his daddy. Draw on our walls with crayon, or stick Playdoh in his ears and nose.  He'll never scrape a knee or bruise a finger.  He'll never succeed or fail at anything.  He'll never read, he'll never travel. He'll never fall in love, get married, and have babies of his own. So much died along with Jack. So many dreams we had for him, that our families had for him. He could have been anyone, he could have been anything.

Along with that, we'll never get to kiss him again. Hold his hands, walk him around the block in his UppaBaby Vista (something I was SOOOOO looking forward to). We'll never get to take him to Disney, nor take him swimming or to school. I'll never dance with him at his wedding, see him graduate from university, never get to see him with his one true love.

But our next baby, and the babies which will follow. I hope to do those things with them. I want so badly to do the things we wished to do with Jack, and I feel guilty for it. I feel guilty for looking forward to a future which CAN'T include him, no matter how much we want it to. I feel like we're closing a chapter of our lives, the shortest, sweetest, saddest chapter ever written.

I know he'll always be with us, and we'll always think of him. I know a part of him lives on for always both in ourselves and in the legacy he has left. We'll use his things again for the rest of our babies, the things we bought with Jack in mind and with Jack in our hearts. His crib. His dresser. His stroller. His rug, change pad, diapers, and clothes. Other babies will read his books, look at his art. All this great stuff we collected for Jack, was actually Jack collecting for his siblings. What a great big brother, eh?

I wish, more than anything, this chapter had a different ending. That Jack was here with me, snoozing beside me in bed.  But he isn't, and he can't.  As much as this chapter is closing, I hope another begins soon. A different baby, a different story, a different ending- a happier one.

Thursday, March 17, 2011

What I wouldn't do... And loving my husband.

What I wouldn't do to have this sweet head laying on my chest right now.

One of my very favourite photos of Jack
To watch my best girlfriend struggle to cuddle with my squirming little boy.

Shelley & Jack (love his expression here. Such a beautiful little guy)

To kiss, and stroke this bald little head.

Another favourite, cuddling up to his momma
I don't know about any of your other BLMs, but nighttime is the worst, yes?  I think it's the hardest time for me because if things had worked out differently, I wouldn't be going to bed at a reasonable hour... I would be in a rocking chair, cuddling my baby.  But I'm not, I'm lying there with my eyes open and my mind racing, thinking of all the things which should have been, but aren't.


On another note, tonight as we laid down to sleep (I couldn't fall asleep, hence the reason I am up writing this post), I felt compelled to asked my husband what he would do if he woke up in the morning and *poof*, I was gone. He said it wouldn't be good.  It wouldn't be good at all.  He's not sure he could pick himself back up again, he's too broken, and he can't imagine.  He's become (even more) affectionate with me since we lost Jack.  Telling me how much he loves me, how much I mean to him, how I am the reason for his very being now.  He tells me everyday. It's nothing new, I've known he has felt this way for years, but he now feels the need to say it.  He thinks Jack would want him to love his momma for him, to take care of me at Jack's request. 

I am so fortunate for this man. He is absolutely the love of my life, my rock, my soulmate, and the father of my child and all those children yet to come. These words are so cliche, but they are so damn true. When we were married in July 2009, we wrote our own vows.  The final lines of my vows to him elicited laughter and hooting and hollering from our guests. 

"I promise you a life full of love and laughter- and beautiful babies..."

During our Ceremony

I still do.  We still will.  We've had one beautiful baby, and we lost him.  But I swear there will be more to love, hold, and watch grow.   Lots more.

And when we do, I hope they all grow up to be just like their daddy.  I hope to be a good role model for my babies- show them what a marriage should look like. I want my sons to strive to be good men, and my daughters grow up to be strong women. I want them to have marriages full of passion and love and undying adoration and respect for the partners of their choosing.

Because after you've lost everything else, that's the only thing which matters.

Monday, March 14, 2011

Caught up

Sometimes I get so caught-up in the day-to-day moments of life, I forget. I'll be laughing and joking around with my husband, things entirely as they were before our lives were shattered.

  • I forget that I'm not on vacation from work, taking time to paint and update things around the house.
  • I forget the dynamic of my relationship with my husband is stronger not just because we love eachother and get along so well, but also because we are working through something incredibly difficult.
  • While I am so excited at the prospect of becoming pregnant again, I forget sometimes how very hard this next baby might be to carry knowing it wouldn't have been here (yet) if we hadn't lost Jack.
  • I forget what it is to look forward to something without the feeling that it could all go terribly, terribly wrong.
  • I forget what being oblivious, naive, and blind to all the worst things in the world feels like.
  • I forget that people who don't know us see us as a young married couple. They have no idea we have experienced, first hand, the very worst thing which can happen to you, no matter how old you grow.
  • I forget I don't need to follow along the newborn blogs, because they aren't applicable to my life. Instead, they are growing examples of what I do not have.
  • I forget I ever held a 7lb boy who was entirely ours. Still seems like such a dream.
  • I forget that I'm heartbroken.

Friday, March 11, 2011

2 Months ago Jack became a hero

It was two months ago today my husband and I cuddled and kissed Jack's teeny, tiny body for the last time. We wheeled our first born, adored, sweet little angel down to the Operating Room at SickKids to make the best out of a horrific situation. Jack was going to be an organ donor, his final gift.

I've mentioned before that Jack's liver went to a terminally ill little boy in the United States.  Another few months and we can write to them. But what would we write? Take care of that liver, it belonged to a little boy loved more than life itself? Be careful with that liver- it comes from a long line of beer lovers (my husband works for one of the largest in sales and marketing... We joke his grandpa single handedly keeps one of the brands alive...) and is extremely potent? Be grateful for your sweet boy, love the shit out of him, and please be so proud of him no matter what he choses to do in life- we would give anything to have ours back? Your little boy carries a pieces of our hearts in his body?

I'm sure they know all that though. Because until January 9th or 10th, they were looking at a very sick little boy, with little hope in the world he might be saved. What are the chances the right liver, with the right blood type, sizing... the right everything will come in time? I can't even begin to imagine the joy they must have felt when they received the page on the beepers all donors are provided once they are on the list... To be sitting there while the final tests are being conducted, praying so much this is the organ for them, but crying for the family (ours) who had to say goodbye in order for their miracle to take place... To kiss their baby one final time as he was wheeled into the OR for the surgery which will ultimately save his life, but knowing they could lose him in surgery too. Luckily they didn't and the surgery was a success.

To think that family has had 2 months with an increasingly healthy little boy. I've read that the skin colouring of the skin changes very quickly from the jaundiced yellow to the clear, pink skin... How incredible. The idea that parent might gently trace the scar lines with their finger as they change his diapers, and that they likely squeeze their baby tightly every night, thankful for that second chance.. THAT makes my heart swell.

The other little boy, based on my subpar math skills, will be turning 1 soon.  Strange how the world works... Two babies born, one baby born sick but lives, one baby born healthy but died. Weird.

Thursday, March 10, 2011

Dear Body: WTF?

39 week pregnant with Jack- December 30, 2010. Let's pretend we can't see the sausage rolls on the counter... No judgey, okay? :)

Dear Laura's body,

WTF are you doing? Are you ever going to get your period again? It's been 2 months since you stopped pumping and the locia has been gone for a couple of weeks. When are you going to sort yourself out?

Maybe I'm asking too much... How about this: forget the period (you can keep it. You're welcome... ha!). How about you just try and ovulate for me? I've been testing you daily, and nada. Zip. Zilch. Zero. I'd be willing to forego the aforementioned period if you would ovulate, and possibly consider making another baby for me?

I know you've been through a lot. I know you've spent the better part of the past year growing a baby and then trying to feed him your milk. You spent countless hours hunched over the toilet, vomiting your guts out. You went to the ER twice for dehydration, and underwent bi-weekly growth ultrasounds for months. You've been stabbed by more needles than you can count, pee in an ungodly number of cups, you've been sliced open and stitched back together. You dropped 25lbs in a week (all your baby weight), and forced to keep on keepin' on even though you wanted to lay down and die. You've been to hell and back, and I thank you for all your hard work and service.

I promise, this will all be worth it. We can't have Jack back, he was never ours to keep. But we can have another, if you will just try for me. I promise to stuff you full of fresh veggies, delicious meats, and even those delicious Cadbury Mini Eggs you like so much if you just do me this one favour: let's make another baby.

Edit: Let's make another deliciously gorgeous, yummy, healthy, happy baby. That we keep forever. And Ever. One who won't get sick, because let's face it, we can't handle that again.


Laura, your caretaker, cleaning lady, and chef.

Tuesday, March 8, 2011

It's been 2 months...

Stars are people so well loved, they were traced in constellations, to live forever.
-Jodi Picoult

Song lyrics take on a whole new meaning...

I used to believe all the best songs were about lovers. I specifically remember bopping my head to Backstreet Boy songs (don't judge, you did it too), thinking, "damn, these guys get it... They get what it means to be in love".

I have always been a quote-person. I had a notebook in university I used to fill with song lyrics, quotes from movies and books, even sentences from conversations. Anything which struck a chord with me was likely to make it into my notebook. In high school I irritated my parents by scrawling song lyrics on my bedroom walls (obviously where my fine sense of interior design stems from, haha). My point being, these quotes were all about romantic love, the best kind of love there is.

Until it wasn't. Until I knew there was more to strive for. Until I met my little man. Until we lost him.

Now, all the songs I hear are about my baby. I hear the same songs, but the lyrics no longer speak of romantic love, they have taken on a secondary meaning. They describe my feelings, thoughts and love I have for Jack...

Here are some examples:

3 Doors Down: Here Without You

"I'm here without you baby,
but you're still on my lonely mind
I think about you baby,
and I dream about you all the time"

Adele: Someone Like You:

"Never mind, I'll find someone like you,
I wish nothing but the best for you, too.
Don't forget me, I bed,
I remember you said,
"Sometimes it lasts in love,
But sometimes it hurts instead""

Eva Cassidy's cover of "Fields of Gold"

"I never made promises lightly
And there have been some that I've broken
But I swear in the days still left
We'll walk in the fields of gold

I know there are more I've forgotten to include... What about you, any song lyrics change after your loss?

Sunday, March 6, 2011

The Brave Little Soul

I came across this story in my blog-scanning, and it kind of reminded me of my last post, and the stories my nephew told my sister-in-law... Again, I don't know how much of this I believe... But it does calm me a little to think we were sent Jack, that he picked us, to be the caretakers of his soul...

The Brave Little Soul
by John Alessi

Not too long ago in Heaven there was a little soul who took wonder in observing the world. He especially enjoyed the love he saw there and often expressed this joy with God. One day however the little soul was sad, for on this day he saw suffering in the world. He approached God and sadly asked, "Why do bad things happen; why is there suffering in the world?"

God paused for a moment and replied, "Little soul, do not be sad, for the suffering you see, unlocks the love in people's hearts." The little soul was confused. "What do you mean," he asked." God replied, "Have you not noticed the goodness and love that is the offspring of that suffering? Look at how people come together, drop their differences and show their love and compassion for those who suffer. All their other motivations disappear and they become motivated by love alone."

The little soul began to understand and listened attentively as God continued, "The suffering soul unlocks the love in people's hearts much like the sun and the rain unlock the flower within the seed. I created everyone with endless love in their heart, but unfortunately most people keep it locked up and hardly share it with anyone. They are afraid to let their love shine freely, because they are afraid of being hurt. But a suffering soul unlocks that love. I tell you this - it is the greatest miracle of all. Many souls have bravely chosen to go into the world and suffer - to unlock this love – to create this miracle - for the good of all humanity."

Just then the little soul got a wonderful idea and could hardly contain himself. With his wings fluttering, bouncing up and down, the little soul excitedly replied, "I am brave; let me go! I would like to go into the world and suffer so that I can unlock the goodness and love in people's hearts! I want to create that miracle!"

God smiled and said, "You are a brave soul I know, and thus I will grant your request. But even though you are very brave you will not be able to do this alone. I have known since the beginning of time that you would ask for this and so I have carefully selected many souls to care for you on your journey. Those souls will help you create your miracle; however they will also share in your suffering. Two of these souls are most special and will care for you, help you and suffer along with you, far beyond the others. They have already chosen a name for you."

God and the brave little soul shared a smile, and then embraced. In parting, God said, "Do not forget little soul that I will be with you always. Although you have agreed to bear the pain, you will do so through my strength. And if the time should come when you feel that you have suffered enough, just say the word, think the thought, and I will bring you home."

Thus at that moment the brave little soul was born into the world, and through his suffering and God's strength, he unlocked the goodness and love in people's hearts. For so many people dropped their differences and came together to show their love. Priorities became properly aligned. People gave from their hearts. Those that were always too busy found time. Many began new spiritual journeys – some regained lost faith – many came back to God. Parents hugged their children tighter. Friends and family grew closer. Old friends got together and new friendships were made. Distant family reunited, and every family spent more time together. Everyone prayed. Peace and love reigned. Lives changed forever. It was good. The world was a better place. The miracle had happened. God was pleased.

Saturday, March 5, 2011

Maybe this is why?

My sister-in-law, Jenny, told me husband a story while we were at the NICU with Jack, which has given us goosebumps. She re-told the story to me when we met for lunch earlier this week, and I felt the need to post it here.

My nephew, Timothy, will be 5 years old in April. He was born after a couple of years of infertility, a couple of miscarriages, and a whole lot of hoping. He is loved and adored, though he's your typical pain-in-the-ass kid. While attempting to conceive Timothy a sibling, Jenny had to undergo several tests including ultrasounds. When she explained to Timothy where she would be going, and why, Timothy startled her by asking if an ultrasound is like an xray.

Jenny explained to Timothy the basic difference, to which she received a nodding head in reply. "I've had an xray. I had one when I was 15, right before I went to heaven", Timothy replied. Jenny chalked this up to general "make believe", until another time, when Timmy inquired as to how long you have to be in heaven before you're a baby again. "I waited a long time, for you and daddy to be ready for me", he told her another time. He remembers a dog, one who was with him when he was in his prior life. More than once, as he falls asleep, Timmy has reminded Jenny that she is his "favourite mom, my best one". As though he's had others, ones who weren't as nice... Not as loving.

I'm not really a believer of reincarnation, but these stories make me wonder... I do believe in souls, and heaven... I guess I don't know what I believe... Maybe it's a silly thing to hang my hat on, but when I came across this blog, and then this entry, it struck a chord with me. The author speaks to the loss of her daughter, and writes:

"She needed unconditional love. Something bad happened to her, maybe in a past life, and she needed to know that Brian and I loved her absolutely purely. She wanted love untainted by the scoldings, power struggles, and tears that come with being a human child. By leaving us so early, she was assured of our white hot love forever. It would heal her, so her soul could go on. But it would break me, and I would have to accept it."

It's a nice thought, even if it's not true. Since I don't think we'll have any answers until our time here on Earth is over, it gives me something to cling to. Maybe Jack needed us to love his perfect, new, baby-self. And once we did, ::poof::, that's it. That's all we get. He got what he wanted, and then it was over.

Tuesday, March 1, 2011

2 Months

You would have been two months today. Instead you are forever 8 days old.
We miss you Baby Jack.

Design bySmall Bird Studios | All Rights Reserved