6 weeks

6 weeks
written Friday at 4:50am
In June, I had a prenatal appointment with my chosen pediatrician. We just chatted for a bit.. she was very nice. We talked about vaccinations, breastfeeding, the appointments the first year, things like that. I told her my concerns for bringing disease and germs home from work to my baby, and she reassured me that changing of scrubs and handwashing before handling the baby was sufficient and not to stress myself with worry. She did, however, say that she strictly enforces NOT taking the baby out in public for a full 6 weeks. Out to a friend's house, ok, to church without passing her around to every member, ok, but she said, and I quote "if you have to go to Target, leave the baby at home for the first 6 weeks, no exceptions." Not even the notoriously dirty Walmart was used in the example.. even Target is forbidden.

So as of today, my baby would, *should*, be 6 weeks old and I can proudly take her to Target and show her off. Instead, I havent had the brain power to sort my own laundry, vacuum when my husband asks me, or do dishes.. let alone operate a car to drive to Target or anywhere. I havent been behind the wheel since my last shift at work 7 weeks ago.

My brain is functioning better these days. I havent had anymore August 13ths. August 13, I spent nearly 24 hours straight in bed. I learned firsthand why the ears are a common place for bedsores, something that confused me before. I ate nor drank nothing, and therefore didn't even need to use the bathroom. It was a frightening day, probably as close to unintentional suicide that any person could possibly get. This is grief over a child. But even without another day like August 13.. I am frustrated when I look strong. I am strong.. I guess I'm doing pretty dang good considering what I'm going through and my ability to carry on coherent conversations and resist the urge to scream my daughter's name out the front door. But maybe strong like a lion cub, not a tyrannasaur. I still need the support of my loved ones to remind me.. one foot in front of the other... left is the side with the wedding ring, up is where your head is, inhale, exhale.. after that, I'm lost. My eyes are wide open with reality, my heart is broken, my arms are empty.

I dont begrudge anyone's happiness, but the nature of facebook allows me to see, daily, how everyone, everyone, everyone I know (and at my age, it's a lot of people), gets to bring their babies home except for me. Smiling pictures of parents and pink newborns depicting horrifyingly different scenes from my pictures considered uncouth to even share publically, even though her face and body are so breathtakingly beautiful even in death. I have the most perfect little handprints, because my baby wasnt alive to bend her fingers and smear the ink on the paper. I wouldnt wish for this to happen to anyone else's baby.. not a cold hearted person or a terrorist's baby, so certainly not personal facebook friend. I grieve my daughter, not your happiness. And my faith has been tested... I have not abandoned it, but I have questioned it. I've had lots of pregnant friends tell me that they are much more aware of their unborn baby's wellbeing, and poke and yell at their bellies when it gets quiet in there. I've also heard stories about mothers before me, who's children were saved because they had a bad dream, a premonition, a deceleration on the heart monitor at the office, or a low kick count. I'm glad their babies were saved.. but it also illustrates how very unfair this was to me... I was asleep when she died. ASLEEP. I had no warning. I didn't know she was dying, how could I pray for her when I didn't know it was happening? How was I to be doing kick counts? I can't be expected not to sleep at 39 weeks pregnant, uncomfortable, and preparing my body for major surgery... to stay awake 24 hours to count my kicks to make sure she's alive.. Although my next pregnancy, I can imagine being awake for a full 36 weeks straight, with black, tired, zombie like eyes... 36, instead of 40, because no OB will ever let me get very far into full term status based on my history. I could possibly have an amnio at 36 and if the lungs are ready, we're going. If they arent ready, pump me with steroids and get that baby out of me before my body fails another one. I *cannot* do this again.. I can't even do it NOW.. a second time would push me over the edge. I think my grief would be a whole lot easier if I had any kind of guarantee that this wouldn't happen again. But I dont know how it happened, so that makes it impossible to prevent it from happening again. The autopsy results havent come back yet.. and that leads me to believe that there are no autopsy results to report. My baby died for no reason, and I wasn't praying for her or being hypervigiliant over her when it happened. I was completely blindsighted. Why couldnt I have a sign, a decreased kick count, a bad dream, a premonition... why didnt my water break during the version? Why were my 8+ NSTs passed with flying perfection? Because she was a healthy, perfect, beautiful baby who died for absolutely no reason. Have you ever heard anything so terrible? Have you? HAVE YOU?

I haven't.

I cried myself to sleep last night.. I don't know for how long. I prayed for God to just bring me sleep, and eventually, it came. I can still sleep a good 10 hours or more.. and after those 10 or so hours passed and surprisingly the sun rose once again, I woke up to see that I still had the tissues in my hand.