My Son, My Sun.

They get us registered and set up in a room. It’s decent, much older than the hospital in our area, and no showers in the bathrooms, just some communal ones in the hall, which creeped me the eff out. I finally get pills at maybe 8:30. We tried this route with Little T, I took pills at regularly increasing doses for 24 hours with no effect, finally deciding on a D&C as it was Dec. 23rd and I needed to go home. In all honesty, that was the best route for that situation anyway. He was measuring 12 weeks, but we had last seen him alive at 13, and I was then 15 weeks along so we didn’t know how long he had passed, and in what shape he would be in when born. I brought this up and the nurse said firmly; It will work this time. Ok. Apparently the dosages were much different, because I did feel the effects quickly. By 4am I was in full labor and by 5 I was yelling for drugs. Turns out no matter the size of the baby, I am not a natural childbirth kind of girl. Also, I hyperventilated a bunch, which is considered counterproductive. Oops. I lost a bunch of blood before he was born, so there was concern I would need a transfusion, but managed to eek by without one. Poor J, I looked over at him and he’s sitting down, white as a ghost. And then. A little after 6am on December 6th our beautiful baby boy was born. 12 oz, 9 and ¾ inches. He only lived for a couple minutes, and then he passed. I was really scared to see him, how he would look, how I would feel. I wish I had the words for how beautiful he was. His tapered fingers ending in perfectly formed nails the size of the eye of a needle, his toes, long like his sister’s, blonde eyelashes. His skin was so soft. I am so thankful to be his mom. I wasn’t sure about the picture thing, but there was a nurse who wasn’t, as far as I know, part of my ‘team’ who came in and offered to do it, and I figured why not. I wish I had gotten her last name because I’d like to call her supervisor and blubber into the phone about what a wonderful job she did. Labor and delivery was super busy, I’m sure she was needed elsewhere, but she took her time and gently bathed him and took wonderful pictures I’ll have forever. Which brings up an interesting conflict I wasn’t prepared for; my mama’s heart wants to shout from the hilltops about how beautiful my son is and show them to anyone within arm’s reach. But my brain is like; Bitch, do not show people pictures of your dead baby. Crazy head. Even if someone loved me enough to have the best of intentions to want to see them, the difference between a full term baby and a 23 week gestation baby that has lived without amniotic fluid is quite large. And those first few seconds of how they reacted could crush me, so I have, and probably will keep them to myself. We came home Tuesday night, ate, got showers, and lay down to cuddle on the bed when G started barfing. Her first flu. So Wednesday was spend doing laundry, and being thankful I was home with my daughter. As I expected from last time, the first day was fine, the days that follow the first day home are the hard ones. Physically I seem to be fine. Tired easily, somewhat crampy. Hopeful that I don’t have the complications I did last time. My milk has come in, so that’s fanfuckingtastic. If you or anyone you know is in need of a wet nurse, I’m your girl. Good to have job options in this economy, probably I’d go all Hand that Rocks the Cradle though and steal the kid, so maybe it’s a bad idea. Emotionally, well. It’s amazing all that you can accomplish while sobbing. All of my showers, vacuuming the house, loading the dishwasher, making the beds, grocery shopping, driving the car. I don’t recommend the last two, the grocery store one being particularly embarrassing. If we’re being honest, I’d like to lie in the middle of the floor and cry until I throw up, perhaps for the rest of my life. I haven’t yet, but no guarantees I won’t. It’s lonely in my body without him. I’m just trying to get through each moment. Most of them I’m crying, but some of them I’m not, so I’ll have to accept that for now. J is taking good care of me. Thank you for your thoughts, prayers, comments, they mean the world to me.