Never what you had planned...

I had planned on a more lighthearted entry today, until I got a phone call from my mother. First off, an entire department at our office (we work together) was made redundant yesterday. People who had worked there for 25 years. They have always valued loyalty above all. It would appear that is no longer the case. While I want to be a full time mother and housewife, the unfortunate truth of the world is that we cannot afford that and I have to work part time. If they can wipe out an entire department, where does that leave me? I am scared for my job security for the first time ever.

She also told me her close friend passed away last night after a battle with cancer (melanoma). I just dissolved into tears. I wasnt close to her but with my starbaby's birth/deathday tomorrow, and the job thing...well it all seems too much.

Oh and it's my mothers birthday today.

Happy Birthday Mama.

If voting changed anything, they'd make it illegal...

Today I find myself a little discontent but nowhere near the pain I felt a few days ago. Of course as we are now T minus 2 days I expect I could be back in that hole at any minute.

This coupled with some seriously questionable political advertising of late, rubbing babyloss in my face, has led to just a small feeling of disquiet, and to a lesser extent, rage. On the upside it has led to many political conversations/arguments/debates (call them what you will) something I deeply enjoy. It has been nice to have something to channel my anger into. That and numerous fa.ce.bo.ok groups based around certain political parties have allowed me to vent much of my discontent to a wider audience.

***

Tonight we will fill in the forms for our little man's gravestone. How bizarre. And how slack to have left it for two years. I feel equally disconnected from the whole experience and at the same time, like it is still too raw and that taking this step will finalise his death and it will be real. How odd.

I don't have anything particularly insightful or witty to post tonight...perhaps tomorrow will be a brighter day and will provide me with something else to blog about.

Some days are diamonds...some are just lumps of coal

Rough night last night.

Cried for the first time in awhile - the ugly kind of crying, complete with sobbing, snotty nose, face smeared with tears, clutching at your heart like if you could just take it out you might feel a moment of peace...that type of crying. Ugh it is tiresome.

And here I am another day where he is all I can think of to write about. I go to all the effort of moving blogs but I guess it's like life. You can't run away from the things that are hard or hurtful in your life, they will follow you. I wanted this to be a fresh start, light hearted, not polluted with all the grief I carried for so long.

I thought I was past this! For so long I didn't even write on my blog because there was nothing babylost related to report. The rest of my life was ticking along nicely. Hence the move, hence the new blog. But then here we are edging closer. and closer. and closer. to two years (T minus 4 days and counting) and I feel myself falling further and further back into the old pattern of reading a deadbabyblog, crying for the baby, then crying for my baby, sobbing on the floor and eventually crying myself to sleep.

Rinse. Lather. Repeat.

And it is tiring. It is exhausting. And it all started because I was trying to pick a photo to put in my sidebar of my Little Man.

I am filled with such strong emotions at the moment. There is so much love, but then there is also a scary amount of hatred. A disturbing amount of jealousy and envy. A general spitefulness that never existed prior to my loss. I think of all the women who pledge to do great things after their babies die. Women who say the loss has made them better people. I do not believe mine has. Or perhaps, that ever looming anniversary is just overwhelming literally everything in my life.

So I am left here today, utterly exhausted, barely able to keep my eyes open, and utterly unable to think of anything else.

On Being "Socially Infertile"

As it's ICLW again (see my sidebar) it seems an appropriate day to post this entry on being "socially infertile".

Isn't that just a charming, quaint way of describing the fact that I cannot get myself duffed without intervention. I am not, in the strictest sense of the word, infertile, as I am capable of conceiving…provided we can find some of those pesky little swimmers, that is.

In my hometown, I am denied access to fertility treatments because I am not, in the strictest sense, infertile. I am “socially infertile” which is just another way of saying “a dirty lesbian who does not deserve to have children as they deserve a mother AND a father”. Oh and don’t try to conceive if you are a single lady either. That’s a big no-no as you are depriving your child of a male influence as clearly the only role model a child can ever have is it’s biological father (I think we can all thank the gods above that this is a load of hooey).

So according to them I am not infertile.

But.

When we decide to have children, we face thousands and thousands of dollars of intervention (IVF) which is something it takes the hetero couples of the world only consider after thoroughly exhausting all other options.

When we decide to have children, we cannot just “get to it” and “hope it will happen”. Without intervention, all the sex in the world will not end with me being with child.

When we decide to have children, it means involving a third (and fourth and fifth and sixth etc) person in something that we wish could just be between the two of us.

When we decide to have children, it can mean months of heartbreak and the fear that if we run out of sperm before we conceive, our children will not be related.

When we decide to have children, it means going away, to another state, and submitting ourselves to be judged, to answer questions and go through counselling, have police checks and background checks, and discuss the most intimate areas of our lives with complete strangers.

Not to even mention the paralysing fear that goes along with being a deadbabymama attempting what can seem like the impossible...bringing home a real. live. baby.

But I still don’t feel as though I fit in with the “true” infertiles of the world (for whom I have great affection) because I am capable of getting myself duffed…and have done so on a few occasions (and a few times I've even brought them home alive).

So where does that leave me, and my current heartbreak over wanting another child and not knowing if it will ever happen?

Houston...we have a STEP!

My Monster Baby is growing up too fast :o(

We officially have a walker. He took two steps this afternoon and I can see he will pick it up fast and be off and racing.


Why couldn't he stay ^^ this little forever??

My little booger is growing up! *sob*

To Whom it May Concern,

Dear Monster Baby,
please stop biting my toes.
love, yo mama.


Dear Uterus,
you are not impressing anyone.
Knock it off already.
love, yo owner




Dear Milkshake,
I really want you, but don't have the energy.
Please make yourself and walk over here so I can drink you.
love Suzy

Grave Imagery

I went out to the cemetary today.

We are creeping ever closer to my little guy's second anniversary of his birth and death, and it's affecting me a lot more than his first. It could be because I was still pregnant with the Monster Baby on his first birthday/deathday so I didn't allow myself to think about it too much.

This year I was planning big things. But a few hurdles along the way and I threw in my plans. Too stressful. I want to just focus on him this year. Privately grieve on my own and get through it. Maybe next year we can do something big in his honour.

But anyway...the cemetary.
We are finally arranging his plaque/gravestone for his second birthday. It has been so hard because what do you say? What do you write on the stone? How do you sum up the hopes and dreams of a full life? How do you put into words the utter desolation of losing a baby before you know them?

We still dont have the words yet but it needs to be done. His temporary marker has finally been removed so he has nothing there now. I went into the office to pick out the image for the stone. Looking through the book for something appropriate.

We aren't Christian so 99% of the religious symbology isn't appropriate.

We never knew him so we don't know if he liked trains, or boats, or dogs, or cats.

We don't know if he would have liked fishing or surfing like his dad.

We don't know if he would have been sporty (like his mum) or academic (like his mama).

It didn't leave much.

But as in all things, humour. Would you believe that one of the options is a marijuana leaf? No seriously! Who looks through that book and says "Well he did like the weed, let's put that on his gravestone" Or perhaps "well he was high when he crashed into that tree...seems appropriate". I mean really...It did give me a much needed giggle though...