MOM CONFESSIONALS

Given the emotions of the day, all I wanted was an ordinary Sunday.  I had earlier on in the week committed to having regularly scheduled “traditional” Sunday family dinners.  What would make this dinner different and distinct is that I have challenged us to instead of looking for the best take-out, to actually cooking it ourselves.  I was inspired by one of my twitter friend’s, Jennifer Perillo’s Simply Red (Marinara sauce) recipe and my Aunt’s ability to always make homemade sauce despite her ever busy schedule.  I thought to myself, if she can do it, so can I.

So despite all things out of control that day, I took matters into my own hands and decided to regain some control back by making a simple delicious meal for my family to enjoy.  I love to cook and don’t do it often enough.  I’m actually quite good at it but only tend to show my skills for guests — what that translated to was big meals only, never small family sized meals.  This was an experiment in returning to the simple joy of cooking.

Out came the can of Muir Glen Organic Whole Peeled Tomatoes with Fresh Basil (Jennie’s recipe called for San Marzano tomatoes and fresh basil leaves), 4 cloves of whole garlic and 8 baby carrots (instead of suggested pinch of sugar).  Since I needed to be quick, I threw the baby carrots into a food processor until it was finely chopped.  I sauteed the whole cloves of garlic in  olive oil slightly burning them by accident despite it being hard to do, and murphy’s law practically dictated I be the rare case.  I poured the tomatoes into a bowl and gingerly hand crushed them to a consistency I liked.  It was a lot easier than I expected and getting my hands into it made it more fun and authentic.  I poured it into my red cast iron pot (just like the one in Jennie’s picture!), added a little sea salt and fresh cracked pepper and let it simmer while I readied the pasta.

Ever the skeptic, my darling husband was not too sure about me making fresh marinara sauce.  When I added chopped baby carrots, I could see him raising his eyebrows at me and thinking to himself, this wasn’t his version of traditional marinara sauce.  Raise your eyebrows at me anytime you want I thought to myself, but I was sneaking in some more vegetables into this meal if I could, especially since Ava abhors carrots for some reason unknown to us.  I figured and hoped it was so finely chopped and would soften to an unnoticeable consistency while simmering in the sauce.  20 minutes later, we had ourselves a meal and it was a smashing hit!  Even my darling husband who doesn’t dole out compliments when it comes to my cooking gave me his surprised shrug and declared it “pretty good!”  We even made a second pot of pasta just to finish the sauce.  Ever the perfectionist, the only tweaks I’d make next time is finding Organic San Marzano (because Jennie swears by them) tomatoes in a BPA-free lined can.

After all the dishes were cleared and the kids bathed, teethes brushed, I caught the above moment as my family unwound in my daughter’s room and prepared for the upcoming week.  An Ordinary Sunday it was…

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a DO OVER.  As many of you know, I spent Mother’s Day at my son’s bedside in the PICU at our local hospital.  He had a swollen fontanelle and high grade fever.  After a CAT Scan, MRI & MRV, Spinal Tap, Urine Test, Blood Culture and however many more tests they conducted, the doctor’s were left stumped.  I sadly thought to myself that this was what was always going to be.  When a nurse repeated his medical history, matter of factually stating — “micro-deletion on chromosome 16 of unknown significance,” I repeated only to myself, yes, of unknown significance.

I know many regard Mother’s Day as a day of celebrating and honoring the role a Mother plays in their children’s lives.  I on the other hand choose to regard the day as a reflection.  To remember the joy amongst the chaos of the everyday, sleep deprived and all, to remember the love despite the fights to eat vegetables, clean their rooms and washing crayon drawings off the wall and my kitchen cabinets, to remember the reason why being a mother is simply the best job in the whole wide world.  It’s so easy to forget the  joy of being a parent, especially when you count the gray hairs you’ve accumulated as one, or the heartache you experience as your child falls and hurts his knee for the first time, even worse, the first time they are hospitalized.

Mother’s Day to me is a day to take a step back and enjoy my kids instead of trying to be the perfect parent and making them the perfect kid.  It’s the day I don’t stress if she didn’t say excuse me after sneezing all over me.  It’s the day I let her run around the house in her pajama top with a purple tutu and no underwear on.  It’s the day where she can watch more than an hour of TV without my protest.  It’s the day I’m not googling and reading some horrifying article on chemicals entering their bodies and flipping our lives upside down to change it as if I was God.  It’s the day I’m not staring at my son thinking every little thing is that “unknown significance.”  It’s the day I sit and watch and enjoy watching the world through their eyes.  The day I simply let them be my kids, perfectly imperfect.

The bond between a mother and child is well known and well documented but you can never truly understand it until you become a mother yourself.   I know it’s a lot more than just blood, but that simple fact brings so much joy to me as a mother.  I love knowing that they once were a part of me, connected to me… every time I kiss their bellies and graze their adorable belly buttons — I think that was me to you, like a secret between two, only we can say that.  I love seeing and identifying things like who has my stubbornness, who has my laughter, who has my nose, my ears and even the imperfections like my horrible teeth (thank God for braces!).  I love the wonder my husband has on how I just know when something is wrong with our little ones and he doesn’t (cause I have counted every hair on their little beautiful heads).

So even though I spent Mother’s Day away from my daughter, and by my son’s beside in the PICU, the love that I felt for my children that day was bursting out of my heart.  As long as I had them, every day is Mother’s Day to me.

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Continued from Part I…

I couldn’t believe the thoughts running through my head.  I couldn’t believe that once I cursed God for Emma’s condition and now I was infinitely grateful for such a clear cut diagnosis.

My sister said to me at one point that God only gives you as much as you can handle and I remember staring at her in disbelief.  Well actually I was probably more pissed than anything.  I think I rolled my eyes when she said that and even wanted to hit her.  I could not believe that God would want me to go through this again.  What kind of God would grant me the gift of life, only to take it away again shortly after.  What kind of God would do something like repeatedly to one person thinking that she could bare this yet again.   I found it hard to believe in a God so cruel.  If there was ever one thing in my life I wanted and knew I was meant to be… it was that I was to be a mother.

Here I was again, being forced to make a choice — live or die, die or live.  I started hyperventilating again, something I hadn’t done since Emma.  The cowardice side of me wanted to go right in and end this pregnancy now.  I wanted it to go away, pretend this wasn’t happening to me.  I wanted a do over.  I didn’t want to feel the pain.  I felt out of control.  One part of me wanted to run into the kitchen and start smashing every dish in the house, another part of me wanted to end my life right then and there.  All that kept running through my head was that I can’t do this again, I can’t do this again, I don’t have the strength, I can’t , I can’t, I can’t.  I wanted someone to help me and yet I knew no one could.  I felt so desperate and in deep despair.  I told my closest friends, hoping for some peace, encouragement or something to hold onto — not their fault, but none came.  I whispered help me and no one could hear me.

Then the survival side of me kicked in and I thought to myself, someone has to help me.  I went professional — I called my therapist who I hadn’t spoken to since I mentally resolved I had talked enough about Emma and it was time to move on.  All the things I thought I could change with Emma came rushing back to me.  I needed to take control this time.  I needed to know what was happening, to make more informed decisions.  I needed to be the rational one.  I couldn’t crawl into a hole and cry.  I needed to be strong.  I had Ava to think about.  RATIONAL, RATIONAL, RATIONAL.  All the while I was thinking this, my mind and body was doing the complete opposite.  I showed my family that I was taking care of myself.  I did all my own research, I asked tons of questions, I never cried in front of them.  I was the picture of rational.  But when no one was looking, I played my pain to music.  I would sit in the bathroom, water running with my iPod on.  I allowed myself to cry through ONE song, a few minutes that I allowed the pain to seep in.

I set up my first therapy appointment and even went there alone.  I came back and boasted that it helped… when in reality I couldn’t even bring myself to talk during the session.  She was patient.  I refused to talk and stated so.  I was so angry I didn’t know what to say.  I didn’t want to feel my feelings, I wanted it all to go away.  So she asked questions and I kept my answers brief and succinct.  I knew it was like pulling teeth.  I just couldn’t think of anything to say that I haven’t said already.  That was IT… I’ve done this ALREADY!  I was in sheer disbelief that this was happening AGAIN.  Again was all I could focus on.  These feelings were the same I had the last time and I was sooooo over feeling them.  Instead they were replaced with anger.  I still cried my tears in private when I allowed myself to absorb the events of each doctor’s visit, each consultation, each test — but mostly it was anger I felt.

I needed someone to blame and while I beat myself up mentally, I lashed out at the doctor’s, the nurses, the geneticists — still in quiet silence.  While I smiled and bit my tongue every time they made a mistake, lost our test results, said there was delays or additional testing needed, I went home, critiqued them to an unholy standard and cursed their existence.  My therapist said it was okay for me to be angry.  After all they did lose my drawn blood for a genetics test resulting in another day of waiting in the lab for a blood draw.  They did come back and tell us that they made a mistake with the chromosome deletion  — it was not Chromosome 4, it was actually 16.  They did say they knew nothing about 4 and even less about 16.  They did say the results would take 3 days when it really took 8 days.  They did say repeatedly that they did not know what significance this deletion meant.  The choice was ours… live or die, LIVE or DIE.

As I grasped for straws and went for second, third and fourth opinions, a true friend emerged.  It was this doctor, a prominent endocrinologist at Cornell Medical Center, that got angry for us.  Enough was enough.  No more testing unless they could give us real definitive answers and they could not give us any.  We had to choose to enjoy this pregnancy or… end it and move forward.  He erred on the enjoying side of things and I was inspired.  He gave me the hope I needed to pick myself off the floor.  It seemed all so clear all of a sudden.  This was my son, my baby and no one could tell me what was wrong with him.  The sonograms looked perfect.  Every anatomical exam and EKG test showed him to be in picture perfect health.  These were the only definitive things they could give me and I was going to hold onto every last beautiful perfect image until they showed me something to worry about.  I did subject myself to bi-monthly sonograms but looked forward to them as another photo for the scrap book.  If they didn’t take any during the exam, I made sure to vocalize and get one.  I let them measure and look to their hearts content while I went home and stared at his beautiful pictures with my husband.  I ignored the little big here, little small here remarks and just loved him.

When my pelvis split again, I just laughed.  If this was the worst that could happen to me, I was fine with it.  At one point my OB said to me, you’re doing so much better with this split than the last.  I turned to him and said, don’t get me wrong, the pain is far worse, but I can handle it if it means a happy healthy baby.  I have to survive, HE has to survive, this was our choice.  If this was the burden I had to bare to ensure so, than so be it.  Not to mention, I’ve done this whole pelvis split thing before, I knew what to expect, how much pain I could take, what my limitations would be.  I was more prepared for this than anything else.

I won’t say Marcus’ birth was easy.  I went through a month of pre-term labor before the doctor felt it was time for Marcus’ to grace us with his appearance.  He said it was clear the little man wanted to get out.  Mixed with fear and excitement at him arriving a month early, I found out the reason for my pre-term labor was a window in my uterus — the scar tissue from my previous c-section didn’t heal properly causing a potential for uterine wall rupture.  My pre-term contractions were attributed to pressure in this area causing a bubble that looked like it was inflating and deflating over and over again.  Aside from that, his arrival was perfection.  He arrived and we were bursting with love at his perfection.  He did have a sacral pit and tons of mongolian marks that made him look like a beaten infant but otherwise, he was perfection.

Some people might think it strange that Emma’s ashes sits above Marcus’ bassinet.  I think its fitting.  A representation of her as an angel looking down over him.  I’d like to think that Marcus’ is drawing strength from her.

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{ disclosure: i am a sponsored co-host of this event }

Hebrew National, of the famous hot dogs that are 100% Pure Kosher Beef, are throwing a “Better-Than-A-Picnic” Picnic where we will be decorating reusable lunch bags benefiting Feeding America’s Magic Summer Lunch Box Program! If you can’t join us, follow this link to make your own donation!  This kick-off event will lead off into 8 other cities supporting local charities in their areas. My mother worked at Hebrew National’s for many years and I grew up on these deliciously juicy hot dogs and they are the only hot dogs we buy in this family.  That’s why I’m thrilled to be hosting this event with some of my favorite mommies:

Isabel, Alpha Mom http://alphamom.com
Jen, Next Kid Thing http://nextkidthing.com/
Amy O., Selfish Mom http://selfishmom.com/
Anna, Mommy Poppins http://www.mommypoppins.com
Carol, NY City Mama http://nycitymama.com/
Amy P., Long Island Parent Source http://www.liparentsource.com/
Kimberly, Mom in the City http://mominthecity.com/
Lisa, New York Chica http://newyorkchica.com/
Kelsey, Naptime Chef http://www.thenaptimechef.com/
Jo-Lynne, Musings of a Housewife http://www.musingsofahousewife.com/
Whitney, Mommies with Style http://www.mommieswithstyle.com/
Melissa, GirlyMama http://www.girlymama.typepad.com/
Emily, TheMotherhood.com http://www.themotherhood.com

WHERE: Randall’s Island – Central Fields by Scylla Park, New York

WHEN: May 22, 2010 from 11:30AM – 3:30PM

WHAT:  A fun-filled afternoon with giant puzzles, mechanical bull rides (enough said), other activities for kids and family, music by a band or DJ, our celebrity co-host Cheryl Hines of Curb Your Enthusiam, as well as the iconic Hebrew National AirStream bus where hot dogs and other confections will be served up.

MENU: Hebrew National’s Hot Dogs of course!, Fruits and assortment of drinks

COST: FREE!  It doesn’t get any better than that!  Do something good (count it as your good deed for the day!) and eat yummy delicious hot dogs — it’s a WIN-WIN!  Please RSVP HERE! – Comments will be closed for this post.

HOW TO GET THERE: via public transportation you can take the 4, 5 or 6 Train to 125th Street and transfer to the M35 bus

From Manhattan:
Get on the Triborough Bridge at East 125th Street. Stay left for the exit to Randall’s Island, immediately after the toll plaza.

From Long Island and Queens:
Get on the Triborough Bridge from the Grand Central Parkway. Stay right for the exit to Randall’s Island, immediately after the toll plaza.

From the Bronx:
Take the Major Deegan or Bruckner Expressway to the Triborough Bridge. Stay right for the exit to Randall’s Island, immediately after the toll plaza.

From Brooklyn:
Take the FDR Drive North to the Triborough Bridge exit (on right). Stay left up to and after the toll, following the signs to Randall’s Island.

From New Jersey:
From I-80 or the New Jersey Turnpike, get onto the George Washington Bridge. Follow signs for “Through Traffic” (on the upper level, stay to the left; on the lower-level, stay to the right) to get onto the Cross Bronx Expressway, then take the Harlem River Drive/Amsterdam Avenue exit. Keep left onto the Harlem River Drive, then stay straight to take the FDR Drive South to the Triborough Bridge. On the Bridge, stay left for the exit to Randall’s Island, immediately after the toll plaza.

From Westchester:
Take I-87 (New York State Thruway) southbound. I-87 will turn into the Major Deegan Expressway. Follow signs to the Triborough Bridge, pass through the tollbooth, and stay to the right. Take the exit for Randall’s Island.

By Foot:
You can walk across the footbridge from E. 103rd St. in Manhattan onto Randall’s Island Park during summer daylight hours. Pedestrians can also walk across on the Triborough  Bridge from Manhattan, Queens, or the Bronx.

For more information, please check out the party page at themotherhood.com, Hebrew National’s Facebook page and #hebrewnational on twitter.  Invite your family, your friends… anyone!  Hope to see you there!

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Ending Earth Week on a BANG…

• I failed at composting.  I could have bought worms, but they gross me out.
• DH started collecting rain water to water the lawn and plants and the microbiologist/germaphobe in me is thinking about the bacteria brewing is sitting water… even worse… the potential mosquito family that might inhabit there soon.
• I tried cloth diapering and the best I can do is a hybrid – gDiaper inserts with BambinoMio covers.  at home ONLY.  cause I’m lazy.  and I don’t want to carry a stick around with me.  I will TRY again.
• Looking at my basement I realize we’re pack rats.  We could be worse, but I see a lot of waste.
• I never turn off my computer because waiting for it to boot each time is annoying and I’m on it every 5 minutes anyway.
• Yet leaving a charger plugged in without something charging annoys the crap out of me.
• I’ve still got a bottle of bleach in my house when the GREEN cleaners just don’t quite cut it.
• I do so much laundry everyday, I imagine it’s not very green.  Will I hang my laundry out to dry?  NOPE…
• My DD litters… it’s a horrible phase I’m trying to rid of.
• I try to always go green but if the price is too high, I have more of a tight budget than room to be green.
• My daughter fills her bathtub way too high with water… to go swimming of course.
• I buy a lot of reusable grocery bags and have yet to use them on a regular basis.  I argue that we need the grocery bags anyway for garbage bags.  It’s green because we don’t buy garbage bags.

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My good friend Maria Bailey, Host of Mom Talk Radio and author of “The Ultimate Mom Book” (HCI, 2009), as well as top Mom Websites, Newbaby.com, BlueSuitMom.com, and MomSelect.com founded Mom’s Nite Out last year.  I was lucky enough to be a part of the first and hopefully many ultimate celebrations of Motherhood.  Being a mother is such a selfless job and often mom’s forget to take a much deserved and needed time for themselves.  Even when offered a chance for a break or breather, we’re often at a lost for what to do.  Being a mom becomes the thing that defines us.  My husband has often tried to shove me out the door for a break and I usually turn right back around because I can’t bare to be apart from my kids.  I’ve learned sometimes you just need to take the time and roll with it.  For all those mom’s who don’t know when to take a break… Come Join me at National Mom’s Nite Out on May 6th!

I will be hosting Mom’s Nite Out, along with other Mommy Bloggers, at Simon’s Roosevelt Field Mall in Long Island, NY from 6-9pm in the North Court.  Come visit “Mom Central” where Mom’s can enjoy foundation shade matching by Bare Escentuals, hairstyling tips, mini facials and valuable skin care information from Aveda (heavenly!), perfume sampling provided by Ed Hardy, insight from a J. Crew personal shopper, delicious food sampling courtesy of Legal Seafoods (dreaming of their delicious lobster bisque…)and Grand Lux Café, exercise and salon demonstrations and smoothie sampling from XSport Fitness, gift ideas for mom from Vera Bradley and much more.

Attendees will have a chance to win great prizes and giveaways and select Roosevelt Field retailers will provide special discounts and in-store events that evening.  I’ll be there, stop by my table and say Hi!

If you’re not in my neck of the woods, visit www.momsniteout.com for a celebration near you. For more information about the participating Simon malls, visit www.simon.com.  I hope to see you there!

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{ disclosure : received gift copy of book }

As a huge fan of Aden + Anais, I was thrilled to receive a copy of founder, Raegan Moya-Jones’ new book entitled, “Swaddle Love”.  I had already considered myself an expert swaddler, my basis for that only being the fact that both my kids were never able to escape my kung-fu tight swaddle.  The beautifully printed muslins have saved my sanity on so many nights as well as, TIP ALERT, provided gorgeous back drops for many of my photos of the kids growing up.

All too recently, I even credited the Aden + Anais swaddle blankets for saving my son’s life.  My husband, not the most expert swaddler, one evening has not tightened the swaddle sufficiently.  In one of those mother intuition moments, possibly also the nagging thoughts about the recent sling recalls, I woke up in the middle of the night panicking that my son wasn’t snoring his little adorable snore.  In fact it was a little too quiet in his bassinet.  I jumped out of my bed and saw immediately that he had wriggled the swaddle loosely up and over his face, covering it completely.  I rapidly unraveled the swaddle to find my son snoring peacefully being that the muslin was so thin and breathable.  I gave thanks for the blankets and shuddered at the thought of what might have been instead.

Little did I know there was so many ways to swaddle your child, even beyond the first few months of life.  I was engrossed from page 1 and couldn’t put it down until I was finished.  The book is filled with candid, humorous stories that tell about the history, science and many techniques of swaddling.  I loved the from one friend to another friend approach to celebrating babies, parenthood, and sleeping eight hours a night.  Swaddling had already made a huge difference for my children, but it was so fascinating to understand the reasoning on why it works so well.  I would recommend this book to all my new mommy friends.  It makes a perfect baby shower gift combined with a set of their gorgeous swaddle blankets.

In addition to the swaddle blankets I was amazed to see their full line of products which include blankets (appropriately called dream blankets), sleeping bags, bibs, burp clothes, their newest addition to the line up, loveys (issie) and much much more, all made from their famous muslin.  Check out their website for more information at www.adenandanais.com

GIVEAWAY: We’re thrilled to offer to (1) of our lucky readers a chance to win a copy of Swaddle Love and one Aden + Anais Swaddle Blanket.   To ENTER, from now until April 15th, fill out this FORM and pass along some sage advice to new moms.  Get up to (two) bonus entry if you follow me on twitter @momconfessional and re-tweet this giveaway (Win Aden + Anais’ Swaddle Love book and blanket @momconfessional http://ow.ly/1wDll) as well as becoming a fan on Facebook. DON’T FORGET to let me know by leaving a separate entry for each action. Giveaway only open to those with U.S. addresses. Giveaway ends on April 15th at 11:59 EST. A winner will be selected randomly by Random.org and notified by e-mail.

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I’ve sat down so many times to write this story over the years.  Each time I felt a little closer to being at peace but not quite ready to let it all go.  So here it goes…another attempt to be at peace…

It didn’t take almost losing my life for me to understand the value of life.  Rather it was trying to create a happy healthy life that taught me.  Lately while looking at my beautiful baby boy, I am struck by the thought of what almost wasn’t.  There is this incredible feeling of guilt that weighs on my heart thinking that the thought of terminating him once crossed my mind.  It wasn’t a light consideration either when faced with a strong possibility of a severely sick child.

HERE WE GO AGAIN…

At times I thought I was a coward.  When my amniocentesis results came in with a possible deletion on chromosome 4, I collapsed on the floor.  My heart was racing so loud, I could hear it as if it was being blasted through a set of speakers.  As I googled as quick as I could type, scanning and reading as rapid as they were appearing on screen, I started to hyperventilate and then came the sobs.  The uncontrollable sobs where I couldn’t even catch my breath and everything started spinning around me.  Severe mental retardation… heart defects… atrophy… club foot… cleft palate…  It took me over 20 minutes to compose myself enough to pick up the phone and call my husband who was at work.  Those 20 minutes I sat feeling completely alone in the world.  I could barely speak.  Amnio… bad… deletion…4… defects… retardation… physical abnormalities… come home… please… help me… and then I hung up the phone and collapsed on the floor again with the tears coming so fast… I wanted to die… I never wanted to die so badly in my life.  I didn’t want to feel this pain ever again and here I was… all over again… Every emotion that I had shoved way back in my head of Emma’s death was rushing back and fast.

EMMA’S STORY

I remembered sitting in doctor’s office, the concerned look on his face as he stared at the sonogram.  The calmness and positiveness he tried to maintain when explaining his concerns and sending us for additional testing.  I was hanging onto every possible positive thing he said.  The odds were suppose to be in our favor.  I was not a high risk candidate.  I pish poshed his concerns and took the tests… simply to humor the doctor.  I sat in the hospital almost defiant that I wasn’t going to be a statistic.

As more and more doctors came in and out, watching their silent but all too loud glances at one another, the knowing nods, the whispering… I started to cry.  They didn’t even have to say anything and I knew something was wrong, very wrong.  I dressed and followed the doctor’s into their consultation room with tears rolling down my eyes and my husband trying to comfort me even though he had no idea what was to come.  He kept telling me to hear what the doctor’s had to say and not jump to conclusions but I just knew.

As the doctor’s talked, I stared at them.  I was wishing they’d all go away.  I was wishing they would disappear and this was all a bad dream.  I tried to remain calm and focused.  I asked as many questions as I forgot their answers.  I only heard what I wanted to hear.  I heard only the possibilities and never the buts… My husband heard all the buts and they were big buts.  He being the more rational one of the two, heard the doctor’s and in his most logical, reasonable manner agreed with the doctor’s that I should terminate the pregnancy right away.

I remember wanting to scream but nothing was coming out of my mouth.  All I could do was sob.  I told everyone to go away.  I even wanted my husband to go away.  I declared no one was going to take my baby from me.  I remember them trying to rationalize with me that this was the best thing to do.  It would be over and I could move on.  I could start the healing process sooner.  I was completely outraged.  Bombs and Missiles were going off in my head.  It would be over and I could move on!!!  How dare they!  My husband became the enemy even if he didn’t know it.  I hated him.  I loathed him.  He and the doctor’s wanted to take my child from me.  I became the protector.  She was in my body, it was my body and no one was going to tell me what to do.  She was MY baby, not theirs.  The had no faith, but I believed in her.  My husband begged me to listen, told me he couldn’t see me like this, that he needed to see me happy again.  He wanted me to smile again.  We could have more babies, other babies.  She wasn’t going to make it.  She was going to die.  Her dying now would be the same as her dying in my arms, but he hoped this way would be less painful.  He begged me not to torture myself and let the healing process begin.  End it now and we could start all over again.

I became numb.  They doctors talked mostly to my husband as I sat in silent protest.  I heard them make appointments with genetics, schedule the surgery, recommend a therapist.  I just sat there expressionless.  A part of me, the ration me was lurking there and knew they were right but I didn’t want to stop fighting for her… and for me.  I needed to make her known.  I could feel and hear others thinking that because she wasn’t born yet, she wasn’t real. It made me want to scream, “she exists!!!”  I enlisted a friend who helped me document the last few hours of her life.  I struggled to hold onto anything I could.  I tried my best to be strong.  I tried to come to terms with her inevitable death while going back and forth in my head on whether or not we were making the right decision.  A part of me knew they were right, yet I felt they were so wrong too.  I knew some people felt she wasn’t a real person yet, being unable to sustain life outside of the womb, and that angered me.  That her life wasn’t one to consider unless she was born and able to breath.  I made myself a promise that her death would be dealt with dignity.  I arranged for her cremation and searched earnestly for the perfect urn for her tiny remains.  I finally settled on a bronze and mother of pearl urn that fit in the palm of my hand.  She wasn’t to be forgotten, I would make sure of it.

The day of the surgery I only cried.  The only request I had from the surgeon was one last sonogram picture.  When it was over, I held onto that picture of her.  She looked so peaceful, I’d like to imagine sleeping and unaware of what had happened to her.   I felt completely alone.  No one understood my pain.   I spent countless hours in the middle of the night when I was sure my husband was sleeping, crying my eyes out.  Hiding out in extra long showers where I could let the tears flow without the looks of pity from my family and friends.  I spent a lot of time trying to figure out what went wrong.  I blamed myself.  She was in my body and I didn’t take good care enough of myself to keep her safe.  They said it was a fluke, somehow during the chromosome separation, 18 didn’t split.  I even convinced myself everyone was blaming me too.  Was it when I missed a prenatal vitamin dosage?  Was it using all those chemicals on my skin that I now know are toxic?  Was it BPA related?  I wanted so desperately to have answers that I would never get.

There are still days I question if we made the right decision.  No matter how sure the doctor’s were of her inevitable fate, I still lived in the what ifs.  I sometimes torture myself and visit online support boards, ignoring the pain the families were going through with the birth of a Trisomy-18 child and instead feel a little jealous that they got to meet their baby.  There are still days I wake up in the middle of the night crying for her.  Despite having my two precious babies, she’s the life I will never forget.

AVA’S STORY

It took  over a year before I had finally accepted I would never truly heal after my daughter Emma’s death but that I could pick up the pieces and move on… In the weeks following Emma’s death I channeled my grief into a goal to get pregnant again as soon as possible.  I knew nothing would replace Emma in my heart, her remains sat in the urn right by my bed.  Sometimes I carried her with me in secret.  I wanted so desperately to have a do over.  To move on, start over again like they all promised me.

So while my husband assumed I was simply reconnecting with him, I just wanted to be pregnant again.  Despite my husband’s insistence that I wasn’t ready and it was too soon, I didn’t care.  I couldn’t win.  I hid my grief from everyone because it seemed like that’s what they wanted from me — to be over it.  Then they would tell me that I wasn’t grieving enough or the way they wanted me to.  I went to therapy every week in a show that I could take care of myself.  I was fixing ME.

A few months later I did finally conceive.  Instead of the expected joy that everyone feels with a new pregnancy, mine was replaced with fear.  I remember my doctor saying to me at my first prenatal appointment that this was the one that was going to be perfect.  God knows I deserved it after I lost Emma to Trisomy-18.  I held onto his words so tightly and prayed every night for a healthy baby.  I felt like I held my breath the entire pregnancy.  Despite each appointment with its bright, cheery and happy outlook, I still frowned and waiting for the ball to drop.  When I was diagnosed with Pubic Symphysis Separation early on in my pregnancy, I thought it was just the beginning of many more problems to come.  It became a challenge for the doctor and his staff to see a smile on my face.  From the moment Ava was born, she was a blessing and the doctor was right.  She was perfection, a precocious, funny little girl who steals everyone’s heart.  Since the day she was born she became the light of our world.  I finally felt like all was right with the world again.  I had my baby, the littlest love of my life and she was perfect.

to be continued…

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The start of hopefully an Easter tradition.  We made Rice Krispie nests filled with Peeps, Reeses Peanut Butter Eggs and Hershey’s candy coated chocolate eggs… fun and easy project for the little ones.  Just whip up a batch of Rice Krispie treats.  Instead of spreading in a pan, make a little ball and press an indentation for filling in the center.  Shape the edges a little and fill with candy of your choice.

We also did a little egg dyeing on the side too… what would easter be without some dyed eggs… Happy Easter!

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{ disclosure : i am a medela mom maven }

A little over a week ago I had to take a quick business trip to Las Vegas.  It use to be one of my favorite destinations business trip wise.  I mean what’s not to love — the shopping, the amenities, the shows… the FOOD!  This time it was full of mixed emotions.  While I was excited to bring my “A” game as a super marketing executive and wear that hat for the what may be the last time, it also meant 50 hours away from my almost 3-month old exclusively breastfed son.  Yes I counted the hours and if I had to be precise it was from 6:02am Wednesday morning until 8:18am Friday morning.

My son was mostly refusing the bottle and I was a wreck leaving my newborn for the first time.  This really shouldn’t be a new thing to me.  I had been in this situation before with my daughter when I was working full-time as a Marketing/PR executive and traveling quite often.  Irrationally at the time, my husband often bought a ticket for himself and both he and the baby would then join me after painfully watching me cry my eyes out at the thought of being separated from my child.  It became an expensive habit, almost costing as much as my salary to keep up.

Putting all that aside, I had put it in my mind that I had to take this trip and would simply have to make the best of it.  How did I survive as a breastfeeding mom separated from her newborn by two time zones and a little over 50 hours?  My tips:

1. As hard as it may be, you have to start bottle feeding as soon as possible.  Finding the right bottle can prove to be a lengthy challenge. Don’t stop breastfeeding at all.
2. Substitute one bottle a day as early as you can.
3. DO NOT be the one administering the bottle.  Your baby is no idiot and your boob is right there.
4. I would in fact, LEAVE the premise if possible.  It’s good for the baby not to sense you around and good for your own breaking heart.
5. DO pump while the baby is attempting to take the bottle.  You after all have to train your boobs to have a letdown without your baby’s sucking.
6. Increase to two bottles a day if you can in the weeks leading up to the leave.  Training your boobs to letdown with a pump and your baby to adapt to more than one bottle.
7. In the days leading up to your leave, return back to 1 bottle a day, so your baby can remember you.
8. BE PREPARED!  Anticipate all situations you may need to pump. Quart size ziplock bags are your friend.  Bring 3 – Clean, Dirty and Carry-All (holds other two bags, steam bag and wipes)
9. BE AWARE that you may not be able to clean your pump right away and how long until you may be able to. Medela’s Quick Clean wipes were my savior.
10. Invest in a good double breastpump like Medela’s Pump InStyle or Medela’s Freestyle if you can afford it.
11. A handpump like Medela’s Harmony is great and small enough to fit in your purse for times you can’t find an outlet or carrying the larger pump is not an option.
12. Bring the battery pack and extra batteries. Bring the car adapter if you’re driving.
13. Don’t be ashamed to pump.  It’s a wonderful and natural gift.  I proudly announced the the stewardess that I needed to pump at 10,000+ feet and didn’t blink an eye while doing it in the tiny bathroom.
14. Disposable Breastpads are your best friends.  They will absorb leaking milk like a pro and doesn’t require washing while you’re traveling.  My favorite are the Johnson’s Nursing Pads which can be found at Target, they are perfectly contoured to the breast and don’t leave any indication of them even through the thinnest of shirts.
15. TIMING IS EVERYTHING.  Breastfeed right before you leave for your trip.  Literally right before you walk out the door.  Plan to pump midway through your flight and more depending on the flight time.  You must account for times preparing for takeoff and beverage/snack service and give a little more for the bathroom rush afterwards as well as the reverse before landing.
16. PUMP ON A SCHEDULE.  It doesn’t have to be exactly the same as the eating schedule of your baby, but as close to it as can be managed.
17. If you’re lucky to have access to a microwave, Medela’s Quick Clean Micro-Steam bags are perfect for travel and sterilize in 3 minutes flat.
18. WHEN YOU GET HOME… RUN! to your baby and nurse right away… just because you want to =0)

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