It all comes back sometimes

One of my friends had a baby very early this morning (all went well, and he’s healthy and I’m dying to meet the little dude). She had a c-section, and this afternoon I was thinking about my own c-sections. Mostly my first. I was thinking about how fast everything happened, especially compared to Ian’s. I was thinking about how the process for my spinal took forever with Ian, but I don’t even remember it being administered with Jillian. I only remember being poked with a yellow toothpick near my ribs, and telling the anesthesiologist that I couldn’t feel it.

I was sitting here on the couch with Dave and Ian, and I just kind of spaced out. I was going over it in my head, thinking about how at the time, I thought I was having a nightmare. When I replay it all in my head, it still seems like a nightmare. Almost two years later, I still can’t believe it all happened. I remember thinking that I couldn’t have my baby that night. She wasn’t ready. I wasn’t ready. Yet there we were, getting her out as fast as possible.

I kind off snapped out of it when Dave asked me what was wrong. I started crying, and I had to distract myself to stop replaying it all. Even writing about it now, that damn yellow toothpick is stuck in my mind’s eye.

Sometimes I wonder what would have happened if the doctor hadn’t made the decision to get her out immediately. Part of me is certain that she wouldn’t have lived at all. I had lost so much fluid, and she was probably compressing her cord. But what if we’d been able to keep her in for even a few days? Would that have made a difference? I think about how she was treated for her PDA with ibuprofen, and I wonder if that somehow contributed to her brain bleed. I have no clue if there is any correlation at all; it’s just me still searching for an answer. Something to blame. But what if we had left the PDA alone? Would she be here now? On the other hand, we were facing such an uphill battle, and I know there’s so much more that could have gone wrong. I hate thinking about the what ifs because they just make me sad, and we are so blessed that we got the time with her and we did, and of course that we have Ian.

I had a dream the other night that we had both kids here at home with us. Ian was just as he is now, and Jillian was still teeny tiny, but she was here and she was alive. I was thinking in my dream that every day that she was still here was a blessing. And every day that we did have her was a blessing, and I’ll treasure it forever. I wish I could focus on that, but my mind sometimes has other ideas.


Things are still going well for us. I can’t believe that my little peanut is going to be eight months old next week. These have been the fastest eight months of my life. He brings so much joy into my life that I can’t describe it. His smile lights up the room, his laugh is the most wonderful sound I’ve ever heard, and I miss him when he’s sleeping. Sometimes when I’m watching him on the monitor, just a simple move takes my breath away. I can’t get over how lucky I feel to have him.

I’ve had some rough days, emotionally. We recently heard of a little boy who passed away from SIDS. He was a baby that statistically, should have been too old, and hearing about it kind of knocked me back. When I first heard the news, I told Ian he was sleeping on his back until he’s at least 10 (not that it would eliminate the risk, but it certainly reduces it), and Ian responded that night by spending the entire night on his belly. I don’t think Dave and I slept at all. He’s slept on his belly every night since then. We’re getting a little more comfortable with it as time has gone on, but we still kind of freak out. We’ve spent too much time staring at the monitor to make sure his chest is moving, we’ve tried moving the camera around for the best view, and I’ve blown into the microphone multiple times just to get him to flinch.

The other night, I was getting into bed and saw Ian’s stuffed lamb in our bed. I thought of how I slept with Jillian’s blanket for a while after she died, and I lost my mind. I thought that if anything happened to Ian, I’d sleep with that lamb, and my imagination got away from me. I kept picturing the worst, and what I imagined was close to what I felt when we were told about Jillian’s hemorrhage: the world spinning completely out of control, feeling like I was outside of my body watching what was happening, and not knowing how I was going to take another breath. I kept telling myself that Ian was fine, but this other baby’s death was a reminder of the lack of control we have over the most important things.

I know there will continue to be things that happen that scare me, and somehow, I’ll keep from being crippled by my fears. I feel like I should be stronger than this, and that I’m letting Jillian, Dave, and Ian down by being so afraid. That said, I know Dave gets scared, too. Ugh, I don’t even know what point I’m trying to make. I just needed to get these thoughts out of my brain.