Hi Ho, Hi Ho

It’s back to work I go.

Work has been funny the past couple of years.  At the risk of sounding like a broken record, I worked in a media sales job for nearly six years and made life-long friends, worked for some fantastic people and a great company, but moved on for various reasons.  I then worked for a local for-profit college when I got pregnant with Charlotte, lost her and then got pregnant with Ryder, which was interesting (to say the least).  After my 12 week appointment with the high risk doctors, I turned in my resignation and decided to do my own thing for a while.

Don’t think that all I did was sit around and hang out.  Hardly.  I did contract sales for a local printing company, started my own promotional business and also did any other job I could find that paid at all.  I kept Ryder home with me until he was six months old and then kept both of them home with me two days a week to cut back on expenses.  If I was awake, I was worried about making ends meet, wondering how I could make more money and how much we would dip into savings before I needed to reevaluate my current career choice.

Don’t get me wrong, it was an unbelievable 16 months.  I got to spend so much time with my guys, I wasn’t a slave to the pump when I was breastfeeding Ryder, learned how to go to Target and not drop $50, and I taught myself how to cook.  We also went on a couple of road trips because there wasn’t any reason why I couldn’t hop in the car on a random Friday morning.  The boys and I spent many days at local amusement parks, the beach and the pool on days they were home with me.  And Brad and I got to take the trip of a lifetime to Europe for our 10th anniversary without having to ask for over a week off from work.  

It was also eye opening to see how much money we spent shopping and eating out and thankfully our savings account didn’t suffer too much.  But, I was not happy living to paycheck.  

In July I heard that an account executive at a local television station had resigned.  It happened to be at the TV station where several former co-workers from my last sales job worked.  The hiring manager just happened to be my former manager at the same place (who I LOVE).  I felt like it was a sign.  I wasn’t going to just jump back into sales in media, I would only go work at this station.  

Several meetings, interviews, online assessments, personality tests and coaching sessions later, I was offered the job.  I happily accepted and last Monday was my first day.

I was so apprehensive about going back.  Missing out on Chase and Ryder.  Having to get dressed in the morning, the 40-50 minute commute each way, working in an office again.  Getting into sales again.  It was a lot for someone who has no one to report to but themselves for almost a year and a half.  But it was time.  I missed talking to adults.

Going back has been shockingly easy.  I know we are only one and a half weeks in, but good grief!  I wake up early, workout, get ready, get the boys ready, and then I leave.  Brad has taken over the drop off duties, which makes my life so much easier!  The commute hasn’t been as bad as I thought it would be, I have a window (with a view of the river) at my cube, my team is awesome and the entire department has welcomed me with open arms!  It doesn’t hurt that I worked with four of my old coworkers and knew of several others just from my years in the business.  

Every day I have driven home with a smile and happily been the first one at the office.  I know it’s the honeymoon period and that I am in admin mode, but I already have some super creative ideas and I am more motivated than I have been in years!  I am excited to work again and can’t wait to see what the future holds.

September 16

One year ago today I had my first of many more doctor’s appointments which included a non-stress test (or NST for future reference).  I had fought to be monitored as much as possible.  I had asked my OB Nurse Practitioner friend the earliest I should ask for NSTs and she said 32 weeks.  I ran into my OB in Kohl’s and asked her the same question, her response was the same, 32 weeks.  I was no stranger to the doctor’s office, I had been there for blood tests, ultrasounds, follow ups and regularly scheduled appointments.  

At my 28 week appointment I asked the Nurse Practitioner I had my appointment with what they could do to start super-monitoring me.  She suggested weekly appointments with ultrasounds and dopplers to listen to the heartrate until I was 32 weeks at which point they would start doing twice weekly NSTs with weekly dopplers and in depth ultrasounds (also known as Biophysical Profiles).  I thought that was great, she got permission from a doctor and I was on my way.  Until I got a phone call from the office a couple of days later saying that I had failed my gestational diabetes test.  Ugh!  

When I went in for the 3 hour glucose test, I was given a list of the remaining doctor’s appointments until my scheduled c-section, which was scheduled the day I turned 39 weeks.  It took up an entire page, single spaced.  But they were listening to me and doing what I wanted.  

I passed that test (phew), and my first NST was the day I was 31 weeks and 6 days.  I felt weird that day.  I felt like I wasn’t going to leave that appointment pregnant.  I was jittery and nervous all day.  I dropped my son off at preschool and hugged him harder and longer than usual.  I was sad when I told the dog good bye.  I ate yogurt and two muffins for lunch because my stomach wasn’t settled and that was the most bland food we had in the house.  

I got to the office on time, they got me all plugged up to the machine and I tried to relax as much as possible.  The last and only other time I had an NST, I had failed it and had a baby later that day, so it made sense that I was a little apprehensive.  

I hadn’t been in there more than 15 minutes when the NP came back in and said she was a little concerned with how high the baby’s heartrate was.  It was consistently in the 180s.  She asked what I had for lunch, then said they were going to wait a couple minutes longer to see if it came down some.  It did, but there were still minute long intervals of super high heartrate, so she said she wanted to send me over to the hospital.  I was expecting this and told her that when she started apologizing and saying, “If it were anyone other than you…” and trailing off.  Before I went over there, I had an unscheduled biophysical profile, which looked fine, so I walked over to the hospital.  

I called Brad, texted my mom and was sent to wait in the triage area.  I got changed into a hospital gown, Brad arrived and the two of us hung out listening to the heartrate.  It had come down substantially after I got over there and my usual OB was on call, so it was nice to see her and her presence eased my mind some.  Brad and I hung out for several hours until my OB came back in, checked the script of the heartrate from the past three hours and told me I could go home.  Really?  That anti-climatic?  

Brad had one last work trip scheduled for the year and his flight was that afternoon, so he ran out the door to get on the plane.  I figured that everything was fine or they wouldn’t be sending me home and I would be back in the office on Friday for another NST, so I didn’t mind him going.

I walked to my car which was the only one left in the lot since the office had closed and headed home.  It was a little surreal to go back home and I was grateful I wouldn’t be having a baby who was less than 32 weeks in gestational age.

I did have a panicky moment while I was at the hospital.  I wasn’t mentally prepared to have a c-section.  It looked like that was going to be the route this baby was going to enter this world.  I wouldn’t have minded a VBAC, but you can’t be induced with a VBAC and I wasn’t in labor.  I wasn’t ready for a baby to be born at all.  Other than obsessively fixing a dozen meals to throw into the freezer, I had not done a single thing.  There were no clothes, the nursery was still an office with all of the baby furniture up in the attic.  I didn’t have diapers, an updated car seat, nothing.  I remember Brad and I getting into an argument because I didn’t want to do anything to prepare and I had justifiable reasons.  
I told him if I hadn’t had the baby by 34 weeks, I would start preparing, but until then, what was the point?  If the baby was born earlier than 34 weeks, there would be a NICU stay, so we would have time to do and buy everything.  If the baby was born after that, there would still be a 2ish night stay for me at the hospital and the baby would sleep in our room for several months, so there was no need to get a crib down.  Now I was beginning to question my own rationale.  But at the same time, I didn’t want to do anything new or different.  I was not going to be happy until that baby was home with me.  Today, however, wasn’t looking like I would be having a baby any time soon.


A couple of weeks ago I ran into a friend I had not seen in a while. She knows about Charlotte, but I haven’t seen her much. Most of our dealings and friendship had to do with my last job, I have since quit that job and both of us have had babies, so we have texted a little in the last year or so, but haven’t been in constant contact.

She was at a restaurant with a friend of hers that I did not know. The subject (always) switched over to kids, how many we have and whether we have boys or girls, and I was saying something about a house full of boys and her friend said, “Well you can always have another.” I made my face that I make whenever someone says that which looks like something between panic, insanity and humor and said, “Oh no, I’m not having another.” The conversation continued on for a couple more minutes, and then we went back to our respective lunches.

I know that the second I walked away my friend turned to her friend and told her the truth. Spilled my sad story to someone who hopefully doesn’t have her own sad story. Gave her the footnote that I feel like follows me wherever I go. Maybe I’m wrong and I’m not giving people the benefit of the doubt, but I feel pretty confident that this happens often. The gray cloud that hovers over my happiness, the scarlet letter I knew I would be branded with. And that’s okay, it keeps Charlotte’s memory alive.

I Wish

Recently I’ve had this feeling gnawing at the back of my mind.  I want to have another baby.  That sounds so selfish especially after knowing what I know about my own reproductive shortcomings and those struggles of so many women that I know and have met along the way.

This feeling persisted immediately after Ryder was born, until one day it occurred to me.  I don’t want another baby.  I want a daughter.  Specifically, I want Charlotte.  And then the other day I had another epiphany, this is merely a wish, and that’s okay.  Life is filled with wishes, not many that we’ll get, but that doesn’t mean that we have to stop wishing.  I wish for a lot of other things…that Charlotte had lived, that I had more time to spend with my kids, that they would never see the ugly, scary and awful parts of life, that I made more money, that I was thinner, that I could run faster, that there was no illness, hunger or suffering, that there were no more wars, that germs in preschool and daycare were eradicated, that I could eat whatever I wanted and not gain an ounce.

Most of my wishes have only my own interest in mind, which is the same way having another baby would be.  There is no logical reason to do it, my body has proven that along the way.  Is is purely a selfish want, so I’ll tuck it away in my mind (or on this blog), and keep on wishing.

The Last Milestone

This past weekend my mom, the boys and I went out of town. We stayed with my aunt in North Carolina and got to see my in-laws, grandfather and a couple of cousins. My sister drove down from Northern Virginia and she, one of my cousins and I ran in a half marathon on Sunday. The weather was beautiful all weekend, the boys were so well behaved, and the race was awesome! I have never run a half that fast (for you non-runners this is called a Personal Record or a PR) and the previous PR I had preceded all pregnancies and I was 25 and 20 pounds lighter, so this was a huge accomplishment. But everything and everyone set me off this weekend.

I was irritated the whole time I was there. Mad at several comments my sister made, on edge around my grandfather (who is 85 and not so great with having his schedule messed with) and annoyed at my mom, my aunt and the boys. Several times I had to do a introspective check to see why I was so aggravated with everyone. I had to remind myself that my grandfather is not used to having two small children around and also in a very set routine which the visit was throwing out the door. I also have to tell myself that my sister is single with no children and can’t really relate to me about most aspects of my life. But I could not help it. I finally sized it up to the fact that I must have been PMSing.

The weekend and this past week went on and no visit from my dreaded “aunt.” I came home, snapped and nagged Brad until he went out of town yesterday, and still could not figure out what was wrong.

Before Brad left he fixed some coffee. We have a new coffee maker that makes ENTIRE POTS of coffee! We’ve gotten so stuck in Keurig land, that using a drip maker has a new novelty to it. I know he was in a hurry and doesn’t know where I keep the bags of coffee, so he grabbed the first one he saw and it happened to be peppermint. I am a tradition kind of girl, so drinking “Candy Cane” coffee in April is not going to fly with me. As I dumped it down the drain, all I could remember was that dreaded December of 2013. I was overcome with memories and sadness, and I couldn’t understand why. We went through an entire month or two of peppermint coffee this past December, so it was weird that I was depressed about it again.

Early last year I reconnected with a friend who has suffered several miscarriages and the first time I saw her after decades of not talking, one of the things that she brought up is how due dates sneak up on her. She said some days or weeks she is in a funk and she will eventually look at a calendar and realize that a due date is coming up. I had texted her about something unrelated this week and her response was “How are you doing? I know this is a tough week for you.”

Charlotte’s due date is today.

I still think about her all the time, but life can get in the way. With the out of town trip, the race, family, an almost seven month old who still doesn’t really sleep all the way through the night, a four year old who is being a four year old, a newish job that has its unique set of demands, time can get away from me. As soon as I heard from my friend, I knew.

Just when you think you have used up all of your “first year” milestones, another sneaks up.

Baby Weight

One year ago today I got a positive pregnancy test. I actually had a positive one the day before, but had thrown it away. It was a cheap one that I had purchased in bulk and after the allotted three minute waiting period, had tossed it when I only saw one pink line. Unbeknownst to me, those cheapies ask for five minutes, so when I fished it out of the trash can several hours later (don’t ask me why), it looked positive. I googled “evaporation lines” and that second line didn’t look like an evaporation line, it looked like a second pink line. A little faint, but not really. Of course I was running late by that point and didn’t have to pee and my period was supposed to arrive the next day, so I told myself that I would take another test the next day if my period had not shown up by the time I got home from work.

The next day (March 6th) I used a digital test. And this time I read the instructions and three minutes later, were the words staring back me. Words I didn’t know I would ever see again. “Pregnant.” Holy shit.

I was excited, but terrified. Hopeful, but cautious. I wished that I had some magic time travel machine so I could see how this was going to end. For the next 28 weeks, I expected the best, but was prepared for the worst. And then I had a baby. And he’ll be five and a half months tomorrow. I still can’t believe it most days.

Unfortunately, with babies, comes pounds. Since I was 25, I have struggled with my weight somewhat. I was normal(ish) size, but since 26 or 27 haven’t been in the right BMI range. I didn’t think I was overweight, but my BMI calculator wouldn’t agree with that statement. When I got pregnant with Chase, I had gained a lot of weight in a one year period leading up to that pregnancy and it took until he was three before I lost just the baby weight. And then as soon as I was hitting my stride, I got pregnant with Ryder.

Although both of my living children were born early, I gained 30 pounds with Chase and 28 with Ryder. Thankfully I was spared the last weeks of additional weight for both of them, but I still managed to put on enough.

Today, I have lost all of my pregnancy weight from Ryder, and I am 4 pounds less than when I got pregnant with Chase. Don’t get me wrong, I’ve still got a lot more I would like to lose, but man, it felt good to see those numbers on the scale today.

When I lost Charlotte, it taught me a lot of things, but one of the most important things was that I needed to make myself a priority. I want to be around for my children and that means that I had to start eating better and moving more. I made a lot of lifestyle changes the months after she died, and have kept those up since Ryder was born. I bought a FitBit, which has changed my life. My work life is kind of on hiatus, but I mainly work out at night after Chase has gone to bed. Thankfully my most awesome, amazing and supportive husband puts Ryder to bed while I exercise.

I could not ask for a better husband. He eats my experimental dinners and doesn’t complain or criticize. He drinks my green smoothies with a smile on his face, and complimented me on my gluten free brownies. He is training for a marathon, but is quick to let me go for a run or do the elliptical and will gladly watch the boys. Yes, I have had to make some sacrifices of my “down” time, yes, I have given up a lot of foods that I enjoy eating, and yes, it has been hard, but I am so proud of myself.

If I am still going strong over two months into the new year, I think that I will be able to keep the momentum going. I have some very lofty goals and would love to get down to a weight I haven’t seen since my early 20s and with my awesome support system I know I can do it.

Running: It’s Cheaper than Therapy (and Chocolate)

Writing and exercise are my outlets and have been for most of my life. Or at least writing has been and running became my other one when I discovered it my sophomore year of high school.

Before I was pregnant with Chase, I was pretty active. That all went downhill once I actually got knocked up. That trend continued for several years because I could invent every excuse in the book to not exercise. Before I got pregnant with Charlotte, I was in another active streak. It was one of the things I started doing because I thought maybe that was a reason it had taken me so long to get pregnant. It faltered a little after I got pregnant, but I tried to keep up working out when I could. In fact, I did a 10K three weeks before I lost her.

I never blamed myself for being too active. It could have been a contributing factor, but I will never know if it was or wasn’t so there is no point in wondering if it was. And honestly, it wasn’t like I was working out more than a couple of times a week. After she passed away, I had a renewed vigor for running. After asking why Charlotte had died, the second question I asked at my follow up appointment was whether or not I could run. Thankfully that appointment was only four weeks after I delivered her or I may have gone insane. I worked out almost every day of the week. I started running whenever I could and I used the elliptical when it was too cold to run outside. I did a crazy diet and lost 10 pounds and the weight continued to fall off because my outlet for the sadness was to get moving.

All of that came to a screeching halt 7 weeks later when I got my positive pregnancy test. I wasn’t about to chance anything. I had my first doctor’s appointment and wasn’t really encouraged to do much exercising. Four weeks later, I had my first high risk doctor’s appointment and was told “strolls are good.” It killed me that I had finally gotten my mojo back in the exercise department and then I had to stop, but I was willing to do that if it meant a better outcome.

So any and all progress turned into leisurely walks around the neighborhood. A (very active) friend of mine said, “I never believe doctors when they tell you not to exercise.” I agree with her wholeheartedly, but I was not willing to take the risk with the issues I have had with every pregnancy. That’s not to say that I didn’t curse every skinny chick I saw running the trails in the summer, but I stuck with it.

Not even a week after Ryder was born, I was walking the neighborhood again. The day of my six week postpartum appointment, I was on the elliptical. I have kept it up ever since. Today I ran 6 miles and it has never felt better. I am so proud of myself. I thought it would be so much harder to get back into running after putting my shoes on the shelf for almost 9 months, but it has been easy because I have wanted it so badly! I gave myself a pat on the back when I got home because I would not have imagined that 4 months postpartum I would be working out nearly every day and actually enjoying running.

See, that’s the thing, I’ve never loved running, but it has always helped me. It’s about time I started loving it back.

2014: A Year to Remember

I am not a pessimist.  I am a very optimistic, happy, positive person, but 2013 was a terrible year.  The majority of the year was spent trying to get pregnant, and then when it finally happened, it fell apart.  I went from the desperation to the conception and death of a dream before the year was up.  On top of everything related to Charlotte, my mom got in a very serious car accident (and thankfully walked away from it) and my husband’s mental state was not right.  I am never one to be happy when a year was over but I told 2013 good riddance.

2014 was a great year.  Because I quit my job, I was able to spend more time with Chase, I started the year off losing a lot of weight that I needed to lose, I learned how to cook (at the ripe age of 32) and found joy in making those meals for my family.  No one died, no one got sick, and there were no car accidents or injuries.  The best part of the year was the birth of Ryder.  As I rang in 2015 with a glass of champagne, I reflected on New Year’s Eve this year versus last year.  Last year, I was so angry and so sad, and I honestly didn’t have much hope for the year laying before us.  Last night, as I had my celebratory glass of champagne, kissed the top of Ryder’s head, tucked Chase in before I went to bed, I reflected on what a great year it really was.

At the end of years past, I used to always dream about what the year ahead would bring.  Since last year, I don’t try to predict what the upcoming year will bring.  I hope for the best and control what I can.  At the beginning of 2014, I wrote down a list of goals.  Most of them would be unattainable if I got pregnant (like exercise and weight loss), but most of the the others I was able to accomplish.

For 2015, I have started a similar list of goals.  I am 95% sure that we are done having children and at the very least, we would not try to have another child this coming year.  So I want my focus to be on my family and myself.  I want to play more and make spending time with my boys a priority.  I want to keep the new relationship that is me and Brad going.  I want to lose the stubborn 10 pounds left over from my most recent pregnancy, and then some.  I want to run a marathon before the year is out.  I want to eat better.  I want to focus less on technology and social media and pay more attention to what’s right in front of me.  I want to ease myself back into the working world now that I won’t be quite so stressed out about going thirty minutes or so without feeling movement.  And I also want to give myself a break.

I’m not perfect, no one is, and I need to stop trying to be.  There will always be a need for more time, more miles to run, more pounds to lose, more money to make and save, more time to work.  But we are only granted this one life, so we need to make the most of it.  Do the best we can and stop worrying about the rest.

Here’s to 2015! May it be a healthy, happy, prosperous, wonderful year for you and me!

One Year Later

It has been 365 days since we said goodbye. The roller coaster that has been the last 12 months has finally pulled up to the station. In some ways it was a fast year, but in other ways it seems like it has taken forever to get here. It seems like another lifetime ago and that it happened to someone other than me. The me of 366 days ago was a completely different person than the me of 365 days ago, which is completely different from the me of today. Hell, the husband and wife team of Brad and I has transformed in ways I never would have thought possible. I didn’t know if I would ever be able to resume life, go to work, eat and sleep like a normal person and yet I’m still here.

I think about Charlotte every day. Probably more like at least once an hour every single day and I’m pretty confident that will be the case for the rest of my life. Sometimes the sadness is still so profound that it takes my breath away. But most of the time I cannot articulate how happy (and relieved) I am in my current life. I realize that not everyone who experiences stillbirth is so blessed to have the year that we have had and I am beyond grateful for so many things. I am so happy that I got pregnant so quickly, that the pregnancy flew by, that I am not pregnant at this first anniversary, but also that I was able to get pregnant and already have a living, gorgeous baby.

I could never picture a baby or child version of Charlotte. I panicked my way through the pregnancy and I think in some ways, I knew how it was going to end. I couldn’t accept it and wouldn’t have believed it had you told me, but I was almost prepared for it. I don’t think, although I’ll never know, if that fact made it any easier. I doubt it, it would be hard for any of this to be any iota of easy.

The last 12 days of last December were the longest of my life. Christmas and the days before and after were hard. There were more tears than I would have imagined shed during those days and nights and every step of the way Brad would hold me as the emotions spilled over. I tried to be myself around family, but it wasn’t easy. Unfortunately, or fortunately, it was necessary because it was the holidays and distractions were welcome. I would be exhausted at the end of the day, but I couldn’t sleep. I had so many conflicting thoughts about life, pregnancy, and whether I would ever be “Heather” again.

This year had so many ups and downs. Most of the lows had to do with work. On my third week of working from home (I had four approved by my boss), the owner of the company questioned why I was “allowed” to work from home. He told my boss that I was “setting a precedent,” and that no one had permission to work remotely, even though there was a girl in my department who had worked in a different state for several years. I had to use vacation days the last week that I wasn’t in the office. Everything that I had done at my job up until that point was questioned and scrutinized while I was out, so I went back to the office earlier than I had planned to. Not even a month back one of the C level guys compared a slap on the wrist to a company in our sector to “showing pictures of dead babies” in a meeting I was attending. I had already started looking for another job by this point.

In April my boss, who was my greatest protector, was fired. Aside from that, I hit my due date, which was hard, but I lived. I thankfully spent it outside of the office. I found out that I have a genetic anomaly called MTHFR which prevents the body from absorbing folic acid correctly. I also learned that there were blood clots in my placenta. Then I was told that Charlotte had Trisomy 21, which completely knocked me off of my feet. Thankfully there were enough ups to make up for the craziness.

Eleven weeks after Charlotte was born, I got a positive pregnancy test. Eight weeks later, after my second ultrasound at my first high risk appointment at 12 weeks, I quit my job. I could not go through another pregnancy no matter the outcome at such a lousy place to work. I found a new, easy, flexible job that wouldn’t question or care if I had four doctor’s appointments in a week. It was a perfect situation. I hit the 23 weeks mark in that pregnancy, and breathed a sigh of relief. I ignored just about everything else, including the fact that I was pregnant. Nine months and two days after we lost Charlotte, we welcomed a new baby into the world. He was born eight weeks early, spent 25 days in the NICU, but he is home, perfect, and wonderful. His existence makes me appreciate everything, even the hardest parts of newborns, that I never got to experience with Charlotte. I’ve said it before, but it warrants mentioning again. He is not supposed to exist. If Charlotte were here today, Ryder wouldn’t be. Their two lives are interwoven in ways that most siblings are not and I am so thankful for both of them.

Maybe Charlotte was never supposed to make it. Maybe I was supposed to be a mom to two boys all along. Maybe Charlotte had to die so I could have Ryder. I’m not sure, and I know I will never know, but my life will never be the same after the past 12 months, for reasons both good and bad.

I have learned that life is not fair. I thought I was one of those people that would skirt through life with deaths from old age, and that for some reason I was exempt from all of the worst parts. I have learned that life is rife with tragedy and that if we live long enough we will experience it. If we don’t live that long, that is a tragedy in itself. Death is never good, never expected (no matter the age) and never welcome. But for the most part, there is enough joy and love to outnumber the pain, and at the end of the day, isn’t that what it’s is all about?

Char, I miss you every day, and will love you forever and I promise no matter what, I will never forget you.
Thank you for giving me the gift of being your mom.

Angelversary Eve

I am still not sure how to commemorate this week. I’m even having a hard time classifying it. Is it an anniversary or a birthday or a date of death? I tend to like the description of “angelversary,” so that is how I will refer to it from now on. I do know that I wanted to write about it, and I’ve already done that. I’ve already given the gory details, the emotional havoc, the heart shattering narrative and I don’t want to keep beating into everyone’s head the play by play. So I’ll say this. This week has been hard, but not as hard as it could be. I find myself completely keyed up when it is time to go to bed, so it has been harder for me to sleep. I’ve watched several Christmas movies in the past couple of weeks and they just aren’t the same. One of them I hadn’t seen since I was a kid and I watched it “that” night in the hospital. It made me really sad. I have avoided listening to a lot of Christmas music because I know some of the songs will trigger some emotions. I was afraid to write a Christmas letter this year because I had to include something about Charlotte and I sometimes worry that people who receive it will think, “Geez, just move on,” or “why did she have to bring this up?” but I did it anyway. She shaped our lives so much in the past year that I couldn’t reference a new job or new baby without including her.

I find myself making it through these past couple of days and being inundated with memories of this day, this minute, this hour a year ago. I keep drifting back. This past weekend, we went to Brad’s company’s Christmas party and I thought, “Wow, what I would have done to have gotten out of this last year?” I wondered what all of the people that I only see once a year were thinking or feeling when they see me. I am (again) so happy to have a baby this year or I probably would have tried to get out of it again.

I have really tried to keep myself busy, but I also know that the emotions and memories are going to come no matter how much I have going on, and so I write to keep my sanity and to remember. I don’t want to push everything away because that is all I have left of Charlotte.

It is unfortunate that the whole “event” wasn’t limited to a day or so, that it had to spread out over five days, and I guess I should be relieved that I didn’t know this was coming weeks or months before it happened. That five days in the grand scheme of things, isn’t all that long. As much as I was grateful to have family and distractions and for everything to happen around the holidays, it has ruined some of the joy of the season. As we get closer to Christmas, we get closer to the 17th and the 19th, the two worst days. I am so relieved that I was out of the hospital and physically I was close to back to normal by Christmas. I was also thankful that one of the hardest of milestones, was out of the way so quickly. I hope for my sake, my sons’ sakes and my entire family’s sake that this can be a typical holiday. That there will be more smiles than tears and I am sure that will be the case.

I want all of you to know that I am happy, not how I expected to be, but life is good. How could it not be? I have two handsome sons and one beautiful daughter guardian angel and not to mention, a pretty kick ass husband. It is not in my personality to be sad, so I try not to dwell on the sadness too much. I write when the mood strikes me, not because I am wallowing in it every day. And I want everyone to be happy for me, not to be sad. I wrote this blog to do two things, help people who may be going through this and to share the journey. I never intended for people to feel bad for me or to illicit sympathy or pity. I am an open book and I want to be approachable, to speak the truth and also shine light on a very taboo (and unfortunately very real and scary) subject. Every half an hour of every hour of every day in THIS COUNTRY, a couple experiences stillbirth. That equates to over 26,000 women per year. That number is staggering and very unfortunate. I wanted to bring a voice to stillbirth. I hope I have.

It is truly a different year and as hard as it was, thankfully, it was also joyful. We have hit every milestone of the first year. We have emerged stronger and maybe even better than we were. As hard as it has been, I am so thankful for Charlotte, so happy she was in my life and even happier for the way she has changed my life and our family, as well as the lives of those around me in ways I would have never dreamed possible.

So Happy Angelversary Eve to you sweet Charlotte!