Stillborn - 91 days later - 3 months (I cry at restaurants)

Today we decided to get out of the house. You know, like we used to do BEFORE. Back when we were just Sonya and Tim, a married couple with no children. Carefree and could just go and enjoy.

It's different now. Everything is different now. I'm different, our house is different, Tim is different. Places I visit are split into a strange automatic question - The question says: The last time you were here were you pregnant? Was it before you were pregnant? Was it AFTER Faeryn was born? I'm not sure why this happens, but it is a constant. It's something that happens as I pull into parking lots, as I walk through doors. There is always a Before Faeryn and an After Faeryn. The hurtles are the ones where the last time I was there, and everything was okay. Those are my toughest ones. And then they turn into, Last time I was here was after she died. And that's how it will always stay.

We went out to eat tonight. Dinner and a movie at Tim's suggestion. This is something he loves, and I just like to get the hell away from my depressing house, so I'm game for anything.

We went to Outback. We've never been to this one. We bought movie tickets online with reserved seating and knew we had to be done eating by 7:00.
We were seated in the children's section.
No. That doesn't really exist, but if it did, that's where we were sat. Surrounded by toddlers and their parents. The past few days haven't really been AWFUL for me. I have days that I spend all day attempting not to cry, so I know what awful is. The past few days have been mediocre. I have cried. Once a day. And at this current time - 3 months into After Faeryn. I think that's pretty darn good. And by pretty darn good, I mean I could almost say I've been happy.

So we are sat and I look over and diagonal to my line of sight is a little girl. I would guess she's about 2. She has blond hair and blue eyes. She is very inquisitive and is waving and blowing kisses to her grandmother sitting across from her. I look at her mom, and she is blond, average to pretty. I look at the little girls dad, he is average to handsome and wears glasses. The little girl is standing between them smiling. You could feel the love the parents have for their child. They were smiling and paying attention to her. Including her into their discussions.
There were other kids surrounding us. Little boys and other little girls, but THIS ONE kept drawing me back to her. I saw the life in her little face. The life in her blue eyes. The tiny chubby hand as she blew kisses to her grandma.
She reminded me of Faeryn. Or should I say what my mind would make Faeryn look like at 2 years old. It also reminded me that I will never actually know the light in my little girls eyes, the smile on her face, I will never see her tiny chubby hand wave.

Faeryn had the cutest little hands. Perfectly formed little rosebud nails. She had momma's hands. She was so cold though, and I never felt them move or hold on.
Maybe all of this is why tears started falling. It was one of those moments that you almost panic. I would have gotten up and went to the bathroom, but I didn't know where that was - and to find out I would have either had to wander around the restaurant in tears or ask a server, while crying, where the restroom was.
So I attempted to just make myself stop. Stop looking and STOP CRYING. It didn't work. It was one of those times when crying just has to happen. It was one of those times when, even as I sat there and asked Tim to talk to me about ANYTHING, the tears still fell. One after another, after another. I had to look to the wall on my left and try to get it together. Think about something else - stop thinking about the fantasy Faeryn, stop thinking about her being gone, dead. Forever.

I had ordered a glass of wine with dinner and prayed that it would soon make its way over to our table. I don't drink. But I was looking forward to escaping some of the thoughts that were way too loud in my head at dinner. I've been attempting to fill my void. I've been filling it with unhealthy foods mostly. I am completely aware of this. I am also completely aware that this will not help any of the goals I would like to achieve. One being losing the pregnancy weight so that I can fit back into my clothes again. Another would be to feel better about myself. But late at night. When I'm alone and Tim is sleeping, that void opens up and the sadness is sitting there threatening to overwhelm me. Chocolate or desserts help for the moment. They press the sadness back down for the night, but that's always followed by the self-loathing and feeling of loss of control the next morning.

So this is where I am in my journey 91 days into the death of my daughter. Overeating. Staring at live children, wondering if their parents KNOW the pain that some of us feel. Crying in restaurants. Hating the way I look in the mirror. Not fitting into my clothes. Missing my little girl. Touching her urn at night, feeling the cold marble. Wishing she was here.

There are also days that I have laughed, and laughed hard. There was also a day that I think I had a panic reaction out of no where at work. There are good days and bad days - they come as they want whether I'm ready for them or not.

91 days in - I never thought I would make it this far. I couldn't see that far into the future 91 days ago. Everything stable ended then. It was survival mode, and I couldn't see the point of planning for my future as my future was ripped from my grasp in an instant. So unexpected. So very fast.

I have planned an escape for Tim and I. So I think that is a step forward too. We are going to Sanibel Island in August. I am attempting to plan again. We shall see if we make it. I sure hope so. I miss being naive. I miss expecting things to work out. But this is the new me. This is my new normal. I learn more every day.

The Second Trimester

I need to write about the second trimester. That's when I first felt you move and you became more to me than a prison sentence for 18 years.
Early in the second trimester is when I remember feeling claustrophobic with you in my belly. Later in the second trimester is also when I started falling in love with you.
For some reason it was so easy to write about BEFORE I knew you.
It was also easier to talk about AFTER you were gone.
This part of the story is tough. It brings me back to a time when I didn't appreciate who you were and were going to be. It brings me back to the naivety believing everything was going to be okay.

The second trimester.

I remember the first time you moved. I was sitting on the couch in my spot, your Daddy was next to me. We had just finished dinner and were watching Netflix.
I felt you move. It was a tiny swish in the bottom right part of my belly. My breath caught and I gasped and jumped. Your Daddy looked over to see if everything was alright. I told him that I thought you moved. You didn't have a name at this point, but we knew, from testing, that you were a little girl. I then started second guessing the feeling. I looked it up on my phone - What does it feel like when baby moves... Some say little bubbles. Or fishes swimming. To me, you always felt like a muscle spasm, but deep in my belly. It was like a muscle spasm because it was uncontrollable and you always moved more than just once. No one described it as a muscle spasm, so I thought I had imagined it.
Looking back now. That WAS your first movement. I remember.

We had many tests and many ultrasounds during the second trimester and you and I always passed with flying colors.
No diabetes.
No genetic defects.
Strong heartbeats.
Strong movements.

I started having my panic attacks again in the second trimester too. Who knows why. Looking back, it was probably the incessant worry of if we could afford you. Where you would go to school. Who would watch you as an infant. What stranger would I trust with your life? I was living way in the future. Pretty ridiculous sitting here "in the future" now and looking back at the past. Who knew I wouldn't need to worry about any of these things?

When this picture was taken of you, I didn't know that I would never get to meet you and look into your eyes.

This is when I fell head over heels in love with you. I looked at your little nose, your big ol' belly, those beautiful little lips and just fell in love. 

I didn't fight the fear of loving you. I really believe now that IS what I was doing before seeing you in this sonogram. You weren't real to me. You weren't a little human in my belly. I couldn't see you as a person - you were just a little "thing". 

Not anymore. I loved you, and knew I had to protect you. I was still afraid of all the fears written above, but my maternal instinct was SLIGHTLY kicking in. Just slightly. I knew you were going to be beautiful. I knew you were going to be smart. I knew you were ALIVE. You were. You were alive. I was so worried about me back then. Worried that I wouldn't be able to live through my panic attacks. Worried that I wouldn't be able to drive to work. It was beginning. The agoraphobia. I fought hard to not get on medication. I finally gave in towards the 3rd trimester. I got on the lowest dose possible - I still feel guilty about that choice. If only I could have been stronger for you, would you have lived? 

The second trimester. 

This is when we named you. This is when Mommy FINALLY gave in and admitted to loving you (although I did all along). Did you know your Daddy loved you outright from the start? He was so excited from the first positive test. He would have been your favorite, baby girl. You were definitely his favorite. 

The second trimester was pretty uneventful. Everything was so normal. Everything was so taken for granted. Everything was pretty darn easy, looking back. 

Life was getting ready to get pretty fucking unfair in a few months after this sonogram. Cruel and unfair. I would also get to see the limits of my strength soon. I would also get to see you.

I will need to mentally prepare before hitting the next trimester. The third. When my world turned upside down.