Dear Zy,
Last week Bush Babe commented on WW and mentioned that she loved how you are always high in my heart. Her comment made me smile (thanks BB), because usually what is high in my heart isn't all that visible to the outside world, and I loved that someone else noticed.
You may not be here physically, Baby Warrior, but you are still here with me.
I still say good morning to you, every day.
At breakfast, I set the table for five children, and I set a place for you in my heart. A high chair, because you are not yet 1 year old.
When we are taking turns to feed the animals carrots, I hand one to each of the kids in turn, and in my heart I hand you one, too.
Getting into the car to head out on an adventure, I check to make sure everyone is there and ready to go. Miss J, Miss F, Miss V, TJ, R.... Check. Then I check my heart for you, to make sure you're still coming with us.
Shopping for summer clothes for the kids, I look for lots of sizes - the big girls', the small girl, the biggest boy, the small boy - and you. I scan the racks, wondering what size you would be now and picking out the colours I think would suit you.
At the supermarket, the kids all have their hang ups. Miss J and Miss F love the stickers, Miss V loves the dried apricots, TJ has a thing for cereals and R is impossible to get past the strawberries... And I wonder what would take your fancy? As we do our shop I scan the isles for things I imagine you could fall in love with. Last week I thought the dried bananas looked promising, so I bought you a bag to share with your surrogate sibling.
Our evening routine is now a scramble of different bedtimes and books and cuddles and good night kisses. Miss V first, then Miss F and Miss J, then R, then TJ, then you. I tuck your blankets into the corners of my heart, making sure you are warm and safe. I close my eyes and inhale, and I can almost smell the top of your head, where I would kiss you if your body were here.
Darling Zy, at the end of the day, whether anyone else notices or not, there will always, always be a place for you high in my heart.
Love me.
Showing posts with label Warrior Wednesday. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Warrior Wednesday. Show all posts
Warrior Wednesday
Dear Zy,
I miss you. Every second, of every minute, of every hour, of every day.
And I love you. Every second, of every minute, of every hour, of every day.
I miss your bio mum, too. We used to have the kind of connection only the very best of friends could conduct. I never, ever thought it was something we would lose. I always thought that no matter what happened - we would come through it together.
The day we released your ashes into the river and walked with you, out to sea, was the day I realised your mum was no longer the same person I was connected to.
And I miss that person.
Maybe one day, we will find each other again.
I miss you. Every second, of every minute, of every hour, of every day.
And I love you. Every second, of every minute, of every hour, of every day.
I miss your bio mum, too. We used to have the kind of connection only the very best of friends could conduct. I never, ever thought it was something we would lose. I always thought that no matter what happened - we would come through it together.
The day we released your ashes into the river and walked with you, out to sea, was the day I realised your mum was no longer the same person I was connected to.
And I miss that person.
Maybe one day, we will find each other again.
Warrior Wednesday
Dear Zy,
My thoughts of you are slowly changing shape and form.
They are beginning to appear less conventional,
Less expected,
Less commonly accepted.
They are beginning to bring me joy,
In place of sadness.
They are still shaky,
And I'm not quite ready to defend them.
Or even to articulate them.
But I am enjoying their obscurity.
And oh boy, am I admiring your wings.
Love always.
Me.
My thoughts of you are slowly changing shape and form.
They are beginning to appear less conventional,
Less expected,
Less commonly accepted.
They are beginning to bring me joy,
In place of sadness.
They are still shaky,
And I'm not quite ready to defend them.
Or even to articulate them.
But I am enjoying their obscurity.
And oh boy, am I admiring your wings.
Love always.
Me.
Warrior Wednesday
Warrior Wednesday this week is posted at Always Kewl. This is a private blog, and due to some things from the Kewl blog being taken out of context in the past, I wanted a safer place to post this week's Warrior Wednesday.
If you don't have access to Always Kewl, but would like to, please let me know you email so I can send you the invite.
If you don't have access to Always Kewl, but would like to, please let me know you email so I can send you the invite.
Warrior Wednesday
Dear Zy,
I've been getting distracted by thoughts of you this week. This time last year, we had just announced your presence to the wider community. I'd been pretty sick with 24/7 vomiting and tensions and emotions had been running high - but the BBQ for Baby was the most spectacular day I could have imagined. Finally being able to share you with everyone somehow made everything that much more exciting. Your mum, your dad and I had been family for over a decade, and now we were welcoming the second generation, together, as a family.
So it didn't matter how sick I felt, or how cranky and tired and emotional we got....
We were pregnant.
You were our reality.
And that made everything seem right with the world.
This week - just one year later - I find myself once again feeling tired, and cranky, and emotional.
This week, I am grieving for the baby we announced, but no longer have to share with the world.
This week, I am grieving for the family that created you, but that is no longer together to love or remember you.
This week, I am not pregnant.
You are no longer living in my reality.
And that made everything seem a little darker in the world.
This afternoon, my thoughts had been hammering away at my happiness all day, and I no longer had the kind of perspective needed to create a joyful afternoon routine with your 3 big sisters - So I went outside and stole a sad moment.
I sat on the steps and cried and cried and cried, for everything that seemed wrong with the world.
When I was finally able to look out from my dark place, into the amazing place in the world that I call home, this is what I saw...
... And in that moment, I know I saw your smile in the sun.
Thank you, Baby Warrior, for reminding me that you will always be in my reality.
My world will always be brighter for knowing you.
Love me.
I've been getting distracted by thoughts of you this week. This time last year, we had just announced your presence to the wider community. I'd been pretty sick with 24/7 vomiting and tensions and emotions had been running high - but the BBQ for Baby was the most spectacular day I could have imagined. Finally being able to share you with everyone somehow made everything that much more exciting. Your mum, your dad and I had been family for over a decade, and now we were welcoming the second generation, together, as a family.
So it didn't matter how sick I felt, or how cranky and tired and emotional we got....
We were pregnant.
You were our reality.
And that made everything seem right with the world.
This week - just one year later - I find myself once again feeling tired, and cranky, and emotional.
This week, I am grieving for the baby we announced, but no longer have to share with the world.
This week, I am grieving for the family that created you, but that is no longer together to love or remember you.
This week, I am not pregnant.
You are no longer living in my reality.
And that made everything seem a little darker in the world.
This afternoon, my thoughts had been hammering away at my happiness all day, and I no longer had the kind of perspective needed to create a joyful afternoon routine with your 3 big sisters - So I went outside and stole a sad moment.
I sat on the steps and cried and cried and cried, for everything that seemed wrong with the world.
When I was finally able to look out from my dark place, into the amazing place in the world that I call home, this is what I saw...
... And in that moment, I know I saw your smile in the sun.
Thank you, Baby Warrior, for reminding me that you will always be in my reality.
My world will always be brighter for knowing you.
Love me.
Warrior Wednesday
Dear Zy,
When you died and it came time to leave the hospital without you, I got stuck. I got very stuck. I knew, on some level, that you were not in the hospital any more - that I was not really leaving you, because you had already left your body - but somehow in my mind I still managed to attach you to the hospital, and I could not leave. Maybe I thought that once I left, it was definitely over. No more pregnancy. No more baby. No more you. And no where to hide.
People moved around me, packing my things into my bag and doing what they could to get me ready. I spoke to a beautiful soul who told me everything I needed to hear and more. I held photos of my precious children, Miss J, Miss F, Miss V and you.
I just couldn't make myself leave that room.
I had been sitting on the bed for hours, bags packed, everything in order, ready - yet at the same time anything but ready - to leave. Just as another wave of grief threatened to drown me, the door opened and I heard the most beautiful, sweet and vulnerable cry in the world.
A tiny kitten, just 8 weeks old and missing his mum, was placed in my lap. I looked down at the fragile little being and felt the most intense kind of love rush through me - maternal love.
I held the kitten to my chest and he immediately began to purr. Without thinking I stood and moved to the door. The people around me - my incredible friends - recognised my cue to leave and came to form a guard around me. Around us.
That tiny little kitten, held close to my heart, stopped my soul from tearing in two as I walked out those doors without you.
From the moment he came to the hospital, he was known as "Zy's kitten", and in the days and weeks that followed, he never strayed more than a few meters from me. There was only one other person your kitten would seek out, and that was your dad. As time passed and plans were made for the future, your kitten started spending more and more time beside your father. The plans that were being made were for your surrogate sisters and myself to travel with our circus family, but your dad had decided to stay where he was. The gaping hole in his heart as he grieved for you was almost visible, and your kitten was the only one he would allow close to him.
When it came time for me to leave, it seemed as though your kitten staying with your dad was the only decision that could be made.
This week your surrogate sisters and I went to visit your dad and your kitten. It had been five months since I'd seen your kitten, and he has grown into the most beautiful cat I've ever seen. The moment I saw him I picked him up and held him close, and he rubbed his head against my chest, purring so loudly he made your surrogate sisters giggle.
Later that day, we were sitting in the kitchen when I heard your kitten meow for the first time since leaving him with your dad. I was instantly thrown back to the very first time I heard him meow in the hospital, and all the times that beautiful, sweet cry had bought me comfort in the weeks after losing you.
Your kitten meowed again, and I felt the tears spring from my eyes and fall freely down my cheeks. A moment later, I realised my eyes weren't the only things that had sprung a leak.
Even though my milk had dried up months ago, when I heard your kitten crying again, milky tears began seeping from my breasts.
I've been with your kitten for almost a week now, and still, every time he meows, my breasts cry for you.
Darling Zy, I guess what I want to tell you today is that I hear you. No matter who created you, or who's child you were supposed to be, or who was supposed to be your mother - I hear you.
And I always will.
Love me.
When you died and it came time to leave the hospital without you, I got stuck. I got very stuck. I knew, on some level, that you were not in the hospital any more - that I was not really leaving you, because you had already left your body - but somehow in my mind I still managed to attach you to the hospital, and I could not leave. Maybe I thought that once I left, it was definitely over. No more pregnancy. No more baby. No more you. And no where to hide.
People moved around me, packing my things into my bag and doing what they could to get me ready. I spoke to a beautiful soul who told me everything I needed to hear and more. I held photos of my precious children, Miss J, Miss F, Miss V and you.
I just couldn't make myself leave that room.
I had been sitting on the bed for hours, bags packed, everything in order, ready - yet at the same time anything but ready - to leave. Just as another wave of grief threatened to drown me, the door opened and I heard the most beautiful, sweet and vulnerable cry in the world.
A tiny kitten, just 8 weeks old and missing his mum, was placed in my lap. I looked down at the fragile little being and felt the most intense kind of love rush through me - maternal love.
I held the kitten to my chest and he immediately began to purr. Without thinking I stood and moved to the door. The people around me - my incredible friends - recognised my cue to leave and came to form a guard around me. Around us.
That tiny little kitten, held close to my heart, stopped my soul from tearing in two as I walked out those doors without you.
From the moment he came to the hospital, he was known as "Zy's kitten", and in the days and weeks that followed, he never strayed more than a few meters from me. There was only one other person your kitten would seek out, and that was your dad. As time passed and plans were made for the future, your kitten started spending more and more time beside your father. The plans that were being made were for your surrogate sisters and myself to travel with our circus family, but your dad had decided to stay where he was. The gaping hole in his heart as he grieved for you was almost visible, and your kitten was the only one he would allow close to him.
When it came time for me to leave, it seemed as though your kitten staying with your dad was the only decision that could be made.
This week your surrogate sisters and I went to visit your dad and your kitten. It had been five months since I'd seen your kitten, and he has grown into the most beautiful cat I've ever seen. The moment I saw him I picked him up and held him close, and he rubbed his head against my chest, purring so loudly he made your surrogate sisters giggle.
Later that day, we were sitting in the kitchen when I heard your kitten meow for the first time since leaving him with your dad. I was instantly thrown back to the very first time I heard him meow in the hospital, and all the times that beautiful, sweet cry had bought me comfort in the weeks after losing you.
Your kitten meowed again, and I felt the tears spring from my eyes and fall freely down my cheeks. A moment later, I realised my eyes weren't the only things that had sprung a leak.
Even though my milk had dried up months ago, when I heard your kitten crying again, milky tears began seeping from my breasts.
I've been with your kitten for almost a week now, and still, every time he meows, my breasts cry for you.
Darling Zy, I guess what I want to tell you today is that I hear you. No matter who created you, or who's child you were supposed to be, or who was supposed to be your mother - I hear you.
And I always will.
Love me.
Warrior Wednesday
Dear Zy,
I've been thinking about your biological parents a lot lately, and I want to apologise to you right now, because my thoughts haven't always been nice ones.
Just recently I got a call from the hospital where you were born. More specifically, I got a call from someone in the accounts department. It appears there is money outstanding, and as I was the patient I am the one they called.
The laws around surrogacy in Australia are pretty shaky, to say the least. In the early days we went through an IVF clinic that supports surrogacy, but a lot of the legalities were left to us to sort out (with the help of solicitors). Part of our agreement was that as the pregnancy was really your biological parent's, and just happened to include me as an incubator, your biological parents would be responsible for everything associated with the pregnancy that was physically possible. Including the financial responsibility.
At six months into your growing, the first lot of 'complications' popped their head up. Too much amniotic fluid led to the discovery of a lump in your throat and a quirky esophagus that didn't quite go where it was meant to. At this point, your bio mother had just scared the crap out of herself by googling causes of polyhydramnios and was somewhat relieved when the news was nowhere near as bad as it could have been. Your dad, on the other hand, had a bit of a freak out and took of surfing.
For a week.
Without telling anyone.
Your bio mum and I were furious.
But we were furious together.
And he came back when it counted.
The day after your bio mum and I went to the big hospital to get results of the amniocentesis, your dad returned. The results told us that you had Cri-du-Chat syndrome. We all cried a lot, but your bio mum - she was crushed.
She was so crushed, that when we all went to speak to the specialist together, your bio mum asked me to leave the room so that she could ask the doctor about a medical termination and what that involved.
This time I was furious.
And we weren't in it together.
From that point on I no longer felt like I was just your incubator.
My maternal instincts kicked in - or rather, I let them kick in - and I felt like the person who was carrying you, and giving you life, and protecting you, and loving you.
I felt like your mother.
I gave birth to you. I stood by you and fought with you. I loved you with all of my heart and soul.
I felt the hairs on the back of my neck prickle when your bio mother finally entered the room for the first time - hours after you were born. I resisted the primal urge to growl and bare my teeth at her as she stood in the corner, refusing to look at you.
I held you to my heart and rocked you gently, as you died in my arms.
I cried a river of tears for you, and I let the river carry your ashes into the ocean, so you could be free.
I will cry many more tears for you, so that the rivers will keep flowing and can take you wherever you want to go.
I will love you, with all of my heart and soul, for all of eternity.
And I will pay the hospital account.
Because I cannot bare the thought of your parents not taking responsibility for you.
Love me.
I've been thinking about your biological parents a lot lately, and I want to apologise to you right now, because my thoughts haven't always been nice ones.
Just recently I got a call from the hospital where you were born. More specifically, I got a call from someone in the accounts department. It appears there is money outstanding, and as I was the patient I am the one they called.
The laws around surrogacy in Australia are pretty shaky, to say the least. In the early days we went through an IVF clinic that supports surrogacy, but a lot of the legalities were left to us to sort out (with the help of solicitors). Part of our agreement was that as the pregnancy was really your biological parent's, and just happened to include me as an incubator, your biological parents would be responsible for everything associated with the pregnancy that was physically possible. Including the financial responsibility.
At six months into your growing, the first lot of 'complications' popped their head up. Too much amniotic fluid led to the discovery of a lump in your throat and a quirky esophagus that didn't quite go where it was meant to. At this point, your bio mother had just scared the crap out of herself by googling causes of polyhydramnios and was somewhat relieved when the news was nowhere near as bad as it could have been. Your dad, on the other hand, had a bit of a freak out and took of surfing.
For a week.
Without telling anyone.
Your bio mum and I were furious.
But we were furious together.
And he came back when it counted.
The day after your bio mum and I went to the big hospital to get results of the amniocentesis, your dad returned. The results told us that you had Cri-du-Chat syndrome. We all cried a lot, but your bio mum - she was crushed.
She was so crushed, that when we all went to speak to the specialist together, your bio mum asked me to leave the room so that she could ask the doctor about a medical termination and what that involved.
This time I was furious.
And we weren't in it together.
From that point on I no longer felt like I was just your incubator.
My maternal instincts kicked in - or rather, I let them kick in - and I felt like the person who was carrying you, and giving you life, and protecting you, and loving you.
I felt like your mother.
I gave birth to you. I stood by you and fought with you. I loved you with all of my heart and soul.
I felt the hairs on the back of my neck prickle when your bio mother finally entered the room for the first time - hours after you were born. I resisted the primal urge to growl and bare my teeth at her as she stood in the corner, refusing to look at you.
I held you to my heart and rocked you gently, as you died in my arms.
I cried a river of tears for you, and I let the river carry your ashes into the ocean, so you could be free.
I will cry many more tears for you, so that the rivers will keep flowing and can take you wherever you want to go.
I will love you, with all of my heart and soul, for all of eternity.
And I will pay the hospital account.
Because I cannot bare the thought of your parents not taking responsibility for you.
Love me.
Warrior Wednesday
Dear Zy,
Life has been pretty full on this week. It's been a good kind of full on though, with lots of forward movement and life embracing thoughts and ideas. You and I haven't had an outwardly spectacular Warrior moment, like the heart bubble last week, but lots of little things have let me know you are still around - Because even with all of this week's action swirling around in my head, you have never been far from my thoughts.
It was as I sat down to write this post to you that I realised how comforting this is.
For the first time since you died, I think I am getting a sense of what it is like to love you, to miss you, to think of you and to embrace life's forward movement, all at once.
I don't have many more words for you today - although my new found sense of life with you is quietly comforting, it is still somewhat shaky, and I don't want to confuse it with cold and boring head talk.
Darling Zy, thank you for always being here. I am so glad you are coming on this journey with me.
Love me.
Life has been pretty full on this week. It's been a good kind of full on though, with lots of forward movement and life embracing thoughts and ideas. You and I haven't had an outwardly spectacular Warrior moment, like the heart bubble last week, but lots of little things have let me know you are still around - Because even with all of this week's action swirling around in my head, you have never been far from my thoughts.
It was as I sat down to write this post to you that I realised how comforting this is.
For the first time since you died, I think I am getting a sense of what it is like to love you, to miss you, to think of you and to embrace life's forward movement, all at once.
I don't have many more words for you today - although my new found sense of life with you is quietly comforting, it is still somewhat shaky, and I don't want to confuse it with cold and boring head talk.
Darling Zy, thank you for always being here. I am so glad you are coming on this journey with me.
Love me.
Warrior Wednesday
Dear Zy,
This week has been kind of an inside week for us - not because we've stayed inside, but because we've been ignoring the outside world. It's been all about finding joy again within our close family unit.
One of my favourite days was yesterday. It was a beautiful Queensland day - blue sky, warm sun and an abundance of delightful sights and sounds and smells. We spent almost the whole day outside celebrating our 'inside' week, and after lunch Miss J asked if we could do something to celebrate with you, too. There was a light breeze around that tickled my nose and whispered in my ear... "Bubbles..... Bubbles....!!" So I raided the kitchen for dishwashing liquid and found a couple of bubble makers, then we got stuck into cele-bubbling with you.
A smile made of love and magic spread across my face and my heart as the Kewl girls blew bubbles high into the sky, and the breeze carried them away to you. About half an hour into our cele-bubbling, Miss V called out, "Look mum! Zy blew a bubble back! And it's a love heart!!!"
My logical mind was about to kick in and explain why bubbles couldn't be in the shape of hearts, bla bla bla... But the brightness of Miss V's face distracted me for long enough to appreciate the moment, and cast my eyes skywards.
Then I called out, "Miss J, Miss F, look! Zy blew a bubble back to us! And it's a love heart!!!"
We all watched as a single bubble, shaped like a love heart, floated gently down from the sky. It danced around our heads long enough to tickle some tears from my eyes, then the Kewl girls blew some more bubbles to keep your heart company, and they all flew back up to the sky with you.
Oh Zy - Thank you so much for sharing your heart with us. I always love seeing you and sharing moments with you, and yesterday you helped me find my light hearted, joyful space again, too.
See you again soon.
Love me.
This week has been kind of an inside week for us - not because we've stayed inside, but because we've been ignoring the outside world. It's been all about finding joy again within our close family unit.
One of my favourite days was yesterday. It was a beautiful Queensland day - blue sky, warm sun and an abundance of delightful sights and sounds and smells. We spent almost the whole day outside celebrating our 'inside' week, and after lunch Miss J asked if we could do something to celebrate with you, too. There was a light breeze around that tickled my nose and whispered in my ear... "Bubbles..... Bubbles....!!" So I raided the kitchen for dishwashing liquid and found a couple of bubble makers, then we got stuck into cele-bubbling with you.
A smile made of love and magic spread across my face and my heart as the Kewl girls blew bubbles high into the sky, and the breeze carried them away to you. About half an hour into our cele-bubbling, Miss V called out, "Look mum! Zy blew a bubble back! And it's a love heart!!!"
My logical mind was about to kick in and explain why bubbles couldn't be in the shape of hearts, bla bla bla... But the brightness of Miss V's face distracted me for long enough to appreciate the moment, and cast my eyes skywards.
Then I called out, "Miss J, Miss F, look! Zy blew a bubble back to us! And it's a love heart!!!"
We all watched as a single bubble, shaped like a love heart, floated gently down from the sky. It danced around our heads long enough to tickle some tears from my eyes, then the Kewl girls blew some more bubbles to keep your heart company, and they all flew back up to the sky with you.
Oh Zy - Thank you so much for sharing your heart with us. I always love seeing you and sharing moments with you, and yesterday you helped me find my light hearted, joyful space again, too.
See you again soon.
Love me.
Warrior Wednesday
Dear Zy,
My words are caught again this week - I can't seem to get them out past the lump in my throat. All of the things I would usually do to ease the lump... Eat some chocolate, refocus on something positive, eat some chocolate, have a cry and then move on, eat some chocolate... They aren't working. And I think I know why.
Baby Warrior, I think I want the lump in my throat.
I think that in a strange way, I find it comforting.
When you were growing in my tummy we discovered you had a lump in your throat, too. It was stopping you from swallowing amniotic fluid properly and so it was building up in your floaty water bed (and making my belly HUGE!). The lump, among other things, made it hard for you to stay in my tummy and hard for your body to cope after you were born. The doctors called it an 'abnormality' and could only see what was wrong about it - but I just saw it as one of your quirks.
Now you are gone and I won't get a chance to know or love any of your quirks. I wonder what they would have been.. How they would have made us laugh.. What they would have taught us.. Which ones would have driven us nuts.. And which ones would stay close to our hearts forever.
Darling Zy, sometimes all the wondering turns into longing, and my heart grows heavy for all of the things I won't get to know about you. Those are the times when the lump in my throat becomes the closest thing I have to one of your quirks, and I don't want to let it go.
Maybe I should find some other kind of comfort, but I think that's something that will come in time. For now, do you mind if I hang onto the lump for us? I promise not to let it interfere with living or loving, just like you didn't.
Love me.
My words are caught again this week - I can't seem to get them out past the lump in my throat. All of the things I would usually do to ease the lump... Eat some chocolate, refocus on something positive, eat some chocolate, have a cry and then move on, eat some chocolate... They aren't working. And I think I know why.
Baby Warrior, I think I want the lump in my throat.
I think that in a strange way, I find it comforting.
When you were growing in my tummy we discovered you had a lump in your throat, too. It was stopping you from swallowing amniotic fluid properly and so it was building up in your floaty water bed (and making my belly HUGE!). The lump, among other things, made it hard for you to stay in my tummy and hard for your body to cope after you were born. The doctors called it an 'abnormality' and could only see what was wrong about it - but I just saw it as one of your quirks.
Now you are gone and I won't get a chance to know or love any of your quirks. I wonder what they would have been.. How they would have made us laugh.. What they would have taught us.. Which ones would have driven us nuts.. And which ones would stay close to our hearts forever.
Darling Zy, sometimes all the wondering turns into longing, and my heart grows heavy for all of the things I won't get to know about you. Those are the times when the lump in my throat becomes the closest thing I have to one of your quirks, and I don't want to let it go.
Maybe I should find some other kind of comfort, but I think that's something that will come in time. For now, do you mind if I hang onto the lump for us? I promise not to let it interfere with living or loving, just like you didn't.
Love me.
Warrior Wednesday on Tuesday
Dear Zy,
The last couple of weeks have been tough. I didn't expect Mother's Day to bother me - because I don't really believe in it anyway - but it did bother me. It was tough.
I have been thinking a lot about your other mum and that is tough, too.
Also, your surrogate sisters' cousin is sick and I am finding it super tough to watch a sick child and feel that kind of soul crushing helplessness that I felt when you were born.
Baby Warrior, tomorrow is your surrogate sister V's birthday. She will be a very impressive three years old!! She is super excited - as she should be - but I have even been finding that tough. I have been getting lost in thoughts of your birthday - your physical birth, then your spiritual birth (or physical death) just 26 short hours later. I've been lost in thoughts of your future birthdays that I will only be able to celebrate with you in spirit. Then when my grief for you threatened to sink me, I switched to grief thoughts about Daddy Kewl - about him missing Miss V's birth, and her 1st birthday, and her 2nd birthday, and now her 3rd birthday, too.
Oh Zy - if "stinking thinking" were a literal term, I think we would all need gas masks by now!!!
With Miss V's birthday now only one sleep away, today I had a new thought. It blew threw my head like a breath of fresh air.... What a waste of life it would have been to spend your birthday - your one day with us - sad and depressed and lost in stinking grief thoughts.
There were many things I wanted to give you, but couldn't. Love most certainly was not one of them. Your day wasn't wasted, Baby Warrior. It was filled with love, strength and inspiration.
I don't want to be sad tomorrow. I don't want to spend Miss V's one and only 3rd birthday thinking crappy grief thoughts. I want her day to be filled with love, strength and inspiration. Just like your day.
I want our lifetimes to be filled with love, strength and inspiration.
Just like yours.
Darling Zy, I am sorry for wasting so many days - so many lifetimes - being sad and miserable and depressed. I lost perspective for a moment and almost choked on my own stinking thought gas - but I've had the blast of fresh air I needed to catch my breath, and I am so ready to embrace it.
Thank you, Baby Warrior, for your love, your strength and your inspiration.
Love me.
The last couple of weeks have been tough. I didn't expect Mother's Day to bother me - because I don't really believe in it anyway - but it did bother me. It was tough.
I have been thinking a lot about your other mum and that is tough, too.
Also, your surrogate sisters' cousin is sick and I am finding it super tough to watch a sick child and feel that kind of soul crushing helplessness that I felt when you were born.
Baby Warrior, tomorrow is your surrogate sister V's birthday. She will be a very impressive three years old!! She is super excited - as she should be - but I have even been finding that tough. I have been getting lost in thoughts of your birthday - your physical birth, then your spiritual birth (or physical death) just 26 short hours later. I've been lost in thoughts of your future birthdays that I will only be able to celebrate with you in spirit. Then when my grief for you threatened to sink me, I switched to grief thoughts about Daddy Kewl - about him missing Miss V's birth, and her 1st birthday, and her 2nd birthday, and now her 3rd birthday, too.
Oh Zy - if "stinking thinking" were a literal term, I think we would all need gas masks by now!!!
With Miss V's birthday now only one sleep away, today I had a new thought. It blew threw my head like a breath of fresh air.... What a waste of life it would have been to spend your birthday - your one day with us - sad and depressed and lost in stinking grief thoughts.
There were many things I wanted to give you, but couldn't. Love most certainly was not one of them. Your day wasn't wasted, Baby Warrior. It was filled with love, strength and inspiration.
I don't want to be sad tomorrow. I don't want to spend Miss V's one and only 3rd birthday thinking crappy grief thoughts. I want her day to be filled with love, strength and inspiration. Just like your day.
I want our lifetimes to be filled with love, strength and inspiration.
Just like yours.
Darling Zy, I am sorry for wasting so many days - so many lifetimes - being sad and miserable and depressed. I lost perspective for a moment and almost choked on my own stinking thought gas - but I've had the blast of fresh air I needed to catch my breath, and I am so ready to embrace it.
Thank you, Baby Warrior, for your love, your strength and your inspiration.
Love me.
Warrior Wednesday
Dear Zy,
I'm sorry I don't have anything particularly interesting or poetic to tell you this week. The icy grief fingers have wrapped themselves around my heart, my chest and my throat and they seem to be strangling my words as well as my breath.
I feel like I am ripping you off, in a sense, by not offering some kind of magic moment or positive thought. The moments and the thoughts are still there, Baby Warrior, they are just stuck on the inside for the moment. Maybe next week they will make it out.
Gosh I miss you.
Love me.
I'm sorry I don't have anything particularly interesting or poetic to tell you this week. The icy grief fingers have wrapped themselves around my heart, my chest and my throat and they seem to be strangling my words as well as my breath.
I feel like I am ripping you off, in a sense, by not offering some kind of magic moment or positive thought. The moments and the thoughts are still there, Baby Warrior, they are just stuck on the inside for the moment. Maybe next week they will make it out.
Gosh I miss you.
Love me.
Warrior Wednesday
Dear Zy,
Miss V has been asking about you a lot this week. First she wanted to hear the story of how you were made... Then she wanted to hear the stories of when you were in my tummy and how you ate, how you breathed, and how you kicked me from the inside! Next she asked about how you were born and how it was different from how her and her sisters were born. She did lots of looking at and patting the line right down low on my tummy that marks the place where you came out... She even drew a line on her own tummy so she could give birth to her doll, just like how you were born.
Darling Zy, part of me knew what would come next - but I still was not ready when your surrogate sister asked to hear about when you died.
I told her that I needed time to think about how to tell this story - and think about it is almost all I have been doing! After Daddy Kewl died I had over three years to think before it was time to tell that story, and I think that with you - with Miss V's question - I have been trying to cram three years worth of thoughts into the last three days!!! It certainly feels like it.
So just how do I tell your story, Baby Warrior???
I could stick to the facts - but Miss V already knows the facts and she doesn't want to hear the medical version of how you died, she wants a story.
I could tell her the Magic Sugar Puff Cloud story - but she has heard this already and it is too far in the other direction, too much story and not enough fact.
So I just need to find the middle ground - Facts and sugar puffs, right?
It sounds so easy when I put it like that...
So why are no words coming?
Oh Zy, I so want to share you - I want to share every tiny magical detail of you - but I don't think I am ready to share this story. I don't think I have found my own middle ground yet, between saying goodbye to your body and hello to you in spirit. I just love the moments we continue to share with you and although most of me knows that these aren't going to go away, I don't want to tell a goodbye story yet. I don't want to say goodbye to you again.
Just hello.
A little more time, a little more love and a little less fear - then maybe I will be closer to my middle ground and closer to telling this part of your story.
Until then, thank you for popping your head up to say hello.
Hello back, my darling sugar puff cloud.
I see you.
Love me.
Miss V has been asking about you a lot this week. First she wanted to hear the story of how you were made... Then she wanted to hear the stories of when you were in my tummy and how you ate, how you breathed, and how you kicked me from the inside! Next she asked about how you were born and how it was different from how her and her sisters were born. She did lots of looking at and patting the line right down low on my tummy that marks the place where you came out... She even drew a line on her own tummy so she could give birth to her doll, just like how you were born.
Darling Zy, part of me knew what would come next - but I still was not ready when your surrogate sister asked to hear about when you died.
I told her that I needed time to think about how to tell this story - and think about it is almost all I have been doing! After Daddy Kewl died I had over three years to think before it was time to tell that story, and I think that with you - with Miss V's question - I have been trying to cram three years worth of thoughts into the last three days!!! It certainly feels like it.
So just how do I tell your story, Baby Warrior???
I could stick to the facts - but Miss V already knows the facts and she doesn't want to hear the medical version of how you died, she wants a story.
I could tell her the Magic Sugar Puff Cloud story - but she has heard this already and it is too far in the other direction, too much story and not enough fact.
So I just need to find the middle ground - Facts and sugar puffs, right?
It sounds so easy when I put it like that...
So why are no words coming?
Oh Zy, I so want to share you - I want to share every tiny magical detail of you - but I don't think I am ready to share this story. I don't think I have found my own middle ground yet, between saying goodbye to your body and hello to you in spirit. I just love the moments we continue to share with you and although most of me knows that these aren't going to go away, I don't want to tell a goodbye story yet. I don't want to say goodbye to you again.
Just hello.
A little more time, a little more love and a little less fear - then maybe I will be closer to my middle ground and closer to telling this part of your story.
Until then, thank you for popping your head up to say hello.
Hello back, my darling sugar puff cloud.I see you.
Love me.
Warrior Wednesday
Dear Zy,
This week your surrogate big sisters and I went down to the beach and got fish and chips. We went and sat on the sand dunes to eat them and almost immediately we were surrounded by sea gulls!! Often we listen to the whispering of the waves to hear the messages they bring from the ocean... But the sea gulls were shouting so loudly it was difficult to hear the whispering of our own thoughts!!
I thought they were yelling for our chips, but your big sisters knew better.
Miss V, "Mum! Listen! The sea gulls have a message from they sky!!! They are saying, 'Zy! Zy! Zy! Zy!' Listen mum!"
I listened, and the chorus of Zy's that I heard made my heart skip and dance and sing.
On the way home, all of your sisters fell asleep in the back and as we drove, the quiet hum of the car carried my thoughts away to you. Just as I was remembering the sparkle in your eyes, something in the side mirror caught my attention. A big, bright ball of sun smiled at me in the reflection. I looked at the internal rear view mirror and strangely enough, I could not see the sun that was so bright in the side mirror.
As we approached a bend in the road, I smiled and said a mental thank you to the sun for capturing my attention and warming my heart. We rounded the bend and I expected the sun to vanish out of range of the smallish side mirror.
It did not move.
Another few kilometres down the road we came to a round about. Our exit was a little over 90 degrees to the right. Surely the sun would not still be behind us, shining into my mirror and my heart...
Of course, it was.
I had just begun to think how strange it was, when I thought again of the beach and of the sea gulls' message from the sky...
Zy!
Zy!
Zy!
Zy!
My eyes filled with the smallest droplets of salt water as I took in as much of your light as I could.
"I see you, Baby Warrior. I see you."
Then in a blink, you were gone.
But I still feel your light warming my heart.
Thank you, Baby Warrior.
Love me.
This week your surrogate big sisters and I went down to the beach and got fish and chips. We went and sat on the sand dunes to eat them and almost immediately we were surrounded by sea gulls!! Often we listen to the whispering of the waves to hear the messages they bring from the ocean... But the sea gulls were shouting so loudly it was difficult to hear the whispering of our own thoughts!!
I thought they were yelling for our chips, but your big sisters knew better.
Miss V, "Mum! Listen! The sea gulls have a message from they sky!!! They are saying, 'Zy! Zy! Zy! Zy!' Listen mum!"
I listened, and the chorus of Zy's that I heard made my heart skip and dance and sing.
On the way home, all of your sisters fell asleep in the back and as we drove, the quiet hum of the car carried my thoughts away to you. Just as I was remembering the sparkle in your eyes, something in the side mirror caught my attention. A big, bright ball of sun smiled at me in the reflection. I looked at the internal rear view mirror and strangely enough, I could not see the sun that was so bright in the side mirror.
As we approached a bend in the road, I smiled and said a mental thank you to the sun for capturing my attention and warming my heart. We rounded the bend and I expected the sun to vanish out of range of the smallish side mirror.
It did not move.
Another few kilometres down the road we came to a round about. Our exit was a little over 90 degrees to the right. Surely the sun would not still be behind us, shining into my mirror and my heart...
Of course, it was.
I had just begun to think how strange it was, when I thought again of the beach and of the sea gulls' message from the sky...
Zy!
Zy!
Zy!
Zy!
My eyes filled with the smallest droplets of salt water as I took in as much of your light as I could.
"I see you, Baby Warrior. I see you."
Then in a blink, you were gone.
But I still feel your light warming my heart.
Thank you, Baby Warrior.
Love me.
WARRIOR WEDNESDAY
Dear Zy,
When you were still in my tummy and you were diagnosed with Cri-du-Chat syndrome, I did a LOT of reading. I went over and over and over every piece of information I could find about this syndrome and what it might mean for your life. One of the things I read was that infants with Cri-du-Chat often have trouble feeding and gaining weight. You also had your own quirky aesophagus that wasn't formed the way the doctors said it should be, and you were going to need an operation to help it do what it should. Both of these things went around and around in my head and I worried a lot about how you were going fare.
This week, I am beginning to think that there is absolutely nothing wrong with your eating ability!!!!
At the health food shop on Friday, I asked the lady for 4 muffins. I watched her put them in the bag - one, then two, then three, then four. I paid $12, for 4 muffins at $3 each. The lady handed the bag to me and I carried it flat, balancing two muffins on each hand.
When I got home I sat down with the girls to enjoy our muffins. One at a time, the girls reached into the bag and took a muffin... Miss F, then Miss J, then Miss V, then me.
There was still one left in the bag.
Me, "That's funny, I'm sure I only bought four...."
Miss V, "Because I am two, I can have two."
Me, "Nice try darling."
Miss V, "April fools!!! It's not for me. It must be for Zy!"
Miss J, "Yeah! For Zy!"
Miss F, "Don't worry! I will eat it for him!"
Baby Warrior, thank you for sharing a meal time with us and changing the thoughts in my head about you and food. I am sure it was your cheeky grin I saw flash across your surrogate sisters' faces when they offered to eat your muffin - and this is the image I will keep in my head when I think about you at meal times.
Love me.
P.S.. And don't worry.... I ate the muffin for you.
When you were still in my tummy and you were diagnosed with Cri-du-Chat syndrome, I did a LOT of reading. I went over and over and over every piece of information I could find about this syndrome and what it might mean for your life. One of the things I read was that infants with Cri-du-Chat often have trouble feeding and gaining weight. You also had your own quirky aesophagus that wasn't formed the way the doctors said it should be, and you were going to need an operation to help it do what it should. Both of these things went around and around in my head and I worried a lot about how you were going fare.
This week, I am beginning to think that there is absolutely nothing wrong with your eating ability!!!!
At the health food shop on Friday, I asked the lady for 4 muffins. I watched her put them in the bag - one, then two, then three, then four. I paid $12, for 4 muffins at $3 each. The lady handed the bag to me and I carried it flat, balancing two muffins on each hand.
When I got home I sat down with the girls to enjoy our muffins. One at a time, the girls reached into the bag and took a muffin... Miss F, then Miss J, then Miss V, then me.
There was still one left in the bag.
Me, "That's funny, I'm sure I only bought four...."
Miss V, "Because I am two, I can have two."
Me, "Nice try darling."
Miss V, "April fools!!! It's not for me. It must be for Zy!"
Miss J, "Yeah! For Zy!"
Miss F, "Don't worry! I will eat it for him!"
Baby Warrior, thank you for sharing a meal time with us and changing the thoughts in my head about you and food. I am sure it was your cheeky grin I saw flash across your surrogate sisters' faces when they offered to eat your muffin - and this is the image I will keep in my head when I think about you at meal times.
Love me.
P.S.. And don't worry.... I ate the muffin for you.
WARRIOR WEDNESDAY
Dear Zy,
I met a brand new baby this week. Her name is Tahlia, and she is your cousin on your dad's side.
Darling Zy, when I held your cousin for the first time I had these awful stabbing pains in my chest. It was mainly grief, but then, for just a moment, I think there was envy. I think I had Baby Envy.
When you were born your body was not strong enough to work on it's own, so the doctors used lots of machines to keep it going for you. Then there were the tests - test after test after test after test - sometimes to monitor something, other times looking for something new, or something different, something that wasn't supposed to be there or something else that was missing.
You must have known the touch of plastic and steel better than the touch of the people who loved you.
For 24 hours you fought, your tiny body being pumped and poked and pricked and prodded, physically holding on by a thread but spiritually growing stronger and brighter with each passing moment.
Oh Zy, the whole time you were here all I wanted to do was hold you - but all I could do was watch.
It wasn't until I had to let you go, that I could finally hold you. As your body grew weaker, the doctors said it was time to leave you be - to stop pumping and poking and pricking and prodding - time to let you go. You were freed from the tangle of tubes and wires and released from the incubator that separated us for almost your lifetime, and as I held you to my heart, in the same moment, it was time to let you go.
Darling Zy, when I held your new born cousin and felt that stabbing pain in my chest, I don't think it was just any kind of baby envy that flickered across my heart.
Because I don't want to have just any baby, or hold just any baby.
I want you.
I want our happy ending.
Do you think that maybe, with enough time, I will see that we already have our happy ending? That it is just my perspective - my thoughts - that make it sad?
I hope so... Because you deserve a happy ending, Baby Warrior. We both do.
I guess it is just up to me to see it.
I met a brand new baby this week. Her name is Tahlia, and she is your cousin on your dad's side.
Darling Zy, when I held your cousin for the first time I had these awful stabbing pains in my chest. It was mainly grief, but then, for just a moment, I think there was envy. I think I had Baby Envy.
When you were born your body was not strong enough to work on it's own, so the doctors used lots of machines to keep it going for you. Then there were the tests - test after test after test after test - sometimes to monitor something, other times looking for something new, or something different, something that wasn't supposed to be there or something else that was missing.
You must have known the touch of plastic and steel better than the touch of the people who loved you.
For 24 hours you fought, your tiny body being pumped and poked and pricked and prodded, physically holding on by a thread but spiritually growing stronger and brighter with each passing moment.
Oh Zy, the whole time you were here all I wanted to do was hold you - but all I could do was watch.
It wasn't until I had to let you go, that I could finally hold you. As your body grew weaker, the doctors said it was time to leave you be - to stop pumping and poking and pricking and prodding - time to let you go. You were freed from the tangle of tubes and wires and released from the incubator that separated us for almost your lifetime, and as I held you to my heart, in the same moment, it was time to let you go.
Darling Zy, when I held your new born cousin and felt that stabbing pain in my chest, I don't think it was just any kind of baby envy that flickered across my heart.
Because I don't want to have just any baby, or hold just any baby.
I want you.
I want our happy ending.
Do you think that maybe, with enough time, I will see that we already have our happy ending? That it is just my perspective - my thoughts - that make it sad?
I hope so... Because you deserve a happy ending, Baby Warrior. We both do.
I guess it is just up to me to see it.
Warrior Wednesday
"This is a moth and it is from Zy... And the sun is really Zy smiling a'cause we saw him!" ~Miss FDear Zy,
It's been a while since I've posted a Warrior Wednesday on the Kewl blog. It's not because we haven't had moments, or because I haven't been thinking about you. I spend lots of time thinking about you everyday...
But you already know that.
I haven't wanted to share you. I've wanted to keep you all to myself. Maybe because I was never able to do this when you were here - I was just your surrogate mum, your magic growing basket, your favourite aunt...
But I am starting to realise that none of that really matters to you. Especially not now.
I think I have been selfish. I have wanted to keep all of our moments held tightly against my chest, almost as if I am hoping that if I hold on tightly enough, I might just be able to feel you there...
But you are always there, you show me so everyday, and I am starting to expect your moments - your presence - instead of being surprised by it.
Darling Zy, please keep showing me your moments, and I promise I will keep seeing them.
Love from me.
Warrior Wednesday - Wall of Alive Time
When Zy died, I did not know if I was going to survive. The pain was so deep, so raw and so overwhelming that often I didn't think I would.
Not long after leaving the hospital, a dear freak gave me a way to at least take some of the overwhelming-ness (what on earth is the word I am looking for there?!) out of the equation... Fifteen minute 'get throughs'.
By breaking time down into 15 minute chunks, surviving suddenly became a whole lot more possible.
It didn't take long for all of the freaks to jump on board the "15 minute" bandwagon.
At first, they would knock on my door every 15 minutes, poke their heads around the corner and whisper, "Fifteen! Way to go!".
Then they would set an egg timer for 15 minutes and when it got to the end they would do the 10 second count down and then go crazy - shouting and whooping and cheering like mad.
Finally, they began decorating those brightly coloured origami squares and putting them up on the wall, with each one representing 15 minutes.
This was my favourite of all the 15 minute celebrations. I loved the bright colours and the notes of encouragement, plus, watching all of those 15 minutes adding up was like visual proof that I was surviving. That I was living.
By the time the squares ran out, the wall was covered in vibrant patches of energy - celebrating life, 15 minutes at a time.
There were three packets of squares bought, and some squares were used for other things. Nobody counted them as they were going up on the wall, but when the last square went up someone decided to add them.
When we figured out how many hours of 15 minutes were on the wall, we counted again.
Then again.
Then one more time, to be sure.
They add up, exactly, to the time Baby Zy spent with us, alive.
His alive time.
Not long after leaving the hospital, a dear freak gave me a way to at least take some of the overwhelming-ness (what on earth is the word I am looking for there?!) out of the equation... Fifteen minute 'get throughs'.
By breaking time down into 15 minute chunks, surviving suddenly became a whole lot more possible.
It didn't take long for all of the freaks to jump on board the "15 minute" bandwagon.
At first, they would knock on my door every 15 minutes, poke their heads around the corner and whisper, "Fifteen! Way to go!".
Then they would set an egg timer for 15 minutes and when it got to the end they would do the 10 second count down and then go crazy - shouting and whooping and cheering like mad.
Finally, they began decorating those brightly coloured origami squares and putting them up on the wall, with each one representing 15 minutes.
This was my favourite of all the 15 minute celebrations. I loved the bright colours and the notes of encouragement, plus, watching all of those 15 minutes adding up was like visual proof that I was surviving. That I was living.
By the time the squares ran out, the wall was covered in vibrant patches of energy - celebrating life, 15 minutes at a time.
There were three packets of squares bought, and some squares were used for other things. Nobody counted them as they were going up on the wall, but when the last square went up someone decided to add them.
When we figured out how many hours of 15 minutes were on the wall, we counted again.
Then again.
Then one more time, to be sure.
They add up, exactly, to the time Baby Zy spent with us, alive.
His alive time.
Warrior Wednesday
The two most important men in my life both left their bodies at 8:30pm on a Wednesday.
Sometimes this is a down right horrible thought and it turns my Wednesdays into crap days - but mostly it is comforting, because I believe in magic moments and I believe in their significance. Our little warrior could have died at any time, but he didn't. I like to think that when Zy died, Daddy Kewl was there waiting for him. Actually, I don't just like thinking this, I like knowing this.... It's significant.
The last few days I have pushed myself into blogging some of the moments from three other kewl and significant people. "Their lives deserve celebrating." I told myself... "You can't stop forward movement. It's time to move forward."
But to be honest, I'm struggling.
I love the moments I have to celebrate with my kewl girls, and I do not - for one second - underestimate their value. What I'm struggling with is the fourth kewl and significant child who's moments aren't being celebrated in the same way. Some are, sure - but to fully appreciate many of them, there is a need for details and history and explanation that is still too raw to blog about. So, while Zy is constantly present in my thoughts and in my heart - as every child is for every parent - his moments are missing from this "forward blogging movement".
Honestly? The thought of moving forward without Zy is totally and utterly terrifying. I know he will always be in my heart, and in the hearts of the people who love him... But there is still that niggling voice that screams it's bloody head off when I post about something other than him - something 'normal' - because even though he is constantly present in my heart, and the people close to us hold him in their hearts, what about the others? What about the people who don't know his story?
The thought that Zy is being left out is like a red hot iron being driven into my soul.
It hurts. And I don't like it.
So.... Instead of dwelling on it and feeling awful and not posting anything.... I am coming up with a solution. I'm going to make Wednesday each week "Warrior Wednesday" on the Kewl blog. This way I can be OK with blogging the every day moments, because I will know that Zy's moments are not being forgotten, overlooked or left out. It is also a clear and positive way of creating a balance between "now" moments, and those that are a little more reflective... A way to bring Zy with us on this whole forward movement thing.
Does this make sense?
Lol... Oh well. It is my plan, and it feels good.
As today is Wednesday, I have a couple of moments - one that I've wanted to share for a while, that didn't make it onto the Baby Blog because it happened in the midst of a whole lot of freaking chaos! And another that is a Baby Warrior and kewl girl moment from the 'now'.
The first happened while I was pregnant, and is a testament to just how big and FAT I got carrying Baby Warrior around in his overfilled water bed....
The kewl girls and I were at the park when, just for something different, I had to pee. Leaving the girls safely with our nanny, I made a fast waddle for the loo's. Then, satisfied that my bladder was no longer about to burst, I went to return to the kewlettes.
Errr... Not so fast....
I went to open the stall door and discovered it was stuck. Well, more to the point - I was stuck...
My belly was so big I could not get the door open wide enough to make my escape, and my baby brain was not about to come up with a solution any time soon.
After about 20 minutes of sitting in a public loo stall, half laughing, half crying, Mary Poppins finally came searching and was able to manoeuvre the door open... But only after another 20 minutes of hysterical laughter on her part.
(Reading back over this moment, I realise it may be one of those, "You had to be there" things, but hey - I was there and today it makes me smile.)
The next moment is from an inspired Miss J.
This morning her and her sisters were playing dress ups when Miss J gave up her high heels and fake fur to come and see me.
Miss J: "Mummy... We're hungry."
I asked her what she felt like to eat, and she replied, "Salt and vinegar chips."
Seemingly not such a special request, except that Miss J and her sisters all hate salt and vinegar chips and are not allowed to eat them anyway because of the gluten factor.
And that salt and vinegar chips were also one of the few things I craved, non stop, whilst pregnant with Baby Warrior.
Me: "Are you sure you want salt and vinegar chips?"
Miss J: "Yes, we do."
Me: "Your sisters too?"
Miss J: "Oh mum... *insert teenage style rolling of eyes* ... Me and Zy want salt and vinegar chips."
Of course.
Needless to say, we now have a cupboard full of salt and vinegar chips.
Sometimes this is a down right horrible thought and it turns my Wednesdays into crap days - but mostly it is comforting, because I believe in magic moments and I believe in their significance. Our little warrior could have died at any time, but he didn't. I like to think that when Zy died, Daddy Kewl was there waiting for him. Actually, I don't just like thinking this, I like knowing this.... It's significant.
The last few days I have pushed myself into blogging some of the moments from three other kewl and significant people. "Their lives deserve celebrating." I told myself... "You can't stop forward movement. It's time to move forward."
But to be honest, I'm struggling.
I love the moments I have to celebrate with my kewl girls, and I do not - for one second - underestimate their value. What I'm struggling with is the fourth kewl and significant child who's moments aren't being celebrated in the same way. Some are, sure - but to fully appreciate many of them, there is a need for details and history and explanation that is still too raw to blog about. So, while Zy is constantly present in my thoughts and in my heart - as every child is for every parent - his moments are missing from this "forward blogging movement".
Honestly? The thought of moving forward without Zy is totally and utterly terrifying. I know he will always be in my heart, and in the hearts of the people who love him... But there is still that niggling voice that screams it's bloody head off when I post about something other than him - something 'normal' - because even though he is constantly present in my heart, and the people close to us hold him in their hearts, what about the others? What about the people who don't know his story?
The thought that Zy is being left out is like a red hot iron being driven into my soul.
It hurts. And I don't like it.
So.... Instead of dwelling on it and feeling awful and not posting anything.... I am coming up with a solution. I'm going to make Wednesday each week "Warrior Wednesday" on the Kewl blog. This way I can be OK with blogging the every day moments, because I will know that Zy's moments are not being forgotten, overlooked or left out. It is also a clear and positive way of creating a balance between "now" moments, and those that are a little more reflective... A way to bring Zy with us on this whole forward movement thing.
Does this make sense?
Lol... Oh well. It is my plan, and it feels good.
As today is Wednesday, I have a couple of moments - one that I've wanted to share for a while, that didn't make it onto the Baby Blog because it happened in the midst of a whole lot of freaking chaos! And another that is a Baby Warrior and kewl girl moment from the 'now'.
The first happened while I was pregnant, and is a testament to just how big and FAT I got carrying Baby Warrior around in his overfilled water bed....
The kewl girls and I were at the park when, just for something different, I had to pee. Leaving the girls safely with our nanny, I made a fast waddle for the loo's. Then, satisfied that my bladder was no longer about to burst, I went to return to the kewlettes.
Errr... Not so fast....
I went to open the stall door and discovered it was stuck. Well, more to the point - I was stuck...
My belly was so big I could not get the door open wide enough to make my escape, and my baby brain was not about to come up with a solution any time soon.
After about 20 minutes of sitting in a public loo stall, half laughing, half crying, Mary Poppins finally came searching and was able to manoeuvre the door open... But only after another 20 minutes of hysterical laughter on her part.
(Reading back over this moment, I realise it may be one of those, "You had to be there" things, but hey - I was there and today it makes me smile.)
The next moment is from an inspired Miss J.
This morning her and her sisters were playing dress ups when Miss J gave up her high heels and fake fur to come and see me.
Miss J: "Mummy... We're hungry."
I asked her what she felt like to eat, and she replied, "Salt and vinegar chips."
Seemingly not such a special request, except that Miss J and her sisters all hate salt and vinegar chips and are not allowed to eat them anyway because of the gluten factor.
And that salt and vinegar chips were also one of the few things I craved, non stop, whilst pregnant with Baby Warrior.
Me: "Are you sure you want salt and vinegar chips?"
Miss J: "Yes, we do."
Me: "Your sisters too?"
Miss J: "Oh mum... *insert teenage style rolling of eyes* ... Me and Zy want salt and vinegar chips."
Of course.
Needless to say, we now have a cupboard full of salt and vinegar chips.
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