But all in all it wasn't too traumatic for either of us. Thankfully a few handfulls of puffs kept him still on Daddy's lap. And he still has both ears.
Wednesday, April 27, 2011
Haircut
I was in denial about Sam needing a haircut. Back on St. Patty's day, I looked at a photo of him where it looked like he had the biggest mullet I've ever seen. So I cut a little off the back. I had cut his hair before a little here and there, and didn't know what the fuss was about. Everyone asked me if it was hard to cut his hair - meaning emotionally - but it was only hard because he wouldn't keep his head still and I wanted him to keep BOTH ears. Well after a look at some photos last week, I started seeing a Donald Trump resemblance. With the latest time-wasting publicity-stunt he is pulling, I knew Sam just had to get a haircut! Luckily, my sister-in-law does hair and since we were heading there for Easter, I asked her to give Sam a trim. I think (of course) he looks super handsome. But I kind of get it. He doesn't look like a baby, he looks like a real boy. He looks old! relatively speaking, of course.
But all in all it wasn't too traumatic for either of us. Thankfully a few handfulls of puffs kept him still on Daddy's lap. And he still has both ears.
But all in all it wasn't too traumatic for either of us. Thankfully a few handfulls of puffs kept him still on Daddy's lap. And he still has both ears.
Trouble
I was a really good kid. I hardly ever did anything wrong. I rarely got in trouble. A perfect angel some might say. (ah hem)
I think I am most definitely in some trouble now. I have a mischievous little boy on my hands. There is definitely going to be some trouble-making in Sam's future. And likely sooner rather than later. Yikes.
He has, and really always has, this grin that makes you want to know so badly what he is up to in that head of his. I've taken a ton of photos lately and posted only a few, so no deep meaning here today. Just a darn cute little boy and some memories of our recent adventures.
Sunday, April 17, 2011
HPB
A few weeks ago on Henry's birth-day, I wrote how I didn't know what to think about it being two years ago that he died. I am beginning to grasp what has been going through my mind and though not many words are in my head to describe it, I'm going to see what comes out of my fingers as I type.
I began to realize my feelings, and the words that might best describe them, as I took this photo today. This is Henry's weeping cherry tree at my parents house. It has grown tall and beautiful these last two years. And I took a lot of photos today of its pink blossoms, its buds about to bloom and the beautiful tiny petals. A lot of photos more beautiful than this one. When I took it, two words came into my head and I knew it wasn't just describing this tree or this photo. This photo, to me, is both haunting and beautiful, and so is what happened to us and Henry.
I still have a hard time wrapping my head around it. So many things have happened in the last 2 years. So many things that have made my brain potentially permanently cloudy. And I have an ability to push thoughts in the back of my mind; way in the back where those clouds are extra thick and stormy. I don't tend to think about what actually happened, as in the details of the day and the details of the emotions. The grief. The pain. But sometimes, something happens and I stop and say in my head, "Holy shit. Our baby died." It's almost as if it happened to someone else. It wasn't us. I feel so bad for those people that happened to. To loose their baby, I can't even imagine. It wasn't us. And then I remember laying on the table in the OB office, sonogram jelly still warm on my 39 week stomach, looking up at the doctor who's own tears were falling down on my face as she squeezed my hand. I remember thinking "I have to call my mom. She's going to be heartbroken." and "How is Phil going to get through this?" and then I heard "most of the time we never know why these things happen" as I was thinking "I knew the braxton hicks contraction 4 days ago was the last time I felt him move. Why didn't I pull the car over?" and "how am I going to deliver this baby?"
I called my mom and I think I called my sisters, but to be honest, I dont remember for sure. I cleaned up my face before walking back out in the waiting room. There were too many happy expecing mothers, I didn't want them to worry.
My defense system in my head is rock solid. I protect myself really well from feeling too much pain, stress, worry. It lets enough through that I'm human, but not enough that I am immobilized which is what I would have been had the system failed this particular day. It kicked in and Meghan went blank. Someone else took over and I got that IV, started that pitocin, cussed my way through 2 epidural attempts and thankfully only a few minutes of pushing. Someone else quickly held that baby boy. Looked at him not understanding.
Today, we walked honoring Henry in the March of Dimes, March for Babies. Our team raised WAY more than we expected and for a while I couldn't figure out why we have been so successful. I didn't understand why so many people would care that much about our little team, our little story. But I realized it really isn't a little story. It's likely, hopefully, the biggest story to happen in my life. People might care because they really are the ones saying "to loose their baby, I can't even imagine." Or it might be that it's not about us at all. Maybe they have their own stories. Their own death, heartbreak, struggles with pregnancy and miscarriage, premature birth, NICU stays, Down Syndrome. Maybe it's about them. There are unfortunately too many sorrowful reasons why one would want to help out a cause that strives to make sure every baby is born healthy. No matter who's story it is, no matter why someone is walking on a blustery, cold, early Sunday morning, it's about honor and remembering. For me, I needed to remember those details. To remember the pain. The raw hurt. The wound left open to heal itself that still seeps from time to time.
Our world changed March 26, 2009; but it kept moving on. I need to remember to let myself feel that hurt. Because if I don't, I'm just moving without any recollection of all that happened to get me where I am. Am I healed? No. I'm a damn good faker though, and I might get there one day. But I hope I don't. I hope I carry a little bit of hurt. Because all the photos and weeping cherry trees and "H" paraphernalia around doesn't make me really remember. The hurt does.
And it's haunting. And it's beautiful.
I still have a hard time wrapping my head around it. So many things have happened in the last 2 years. So many things that have made my brain potentially permanently cloudy. And I have an ability to push thoughts in the back of my mind; way in the back where those clouds are extra thick and stormy. I don't tend to think about what actually happened, as in the details of the day and the details of the emotions. The grief. The pain. But sometimes, something happens and I stop and say in my head, "Holy shit. Our baby died." It's almost as if it happened to someone else. It wasn't us. I feel so bad for those people that happened to. To loose their baby, I can't even imagine. It wasn't us. And then I remember laying on the table in the OB office, sonogram jelly still warm on my 39 week stomach, looking up at the doctor who's own tears were falling down on my face as she squeezed my hand. I remember thinking "I have to call my mom. She's going to be heartbroken." and "How is Phil going to get through this?" and then I heard "most of the time we never know why these things happen" as I was thinking "I knew the braxton hicks contraction 4 days ago was the last time I felt him move. Why didn't I pull the car over?" and "how am I going to deliver this baby?"
I called my mom and I think I called my sisters, but to be honest, I dont remember for sure. I cleaned up my face before walking back out in the waiting room. There were too many happy expecing mothers, I didn't want them to worry.
My defense system in my head is rock solid. I protect myself really well from feeling too much pain, stress, worry. It lets enough through that I'm human, but not enough that I am immobilized which is what I would have been had the system failed this particular day. It kicked in and Meghan went blank. Someone else took over and I got that IV, started that pitocin, cussed my way through 2 epidural attempts and thankfully only a few minutes of pushing. Someone else quickly held that baby boy. Looked at him not understanding.
Today, we walked honoring Henry in the March of Dimes, March for Babies. Our team raised WAY more than we expected and for a while I couldn't figure out why we have been so successful. I didn't understand why so many people would care that much about our little team, our little story. But I realized it really isn't a little story. It's likely, hopefully, the biggest story to happen in my life. People might care because they really are the ones saying "to loose their baby, I can't even imagine." Or it might be that it's not about us at all. Maybe they have their own stories. Their own death, heartbreak, struggles with pregnancy and miscarriage, premature birth, NICU stays, Down Syndrome. Maybe it's about them. There are unfortunately too many sorrowful reasons why one would want to help out a cause that strives to make sure every baby is born healthy. No matter who's story it is, no matter why someone is walking on a blustery, cold, early Sunday morning, it's about honor and remembering. For me, I needed to remember those details. To remember the pain. The raw hurt. The wound left open to heal itself that still seeps from time to time.
Our world changed March 26, 2009; but it kept moving on. I need to remember to let myself feel that hurt. Because if I don't, I'm just moving without any recollection of all that happened to get me where I am. Am I healed? No. I'm a damn good faker though, and I might get there one day. But I hope I don't. I hope I carry a little bit of hurt. Because all the photos and weeping cherry trees and "H" paraphernalia around doesn't make me really remember. The hurt does.
And it's haunting. And it's beautiful.
And the cause of my sore elbow this weekend. He is a booger not wanting to be more than 3.5 inches away from my side, but damn if he isn't worth the inflammation in my joints and pain across my forehead he caused. :)
Friday, April 8, 2011
Cross-post . . . 52 on Friday
This is a cross-post from my Meghan Boyer Photography blog. It was exactly what I wanted to write here, on my personal blog, but it fit in to the theme for a project I do each week. Check out the original post here.
Theme: shadows
This is my husband, who is home from the hospital and wearing that content smile as he watches Sam play for the first time in a week here.
Shadows. Shadows can make beautiful images. They also can make beautiful metaphors. I thought a lot about the theme this week. Actually, I do every week. Even with all the thought, I tend to figure out what I'm going to post around midnight on Thursday the night before. In the group, we all like to have our post up by 8am Friday morning. With so many people in a group, organization is key and there are some great people who make sure we all stay on top of the deadlines! ;) So last night, a bit before midnight, I posted my husbands photo and the abridged version of my post and then ran off to wake him up for his midnight IV antibiotics through his PICC line.
I will be the first one to admit that although it's not something I'm proud of or something that was conscious, since my son was born, my husband has slipped partly into the shadows. I used to LOVE to make dinners and we would hang out at night, watch TV or go to the gym or movies together and now at night I am either way too tired to do much of anything or I'm upstairs in my office working alone. I make dinner a few nights a week, relying on leftovers to hold us over so I don't have to do it two nights in a row. I'm sure this is fairly common (I hope!), but even after a year to get back into the swing of things, my priorities haven't gotten back to where they should be. My husband is a bit neglected.
When he injured himself in February in a skiing incident, I was less than thrilled at first. But I came around. After his surgery, complications with an infection put him back in the hospital for a week; and now he has 4-6 weeks of IV antibiotics at home. Ok, I thought. We can do this. What I needed to do, I realized, was pull Phil out of the shadows and focus on him and what he needs. Ice? Check (my man at 7-11 always carries my 3 bags at a time to the car for me since our ice maker is broken). A ride to his Dr. appointment? Check. Forgot his water glass in the kitchen? Check, I'll get it! Patience - at least in dealing with grown-ups - is not my strongest trait, but I was really trying to make it easier not worse for him. I slip here and there since it truly has been really hard for me to have to do 100% of the things that need to be done for Sam, Daisy, Phil, the house, etc., but I really try.
So I pulled him out of the shadows, and my "Shadow", in the form of a 13 month old little giggling maniac, seems to be completely ok with it :). Maybe this is what I needed to remember that I was a wife before I was a mother.
Go on and check out Megan Wold, North Dakota Photographer. Beautiful photos as always! Go on ahead and check them out! And remember, I'll be back to add a bit more.
Theme: shadows
This is my husband, who is home from the hospital and wearing that content smile as he watches Sam play for the first time in a week here.
Shadows. Shadows can make beautiful images. They also can make beautiful metaphors. I thought a lot about the theme this week. Actually, I do every week. Even with all the thought, I tend to figure out what I'm going to post around midnight on Thursday the night before. In the group, we all like to have our post up by 8am Friday morning. With so many people in a group, organization is key and there are some great people who make sure we all stay on top of the deadlines! ;) So last night, a bit before midnight, I posted my husbands photo and the abridged version of my post and then ran off to wake him up for his midnight IV antibiotics through his PICC line.
I will be the first one to admit that although it's not something I'm proud of or something that was conscious, since my son was born, my husband has slipped partly into the shadows. I used to LOVE to make dinners and we would hang out at night, watch TV or go to the gym or movies together and now at night I am either way too tired to do much of anything or I'm upstairs in my office working alone. I make dinner a few nights a week, relying on leftovers to hold us over so I don't have to do it two nights in a row. I'm sure this is fairly common (I hope!), but even after a year to get back into the swing of things, my priorities haven't gotten back to where they should be. My husband is a bit neglected.
When he injured himself in February in a skiing incident, I was less than thrilled at first. But I came around. After his surgery, complications with an infection put him back in the hospital for a week; and now he has 4-6 weeks of IV antibiotics at home. Ok, I thought. We can do this. What I needed to do, I realized, was pull Phil out of the shadows and focus on him and what he needs. Ice? Check (my man at 7-11 always carries my 3 bags at a time to the car for me since our ice maker is broken). A ride to his Dr. appointment? Check. Forgot his water glass in the kitchen? Check, I'll get it! Patience - at least in dealing with grown-ups - is not my strongest trait, but I was really trying to make it easier not worse for him. I slip here and there since it truly has been really hard for me to have to do 100% of the things that need to be done for Sam, Daisy, Phil, the house, etc., but I really try.
So I pulled him out of the shadows, and my "Shadow", in the form of a 13 month old little giggling maniac, seems to be completely ok with it :). Maybe this is what I needed to remember that I was a wife before I was a mother.
Go on and check out Megan Wold, North Dakota Photographer. Beautiful photos as always! Go on ahead and check them out! And remember, I'll be back to add a bit more.
Sunday, April 3, 2011
Nurse Meghan?
I wanted to be many things throughout my life. A writer, a race car driver, a body builder, a business owner, a photographer, a teacher, a nurse, a hair stylist. Some of the desired occupations were more realistic than others, but I'm proud to say that I can cross some of these things off, and a few more in the not too distant future (fingers crossed). I will likely never be a professional race car driver or body builder, but I used to drive my mini Cooper around like I was and felt like I was a body builder when I would lift more than all the women and men in my body pump classes. I recently became a hair stylist because of Sam. His hair is so thick and I will at some point need to take him to a real stylist but for now I can handle it; just don't look too closely.
And now, I am a nurse. Phil is home from his 1 week vacation at chez Johns Hopkins Hospital, and still needs IV antibiotics for possibly 6 weeks. The home health nurse was here for over an hour Friday getting us situated and giving us a quick course in PICC line use. While it was tough when she was here because I had to wrestle Sam and Daisy away from the IV pole and boxes of medical supplies, I actually enjoy giving Phil his meds. I think syringes are kind of fun (these don't have needles, don't worry!). He has to have them 4 times a day, so 6am, noon, 6pm, and midnight. Phil is able to administer them on his own, but I like doing it too when I can.
It's not all excitement about this huge adjustment - for either of us. With this PICC in his inner bicep, phil isn't allowed to lift more than 5 lbs with that arm. Meaning, he can't pick up Sam. This is upsetting and hard for both of us. Obviously after being away from Sam for so long, the first thing he wanted to do was grab him, pick him up, and hold on tight. I know I couldn't go that long without picking him up. There's just no way. What's hard for me is I probably can't get out of the house without Sam, which means I'm held a bit captive as well.
I can't help but have the thoughts that nag so much it makes my head hurt. The thoughts that do absolutely NO good. The heavy negative thoughts. The self-pity thoughts. The thoughts that act as a big waste of time and energy. And I want to acknowledge them, ever so briefly, because the sooner I acknowledge them, the sooner I can give them the boot. So . . . for real, what the hell? I stopped believing in Luck a long time ago, thinking its a ridiculous thing that has no merit in my opinion. And I must say, it's a damn good thing I did because if I did believe in Luck, I would start to think that the Boyer "Luck" was more of a curse. I was trying to think about the unlucky things that have happened to my other friends and family and probably because I got stuck in the foggy, selfish place where only my problems exist, I had a hard time thinking of anything, at least recently. I'm not really that self absorbed to truely think that no bad things happen to anyone else. Thats ridiculous. It's just when you get knocked sideways so many times in a short period of time, you start to have blurred vision. But what does stand out through the fog, is the idea that we might have something to do with it all. If there is such a thing as Luck, can we do anything to change it's fate??
I've been thinking about this for over a week now, and I've got nothin'. No answer. No brilliant epiphany. Nada. So the only thing I can change, I will. I can't control Luck, that sneaky bastard, but I can control how I think and react. And I'm doing my best to laugh, and laugh hard, in the face of Luck. Maybe if I smile at it more, it will print those magic numbers on that little white ticket the nice lady at Smitty's liquor store hands to Phil once a week. I mean, if there is such a thing as bad Luck, there has to be some good Luck out there. Right?
One thing Luck did for us was give us such a sweet boy. He's a love bug, just walking around making the "ahAAah" sound (I don't know how to spell it, but trust me it's a cute one, I call it the "i love you" sound) and snuggling with whatever is closest. Usually it's Daisy, who he loves so very much, sometimes he will just stop what he is doing and put his head on my leg and make that sound. He always rubs Snoop on his cheek making that sound. Today he even leaned his head against the TV and made the sound, must have been something good on. ;)
Sam sure was excited to snuggle and "ahAAah"with his Daddy on Saturday morning. He even shared some Snoop Dogg love and his favorite lens cap of the day.
And now, I am a nurse. Phil is home from his 1 week vacation at chez Johns Hopkins Hospital, and still needs IV antibiotics for possibly 6 weeks. The home health nurse was here for over an hour Friday getting us situated and giving us a quick course in PICC line use. While it was tough when she was here because I had to wrestle Sam and Daisy away from the IV pole and boxes of medical supplies, I actually enjoy giving Phil his meds. I think syringes are kind of fun (these don't have needles, don't worry!). He has to have them 4 times a day, so 6am, noon, 6pm, and midnight. Phil is able to administer them on his own, but I like doing it too when I can.
It's not all excitement about this huge adjustment - for either of us. With this PICC in his inner bicep, phil isn't allowed to lift more than 5 lbs with that arm. Meaning, he can't pick up Sam. This is upsetting and hard for both of us. Obviously after being away from Sam for so long, the first thing he wanted to do was grab him, pick him up, and hold on tight. I know I couldn't go that long without picking him up. There's just no way. What's hard for me is I probably can't get out of the house without Sam, which means I'm held a bit captive as well.
I can't help but have the thoughts that nag so much it makes my head hurt. The thoughts that do absolutely NO good. The heavy negative thoughts. The self-pity thoughts. The thoughts that act as a big waste of time and energy. And I want to acknowledge them, ever so briefly, because the sooner I acknowledge them, the sooner I can give them the boot. So . . . for real, what the hell? I stopped believing in Luck a long time ago, thinking its a ridiculous thing that has no merit in my opinion. And I must say, it's a damn good thing I did because if I did believe in Luck, I would start to think that the Boyer "Luck" was more of a curse. I was trying to think about the unlucky things that have happened to my other friends and family and probably because I got stuck in the foggy, selfish place where only my problems exist, I had a hard time thinking of anything, at least recently. I'm not really that self absorbed to truely think that no bad things happen to anyone else. Thats ridiculous. It's just when you get knocked sideways so many times in a short period of time, you start to have blurred vision. But what does stand out through the fog, is the idea that we might have something to do with it all. If there is such a thing as Luck, can we do anything to change it's fate??
I've been thinking about this for over a week now, and I've got nothin'. No answer. No brilliant epiphany. Nada. So the only thing I can change, I will. I can't control Luck, that sneaky bastard, but I can control how I think and react. And I'm doing my best to laugh, and laugh hard, in the face of Luck. Maybe if I smile at it more, it will print those magic numbers on that little white ticket the nice lady at Smitty's liquor store hands to Phil once a week. I mean, if there is such a thing as bad Luck, there has to be some good Luck out there. Right?
One thing Luck did for us was give us such a sweet boy. He's a love bug, just walking around making the "ahAAah" sound (I don't know how to spell it, but trust me it's a cute one, I call it the "i love you" sound) and snuggling with whatever is closest. Usually it's Daisy, who he loves so very much, sometimes he will just stop what he is doing and put his head on my leg and make that sound. He always rubs Snoop on his cheek making that sound. Today he even leaned his head against the TV and made the sound, must have been something good on. ;)
Sam sure was excited to snuggle and "ahAAah"with his Daddy on Saturday morning. He even shared some Snoop Dogg love and his favorite lens cap of the day.
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