We've waited so long. {Written January 19th,2012}

He is officially here. 

Safe, healthy, and more handsome than my mind ever could have imagined. Today he is eight days old. And tonight, I am having a hard time with that. Eight days old. I look at him, this tiny helpless little person and remember what it was like to have to say goodbye after only eight short days. I cannot imagine telling him, how much I love him, and that I promise I will see him again. How did I do that once before? How was I ever able to let go of a little person I loved and still love so very much?

I want a pause button. These past eight days have gone more quickly than I remember Savannah's time with us going. Maybe that was a gift to us? Feeling like time was suspended during those eight days so we felt like we were given a lot longer. I don't want my time to go so quickly. I already know I am not ready. I was not ready for him to be a week old. I am not ready for him to be one month old. I want nothing more than an opportunity just to push pause. I want to cherish this moment of him being so tiny and fresh to my world as I process everything he is and everything he means to me.

He does not look much like Savannah. And I am perfectly fine with that. He does though, look like his older brother Brody. The night he was born and filled his perfectly formed lungs with beautiful scream worthy air, I knew that it wasn't just Davis. A piece of Savannah came back with him. Now I don't ever want to sound like Davis will always live in the shadows of his big sister. Because he won't. And he isn't. He is loved for just who he is. But he is much more than that. He was the first, and only person who fit right in the empty wounded spots of my arms.

I anticipated January 9th, for my little one's birthday. My body naturally desires to give birth at 36weeks, and I didn't expect any different from the way this pregnancy seemed to go. January 9th, not only marked 36weeks, it was also the full moon (say what you want) and it was my birthday! I fully expected to have the best gift for my birthday! That morning I had my weekly non stress test at the hospital. The night before the contractions were fairly regular but not painful enough to where I felt the needed to go in. Now if you know me, regular contractions are not cause for alarm in my case, and even the ob nurses knew that was the case. I went to bed that night, knowing I had an appointment first thing in the morning and I would wait it out until then.

Once I got to the hospital the following morning, and was hooked up to the monitors, sure enough the contractions were regular, every four minutes. The nurses all laughed being I had bonded with many of them, and knowing that I had predicted a birthday baby. After the 20minutes of monitoring, and making me drink a sugary drink to get Davis to move and groove like he usually did, the nurse called the on call doctor. My doctor was out of town for the holidays all the way in Europe. The on call doctor, also the doctor who delivered my Michael, said that being I was 36weeks, he would not give me anything to speed labor along, but suggested I walk. The nurse assumed it was getting close since Davis, our usual A+ non stress test achiever, had slowed down a lot.

By the time I made it home, the contractions were stronger and getting closer together. My mom brought over my birthday gifts, and took me to the park for a walk. Considering we took her one year old terrier, it was more like a slow jog. And by the time we made it back to the car, I could hardly sit down.My husband had dinner and a movie plans for my birthday, and in not wanting to ruin the few and far between chances to be alone with all of his attention, we proceeded with the plans. I indulged with a vanilla Italian soda, at a quaint Italian restaurant, where the contractions stayed close by. Afterwards we went back to the park in hopes that another walk would be just what was needed, but the contractions remained the same so we drove over to the movie theater. With not much of a selection, and knowing my husband was interested, we sat down to see "War Horse." Before the previews even had a chance to begin, I said, "maybe we should go." Because just in sitting down to watch a movie the contractions got much more intense. My husband, said "lets just wait and if you need to go we will." Me being cheap "frugal," I hated the thought of watching 15minutes of a movie only to have to leave and not be refunded our money. Haha! So knowing my husband really didn't want to leave, I endured all 146minutes in pain.

YES, 

I AM THAT LABORING PREGNANT PERSON IN THE MOVIES.

As we walked out the doors I said, "okay time to call the hospital." And we went straight there. I was checked only to find that I was dilated to two centimeters. Exactly what I had been dilated to, two weeks prior. The contractions were two to four minutes apart, so they planned on monitoring me for an hour, and check me again... 

One hour later: 2cm. No change.
I was being sent home... In pain.

On the way home, I cried. So much had taken place during this pregnancy, and it seemed like hospital stays and hospital visits were a permanent part of my future. (Pregnancy has a tendency to be a little irrational.) I tried my best to sleep through the contractions, but by six in the morning, I sat up mulling over the fact that I could very possibly continue contracting for another four weeks. At eight, when I heard my husbands alarm go off, I was discouraged to find out he had every intention on still going to work. After he left, I continued to clean up the house before I headed to my mom's to pick up the kids. (They had stayed there the night before.) My mom suggested we go on another walk, and I was all for it if there was even the slightest possibility real labor would be imminent.

We walked around her subdivision, which was what felt like a ten mile hike, since it consisted of a pregnant waddling whale, a hyper puppy, and three kids on bicycles. By the time we made it home, Koady was back from work already, and the kids went to Zumba on the WII. I figured I'd go home and talk to Koady and probably call the hospital back. It just didn't seem normal for someone to be in that much pain, and not be "in labor." I walked through the door and told him he should probably submit his paperwork for the day, just in case they told us to come back in to labor and delivery. Not too long afterwards, there was a tell tale sign that we needed to get to the hospital to be checked out. (I'll spare the gory details.) On the drive there, I knew I had to be in labor. Heck, if you saw how I ever so slowly waddled my way into the hospital, you would have known I was in labor too.

4-5cm. I was admitted. 

We we're finally going to meet our little boy.

The night nurse came on, and was so supportive to my desire to have a natural birth. It was 4:45pm January 10th, and I guessed I would have him before 10:00pm. Koady guessed 2:17am. The nurse brought in a birthing ball, which is more commonly known as an exercise ball. I walked, bounced, rocked, stood, and laughed. Yes, you can ask the doctor who sat on the edge of my bed, I was still smiling up until I pushed him out! (With no pain meds what so ever! Yay me!) We laughed hysterically after I referred to "pushing" as "the burning ring of fire." And as I bounced on the ball, my husband put on Johnny Cash's "burning ring of fire." We were creating enough of a commotion to bring the nurse in to see what was so funny. (For anyone who has experienced natural childbirth, the song is quite ironic, and dedicated to you.)

Not too long after being dilated to 4-5, I was dilated to 6cm. And I was six.... And six.... And six again.... No matter what I tried I was stuck at six. And since the doctor still wouldn't help anything along, it was up to me. In the beginning he said that if my labor did for some reason just stop (because I guess that can happen) he would probably send me home. As the night continued and we passed by my 10:00 prediction, by 1:30am, I was beginning to become discouraged. The birthing ball seemed to be calming my contractions. Still 6cm dilated, my contractions were beginning to span to 6-7minutes apart, and everyone was tired and falling asleep on me. I began to cry. "They just need to discharge me. They need to send me home. I'm stuck at 6cm, and my contractions are going away. All of this pain is for nothing. I just want to go home!" (Didn't you know that pitty parties are all the rage during labor? Especially pitty parties wanting to be sent home?)

Almost as soon as my sobbing stopped, wham! Three contractions in a row, that we're unbearable. Thinking I was going to be laboring for the next 24weeks, I said, "go get the nurse I think I need an epidural!" My mom went out into the hall, and said she knew something was happening because she could hear me breathing outside of my room. I don't even know how you can hear someone breathing, and I honestly don't have any idea what I sounded like, just as long as I didn't sound like the dying moose in the room next to us. The nurse came in and asked, "you want an epidural?... I think I need to check you." I was 7-8cm, and she went to call the doctor. As she came back she informed me that I needed to go through an entire bag of saline drip before they could give me an epidural. (I hadn't been on an IV at all.) My exact words were, "I guess its worth a shot." Not too long after they started the IV, the doctor came in. He was half asleep and literally must have rolled out of bed and come to the hospital because he had the ever glamorous bed hair! :)

The nurse asked him, "does she have time for an epidural?" He looked at me like I had lost my marbles and said, "AT EIGHT CENTIMETERS? NO! You still have thirty minutes for your IV, 15minutes for him to get here, and 15minutes for him to give it to you. Your looking at 3am!" I sadly acknowledged my fate, and the doctor got his scrubs on while the nurses set up the room. In between contractions I muttered, "oh I'm so scared of crowning!" But the nurse was still so encouraging. "You're almost done, your baby will be here so soon." The contractions at this point were about five minutes apart, which they said was very good for relaxation of me and the baby. I said, "everyone take note, my pain is at a ten and I am still smiling." During some of the last few contractions I remember grabbing the handrails and yelling, "stupid epidural guy!" His ears probably burned that night; wherever he was...

The doctor sat on the edge of the bed waiting for the fully dilated mark, nodding off during contractions. He checked me once more and I told him, "I don't know what hurts worse the contractions or your fingers!!" I was 9cm, and the doctor told me I could probably push through the last centimeter. He told me, "with the next contraction, go ahead and push." I replied, "WITH YOUR FINGERS IN THERE!?" Still dozing, he gave a slight nod, with a easy going, "yes." I gave a good push, and we decided to wait until I was fully dilated. So as we sat anxiously waiting, the doctor held his gooey gloved fingers over his pants with his eyes closed. Koady and my mom watched as his fingers dripped onto his pants, yet no one wanted to disturb his slumbers to point out the mess that was dribbling onto his scrubs. He cracked his eyes open enough finally to very casually flick the next glop back around his fingers.My mom, casually laughed and said, "looks like brass knuckles!" And finally it was time to push. One. Baby moved down, head right there. Two. Head out, sharp scream. Three, shoulders and baby came out, and I lunged back on the bed, smacking my head into the head board that I was COMPLETELY unaware hospital beds had until that very moment. The nurse said, "op, we've got a jumper!" And in three pushes he was out.

They had asked me if I wanted him laid on my chest. I said yes, only if it was okay to do so. In his first moments he squeaked. That same tiny squeak Savannah made. The only sound she made. And though it was only a moment, it felt like minutes went by before he cried. The most beautiful cry I ever remember hearing after giving birth. A cry I've waited a very long time to hear. And they laid him into the crook of my arm, and I stared at him. Speechless. Everyone began talking about him. But it was literally as though someone took away my ability to talk. I couldn't process "what he looked like," or "how long his fingers and toes were." All I could process was my overwhelming love for him in just those first few minutes. All I could think about was my little girl who I missed out on all of those glorious traditional milestones with. And then, they whisked him away to the warmer to be checked. I could not see him, but I studied the looks on the respiratory therapist, and the nurses face, for any signs that "he was not okay." I watched for any look of concern. Stress. Uncertainty. I held my breath every time they held the tiny stethoscope up to his chest.

And then something amazing happened. They gave him back to me. There was no reason they couldn't. His temperature was a little low, and for that they laid him on my chest, where I was told he needed to stay all night. There wasn't any place in the world I would rather him stay.

We didn't wait nine months for Davis to become a part of our lives. We waited nine months for Savannah. We waited another eight months to conceive. Finally a very tragic and long 26months became a reality, as he stared back into my eyes. And now, I want nothing more than to savor every blessed moment I have with him. This little boy has been healing. Yet he has pulled greatly at my heartstrings over and over again. I cannot begin to explain the love you feel for children once you have lost one. But it is one of the most overwhelming, and breath taking emotions a mother could ever experience. I cannot imagine my life without this baby boy in only eight short days, just as I can't imagine life without Savannah in only her eight short days...

Davis Emmett

January 11th, 2012

2:33am

6lbs 2oz.

19.7inches

Blessings amungst Pain.

Yesterday was not hard at all. Believe it or not. There was a brief moment of overwhelming tears, but I describe them as "happy tears" rather than sad ones. We recieved our "Savannah Bear," made by "Molly Bears." I have mentioned Molly Bears once already in my blog, but let me refresh your memory. After recieving my bear, I can assure you they are worth a second introduction. SO worth it. It is a group of amazing women who make weighted bears for the baby whom passed away. Its a chance for mother's to get to feel their babies weight in their arms. -Sigh-
Let me tell you, it isn't the fact that every bear they make is the one and only, or that they include little memories of your baby on the bears. It's the weight. I cut through the box yesterday and the purple fur peeked back at me. My bear was smiling. Oh how I had wished that I would recieve a smiling bear. And then I lifted all 6lbs. 2oz. out of that box. And a wave of emotion blasted through me. Wow. Had she really felt this heavy? I asked my mom if she wanted to hold her. As I laid the bear in my mom's arms instant tears overcame her as well, and she buried her face in the neck of our Savannah Bear.

So yes,

it's the weight.

We spent time yesterday afternoon at her gravesite. Making it as special as can be for we know Savannah looks down from heaven and see's the people who care enough to visit her grave. Without saying a word, Koady's heart was crying the same things mine was. There I was knees buried into the grass, as I brushed away dry grass that had blown onto her headstone from the weed eater. 

Here we were. Yet again, probably our millionth time at her burial site, on her birthday, and we were the first and only visitors to her site. Her blue granite, dusty and deserted, was finally gleaming back it's beauty because her mommy, daddy, brothers, sister, and grandma, were the only ones who cared enough to go. We left Savannah's earthly resting place far from dusty and deserted. 

We were thought of all day yesterday, as people remembered our girl. I've grown so much through the past year, and have learned that even one year later, there will still be things people say that hurt. That people don't stop to think about how we may percieve them. And I am finally capable of saying "that's okay." Yes it may still hurt. Yes they still make me cry. But it's okay. Because no matter the things people say to comfort themselves, I know that Savannah is Koady's... And Savannah is mine. And people can believe what they want to believe, for it isn't going to change who she really belongs to. And till Koady and I can be with her again, she belongs to God. She always has. And she will remain in HIS arms, until she can be placed in the only arms she rightfully belongs in...

Yesterday morning, I had the pleasure of having a doctors appointment scheduled. On the day we remembered Savannah's arrival for her short visit, I got to hear the beautiful sound of our new babies heartbeat. Still in the 170's, and as quickly as his or her heartbeat was galloping, mine was beating just as fast. It was just what I needed yesterday. A reminder that though Savannah is no longer here with us, we are still awaiting yet another treasure in our lives. Our Hope.

And on that note, have I mentioned we have a new girls name? It is much more fitting...

Victoria Hope

Boy's name? Yeah we are in the process of changing that too! And all we've got for now?

Davis

{First name.}

I suggested Koady for the middle name, but the other Koady, doesn't like that too much. So readers, what do YOU think, his middle name should be?

Annnd, do you guess PINK or do you guess BLUE?

{Enter your guess in the poll on the top right side!!!}

Another blogger did this comparison and I thought

it was a great idea...

:::So here is what you have to go off of:::

SARAH:

Carried: High

Craved: Lemons

Heartbeat: 160-170bpm

Didn't look FAT at all.

MICHAEL:

Carried LOOOW

Craved: Ribs and Corn on the Cob

(EVERY night!)

Heartbeat: 120-130 bpm

Looked FAT FAT FAT.

BRODY:

Carried: LOOOW

Craved: Apples

Heartbeat: 130-140 bpm

LOOKED FAT FAT FAT.

SAVANNAH:

Carried: High

Craved: Sour Punch Straws and Cherry Slurpies

{Not the best choices huh?}

Heartbeat: 160-175 bpm

Didn't look too FAT.

 BABY TO BE:

Craving: Lemons.

{I actually sqeezed lemons on my stuffed shells last night.}

Heartbeat: 170 bpm

Can't judge my fatness or how I am carrying yet.

Hmmm...

HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO YOU.

Well Savannah,

We made it. Twelve months have come and gone since they day we met you, and we met your tragedy. And though yes, your condition was a tragedy, your life was anything but. In the past twelve months, I have learned more about life than I have gained on my own. I have learned that though living without you is hard, some days seems unbearable, your mommies heart keeps beating. No matter what I always take in another breath of air. I, along with many other mommies out there, have proven that even when trials seem unbearable, we live through them.

This past year has gone faster than I could have ever imagined. I still receive emails updating me on your current development. Could you possibly be walking already if you were here? This we will never know.

I think of today my sweet little one, as a sigh of relief kind of day. I've learned what the years are going to be like without you here in my arms. I've smiled through the holidays as my heart was breaking, and now today I know what it feels like to look back at your birth. A few nights ago when we celebrated at your party, it was different than today. Today is a day of remembrance. A day of reflection. I remember those final moments of Savannah and mommy. I remember the last few hours of your wiggles and movements. And as vivid as if I were in that day all over, I remember your entrance into the world.

I remember how quickly you were delivered. How PERFECT and beautiful you were. You are. And then the deep purple you turned when you weren't able to take the breath you needed to sustain your precious life. In an instant, you were destined for so much.

The past year, you haven't only changed mommy and daddies life, but you Savannah, were like a tiny ripple in the still waters. And your life, and your love reached out and touched many. Those we know, and those we don't. Your daddy and I are so very blessed to be able to call you ours.

I love you little one. Years will never change this. And I hope, no matter what, you know just how strong that love really is.

Always yours,
Always,

-Mommy

A different life.

Let me tell you a story. A story from only one year ago on this day. There was a pregnant young women, expecting a healthy baby. She sat surrounded by family and friends at a baby shower. She was ignorant. She was naive. She believed when a doctor tells you everything is just fine, everything was fool proof.
She took pictures of her big thirty six week belly. She is smiling in all of these pictures. But what you cannot see in those pictures is pain behind that smile. Because this was a time before there was a sorrow in every smile. Captured in every picture. This was a time that babies didn't just die. One year ago today, this women lived in a better world. A world that infant death, and birth defects were cliche. A world before this became her world.
This women in those last twenty four hours, never dreamed she would and could plan a funeral. She never dreamed of delivering that baby, that she would never hold in her arms, unless cradled one last time on a pillow. It was her very last day, in the real world. Before she entered a new world. A world separate from everyone else.
Separate from the people without heartache behind their smiles. Separate from the unknowing nature of everyone who doesn't "get it." Separate from the ones who give grief a time limit. And although we are separated from the ones who keep their babies, there are many of us here. Through the past year, my husband and I realize that though we have to go through this alone, we are never truly alone. There will always be those like us. That having been down this dark journey, our grief, our loss, is important. As the weeks followed today one year ago, some in "the other world" went back to their daily lives. They got busy. They couldn't find time to call, or come by. They showed that they really didn't care. And why would they?
Such as sad situation. The death of anyone, let alone an infant. A mere eight days old. But it wasn't theirs. So when the clouds lifted and she was placed in the ground, I can't help but think people must think the clouds have lifted from the parents as well.
At first, as a new comer to this new place, I was hurt. But then as I ventured out and met other lovely women who also have the stories of life before and life after I realized that those are the women who don't put a expiration date on grief. Those are the ladies who will remember and speak our Savannah's name long after she is gone. They are the ones who will forever say, "how are you?" They are the women who see past the smiles in the pictures and know when you are filling up with tears. I hope I can always return the favor to each of you. When those days arise, which I know they always do, and you feel like no one cares, I can say, "Thinking of you and your angel."
Though a year ago today, I was a different person, I have found wonderment in this new place we call home. That is the mommies who walk this path with me, and their babies and the stories they have left on my heart.
Two nights ago, I planned something else I never dreamed I would be doing one year ago today. Celebrating Savannah's first birthday in Heaven. It was small, but intimate and beautiful. I am sure she looked down on us with her heart full of love and many friends at her own birthday celebration. We love you Savannah. One more day, and you will be One...

 {Her Beautiful Cake.}

In the rear view mirrors.

The further we get from August, brings us closer to August once more. I haven't written much lately. I haven't really known what to say. There are times that I can't express through words what my heart is saying.

birth day/ noun

The annual anniversary of the day on which a person was born.

It isn't the same anymore. Yes, it's an annual occurrence. But how can you describe the day a baby was born, who never got to see a birth day. A baby who never got to know what life was from the day of their birth? I don't think you can describe that. Yes, the day they were born. But a day that sets the journey for the rest of your life as well. But in a different way. 

I will always be grateful for my opportunity to know, and love my Savannah. I know Koady wouldn't disagree with  that either. But it is a hard life for those that spend the rest of our lives, without that one. The one who really makes you who you are. The one who never got to be, yours.

A friend recently told me, I deal with the death of Savannah, in some similar ways to a man. How a man deals with mortality. I told her, I love seeing Savannah's pictures on the walls of my house. But at the same time, it still hurts to walk past her pretty face everyday. To see what a beautiful creation she was, and know I will not get to see her physical face again for a long time. Photographs are frozen moments in time. But a time that we will never ever get to get back. We will never have her back again. 

As her birthday approaches, I feel so much  resurfacing from last years events. And it makes me angry once more. Not angry at saying goodbye. Not angry in the outcome. Angry that my life has continued for almost one year without her. A parents life is supposed to end long before their child's. And the burden of staying? That burden hurts far worse than anything someone could ever imagine. I wake up everyday to continue on in a life that shouldn't be without her in it. My life is lived with a void. I listen to people complain about so many things. Things that I wish more than anything I could take on as my own. Please trade me your life. Please trade me your problems. I will take all of them if it means I can have my baby back. I don't want to helplessly look for reminders of her. I don't want to share her soul with others. This is how I described it a few nights ago... as hot tears uncontrollably soaked my cheeks through desperate sobs of an empty mother's life...

"Everyone tells me about Savannah being with them.

Here's what hurts me with that. I know it's true.

I know that Savannah understands more than I will ever know in my life.

But there are times that I wish people understood that

I DON'T WANT TO SHARE HER.

It never got to be just mommy and Savannah.

In the quiet of the world.

I want to be holding her in MY arms, and if someone

else is thinking of her somewhere else in the world,
she is looking up at ME.

And her world rises and sets on her mommy.

That in that moment, she isn't with EVERYONE.

In that moment no one else in the world matters

because she is gazing into her mommy's eyes,

and her mommy is gazing right back into hers...

I never got that.

And I want it back.

I want her to be MINE.

And it will never be like that now."

It's my life now. Almost one year later, it's still my life. No matter how badly I don't want to live without her, it will always be my life. On my birthday's... and hers. One year of grief, and it probably will never be easier without them.

The ones who bring us up.

Even though I feel like there's nothing to say, I feel as though I have nothing else to do. Literally. Although I am still very much pregnant, and things are very much okay, I've been sentenced to temporary bedrest. "Take it easy.--Put your feet up.--Relax." All of these things, every mother dreams of. But when it comes down to it, it isn't as luxurious as it sounds. It is actually pure torture. I've spent as much one on one time with my couch that I ever wanted to, particularly at the beginning of summer.

After my emergency room visit on Sunday, I had my first follow up appointment Tuesday. It didn't start exactly as I had planned it would. My doctor is planning on leaving her practice. Thirty years of nurturing babies into the world, and my doctor was finishing up her days.
I knew that this meant she was not going to be there. She was not going to be the one. She was not going to cherish the moment that I hold the baby I've longed for.

Dr. Thomas Perry has taken over my prenatal care. I am currently going to to Mercy Maternity Center, so I can be seen regularly by the UC Davis Perinatologist, and she can schedule me a level 2 ultrasound at UC Davis to check for any possible problem this baby could possibly have.

At first I was not thrilled at the idea of just being seen at the Maternity Center associated with the hospital. During my follow up appointment, Dr. Perry discussed many things that comforted my mind. Based on my last menstrual period, the doctor said I was supposed to be 6 weeks, 4 days pregnant. But I continued to stress that I do not have 28day cycles. Usually more between 33-35.
He assured me that Sunday at the ER, my beta levels {or HCG/pregnancy hormones} were 6,958mlu. Which were again, perfect for where they were supposed to be. He wanted to do more lab work, and schedule yet another ultrasound to check the progress of the baby. He then told me, for things to look positive my beta levels needed to at least double what they were.
I asked many questions, and another 30year OB assured me... assured me...  that subchorionic hemorrhage is extremely common. And he see's them all the time. And since I am sure doctors just love and appreciate google, I asked some of the things I had heard. This kind of bleed reabsorbs into your body, or bleeds out, and the placenta does heal. So when I asked him if this increases the risk of placenta abruption the bigger the baby gets, his exact reaction, was a quaint smile, a kind eye roll, and a "not at all." Right now with the gestational sac being so small, it makes the hemorrhage seem so big in comparison. But as the baby grows, the sac grows, and the placenta grows. Making the clot smaller and smaller and less evasive. Until it eventually is gone. He said the hardest thing about Subchorionic Hemorrhage is that in the beginning, when the placenta attaches, or "implants", and causes the clot behind the placenta, there is a chance that it doesn't deliver proper nutrients to the baby, which can end development.
So another tube of blood was taken, and I sat in the parking lot in my car crying over my new environment, and saying goodbye to my doctor, while my mom listened and tried to comfort me on the phone.

I headed up to the hospital that same afternoon for a "doctors orders" squeezed in appointment. The technician who did my ER ultrasound, greeted me once again, and told me she was surprised to see me so soon because we wouldn't see much change in just two days. But we looked again anyways. Being she wasn't a doctor she isn't at liberty to give any information. I asked her a question about the previous ultrasound she had done. Hesitantly, she asked, what my doctor had told me. So I told her what I knew. She excitedly agreed. I told her as well that I wasn't a typical 28day cycle. She said that makes a big difference in fetal age, and the accuracy on where development stands. She showed me the screen, and said she knew it was just to early to see a heartbeat. If the doctor would wait another week, she would be able to see more.
Wednesday afternoon, my mom came down to join me on my second follow up appointment. My levels had doubled. 13,528mlu. He was pleased and said that my numbers were great. He also showed me the change in just a few days between my two ultrasounds.
I was rescheduled a third ultrasound for Monday June 13th, as well as a repeat blood draw. Which brings me to today. Friday. Still a complete two days, for final answers. A healthy heartbeat. What every doctor needs to see to be comforted in any early pregnancy.

So knowing all odds are in our favor, I find myself anxious for the news. For some news.

Which leads me to an irritable pregnant mood. Maybe it's the couch. Maybe Oscar was such a grouch because he was limited to his garbage can all the time. It's a good theory I think. Bed rest no matter how temporary can lead to insanity.

My Sarah turns seven years old in eight short days. I have exactly 41 people, including every child in her class invited to a party, I can not yet prepare for. My husband celebrates his 28th birthday in only four days. This year, I had plans to go above and beyond for his birthday. But this has limited me to what I had planned. And I don't like it. My husband is my everything, and I want him to know that he was born for me. His birthday is important. Something to be remembered. Something to not be late on. Because if you truly care for someone, you would never be late on their birthday.

He called his mom the other day. I could tell in his voice that after he had talked to her, he seemed happy. He called me afterwards, {Where was I? You got it, the couch...} and told me his mom asked if we were still going camping, and he said no. She asked if she could take us out to dinner for his birthday. As he was telling me this, I said, "I can tell that my hormones are still rising. Because first it happened when all my dear friends left encouragement for me on Facebook before my doctors appointments. The ones who care, are always there for us, not just when it is convenient for them. And it means so much, that your mom can make plans for your birthday when she knows I can't!!!" ::SILENCE:: My husband asked "Are you crying???" ::SNIFF SNIFF:: "Yes!"

So yes... Aside from my irritations. There are so many people who have touched my heart. Through the death of Savannah. Through this pregnancy. You've left congratulations. You've sent positive prayers and wishes. You've offered nothing but encouragement in a angel mommy and daddies worst fear moment. {The danger of loosing yet another baby.} I am a mother who has buried my daughter. I am far from Naive. Babies die. But to offer nothing but encouragement, means alot to me. Because you all know that my mind is already running with the possibilities. The statistics. Right now, love and encouragement is all we need... Thank you to everyone who has been less than selfish through this. You are the ones that matter. (((BIG HUGS FROM MY COUCH TO YOURS!!)))

We will party... like it's your birthday.

Sometimes I wonder if my readers wonder to themselves, "gee is she ever going to stop rambling about that baby? It's almost been seven months." All I can say is, though this was my "Fraser Family Blog" years before Savannah came into our lives, I stepped back and unofficially dedicated this blog to her life for one year. For her 1st birthday I plan on making these blog posts... the ones about her life... into a book. So anytime in the future that I feel like sitting down and "remembering" my journey through saying goodbye, I can. One years worth. So anytime it may seem like I am just recapping on a subject where the story never changes, please realize that I am doing this for me. For my husband. For my children. Because I imagine in ten years, the color visions we have in our minds of August 2010 may be less vivid. They might start to be fading to grey. And when those colors lessen, I know I will always be able to repaint this canvas. Savannah's story will be remembered when we are old... When our children grow up... They can share her story with their spouses, with my grandchildren. Savannah's stories will never be forgotten.

We are approaching the seven month mark. It is surreal. There are not words to describe, what it feels like to know you are over half way through a year without someone. I already find myself dreaming about her 1st birthday in heaven. To mommies who say goodbye to their babies, the first birthday is a big deal.

Yesterday I was talking about plans. I elaborated these plans to my husband. Such big dreams one can dream for the memory of their cherished babies. You could see the heartache in my husband, {the realist's,} eyes. He see's the mother of his deceased baby planning a party for our daughter. He knows in his heart not many would come. He asked me, "you don't really think a lot of people would come do you?"

Our cemetery is very gracious. For fourth of July we get front row seats, {right next to Savannah} for the fireworks. No hassle with parking. No hassle with traffic afterwards. We just pick up a ticket a week or two before hand and on the 4th, we can hand it to them at the gate and come in. Right before... or all afternoon. The lady who helped us pick Savannah's plot, said families bring their barbeque's and have picnics during the day. To some that may not seem desirable. A picnic in the graveyard. To me? There doesn't sound like any place more desirable than the cemetery to have a picnic. Where ALL of our family can be together. In a different way.

So I've been thinking, I'm sure they would let us have a barbeque for Savannah's birthday! If they didn't have a service taking place that day, I bet they would even let us use the canopy. There's invitations that could be sent, and balloons that could be released. But to my husband? All he see's are the family members with serious insecurities over Savannah's death. Her birthday to her mommy is far from awkward... far from uncomfortable. It is MONUMENTAL. It is s day to be celebrated. And it will be celebrated. With a party. Whether people want to (happily) attend, or not. Because I assure you. Tissues will be checked at the gate.

Purple balloons will be released with everyone writing their names, 

and a message (if they'd like) on the outside.

If you live away from us, but hold a piece of

Savannah's heart, when it gets closer to time

I will include all of her dear followers who would like.

365 days.

That's right. I have officially made it through another 365 days and embark on another new age as of 7:43am this morning. I have a dear friend, whom I met through my loss of Savannah. She too also lost a tiny person, precious to her soul. This friend, assures me that I don't look my actual age. She truly believes in her heart of hearts that I was "actually" thrity two years old. Thanks Stacey, I am not really sure if that is a complement. Heaven help me when it IS my thirty third birthday...

Most people love their birthdays. I am not much of a celebrator. I acknowledge that as you get older, in your thirty's to be exact, birthday's become less important to you and those around you. Being a grown up entails, a phone call, a few happy birthday's here and there, some cards, maybe a few gifts, but the thoughts stop there. And that is okay by me. Especially this year... Because today cuts like a knife. 365 days ago today, Savannah "officially" became apart of our lives. There will NEVER be a birthday present that lives up to the gift of her life developing and growing inside of me.

Today I am making *24* birthday wishes,

in spirit of the *33* candles Stacey would put on a cake for me.

*Blow* #1

I wish for a bright and vibrant New Year.

*Blow* #2

I wish for a vacation for my favorite person and I.

*Blow* #3

I wish for a healthy baby boy or girl.

*Blow* #4

I wish for happiness for my friends and family

struggling through rough times right now.

(You know who you are...)

*Blow* #5

I wish for an opportunity to go on a Mission trip.

*Blow* #6

I wish I could look into

Savannah's eyes one last time.

*Blow* #7

I wish we will eventually get the Great Dane

puppy we have talked about sometime in the future.

*Blow* #8

I wish for more patience and understanding

through each of my days.

*Blow* #9

I wish I didn't let people hurt me as

often as I do.

*Blow* #10

I wish I didn't have to pack up Savannah's room.

*Blow* #11

I wish people weren't heartless &

I didn't have to worry about things

being stolen from Savannah's gravesite.

(In case you missed that, it happend.)

*Blow* #12

I wish for more date nights with my husband.

*Blow* #13

I wish for happiness and joy for my three

living little ones.

*Blow* #14

I wish for a enjoyable trip to Hawaii that my husband

has planned for us later this coming year!

*Blow* #15

I wish for doing more outdoorsy things with my husband.

Because he REALLY wants to with me! (Heehee)

*Blow* #16

I wish I would go get my California Driver's License.

We haven't lived in Kentrucky since 2007.

And I am still driving with an "Unbridled Spirit."

HAHA!!!

(That's just pure laziness there.)

*Blow* #17

I wish for new couches, coffee table, and end tables.

(Shallow I know.)

*Blow* #18

I wish to read "The Love Dare,"

and complete all of the daily gestures

on my wonderful husband.

(I Love Fireproof)

*Blow* #19

I wish to create a new "nursery."

With all of my heart, since my heart just wasn't

in it with Savannah, and now we know why.

*Blow* #20

I wish to volunteer in Church more.

*Blow* #21

I wish to remember to kiss my husband more,

and say "I love you" often.

*Blow* #22

I wish we didn't live in a two story house.

We are already outgrowing this space.

Single story, two car garage, LARGE backyard,

1600-1700 square feet would be better than 1300...

*Blow* #23

I wish I could convince my husband that Mini Vans

were the bees knees.

Or maybe a New Toyota Sequioa?

Obviously gas mileage isn't an issue with our

guzzler now!

*Blow* #24

Did I mention I wish it wasn't my birthday?

*Bloooow*

(#25-33)

I wish that my life was exactly how it is now.

Cheer's to thirty.

I hear it's "flirty, & thriving."

One step at a time.

I was a New Year's baby. Stubborn from the very beginning. January 9th. My birthday is upon us in five short days. This year, I take a step back and think of everything I have accomplished, and those I haven't yet since God first created me. 

Every person in the world is in denial that something bad could happen to "us." It seems unreal. Seems dream like. I'm sure the day I was born my mother didn't lay in the hospital cradling me thinking to herself, "Look at my beautiful baby. I bet one day she will loose a daughter of her own." We don't think our homes will ever be robbed, our cars will ever be wrecked, our children will ever die from our arms, our dreams will ever shatter. 

But that is just it. We are dreamers. We are humans. We are resilient. Because aside from never thinking "it could happen to us," we are also realists. We have homeowners insurance, car insurance, and life insurance. In event that these things DO happen to us. 

In my life, I made more mistakes than I can possibly account for. I still make mistakes daily. But as my birthday approaches, I look at the great that my life has brought forth to the world. My husband. We acknowledge regularly that we saved each other. We are and have found what many people search lifetimes for. Soulmates. And having married my soulmate, we have created Sarah... Michael... Brody... and of course Savannah. A very important piece of my creation. 

Because even though on the day of my birth my mother didn't lay there thinking, "look at my beautiful baby. I bet one day she will loose a daughter of her own..." God was by her side thinking, "Look at my beautiful baby. One day you will loose a daughter of your very own. I am here for you now. I will be here for you then. Every step of the way, one step at a time. Never loose your faith dear child, for I promise to hold your tears in my hands. The plans I have for your life, will help change the world. You may never understand, but I need your creation, to bring forth big plans."

This year my resolutions are far deeper than in the previous years. For my life was changed in 2010. I was shown a light. Her name was Savannah. And she has set her mommy, daddy, brothers, and sister on some new paths. This year, knowing that life is short and nothing is ever guaranteed, I promise to live. 

One step at a time.

I look at everything good, every tiny ripple that has happened since Savannah passed away. Each one of those moments may have never came to existence if she hadn't altered our world.

A birthday is upon us.

Since Savannah passed, Brody Peyton will be the first birthday I celebrate since August. Now I am not saying I haven't "celebrated" for anyone, there just hasn't been anyone to celebrate close to us.

Till now. December 19th, my not so little guy will turn three years old. 

As a mother, on your children's birthdays you cannot help but think back to their births. Atleast I know I can't. Thinking back to Brody's birth this year, I can't help but think of what a different situation it was from the birth I just recently witnessed.

Five and a half hours, including pushing. Brody was "posterior," or as some call it "sunny side up." I delivered him face up, and it was the first baby I have ever had a hard time pushing out. He came into the world screaming. {Pause.}

Brody Peyton Fraser

December 19th, 2007

1:22pm

6lbs. 5oz.

19.5inches

Alive. Breathing. Screaming.

Another baby born into our arms. Our ignorant parent arms. Ignorant to the fact that in the split second a piece of heaven entered our world, our lives could have changed. In a "not new baby" kind of way. Ignorant to the fact that even though we had an entire nine months of the best possible pre-natal care, took vitamins daily, and had the "everything looks perfect" stamp from an ultrasound technician, our new baby boy whom our lives were wrapped around in that very second could suddenly, very well have been...

not okay. 

As Brody's birthday approaches. I DO find myself thinking back to his day. The very special day when he was welcomed into our arms and hearts forever. The very minute, the very life altering second that he filled his lungs with ever precious, ever delicate life. Don't take this the wrong way because I am not in any way wishing I could substitute one for the other, but what makes Brody so special that he got to stay? Or Sarah... or Michael for that matter...

When actually I should be asking...

What makes Savannah so special,

that she got to go?

Brody I am so thankful

for your healthy, 

living,

life altering,

Birth.

...which was another blessing,
because you were born in a hospital
with NO NICU.
I believe EVERY hospital should have one.
No baby is guaranteed to be "okay."