Only a piece.

I have begun writing this post at least five times now. Its been so long, I almost feel as though I should re-introduce myself to you all. But I wont. So don't worry.
I'm laying on my bed, while my sweet, absolutely adorable three month old, naps in his bassinet next to me. Calm. Quiet. Surrender.

The past three months have gone by so quickly I feel as though I could possibly, and should probably still be pregnant. I am very much not pregnant, and his existence is very much real.

When I've sat down to write my thoughts and feelings, a piece of me struggled with what to say. I've been pushing through a writers block, that might be induced by absolute mental exhaustion, but I battled with the decision on whether or not I should return to the world of complete sentences, unfiltered thoughts, and on occasion misspelled words. (Cause I know I have those from time to time.)

When my blog really began reaching others, I was in the midst of the hardest trial, I'm sure one would ever face in a lifetime. The ones who could relate became my usual and regular readers. Not all mind you, but a vast majority. The death of a child. Those words look bleak even now as I write them. A few days shy of 20months...

I journeyed through my grief, and I overcame raw emotions as I anticipated and welcomed a little boy who will never be, nor could ever take the place of our Savannah.

It has almost been two years, since she left us. And though I'm sure we will always speak of her, and grasp onto the memories we have of her, I am not defined by her. I'm not just the face of infant loss. That is only a tiny pinprick of my story.  

The weather here has been gloomy for five weeks straight now. We are lucky to get a overcast day and reach fifty degree temperatures. I have been cooped inside with all four of my kids, who also are going stir crazy, and daydreaming about springtime romps. Last night in an effort to spring clean minus the "spring" I started shifting through the clutter that is in our garage. And there it sat. A tub full of tiny pink clothes. A tub that is now our once upon a time. I brought it in, and set it down next to my husband. "I think its time that we get rid of this stuff." I popped open the lid, and began sorting through item after item of baby things. Still tagged. Still packaged. My husband told me he was okay with getting rid of her items. We stared some more at the outfits that only held hopes and dreams. He started to say, "I wouldn't tell anyone where they came from," but we both began to cry.

See our life will never be completely "pain free." Because in the end we did loose experience the death of a child. But our life is not consumed with sadness and grief. There is still laughter, and blessings. There is still beauty, and there will always be heartache. And that is precisely as life is supposed to be. I stepped away from the cyber world to remember exactly that. Though I may not talk about Savannah as much, just know she was only a piece of my, "story unfolding." Death is never the end, it is only the beginning. And one day we will all be together again.

Until next time I will leave you in awe of sure cuteness...

Bundled up for our cold spring weather.
Our sweet Davis.

Triggers or Sentiment?

I didn't grow up living in one house. My dad worked his way up through chain of commands through the California Highway Patrol, and each promotion typically meant change for our family. A new home. A new school. New friends. Life as a highway patrol daughter, for me, meant adjusting to change. For the most part, I never really looked at my life differently from anyone else's. It was my normal. I never once thought that life for the time being was unpredictable.

Now my own children have moved throughout their lives. And they have adjusted. Just in the same ways that I did. My father retired as captain shortly after Sarah was born. They have a permanent residence. Grandma and Grandpa's home, has become that predictable permanent place for the grand kids. I dream of eventually having that house my children and my grandchildren call home. Where they know mom and dad's, or grandma and grandpa's hearts will always be. Where our walls are warm with memories and laughter and love are only a visit away.

After Savannah passed away, I acknowledged that our home never actually got to be hers. But I could feel her all around me. One morning after Savannah was gone, the kids asked me to sit in the gym at thier school and watch them during morning stretch. My heart was still broken; frail; fragile in every sense of the words. I knew I had to be a supportive momma. I knew their hearts were still broken; frail; fragile. So I agreed. And I mustered up the smiles any mother who has lost a child knows all too well. Let me try to describe this smile. You smile, knowing you are one moment away from throat burning, lip quivering tears. You feel as though behind that smile you are carrying around ounces of warm salty tears, knowing you have to hide them from the world. It's the most difficult and heartbreaking smile.

I walked Michael and Sarah across the parking lot towards the gym. The nights were beginning to become cooler, and dew glistened on everything. The sky was blue and the morning sun was already hot on our backs ready to heat the brisk feeling in the air. Nothing about these mornings had changed from the weather that greeted us every morning we departed from our room back to the hospital anxious to see our Savannah after a long night away from her.

I sat on the bleachers and Brody nestled into my lap. All of the students and teachers began their day, stretching and exercising to upbeat music to charge their bodies and minds for the day ahead of them. I watched as other mothers laughed, encouraged, and stretched right along with their own little people. None of them had heartache in their eyes. Michael and Sarah smiled and waved at me. My heart shattered into a million pieces. I knew they deserved more. More than I could give them at that very moment. As they stood working their little arms in circular motions, their big brown eyes never far from my face, a song began playing and danced across every inch of that gymnasium. "The house that built me." By Miranda Lambert.

I am a listener. I can't help but dissect a song word for word. The song didn't really pertain to me. A girl going back to her childhood home, just for a small taste of what made her, well her. Just so she could collect all of those memories in her heart and heal whatever heartache she was experiencing at that moment. I looked around at thousands of happy, smiling, eyes. Filled with their childlike innocence. And that was the exact moment I knew I would never get to see Savannah dancing. I knew I would never see her stretch her little arms. I knew her little brown eyes would never scan for her mommy again. I knew Savannah would never just need to come home. Savannah never came home.

And my smile had faded. Brody and I got up, and walked slowly, hand in hand back to the car. And those warm salty tears glistened from my cheeks like the morning dew. I buckled my little man into his carseat. He stared at me in silence. Brody can be so good at acknowledging when no words are needed. I kissed him and climbed into the drivers seat. We sat there a little bit and I reminded myself that everything was alright.

I heard that song today. Almost eighteen months since she stared back into my eyes. It triggered that morning at the kids school. I thought of future Christmases. One day, my kids will bring their husband and wives to my home. We will talk about memories, and create new ones with our grandchildren and son-in-law or daughter-in-laws. But she won't be there. Her husband will be absent. Her beautiful children will be nothing but a dream I had for her, once upon a time. But I will always think of her. I will always think of who they might have been. Savannah has made her permanent residence in heaven. And one day we will reside there with her.

These triggers never seem to leave me. But it's also sentiment. Because for a moment... it brings her back home to me.  

What I would give.

To my Davis Emmett, 

Though you have been apart of my world for a brief time, I want to take a moment to let you know everything you are to me. To try and let you know just how much I wanted you, love you, and would do for you. For now and always, but also for the entire time you were developing inside me. Because I never want to forget. And I never want to take for granted so many times during your pregnancy, we could have lost you. Someday when you think you know everything, you think I am unfair, or you just wish I would leave you alone, I will look to this letter and this exact moment when you are as big as my palm and reliant on me for everything; And I will know that you are my fighter. You have been stronger than me from the very get go. And I would do it all again just to have you. Even when I am "totally uncool" or "embarrassing."  

It's not uncommon or unusual for a women to sacrifice so much emotionally and physically for even the slightest opportunity to be a mother. Over the past few years, it has been a pleasure to me to welcome many amazing women into my life through the death of your big sister. Many of these women lost children in many different ways than I, but in the end we all share the same common ground.  And they have been by my side as we welcomed you. I would never compare to my pregnancies to the uphill battles some of these women faced. 

Except with you little boy. And this is our journey. Just so you know, and I never forget.

May 23rd, 2011 we found out we were expecting you. Our hearts were filled with so much delight, excitement and worry. Almost before we blinked, two weeks later mommy started bleeding. We thought we were going to be saying goodbye to everything we had already dreamed for you. Daddy took me to the emergency room where we discovered another medical diagnosis we never would have known existed otherwise. There was a subchorionic hemorrhage between the uterine wall and the placenta, and the chance of miscarrying you went up greatly. Mommy was devastated and tried her hardest to remain optimistic. I scheduled a doctors appointment right afterwards, and found out my doctor was leaving her practice of thirty years. She recommended the hospitals maternity center for my obstetric care, for the amount of high risk prenatal care available to me there. 

I began having weekly ultrasounds to check your heart beat, growth and size of the hemorrhage. Also at every ultrasound appointment, I had my blood drawn to check my hormone levels. Each week they were going up exactly as they were supposed to. I was on moderate bed rest, and Dr. Perry told me every week that until I was thirteen weeks along, you were not out of the woods yet... No matter how good everything looked. I laid on the couch everyday overcome with worry that your heart would no longer be beating, a strong 170 beats per minute, at my next appointment. I was so afraid I was becoming too attatched to you and you were going to leave us before you ever really "were."

The doctor made plans for us to see the perinatologist from UC Davis Medical Center. She laid out our prenatal plans for everyone else to follow. Due to the blood clot I endured with Michael's pregnancy, she ordered a blood thinner injection.  

Subcutaneous Lovenox Injections 40mg-1xdaily

At 16weeks pregnant, I was to begin progesterone shots in concern for my history of 36week  deliveries, early dilation, and preterm contractions. I began contracting during your pregnancy at 14 weeks. And so as ordered, at 16weeks I began getting weekly injections of progesterone, hoping you would stay put.

Things continued fairly smoothly after we reached the 13week mark, and the hemorrhage absorbed back into my body. Dr. Boe the perinatologist put in an order for a level II ultrasound to be performed also at UC Davis when I was 18 weeks pregnant. My worry and anxiousness finally lifted from the subchorionic hemorrhage to the thought that you could have some kind of congenital abnormality. 

September 6th, 2011 daddy and I drove to Sacramento to see who you were. To see if you were okay. We honestly thought we would driving home, knowing the little girl inside me. Much to our surprise, you were definitely not a little girl. You were a the most perfectly formed little boy, with very healthy organs. A handsome little profile. And ten fingers and ten toes. I longed for a little girl. A little girl to fill the void of the little girl who left so soon. 

Davis you are so much more than a little girl could have ever lived up to. Savannah had your fighting spirit. I see it everyday that I look into your eyes. That same determination for life. Savannah fought for her life on the outside. You fought for yours on the inside. A strength obviously only a boy could obtain.

November 8th, 2011, 27weeks 2days pregnant, after our weekly routine doctors appointment, we were admitted to Mercy Medical Center. Premature rupture of membranes. A nitrazine strip had tested positive, as well as a microscope slide showing ferning for amniotic fluid. I was put on permanent hospital bed rest, meaning no privledges in getting out of bed what so ever. We were given two stereiod shots each given 24hours apart to speed up lung development. We met with one of the NICU nurses in preparation for life with a 27week preemie. But they were taking every measure into their hands to make sure that did not happen. For the next 72hours I was given intravenous fluids and magnesium sulfate. 

Fluids and Magnesium Sulfate

It was and is not any ones idea of a fun medicine to be put on. I slurred when I talked, had lack of control of my eye muscles, felt like my body was burning, and found myself quite flushed and sweaty.

72hours of Magnesium Sulfate.

Grandma took care of your big brothers and sister while we stayed in the hospital. Daddy had to go back to work, since they were doing everything they could to make sure you were not coming. I no longer experienced any leaking, and they could not prove again that my water had broken. It was you and I alone in our little hospital room. In the silence of being alone after everyone would leave, and everything I knew was at stake I'd find myself desperate to be home. To walk away from the medically sustained infant idea, that was all to real and raw. I remembered vividly, the feeling of wanting to open my eyes to only what you hope for as a bad dream. 

After the first 72hours, and for the next week, the nurses brought me 20mg of Nifedipine. (Also commonly referred to as Procardia.) It is more used for cardiac patients as it works to relax all blood vessels so the heart does not have to pump as hard. People with high blood pressure, or chest pains for example. It was not ideal considering mommy struggled more during the pregnancy with low blood pressure. So I was given many side effects to watch for, and during our hospital stayed they monitored my blood pressure regularly. 

We were also given three ultrasounds to check the amount of fluids surrounding you. The first time, the doctors were concerned that the amount of amniotic fluid surrounding you was too high. They began running more tests. They told me that high amounts of fluids can sometimes signify congenital defects. In a instant every fear I had during the pregnancy was a possible reality. I didn't understand how a congenital defect was even remotely possible since we had a level II ultrasound. They also began blood work testing for the human Parvo virus. The test came back negative, and the following two ultrasounds showed normal fluid results. As did all possible congenital abnormalities that they double checked. You were still perfect in every possible aspect.


We finally were sent home, and the premature rupture of membranes were diagnosed as sealed over. Light activity and pelvic rest were ordered until "full term" was reached. Mommy was so happy to walk away from the hospital with her tiny 27week baby still growing and thriving inside. I was happy at the thought of getting to hold you in your first few moments of birth. Getting to take you home, all together. To not see you hooked up to monitors and wires. To not be a "visitor" of the neonatal intensive care unit. To spend Thanksgiving, and Christmas at home with all four of my babies. 

250mg Hydroxyprogesterone Injection 1weekly
10mg Nifedipine, every 4hours

I was discharged with a prescription of the Nifedipine, and was instructed I could take them as needed for any contractions every four hours. One pill consisted of 10mg. If the contractions weren't to be stopped with one pill, I could take up to two. And in the beginning I only occasionally needed the pills. I carried them with me at all times. It was almost like a drug addiction. They stayed in my purse if I left the house. They came to Christmas parties, and always sat perched next to the bed while I slept. I knew that if I needed them, they needed to be right there. Right then. I was determined to keep you inside as long as you needed to be there. And they worked. Every single time. Calming my stomach muscles. Washing away all trace of contractions.

Being released from the hospital also meant I was required biweekly Non Stress Tests. Where I had to go into the hospital and we monitored your heart rate, movement, and contractions. Since we lived an hour away from my doctor, I was able to transfer doctors and go into the local hospital for the monitoring. Each test you passed with flying colors. The nurses became accustomed to the mild regular contractions as a "normal" aspect of our weekly visits. 

Things continued smoothly until 34weeks. The contractions were much stronger and a very regular. The nifedipine was not working this time. They gave me a shot of terbutaline to stop the contractions. And they did, for about 45 minutes before they were back the same as when they left. They gave me another shot. Same thing, only this time it lasted 30minutes. Though the doctor really didn't want to, a magnesium sulfate drip was ordered. This time, they brought in a fan and pointed it directly on me taking away the burning feeling, and keeping me quite comfortable. But the magnesium sulfate was working in the opposite as it was supposed to. The contractions were worsening and beginning to feel like true labor. They stopped the IV drip, and gave me another shot of terbutaline. I had dilated 2cm since I was first admitted that morning. And because the hospital I was in did not have a NICU, I was required to have an ambulance transport back to Redding. Every 30 minutes from then, until the ambulance arrived, and we made the hour trip south, the nurse gave me another injection of terbutaline. 

Once we had arrived the staff informed us that their NICU was closed, so they really didn't want to deliver because then you would have to be transferred elsewhere. I was angry, and couldn't believe they hadn't told us before we had be transported and admitted. They gave me more Nifedipine, which still wasn't stopping the contractions, just slowing them slightly. The pain was overwhelming, and it was becoming overwhelming being I had contracted all day long, and I knew it was to have no prevail. They gave me Nubain, and I warned them of my high intolerance to IV pain medications. As she began administering the drug the room instantly began spinning. She assured me "I was supposed to feel like that." And I spent the rest of the evening throwing up. But the pain medication did manage to stop contractions at a dead halt. 

New years eve, we were discharged only with instructions to take two Nifedipine every four hours. No longer "as needed." I was told that at 36 weeks I could finally stop taking them all together. And so I did. And so you became. 36weeks and 3days. And it was over. The twice a week non stress tests. The every four hour pill taking. The many many injection sites. We had made it through all odds against us...

I tell you this Davis, more for my sake. So I will remember every detail of how far my love for you began. So I will never forget that before I ever saw you, I would have sacrificed everything for you. One day you will probably drive me crazy. One day you will probably color on my walls, stomp on my flowers, come home late, or selectivly listen to my motherly advice. But I write this so you know, that even when you make mistakes, even when you really don't "like me," I would do it all over again. I would endure the heartache, the emotional stress, and the physical pains just to have you in my life. Through the good times and the bad, I love you. It's a love that you will never fully understand. I would give you my life. And I promise to give you all of my heart. Thank you for showing me strength. A strength I lacked during your pregnancy at times. You will always be my fighter, and I know because of that you are going to do very big things. I will support you, encourage you, and guide you. You have already made me so proud. Your pregnancy was only the beginning. The beginning of what I would give for you. I love you little one... With every beat of my broken heart.

-Mommy

The Heart of Christmas

Sometimes you just can't help it. There are those movies that just draw you in, without needing to be big blockbuster hits. Without needing to pay an obscene amount of money to watch it in the movie theater.

Let's go back a little bit. Last holiday season,  a song entered my life, but being we were still so numb from the loss we had literally just faced, it didn't hit me as hardly as it has this year. Literally one week ago, driving to my weekly doctors appointment the song jumped back into my memory. No reminder. No reason. I just began telling my husband about the song. He reminded me that I shared the song with him last Christmas. I honestly couldn't remember sharing it. I hardly remembered it myself. In that moment, whether he already had heard it or not, I needed to hear it again. Myself.

And for the first time I watched the official music video. The music video that shares glimpses into the journey a family faced as their son thirteen month old son battled Leukemia. As my husband drove down the freeway I tried my very hardest to hold back the tears I knew were unevitable.

Saturday evening in watching ABC Family's 25days of Christmas, a commercial came on the tv adverstising a movie premier on a completely different channel. A channel I had never even heard of. (Did you know they officially have a Christmas movie channel?) GMC. I set it up to record Sunday, December 4th, and had forgotten all about it until late last night.

A touching yet heartbreaking story of a family who fights with all of their might to keep their son alive, yet when they reach the point of "letting go" realize that sweet little boy, Dax, isn't going to live to see "one last Christmas." A community follows by example when Dax's daddy goes out of his way to make sure Dax got to see, his very last Christmas.

It was an overwhelming story. But I sobbed uncontrollably through the entire movie. That of which I have never, ever, done before. But it was so real. The Locke family were blessed with more time with Dax, than we were given with Savannah, but the story of their stay at St. Jude's Children's Hospital, was exactly, in almost every detail if you were to replace a toddler with a newborn, what our experience was like at UC Davis. And every moment spent watching this family put their lives on hold to be there fighting for their son, took me back to every moment spent fighting for our daughter.

When the doctors had tried everything they possibly could to help save Dax, they sent the family home to spend their final weeks with him. And like I already mentioned, October 2009, Dax got to see Christmas with the childhood delight we either remember from our own childhood, or have witnessed in our own children.

All so badly, with our very Christmas tree illuminated and decorated in the living room, it brought me to a heavy heart. How I wish so badly, Savannah could have witnessed for a second the magic of Christmas. Whether it have been in December or in her eight day visit in August. But before family and friends even had a moment to wrap their minds around what was happening, Savannah was gone.

There are so many amazing families out there. Who have fought so hard and selflessly for their babies.

Since Dax passed, his mommy and daddy have welcomed their own rainbow baby into their lives.  And continue to raise 1.7million dollars to fund St. Judes Children's Hospital for an entire day. In honor of the baby boy that left their lives too soon.

This Christmas, if your heart calls you to do so, or you are looking for a way to make a difference, please consider making even the smallest donation to St. Judes. Because I know, as a mother, what it feels like for a hospital to give their everything to someone who means more to you than they will ever possibly know.

::Donate for Dax::

The Final Day.

Today was it. It was the last. The final. Savannah's very last day with "hope" on earth. It was the very last day that we prayed for her in "that" way. We prayed that if it was her time, that she go peacefully. That our hearts we're filled with peace. I never truly knew what "peace" actually meant until I experienced it. Peace in the sense, prayers around the world were silently spoken to God for me and my husbands hearts. I have never experienced grace as I have by the comfort we recieved after her death. Prayer does work!

But as I sit here tonight I think back to this time last year. I've thought of it a lot this past week. What we were doing this time in 2010. And I want to go back. I want to relive that week with our Savannah again and again and again. But I know I can't. All I have is the sweet memories I will always cherish of our girl.

This morning, I received a phone call. It was a dear family friend. My mom's best friend you might say. All she wanted to say to me was that she loved us. That she was thinking of us. Not just tomorrow, but today. Because she knew that it's not always just the day of, but the days and moments leading up to that moment. That simple phone call, meant more than she will ever know.

It's a reminder that through this first year anniversary, there are some people who are thinking of us. Not oftheir pain, or memories, just Savannah's mommy and daddy. In these final days, we are the ones that really lost something. No matter what the connection was to anyone else, her mommy and her daddy are the ones who have thought of her every moment over the past year. We are the ones who hold an overwhelming love for the little person we met for a brief moment in our hearts. And one simple phone call assured me, that there are people who care enough to acknowledge that.

So on the evening before Savannah's death, I wanted to share her story with you all, once more...

Gone but never forgotten. 

~Savannah Victoria~

{Please pause playlist on the right!}

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.

Timeless memories.

A different love. That is what I described having another baby will be like. Not more. Not greater. But different. Every moment spent pregnant this time around, are spent in a constant state of Savannah. Oh how another beautiful life, can make me miss another life so.

Today, marks 10 weeks of this pregnancy. As rough as it started, and we were not sure if this pregnancy would continue, I am so happy to share, everything is fine. I've had four ultrasounds since I started bleeding, and not only is baby progressing well, the Subchorionic Hemorrhage is almost completely dissolved! Baby to be has a healthy heartbeat of 171, and we are moving forward to so many in depth plans on constant prenatal care and attention. My doctors this time around are Dr. Perry of over 30years experience, and Dr. Nina Boe. Perinatologist of one of the dearest places to my heart. UC Davis. Although, I will still be delivering here in the same hospital Savannah entered our life at, from first hand experience, there isn't a hospital that comforts me more than Davis. And having a specialist with her hand in my pregnancy, I know that there isn't greater care I can be in.

So far this pregnancy will be high maintenance. I begin weekly appointments at 15weeks. I go in for genetic screening July 20th, for a Nuchal Translucency Ultrasound, followed by a level II ultrasound towards the end of August.

I have to be honest, today, being 10weeks pregnant, sets my nerves on edge... I now have a baby growing and thriving inside of me, with either a formed or unformed diaphragm. What ever the future result holds for us, it is already set in stone. This week begins the process where all of the organs begin to really grow and mature. Today's knowledge of CDH, brings me back to the most horrible feeling I've ever had to experience. The look of a human being as they suffocate before your very eyes. The colors that you cannot imagine a person turning. I don't want to witness such a thing ever again...

And I miss her. Her eyes. Her smell. Her dry skin, that was still oh so soft. Her capabilities of glaring at doctors and nurses as a brand new person. Her ensemble of girly socks. Her fingers tightly wrapped around mine.

Nine months is too long to wait to meet someone that your heart already loves and longs for so much...

Intuitions.

There isn't a time I can remember that I didn't always plan on having four children. When we had Brody I knew I still wanted my fabulous four. But there were questions in the back of my mind... and I am not sure if every mother wonders this. Ever so often I would wonder, "I have three healthy beautiful children already. Should I not chance it and just stop here?"

Awful right?

With everything that panned out with my fourth, I've thought, could negative thinking impact the way situations turn out? In thinking that something could go wrong... In reading other stories during Savannah's pregnancy... In listening to "I will carry you" over and over again... In thinking and preparing for an infant funeral in my mind with being told everything was okay??... Could thoughts have caused this? Or for years did I know that Savannah was my temporary baby girl? My momentary gift?

Again I find myself wondering... is it possible I am setting myself up for another bleak outcome? Whether people want to acknowledge that Savannah was.... Savannah IS my FOURTH child.

But she couldn't stay.

And now I want five.

But it isn't happening.

And because it was always so easy to get pregnant before, I find myself wondering... Was four it for me? Am I destined to go through the rest of my life with, as other people always say, "my THREE children?" Savannah isn't a physical presence and because she is no longer with us, people classify me as a mother of only three. But I am not a mother of three. I was never meant to be a mother of three. I am a mother of four. And my deepest desire is to be a physical mother of four.  An angel mommy of one.

April 15th, we sold our seven seater SUV. We bought it February 2010. We couldn't wait to pull up to the hospital later that summer and bring Savannah home. But our large family automobile brought us home empty handed. The pink flowered car seat never once touched the gray leather. She never saw the car we bought for her. Our black Lincoln Navigator only carried broken hearts and medical supplies. It's purpose was at UC Davis, and moonlit drives filled with the darkest tears. It lead the funeral procession, and knew Savannah only as hospitals and the tail end of a white hearse.

At gas approaching five dollars a gallon, we cut our losses in a double sense. 1) We were paying almost five dollars a gallon for a purpose that didn't get to be, and 2) Our hopes of filling the empty seat get father out of our reach each month that passes...

I did not know that babies die so often. That it is so common. I thought it was a rare tragic story. I thought the women who did loose their precious babies were so strong, so brave... that there must be something so much deeper about them for them to loose a child.

Let me tell you... there's not. 

We are not braver or stronger than any other woman out there. We have a wound that heals slowly, but is always there. We approach life differently, and feel at times secluded from the mothers who don't bury their  babies. We are adjusting to a new way of life. And there are a lot of us.

A lot.

And each of these woman understand what it is like to be called brave. To be called strong. If I may seem any of these things to you... Just know I am not responsible for my strength or bravery. We live a secluded life, from the moment we stare death down face to face. Because we can NEVER go back to the place where we don't know babies die. We can never see a pregnant woman and wonder. We can never look at a passing baby in the same manner. 

This is life of a grieving mother.

It never goes away. The wound may not always be fresh.

But scar tissue will always remain. 

Saying goodbye to our SUV was more than an automobile.

It was saying goodbye to hopes and dreams we once had.

Similarities.

Springtime I believe, is finally here. A time of growth. A time of renewal. A time of rebirth. A wonderful reminder for us mommies who have ever lost a child. That even through the harshest conditions, another beautiful sunset is awaiting us in the future. A beautiful flower will blossom up from the cold frozen ground.

Today was the first morning, there wasn't a crisp winter feeling in the air when I stepped outside to take Sarah to school. The sky was still radiating from the initial wave of sunlight. Almost instantly, my arms and cheeks were warmed from the sun gleaming down upon us. But the air was still cool. I looked around at all of the trees producing vibrant green buds. Life was overflowing from their bleak branches. And suddenly, as smells can take you back to another place and time, it smelled just as it did at the end of August, beginning of September.

I took my time as I walked to the car. So familiar. So similar. If I closed my eyes I could picture that first week of school, still pregnant with her, while walking my kids to class. I could picture the first morning visits to the hospital room after going all night not having seen our beautiful girl. I could picture early morning preparations for a princesses funeral.

Spring offers so much hope. So much promise. Promise that we will grow and strive even after the rough months. Now, spring offers little reminders of Savannah as well.

Reminders that she too was reborn...

Just like the delicate pink rose buds;

she bloomed from her own trials and tribulations.

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.

Your baby has changed?

The day before Valentines, my husband and I dropped our little ones off at my mother-in-laws house for our pre-v. day evening. Her boyfriend had his son, daughter-in-law, and two grandkids at their house visiting from the coast.

This couple had a baby boy a few months before Savannah was born. Knowing that they were going to be there, I tried to prepare my mind to be in the presence of a baby, "Savannah's age."

When we pulled into the driveway, a couple was rocking on the porch swing. There in the woman's arms was a baby boy. For a moment in my mind, I thought to myself, "I was thinking of the wrong couple."

Here was this baby. No longer the tiny baby I was expecting to encounter. Honestly, I cannot explain to you why. WHY was I thinking their baby boy would still be a newborn? Why was I expecting to see an infant. Not a teething, sitting up, chubby, baby.

Why do I have the forever eight day old baby? Why do I have the baby whom will never outgrow her tubs of preemie sized outfits? Why do I assume that baby's born around the same time as Savannah, won't grow up, get bigger, and develop into little people.

They do. Obviously, I don't truly mean that in the way it sounds. Let me explain. In all honestly...

I wished for a newborn baby, cradled in his mothers arms that afternoon. The same age as Savannah, but still offering the precious newborn look, that was suddenly gone from our lives. I refuse to believe that in six short days, Savannah would be six months old. She wouldn't look at all like she did, the day she was born. She would have her own personality, and her own likes and dislikes. I would already be missing that tiny, newborn phase.... I am so lucky. My baby WILL be that small forever.

Sigh, will I ever get that chance again?

To see you again.

Last night, being my husband is out of town for a few nights, I sat in the silence and looked at Savannah's picture that sits above our computer. My thoughts took me back to her sweet silky whisps. We have been lucky enough to save so many "Savannah treasures." Atleast what I like to refer to her memorabilia as. In her little pink box, there is a folded peice of paper, with a few clippings of Savannah's beautiful brown hair. I remember starting at it after she was no more. My mother was still staying at our house, in fact I believe it was before her funeral even.

In deep thought that night, I said, "if we used this hair to clone her, would that baby still have the same problems?"  All I knew was I wanted her. I wanted her back. I wanted her to be born healthy and at home where I wished she was at that moment. Savannah's DNA would indeed with hold the same congenital disorder. Savannah's match, would live for the same eight days. Savannah's clone could only touch us briefly before she spent eternity somewhere else. But you know what? {Even if let's say this "cloning" idea was real, because we all know it isn't unless you are a goat.} Savannah's identical person, would never ever be Savannah. I felt as though I took in every moment I possibly could while we were there with her. But now looking back, I feel as though eight days were not enough. I wish I could have soaked in more. Whatever that is I might have missed that is. Because I am sure I missed something...

Today, I scanned though pictures looking for the picture we took of the hair we had clipped... So we could remember where on her head this hair once was growing. Where this hair was when it would have turned to ringlets. Where it would sit for her first piggy tails. As I scanned through all of those eight glorious days, I saw this picture. Taken right after I had sobbed hysterically into my hands...

Here we were. Just finding out that we were loosing her. Right away you notice my eyes. They are the only thing engaging you in this picture. Notice they are glossy and red. They are puffy and swollen. With out speaking a word you can see my heartbreaking from one simple look. But, when I looked again, I saw my own strength. I looked at the camera, and behind the left over "teary eyes" I cracked a smile. I remember in this moment thinking to myself, you will want to look back on these pictures, and see something more than a sad face. So I looked directly into the camera. My heart was in fact broken here, but knowing my thoughts at that moment, my heart is also screaming, I am so proud to be Savannah's mommy.

I have never cried when my babies have been born. I have only been overwhelmed with sheer happiness and joy. Except of course, the day that Savannah turned purple. Tears of fear, are a far different experience. One I pray none of you will ever have to face, and if you have faced them, my heart breaks for you as well. I know when this new little one is born, there will be tears. Heavy. Deep. Anguish. Relief.... Brave. And then I will look directly into the camera. Not only for the new person in my arms, but for the little person I have experienced the same emotion over once before. She will be there. My sweet Savannah.

In case I ever forget to tell you...

In the days of planning Savannah's funeral service, we had to answer a hard question. "Who was going to be our officiator?" Pastors ran through our mind, but no. No they wouldn't have the strong connection that someone else might have in regards to Savannah's life.

Growing up, Koady's family were so close with the Brulc family. The head of the household, Scott, used to minister in a church, and now just ministers through opportunities in his life, and uses his amazing spirit and wonderful outlook on life to do so. He knew Koady. On a far deeper level. He knew me from the beginning of our marriage. He knew Savannah. He prayed for her. He prayed for her on his own time, and openly with my mother-in-law through text messages. Spreading his faith to her. Scott had earned his place, as one of the most important people to spread Savannah's love on the day of her final goodbye.

The morning of the funeral, Koady and I met him for breakfast. Scott met us at the front of the restaurant, and embraced both of us in a hug. A true, deep, never let you go kind of hug. We knew in that moment Scott would never let us go. Not once, did we reach the uncomfortable silence that we have met with so many. While we waited for breakfast, Scott praised God for so much. It was as though, God really did send him to be our voice that day. We smiled as Scott talked about how great our Father really is. Not a moment in the cool rainy morning slipped by that we weren't embracing Savannah's life. Savannah's stories. Savannah's death. As we drove home to get ready, I held back tears knowing we couldn't have picked anyone better to be Savannah's voice as well.

Scott did more in his eulogy than we could have ever hoped for. Though this may sound strange, {why would anyone want to relive a day like that?} I wish Savannah's funeral could have been video taped. So I could sit and take myself back to that day.... as many times as I would like. So I could share in our final goodbye with all of my children on a day when they are older. When they would understand a little better. Scott helped that day be so magical for me. I would relive it again, if I was able.

We had a closed casket for Savannah. I was still so protective of her, though her soul had left her fragile little body eight days before. There were only a few people that saw Savannah finally at peace. That saw her beautiful vessel that brought her into the world, and gave her the path to heaven. Koady and I ofcourse. My dad. My mom. Koady's mom. My grandma, aunt, and cousin. And Scott.

I learned later that he told many people, that she was beautiful. Thank you Scott, for she really was. And thank you for your prayers for this new little gift from the Lord....

In case I ever forget to tell you...

We love you.

{Take notice of his purple shirt and tie.}
{We did not plan this.}
{Savannah told him what to wear!}

If I could write a letter... to me.

A beautiful writer recently made a blog post in reference to Brad Paisley's "Letter to me." She took this song, and decided to write her own letter to herself at seventeen. I just had to steal this idea, and write my own letter.

"If I could write a letter... to me... 

And send it back in time to myself at seventeen."

There are many things and many milestones you have already accomplished as a young seventeen year old. You are already married to the love of your life, and the two of you are expecting your first baby. Wow, not your typical seventeen year old letter I suppose.

First of all let me tell you, despite your age, don't let that fool you that you can be the best mother possible. One day there will be a reality tv show just about mothers your age. This show is nothing what you will become. It gives teen parenting and teenage "relationships" a very bad name. You are so much more than that. You will be a great mother... even though at times you will forget. Or question that. That is normal.

Becoming a mother will bring you closer with your mom. You will realize the way you treated her in the past was not what you ever wanted for your mother. The sooner you apologize, the better. She will be there for you. She has cradled babies, and raised children. Our mothers know far more than we do. After all they have more life experience. It is okay to admit that you don't know everything. Neither does she. 

You will fill your arms with four children that you've dreamed of since you were a little girl. There are many scraped knees to kiss, and hugs to give headed your way. Many sleepless nights, postpartum depression to overcome, and tear soaked pillows are coming in your future. Please don't be scared... Though some days will be more trying than others, always remember that you love it, and you wouldn't change your life for the world.

Your husband will always be your everything. In writing this letter, you are still married, in love, and are stronger than ever. He is your best friend. Remind him you love him often... everyday. {Even when he frustrates you. Cause he will. And you will him.} Don't ever take him for granted, I promise you there is nothing better out there. He is perfectly made just for you.

God will become your everything. You may not know Him well now, but He is waiting for you. He anticipates your love and devotion everyday. You life will become easier once you find his grace. Your mother-in-law will give you a book that will change your life forever. Once you start reading this book, you will come to the moment that you're born again. Trust me, it will be the best moment of your life. And I assure you, you won't make it through the trials you will have to face.

You will make new friends. You will discover what "true" friends really are. They will help you grow. They will make you smile. They will be there for you through all situations...

You will have a healthy baby girl, and two more boys... Even though you will wish more than anything for them to also be girls. Momma's boys are wonderful, so you get over the "it's a boy" thing quickly.

Your fourth... the baby girl you have waited so many years for... She will be a treasure. This perfect creation, will not be able to stay with you. She will change your life forever, and bring so much love with her. Even though it won't be easy, I promise, everything will be okay. The God whom you don't know yet... He holds your hand every step of the way. Now He holds your baby girl. You and your husband will only grow closer and stronger. Don't ever hold in your tears. It's okay to cry.

Always forgive and ask for forgiveness. The grudges you have a tendency to hold will never feel better in your heart. Love as many people as you can. Life is short. This will be shown to you... Better late than never.

That is far as I can take you for now... until then, I am still experiencing this "story unfolding."

By the way... baby #5 may be on its way...

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."

The night before Christmas.

The night before Christmas

{Revised for angel mommy & daddies}

Written by: Megan Fraser
{Copyright}

Twas the night before Christmas

when all through the house,

Not a creature was stirring,

not even a mouse.

A little stocking was hung

by the chimney with care.

Though hopes it be filled,

would never be there.

A baby was missing,

from being snug in their bed.

While tear soaked pillows,

surrounded their heads.

Mommy with her blanket,

and daddy with her hat,

Couldn't settle down

for a long winter's nap.

When down in their heart,

there arose such a clatter.

They sprang from the bed

to see what was the matter.

Away to the window they flew 

and they dashed.

Tore open the curtains

and saw a bright flash.

When what to their wondering eyes

should appear,

but a beautiful angel,

precious, tiny, and dear.

She stood there before them,

pure happiness and health,

and they laughed when they saw her,

in spite of themself.

She smiled and she stared,

and didn't offer  a sound.

She outstretched her arms,

And flew from the ground.

They stared and they cried,

tears streamed down their face.

They knew in their hearts,

she had found the right place.

As she rose higher and higher

to the heavens above.

She left mommy and daddy

with nothing but love.

But they heard her exclaim

as she drifted from sight,

Merry Christmas Mommy and Daddy.

Please have a good night.

Where our heart is.

After Savannah passed, as most of you know, I created the photo slide show of her "little life." I edited and re-edited it. I knew it had to be just perfect. Something that I would have forever, but also my tribute, her mother's tribute to her time here. 

The days after it was created, Koady and I watched it over and over. We uploaded it to youtube, and shared her video with anyone we talked about Savannah with. Our mission first thing each morning, was to check and see how many people had watched it... and ofcourse to watch it ourselves. Again and again throughout the day. 

Time has passed. Savannah's video isn't watched much anymore in our household. Occasionally I'll stop in to take a peek of a different time. But it doesn't feel the same either. In the beginning there was comfort, awe, and inspiration in those first grieving days. Now it feels almost like a time that never really existed. Almost as though we captured a dream on video. 

Things are easier now. We don't need that extra crutch we once used in a slide show. I am so thankful that we have so many beautiful pictures of our girl. She will always be displayed in the picture frames on our walls. She will always be a piece of the Fraser family puzzle. 

This morning, I stopped in to see her video once again. Seems like years ago we were taking our "sunglass" pictures with Savannah.... Was it years ago? Nope it was only almost four months. Four short months ago...

We buried a part of our heart here in Redding, California. I don't think we will be moving away anytime soon.

This is where our heart is.

Remember when...

Life was you and I?

Hiccups and heartburn?

Hormones & Knee kicks? 

(My right ribs to be exact.)

Hot flashes & Tummy rubs?

Heartbeat in the 170's?

Excruciating pelvic pain, and Walrus rolls?

Now life is just me.

& I miss your fun Savannah.

Three months Postpartum.

Gone too soon...

For I loved being pregnant.