cry

Lately all I want to do is cry.


sorry for such a lame post but I don't have anything else to say

Poem

Mommy please don't be sad,

I miss you so much too.

It's beautiful here,

but I worry a lot about you.

I sleep with angels watching me...

there is only love up here.

because God is so very near.

I walk with Jesus every day,

He is very kind and loving.

Don't worry Mom, He holds my hand

when we cross a golden street.

I never cry or hurt myself.

I see Grandpa every day.

I play and laugh and sing a lot

and I hear you when you pray.

Please Mommy, don't be mad at God,

you see He loves me too.

And even though you are not with me,

I am really still with you.

hmm

So the two posts you read after this one are pretty word-y.
Sorry there aren't many pictures...
They are articles I've read that have really helped me through this
miscarriage.

Maybe they will help you understand better what it's like to have such a tremendous loss if you haven't experienced a miscarriage first hand.

Maybe you will be able to share them with someone else who has had such a loss.

The articles have made an impact on me so I hope you enjoy them too...

again... sorry for no pictures.

to talk or not to talk ?

Talking and NOT Talking about Miscarriage...

I loved this article
I copied and pasted it below...


When I became pregnant I told most people within weeks. My colleagues knew before the first trimester was over, before the amnio had been done to make sure everything was “OK.” Most people shared in my excitement, but a few instantly admonished me for coming out “too soon.”

Miscarriage was still a very real possibility; as many as 1-5 pregnancies end in miscarriage and most within the first trimester. But my feeling at the time was: Look, a lot of women miscarry. It’s happening right now to someone. It’s probably happened to a quarter of the women working in the building. If it’s so common, maybe we should talk about it more. It’s hard enough without all the secrecy.

But what did I know? I had never had a miscarriage. I had never been touched by pregnancy loss. I understood when friends kept their pregnancy news under wraps for a few months, feeling that a loss would be better suffered without an audience of middle-level friends and colleagues. I could see the point. Maybe I’m just an over-sharer, I thought [though at the time the term over-sharing had yet to go into circulation].

I just read Jody Pratt’s candid essay on her miscarriages and all these questions came up again. Pratt chose to keep her early pregnancies and miscarriages a secret. She used the vague excuse of “lady” troubles to explain her absence from work. Now, looking back, she wonders if all that privacy was really doing her, or other people who’ve lost babies, any good.

“Years later, I still think about that miserable afternoon at work and how much easier it would have been if I’d just exhaled the truth. If I could have let people say, ‘I’m so sorry.’ If I hadn’t had to pretend that it was a normal day even as I was in the grips of soul-swallowing grief. Because the only thing worse than losing something that meant the world to you is pretending that you lost nothing.”

I never really got just how awful pregnancy loss can be until I had children. Even then, it took talking to women who’d miscarried and attending several workshops on pregnancy loss for me to start to understand the grief parents can feel. I still don’t know what it’s really like. But I’ve had some training. I know that, for example, I don’t need to give a woman who has just had a miscarriage a pep talk. Nor do I need to emphasize how early it was in the pregnancy. “I ultimately had two miscarriages, both at about 10 weeks,” writes Pratt. “Both times, I knew I was pregnant for nearly two months. That’s a lot of mornings to wake up enchanted that there’s a child growing inside you. It’s many long afternoons of fatigue, strange cravings, and nausea. It’s countless cups of decaf coffee and glasses of wine declined. It’s 60 prenatal vitamins.”

One of the best ways to work through a loss (that never entirely goes away–before she died, my mother-in-law acknowledged the birthday of her stillborn daughter every year) is to be able to talk about it. Of course most people stumble when they try to help a grieving friend. We’re not great at talking about death in general. But as Pratt points out: there are millions of women out there who have miscarried, millions. If you mention a miscarriage, chances are pretty good that soon enough another mother will tell her story and understand yours.

The fact that we’re so quiet about miscarriage might send the message that it’s not that big of a deal. I have heard people talk about friends who have miscarried with not a little surprise in their voices, “she took it really hard.” And there’s some more normal way to take it?

What do you think? Does keeping miscarriage on the down low always have to mean ‘suffering in silence’? Perhaps there’s a middle ground? Reaching out for support from a slightly wider circle of friends than just your partner, perhaps? But not announcing it in a mass email? Maybe openly acknowledging the loss in places like your office, but seeking real support from other parents who’ve lost babies. There are lots of places online and in various communities to help parents grieve. Last year, miscarriage made the papers numerous times, with celebrities opening up about their losses. Lisa Ling started a website for women to share more personal stories in a supportive and anonymous setting. Maybe times are changing. Maybe the taboo is not as strong as it was even a few years back.

In the end, talking about miscarriage is a highly personal choice. There so many different women dealing with such a huge range of circumstances, there are bound to be as many variations on how to talk about it and grieve. What makes me sad is when women feel they need to hold back due to cultural stigma and a widespread lack of understanding. Or when their feelings are invalidated by a culture that (maybe not purposefully) seems to be saying, hey, you’ll get over it.

Here is the web address I got it from if you want to see the original.

http://blogs.babble.com/being-pregnant/2011/01/07/talking-and-not-talking-about-miscarriage/

Pretend

The only thing worse than losing something that meant the world to you is pretending that you lost nothing...

By Jody Pratt...

So what happened last week?" the vendor asked, wondering why I'd disappeared for several days in the middle of a critical deadline. "Did you have the flu?"

"It was..." I trailed off, trying to decide how much I wanted to share with someone who was really more of a professional contact than a friend. "It was...lady stuff."

Just like that, I slapped a vague label on the most excruciating loss of my life.

Mere days before this conversation took place, I was chipper and dreamy and carrying a baby. Then, in the course of one horrid day, it all unraveled. Now, I found myself sitting back in my office chair, stunned, grieving, and facing an urgent mountain of work.

I pawed my pile listlessly, wondering how the world could go on when mine had surely ended. All around me, keyboards chattered and telephones rang. Coworkers eyed me suspiciously, clearly not buying my excuse that I was ambiguously under the weather.

I'd just lost a baby. And it had dropped me into a hell of despair so deep that it hurt just to breathe.

So, why was I keeping it a secret?

Miscarriage is death. It brings with it all the agonizing grief that comes with losing a loved one. But miscarriage is also a taboo topic. It's the very reason that we hide our pregnancies during those first dicey months, fretfully waiting for the danger to abate before making any announcements.

When bad news comes, couples that lose a pregnancy tend to mourn in secret, telling only close friends and family about their loss.

There are no funerals. No memorials. You don't get sympathy cards and bereavement time. Instead, routines go on, and you take sick days.

In fact, the only tradition our society does have regarding miscarriage is that you're not supposed to talk about it. We expect grieving couples to buck up and pretend that the little life lost never existed in the first place.

We reduce a miracle to a topic not fit for polite conversation.

An estimated one in seven pregnancies ends in miscarriage. Each year in the U.S. alone, over 700,000 babies don't survive to be born. Millions of people must be mourning them. So, where are they? “The only tradition our society does have regarding miscarriage is that you're not supposed to talk about it.”

As a society, we let ourselves believe the lie that miscarriage is a minor event in a woman's life. "It happens all the time," people tell you, as if knowledge of its frequency will put the loss in perspective. (Imagine giving that same line to someone who just lost a grandparent.)

"It really wasn't a baby yet" is another line people glibly offer. Or, "You hardly even knew you were pregnant."

I ultimately had two miscarriages, both at about 10 weeks. Both times, I knew I was pregnant for nearly two months.

That's a lot of mornings to wake up enchanted that there's a child growing inside you. It's many long afternoons of fatigue, strange cravings, and nausea. It's countless cups of decaf coffee and glasses of wine declined. It's 60 prenatal vitamins.

I don't blame society for being so callous about pregnancy loss. If nobody ever tells people how much it hurts, how are they to know that miscarriage is such a big deal? Why shouldn't they think that it is no worse than blowing a job interview or having your team lose the big game?

As with so many verboten topics, perhaps the answer is simply for people to be more open. To stop pretending that if we ignore miscarriage, it won't hurt.

Years later, I still think about that miserable afternoon at work and how much easier it would have been if I'd just exhaled the truth. If I could have let people say, "I'm so sorry." If I hadn't had to pretend that it was a normal day even as I was in the grips of soul-swallowing grief.

Because the only thing worse than losing something that meant the world to you is pretending that you lost nothing.

silence ?

It’s estimated that as many as one in five pregnancies end in miscarriage, and yet the topic of pregnancy loss is still largely kept underground in our culture. We’re advised to keep our early pregnancy secret in case we miscarry; right there we’ve been sent a message that were a miscarriage occur, we shouldn’t talk about it.

I can understand “not telling” from the point of view that most of us really don’t want to have to talk about loss and grief with the new IT guy in the lunch room at work. Deciding when and whom to tell is a very personal decision. And I don’t think we all can or should be in agreement about this. But there is consensus that talking about miscarriage is an enormously important part of working through the grief.

Yesterday I came across a post over at My Life… Unplugged, where a blogger who goes by Mckenna talks about this very issue:

“More and more women seem to be announcing their pregnancies a little earlier, or at least talking about their miscarriages. Which I personally think it such an important thing! TALKING about what you’re going through, whether with close friends, a support group, or even anyone who will listen, is SO healing. In general, there isn’t much anyone can say to make it easier.” She goes on to say that it took her months to reach some level of “normal” after her miscarriage. And that starting to try again brought up lots of sadness once more.

McKenna links to the website “Or so she says..” for advice about HOW TO COPE with miscarriage. The tips come from a doctor who miscarried at eight weeks and found that she had absolutely no idea how to cope. Her advice includes talking about it, finding help, crying, taking a break and giving your partner room to mourn the loss, too. But what I found perhaps most illuminating about her post, is what she has to say to friends or loved ones of those who have miscarried. Particularly her section on what not to say:

(These are things couples in her support group were told!)

“-Are you going to try again?

-It was just a miscarriage.

-Well, at least you weren’t that far along

-You can have another one.

-You lost it early so it’s not that big of deal.

-Now you have angel looking after you.

-Its for the best

-You’re young, you’ll get over it.

-It was God’s will.

-Or sharing any story about your friend’s cousin who had 9 miscarriages and ended up having a healthy pregnancy.”

Friends, loved ones, and perhaps that IT guy in the lunch room, doubtlessly mean well when they tell you it was meant to be, or God’s will. It’s amazing how incapable most of us are at talking about death and loss. Often people feel they have to explain it or fix it, rather than acknowledge the despair. My husband, who lost his mother fifteen years ago to a drawn-out battle with cancer, always reminds me: You don’t have to say anything except that you are sorry for their loss. Then you just listen.

Bawl it out

That's just what I did when I read this.

My Miscarriage Trauma

Trauma

Huumm. How do I even start this post?

I’m at a loss.

Let me just throw this out there. I love being pregnant. I love the endorphin high I get when I’m building a body for one of my heavenly fathers spirits to come down to. I love that I feel a billion times prettier than normal, I love feeling the baby kick in side me, I love that my boobs resemble a super model. I love being exhausted from the smallest tasks. I love how my husband cleans the house. I’m not gonna lie… I also love how nice everyone else is to you when you start showing… people open doors and pick up heavy items to help you.

(I love this charm and I wish that I could find it somewhere... Love Love Love)

It’s like you’ve moved to Texas without all the moving. But when your little peanut jumps ship early, in less than a blink of an eye your dreams of expanding your family can be shattered. I guess that’s the easiest way to phrase a miscarriage. Jake and I went in for our 8 week appt and ultrasound only to find out that the baby stopped growing at week 7 and that they couldn’t find a heart beat. I was in disbelief when the sonogram tech told us that she didn’t have good news. Disbelief wasn’t the right word… maybe denial ?

I still felt pregnant. No spotting or cramping. I went home Thursday and searched the internet for stories of women who had a misdiagnosed miscarriage. That gave me hope. We scheduled another sonogram for 2 weeks. The strangest part was that deep down I had prayed for help. Usually my prayers are not answered that quickly. I felt calm. I had asked for a blessing from my husband to help me through this difficult time and that really helped too. I also scoured over my patriarchal blessing.

That helped me settle down somewhat too. So I guess hope alone didn’t carry me through this ordeal. I could feel the spirit guarding my heart. Three days later I stood there crying in the bathroom, pleading with my Heavenly Father. I couldn’t believe it was really over. My little baby boy wouldn’t get his chance. My emotions were out of control, but the feelings inside My heart were surprisingly calm. All I wanted to do was give Sophie a little brother to play with; now that wouldn’t happen. The due date was even around birthday. Summer baby- what a bonus, they would be only one year apart in school.

Sigh.

My mind just kept racing….

Maybe it was better that I didn’t get to see the heartbeat at all? Would that have made it more real? Maybe I shouldn’t have cleaned the oven? Those chemicals are pretty harsh.

Maybe it was when I slipped and fell on the ice? Did I take any medications that could cause this? What was it that went wrong?

I wanted answers….

Why

Was this little boy’s skin not developing? Was his brain on the outside of his head? Did he even get a heartbeat? Damn it.

Why didn’t I get my baby boy?

My summer baby boy.

The anguish that lasted for days… then anger set in. not just any anger, some type of rage. It was a rage strong enough to go with the extreme cramping I was going through. Rage that made me want to scrub floors until the hurt went away. I didn’t want to talk to anyone about it. I didn’t need their pity. I just wanted to stay in my room and writhe... It’s not like I could really do anything else… It wasn’t going anywhere… with the intense labor contractions… my uterus was trying to clean itself out. The Dr. gave me some Tylenol. Gee thanks... Tylenol. The wonder drug. NOT. It didn't even touch the pain. The contractions were amazingly painful.

Lame. The only way I could even sleep at night… is if I took a strong sleeping aid.

While I’m venting… I have to say I do not like the terminology used when "medically" talking about miscarriage. Why does it all have to be about abortion, missed abortion, incomplete abortion, threatened abortion...And not to sound too much like Seinfeld but… what’s the deal with "Pregnancy Loss". The phrases "she lost the pregnancy" or "she lost the baby"makes me mad. To me the word "lost" implies some type of responsibility. I guess it's the nicest way to put it but I don't like it.

When you usually lose something, it is because of your own careless or forgetfulness. When I lost the car keys it was my fault because I forgot where I put them. To say that I lost the pregnancy, it is just wrong! It’s not "lost" it was taken away, for what reasons I will probably never know (until I get to the other side… and then there will be a conversation with heavenly father). I guess it’s just a semantics issue- pregnancies are not capable of being lost, because that would assume that we have some sort of control over them. I guess I feel that this is something that is out of my control. That’s what everyone is telling me anyway.

Speaking of what to say (language /terminology… and how to adequately describe the situation) I’m at a loss for words. It seems I can’t find the right ones, the ones that fit perfectly to portray my feelings. The words that will help me heal or at least ignore the hurt. There’s gotta be a haiku somewhere… poets are good with words. If only Wayne Campbell or Garth Algar could help me out with this.

I digress.

Anguish- somewhat describes my mental state. If there was a word that combined anguish and exhaustion that might be a step in the right direction. EX-GUISH sounds like a gross slug that has just been stepped on… on the sidewalk. Ew. Maybe… Ang-haustion?

Hmm.

New word making isn’t my job, obviously.

Am I going through this challenge now just to have something that the “future me” can reflect on? That sucks. What a lame reason for a miscarriage.

Sometimes when the part of me that tries to help by thinking “almost everyone has a miscarriage” … I get more angry. Guess what. I’m not everyone or almost everyone. Or even the 1 in 5 quoted so often.

I don’t wanna hear it.

I want to hear 165 BPM on the sonogram.

I want to be able to wrap up a 3D image of the baby and give it out as a Christmas present. I want some little spirit to come down from heaven and bless our family. I want my summer delivery. I’d even love for my water to break in WalMart again if it meant giving birth to a healthy 7 lb 3 oz. Little Man.

I’m not usually a bitter person and I don’t want this experience to have that effect on me I wish there was a way for me to learn something from this with out really having to go through it. Now I understand how painful a natural miscarriage can be. The following words don’t really do it justice; aching, soreness, throbbing, te

nderness, agony, sorrow, anguish, grief, agony. Torture is more appropriate I think.

This poem helped (helps me) … Don’t know who it’s by…

I thought of you and closed my eyes
And prayed to God today
I asked "What makes a Mother?"
And I know I heard Him say.

"A Mother has a baby"
This we know is true

"But God can you be a Mother,
When your baby's not with you?"

"Yes, you can," He replied
With confidence in His voice
"I give many women babies,
When they leave is not their choice.

Some I send for a lifetime,
And others for the day.
And some I send to feel your womb,
But there's no need to stay."

"I just don't understand this God
I want my baby here."
He took a deep breath and cleared His throat,
And then I saw the tear.

"I wish that I could show you,
What your child is doing today.
If you could see your child smile,
With all the other children and say...

'We go to Earth to learn our lessons,

Of love and life and fear.
My Mommy loved me oh so much,
I got to come straight here.

I feel so lucky to have a Mom,

Who had so much love for me.
I learned my lessons very quick,
My Mommy set me free.

I miss my Mommy oh so much, But I visit her each day.
When she goes to sleep, On her pillow's where I lay

I stroke her hair and kiss her cheek, And whisper in her ear.

Mommy don't be sad today, I'm your baby and I'm here.'

"So you see my dear sweet ones,
Your children are okay.
Your babies are born here in My home,

And this is where they'll stay.

They'll wait for you with Me,
Until your lesson's through.
And on the day that you come home

They'll be at the gates for you.

So now you see what makes a Mother,
It's the feeling in your heart
It's the love you had so much of
Right from the very start.

Though some on earth may not realize,
Until their time is done.
They'll be up here with Me one day
And know that you're the best mom!"

I guess this means that I have an angel baby watching over me now…

Which to can be a comforting thought.

Especially since Breinholts tend to die young...maybe this means I will have someone waiting for me when I go. I'm pretty sure I won't out live Jake... He's got too much Page in him.

But some times … I wonder when does the spirit enter the body? Do I get to see my baby again if it never got a heartbeat? Does it still qualify as a child to be mine forever?

My mind replays all the videos that I've looked up on the internet of 7 and8 week baby sonograms, at times the flashes give me hope but I hate that I can’t turn my brain off. I’m still unsettled. I don’t know if these feelings will ever go away.

I can't even talk about it... So I thought I'd just write.

This Christmas has been super hard.

anything

I like this one...
Maybe I'll save up for it and have them
just put

"BABY"

instead of a name





anything to help me cope ...

anything!!!

Picture

a picture is worth 1,000 words...





This picture explains how I really feel,

Since I can't come up with any words anyway...

I can't even wrap my brain around what is happening to me.

Learning from Michelle Duggar

Learning from Michelle Duggar

Dance

Don't think I wouldn't wear this jacket... Because I would ... If I had one!

Why is it that when I watch the show So You Think You Can Dance… I feel like my skills are totally worthy of being a finalist…

Let’s be honest… nobody beats me at the Wii (Michael Jackson Experience).

I’m pretty much inhuman.

Literally.

Maybe I’m too much like Uncle Rico… Living back in ‘82. OR for me ’98 ?

Hey … whatever… I’ll take it. Just don’t ask me to do a Fouette , Linda Blackham or Toni Bosch.

Sometimes when I’m in walmart I’ll think… this isle has a ton of space I bet I could just practice a few of my moves and nobody would notice… plus it’s walmart- who cares.

Or I’d do a floor sequence in my mind as I push my cart. This is why I can no longer take my MP3 with me when I go shopping.

The floor is the perfect texture for me to just try a few new things out.

Believe it or not these thoughts cross my mind all the time.

I also flashback when I hear “Don’t stop Believing” by journey.

I don’t know what it is about that song but it makes me want to scream / sing it at the top of my lungs. I think about the music video’s I’d make to that song all the time.

My husband thinks I’m nuts. He’s not too far off.

I have to indulge my mind somehow.

Also… when I hear Teenage Dream by Katy Perry… I totally lose it.

No matter where I am- I can’t help but let the music move me.

And then I think about the dwarf kid on you tube that lip sync’s to the song and it makes me that much happier to scream and dance to the beat.

If I’m at work and I hear the song… forreeettt aaabout iiiiit… I have to shut my door and just jam.

And by Jamming I mean Jam… like I don’t have knee problems.

Jam like Marky Mark and the funky bunch baby. Good Vibrations.

I totally need to be famous… like Ellen DeGeneres- so I can randomly dance and not care. The closest I got was on the set of the Wayne Brady Show… and that was excellent. Too bad I was a missionary. Eat that Quite dignity!

I have to tell you... back when Jake and I were taking Latin lessons in draper (before we were married)- at quickstep with Andrea... she would use me as her partner often. It made me feel so good, I didn't buy the 3" T strap heels for nothin' . anyways.... There was a time or two when we would show the class a Cha-Cha sequence and then she would just do other stuff and I would follow her lead (she was being boy) IT was awesome!!! totally fed my dance ego... because the class was like... how does she know what you want her to do ? ... and Andrea was like... she's just following my lead. And then in my mind i was like...Ya... I'm a better dancer than you so don't try and keep up. wow... i'm a brat... but the validation I got from that class was fantastic. Sometimes I think about signing up again... but I'm thinkin' Jake wouldn't wanna go because he wouldn't have a partner.

My Mother in Law's tree is done...
Didn't take me too long either.
























Her dad makes wood ornaments on his
lathe and she wanted to display them on their
own special tree this year...
here it is!

Hey, I'm just here havin a bath

OOOH Bubbles

Oh herro...

Fun at the Breinholt Family Christmas Party

Do you like my antlers ?

Hey whadda you doing ?

blogs to check out!

Love this blog !!!


http://ayearoffhe.blogspot.com/2009/12/fhe-assignment-charts.html


http://ayearoffhe.blogspot.com/2009/12/freebies.html

Family Party

Happy Holidays !

Great Great Grandma Page...
just like santa

Cheese!

Love my elf outfit!

Ohhh Train

Tired baby rests on daddy

Not Happy

I knew this would happen...

Especially because her Daddy wasn't there

Bad Santa