My house hates me.

Don't look at me like that - it's true.

When Peyton died, our seemingly perfect house had over $40,000 worth of unnecessary repairs come up over the first six months to a year of our grieving - talk about an expensive distraction.

Now, here I am, hugely pregnant and on bedrest, and our house has decided to turn on us again.

Honestly, at this point I no longer know whether to laugh or cry.

Yesterday morning I woke up to an odd sound. In my slumber filled haze I thought it was the dog licking something - herself, some furniture, something she had picked up off the floor. "Be quiet Charlotte," I muttered into my pillow, but the sound persisted. When I opened my eyes, I was astonished to find that the sound I heard was water dripping into the room from above our window casing. We live in the northeast and have had a TON of snow and ice in the last month - apparently yesterday our roof decided it had had enough.

I called hubs at work in a panic because there was water everywhere, and I am on bedrest, and what the heck am I gonna do about something like that? He came home and raked what he could off the roof (which, while it was a valiant effort, was kind of useless against the 8-12 inch thick ice pile-up that we have going on up there) and to both of our surprise, the water stopped.

Phew!

I had had an NST scheduled for the morning, and I asked hubs if he needed me (what I thought I was going to do, I couldn't tell you) and he told me he had it covered, so I headed off for the hospital. We were predicted to get a major storm, but luckily it was supposed to be clear until well after my appointment. I arrived at the hospital and wouldn't you know, they put me in the bed RIGHT NEXT TO that same woman from last week... the one with the junk food and the soda and the healthy babies - what are the odds? They did a BP check, overall pretty good though a little high, I am assuming from the stress of my house revolting against me, and hooked me up to the monitors.

The nurse asked how my morning was going, and I told her about the leak, at which point she told me a horror story about it happening at her mother's house, and how it did super extensive damage, and blah blah blah. She then told me to not go into the attic to check it out (like I was gonna do that anyway) and that if it started again, to let someone else deal with the leaking water. Well that is sort of hard when you are home alone. I mean if there is  a new leak that pops up, I can't just let it pour in without going over to stick a bucket under it or something.

After scaring me about all the crap that could be in our leaking water, and all the damage it could do and dollars it could cost, the nurse asked where the babies were, and I told her. She tried for a while but couldn't get a heartbeat on Baby A. The nurse kept leaving me and saying how strange it was that it wasn't monitoring, and then she would come back, contort me into some strange position where I had to hold this pad with one finger and that pad with another and I couldn't get to my ginger ale and boy did I want that ginger ale...

What may come as a shock was how unconcerned I was through this whole process. The snowflakes had been so incredibly active all morning and I think that is why. Sometimes my little baby boy A likes to hide from the NST pad so knowing this helped too.

Well an hour went by - then two, and still nothing but spotty recordings of his heartrate 99-200-154-96-202 like that it went on and on. I heard the nurse mutter something about "go see if you can find those twins" to another nurse, and a new woman appeared. She wheeled over the ultrasound machine, found the two babies and figured out the big mystery - both of the snowflakes are now lying transverse (horizontal!) Baby A has been head down and low for months, where as B will flip from vertical head down to transverse from time to time. I guess A got sick of having B sitting on his head, so he flipped too!

I have to admit, I was really frustrated and disappointed by this discovery.

I know it sounds silly to be upset over this but I really REALLY want to VBAC these babies. The nurse gave me some bullshit about how whatever the doc chooses I should be happy, and I wanted to scream because not for nothing, I know many women have c-sections without any issues, but my c-section with Peyton caused me MANY issues, not the least of which was robbing me of my fertility, so I am really not walking lightly into having another one like it is no big deal.

I am a realist, I know the possibility, and maybe the probability even, are there that I will have to c-section these babies, but that doesn't mean I am not wishing for VBAC. C-sections limit the number of children you can have, and we have always wanted a large family. I just don't think that unless you have had a c-section to bring a child into this world, and then lost that child, that someone can fully understand. It was also because of my c-section that we had to wait a year to start trying again, and another 6 months after that to discover I even had an infertility issue... so now that I am beating a dead horse here... let's just say I don't want one. I may need one, but I certainly don't want one.

Once the babies were found on ultrasound, my NST went a lot more smoothly. They checked my fluid, which they told me was wonderful, and sent me on my merry old way. I came home to find hubs working like mad at trying to get ice off the roof to no avail. I usually feel pretty grown up but I have to say, when things like this happen with our house I feel like a kid who is in over her head.

So after a long (and exhausting for hubs) day, we moved back into our bedroom last night- finally! We have been staying in the guest room for about a month - since the infamous mercury incident - and the water dripping in the guest room was just the motivation I needed to get out of there. I had been holding off, since we had put in new wood floors in the bedroom and I wanted to give them time to off gas, but I figured a month was sufficient.

 Well, to say last night was a sleepless night would be an incredible understatement. For whatever reason I was nauseous all night, and kept getting up to deal with morning sickness. At about 4AM, I finally closed my eyes and kept them shut, but wouldn't you know... 7AM I woke up to new drips - IN OUR BEDROOM! UGH!

Ty Pennington where are you!?

Hubs was outside shoveling, and looking mighty exhausted by it - poor thing! The storm we got last night was very wet and heavy, and I could see that each shovel-full was making him wish he had stayed in the midwest, rather than move up here to all this snow and mess to marry a northeastern girl!

I peeked my head into the guest bedroom to see how the dripping was going in there, and what had been a controlled drip into a bucket, had spread overnight into a splattering mess! Hubs came in and I gave him the bad news about the leak getting worse, and he headed back out, head down, to re-roof rake the roof! After that, he put more plastic and buckets and towels down in both bedrooms, and looking defeated, headed for the shower.

"We are gonna laugh about this someday." I called to him from the bottom of the stairs.
"About what?"
"About our house deciding to fall apart over the last month of this pregnancy. About not being able to get anything ready in time because of it. About all of it."
"We are?"
"Yes. We are."
"But not today," he grumbled.
"No," I admitted, "not today. But someday."

My house hates me.

Don't look at me like that - it's true.

When Peyton died, our seemingly perfect house had over $40,000 worth of unnecessary repairs come up over the first six months to a year of our grieving - talk about an expensive distraction.

Now, here I am, hugely pregnant and on bedrest, and our house has decided to turn on us again.

Honestly, at this point I no longer know whether to laugh or cry.

Yesterday morning I woke up to an odd sound. In my slumber filled haze I thought it was the dog licking something - herself, some furniture, something she had picked up off the floor. "Be quiet Charlotte," I muttered into my pillow, but the sound persisted. When I opened my eyes, I was astonished to find that the sound I heard was water dripping into the room from above our window casing. We live in the northeast and have had a TON of snow and ice in the last month - apparently yesterday our roof decided it had had enough.

I called hubs at work in a panic because there was water everywhere, and I am on bedrest, and what the heck am I gonna do about something like that? He came home and raked what he could off the roof (which, while it was a valiant effort, was kind of useless against the 8-12 inch thick ice pile-up that we have going on up there) and to both of our surprise, the water stopped.

Phew!

I had had an NST scheduled for the morning, and I asked hubs if he needed me (what I thought I was going to do, I couldn't tell you) and he told me he had it covered, so I headed off for the hospital. We were predicted to get a major storm, but luckily it was supposed to be clear until well after my appointment. I arrived at the hospital and wouldn't you know, they put me in the bed RIGHT NEXT TO that same woman from last week... the one with the junk food and the soda and the healthy babies - what are the odds? They did a BP check, overall pretty good though a little high, I am assuming from the stress of my house revolting against me, and hooked me up to the monitors.

The nurse asked how my morning was going, and I told her about the leak, at which point she told me a horror story about it happening at her mother's house, and how it did super extensive damage, and blah blah blah. She then told me to not go into the attic to check it out (like I was gonna do that anyway) and that if it started again, to let someone else deal with the leaking water. Well that is sort of hard when you are home alone. I mean if there is  a new leak that pops up, I can't just let it pour in without going over to stick a bucket under it or something.

After scaring me about all the crap that could be in our leaking water, and all the damage it could do and dollars it could cost, the nurse asked where the babies were, and I told her. She tried for a while but couldn't get a heartbeat on Baby A. The nurse kept leaving me and saying how strange it was that it wasn't monitoring, and then she would come back, contort me into some strange position where I had to hold this pad with one finger and that pad with another and I couldn't get to my ginger ale and boy did I want that ginger ale...

What may come as a shock was how unconcerned I was through this whole process. The snowflakes had been so incredibly active all morning and I think that is why. Sometimes my little baby boy A likes to hide from the NST pad so knowing this helped too.

Well an hour went by - then two, and still nothing but spotty recordings of his heartrate 99-200-154-96-202 like that it went on and on. I heard the nurse mutter something about "go see if you can find those twins" to another nurse, and a new woman appeared. She wheeled over the ultrasound machine, found the two babies and figured out the big mystery - both of the snowflakes are now lying transverse (horizontal!) Baby A has been head down and low for months, where as B will flip from vertical head down to transverse from time to time. I guess A got sick of having B sitting on his head, so he flipped too!

I have to admit, I was really frustrated and disappointed by this discovery.

I know it sounds silly to be upset over this but I really REALLY want to VBAC these babies. The nurse gave me some bullshit about how whatever the doc chooses I should be happy, and I wanted to scream because not for nothing, I know many women have c-sections without any issues, but my c-section with Peyton caused me MANY issues, not the least of which was robbing me of my fertility, so I am really not walking lightly into having another one like it is no big deal.

I am a realist, I know the possibility, and maybe the probability even, are there that I will have to c-section these babies, but that doesn't mean I am not wishing for VBAC. C-sections limit the number of children you can have, and we have always wanted a large family. I just don't think that unless you have had a c-section to bring a child into this world, and then lost that child, that someone can fully understand. It was also because of my c-section that we had to wait a year to start trying again, and another 6 months after that to discover I even had an infertility issue... so now that I am beating a dead horse here... let's just say I don't want one. I may need one, but I certainly don't want one.

Once the babies were found on ultrasound, my NST went a lot more smoothly. They checked my fluid, which they told me was wonderful, and sent me on my merry old way. I came home to find hubs working like mad at trying to get ice off the roof to no avail. I usually feel pretty grown up but I have to say, when things like this happen with our house I feel like a kid who is in over her head.

So after a long (and exhausting for hubs) day, we moved back into our bedroom last night- finally! We have been staying in the guest room for about a month - since the infamous mercury incident - and the water dripping in the guest room was just the motivation I needed to get out of there. I had been holding off, since we had put in new wood floors in the bedroom and I wanted to give them time to off gas, but I figured a month was sufficient.

 Well, to say last night was a sleepless night would be an incredible understatement. For whatever reason I was nauseous all night, and kept getting up to deal with morning sickness. At about 4AM, I finally closed my eyes and kept them shut, but wouldn't you know... 7AM I woke up to new drips - IN OUR BEDROOM! UGH!

Ty Pennington where are you!?

Hubs was outside shoveling, and looking mighty exhausted by it - poor thing! The storm we got last night was very wet and heavy, and I could see that each shovel-full was making him wish he had stayed in the midwest, rather than move up here to all this snow and mess to marry a northeastern girl!

I peeked my head into the guest bedroom to see how the dripping was going in there, and what had been a controlled drip into a bucket, had spread overnight into a splattering mess! Hubs came in and I gave him the bad news about the leak getting worse, and he headed back out, head down, to re-roof rake the roof! After that, he put more plastic and buckets and towels down in both bedrooms, and looking defeated, headed for the shower.

"We are gonna laugh about this someday." I called to him from the bottom of the stairs.
"About what?"
"About our house deciding to fall apart over the last month of this pregnancy. About not being able to get anything ready in time because of it. About all of it."
"We are?"
"Yes. We are."
"But not today," he grumbled.
"No," I admitted, "not today. But someday."

Three years ago, on Christmas Eve 2007, I first learned that I was pregnant with Peyton. Ecstatic, I came bounding up the stairs, test in hand, to show hubs the result, and had shaken the thing so violently in my excitement that it had cleared the screen. "Look" I screamed, shoving the stick into his face. Hubs, not yet ready to greet the day, peered with one eye at what I was holding and said, "What am I looking at? It's blank." I ran back downstairs, chugged a glass of water, and tested again, this time tip toeing my way back up to him. This test had confirmed what the first had told me - our life was about to change - we were going to have a baby. We announced our pregnancy with Peyton to my family that night, while seated at Christmas Eve dinner.

Two years ago, on Christmas Eve 2008, we spent the holiday grieving our daughter. Peyton had passed less than two months prior, and most things about that year are a blur. I remember not wanting to remember. I remember staring at the tree, and the gifts, and feeling miserable. My family, not really knowing what to do with us that Christmas, did their best to help us get through it. We poured some strong drinks to forget, and sang a lot of terrible karaoke. We have never sang karaoke on Christmas before - my family is more the traditional read out of the bible and sing Christmas Carols type. At certain points during the night I escaped up the stairs to a bedroom or a bathroom and I cried and cried because my child was dead. My body, still swollen from carrying her, was a reminder of all that was missing that Christmas. It felt impossible to survive. We went to mass that night and sat in the front row. People all around me sang "Joy to the World," and praised the birth of Jesus. I sat, hovered over the pew, and sobbed. I couldn't care who saw me that Christmas. I couldn't care if my tears on this joyous occasion were hard for them. My daughter was dead and I was in a service proclaiming and celebrating the birth of a child. That Christmas I fell to depths that didn't feel possible to break free of.

Last year on Christmas Eve 2009, hubs and I again spent the holiday with my family. We had been trying since July/August for another baby without success. My OB kept telling me my infertility was my own fault - that the depth of my grief made conceiving impossible. We attended an earlier mass last year, a children's mass. If you are having trouble TTC and grieving the loss of your child, attending the children's mass at Christmas is about as joyful as sticking a poker into your eye. My nephew Dylan, just a month old at the time (and already old enough to have outlived his cousin) was swaddled across my sister's chest. I remember leaning into hub's ear at that mass, pointing to Dylan and saying, "by this time next year let's have one of those. Let's really do this." I believed that since my doctor told me that our infertility was my fault, there had to be a way for me to fix it. I believed that I could give this beautiful gift of a child to my husband. Hubs smiled, and squeezed my hand three times, the way he always does to say "I love you," and a glimmer of hope returned to our hearts. Four days later, as I lay alone on a cold steel table in the hospital, a doctor told me that my tubes had been destroyed by my c-section and I would never again conceive on my own. That pledge that I had made "to have one of those by this time next year," was no longer a possibility. We were devastated.

Christmas Eve 2010 is fast approaching. I have spent much of this month sort of ignorant to how quickly it would be upon us. Bed rest makes that easy. I don't have a TV in my room so I haven't seen the Christmas movies and Holiday Special lineup that usually take over this time of year. Outside we have a slight layer of snow, but nothing that screams "It's the end of December. Get ready!" We haven't even put up a tree. It seemed a terrible waste of time, since no one would be downstairs to enjoy it. Our shopping is done, but has been for some time now, since I started doing it online the first month of my rest. I am not even sure that I will be allowed to attend mass this year. Nothing about this Christmas feels familiar, and maybe that is a good thing, because to feel familiar would mean it would be reminiscent of the last three Christmases, and those are days I would like to put out of my mind altogether.

I am hoping that this year I feel at peace, and can feel Peyton's presence with me. She is mentioned to us less and less, even by those that we know love and miss her, and I hate that. Sometimes I think people think that in mentioning her to us they are reminding us of something, but what they don't get is that we always miss her, and always will. Not mentioning Peyton just makes us feel more alone in that. Her absence makes her no less our child. Just as these Snowflakes are so loved and so wanted, so our first sweet daughter always will be.

I guess this is the start of a different kind of Christmas. One that I never could have expected for myself, or planned on. This is the start of walking the line. I feel such joy and gratitude at the impending births of these little ones, and at the same time feel such sadness at what can never be with Peyton, and I think it will just always be like that. Time can pass. Our lives can experience many blessings. The holidays can be joyous once again, but the fact of the matter is that she will always be gone, and we will always miss her. I think if I spend my life waiting to feel better about that, or others spend theirs waiting for us to "move on," there will just be a lot of disappointment.

Life without all of your children present is what it is.

I have been thinking about how different this Christmas would feel, were Peyton here to experience it. I imagine how excited she would be, because this year she would really "get it" for the first time. I go down that road sometimes, because it is so easy to get caught up in the "what could have been," but I have come to realize that to survive this, we have to shift our focus to "what is."

For me, "what is" is my belief that Peyton's soul did not cease existing the day she passed. I don't know how it could have with all the messages and signs of comfort that she has brought to us and those we love since she left this world.

For me, "what is" is a belief in the possibility that just as I am imagining what Peyton would be doing were she alive - twirling and playing in the snow, looking up in awe at the lights and the tree, she is somewhere, some place far beyond my realm of human understanding doing just these things.

For me, "what is" is a belief that just as I feel the warmth and reassurance of Peyton's love ever present within me, she too is warmed by the love of a mother and father who have never let her wander far from their thoughts or their hearts, and never will.

For me, "what is" is a belief that though we have been met with heartache after heartache in our quest to have a child, there is a possibility, and a very good one at that, that our little Snowflakes will be here in a few months time, healthy and happy.

For me, this Christmas has to be about "what is," because it is only in accepting "what is" that I can find some peace with it.

This song is for you my sweet little Peyton.
(be sure to pause the player in the right toolbar before hitting play on this video)