He Lives

Here he is.  Our newest baby boy.  Born alive.  On Mother's Day.

There is a longer version to this story.  The version which involves my depressed self barely getting out of bed the weeks before he was born.  And, a sad pregnant lady desperately changing practices at 38 weeks in hopes that delivery at a new hospital with a new practice will prevent the trauma of remembrance that walking into a hospital to deliver a baby will surely bring.  (It didn't.)  There was a long labor after being induced in this story.  With a stupid epidural that didn't freaking work while doctors kept telling me that I should feel pressure.  And, the crazy, depressed pregnant lady yelling back that she had birthed three babies with an epidural and the pain was NOTHING like this.  A story where I ended up delivering the baby without the aid of any drugs and it was as awful as everyone says it was.  But, in the end, I had a living baby.  A real live baby that I could take home with me.  That I could hear cry.  That I could look and see the blue irises of his eyes.  That I could curse at 5 am for getting up every. single. hour.  That I could see his big brother and sister kiss and hug and love and love and love.

Time

I often think about time these days.  It has been a year since Mackenzie died.  My birthday approaches.  I think about the person I used to be a year ago.  Two years ago.  Five years ago.  Ten years ago.

I think about how lost I am.

I think about how everything in my life revolves around getting this baby out of my belly alive.  And, then what?  Then my life finally begins again.  I can finally close this chapter of my life.  I can call the clinic in NJ and let them know our decision about our one crappy embryo up there.  I can delve into going back to school or call work and let them know when I am going back.  I can choose a birth control method.  I haven't been on birth control since 2006!

I can be free.



We spent Mackenzie's birthday together as a family.  We went to a family trampoline park...which the kids loved.  I wanted to do something that made them happy.  We made angel food cake.   We bought balloons and made notes to our dear sweet boy.  It took two attempts to have enough balloons to get the notes to "heaven," but we finally did it.  We finally had our ceremony for our little boy lost.  People sent flowers.  My best friend gave me a lovely book called "Tear Soup," a book about healing after loss.  Another best friend send me a beautiful print of e.e. cumming's poem [i carry your heart with me(i carry it in].  I felt loved and cared for by some and ignored and belittled by others (mainly my mother and family).  My mother said, "well, what are we going to do?" in reference to honoring Mackenzie's death.  Something, I thought.  Something would have been nice.  A call.  A card.  But, in the end, it is my day to grieve my little boy.  No one other than my husband will ever feel that day as I do.


I spent Tuesday afternoon this week in L&D.  I had gone in for a routine biophysical monitoring of the baby, which indicated that I was having regular contractions every 6 minutes.  Because the baby is still breach, they wanted to make sure I wasn't in labor.  My cervix hadn't opened, though, so I just had to spend 4 hours monitoring the baby and getting an IV bag "as lack of fluids causes contractions."  (Duh.  I know this.  I drink 6-10 bottles of water a day and have contractions regularly despite this!) 

I had been anxious about how I would feel returning to L&D where a little over a year ago I had given birth to Mackenzie.  But, it wasn't as emotional as I thought it would be.  I cried just a little.  I mourned what could have been.  And I moved on. 

Anniversaries

We are fast approaching Mackenzie's birthday and I find myself getting more and more apprehensive.  I don't want it to have been a year since he died.  Sometimes the pain feels so distant and unfocused and other times I just ache to have my life back the way it was before he died.  I sometimes think unconsciously that this baby in my belly is Mackenzie and not this other baby.  We keep "testing" out names when talking to the baby and none of them feel "right."  None of them are Mackenzie. 

Lately, a lot of small talk is initiated as my belly quite announces itself and is a simple topic of conversation.  I vacillate between telling people this is our third and fourth pregnancy.  Tonight my husband and I went to an event at my son's school and were asked by multiple people how many children we have.  I had told my husband of my problems answering this question, so he answered for me.  "Four." Each time he said it, we would look at each other tears in our eyes, and politely try to steer the topic elsewhere.  And, tonight, I can't sleep thinking about it.

I feel no joy in having this baby.  He mostly reminds me that I should already have a baby.  My husband assures me that once the new baby comes and is healthy and alive that I will feel joy for him.  But, I worry that I won't.  I worry that I will resent him, which is not fair for an innocent.

A Long Break

I'm 30 weeks now.  7 weeks since I last posted.  I have wanted to post, but for some reason, finding the space in my life to do so has been hard.  How can this be when I am staying at home and should be having more free time?  I have to be honest....I am struggling with staying home.  I miss continuous train of thought.  I get testy about not being able to accomplish in a day what I would like because instead of just running errands and accomplish tasks I have to take into consideration the needs and wants of a 2 and 5 year old.


We are nearing Mackenzie's birth day.  I cannot believe a year of my life is gone. I can't believe it's been a year since he's been alive. I feel more distant from the intense grief of those first few months, but I also feel more distant from myself.  I wake up some mornings to nightmares about not knowing who I am anymore or how I happened to find myself living this life.  I'm so far from who I thought I was 1, 2, 5, 10, 15 years ago.  This isn't what I imagined for myself, for my career, for my family.  I feel rudderless and have no life purpose or goals.  It's disarming for me, the ultimate planner, to be so adrift.  I miss goals and having a vision for the direction I want to head.  At this point, my only goal is to have this baby.  It's not even a goal that I am that excited about.  I feel terrible writing that...but I'm mostly scared.  How am I going to handle this?  I still don't even really believe the baby is going to come.  I have made some progress in getting ready....I washed some of Nugget's clothes and bought a few new things.  I bought a bunk bed for Nugget and Baby Girl so that Baby Girl can transition out of her crib to a "big girl bed."  I started thinking about baby boy's nursery, but haven't implemented anything.  I figure I can keep him in a bassinet for the first couple of months.  I should probably pull the bassinet down.


We still have no names for the baby boy.  I just don't feel drawn to any names.  Suggestions accepted gladly.

23 Weeks; On Passing Mackenzie's Pregnancy

This past week was emotional.  At 22 weeks, on Easter Day 2013, I felt some strong, painful cramps.  They went away and I didn't bleed or anything, so I figured that I was just a little over-run from preparing the Easter meal and running around like my type-A self.  Plus, a little part of me didn't want to interrupt our happy Easter day with a four-hour trip to the ER where they probably wouldn't find anything wrong.  I also had a doctor appointment on Tuesday and I figured we could check out the cramps then.  Except at that doctor's appointment on Tuesday, at 22 weeks and 2 days, we found out that my baby boy died.  I'll always wonder about those moments on that Sunday.  Had I gone into the ER that day, would my baby have lived or would he already be dead?  On 22 weeks and 3 days, my dead baby boy was born into this world.

A Picture of Mackenzie's Little Feet

The little baby in my belly this time was active this week.  Kicking and definitely more active after I would feed him copious amounts of sweets (just to make him move around more).  I checked his heart beat at least two times a day this past week.  Reassuring, but never enough.  I kept thinking this whole week: "I'm so pregnant.  My belly is so big.  This is how big I was when Mackenzie died."

23 weeks, 1 day Pregnancy #4

Today, I am 23 weeks and 1 day and this is my belly.

After my last post, I got a lot of comments asking whether I was seeing a therapist.  I am and I have been since the week after Mackenzie died.  A lot of people have asked me this in the days since Mackenzie has died.  I'm not sure what to think of it.  I generally accept that this is how people express concern when they feel helpless and don't know what to say.  Sometimes, though, this question makes me angry. (Please don't feel bad if you asked or suggested this. I did want to talk about why this is a typical response.  I welcome the perspective of others!)

Is this person implying that I am not handling my grief and anger well?  That I'm not "resilient" enough?

Do I appear to be a crazy person that isn't managing my life and being a good parent to my living children?

Am I not allowed to be angry and to grieve his loss?

Should I hide my emotions? 

Is the only acceptable form of grieving mother one that is positive and waxes poetic about how thankful she is for the little time she had with her child?

For me, grief is angry and raw.  Grief is waxing and waning.  Grief will dissipate for hours, days, and then sneak up on me with all-consuming force.  Despite it all, grief never, ever goes away.  It is a thorn in my side whose presence is always known.

***********************************

Two months after Mackenzie's death, I was talking to a friend at a birthday party.  One of her best friends had lost a daughter at full-term after years of infertility.  My friend told me that her friend had never been the same.  I was horrified.  I thought that surely that wouldn't be me as I felt I was coping fairly well with Mackenzie's death and was positive despite it all.  I couldn't imagine a life of continued acute grief.  I didn't want that to be me.  I realize now how naive I was.  I thought I was coping well, but I was just beginning my grieving life.  I didn't understand the depths of my grief.  I was probably still in shock.  I know better now...

How Do I Do This?

And.....I'm back.  Long hiatus from blogging.  Between finishing up my class (which was SO much work, but SO much fun), fitting in all my Christmas shopping/wrapping/decorating/baking/card-making the week before Christmas, dealing with the emotional aspects of the Holidays, two weeks with my son home over Christmas break, etc., etc., I haven't had much space in my head to come here.

The holidays were hard.  Actually, anticipation of the holidays were harder than the actual holiday.  On actual Christmas day, I was so absorbed in watching and enjoying the kids tear open their presents and go crazy with their cousins that the gravity of the day didn't hit me until the day after Christmas.  Once the presents were unwrapped and the stress of doing ALL my Christmas shopping in one week (NEVER AGAIN) was over, I took a good hour and a half to sob and miss my baby boy.  I guess I had packed away a "baby's first Christmas" bib last year for baby boy with our Christmas stuff...because at that point I was 8 weeks pregnant with two babies and not knowing what the year would hold.  To find it again this Christmas just wrecked me.  To be pregnant AGAIN this Christmas was awful.  To see my sister's baby born just five days before my little boy was disassociating.  Her baby was chubby and round, smiling at everyone.  My baby is a bit of matter burned up in an incinerator in the hospital morgue.  Not even a freaking grave for my baby boy and his tiny toes.

Today I am 21 weeks and 4 days pregnant.  Only 5 more days until I will have reached the length of my pregnancy with Mackenzie: 22 weeks 3 days.  I am so pregnant, you guys.  An undeniable belly.  I finally made myself go out to the shed where my husband had hid all of the baby stuff I had thrown out in a rage and pulled out my maternity clothes.  Fucking maternity clothes.  I've been wearing jeggings (YOU HAVE to buy a pair of American Eagle jeggings--only $30 and they ROCK!) and big sweaters, but those jeggings are starting to cut off circulation in my belly.  It's time to pull on the droopy butt maternity pants (why can't they fit, ever?) that will make my pregnancy unquestionable to all those around me.  I'll have to endure strangers excitedly asking me "is this your first" and "when are you due" and all sorts of normal, happy people comments.

I need to find a way to be excited about this baby.  I know that is awful to say.  I just feel like he'll probably die, too.  Because shit happens and it happens to us.  I'm pissed to be pregnant.  It doesn't make any rational sense to me.  I don't want this baby.  I want the babies I was supposed to have.  The babies that should be 5 months old now.  The babies that should be smiling and sitting up on their own and interacting with the world.  I'm trying to make myself figure out the sleeping situation as we only have 3 bedrooms upstairs.  Do my living son and daughter share a room?  I just can't bring myself to paint over my baby girl' pink nursery.  I was SO excited for her.  I couldn't wait to decorate her room and buy her clothes.  This baby?  Meh.  I don't want two boy rooms.  I don't want to buy little baby clothes.  I don't want to think about names.  AGAIN.  I had to psyche myself to think about this stuff during Mackenzie's pregnancy because I was so adrift.  This time?  I'm not even registering that I'm pregnant.  I figure if the baby lives then I can buy him something.  In the mean time, I'm just going to pretend like this isn't happening.  I even feel resentful towards this baby that he isn't a girl and now I have to redo my sweet girl's pink nursery.  I'm not saying these are justified emotions.  They're clearly not.  I'm being a brat.

What is wrong with me?  Will my maternal instinct kick in?  Will I be so depressed after this baby's birth that I won't bond with him?  Will I love him?  Will I look at him with anything but resentment for not being his brother and twin?

I find it hard to come to blogland.  Where do I fit in?  I'm not a happy infertile pregnant woman as I should be.  I certainly can't read other pregnancy blogs by happy pregnant women.  Or blogs by anyone as most blogs are written by people with normal, non-drama filled, lives.  What is it like to be those people?  To not be so tainted with failure and pain that the possibility of picture-perfect even exists.

Still Life

I haven't updated in a while.  I'm 14 weeks pregnant and last night had the lovely pleasure of finally listening to the baby on a Doppler at home on loan from a friend of a friend (thanks!). 

I wish I could say that I was happy.  There are moments of happiness, but generally I wake up each day feeling sad and angry about the state of my life.  I feel like I have been robbed of the life I wanted.  I can't seem to get over it.  Nothing has worked out like I hoped and planned and prepared for and I see most people around me achieving the goals they set for their lives handily.  I'm embarrassed at my failure even though I had not control over our infertility or Mackenzie's death.  I wish that instead of spending the past eight years trying to build our family I could have been focusing on my career and traveling and trying to qualify for the Olympics or something bigger than simply having living babies.   I know I should be grateful that our journey has been fruitful in that we have our healthy, wonderful children.  But, I miss who I was before all this.  I miss being ambitious and fit and goal oriented.  This girl was beaten out of me.  I merely try to make it through my days and be present in the happy moments that I do have.

I spent the majority of this week crying because we're having another boy.  I don't know why this was hard for me to process.  Part of me wanted Nugget to have another baby brother because he was so excited to be a big brother.  But, part of me wanted a girl so that it would be different and, honestly, I always imagined I'd have two girls and a boy. 

Though I shouldn't be, I'm surprised how difficult this pregnancy is for me emotionally.  I really thought that having another child would diminish the pain of losing one, but unfortunately this is not turning out to be true at all.  Having another baby only makes me more keenly aware that another baby is not here.  If I had to do it all over again, I'm not sure I would have tried again.  I guess that is a better question to ask myself if and when I have this baby.

My Life In Random Out of Focus iPhone Pictures

Little Baby at 9 Week Ultrasound...moving arms and legs all around.  HB of 165 and measuring on target.

 

BUMP PHOTOS:  I didn't take ANY bump photos during Mackenzie's pregnancy.  I was too afraid.  I want to have some record of this pregnancy, even if it doesn't work out.  My body sure knows it's pregnant...despite not having much morning sickness.

9 Week Bump

8 Week Bump

7 Week Bump

 

AND, Baby Girl's ankle is broken....let's just say it was all her daddy's fault and I'm not letting him forget it.

Baby Girl's Cast....Photo Courtesy of Nugget



Anxiety

I usually wake up in the morning with deep anxiety.  Worry over this baby.  Worry over the direction of my life.  Sadness and emptiness as I approximate the age that Baby Mackenzie should be. 

But, I tell myself that this is an emotion and try to carry forward with my day.  Most days I am able to drag myself out of bed at 5:50 to go on a 5-6 mile run/walk before I have to get the kids out the door.  In quiet moments, I convince myself that the baby is dead and my next ultrasound will contain those five dreaded words, "I can't find a heartbeat."  I've seen the baby three times now.  Heartrate at 5 weeks was 128, 6 weeks was 121, and 7 weeks was 151. 

In other news...Baby Girl likely fractured a bone in her ankle and is currently miserable in her knee height cast.  Nugget is really blooming and we've been in a good period where he's been such a good listener and a helpful big brother (with occasionally bits of whiny beyond belief behavior).

I have to go make some chicken nuggets before my class.  Life is busier than it should be and it's my own damn fault.

One Little Heartbeat

I was supposed to wait until next Thursday for my first ultrasound, but I was going crazy because I really don't have any symptoms.  So, we begged for an earlier ultrasound and got in yesterday.  We saw one perfectly measuring gestational sac and a strong little heartbeat (128 bpm).  So, that's good news.  As I was getting dressed after the ultrasound, my husband asked me if I was happy.  He didn't think that I seemed happy.  I told him that I was relieved, but am pretty guarded.  I was a little sad that there weren't two little heartbeats, as I felt that would be some redemption.  But, I know that one little baby is safest.  I've started running and exercising again, which is wonderful.  I miss my athletic self.  I miss being toned and in shape.  I miss being able to crack out really fast miles at the track.  I miss my running cronies.  I miss long runs and training for races.  I think the fall has me forlorn.  It is my favorite time of year to run. 

Third Beta

At 23 days past ovulation: 2537.
Not as high as my other cycles.  We're scheduling my ultrasound for next Thursday.....

Second Beta

My second beta was 1478, which was good!

Seems like things are progressing....

First Beta

Got a good strong beta today!

First Beta was 798 at 18 days post retrieval.

Betas with Nugget:
Beta #1: 632 (17 days post retrieval)
Beta #2: 1139 (19 days post retrieval)
Beta #3: 2331 (21 days post retrieval)

Betas with Baby Girl:
Beta #1: 866 (18 days post retrieval)
Beta #2: 1595 (20 days post retrieval)
Beta #3: 3122 (22 days post retrieval)

Betas with Mackenzie:
Beta #1: 196 (14 days post retrieval)
Beta #2: 360 (16 days post retrieval)
Beta #3: 789 (18 days post retrieval)

Beta #4: 2231(21 days post retrieval)

 

The few people I have told have asked if we are excited.  We are.  But, it is reserved happiness.  We are hoping to see a heartbeat and then we will just be holding our breath until the next phase.  I learned from losing my baby boy that I want to celebrate each moment of this pregnancy.  I even almost bought something for this baby, just so that I would have something tangible to hold on to if this pregnancy doesn't work out.

A First Step

Today at 16 days post retrieval, I was shocked to see this:

 

Beta on Wednesday (due to my own personal laziness and a family vacation at the beach) at 18 days post retrieval.

 

I still am in shock!  I thought that my symptoms last week were a sure sign that this cycle was a bust.  I should know by now that you can NEVER count on symptoms to mean anything.  Not really dealing with any symptoms yet, except a little constipation over the weekend.

99% Sure We're Facing Another Negative

I've been really crampy with loose stools the past few days.  My cramps were so awful last night that I had to lay down. I am crying all the time.  I can't believe that we probably have lost our last shot to have another child and am just so bereft that my baby boy is gone and I will never hold him or get to know his personality. 

Beta on Tuesday (rescheduled....).

Transferred

Those two little embryos that fertilized made it to Day 3 as Grade 1 8-cell and 7-cell.  In looking at the picture the provided, they didn't look that pretty to me. Part of me wonders whether they lied to me about the quality of the embryos (as I have been told has been done to us in the past).  But, I
just need to let it go because it is what it is.   What do you all think?  Looks like fragmentation to me.



In other news, I started my "trial run" class in Architectural Graphics.  I was so intimidated buying supplies for my class...tracing paper and "leads" and special erasers and sharpeners and drawing pads...I've never taken a class where I'm not sitting in a lecture the entire class.  There is something meditative about focusing on my work and learning a craft rather than learning an esoteric subject matter.  I'm learning how to erase, draw a line, hold a lead so that it makes even lines.  The class began with the professor showing us how to clean our work station.  For someone that always wants to speed forward and push my way through things, to slow down and take the time to ensure that I have a flat, clean surface...well...that's just sort of against my nature. 

Nugget starts his first day of Pre-K at a private school on Tuesday.  I've been crying a lot lately (drugs?) about the changing of seasons and the start of school.  I think part of my melancholy is because my big boy is growing up and going to school.  But, part of it is approaching the fall again, which was filled with so much anticipation and excitement last year when we found out that we were pregnant with Mackenzie.  I use to get excited about change and the beginning of the school year as a child, but now...I fear change.  I fear the loss of time.  I fear losing these precious stages with my children.  I fear moving farther and farther away from my once hopeful life with my little baby boy in my belly.  There is only one way but forward, though.  No turning back.

Not a good cycle

9 eggs.
3 mature.
Only 2 fertilized.

I've been down this path before.  I have to keep hope, though, because Baby Girl's cycle had 4 mature and only 2 fertilized.

I just don't know how much further down this path I want to go.  Is this it?

Sucky Sucky Blah Blah

I'm on day 11 of stimming (day 12 of my cycle).  Things are going pretty typically.  My E2 levels are very similar to those of Baby Girl and Mackenzie's cycle.  I have about 8 follicles that they are tracking, which is pretty on par for how these things go with me.  If I trigger tomorrow (likely), then I will be triggering on the same day that I did with Baby Girl and Mackenzie's cycle.  The two cysts that I started the cycle with do not seem to be impacting my E2 levels that much.  I'm trying so so hard not to let my hopes get up because my E2 and trigger days are similar to my two previous successful cycles.  I mean, heck, last cycle I transferred two beautiful Day 3 8-cells and no dice.  Previously, as long as I transferred a pretty 8-cell on Day 3, I wound up pregnant.  There is no rhyme or reason to this IVF stuff.  And, by my tenth cycle, you think I would know that.

Life has been pretty sucky, lately.  My husband (only my husband could do this) got a corneal abrasion and potentially long term eye damage by stabbing himself in the eye last week. My husband is also potentially going to lose his license because he got a reckless speeding ticket on Father's Day (that's a WHOLE other story).  We are in battle with some contractors about getting our porch remodeled.  They were trying to gouge us financially and we are trying to get out of the contract.  Lawyers, lawyers everywhere.  It all just feels so overwhelming, when I know this is just typical life stuff.  I just wish I could shout to the universe "hey!  can you just give us a break?  our baby died!"

Retrieval on Friday or Saturday.  Wish us luck.

Double Digits

I can't believe that this in my tenth IVF cycle.  Ninth fresh cycle.  I can't believe this is my life.  I can't believe my baby is dead. I can't believe that I was pregnant.  I can't believe that I started this process for a third child a year ago.  I find that I have little energy to do anything.  Completing one to two tasks a day, such as unloading the dishwasher or running an errand, is all I can seem to muster most days.  I am deeply unmotivated, which is completely unlike me.  I hate it.

In other news, I went to my first support group this week.  At the time, it was reassuring to see other actual human beings that had suffered the same loss, not just people I read about on the internet (no offense).  But, the day after, I had this horrible feeling of shame and embarrassment about talking about myself and our horrible journey with other people. I feel I shared too much, telling them about our IVF journey and losing Mackenzie's twin.  I'm not sure if I did actually share too much or whether I'm just sensitive.  Others in the group told about their child's death, using donor eggs, etc.  But, I just felt raw and open and embarrassed.  I'm not sure I'll go again in the upcoming months as I might have classes with my potential career change.

SO, angry girl, what good news do you have to report?

Baby Girl and Nugget seem to have such a close, happy relationship.  Baby Girl is definitely an extrovert and has to be touching, laying upon, or in very very very close proximity to her big brother at all times.  Nugget is more introverted, but he puts up with her generally.  The poor kid just wants to watch a movie or eat or lay in Mommy's lap and Baby Girl is always wanting to join in the fun.  My favorite moments are watching them in the bath together.  Baby Girl is obsessed with washing Nugget's hair and she will dump water on his head again and again and again and he just lets her.  They play this game in the tub where she tries to hide behind the shower curtain and he pretends he can't see her.  The sound of their laughter echoes through the upstairs, reaching me in my bed where I often lay exhausted.  I don't seem to have the energy to do anything.  But, their tinkling laughter can make me feel that all is well in the world.

Fireflies in a Mason Jar

I've been walking around in a daze the past few weeks since the negative, trudging through Mackenzie's due date and the birth of my friend's son that was due the same time.  My husband insists that I have pulled out of my darkest days because I am more interactive and making plans.  But, what he doesn't seem to consider is that I still sometimes wish that I was dead and I didn't have to live this life.  I know some may think that is melodramatic, but the pain of Mackenzie's birth....feeling his cold dead body fall out of my body, wet against my legs...and the pain of having to live in this world where people get to live normal lives where babies don't die and they don't have to do multiple digit numbers of IVF cycles to try and build their families.  Where people are constantly exuberant and expectant walking around with their big, pregnant bellies or complaining about how hard life is with so many young children under the age of XYZ. 

Every week I take Baby Girl to a music class.  I hate it.  I hate all the other mothers.  Particularly the one that had a baby on Mackenzie's due date.  I hate how sometimes they try and make small talk with me and I shut them down because really what am I going to have in common with you?  I know this is cynical and not particularly healthy and I will say that I don't feel this way all the time, but lately I feel this way the majority of the time. I continue to go to this stupid class, though, because I know Baby Girl enjoys it and I really need to have activities to do other than work through my massive to-do lists.  I wrote down today all the projects I want to get done around the house and it literally took two whole handwritten notebook pages.  I can do household updates and renovating and laundry and dishes until I'm 90.

But, this isn't what I wanted to post about.  I wanted to post about the fireflies.  Nugget finally grasped the enormity of the concept of fireflies.  They are amazing.  I've been trying to tempt him to catch them for the past few summers but he previously showed little to no interest. 

Not this year.

This year every night we tempt the mosquitos as we catch dozens of fireflies, dutifully stored in mason jars with holes poked in the top.  We've learned all their secret hiding spots.  My husband complains that I let him stay up too late and that our predation of fireflies will result in a decrease of the firefly population if we don't let the males out to mate.  I don't really care.  I love catching them and the parallel nostalgic memories of doing so in my youth in hopes that I could catch enough fireflies to read past my bedtime using their light.

After a four-day visit with friends down in North Carolina, we returned home just in time for our evening ritual.  After nearly fifteen minutes of searching, Nugget started sobbing that the fireflies were all gone.  I cried a little myself, heartbroken to lose one more summer of catching fireflies with my not-so-small little boy anymore. 

My husband and I spend 30 minutes yesterday looking at videos of my Nugget when he was Baby Girl's age.  That beautiful stage of life before they're really communicative in words and just emerging with little personalities of their own.  I was struck at how distant those videos seem and that the cobwebs of time and experience had made the memories more remote.  Why can't our brains hold more memories?  How could I have lost that moment when Nugget was obsessed with cleaning the sofa with windex?  How many more moments would I lose?  I should start living my whole life on camera so as to not let the beauty of these small moments fade into grey.