I don't know where to begin

I've started this over and over again...not really sure where to start. So I will start at the begining.....

Christmas Day was wonderful. We spent the morning opening gifts, laughing, and dreaming of the baby and the year to come. We went to Derick's family's for Christmas dinner. We talked, laughed, and ate well. We came home to see Deal or No Deal, since it's Derick's favorite show.

That's when our lives crashed again.

My water broke. I was 16 weeks exactly. I was inconsolible. I was screaming and screaming while Derick ran upstairs to wake Mom and Dad and get dressed. He called the doctor, and we rushed to St. Lukes.

They did an ultrasound, and the baby was good. His heartbeat was 150, and he was strong. But there was virtually no fluid left. He suggested that we wait until the next day and speak to the Perinatologist because there was a chance that the fluid could increase itself. So I waited, on complete bedrest. It was the worst night of my life. I felt as though I was waiting for my baby to die. But he was so strong. He made it through the night, and when I saw the Peri he said the same thing. There was virtually no fluid left. The baby was going to die. We either could induce labor or wait, but if we waited longer there was a high chance that I would get an infection and possibly never be able to get pregnant again. But his heartbeat was still 175! How could our baby die with such a strong heartbeat?

We decided to induce labor. Derick said that it wasn't fair to me, and he told the doctor. They induced my labor at 5:25pm, and just as I told them it would only be 3 hours, Riley James was born at 8:42pm. He was alive until he couldn't breathe anymore...his mouth was open like he tried. He was such a fighter. Riley is Irish for "brave and couragous" and I've never met a little boy more brave. He weighed 3oz and was only 4 3/4 inches long. Just a little peanut, but he looked exactly like his Momma. Big feet and all!

Yesterday we picked up his ashes. Just a tiny litle urn. And he's going to be burried with his brother. I'm so shocked and numb and emotionless. I feel like I should be crying nonstop, but the tears won't come. It's not that I don't care, it's just that I'm lost. I loved them both so very much, I wanted them in my life so badly....

It's Christmastime

It's that time of year again. I'm dreading it. I can't even begin to imagine having a Happy Holiday knowing that my baby is celebrating his first Christmas so far away. I'm so down about things lately. And I should be happy, right? But I'm just not. I can't get into Christmas, I don't even want a Christmas tree. Derick and I decided that every year, with our family, we will pick out an ornament appropriate for his age. Like, next year...a Winnie the Pooh, his 2nd year an airplane, 10 years a football, 17 years a car...and so on. I think it would be great to make it a family tradition. We got him this year a pair of angel wings and a snowbaby on a star with his name.

And tomorrow is my Birthday. I had imagined spending my birthday with MY family. Derick and Dylan. A sweet baby hug and a drooley kiss...a card signed by Derick for Dylan...an "I *heart* Mommy" pendant...all these things were taken from me the day my baby left for heaven.

I saw a Psychic last week at a party hosted by Mom's friend from work. She said, "I see him in heaven, holding a spot for you. He know's how deeply he is loved...and that keeps him warm and happy." I just had a hard time believing her. Like that's just what you say when someone has lost their baby. I know he's there...I just have a NEED to know that he's ok. I worry about him daily. Does he miss us? Does he know how much we miss him? Does he know how much we love him? Is he having fun? Did he make friends? Is our family there to comfort him when he cries? I guess the mothers instinct never truly goes away.

We got a cute little sign that says, "Santa Please Stop Here!" for his grave. Hopefully we can go tomorrow and get a few other things and put them there for him tomorrow. I'm so afraid to leave things there, but I don't want him to feel un-loved. So it's like a catch-22. I don't want the pain of having someone steal them again, but I also don't want other parents to think that we don't care. Because we do! So much...it's just been a year of uncertainty I guess.