Getting Old and Staying Young

Well I know now that I am officially getting old. My daughter has her first crush on an older guy. She is all of six years old and is madly in love with her soccer coach, who is in college. At first this all seemed really cute and funny to me. I remember being young and having my first crush on an older guy. I think we have all been there at one point or another. After all, when you are six, most six year old boys seem so immature and silly. As my daughter so bluntly put it, "They are just weird!" So watching her try to do her best to impress and basically follow him around like a little lost puppy was amusing at first. I had to be a little impressed actually, because she has pretty good taste in guys for being only six. There is something about him that reminds me a lot of my husband, which I am sure is part of the attraction for her. With Daddy being in Iraq, it would only be natural for her to totally love guys that are so much like him, because she absolutely adores her father. I started thinking that if I were ten years younger I would probably be chasing this guy down myself. Then it hit me. "If I were ten years younger." That was the most terrifying thought that I have had in a long time. Don't get me wrong. I am madly in love with my husband, more than satisfied with our relationship, and there are still major sparks in the bedroom department. I, in no way have any intention of finding another guy or even remotely want another guy. Well I take that back. I would definitely never throw David Beckham out of my bed and honestly, my husband would probably ask if he could watch. (Have you noticed a dominating theme here. I think everyone in my family has some serious soccer issues!!!) But anyway, back to the point, just the thought that someone old enough to be in the serious dating pool is too young, was really scary. I mean this guy is only the age that my husband and I were when we started dating each other seriously. When did I get so old. Then another thought occurred to me. If I didn't remember getting so old, who's to say that I really am that old. I mean after all, age is just a number. I know that is one of the oldest cliches in the book and people only ever say that to make you feel not quite so bad about getting old, but I really don't feel that old. Maybe we are only as old as we feel. My love life is just as active as it was when I was 20. I still have a huge crush on my husband and we are still known to go parking every now and then. So maybe that is the key to staying young. By doing all those silly little things that we did when we were in our teens and 20's, we are essentially fighting the aging process. Who cares if we act silly together and do all the touchy feely PDA's that people generally are grossed out by when they hit their 30's. And take it from a voice of experience, even though your bed at home may be so comfortable and convenient, there is a lot to be said for making out in the backseat of your vehicle. Maybe, none of us ever really have to get old, even though our age number gets higher. Maybe instead of being 30, I'll just be twenty-ten.

Losing Sophie-Three Months Later

It has been three months now, since we lost Sophie. I would love to tell everyone, who just suffered a loss that the pain goes away, but it doesn't. It does get easier though. The first week was probably the hardest week of my life. As I said in my last blog, I came home to a house full of baby things that I just couldn't bear to put away and in all honesty, there are still things laying around right now. Waking up in the morning was the hardest part. As long as I was asleep, I didn't have to think about the fact that I came home from the hospital with empty arms. I think the first few days home were the closest to insanity that I have ever come and I never want to be in that place again. My husband has always spoiled me rotten and done anything that I asked, no matter how unreasonable. This is the man that went to every store in town that was open at 11:30 at night looking for cheeseballs and I wasn't even pregnant. In those first few days I bordered so close to the edge of insanity, that when I woke up in the morning, it took every ounce of sanity left not to beg my husband to bring Sophie back to me. I have never confessed this to him and I probably won't until he comes home from deployment, because I don't want him worrying. For some crazy reason, I would have moments where I actually believed if I pouted and threw enough of a fit, that he could do something to change what had happened. I think about those days and it still terrifies me that I came so close to losing my mind. Things gradually got easier. My husband had to go back to Iraq a week after the funeral and that basically left me as the single parent for our oldest daughter again. This was probably the best thing that could have ever happened. No matter how dark the days were, I still had a reason to get up in the morning. Someone had to dress, feed, do homework with and play with her and I was the only one available. I couldn't just "check out" of life, I had to keep living it. There was no other option. I thank God every moment of every day that he gave me a child to keep, before he took one away. I've often heard the phrase, "God doesn't give us more than we can handle" and I truly believe that. Despite taking care of our oldest, I still had some really bad days at first. Especially on school days. I would wake up in the morning, feed her breakfast, put her on the bus, then come back inside and go back to bed until it was time to get her off the bus in the afternoon. I felt like there was no reason to be awake, since I had no one to care for and nothing to do. I wasn't mentally able to take on any new tasks and anyone who knows me, understands how far from my personality that is. I am a born multi-tasker and over-extender. I try to do anything and everything that comes my way and then some. Losing Sophie had made me feel like such a failure that I was afraid to do anything at all, for fear of failing. I blamed myself for losing her and felt like a complete failure as a woman, because of it. As a stay at home mom and wife, I felt that my number one job was to produce and raise children and by losing Sophie, I had failed to do the one thing that was required of me. It is a really irrational thing to think. There was nothing that I did that caused what happened. It was just a fluke of nature. There was nothing I did, nothing I ate, nothing I didn't do that caused the esophageal atresia. All the doctors and coroner's report confirmed that, so there was no reason for me to feel that way. But I did and there are moments even now that I still do. I keep reading everything that I can find about Sophie's condition, just as a reassurance that it wasn't my fault. After the first month, I finally had my first day when I was able to get out of bed by noon. Some of you may think that sounds ridiculous, but for me it was a major milestone. Up until then, I was waking up at 7:30 in the morning, going back to bed at 8:30, not getting back up until 3:30 in the afternoon and going back to bed a 11:00 at night. I was sleeping my life away, so being awake those few extra hours from noon to 3:30 a big deal. I started boxing up the baby clothes and putting them away in hopes that someday I might be blessed enough to have another child to wear them. Slowly, I started to take interest in things that I liked to do again. I started reading books again, watching movies again, and started toying around with my model horse collecting hobby. Now, here I am three months later. I was finally able to visit Sophie's grave a week and a half ago. My oldest daughter and I took flowers, since the nice spring weather is finally here. I am becoming super-mom again and totally over-extending myself and loving every minute of it. I am running our oldest to soccer twice a week, tee-ball twice a week, swimming once a week, and volunteering at the school. She is going to add an instrument in the summer and is planning on four separate sports camps. I'm finally blogging, as you can see, and shopping like a maniac, although that is becoming a bit of a problem. I think to help cope with losing my child, I may be trying to accumulate things to fill the void she left behind. "Things" are not filling it though and I am spending money hand over fist, so I have been trying to avoid any store, including online ones. I'm like and alcoholic, trying to stay away from beer. I still have the occasional dark day, if there is nothing I need to get done. Especially on rainy days, I tend to stay in bed until noon. I am battling the fear of losing our oldest daughter and felt like a horrible person, because deep down I was relieved that she had to miss her field trip to the circus, because she was sick. What if she got lost, or stolen or killed? It was just so much safer for her to be here with me at home. I have moments of panic, watching her at swimming lessons. What if she falls off the edge, hits her head and no one can get to her in time? I have become such a pro at thinking up the worst case scenario, that I think maybe I should get a job working for national security. But I resist and fight these urges and never let my oldest daughter see these fears. I push her to try new things, no matter how scary they might be. I push myself to try new things too. Basically, healing has become a choice that I have made and not just something that happens. I still hurt in a way that I know I will never recover from. We are not supposed to outlive our children. It goes against the laws of nature. Nothing will bring her back and nothing will ease the pain of losing every special moment that was stolen from me when she left this world. But, I will not stop living my life. I will not stop loving the child that I still have with me and I will not stop being the best mother I can possibly be to her. I will not miss out on all the great and wonderful moments that life still has in store for me, just because it is hard to get out of bed in the morning and I will not feel guilty about living my life, even though my baby daughter is gone. I think that is what healing truly is. It is choosing to be alive and choosing to live life to it's fullest.