Putting on the Brakes

I find myself savoring the smallness that Claire is right now. And it's wonderful. She's already doubled her birth weight and looks like a full-on baby right now. No newborn. She's rolling over, alert, cooing and just insanely beautiful. I'm not going to lie... I thought having two beautiful babies prior to her meant I would birth only a face a mother could love, but we didn't. She's stunning. And maybe it's a mother's bias. I'll wear those blinders any day.

I am guilty of not savoring it all with Benjamin. I spent the majority of his babyhood being terrified something would happen to him. The other half was spent trying to speed things up to what Andrew would've been like and things he would've been doing. Not intentionally, but grief does that sort of thing. I was eager to get him out of his bucket seat and into a convertible carseat. I was eager for him to eat table food. I was eager to be done with breastfeeding and eager for him to crawl and walk and be independent because those were all things I knew Andrew would've well mastered by then.

It's not that I wanted Benjamin to be Andrew (though thankful I was able to experience another boy at all), it's just that my mind never fully reset the idea of not having a child who should be three-and-a-half-years old now. I just always internally expected to be a part of that other group of moms who I see at the parks with their preschoolers now and have full conversations about what they are making for dinner and what they learned in school that day. I think it's finally starting to settle and we're seeing Benjamin as a two-year old who is amazing and learning and saying new things everyday. The person he is.

Just today I asked him if he wanted to go to the playhouse after dropping Dad's car at the shop and he said, "Yes I do." He speaks so well now. He also told his Dad the other day when asked if he wanted to potty-train yet, "No Daddy, No(t) yet."

I feel saddened that I wanted so badly to speed things up and be ahead where we belonged with Andrew. I feel like I missed some of the wonder and excitement. Just last night we were looking back at old pictures and videos from Benjamin's first year in Elliot's phone. I was absolutely amazed that he looked the way he did in some photos. Yes, I remember. It wasn't all that long ago, but time is a thief. Well, so is grief. It robs you of so much if you're not careful to take it all in. And even then, it's easy to forget with the hustle and bustle of daily life.

Claire is giving us another shot at this babyhood business. And it's awesome. Well, the 2:30 a.m. wakeup call this morning and the 4:30 one and the 5:45 one and the 7:15 one... well those aren't wonderful. But to have the chance to see her beautiful face and to know she is all ours and needs us? It's beyond the most glorious thing we've ever experienced. I just wish we weren't so terrified with Benjamin and confused in our grief timeline that we let some of that slip right through our fingers like quicksand.

She can stay in that bucket seat a little while longer.

Andrew's 2013 Ornament

Tonight is the annual remembrance ceremony for babies gone too soon in our local area. Each year we go and hang Andrew's ornament for the year and they speak his name. It hangs on the tree that is then displayed at the hospital I delivered my boys and will deliver their little sister in the new year. I only wish his ornament would still be hung when I'm checked in for a hopefully happy and uneventful induction. The dates will be too far apart, so that won't happen. But what a lovely thought.

We weren't able to attend last year, though we did attend another ceremony in his honor. But this year, I'm happy we're back to the tradition of remembering our firstborn with hundreds (yep) of other families also missing their babies who passed on too soon. It's a very different remembrance ceremony. We'll see parents, siblings, grandparents, and all kinds of other supporters who either lost their own baby or love a family who did. It's really quite special... and totally heartbreaking. But if there is one single place I feel totally at home each year, it's in a room full of these other people. Especially during the holiday season.

This year, I couldn't decide what I wanted to do for Andrew's ornament. Many of my babyloss friends had an ornament exchange/secret Santa, but I was too late for the signup. Next year, I hope to be a part and use that special ornament as his 2014 addition. This year, I chose to get very brave and follow in the footsteps of one of my friends by creating an ornament of his things. I was originally going to add things in a clear bulb ornament that reminded me of him, but I really wanted something more. I was anxious about it, but I made the decision to spend naptime on his birthday last Thursday cutting the clothes he wore and a special outfit we bought that I just had sitting in the closet for the last three years waiting for him. It just never did feel right dressing Benjamin in that outfit. It was very much chosen with Andrew in mind and so special to us. Surprisingly, cutting the only clothes he ever wore was not as terrible as I imagined. I think it was because I wanted to make it so beautiful and worthy of displaying in his honor that I allowed myself to carry through. Also, my friend brought up a great point that while the pieces of clothing would remain whole and in a box, they would only be infrequently seen when I opened the box. This way, I can see pieces of him for an entire month displayed on our tree during the month of his birth.

He wore everything in this photo except that beautiful sweater outfit we picked out just for him. Not to share with siblings or to hang in a closet for three years. The blue ribbon on the right came from one of my baby showers. All of the items on the left were worn or touched by him. Baptismal gown (with ribbons & angel cut off that I used in ornament to tie swatches of clothing in a roll, hat, hospital blanket, blue outfit that says "Thank Heaven for Little Boys"-- breaks my heart, pants and booties). I did not choose any of those outfits and assume that all but the blanket are specifically for babies who die. I'll never ask. I don't think it matters that I know.

The card is in his box of things but thought I'd include his cute footprint. The pom from the hat above, swatch from his blanket with the ring they had him holding in many of our NILMDTS photos (symbolism?), the blue outfit with an airplane, a piece of the baptismal gown with an angel that was attached to it... all wrapped in either ribbon from my baby shower or the ribbon off the baptismal gown.

I stuck the piece of the beautiful sweater outfit in the ornament before photographing. I couldn't get it out... so pretend it's in that last picture. :)

I wrapped a piece of the blue ribbon around the top of the ornament and attached the little angel bead and "A" they had with the little gold ring from the hospital. I am assuming this was a gift from another babyloss mom or sweet citizen.

Finally, I added an "a" from the letters I used to create a sign above his crib that spelled out his name. The capital letters were gone, but I used the lowercase "a" and attached it to the cardstock paper I also used in the frame above his crib along with smaller confetti-like pieces for the bottom of the ornament (not visible).

I won't be bringing this ornament tonight, but the ornament we had made on Etsy last year that we could not bring to the ceremony. I just can't bring this one. I fear something happening to it and never receiving it back. The ornaments are returned at the ceremony the following year. However, this one is currently being displayed on our tree and will be forevermore.

On The Night You Were Born...

...The moon smiled with such wonder

That the stars peeked in to see you

And the night wind whispered,

"Life will never be the same."

 

He was born at 9:04 p.m. Tonight, at 9:04, I was taking a hot shower. I wasn't laying in a hospital bed vomiting, shaking and welcoming my son into the world silently like I did three years ago. It was much more pleasant this evening. The smell of his candle (apparently discontinued, of course)--dubbed as such because it was given to me during my pregnancy with him and has a very babylike smell-- permeated the air. 

 

Today wasn't nearly as kind. Before noon, I'd sobbed at least a handful of times. Ray and I chatted about how it's crazy that even three years later, it's horrible how raw your grief can still feel at times. It might be just a day, but it's the anniversary of the worst day of our lives.

 

Of course we still miss him. Of course we wonder what our lives would be like with an intelligent three-year-old roaming our house. Of course we wonder what he would be eating for lunch and what his favorite toy would be. But the sad truth and reality is that we never knew and will never know a single answer.

 

We went about our day and I took Benjamin to storytime between sobfests. Surprinsingly, I held it together at 2-3 year old storytime. We had a drive-thru lunch because that's all I could muster. Naptime arrived and I made Andrew's 2013 ornament out of pieces of clothing he had worn. I thought that would do me in, but really, I was okay with it. I was mostly composed because I wanted to make something worthy of displaying in his honor. I look forward to hanging his four ornaments on the tree this year. Christmas trees, while beautiful and innocent in nature, still mock me. Never will we have a tree in the same place we did on that cold December morning we arrived back home with empty arms and a bag of mementos. The tree has a whole new room and will never be purchased before his birthday.

 

In between cutting pieces of the only clothing he had ever worn, I read countless texts messages and emails from some incredibly thoughtful people who still remember he lived and existed. I was honored and completely humbled by people who remembered. It's really one day a year that I fully experience the impact my lifeless son had on so many people.

 

I took Benjamin to the playhouse down the street after naptime and we went to dinner at one of our favorite local, kid-friendly burger places that has toys and books for kids to play with. We know Andrew would've liked that place. Benjamin sure does. We arrived back home to the fanciest of Whole Foods cupcakes I purchased yesterday and Benjamin attempted to burn himself while I blew out the candles. My three-year-old would've been elated to do so himself, I'm sure.

 

A traditional evening of books, toys and all things Benjamin and off to bath and bed for Andrew's little brother. The fourth December 5th we've experienced without our firstborn son alive. And the numbers keep adding.

 

Because there has never been anyone like you... ever in the world.

For never before in story or rhyme

{not even once upon a time}

Has the world ever known a you, my friend,

And it never will... not ever again.

98 Days. Gulp.

I read on a blog today that we're under the 100 day mark until Christmas. Which means we're close to 2014. Which means we are even closer to a certain beloved boy's 3rd should-be-awesome-but-it's-gonna-suck birthday.

I won't carry on about the cool things he'd be doing, saying, or bringing home from preschool. Okay, maybe that was enough.

Dang.

I'm never ready for the seasons to change because that means we'll be at another candlelight vigil {just like my friend Brooke commented about yesterday} instead of excitedly pulling out the Christmas ornaments and decorating the tree. We'll still do that, but it still stings. We decorated our tree and home hours before delivering Andrew. Then we got to come home to all that festive crap, making the holiday sting even more painful. Not that I wanted him to die ever, but I sure wouldn't have chosen a December doomsday.

We had to turn down a Christmas party already because it landed on the dreaded 5th and of course that day is not a day to party it up for our family. We'll have a sensible dinner at the same local restaurant we went to last year and a dessert in honor of our firstborn. We'll attend the remembrance ceremony, light a candle and hang an ornament on the multiple trees they provide at the local ceremony for our dead children.

Gulp.

A Not Always Beautiful Mess

Now 9 months gone from our arms, we're still left with his beautiful mess. I like to think of it that way; the hell being still so beautiful because of the love we have for Andrew.

But let's get real for a hot second here, mmkay?

In these 9 months, the following has occurred:

• I've collectively used more Kleenex wiping up snot and buckets of tears than I have in my entire life up until December 2010.
• I've definitely used more curse words to describe my superlative of sadness and grief and struggle with the hardships of ttc.
• I've dropped out on lots of friendships (at least for now) because I'm a completely selfish person who can't think past her own grief to ask how the heck someone else is doing in their life.
• I've spent days and days watching more TV than I've watched ever.
• I've questioned God, his existence, his love for us and all things I've ever believed in before tragedy struck.
• I've been unmotivated and drab.
• I've all but given up on my appearance most days-- taking great effort to look presentable.
• I've offended family members and probably friends with my rage and lunacy 
• I've avoided phonecalls and door knocks.
• I've lost most of my carefree personality and have definitely transformed into a downer who can't even smile when looking at the innocence of a baby-- because instead I'm oozing with jealousy. 

Thank God I'm married to my soulmate because I'm a pretty attractive beast these days and would be hard-pressed to find someone who was attracted to such ugly qualities. 

So it's not all pretty over here. It's beautiful that our son has spurred so much love inside of us that's passionate and fierce, but I was kind of hoping that passion and ferocity would be used to say, potty train him or something. Turns out all milestones are a wash and our sadness lives on through the ebbs and flows that it is. It's a brutal beast that gets the best of us. But it's out of love. How love can translate through all of this madness and ugliness is beyond my comprehension.

Loving our little boy just as much today as we ever did. Nine months little man. Can't even believe it. And I really don't want to.

Massage Envy?

I <3 Massages.

I don't get expensive haircuts. My hair is au naturale (though it wasn't always that way. Helllllo college). I've had 2 pedicures in my life; once before prom and once before my wedding. I can count on one hand how many manicures I've had. Not that any of these things are too indulgent, but because they just aren't something I get too excited about. But massages, my vice.

I've had quite a few in my life. I'd say about 10 professional massages/wraps in fancy places. One Christmas my MIL and SIL treated me to a chocolate massage and wrap at the Hershey, Pennsylvania hotel! We also had our feet eaten alive by fish at the original salon famous for the pedicure and we all admit that it was royally disgusting, but lots of fun.

On the day of my engagement, my wonderful husband (to be) scheduled me a hot stone therapy massage at my favorite spa in Manhattan Beach, Cali, Trilogy. Of course I was a nervous and thoroughly excited wreck because it was scheduled just before I would be getting engaged-- the hour before!

My engagement story is nothing short of incredible. I arrived at my car that Friday morning (running late) and saw my favorite flower, orchid, and a puzzle box (link to exact box) on the driver's seat of my Honda Civic. The box included instructions about what to do later that day. After teaching all day (and still unsure), I followed the instructions in the box to drive to his apartment in Manhattan Beach for my next clue. Once there, I walked in to see tons of my favorite things: favorite bottled water, snacks, sweets, pictures of us and our adventures together, etc. There was a second box. In that puzzle box, I was instructed to drive a couple miles to my favorite spa for that stone massage. At this point, I had a pretty big hunch the engagement was coming. He even provided me with quarters for the parking meter at the spa! During my incredibly nerve-wracking massage, I was thinking about the possibilities. I wasn't the least bit calm, cool, or relaxed as I usually am when it comes to all things massage. Once done, the masseuse gave me my third puzzle box which instructed me to meet my (very soon to be fiance) at the 26th street lifeguard tower in Manhattan Beach. There he was, standing there as our two kites were flying in the wind, waiting for me. I arrived and received my fourth puzzle box (no ring inside: he was worried I'd be too excited/nervous and lose it in the sand!) and the most wonderful question anyone has ever asked me came next. Then, the ring.

All that to really drive home how much I love massages. Well, here's where I get all sad on you.

In the hospital on December 6, the day after delivering and saying goodbye to my son, a masseuse walked into the delivery room (I did not change rooms as they felt I deserved the space, all things considered). I was a little startled by the masseuse's arrival because 1. I forgot all about their free massage service after delivery (who would've thought my mind would've been so screwed with at this point) and 2. I didn't understand why a masseuse would even want to walk into a room where she would meet a bereaved couple. I had a falling leaf and poem on my door obviously indicating we were mourning and not celebrating. {Just the thought of someone walking over to our door and placing that poem and symbol there makes me feel utterly shattered.}

When she arrived, we created smalltalk as I was sobbing. She apologized and then shared the story of her own loss-- a son 20 years ago and no answers to why he was born still either. She asked if I wanted a massage.

I told her I did not want one. This is completely out of character for me. I just couldn't joyfully receive a gift that I usually love so much in the midst of such sadness and anger. I almost felt like I didn't deserve the treatment. After all, my son died and I did not have the instinct to know that he died inside of my body. I was feeling shame, guilt, sadness, anger... all negative. I felt that receiving a massage would feel like a big slap in the face. My son died. I don't deserve this luxury! I saw the massage gift being a reward for the hard work of labor. But I labored for 12 hours (yep, that's it) and yielded a dead baby. I was unproductive. I ruined everything.

I know that what happened is not my fault, but like I've said before, try telling a bereaved mother that as she questions everything in her being.

Nearly four months later, I have yet to have a massage. I still feel undeserving. I feel like I should be sad and mourning, not enjoying incredible, highly indulgent massages. My husband has been asking me to make an appointment because he tells me that I deserve to be happy. I just don't know if I'm ready for that just yet. I believe in happiness, but the very thing that connects me to that day and my previous happiness is a massage. I know I can be happy and sad concurrently for different reasons, but I'm having a hard time justifying this type of happiness so close to the death of my son.

There's a massage place close to our house. It's one of those chain stores, Massage Envy. Anyone ever received a massage there? Perhaps when I am able to move forward and experience that type of luxury again, I'll consider giving that place a shot. Not yet, but I'm hoping I'll get there soon.

I've Got Friends in Low Places...

...where the whiskey drowns and the beer chases my blues away... and I'll be okay...

This whole blogging world is funny. I've come in contact with people who blog near and far that I have so much in common with. It doesn't surprise me much since most people who blog like myself are a. women, and b. Type-A. Since we won't ever shut-up, it's logical that we'll divulge enough of our guts that we'll find something in common with one another. But I didn't think I'd find people who lived in my hometown growing up or the city I met my husband just a few miles down the road... and someone who lives about 5 miles from me in the 'burbs!

I have recently received some emails from blog friends that I've never met. Some thank me for writing about my innermost thoughts (though some are omitted still as I feel my thoughts aren't always world-wide appropriate) and how they also either know what I am facing or just wanted to thank me for being so open that they might understand my brain better. The BLM brain is something pretty funky and messed up, but something I have no choice but to embrace.

I have a few friends I've become pen pals with, but one in particular. I've met a pretty awesome Canadian chick that has become a pretty regular pen pal. She lost her little man, Jack, in early January. We're the same age and have a pretty similar spunk. We don't filter our emails. They're loaded with TMI and it causes our husbands to give us funny looks. Andrew and Jack have probably enough spunk from their mothers that they've found one another in heaven and are causing all kinds of baby chaos.

I just can't help but think that people who aren't even conceived yet may eventually go down this same road. Little girls not even to puberty. Women who are currently pregnant. Women who give birth today to their lifeless babes. It's no-doubt an isolating world to live in amongst the expectations of society to produce perfect little ones; one boy, one girl, and the whole white picket fence {and the irony is that my parents have one boy man, one girl woman, and that actual white picket fence}. Does that skip a generation? Who knows.

As I write, though, I'm really letting out an incredible blast of emotions that well up inside of me all day. To me, reading and writing is my therapy. I like to think of it as a self-led grief therapy group available to me at any time of day/night. It's not a scheduled event that occurs for one hour, once a month. It's when I need it most. It's crucial that I am able to release by writing and see how others are living lives despite their grief. When Andrew died, so many of these strong women were behind their computers, writing. I'm so thankful they did, because it encourages me everyday. And for those women who have yet to experience this terrible feeling of loss, the writing is there for them, too.

I can't imagine a life of baby loss grief without the world-wide-web. I know I'd still be writing unpublished, but I wouldn't be connecting with such great women in the blogosphere who inspire me daily. It's baffling to think about how women handled losing their babies without that release 30 years ago. They were suppressed and hushed. Their babies were not to be spoken about, let alone written about for all the world to read. Maybe we're finally breaking through and celebrating their lives right here as we blog. <3

My friend posted this on her blog and I LOVED it. Had to re-post as an ending thought.

{via}

Still in Utter Disbelief

You'd think that I'd absolutely assume the reality that my son died by now. But you want to know what? About half of my days, I still take a moment to live through the reality that my son really is dead. He's not still growing. He's not on a vacation from us (Yeah, like I'd ever let that happen anyway. He doesn't even get that now!).

He. is. not. coming. back. I will never know why and that IS our reality. It's absolutely horrible. Like the worst horrible ever. Until the day I die, I will forever be a mom on earth missing her son in a deep way.

I still cannot fathom, during some moments, that he really, really is gone.

Something silly (and shameful) that often pops into my brain is the ignorance I once held about mothers of stillborn children. I don't know if I really ever thought it through, but I'm sure if you would have asked me prior to Andrew's birth how stillbirths occur, I would have probably, embarrassingly, told you that they were often due to the mother's negligence. For thousands of years, babies have been born to parents who weren't taking extra precautions to take prenatal vitamins, stay away from secondhand smoke, etc. I guess because so many children are born to parents who are abusive while having a child in utero (i.e. drugs) and by God's grace (Why them?) are spared, I couldn't imagine babies being born dead with no known cause to women who were cautious and nurturing. Sure, there's a cause. We just don't know it and never will. Neither will my friends who are parents of children taken by SIDS, or miscarriages.

I would apologize for the outrageous amount of DB posts lately, but it's my reality for the rest of my life. How do you think I feel being that person who actually lives in these shoes and doesn't just read a sad post and carry on with my day? That was me before Andrew. I read them, too, and felt sorry. I cried at some. I thanked God I wasn't in their shoes. It's a whole different ballgame now.

Switching gears a bit...

I read this news article about a little boy who said that during a surgery, he slipped away to heaven. He sat on Jesus' lap, and met a sister in heaven he didn't know he had. It turns out that his mother had miscarried before he was born and that child was in heaven. He "came back" and told his family about his encounters and the sister he met that he never knew existed.

Listen. I don't necessarily believe that to be complete truth, nor am I in a place to reject it. But wouldn't that be lovely for us BLMs if it were true? This idea this boy revealed that our deceased babies are in heaven enjoying themselves, growing, and experiencing no hurt? Wouldn't that be just a wonderful release for us who are missing them so terribly? If Andrew were actually the age he is meant to be (15w2d) and not always 38w5d gestation? Wouldn't it be wonderful that although we must endure such incredible heartache and sadness for the rest of our lives, that our babies are living a peaceful life in heaven? I do believe Andrew lives in heaven with his creator, but I'm just not sure about the child visiting heaven, seeing things we aren't sure will be, and then coming back to share with us on earth.

Another gear change...

I wanted to really title this post "Still in Utter Disbelief & How Much I HATE the Teacher's Lounge", but I figured keeping it short would be best--though it appears I've written a novel thus far.

As a kid, the teacher's lounge is a mortal abyss where no student has ever gone before. To some teachers, it's the land of gossip and nagging about the principal and the latest textbook adoption. It's the place that has far too many caloric treats that just ask to be glued to your thighs. And to some of us, it's the wretched place we have to store our lunches.

I was sitting in the TL today as I often do with a book in hand (to avoid the lame chit-chat). One woman starts talking about OB/GYN malpractice and how of all cases against doctors, this field of medicine has the highest rate of claims. I knew that. I have a nurse friend (also a BLM) who deals with these cases as her daily job. It's just not something I liked hearing in the teacher's lounge with so much opinion attached.

One woman mentions that Rhode Island's OB/GYN system is unionized. First of all, don't even get me started on unions. Being a teacher and force-ably made to join a defunct union that just breeds carelessness, mediocrity, and laziness, I do not support them. Anyway, the teacher (being a union member herself) defended this as to say that, "If things go south in the delivery room, parents get all crazy and file claims"-- she even went on to say that her friend (the delivery nurse) has had to deal with 2 claims because of this. Had to? Oh. I. hate.

I hated this conversation for so many reasons. I think bullet points are necessary:

• I don't feel sorry for a nurse having to review a claim because someone possibly lost their child. It's a human life for goodness sakes. Having to take some time to review malpractice when you have better things to do? Two claims in her whole career thus far? That's hardly worth complaining about.
• I was in the room. Every teacher at this school knows I lost my baby quite recently (though IMO, it wouldn't matter if I lost him 50 years ago). While I'd prefer as much normalcy as possible, I don't enjoy hearing conversations about things going south in the delivery room like it's as casual as the weather. Going south is an understatement. Again with that whole human life thing. Perhaps it's easy to say for those who haven't lost a child, but a whole lot more happened in that delivery room than things just going south.
• I don't like reliving the delivery room scene. Okay, I relive it just about daily-- but that's not the point. I didn't need a reminder of my sadness.
• Doctors know that malpractice occurs. They are trained to ensure that they will honestly care for the public to the best of their ability. If they are not doing so, the public who pays heavily for this service (um, have you seen how much it costs to be administered a simple Tylenol in the hospital?!) is entitled to have their case reviewed. Negligent doctors need not be taking care of the public. Nor poor teachers instructing our youth... you get the picture.
• While malpractice occurs and I don't feel that is a concern in our case (reason we did not file a malpractice claim), I don't like how close-to-home this whole topic was. We're educated in our rights, but we're not doctors. Could something have alerted doctors before Andrew passed away? Maybe, but we don't think so. Can we change the fact that Andrew died? Nope. 

... stepping down off the soap-box right now ...

Before finishing this post, I read a recent message from a friend.

But blessed is the one who trusts in the LORD, whose confidence is in him. They have no worries in a year of drought and never fail!!! Jeremiah 17:7-8

I don't know about no worries and never failing, God, but I trust. On my knees, crying uncontrollably, but I trust.

Chocolate Cake Nightmares

So you all know that I gave up chocolate (and all sweets) until June 1st. It's been 21 days.

Not for lent. Not really for losing weight. Mostly because I wanted to see if I could do it. I like challenges. I read a blog of a woman who tried this challenge because she felt sugar gave her headaches and wanted to see if omitting sweets from her diet would curb the issue. I thought about how I've never given myself an eating challenge before. I've never really dieted, either. Lucky for me, my parents have some pretty great genes that don't require drastic measures to keep things on the lower end of the scale. It doesn't mean I'm toned, though, so don't go thinking I have some crazy Baywatch body. By a smaller body, I meant just about everything is smaller, even if I wish the ratio wasn't always so even. I also thought this challenge would be good timing because I needed to control something (yes, a flaw), and I didn't want to resort to being an emotional eater. It gave me something to plan, fix, design, control.

Don't get me wrong... I have changed my eating habits in the past, but haven't really forced myself to give anything up before cold turkey (except being pregnant and willfully denying harmful things like Diet Coke-- which was hard, very hard). When I was in college, I remember eating super healthy. I'd workout 1-2 hours a day, eat cottage cheese, a slice of toast, and broccoli for lunch. I had a great body, but my genetics paired with my young age also had a little something to do with things.

But now here we are. Age 28. I'm 21 days in and I am seriously having issues. I don't have issues during the day, but at night, I actually dream have nightmares about chocolate cake and other sweets! Like 3-4 dreams now, no joke. I dream that I broke the challenge and to me, breaking any commitment is a sign of cowardice. I am not a quitter. I'm stubborn as can be (thank goodness, otherwise losing Andrew would have sent me into celibacy) and refuse a life of passiveness and defeat. So this chocolate cake in my subconscious needs to get the heck out!

During the day, however, I'm great. Let me paint the picture of our kitchen pantry for you all (you hoped for a photo? Not. a. chance!):
top rack: oatmeal, dried cherries, cereals, Cheezits (shh), granola bars
2nd rack: boxed meals, pasta, other meal items
3rd rack: canned goods, soups
bottom rack: junk food, sweets, candy, chocolate {basically my husband's nemesis}

I open the pantry for a snack and this is what happens in my brain:
1. Eyes immediately focus on bottom rack. Scans junk food for something enticing.
2. Says, "Crap, I'm doing that stupid challenge."
3. Eyes go back to the top. I find the Cheezits. Grab the Cheezits. Open the Cheezits. Pour some in a bowl (you know, junk food portion control. hahaha).
4. Eat.

The only thing that makes this picture better than say, a year ago, is that I'm not pairing it with a Diet Coke and a piece of chocolate (you know, the salty/sweet combo). And the only thing that makes this picture better than 21 days ago is that I'm not pairing it with that piece of chocolate. Cheezits, solo.

And you know what? Even though I didn't solely take on this challenge to lose baby weight, I did have a few LBs to lose. Particularly in the thigh and buttocks regions. Those babies are slimming down and it's a good thing. Does it make me feel any better about having lost Andrew? Not even a portion of a percent. I thought it would, but it didn't. Does it make me feel pretty dang good about fitting into that pair of holey jeans I promised my husband I'd leave in New Zealand on our honeymoon {but obviously never did} 32 months ago? Abso-freaking-lutely.

Hopefully my subconscious will take on that chocolate cake demon in my dreams. What do you think would be a good weapon? Bikini?

Speaking of bikini... I was flipping channels and saw a quote from Kim Kardashian pop up on one of those Hollywood gossip shows. Aside from my complete confusion as to why these girls are rich from doing nothing, I had to post her pearl of wisdom related to eating right. I can't quote it perfectly, but something like, "Whenever I think about eating bad (using correct grammar would be too much for her IMO), I think, bikini, bikini, bikini!"

What a gem she is. And what priorities she has in life. Makes a momma proud, doesn't it?

So Why Aren't You a REAL Teacher?

Some of my favorite questions arise is typical conversations with outsiders. You know, people who aren't in the DB club.

Today I was subbing 6th grade and was out for recess duty with another substitute. The usual conversation starts and typically covers our various moving situations (CA to Germany to IL) and why I am a substitute rather than a real teacher. Sometimes I feel like talking about my firstborn baby dying, and sometimes I don't feel like going down that road and seeing the horrific faces and sad comments that ensue. Today was among the latter.

I mentioned our moving situation and how I would not be seeking full time employment in my field of expertise at this time because we are looking to start a family. Well, we already did, but that didn't work out as we planned, so we're back to square one. Usually the person also has children and wants to insert an unassuming, usually unoffensive comment once I mention the whole family planning reason as to why I'm a qualified teacher with years of experience, but choosing to be without a full-time job.

Here was today's little ditty. It's my favorite of the comments. If only they knew...

"Well, you can have my two kids whenever you want to try things out!"

Ah, yes. If only you knew, Mrs. happy-go-lucky-mom-who-obviously-isn't-in-the-DB-club. (Or at least to give her credit, hasn't renewed her membership recently.) I'd love to have my own kiddos, thanks. I don't need your help nor do I need "practice" on what it's like to be a mom. I'm pretty sure I'll figure that all out when it comes to me... if I'm ever so lucky.

Not that she was really offering her kids to me, but it's a sensitive topic.

For those who aren't friends with me outside of the blogosphere and don't know my crazy, clean-freak, Type-A, hate mornings self... a little more info. for you all.

I received my BA in Journalism, my teaching credential for K-9, and my MA degree in Educational Tech. I taught 4th and 5th grades in California before we packed up and moved to Germany for 6 months. There, I didn't teach, obviously. We arrived in IL just 2 weeks before I found myself pregnant with Andrew. Since we are blessed that my husband's job is enough to sustain us, we decided this would be a perfect time to start a family since I did not have a job to start/quit and all our ducks were in a row. Love the visual.

 {via}

Since I was just trying to pass time until our baby was born, I decided to earn a little extra cash substitute teaching. I also taught a MA course for teachers in technology, my area of expertise. I had full intentions of staying home with our son once he was born, so short-term was fitting. Well, you all know what happened next. Since Andrew died, I didn't want a job, I wanted my baby! I could get a full time job now, but I also could get pregnant {and feel it's irresponsible to accept a job when my full intentions are to quit it...and my heart is just not in it right now}. Once I become pregnant and give birth to future Wilson babies, I will be staying home. I missed everything with Andrew. It's simply not an option for me since we are blessed with the financial means for me to stay home. Some day again I'd love to go back to teaching, but not until my children are in school full time. I don't want to miss a thing. Life is just too precious. It's a whole lot more important to me than having a lot of money. Life is all about love and experiences. I always knew this was true, but I am even more of a believer having lost that chubby-cheeked baby boy.

1 year, 100 days

Exactly one year ago today, we were a family of 2 flying from Germany to the United States, hoping to become a family of 3 very soon.

We left our little town of Neuenrade, Germany (where we'd lived for 6 months) for Frankfurt, weighed our completely maxed-out baggage and got excited about owning our first home in a matter of 3 days.

I drank my last alcoholic beverage, a margarita no less, in hopes to become pregnant within the following weeks. It worked! I was pregnant within 2 weeks of stepping foot back on US soil.

We prepared to sign closing papers for our home on March 18, 2010 in the western suburbs of Chicago, Illinois.

We were so excited. We traveled the world, bought a home, had a new city and state to explore, and became pregnant all in a matter of 2 weeks time.

And 100 days ago...

Doctors gave us news that our baby boy had passed without any known reason.

We experienced love and heartbreak all in one day.

We became parents to a gorgeous baby boy.

We said goodbye to our first child.

We went from a family of 3 back down to a family of 2.

So much hope and so much heartbreak all wrapped into one year. We went from having a seamless life filled with hope and happiness to what we're still trying to work through from the loss of our precious baby. Take nothing for granted.

What I wouldn't give to be this excited, hopeful, carefree pregnant mama again...

We have the same hopes we had just one year ago today, though looking through entirely different lenses. 1 year, 100 days and our lives are forever changed. In some ways this last year has gone by at a crawling rate, and in some ways I feel like we aged an additional 10 years in 365 days.

The Perfect Soul

I knew today was going to be interesting. I often sub at a middle school (like today) and knew that there was a pregnant woman there nearing the end of her pregnancy. It was the last day before Mrs. G's maternity leave officially begins. I already knew this. I'm pretty keen on knowing what is going on around me, especially since everything seems to be babyloaded lately. Ultra baby.

Sure enough, I walk into the teacher's lounge and Mrs. G is surrounded by lots of food and the staff as she is being showered before motherhood officially begins. I grimaced at the thought I had to visit the teacher's lounge today at all since my food had to be microwaved. I avoided it yesterday by making a PBJ. Yes, I specifically planned not having to enter the teacher's lounge so I might avoid the baby talk. I checked to see which lunch slot I would have, knowing she had 8th grade lunch. Phew, earlier. The rest of the day carried on fine.

During 8th period, I headed to the empty teacher's lounge to read since it was a free period for me. Another teacher walks in and asks me how I am doing. She was always really sweet during my pregnancy. She reminds me a little of myself; type A and brutally honest. She apologized to me and said she knows because she had a stillborn daughter born 35 years ago. She also told me that she went on to have two more children. I was frustrated. Of the two schools I sub at most often, I met two women who had stillborn babies. It angered me. Then, she looked me in the eye {...which is super impressive. It seems no one does that anymore} and said something very important. At least I think it is important:

It doesn't get better, but it does get easier.

I'm glad she acknowledged that it will never be better, or okay, that my son died. Never. But I am also glad she followed it with a statement of hope. You know when you're on a road and know that the only way to the good part is through the bad part first? That's what living in my shoes feels like. I know there will be times ahead where I am genuinely happy. I'm still on the beginning of that road, though, and it's so hard to see what's ahead through the fog.

She asked me if we were able to see him once he was delivered. I told her we were and that we even took photos with him (still no photos from NILMDTS, though I did email and receive a response). We held him. We spent time with him. We could have kept him as long as we wanted since he was our child, after all. Thirty-five years ago, that wasn't reality. You could not see your deceased child-- they would not let you. While I knew this also to be true, I still cannot imagine that. I can't imagine health professionals in hospitals denying me the right to see my son, dead or alive. It's not their child or decision to make, in my opinion. She told me that she really wanted to see her daughter and it still angers her that she was not allowed that right. Frankly, before I became a mother to a dead baby, I would've thought it to be disgusting that anyone would want to hold or, gasp, kiss a deceased person. I thought having ashes in your house was creepy. I'm ashamed of thinking such thoughts. How naive. How ignorant.

She then went on to tell me a story of woman she met while fresh from her tragedy. That woman also had a stillborn baby (more common then of course).  She told her a story that I'll probably mess up in writing/interpreting. I was half giving myself a pep-talk to prevent myself from crying as she was speaking. I heard parts of the story. The woman explained to her that sometimes babies are born perfect souls, like our babies. They never lived life on earth and just needed their souls to be born perfect into the arms of God. We were chosen to be mothers to perfect souls.

While I don't accept that as proof or explanation for Andrew's death, it does give me a small portion of peace in knowing he was born a perfect soul. He was born pure and lives on with God and all the other babies and deceased loved ones we've lost here on earth. She told me hearing that helped her tremendously. She was okay with being the bearer of a perfect soul as it takes a special person for such a job. Perhaps it's just what someone says to provide an answer in the midst of confusion, but it sounded wonderful, despite my scientific doubt that Andrew's death was strictly so I could give back to God a perfect soul. But either way, he was a perfect soul no matter why he passed and I have to accept that.

{...pausing for a moment as I watch two robins playing on our front yard. It's in the 50's, smells like spring, and I can barely contain myself...}

I walked into subbing 9th period feeling a little better until 3 girls shouted over the loudspeaker an announcement of congratulations to Mrs. G and her baby girl. Phew. Dodged a bullet there. I'm sure glad it's a girl. Why? I guess just knowing I never had a girl makes me feel better. My jealously is far greater when facing those who have newborn boys. It's the life I envisioned having... but I didn't envision pink and bows. Silly, I know. But again, it's my ridiculous logic.

Once the bell rang, I headed to a house of a woman who also gave birth to a stillborn baby a couple years ago. I have been reading her blog for sometime now (in tears far before I even conceived Andrew) and she has since adopted one boy from Africa and they are currently in the process of adopting a second boy. She and her husband will be flying to retrieve {what word is appropriate when talking about human life?!} their second child very soon. Since infants in Africa are not given the proper nutrition or formula, she asked if anyone would be willing to donate formula. She wanted to bring the maximum luggage allowance and provide formula as a gift to those children. I read this and felt that I immediately had something to give. You see, when you sign up for a baby gift registry, your information is sold to the masses. Similac and Enfamil sent me at least 6-8 cans of powdered formula with hopes to hook me as a formula feeder. When Andrew died, I threw out all the cans that landed in my mailbox-- all except 2 cans and a few smaller samples. When I read that she needed formula donations, liquid gold she called it, I entered the nursery and rummaged through the bags of stuff we quickly unloaded all of the baby contents of our kitchen cabinet into once we showed up back home empty-handed. (Holy run-on sentence! I don't care... my thoughts are winded sometimes) I managed to scrape up those two cans. I dropped those off today and met her adorable son, Tommy.

As I was driving home, I began to weep, yet again. She allowed me to borrow two books that she read when first dealing with the loss of her daughter, Leah. Holding on to Hope, and The One Year Book of Hope, both by Nancy Guthrie. While thankful, I was taken over emotionally by this. My thought process went as follows:

Really, a year? I have to grieve my baby for a year? No wait... a lifetime.
Someone wrote a book of hope for grief because they had experience with it, sadly.
She read these because she lost a daughter, also to stillbirth.
I saw two women in one day that lost babies also to stillbirth. That's not acceptable. 

A song came on the radio-- something about a newborn and how time flies as babies grow-- so I turned the channel, obviously. Channel 3: a Christian channel. And then Praise You In This Storm by Casting Crowns came on.

So, weepily, I did.

Letters to Andrew {1}

My mom recommended I write a letter to Andrew a few months ago and it hasn't felt right... until now. It's March 5th. Today, under "normal" circumstances, I'd have a baby boy that just turned 3 months old. I don't know how many letters I'll write, but I numbered this one just in case.

Dear Baby Andrew,

Today is full of sadness for me. First, it's the 3-month anniversary of your birth, which means we've gone 3 whole months without you in our lives. Second, it's Saturday. You know how I feel about Saturdays since they are family days-- it's not the same without having you here. We're a family of 3 minus 1. Finding the energy to enjoy today is already a battle. The weather is cold. Snow is flurrying outside. It's days like this when I wish we were living in Cali at the beach again.

I wonder what you are like right now. Will you always be the 7lb.6oz. baby I birthed? Are you growing up in heaven just like all the other babies that are born and still here on earth? I truly don't know what a 3-month old would be like since you are the only baby we've ever conceived. I haven't read the milestones for 3-month old babies because it's too painful to know what we're missing as we cannot watch you grow.

Another thing I think about a lot is that you won't ever get to experience meeting your amazing dad. He is so supportive and the most loving person I've ever met. I bet you would have been just like him. You really looked like him when you were born. I was amazed at how much you looked like both of us. Your dad is so mild-mannered and was so proud to be your father.

So here we are, carrying on in life without you. It's as painful as it was when we found out you went to heaven. Someday we hope to make you a big brother. Our family will never be entirely complete without you here, though. Know that I love you with my entire heart and think of you every single day.

Love,
Mom

Bermuda, BAHAMAS, Come on Pretty Mama...

Here's my attempt at being positive for the week. Photos and commentary from our cruise this past weekend below.

But before I carry on with smiles and giggles, I first have to state a couple annoyances.

1. I just had to pay Google $5 to buy storage for this "free" resource. And even more annoying, I'll never reach 20 GB in one year, but it expires on 3/2/12. So every year from here on out, I pay the man. I know $5 is no big deal, but seriously... nothing in life is ever free.

2. I'm so tired of seeing things on facebook about babies. I finally deleted 1/3 of my friends list yesterday and may continue. Don't be offended if I unfriended you. I just can't handle the daily reminder of what I'm missing that all you moms out there have been so blessed with. It kills me to see those photos. I'm sorry if you don't understand but my shoes are really unpleasant to be in. A lot more unpleasant than someone unfriending you on facebook. You can get over it and then go hug your babies, I can't.

Also, I have to be honest and say that during our first day on the cruise, we were playing a game of table tennis and I commented that this was a pretty crappy consolation prize we've been given {the cruise v. being at home with our newborn son}. I thought to title this post "Consolation Prize" but figured I could think of something more positive since it was mostly a nice experience in and of itself. The only reason we booked a cruise in the first place, though, was because when we returned home from the hospital empty-handed on 12/8/10, we had to figure out what to do with our plane tickets we had booked for California (scheduled for early March). We were planning to have a post-birth baby shower to bring Andrew to my hometown in California and show him off to all our friends and family. So much for that. We re-booked our flights (thanks Southwest for no penalties!) to Florida instead to get away. If Andrew were here, this cruise wouldn't have been happening and I wouldn't have wanted to go anywhere that would mean leaving my son behind!

So, here's the re-cap of our consolation prize cruise. We did try and make the most of it. It felt really nice to be out of Chicago and the freezing temperatures to experience 80-degrees every single day!

Leaving Miami beach...

Here's the Majesty of the Seas, Royal Caribbean boat we took. We're in Nassau, Bahamas as we took this photo and the cruise ship is behind us. I think we counted 5 or 6 cruise ships in the Bahamas on the day we were there. Do the math. That's a whole lotta peeps. The day before we arrived the Disney Cruise ship was there. The day after we left, the newest, largest cruise ship was scheduled to arrive in port.

They trap you (just like all tourist islands) in this building that force you through all their shops and you get haggled on your way out the door. I paused here to take a photo with this cool thing.

In the land of the Caribbean, Cuban cigars are legal. Well, they're legal everywhere except America, actually.

We took a ferry boat ($6) over to Paradise Island where the Atlantis hotel is located. We had full intentions of buying passes to go down their lazy river because the Wilsons love lazy rivers. We walked through this crazy Vegas-like hotel and waited in a line that seemed like forever for them to tell us it would cost $120 per person to use any part of their facility for the day. Yeah right! $240 for a lazy river ride? We were not having any of that, so we decided to follow what the ferry Bahamian guy told us to do-- walk to the right of the hotel onto the beach. It's public. They can't kick you off. Then proceed to walk toward the Atlantis hotel and no one will stop you. So, we did. We paid nothing to walk around the Atlantis resort and could very well have used any and all of their facilities without paying. Before you comment about our dishonesty (and let's be honest, they are ripping people off!!!), I'd like to say we didn't use a single facility-- not even a bathroom! We didn't get in the water and didn't go on the lazy river. We just walked around for about 30 minutes to check out why on earth anyone would ever pay $120/person to go down their waterslides! I snapped some photos of what you see below...

One waterslide takes you through a clear tunnel. Sharks surround you in the water. It's pretty cool and we were able to see it from the underground access.

This is the waterslide. There are two ways-- one without an inner tube and one with a tube.

 View of Atlantis

 Here's the hotel from the Atlantis resort grounds. I snapped this shot before we left.

From the cruise ship, we looked down on the island of Nassau (capital of the Bahamas). Romantic, huh? Yeah, not so much. If you look closely, you'll see that a large portion of buildings on the left of the yellow tower were completely demolished by a fire. The cause of the fire (just 2 weeks before we arrived) was said to be a faulty telephone electrical box.

My husband drinking a local brew, the Kalik. It's legal to walk the streets with alcohol in the Bahamas as long as it's in one of those super classy paper bags.

 We attempted to go into this bar, but it was so packed and just smelled of sweaty people and drunkenness. Yuck.

 

 Sunset on our second night at sea.

If you know us well, you know we're not really the formal, dressy type. We're casual and like it that way. Maybe it's the beach culture I grew up in, but I would rather throw on a pair of jeans and a tank top any day than wear heals and fancy dresses. Rather then pack too much luggage we'd just have to check and schlep everywhere, we packed light, hence our unformal attire on "formal" night. I at least get credit for a. wearing a skirt, and b. painting my toenails in the winter months! Here's a photo in the ship's lobby.

This one's for Tommy Ferguson. Two words: Poker Face.

{Tommy and his wife Alli went on the same cruise ship just two months prior to our trip. We intended to replicate some of their photos. Tommy had many poker face photos. We only managed to take one}

 A tree with paper-like bark. I can't remember the name...

 It's blurry, but can you spot the large, striped iguana tail? I'm so bummed I didn't get a real photo of him. He was huge!

 We went on a nature trail walk on the island of Coco Cay-- our second (and final) stop in the Bahamas before returning back to Florida. It was really nice and very few people chose to do any walking. Most people just headed straight to lay out on the beach. We, being the active folks that we are, chose to walk the trail to find two infamous chairs our friends Alli & Tommy were telling us about on this walk. Here's Elliot exaggerating about being tired at the end of the trail. Halfway through our trail walk, I stopped off at the restroom. I walked in to be scared half-to-death by a CAT sitting on the toilet and drinking the toilet water. Yummy.

 

Our cruise ship in the background. This was at the very end of our nature walk on Coco Cay.

Our cruise ship and the sister cruise ship (Monarch of the Seas) in the background.

 The two chairs we found at the end of our nature trail walk. We weren't sure if these were the two chairs our friends told us about, but we took advantage anyway! There wasn't a soul anywhere around!

These stacks were found all around-- someone was obviously a little artsy that came before us. But being honest, MANY people had been there before us. This island is basically Royal Caribbean's privately leased island in the Bahamas. It's real name is actually Little Stirrup Cay. But that doesn't sound so romantic or island-like, so it was re-named by a cruise company and now Royal Caribbean calls it home to one of their Caribbean stops. Adjacent to it is Great Stirrup Cay that is owned by Norwegian cruise lines-- that was their second stop. We could see their boat. Our island had little significance, but theirs has a ton of history!

Just relaxing on our private ocean-front property... for an hour or so. I look ghostlike here and I'm not ashamed. Ever since my skin cancer incident, the shade of white skin seems much more appealing to me. I <3 sunscreen.

Trying to replicate a photo my friend Alli took on her cruise here. She was standing on the edge of a rock and her husband shot a photo from the background.

 

Starfish sighting #1!

Hanging out with a starfish and some live coral in the gorgeous water.

Starfish sighting #2!

Starfish sighting #3! See my linea negra? A little piece of Andrew still with me. I both hate it and love it. I sort of never want it to go away, but some days I hate it because it's a painful reminder, too.

 

 Here birdie, birdie. Wait, nevermind. Don't come near me, thanks.

Doing a little kayaking in the Caribbean water. It cost $15 for 30 minutes. We thought that was a rockin' deal compared to the $120/per person at Atlantis! They also ran by the honor system on time. Gotta love the Bahamian people!

 

Heading back to shore.

We found this cozy little spot to hang out away from the sun but still enjoying the views. We were peacefully sitting when a couple walked up to have their picture taken in front of the water. They started talking with the couple who took their picture and wouldn't leave! I don't know what it is about the need people have to meet friends on their cruise vacations, but I'm not signing up for that.

 

Our priorities were clearly different. :)

Our ship had a rock wall. Cool, except they were open exactly 7 whole hours (sporadically) of the 68 hours we spent on the ship. If you're doing the math, that's just over 10% of the time. Boo. I did have a chance to try it once, though. Being that high and only seeing water in the horizon made the experience a lot different than climbing at a rock gym.

The only dinner (food) photo I took. This one is to show that my husband managed to eat two whole desserts that night. I certainly can't speak... I had an ice cream every single day and I don't think there was a day that went by we didn't eat pizza (you know, just because it's there) after we had dinner already!

When we stepped off the boat, it was 8 a.m. Our flight was not scheduled to depart back to Chicago until 8 p.m. What to do with 12 hours of time in southern Florida? Rent a car and drive down to the bottom of the state, of course! We wanted to check out the Everglades National Park (since we love national parks!) and we were only about 50 miles away. Once we arrived, we explored two spots before heading back north to Ft. Lauderdale. Here is some of the wildlife we saw:

Vultures were everywhere! When we drove into the parking lot of a nature trail, we saw cars with plastic bags attached to their windshield wipers and other places. Why? Because they eat car parts! Here's a photo + article if you're interested.

We counted about 42 alligators and I'm sure that is a modest count considering we only had access to nature trails and there was lots of brush around.

 Up close and personal with my happy husband. :)

We have tons of photos of really interesting birds, but I'll spare you the whole album.

We drove further south to the very bottom of Everglades National Park and stopped at the water. ENP actually extends to hundreds of "keys" (islands), but we stayed ashore. We were attempting to find salt water crocodiles and came across a pelican.

And here's the crocodile!

There couldn't possibly be any place more appropriate (other than on a key itself) to enjoy Florida Key Lime Pie! I looove key lime pie when done right (which is almost never... must be key lime juice from Florida for it to be worthy of my praise!). Just past the pink visitor's center is water... and in that water are the keys. If we wanted to, we could've taken a boat out to one. There are so many of those little islands everywhere. I just had no idea until we were given a map! We saw about 10 just by looking out from the end of the water. The closest one was easily less than a mile offshore. I stared at the Keys eating Key Lime Pie! It was seriously delicious. Good timing, too. February 28th was my dessert/sugar cutoff!

After the Everglades, we headed up early because we feared lots of traffic. With the extra time before heading to the airport, we checked out a beach at Lauderdale-by-the-sea. We were walking along the beach and noticed hundreds of these washed up all along the shores. Portuguese Man-of-War everywhere! These little guys are super dangerous and can sting humans pretty badly. Needless to say, that's why we saw very few people in the water. They are not jellyfish, I learned, but a siphonophore. They "travel" (though they can't move and are only moved by currents and wind) in groups of 1,000+, so it wasn't weird to see hundreds onshore at the same time.

 
...speaking of Beach Boys songs, did you know Kokomo {the name of the Beach Boy's song I referenced in the title of this post} is actually a fictional island? There is such a thing as Kokomo, Indiana, but no such island. Sandals later went on to use the name at one of their all-inclusive resorts.

The March 1 no sugar, no alcohol, no soda cutoff  has officially begun! I'm on day 3 and doing very well!

And finally... since this was my first cruise ever, here's my take on them:

• It's the middle-class way of overindulgence and luxury. For a good deal, you can have anything you want and have it all catered to you. 
• It's too lazy for me! I like to explore, walk around, and go on hikes. Laying out by a pool, gambling, and eating non-stop isn't really my thing. 
• I thought the food was outrageous-- too much and mostly mediocre. Quality lacks when food is cooked in large quantities. Surely that didn't stop (us) me from eating my weight every night. What is it about free food and all-inclusive deals that make people want to stuff themselves silly? It's only one meal, after all. You're still going to need breakfast no matter how much you eat for dinner. On our normal travel vacations, we often lose track of our mealtimes because we're so busy exploring (and exercising, what's that?) to notice that the clock struck 12 and the free lunch buffet is open.
• It was a cheap way to get-away, but I'm not sure I'd like to go on any more Caribbean cruises-- possibly with friends, but never just the two of us again. I'd consider Europe (Mediterranean) & possibly Alaska.
• I disliked being on a boat with all those people day in and day out. I felt trapped with them. And I was!
• My final piece of criticism is this: I stepped off a boat to the Bahamas. I explored. I stepped back on the boat for lunch (you know, because it's free and huge!). I stepped back off the boat to explore some more. Then back on. It was like I couldn't leave little America behind! For goodness sakes, there was a Johnny Rockets on our ship! I mean, we honestly can't live without that "luxury" for a few days? I didn't like that I wasn't immersed is what I'm trying to say. I like to be immersed and forced to experience culture. But then again I also realize that the Bahamas are just a little over 100 miles off the coast of the United States-- they get all their food and much of their culture from us. So this example may not entirely apply, but the point was made.

I think I'm more of a plan, fly, hotel kind of girl myself. The kind of hotel that isn't moving. I'm not ruling them out forever, but I wasn't overly excited. I was excited for the weather and to get away with my amazing husband, though. And was it worth it for the experience, absolutely! We already tentatively planned a future winter-getaway to fly into Miami/Ft. Lauderdale and drive down to Key West. That's the same exposure to great weather and island living but road-trip style! :)