Dec. 31 - New Year's Eve

Last Tuesday, Jonathan visited his aunt Jean while I headed to Rochester to do some shopping and run some errands. (Thanks, Jean! I needed the break and I think Jonathan missed you, too.) I had to stop at the bank, return some shoes and find some slacks that fit, since I'm still carrying around 15 more pounds than when Garrett was conceived. I plan on returning to work next week, and I don't want to lose circulation to my lower half when I button my pants.

Saying goodbye to Jonathan, I started looking forward to the 45-minute drive to and from Rochester by myself. Ah, some real alone time. I could listen to my music (versus a Fisher Price Little People movie or Baby Signing Time) and sing along wholeheartedly. I think I replayed Evanescence's My Immortal about five times in a row, determined to sing it through without choking up.

"When you cried, I'd wipe away all of your tears
When you'd scream, I'd fight away all of your fears
And I held your hand through all of these years ..."

Well, we didn't have years ... and I only saw Garrett with tears once -- a memory that still gnaws at me. A few hours before he died, he was trying to move his right leg a little when I noticed his unblinking eyes were getting pretty moist. He had been given drugs to essentially paralyze him for his procedure, so Dr. Arteaga wanted the neurosurgeons to see this movement.

I asked her if his eyes were just watering, since I hadn't seen him produce tears yet and I didn't want to think that he was actually in pain now. But Dr. Arteaga said sympathetically that he was crying. What?! He's paralyzed and can't tell us he's hurting and he's crying?! I know they watch the heart rate and other things as indicators of pain, but the tears were indication enough for me.

I think Dr. Arteaga saw my own pain as I wiped the tear that was about to spill onto his cheek. She told the nurse to give him another half dose of fentanyl, but repeated that she really wanted the neurosurgeons to see that he was trying to move. After Garrett died, we heard assurances from more than one person that he hadn't suffered, as he had been well medicated during the procedure and afterward. But I saw tears. How much pain would he have had to be in to shed tears? How long? Ugh.

Earlier, while he was recovering on the general floor or at home with us, I had more occasions to fight away all of his fears -- although my utter inability to help while he suffered in the emergency room in Wabasha still haunts me. But when Garrett objected to having his diaper changed, which was the only time I'd hear an all-out cry, I'd hum a low mmmmmm as I pressed my lips to his forehead, and he'd quiet almost immediately. And when he'd fuss in the middle of the night, he'd usually calm down before I even got to him. Just hearing my voice as I approached was enough of a comfort. Being so young, could he have possibly known how much I loved him?

But back to shopping ... While I was at Target, I wanted to check out the Christmas items that were now on sale. Along with ornaments and holiday tableware, there were cute fleece hats made to look like smiling snowmen with "Baby's First Christmas" in blue letters across their bellies. I actually didn't get as emotional as I would have expected. I just felt a tug on my heart -- just a wish that I could have gotten one.

It's funny, we never bought a "baby's first" anything for Jonathan. I think we were just so busy being new parents and keeping up with diaper changes, feedings and spending quality time with him that purchasing such keepsakes wasn't high on our priority list. Assuming Chris and I will be blessed with another little angel some day, we'll probably meet those firsts with a touch more tenderness and celebration.

Later on at the mall, I worked through trying on an armload of sweaters in one of Macy's fitting rooms and discovered where those extra 15 pounds have been residing. You can never get a really good look at your own back side by turning to peer into a mirror, but when a dressing room offers two mirrors, you can easily look in one and see your reflection in the other -- and then pick your jaw up off the floor because that is not the shape you had the last time you were there. Holy smoke! I guess I need to start working out more diligently.

Although I wasn't pleased with the discovery, I was glad to have had a reaction. The day after Garrett passed away, it was hard to feel much of anything except the sense of loss. I looked about as ruined as I felt and I didn't care. The laundry was piling up and I didn't care. We had paperwork to tend to and I didn't care. I didn't feel anything at all. I acknowledged the flab above my C-section scar and wondered without caring whether my empty womb was still shrinking. Does such grief give a person cart blanch for apathy the rest of her life? Would I be 58 and have a bad hair day and think, "I don't care. My baby died!"?

I didn't really expect the overall lack of concern to last forever, but it felt like it would at the time. So being slightly dismayed at the sight of thicker thighs and a fuller derriere felt like ... well, progress, I guess.

Now 2009 is coming to an end and I'm eager to put this year behind me. Here's hoping for a much better 2010!