I spent a week in the hospital after Lydia died. The recovery was awful and something I don't let myself remember very often. I believe on day 9 after her birth we were on a flight to Utah so we could bury her. That was flight was brutal, to say the least. During our trip, I couldn't do much, and I'm sure the emotional trauma slowed my physical recovery as well. When we finally made it back to St. Louis, I went to the doctor the next day for a checkup and was immediately re-admitted to the hospital for 3 more days. By this point I had developed bed sores (among other not-so-fun things). It was one of the hardest times of my life. I remember at one point a couple of days into the recovery asking my doctor, "Is this what all c-sections are like? Because if it is, I don't think I can have any more kids." He assured me many times that a normal c-section pales in comparison to what they put my body through, and if I could make it through this, I could make it through anything. I was relieved. And I know now, as I did then, that I would go through it again without hesitation to give Lydia her brief time on earth.
We only had one day in Utah to prepare for her little "funeral." A family friend hand-made her beautiful burial dress, we had a cute little headband for her tiny head, so the only thing missing was something to cover her feet. Others offered to help, but I wanted to do SOMETHING for my daughter, so I insisted on finding them. Dan and I went from store to store all over town - I could barely walk because my body was still incredibly swollen. But no one had any preemie sized socks (and the preemie size probably would have been too big anyway). I'm sure if I had been in my normal state of mind I would have come up with something, but I was exhausted, grieving, and we had other things to get done before the service, so I gave up. We buried our daughter with nothing on her feet. It kind of broke my heart.
Earlier this year, I had a lot of couch time while waiting for the longest miscarriage ever to pass. Since I'm not very good at sitting still, I learned how to crochet and eventually I was good enough that I was able to follow simple patterns. After hours of searching, I found a pattern for baby booties that are actually small enough they would have fit Lydia's feet.
I've slowly been making them over the last several months (I'm still pretty slow). We also worked on making some teeny tiny hats that would have fit her head (Dan even helped cut some of them out). And today we donated them to the hospital where she was born.
Today we celebrate Lydia's 2nd birthday. The literal ache in my arms to hold her is still so strong - I just don't let myself feel it all the time like I did right after she died. It took months before I stopped feeling guilt any time Dan and I just up and left the house to go do something, because I know how near-impossible that is with a baby. And sometimes on Saturday morning, when I'm lying in that state in-between sleep and consciousness, I can almost hear the pitter patter of her little feet, running to open the door to wake up Mom and Dad.
A few months ago I was driving to church (Dan had to go early for meetings). It had been one of the coldest winters on record, and that particular day the sun was actually shining and I was reminded that warmth still existed. Birds were singing and I could tell it was the beginning of spring. As I pulled out onto the street I saw a cute little squirrel run across the road. Without thinking, I turned around to the back seat where Lydia should have been to point out the squirrel to her. I cried that she wasn't sitting there in her car seat. But in a strange way it also makes me happy that every part of me still remembers her and still knows she is part of our family.
Happy birthday, my little one. Your parents love you so much and can't wait to see you again!
ps - any assistance you can give on bringing a little brother or sister to us would be greatly appreciated :)