Cooper's Memorial

How do you pay tribute to someone who died before you had a chance to meet them? How do  you sum up a life that was only 8 weeks in the making when it ended? How do you do all of this while you're still up to your eyeballs in grief? Luckily for me I didn't have to, because I had a sister to do the hard work for me.

For any of you who are new to this website, You'll probably want to read this post before going any further with today's story, as that gives you the back story you need to understand today.

It's been six months since my miscarriage, and because I haven't mentioned it in so long, it would be so easy to say I've done my grieving, I've moved on and everything is hunky dory, but that's not exactly the truth. The hardest thing I'm dealing with right now is the fact that Miss K still doesn't really understand what happened. She knows that Cooper isn't going to come to live with us anymore, but she thinks it's because he lives at the hospital. But whenever she brings him up I let her talk about him, I never want this to feel like a subject she can't talk about, or that it's something to avoid. She needs to be able to deal with it too.

There is still a small part of me that holds on to Cooper, especially with my original due date just over a month away. So I decided it was time to finally get his memorial framed and hung.

Appreciate the fact that my bed is made. This is not my room in its natural state.

The print is the one we originally bought for Cooper's nursery before I realised I'd had the miscarriage. The writing next to it is a poem Kimberley wrote for me the day we found out.

I still love that picture, and hot air balloons still hold a special meaning for me, so much so I'm actually considering getting a tattoo of one, when I eventually get around to getting Miss K's tattoo finished.

I couldn't get a decent picture of the poem so if you would like to read it, you can find it at the bottom of this post. Kimberley sent it to me the day of my first ultrasound, and despite the fact that she is the member of our family who can always be relied upon to say the most insane, inappropriate things at the worst possible times, she really managed to capture everything I wanted to say at the time, but was too numb to do. 

For our baby in the hot air balloon xxoo

A thousand stars appear in the sky

every night as time goes by

we'll make a wish and i'll think of you

and we will be comforted through and through

because we believe that you are there

and we'll feel your presence as we stop and stare

at the beauty that is in this world

including the beautiful boy or girl

that will be watching us all the time

and you'll know a love so pure and alive

because you were here and you were real

and there was a love that we could all feel

for you and the thought that we would meet

and we'd hold your hand and tickle your feet

but god acts in mysterious ways

and we will be confused for a million days

wishing that we could see your face

and time would stop and our hearts would race

but things have changed and we feel numb

and we will be lost in time to come

but there will be one day that we will meet

at the pearly gates in the cloudy street

and we will know that it is you

and our whole family will form a cue

to hold you tight and give you love

and share the prayers we sent to god above

to keep you safe and keep you warm

and protect you from every scary storm

your heart still beats within us all

and our love for you still grows big and tall

your mum is brave and your sister is strong

and we will comfort them all year long

our hearts feel heavy and we feel blue

but you are our family and we will always love you.

My child is an imaginary friend killer

So today I have to discuss my strangest parenting moment to date. This is so strange Google wasn't even able to help me. I'm sharing my story today in the hopes that if anyone else has come upon this problem you can come find me, bring me whiskey and we'll discuss how weird our children are together.  For any of you who follow me on Twitter, you may already know what I'm about to discuss because I mentioned it this morning, so you can just sit back while I fill you in on the rest of the story that I couldn't fit into 140 characters.

Miss K made some imaginary friends recently Mario and Baby Mario. These
friends have been named after Mario Kart for two reasons, 1. Miss K is absolutely nuts about Mario Kart on the Wii and 2. She is terrible at coming up for names for her toys and imaginary friends. I was first introduced to Mario and Baby Mario one night as I was getting Miss K ready for bed. She simply informed me that they were very tired and were also ready for bed. This was all fine, I probably made some small comment about them putting their pyjamas on and going to the toilet before bedtime (I don't like cleaning up wet mattresses during the night, not even imaginary ones).

Mario and Baby Mario made several guest appearances with us during the next few weeks, sometimes they'd show up while we were playing, or they'd accompany us to kindergarten, the usual imaginary friend stuff. I was never asked to lay extra places for them at dinner time, and they never asked for biscuits or snacks when Miss K was eating, so I have to commend them on their excellent manners.

One day while I was brushing Miss K's hair getting ready for kindergarten she started throwing one of her daily "I don't need my hair brushed today mum, I'm happy looking like a hobo" tantrums. Everything was going swimmingly until she started yelling at no one to STOP LOOKING AT HER!!!! I asked her who she was yelling at and she told me Mario and Baby Mario were staring at her while she cried. This has always been one of Miss K's buttons, and she's never liked having an audience when she is having a bad moment. We usually combat this by getting Miss K to remove herself from the audience until she is calmed down and ready to act reasonably. Unfortunately given the audience this time was all in Miss K's head, I had no solution at the ready, other than to tell her it's not nice to yell at her friends just because she's having a bad moment. I gave the usual lecture about treating our friends nicely, while wondering to myself that if Miss K is the one who controls the actions of her imaginary friends, why not just stop them from staring at her, or don't imagine them staring at her in the first place.

But today things took a turn for the bizarre. We had a bad morning today. Miss K was feeling tired and grumpy, she didn't want to put her own shoes on, she didn't want to carry her bag to the car, and she tried (unsuccessfully) to slam the door in my face when we were leaving the house. She rushed ahead of me to the car, and tried to open the door. Usually I unlock the door by remote so that she can run to the car and get in while I'm locking up, just to save time, but given her behaviour at the time I decided she needed a lesson in patience and controlling her temper, so I didn't unlock the door until I got to the car. This just resulted in Miss K getting embarrassed when the door didn't open immediately for her, and we got the fifth tantrum of the day. This tantrum included her throwing invisible things around as well as the usual stomping and other fun kid stuff I get to witness that no one else believes me when I say my kid does these things. I didn't pay much attention to the throwing at the time, but when we finally got into the car she informed me that her friends were dead. Clue the light bulb going off above my head as I realise her imaginary throwing was her chucking Mario and Baby Mario onto the road. When I asked her why she killed her friends she told me it was because she was sad. Cue the obligatory lecture about treating friends nicely when we're dealing with tough emotions and the extra lecture about if she isn't nice to her friends they won't stick around just to be abused. This again was weird because I'm still aware we're talking about figments of her imagination.

The big thing about Miss K killing her imaginary friends and then telling me about it was she was implying their deaths were my fault because I was the one who had embarrassed her by not opening her door, and by always ruining her life in general. Given I am not that easily manipulated her plan to make me feel bad for pulling her into line failed, but to add insult to injury I then used my super magic powers to bring her imaginary friends back to life, at which time I claimed them as my own imaginary friends, because people don't like hanging around with anyone who kills them, imaginary or not. So now, not only has she lost two friends, she has to hear about me bragging about all the awesome fun we have together that she is no longer privy to.

What gets me the most about all of this is that Google was totally unable to help me sort through everything I'm dealing with right now. 99% of the posts on imaginary friends told me that either my daughter has schizophrenia or she is possessed by demonic spirits. I highly doubt the first one, and considering I already call her my little hell beast I'm not totally surprised by the second one, but am still ruling it out as an explanation given how quick she was to dispose of them in the most Looney Tunes way possible. Is it just an unspoken rule of parenting that we're not meant to discuss when our children straight up murder the figments of their imagination? Are there underground support groups for mums who have had to hide imaginary bodies or field questions from imaginary police officers about the whereabouts of these suddenly missing imaginary friends? Are there imaginary milk cartons out there with photos of these people? Can I call the imaginary crime stoppers and report my daughter for this?

I've spoken to Miss K's dad about today's events and his only response has been to tell me she is most definitely my daughter, and to congratulate me for making new friends for myself. So no help whatsoever. He couldn't even give me the number of a good imaginary lawyer just in case we end up going to trial. I can't be held as an accessory to an imaginary crime, what will the neighbours think?

So I guess the purpose of today's post is to give other parents who are dealing with their children killing off their imaginary friends a different place to land that isn't going to tell them their child is possessed or mentally unstable. Can I offer you a solution to your problem? Probably not. I can't promise that my solution is really effective as I'm still waiting for the therapy bills to start piling up and that could take years, so consider this a work in progress. If any of you have come upon the same problem and solved it differently to me I'd love to know what you did and if it worked. Did they make new imaginary friends? Did they also kill these imaginary friends? Did they end up in imaginary jail with a cellmate called Big Daddy? Do I need to start daytime drinking?

Well that's all from my crazy corner of the world for now, I'm sure Miss K and I will be back to make you all feel better about your own families very soon.

My Little Hot Air Balloon Baby

Hello again guys, I interrupt my normal schedule to share some sad news with you guys.

This is the hardest thing I have ever had to write, and that's including when I've had to get creative with job applications. I keep starting and stopping this one, and sometimes scrapping it altogether. This is about the fifth attempt I've made, so hopefully this one makes it to your screen because I'm still not sure whether or not any of these posts are going to see the light of day.

So up until two weeks ago I was pregnant. This fact alone will surprise most of you since none of you knew I was even dating, but I was. Long story short we were friends for years, we dated for a few months, we were talking about moving in together and having kids, I discovered I was already pregnant and he freaked out and admitted not only was he not ready to be a dad again, he'd been seeing someone else for three weeks. So I walked away and started planning to be a single mum again. I wasn't scared, not like I was when Miss K was coming, simply because I've now been doing this for five years and lets face it, I kick ass as a single mum.

I was looking forward to being a mum again, I knew it was going to be tough having two kids to run around after, but kids are always a beautiful blessing, so I had more to look forward to than dread. Really the only thing I was dreading was having another ex I was tied to for the rest of my life. I was really hoping I'd made better choices this time, I really thought he was decent and it took giving him something he'd previously said he wanted to find out his true colours. But I didn't have time to dwell on it this time because I had more important things to take care of right now.

In the last weekend of April I went to Inverloch with all of my sisters and my niece Eliza. We spent two nights at an amazing holiday house ten minutes from the beach and had a fabulous time. My time was made more fabulous by the fact that for the first time in two months I wasn't plagued with morning sickness and constant back pain. I didn't think too hard about how I was feeling, I decided it was just a sign I was meant to enjoy myself this weekend and so that's exactly what I did. It wasn't until I got home and went for a scheduled ultrasound on the Monday that I realised what was really going on. The poor technician spent a full ten minutes looking for a heartbeat for me with no success. He was very apologetic, as if it was all somehow his fault and I walked out of his office in a daze. The first thing I did was call mum and start crying.

The next two weeks were a blur of doctors appointments and tears. I had mum and my big sister Sam tell everyone what was going on simply because I didn't have the strength to keep saying the same thing over and over again. The only family members I had to tell were mum and Miss K. Miss K was confused of course, and has asked lots of questions, the worst of which was whether or not she was still a big sister. My heart ached for her at this point, because it showed that for her, the most important part of my pregnancy the whole time was the fact that she finally had the chance to be a big sister. For my sake as much as hers I told her she was still the best big sister in the world and I meant it.

I've clung to Miss K like a life raft these past few weeks, as if my life depends on her existence, and in a way it does. Right now she is my whole reason for waking up, she is the one who keeps me busy and sane and without her I feel lost. Every morning that I wake up and see her little head lying next to mine I know I'm going to be OK and I'm able to get out of bed and get on with life. Every night when she goes to bed again I feel the same helplessness creep over me and I sit and wonder what the hell I'm meant to do with myself until tomorrow morning.

At least now that the physical part is over I finally have my identity back. From the time the technician told me he couldn't find the heartbeat until the moment the last doctor told me everything was over and I was nearly healed all I could see myself as was a walking miscarriage. I felt like I had it tattooed on my forehead and I couldn't understand why no one else seemed to notice it. I received no weird stares from people in the streets, none of the other parents at kindergarten even realised anything was different, which of course they wouldn't, because I hadn't even gotten to the point where I was telling people I was pregnant, so there was nothing to notice, but to me it was the biggest part of me, and I couldn't understand how it could be so invisible to everyone else.

The only thing I'd bought for the baby before we got the news was a beautiful original print. It is a water colour of a zebra in a hot air balloon, and it was going to be hung on his wall near his cot. Instead I now get to turn it into a memorial picture, complete with a beautiful poem my baby sister Kim wrote for me.

Right now I'm trying to stay hopeful, and remember my blessings. I still have a wonderful family surrounding me, all of whom have been an amazing support for me right from the beginning of this saga, and all of whom have managed to forget all their own problems and lives to prop me up and keep me propelling forward. I'm on the phone all the time these days answering messages checking to make sure I'm ok, and looking at sloth and lama pictures with thanks to Nat who knows how to make me smile.

It makes me feel better knowing that for the short time that my little boy was alive he was loved totally by all who knew of him. He knew nothing of pain, heartbreak, rejection or sadness, all he ever knew was peace, and love, and that thought brings me peace.

But there is still grief to go through, and I know it isn't going to be a quick process. There are times I can get through a whole day without any tears, and then there are the days where I can't even make it through my first coffee of the day, and that's ok. I'm trying my hardest to seek out happiness, and remind myself that there is still joy in the world despite what I feel right now, and it does seem to be helping. I have a close friend who is pregnant with a rainbow baby, having gone through her own miscarriage late last year, and knowing she needs support right now keeps me from wallowing too much. I also have a whole soccer team worth of family members who managed to forget their own worries for me, so I do my best to return the favour for them whenever the need arises, which also helps me to keep my own grief in perspective.

There are times I can still feel happy, there are times I feel peaceful, there are times I feel frustrated and there are times I feel broken. I've had days where I feel like I can climb a mountain, and I've had days where all I can do is lie on the couch and stare out the window, but I know this is all just part of the process and I'm trying to be gentle with myself. About the biggest thing I've accomplished in the past two weeks is reading over 3,000 pages of customer service horror stories, but an accomplishment is still an accomplishment when your life has been ripped apart. Day by day I repair a little bit more, and one day I will hopefully feel whole again, but until then I'll just keep plodding along. Helping my family, making people laugh, being the best mum in the world. That's all any of us can do.

To my little hot air balloon baby Cooper Dean, RIP. I leave you in God's hands for now, but I will love you forever.

How we dealt with (and survived) the death of a pet

Image source

For Miss K's birthday this  year, my little sister Kimberley gave her two goldfish. I hadn't been warned about this prior, so it was a surprise for both of us. She gleefully informed me as she handed over the little tank she was actually going to buy her a goat, but decided fish was a more practical gift idea. For that fact I am forever grateful.

Now anyone who knows me knows I have bad luck with animals. Of course my bad luck is not as bad as my little brother Ben's bad luck with animals, he was headbutted by a trout once, as he peered into a lake, an accomplishment I am yet to match. But given my track record with animals, and my seeming inability to keep them alive was well recorded when these fish were made a part of our family. To date I have had a total of three dogs, one cat, one guinea pig and two fish as pets. My first dog died of pavo virus as a puppy, which absolutely broke my heart at the time. The next two dogs were a blue heeler and a boxer, both given to me to replace the original dog. I lived in a tiny two bedroom flat at the time, which any dog lover will tell you is a terrible place for such large and energetic dogs to live, so I had both of them re-housed fairly quickly. The cat ran away after a few months, but I think I still see it wandering around the area occasionally, so I can only assume it found a new home close by. Our guinea pig died from exposure one night when I didn't secure the tarp around his cage tightly enough and it was blown off by strong winds. So I didn't have high hopes for these fish. Sure enough the first fish died within a month of becoming our pet, a fact which I now understand probably stems from being put in a tank too small for two fish. Live and learn. The fact that the second goldfish survived a further 8 months with us is nothing short of a miracle.

The fish were named Yes and No. This is what happens when you let a four year old name animals. Yes was the fish that survived the longest, and let me tell you, keeping a fish alive is actually harder than it looks. We dealt with two cases of swimmers bladder, and I suspect it was a bacterial infection that got him in the end. During his time with us I learned that a whole flake of fish food is waaay too much for a fish to eat, especially given they need no more than a piece of food the size of their eye several times a week. I also found out you can cure constipation in fish with peas, a fact which disgusted Miss K given her pure hatred for the little green balls. He had been sick for three days this time, and nothing I was doing helped. It became inevitable after day two that Yes' days were indeed numbered, so that day as I noticed Miss K staring at Yes, watching his weird sideways swim around the tank I let her know that Yes was going to die soon. I told her he was really sick this time, and she needed to realise we weren't going to have a fish for very much longer. She nodded very quietly then asked me for a drink.

Over the next two days we spoke occasionally about Yes, she was worried he was in pain, but given I am poorly informed about the pain tolerance of the average goldfish, I told her he wasn't feeling anything right now, This may have been a lie, I still have no idea, but I didn't want death to be scary for her, I just needed her to understand it is a part of life. Luckily for me Yes kindly waited until she was asleep last night to die. I went in to check on him before I went to bed and after five minutes of tapping walls and agitating the water I was indeed satisfied I had a dead fish on my hands. I disposed of everything there and then, I didn't think it was kind letting Miss K see what a dead fish looked like, so when she woke up this morning the bench that had housed Yes' tank was empty. She stared at the empty space for ages, almost like she thought her eyes were lying to her, and the tank was still there. She turned to me and said "the fish is gone." I simply nodded, I couldn't think of what to say. She asked if Yes died and I simply nodded again. I'm sure another person could have used this opportunity to give a speech on the gift of life, or say something reassuring about Yes' suffering being over, but mourning the death of a fish is something I'm sadly inexperienced in so I simply said nothing. She stared at the space for another few seconds before she turned to me and asked for another fish. For the love of God please no.

I have actually since Googled how to deal with the loss of a pet with children, and they all say don't replace the pet straight away, as it makes the child feel disloyal. Apparently Miss K is plagued by no such burdens and is keen to move on to the next victim pet. I for one am still exhausted from the task of keeping one small fish alive for so long, and have now decided that the degree of difficulty in caring for a pet is directionally in proportion to the size of it. The smaller the animal is, the more trouble it will give you. To remedy this, I have decided the next pet we will have must be an elephant. Surely something that large must be a walk in the park. Otherwise I am happy for people to start gifting Miss K with pet rocks from now on.

If any of you have actually had to deal with a grieving child, give me your tips below, I'm sure as Miss K gets older this is something that will really need to be dealt with, as she wont be so easily distracted by shiny things for much longer.