It was a silent birth...

Growing up, whenever I thought about having a child I knew without a doubt that I wanted a little girl. A little girl who's hair I could do, and who could be a little me (heaven help myself). But, from the moment I found out I was pregnant I knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that I was carrying a boy. It didn't matter though - I suddenly found myself falling in love with the idea of a little boy who would be the big brother to his future little sisters. The protector. He was going to play baseball and football, he was going to look like his father and I hoped that when he was younger he'd be a total mommy's boy - even though I knew it would break my heart when he grew out of it, I also knew that I'd treasure those precious years. I had it all planned out and I could see it all happening. It was happening. I felt him kick and move and have the hiccups and I truly knew his personality even though he wasn't out for anyone else to know.....I knew that in only a short while I would hear his precious first cry, he would be in my arms, and all of my dreams for him would be able to come true.

My dreams didn't come true, instead - they were shattered ...... six months ago, at 4:21 am on February 18th, Ryan Austin Martin was born still. It's a common term "still born" but what I remember most about when he was born wasn't that he was still, it was that he was silent. It was a silent birth. That sound that most women get to hear, the first cry, the one that melts your heart and you are suddenly more attached and in love then you ever imagined you could be.....I think I wanted to hear that sound more than almost anything else. I hear it now - not the first cry, but every once in a while you come across a brand new baby and the cry is the same. It breaks my heart all over again. And yet I cannot wait until I have a healthy baby and can hear that cry from a child of my own. I don't know when that will happen...but I pray for it everyday.

Anyway...since today was Ryan's 6 month angelversary I lit his special candles and also released some balloons in honor of him. Here's some pictures....

Six Months...

Tuesday will be six months since I lost Ryan. But all I keep thinking about is what he'd be doing at 6 months old. Not that I lost him, not how empty it feels without him, not that everything in this world is somehow wrong (although those thoughts do pass through my mind everyday), but more so I've been so focused on what he'd be like. A friend of mine has a 6 month old baby girl who just got her first cold. It made me wonder what Ryan would be like if he had a cold.....would he be one of those babies that sleep it off - would he spend 72 hours straight in bed? Or would he be one who simply can not sleep when they are sick......72 hours of crying and congestion? The truth is, I'd take either. What would he be doing at six months? He'd definitely be smiling up a storm...laughing...maybe sleeping through the night.........but would he be sitting up? Maybe starting to crawl? Would he be attached at my hip? Or would he be his fathers son through and through? But I can only wonder about these things...maybe wonder isn't the right word - perhaps obsess would better describe how these thoughts haunt me.

A friend wrote something for me, about her pregnancies and giving birth. It was incredibly raw and true and amazing that she could write so much personal information. It will be very helpful for my writing. I've gotten about 1/3 of the way through my book...maybe a little more, its kind of hard to tell since I'm writing in sections - not straight through. I'm really enjoying writing it though...I write a lot at work and in my spare time. I don't know how long it will take me to finish, I don't know how good it will be, but writing about Ryan keeps his memory alive and that's something I struggle to do each and every day.

lets burn all the calendars...

I looked at the calendar today and realized ... I should have just started back to work this Monday. Fresh off a nine week maternity leave...with a baby boy at my side. I'm sick and tired of the fact that I can't get through a single day without being reminded (not that I could forget) that something huge is missing from my life.

As I sat at work today watching the kids sleep my boss came in and handed a packet to my co-worker. The new school year is approaching and she had to fill out parent forms for her children that attend our school. I suddenly became slightly nauseous as I realized I should be filling out the same forms - Ryan's name should be plastered all over each and every one. But he's not here.

Why do you have your child and I do not? Why does one woman lose everything and another continues blissfully through life with everything neatly intact. I've been wondering if there is such a thing as "fate" or "destiny".....was it written in stone that I would lose my son? Is that just a part of my story? Was there no way to avoid it? Or maybe its true that there is no such thing...maybe I could have changed the outcome but didn't. I'm rambling...I guess I didn't really have much to say today......just felt like burning all the calenders and figured writing might be a better solution to feeling a so down...

"What if there's no such thing as "better days"...what if all that's left are tears?"

Everything from Websters to writers block...

I wonder what the most commonly used word in the English language is. If I had to take a guess…I’d assume it would be “I”.

Suddenly I’ve become aware of a word I use much too often…no it’s not “I”, but instead – for me – it’s “should” or as the case may sometimes be, “shouldn’t”. A million thoughts race through my head each day…the truth is that most of them are still about Ryan. It’s been over five months and the thoughts about him still occupy the majority of my day. Sometimes I wonder when this will change…when it will fade. When will I start to think about him only a few times a day…or only once a day? Someday this will come. I know it will. I don’t think there will ever be a day that I won’t think about him at all – but I know that as time goes on there will come a day when he won’t occupy my every thought. In the mean time I’m okay thinking about him 24/7. It keeps him alive in some way. If I were to stop thinking about him all the time I think part of me would believe I was letting him be forgotten. I feel like I’m the only one who truly keeps his memory alive…the only one who really remembers he was here at all. He was here. He hated spicy food and he liked to wake me up half an hour before I actually had to be up for work…he would kick like crazy if I played a certain song and he had the cutest little button nose and really long legs…he was going to be tall like his father. I never saw the color of his eyes and I never got to hear his cry…but it doesn’t mean he wasn’t here. It seems as though some people think it makes it easier to pretend he wasn’t. But he was.

My son is a part of absolutely everything I do. From brushing my teeth in the morning, to taking a shower, to driving to work. Each and every thing I do all day long has a “should” attached to it. I “shouldn’t” be able to sleep in every day. I “shouldn’t” be able to sleep in at all. I “should” be getting woken up during the night by my sweet baby boy…I wish every single day for a year of completely sleepless nights due to a baby that didn’t sleep through the night – instead of nights filled by nightmares about hospital rooms and morgues, or sweet dreams about a toddler whose smile makes me weak in the knees, only to wake up feeling emptier because I know this dream child is not mine. The dresser in the spare bedroom “shouldn’t” have a diaper changing table on it that is used as a cat bed…and it "shouldn't" be packed full of things I threw in it in a desperate move to get all things baby out of view (think breast pump, bottle sanitizer and a wipe warmer…does anyone actually use those??)……instead it “should” be full of clothes. I “should” have to carry around an extra bag everywhere I go – full of blankets, diapers, onesies, breast milk or formula, baby toys, etc. I “should” have the car seat in the car instead of in the garage…and I “shouldn’t” have the base still attached in my car – but I don’t have the heart to take it out yet. I walk into my work each day and the first room I pass is the infant room…I have learned to not let thought of the babies inside get to me, I expect them there, but what I will never learn to do is get past the thought that my son “should” be in that room while I’m at work. I “should” be spending my breaks breast feeding…and when I talk to the teacher from that room we “should” be talking about Ryan…how he is running out of diapers, or rolling over, or crawling, or just her telling me about something cute he did that day. I “shouldn’t” have a garden devoted to my dead son. I “shouldn’t” need butterflies or a completely clear blue sky to make me think positively about him and thus bring a smile to my face…I “should” have my son here to do that. I “shouldn’t” have a necklace filled with ashes. I have all these amazing people I have met, both online and in real life support groups, but I "shouldn't" know them. I "shouldn't" have spent the day after giving birth calling funeral homes getting quotes for an infant cremation. I "should" have spent February 28th at a 3D ultrasound, instead I spent it at a memorial for my son. I "should" have spent April 4th surrounded by friends and family at MY BABY SHOWER...instead it was turned into a group birthday party for my mother and some of her brothers. I "shouldn't" be coming up with excuses to get out of get togethers with the family around holidays that I refuse to celebrate without my son. I “should” have a crib next to my bed (not super saran wrapped in the garage) – even though I didn’t imagine using him actually using the crib except for naps…I envisioned him silently sleeping the night away lying next to me as I watched his chest peacefully rise and fall - often too mesmerized to fall asleep. I “should” have had the chance to breastfeed my son…I don’t think there is a single more bonding act between a mother and her baby. I “shouldn’t” be hoping to have another child…I had planned on waiting at least a few years, until after graduating from nursing school…now I cant imagine waiting any longer than absolutely necessary. I “shouldn’t” be wondering if I should still keep nursing as my major…I’ve ALWAYS wanted to work with kids with cancer…and now I’m not sure I could handle something that hard – and general nursing was never something I wanted to do. I “should” be able to take real classes this fall, instead of BS online classes – but I just don’t think I can get myself to actually GO to class, not with the way my moods swing and not with the probability of at least one pregnant woman being in a class with me. I "shouldn't" wake up each morning and have three seconds of bliss, only to look around and realize again what has happened, only to feel as if I'd lost my son all over again. I "shouldn't" have a thousand moments throughout the day where the thoughts rolling around in my head get so unbearable that I silently struggle to fight back the tears and have to remind myself to breathe. I “shouldn’t” be able to leave the house without a stroller in my car. And if I take my dog for a walk I “should” have the stroller in tow. Each and every time I walk into a store I am reminded that I “should” have a car seat sitting on top of the shopping cart. Most often throughout my day, I am reminded that I “shouldn’t” have the time to do things like watch an entire series on DVD in two weeks or to write this blog. The moments in my day that aren’t occupied by work or some activity I have immersed myself in (think puzzles and lots of paint) are the worst. These moments are empty…and they “shouldn’t” be.

I think that in the last few months I’ve either used or thought the word “should/shouldn’t” enough to bump “I” out and make it the most commonly used word in the English language. I've contemplated writing Websters and asking them to remove "should" from the dictionary...maybe if the word didn't exist I wouldn't be haunted by these thoughts...

I “shouldn’t” have “IVillage – Stillborn” as the website I visit most often. I wrote something on there a few days ago…I was having a really hard evening. “I really don’t know what to do. I feel so lost and so alone. I could never, would never, hurt myself but that doesn’t stop me from wishing every single day that I had either died during my c-section or that something would happen now and fate would release me from this life and I could go be with my son. I feel useless…like my life is meaningless. I get up and get out of bed simply because I know I’m supposed to…I have to work because I have bills to pay…there is no choice in the matter. If I had a choice I’d have my boss lay me off so I could collect unemployment and I'd stay home, in bed, under the covers, in the dark all day. I just feel like my life ended the day Ryan died…there is no going on without him…I’m not really a person, I’m just simply here……and I don’t know why, and I wish I wasn’t.” There are two things I’ve been told repeatedly since losing Ryan…one is that Joe and I would grieve differently and we’d probably never be at the same place in our grief…and the second is that grief is a roller coaster. It really is. There are moments when I can’t believe it’s only been five months – I sometimes feel as though it’s been far longer and I’m doing incredibly well given the circumstances of my life. And then there are moments – like that night – when I feel like five months is nothing…like I just lost my son yesterday and I’m starting over in the grieving process.

For a long time I wrote each and every day. I wrote to Ryan, and I wrote to myself. I blogged and I posted messages. And I started to write the story of everything I went through when losing Ryan. It is enough to write a book...which I seriously planned on doing...I got about 1/4 of the way through it and now I just cant write. I've always enjoyed writing...and I'm not half bad at it if I do say so myself...I've written short stories and even attempted novels before...but they just never had much meaning behind them, I wasn't really passionate about any of them. This is something that could reach out to countless women in my shoes...it is something that would really mean something. And I'm coming up with nothing. I cant even get myself to write to Ryan...let alone sit down and work on this story I was so amped up to write. I got up to the point where I walked in to the hospital and it was like I just slammed into a wall and it cant be broken down. In the past three weeks I think I managed to write one sentence before I had to close my notebook and move my attention on to something else. It's weird because everything from the moment I found out I was pregnant until well after losing Ryan replays so vividly in my head...I have the story all up there...I just cant put the pen to the paper and make it come out.

I always thought "writers block" was an excuse...Now I'm wondering if there's anyone out there who has a sure fire cure to get over a serious case of writers block?

countdowns

I’ve been thinking about the future a lot this week. It’s been one countdown after another for me this past year. Countdown to a period that never came. Countdown to my first doctor’s appointment and getting to hear a heartbeat. Countdown to an ultrasound. Countdown to finding out the baby’s sex. Countdown to “__” weeks. Countdown to “__” months. Countdown to the halfway point. Countdown to the due date. And then all of the sudden the countdowns turned into crappy count downs/ups. Countdown’s to doctor appointments I was never supposed to have. A new countdown to my due date. And then count “ups” … one week with out Ryan, two weeks with out Ryan, one month without Ryan, three months without Ryan. Through all of this there was only one semi-positive countdown: My vacation. And now that countdown is over. What is left??? Countdowns to more “__” months without my son? A countdown each month to a period I KNOW will come…… I will probably end up one of those old cat lady’s who never has any children. Kind of sounds funny, but I’m serious…I have a real fear slash feeling that I will have no more children. Maybe it’s only natural to feel that way. There are now countdowns to holidays I wish could be nationally skipped, just for this year, on the count of Ryan dying and the fact that, to me, they just shouldn’t be happening. There is nothing left. I really feel that way. There is nothing to look forward to. I hate that. It makes me feel lost and alone. I just want to crawl in a hole and let the world pass me by sometimes…at least then I wouldn’t have to watch it go by.

nothing in life is guaranteed

I walk around in a bit of a haze. It's become so constant I barely notice that I'm doing it...it takes people saying my name repeatedly for me to focus in on what they're saying - and before I know it I'm back in the haze. I guess it's safer in the haze than to be focusing in on what is rattling around in my brain...Ryan, 99% of the time. I'm sad he's not with me. Obviously. I want to hold him again more than anything. Even if it was just for a minute, even if I had to lose him all over again...to see him, to kiss him...I want that. It'll never happen. And I often feel that I am to blame. For anyone who actually reads this, you're probably wondering how I could possibly think that. But I do. I have no answers...I have "theories". So I'm left to constantly wonder at what moment I did something wrong that caused my son to die. Was it because I slept on my right side and not my left??? Did that cut off his oxygen supply somehow? Was it the spider bite I got a few weeks before he died? Should I have gone in to get it checked out? Did me getting bronchitis and thus coughing my head off for a week cause trauma to him some how? Was it the two bites of lobster I ate three days before he died...I shouldn't have eaten it - you're not supposed to eat seafood. A few weeks before Ryan died I went to Reno and spent about 45 minutes in a casino...did the second hand smoke kill my baby? At what point did I make the wrong decision?

I cannot imagine my next pregnancy, or any pregnancy from this point forward. I wish I could go back to being one of the blissful pod people who walk around with huge bellies and grins on their faces...unaware of the pain that can come from something that is supposed to be wonderful. In my next pregnancy I think I will become a recluse. I dont want to go out for food - fast food or resturaunt because you dont know how well they cook the food and how clean their kitchens are and whether they really cleaned the table or the silverware. 9 months of eating at home only. I already walk around with antibacterial soap permanently fixed in my palm...I cant go into a store without spraying the cart with Lysol first. I sleep on my stomach or right side (its impossible for me to fall asleep on my left side)...when I become pregnant again I imagine months of sleepless nights lying on my left side surrounded by pillows that wont allow me to turn over, afraid it will stop my baby's life support. Back aches? No tylenol for me...besides prenatal medicine I dont think I'll take a single pill during my pregnancy. I had horrible acid reflux with Ryan...they gave me medicine I took everyday, it was my life support......and yet I think I'd have to deal with the acid instead of taking the pill, afraid it would hurt the baby. Baths would definately be a no. I took them once or twice a week during my pregnancy, I even used a water thermonater to make sure the temperature never got above 100...but still my baby is not here so I wont be able to let myself take a bath next time. I know I wont. There's so many things I just wont be able to do. I imagine I wont tell Joe until I'm out of my first trimester...I think I'll wear huge sweatshirts until I cant hide it anymore...and I dont think I will tell ANYONE (except maybe my boss) until I get past the point where I lost Ryan (even though I know getting past that point wont mean I couldn't lose another child). Doctors appointments? Once a month for the first 28 weeks...closer together after that? YA RIGHT. I think my doctor may need to leave a standing appointment open each and everyday for me to pop in when my anxiety gets the best of me. I will need them to run every test under the sun to make sure my pregnancy is safe...and I will need to take every possible precaution. For my sanity. C-section at 39 weeks? Dont you know it seems like thats when most cord accidents happen? "Everything's fine...give the baby more time" Then all of the sudden the baby is gone. I dont need that added risk - a doctor who will perform the section at 38 weeks max is a must. Baby shower? You're joking right. Thats a total jinx if you ask me. I dont think I'll buy a single thing until that child is in my arms. We may have a lot of shopping to do when we bring the baby home but it's better than coming home after losing your son only to have to return 10 boxes of diapers 4 days after a c-section. I dont know why I'm writing so much about this subject...I probably wont be pregnant again for a very long time...but the truth is I wish every single day that I'd get pregnant soon and bring home a healthy child, even though I know the pregnancy would be an anxiety ridden nine month nightmare.

I went to Target today, to return something and as I was standing inline I noticed a girl holding a scanner - you could tell she was pregnant (although she was just barely showing). I figured she was just about as far along as I was when I registered for my baby shower. About 20 weeks. I was litterally biting my tongue as I stood in line, unable to stop watching her out of the corner of my eye. Firstly, she looked like she couldn't be more than 18...and that's being generous. It's hard to see teenagers pregnant. Secondly, it took so much effort to stop myself from running up to her and screaming at her, telling her that she shouldn't be smiling - she shouldn't be planning a baby shower, she shouldn't design a nursery, she shouldn't buy diapers or clothes, she shouldn't do any of it. Not until that baby is in her arms...because its not a guarantee. Nothing in life is guaranteed.

what's on my mind

I had a dream last night - since losing Ryan it's rare that I remember them. But I woke up from this dream just as it was ending...all I remember was that I was in a plane, holding a baby (sex unknown) and the plane was going down...it crashed but we were still alive. Then I woke up. I wonder what this means. Fear of losing another baby? Although in the dream we were clearly still alive so how does that fit in? Anyway...the thing that stuck out to me was the baby...I was holding a baby. It was clear as day. It was a nice thing to see. Definitely something I wish for.

The 4th of July is coming ever so closer. Joe has to work that night...I think I'm going to go spend some time with him during the day and the do my best to ignore the festivities outside during the night. It can be just any other day, right? Not a day I was very much looking forward to spending with my son. I can make it just any other day.

Then next weekend is vacation. I'm looking forward to the relaxation - I'm just afraid it will be overwhelming, Ryan should be there in everything that we do. And he wont be.

I keep thinking about holidays. Valentines Day will probably permanently be ruined, seeing as it is a few days before when I lost Ryan and I will probably always blame myself for not getting to the hospital sooner. Thanksgiving and Christmas (especially this year) are things that he is supposed to be at. I think I will forgo them. At least the big family get togethers. I think I'll just stay away from them.

I don't know why I'm thinking so much about things so far down the road...but they've been on my mind lately...

no need for a babysitter

Sometimes I feel like I'm forgetting him. Which is funny because he's all I ever think about. But I try to remember his face and I don't see HIM I see my favorite picture of him. I can't picture him in the hospital, lying in the bassinet next to me or in my lap...maybe it's just a subconscious emotional block of a traumatic event. It probably is. Seeing as it was the most traumatic event of my life. Funny thing is I can play the c-section over and over in my mind though...that is what is stuck in my head. It replays like a bad movie a million times a day.


Speaking of movies, we went to the midnight Transformers showing last night. It was a great movie - but throughout it I found myself thinking about Ryan a lot. Since this was such a big movie the date it was coming out has been blasted everywhere for a long time...we used to talk about how my mom would have to babysit Ryan so we'd be able to go see it. Well, we didn't need a babysitter. Funny thing is...if I could go back, knowing what I know now and for some reason things turned out differently and I had him with me - I wouldn't want the babysitter...I wouldn't leave him for a second if it could be avoided. After the movie ended I just started crying and I had to get out of there - I was practically running through the parking lot. This, for some reason, pissed Joe off. I wouldn't stop and he just wanted to hold me and make me feel better - so he got frustrated when I wouldn't stop...which is understandable, I was acting a little crazy. But I just literally couldn't stop. I just had to get out of there. I got home and cried myself to sleep...

The incomplete me...

The shacks are up...the 4th of July is just around the corner. Fireworks will go on sale soon. Ryan should be anywhere between 3 and 7 weeks old that day...depending on when he had shown up. If he had shown up when he was supposed to. If I had chosen differently...choose to have the c-section earlier, and he had lived - he'd be four and a half months old that day. It just so happens that he just showed up a little too early. And a little too dead. Sorry to be frank. Sometimes I feel like people look at me like "the woman with the dead baby". They just never talk about him. Ever. I feel like his name, his life...everything about him is a taboo subject. I wish people would talk about him more...if people wanted to I'd probably talk about him and nothing but him forever. My favorite holiday has always been the 4th of July. When I first found out my due date - and knew that I'd definitely be recovered from giving birth by that day I was so excited. I couldn't wait to spend my favorite holiday with my little boy in hand. Now I think I might just stay in bed that day. Pretend I don't hear the fireworks, pretend there is nothing special about that day. Pretend my son shouldn't be with me. Everyone else seems to be able to do that just fine. Why cant they stop for just one day? Why cant everyone skip the fireworks for a year? Don't they realize no one should be celebrating??? My baby died. What is there to celebrate? Shouldn't everyone be as heartbroken and consumed by his death as I am? Shouldn't everyone realize that when they ask me how I'm doing...and I say "okay"...that I'm lying. That the truth is something they don't want to hear so I don't tell them. Would "my son is dead, how do you think I'm doing" really be an appropriate answer for that question? Or how about "I didn't want to get out of bed this morning, I dream about my son all night and occasionally I even think I hear him crying...also, sometimes I pray to be in a coma so I can sleep through the next year"? You think my boss wants to hear that when she asks how I'm doing? Probably not. My vacation is only 17 days away. I'm looking forward to it. Kind of. I'm looking forward to the relaxation - not working for eleven days. I'm scared of how I'll manage being up at that cabin though. Ryan was supposed to be there. I planned throughout my whole pregnancy how this was going to be our first family vacation. Every single thing I do that week will be something I'm supposed to be doing with Ryan. When we unpack the car, someone should be watching Ryan. When I put my stuff in my bedroom...it's going to seem empty without a crib and all of his things. A "family picture" will not be complete without my son in it. Nothing is complete. I feel incomplete. Maybe I shouldn't even be going...but I'm hoping its the relaxation I need. Maybe I'm just glutton for pain.

so frustrated

I am so frustrated, I want to just scream and scream and scream...and then punch something a few hundred times

First, AF was due yesterday - I had very little signs that it was actually coming and so when it didn't show its ugly head yesterday I let myself hope and believe for a split second that there could be a rainbow on the horizon. Of course I was wrong. AF always comes. It came first thing this morning. Yes, this is frustrating, but no it’s not the reason I'm so pissed off

After I came back from the bathroom and tried to go back to sleep my phone rang. Who calls at 845 on a Sunday morning? It was my grandma. She’s always been the uptight - mind set stuck in the 40’s kind of grandma. Anyway she asked to talk to my mother. Yes, I’ve been staying at my mothers (although most of the time I stay at Ryan’s dads). The plan was that I’d stay with my mother until a little while after Ryan was born - kind of get a nice nest egg before we moved out when Ryan was a few months old. But really staying here has kind of been a blessing in disguise. I’ve taken so much time off work and cut my hours back so not having to pay rent has helped - if I wasn’t able to take 10 weeks off and go back at part time I think I’d be literally insane at the moment. So anyway, I gave the phone to my mother and about five minutes later I came back in the room to see what they were talking about. Every summer we take a big family vacation - we have a cabin in the mountains and everyone stays up there. I have a room - usually I’ll share it with a cousin. Ryan’s dad has come up the past two summers for a few days and my grandma has insisted that he not stay in my room. This year was supposed to be different. Ryan was supposed to be there. His dad was supposed to take the entire week off. It was supposed to be our first family vacation with Ryan. And obviously there was little my uptight grandmother could do considering we had a child. I was looking forward to this more than anything else. It is going to be a very hard week knowing there should be a little baby there...the one thing that will make it tolerable is knowing Ryan's dad will be there with me for part of it. Well, like I said my grandma called this morning pitching a fit about whether or not he’d be there and where he'd sleep and the message it gives to the younger cousins who are there because we are not married. I wanted to rip the phone from my mom’s ear and scream at her. I did not. I simply told my mom to tell her if this was going to be a problem then I would not come. Ryan should be there - and because he’s not my grandmother reverts back to the old way as if nothing happened to change anything. Now, don’t get the wrong idea - my family actually really loves Ryan’s dad - they’re just old fashioned and I am not. I don’t care if we’re not married, it was never a big deal to me - we had a child! I sent her an e-mail explaining in further detail that he will be coming and we will be staying together, or I will not come at all.

I just wanted a peaceful vacation with time spent relaxing at the lake - I really, really need it. It may seem stupid to put my foot down about something so insignificant as where Ryan’s dad sleeps but to me it seems insane for her to throw a fit when we had and lost a child together.