Molly Claire Day 2012

 Today marks the three year anniversary of the delivery of our daughter, Molly Claire Baker, who was born sleeping. When we buried her, I (with the help of my mom) made her a little tiny burial dress. Luckily, I had the presence of mind to make a duplicate for myself. My mom and I finished the whole thing, except hand stitching the lace at the bottom of the dress. It had been sitting in the closet in a box for three years. This year, I decided I could actually finish it, because I really wanted to display it in my house. I got the perfect shadow box this weekend.

 Yesterday, I sat on the couch, and sewed the lace on, before pinning everything in the box. This year, I was ready to do it. I never felt ready before. I think my heart is healed... Not all the way. I don't think it ever will be, but I do feel so much better.

Here it is compared to my other babies blessing outfits.

I was so sad that day. This is a picture of me holding the dress I would clothe her tiny body in on the day we buried her. It was such a sad day.

 

 This is an excerpt from our family blog about her delivery:

I knew I wanted to blog about this, but thought it would be too hard. I am making myself do it, as it will probably help me heal even more. August 26 was a super busy day. I made yummy pear jam with my cute cousin Shauna all day. My back hurt, I was tired, and after the kids got home from school, they had snacks, homework, and I was frantically trying to clean up, get them ready for that nights activities. Conrad had a soccer game at 5:30, and Sophie had ballet at 6. I had a Dr appointment at 6:30. Things were rushed. The appointment was just the gender confirmation and check-up, as we found out we were having a girl at the 14 week visit, but we were just going to make sure. As soon as I got in the car, I turned the radio on, and felt more calm. I went to the Dr office, and waited until they got me back. When she took me back, and started with the ultrasound, I was telling her how a dear friend of mine had lost her sweet baby boy at 14 weeks, and how sad I was for her. I didn't hear a hear a heart beat, and asked her if there was a heart beat. She said, "No." I didn't believe her at first, and asked that she check again. She did, and confirmed there was no heartbeat. She measured the babies head, and it was small for gestational age. I was in complete shock and started to sob, as she told me she was going to have to, "deliver me," and that I could pick the day and time. She told me she was sorry, gave me a few more details about the delivery for what is known as a, "fetal demise," and left me alone in the cold stark room. I managed to make my way out of the office in a fog of tears. I remember having to stop at the top of the stairs to wipe my eyes, so I could actually see the stairs, and not trip. I kept calling Wayne the whole way out, but couldn't get him to answer. I then called the neighbor, and she got Wayne who was mowing the lawn, and he called me right back. I told him what had happened. He asked me if I was sure, and started to cry when I told him, "yes." I asked him to wait to tell the kids until I got home. He met me in the garage, and hugged me, and cried with me. Then we went into the living room, and called the kids in. They knew from the look on our faces, that things were not good. We told the kids what happened, and Sophie started sobbing for her little sister, uncontrollably. Conrad was sad as well, and drew me a picture. Both kids kept hugging my belly, and kissing my round belly, and saying they love the baby. Sophie just kept saying she just wanted to see Molly, as we told her we had to deliver. We had a miscarriage at 10 weeks in December, and I had a D&C, and the kids were sad they never got to see the baby. We decided to deliver as soon as possible, and the hospital fit us in that night. My mom took the kids, and we headed to the hospital.

When we got there, they gave us a quiet room, that looked just like the room we delivered Conrad in. As I looked around the room, and at the monitors, and the place they lay the newborn baby after it is born, it was so sad, it seemed almost like a dream. They gave me oral labor inducing pills, and an ambien. I thankfully fell asleep a few minutes later. Wayne was not so lucky, and was up with his thoughts, and hospital sounds the bulk of the night. It was so surreal for both of us.

When I awoke the next day, they gave me more pills, and we tearfully awaited the birth of our sweet daughter's tiny body. A few hours later, they gave me an epidural, because in many cases, when you have a stillborn, the placenta does not come out on it's own, and the doc has to do a d&c right there on the spot.

We did not know how long she had been deceased, and the nurses were preparing us for the worst. We didn't know what to expect. We didn't know if she would be deformed, or missing limbs or skin, or if she would even look like a baby. I knew it was about time to deliver, and we patiently waited. There was no anxious excitement this time, no monitors, no heated bed to receive her, just two sweet nurses, me, and Wayne. I felt her slip out of me, not like my other babies deliveries had been, but a sweet delicate surrender from my body to the earth. Wayne was holding my hand. I didn't dare look at her at first, for fear of what I might see. Wayne looked, and when I asked him how she looked, he said, "Beautiful."

I looked at me sweet tiny helpless lifeless baby lying there. There was nothing I could do for her. No way to make it better. I cried sweet tears. I felt lucky to be her mom, and help her on her quest to get a little body, as much as she needed. She was beautiful. She was meant to be my daughter, and I her mother. The veil was thin. I felt peace and comfort. I felt an instant connection with her, the same as I did with my other babies, the minute they were born. My love for her grew tenfold. The nurses cleaned her up, just like they would any other healthy living baby. They put a tiny hat on her tiny head, and wrapped her in soft blankets and gave her a teddy bear. They handed her back to me and Wayne, and we looked at her, and loved her, and cried. 

After we had held her a while, they told us our options were to have her cremated, or to bury her. The thought of burning my sweet daughter's helpless body gave me a stomach ache. We chose to bury her, and are so glad we did.

My sweet Molly taught me more than I would have ever thought. I am so thankful for every minute she was in my body. Thankful for every second our lives were joined. Wayne and I are thankful for every night she slept between us, every hug she shared with us. She is eternally part of us, and we are lucky that it is so. We love our dear sweet angel daughter. We are blessed to have been able to share even a second with her. We cherish our memories, and our love still grows for her as for our other children.

Here is our only family photo with Molly.

Saying goodbye before closing the casket.

The ride to the cemetery.

When we look back at the whole experience, we still feel lucky we got the time we did with her. This is a family picture from this weekend. We love our little Rhett, and know he would not be a part of our family if Molly had lived. It's funny how things work out.

Wayne has had the whole weekend off, and we have done family activities we think Molly would have liked the whole weekend. We have a full day planned today, including visiting the cemetery. 

She would have been 3.

Have a Happy and Creative Day!

and... HUG YOUR KIDS!

Risa

You can see what we did on Molly Claire Day last year HERE.