The myth of the perfect baby

I don't know how many of you believe in ghosts, or spirits or energies.  I happen to firmly believe.  I live in a house filled  with energy.  My stepfather and my grandmother both died here within months of each other, not to mention that my grandpa had already been hanging around in spirit for about 20 years and my brother about 10.  Then my uncle passed away and he manifests as a sneaky little boy like my mom remembers him from her teenage years.   If I wasn't already a nut job, living in a haunted house might do it.  You'd think anyway.  But this isn't my first one actually, I've been a haunted person for longer than I can remember so I'm rather used to it.  The hard part here is that it's people I love and wish I could have back.  Why I'm so lonely for them in death I don't know, I wasn't very nice to them in life for the most part.  Maybe this is my Karma?  Perhaps. I'm also faced daily with the memories and the belongings...

Yeah, I live in the desert.  It's hot here and I grew up drinking water with no problem.  In fact, as kids we were only allowed one soda a day if we were good and only at dinner if we ate what mom told us to.  I carry a water bottle wherever I go.  Like, literally everywhere. I don't even have to be going more than two blocks away and I've got my water with me.  My sons on the other hand won't drink anything that isn't flavored.  So I have a HELL of a time getting anything not carbonated or sugar filled into any of them. Morgen will occasionally drink plain ice water but it's rare.  In the very heat of the summer, he takes water bottles with him, but at home, it's soda or juice or a punch type drink.  Maxwell will literally gag on plain water.  He's such a drama queen it's ridiculous and I want to laugh at him when he does it, but I try to hold back for the sake of the other children.  Then there's little Mr Peanuts aka Memphis.  ...

Parts of it are forever etched into my mind, others got lost in those moments that my heart stopped beating and there was no oxygen to my brain.  There are bits and pieces of a lot of things like that.  That day, I wish I could remember every detail. I remember that R slept more than I thought any man with a wife in labor should.  I remember that after so many false alarms and so many shots to prevent it, I was so happy to FINALLY be having my baby.  I remember thinking that I didn't know what I was going to do with two daughters. (But in turned out they were very wrong and I had a son instead.) I don't remember the drive there.  I don't remember the sound of his cries, or the smell of his hair after they'd bathed him.  I don't remember they was it felt to put him to my breast that first time. It had gone all wrong anyway.  This wasn't how it was meant to be.  I labored so long, after 11 weeks of going into preterm labor and it being stopped...

This might be a long one, so settle in a minute or thirty.  When you read that title, what do you think of?  I think of things like college dorms, room mates in your 20's, that kind of thing right?  I really never anticipated living with my mother at almost 40.  I didn't move here because I had to, in fact, quite the opposite.  I moved here because if I hadn't she would have lost this house and it's the only constant thing that I've ever had in my entire life.  Let me explain. Growing up, I lived in the same town, but we moved on average once a year or once every 18 months.  In retrospect, I do understand that some of those moves were situations that were beyond my parents control, but in truth, some of them were just really poor choices on their part as well.  I know this, because I'm guilty of making some of those same poor choices in my own adult life.  You live what you learn, right?  Anyway, so we moved a lot and I HATE moving. ...