The big day before the big day finally came today! You know, not the actual birth but the day we learn whether this tiny baby is a boy or a girl. I have been on pins and needles since, well, the two pink lines showed up on the test. I get that some people are patient and like the surprise of waiting til the birth to find out, and I have serious respect for their restraint, but it's just so not me. I'm a planner, and especially since these two will be sharing a room, I've been anxiously waiting to see if I will just be adding another little girl to a very girly room complete with a very girly wardrobe or if I'd be weeding out pink things to make room for lots of blue! And now I know. And now I can begin to get ready.
We are having a son. I am having a son. I am the mother of a daughter and a son. It is a very strange thing to wrap my mind around, and I am loving every second of it. It's like, the moment you feel like you've got this parenting thing down, like you kind of know what you're doing, then you are thrown a curve ball. But it's the best curve ball ever. It's the chance to see the other side of the fence, to know what it is to relate to a tiny boy as well as a tiny girl. And, I'm sure, once the third comes along it will feel new all over again because even among the same gender there is such diversity in character and personality. Because, as parents, we probably don't ever really know what we're doing. So off I tread into uncharted territory, with thoughts of boy clothes and boy toys and boy questions. Will he make everything into a gun or a sword? Will he eat dirt? Will he hit things, throw things, make car sounds and train sounds and explosion sounds? Will he be louder than Ella? (Is that even possible?)
It's funny, because my initial instinct said girl. I think this was because I am due in August, six days after Ella's birthday, and my mind could easily see just how simple it would be... all of her clothes fitting her baby sister perfectly, and a room shared by two girls. The dolls, the toys, the curtains, everything would just fit for a girl. But at one of the first ultrasounds I had, I watched my little bean jumping all over the screen and got hit with this deep gut feeling of boy. Ever since then, I've been at a loss, trying to figure out whether to go with my initial instinct or my gut at the ultrasound. Every time someone would tell me that whatever I was thinking was probably right, it made me laugh inside, because the only thing I was certain of was that this was a baby. I had several dreams that it was a boy though, and one of them was last night, so I woke up today leaning toward blue.
The ultrasound tech had us on pins and needles for a bit. She looked around for about 30 minutes, getting pictures and measurements of all the organs and important inner workings of baby. I kept waiting for her to say, "Oh, I just saw it!" or "THERE it is!" in regards to the little parts necessary to know the gender, but she was tight-lipped. I was getting anxious, thinking of how ironic (and frustrating) it would be for someone like me, who's been on the edge of her seat for months waiting to hear the news, to have to make a second appointment because baby wouldn't cooperate. Then, after 30 minutes, we got the clear picture we'd been waiting for. The tech asked us if we had any last minute predictions as she drew a little arrow on the screen to point out the baby bits, and at that point it was pretty clear what we were having. We both said "It's a boy!" as we looked at the screen and she confirmed it for us right away. THEN she told us that she'd actually seen the boy bits at the beginning of the ultrasound but preferred to get some other measurements done before getting a clear shot for us. Hah! All of my nerves were for nothing. She was very tricky, that one.
Baby boy wasn't done with us yet, though. I had figured 20 minutes for the whole ultrasound and we were there for over an hour. He didn't want to move into the positions she needed to get a few pics of his organs. The last shot they needed was of his heart and the tech left the room several times so I could get up and move around to try to get baby to change positions. Most of the time, though, she'd come back after I'd done stretches, twists, toe touches and various other ridiculous contortions only to tell me that baby hadn't budged. By the time we left, we were flying to the Dollar Tree for "It's a Boy!" balloons and then on to pick up pizzas. Half of the fam was already in our driveway by the time we got home.
We snuck the balloons in the house and got them to our bedroom before everyone came inside. Almost everyone was able to make it. We were missing Stephen's parents, Auntie Faith, Uncle Gideon and Uncle Josh. This still left us with 14 people just in our immediate fam. (Have I mentioned that we have a giant family? Because we have a GIANT family.) After everyone gathered in the living room, Ella and I went to get the blue balloons and we sent her running into the living room to share the news with everyone. It was pretty awesome to see everyone's faces and to hear the chorus of "I knew it!" and "I told you!" It seems that most everyone had boy vibes this time around. It was such a special way to share our news.
Now we are quiet. Stephen (who knew it was a boy all along) is snoring next to me on the couch, Ella is snoozing in her big girl bed and I am on the couch, enjoying the peace after a busy and special day while feeling the kicks from my baby. My boy. We are having a son. And mama couldn't be more happy.
Tuesday, April 12, 2011
Thursday, March 31, 2011
Baby Mine
These past few months have given me a good reason to be MIA from writing, though I still wish I'd found the time. I took four classes, one of which was a writing class, and on the rare moments that I wasn't consumed by schoolwork, parenting or cleaning my house, you could find me lying comatose on the couch, drooling while watching mindless television. Don't judge. This happened approximately three minutes per week.
And yet now I am looking back over the past two months and I really can't believe that I didn't write any record of any of it, because about a billion things happened and to try to catch up would just be impossible. I want to write a little about this pregnancy since I have completely neglected to write anything down this time around. I'm starting to feel bad that I wrote novels about Ella's pregnancy and mum about this one. We discovered we were pregnant (ok, *I* was pregnant) on December 21st. I tested at night, on a whim, after having that pregnancy vibe for about a week. Even though those two beautiful lines were clear as day, it took a long time for me to accept this pregnancy as a reality. And even as I write that, I realize how much more often I called this my "pregnancy" verses my "baby" earlier on, since it just is hard to fully surrender to the reality of a healthy baby after losing a tiny one.
I called my mom within a day or two, and told her over the phone. She and I then shared with the rest of my fam on an individual basis. I just didn't want to make some big Christmas announcement and have to remember it like I do with our baby announcement at Ella's birthday party last year. In a similar vein, we shared with Stephen's mom and brother on Christmas Eve but kept from telling everyone as we didn't want to create any memories that would end up being sad. It seems really depressing now, since baby is healthy and growing just fabulously, but at that point I just wasn't ready to believe it was really going to happen. We were very much proceeding with caution. The family all knew by New Years and a few friends found out over the next few weeks but really, we guarded our little secret until ten weeks, when we finally found the hope and trust we needed to believe that baby was real.
We also went through a few panic moments earlier in the pregnancy. One day, I was just convinced that baby was gone. My symptoms were gone and I thought for sure it was happening again. So, we went in for an ultrasound at just shy of 8 weeks, and I was blown away by the sweet sight of that little heart beating on the screen. My baby was real. And I was in love. I had an ultrasound about five days later, because it had already been scheduled before my panic moment. I could have cancelled it but passing up another opportunity to see that sweet baby thriving was too hard to do!
Not long after that, I awoke in the morning to some bleeding and clotting. It's so funny in retrospect. I was freaking out at first, crying to Stephen and my mom on the phone. Mom came over, I got ready to go in for an ultrasound to confirm a miscarriage, Stephen flew home from work so he could join me, and in the midst of all of that I had this crazy peace overtake me and I knew. I knew that somehow, bleeding aside, baby was ok. And baby WAS ok. I had a subchorionic hemorrhage, meaning that some bleeding had occurred likely when baby's little egg implanted in my uterine wall, and had become trapped between the egg and the wall. Now that baby was growing, the blood was being pushed out. This comes with a slight risk of complications, but we just knew that things would be ok. And they were. A future ultrasound showed that the blood they'd found previously was gone, and baby was no longer at risk.
Not only did we have these pregnancy scares and apprehensions, but I was sick all the time during the first trimester (which coincided with my insane school term almost exactly). I had the same nausea I'd had with Ella, with the added pleasure of awful stomach acid up til about 10 weeks. I also got the stomach flu for a few days and three separate head colds, one of which lasted for a solid 14 days. All the while, homework was piling up and I was exhausted. Thankfully, though everything difficult was happening at once, it all got easier at about the same time too. My nausea completely subsided by week 15, and had started getting lighter by week 11 or 12. I survived finals week during my 16th week of pregnancy (and got straight A's last term!!!) and spring showed up after what felt like a the longest winter of my life. I should add that spring has been pretty awful, with a record amount of rain for the month of March. But at least the flowers are blooming, I don't feel like puking every two minutes or sleeping until my due date and I'm taking a few terms off so I'm home with my girl. Call it my own personal springtime, despite the rain. ;)
The second trimester has been delightful. It's different than the first time around. I felt baby earlier. People can call me crazy but I felt little flutters during my 10th week, and no, it wasn't gas. Flutters grew into taps by week 13 and full on suckerpunches starting this week (18). This baby also burrows. I've been able to feel baby balled up at the top, bottom or either side of my uterus since about week 12. It's this strange heavy feeling, especially when it's at the bottom. I told Stephen it kind of feels like when you're on an elevator or a plane and you get that pit in your gut like your stomach is being sucked out from underneath you. Very strange, especially if it happens while I'm walking! I've gotten used to poking and prodding a bit to get baby to move into a more comfy position. Well, more comfy for me, that is. I'm sure baby was just fine. :)
I also grew earlier. Like, two seconds after I was pregnant. I compared pics of me at 18 weeks with Ella to ones I took this week. Yeah... it's a lot bigger. My belly compares more with the size it was in my photos at 25-30 weeks with Ella. Based on this rate of growth, I'm a little scared for the 3rd trimester. Hah! I already looked at photos taken at 35/36 weeks with Ella (just before I gave birth at 36 weeks, 4 days) and I was scary giant. I may need my own time zone for this one, especially if I go to 40 weeks. That's the beauty of being short- there's nowhere to go but straight out!
And that's another thing- it is HARD to find maternity clothes in petite lengths. I don't know if they think short people don't get pregnant or what. But it's like most maternity clothes are made for people 6 inches taller than I am. I don't get it. I needed maternity clothes a lot sooner this time around, too, and winter maternity stuff is hard to find and not super comfy. Everyone always tells me how awful it is to be pregnant in the summer and how unlucky I am to be due in August again, but I gotta say- summer pregnancy kind of rocks. There is nothing more comfy than little cotton dresses and super stretchy capri leggings. And the flip flops! Ahhh.... can you hear me sighing contentedly? Cuz I totally am. I couldn't be happier to be due again in August. AND it means another summer birthday party! I can't wait. My only prayer is that I get a week on either side of Ella's birthday, just so each kiddo can have their own birthday time. And since a week after Ella's birthday is August 29th, a day AFTER my due date, I'm gonna go ahead and hope baby is at least a week EARLY and not the other direction. :)
But stop me before I get too ahead of myself, because before the birth there's still plenty to do and a big surprise in store. On Tuesday, April 12th, we'll discover more about who this baby is. Do we have a son? Do we have another daughter? I can't wait to find out! Everyone is saying it's a boy, but I suspect that's because we already have a girl. My first gut instinct was girl, but now with all these boy predictions I'm wondering if they're right. I don't care either way, but it's killing me not knowing! Is this the time that I get to say we have a son? Is this the time that Stephen has a boy to wrestle and play ball with? Or is this the time that we tell Ella she has a sister? Will we dig out her baby clothes that we packed up every time she grew out of yet another size and have another chance to see a tiny girl in them?
Either way, the main thing that has me marveling is how we've learned to trust and hope again through this baby's growth. I was so scared after our loss that we'd never have another baby. Even knowing how common miscarriage is, I don't think there are many women who can feel complete confidence after a loss and don't worry that maybe something is wrong with her. But learning to let go of the fears and trust in the One who gives and takes away has been sweet after the sorrow. I feel this baby kick and move and I KNOW that He is good. And even when we lost the baby that we'll never get to hold this side of eternity, we knew that He was good. I am so grateful for His gifts but I don't feel immune to loss and pain. I rest in this time with my growing baby, though, knowing that He has been whispering trust and hope to us. We will hold our baby this time. I know it. I'm so in love!
And yet now I am looking back over the past two months and I really can't believe that I didn't write any record of any of it, because about a billion things happened and to try to catch up would just be impossible. I want to write a little about this pregnancy since I have completely neglected to write anything down this time around. I'm starting to feel bad that I wrote novels about Ella's pregnancy and mum about this one. We discovered we were pregnant (ok, *I* was pregnant) on December 21st. I tested at night, on a whim, after having that pregnancy vibe for about a week. Even though those two beautiful lines were clear as day, it took a long time for me to accept this pregnancy as a reality. And even as I write that, I realize how much more often I called this my "pregnancy" verses my "baby" earlier on, since it just is hard to fully surrender to the reality of a healthy baby after losing a tiny one.
I called my mom within a day or two, and told her over the phone. She and I then shared with the rest of my fam on an individual basis. I just didn't want to make some big Christmas announcement and have to remember it like I do with our baby announcement at Ella's birthday party last year. In a similar vein, we shared with Stephen's mom and brother on Christmas Eve but kept from telling everyone as we didn't want to create any memories that would end up being sad. It seems really depressing now, since baby is healthy and growing just fabulously, but at that point I just wasn't ready to believe it was really going to happen. We were very much proceeding with caution. The family all knew by New Years and a few friends found out over the next few weeks but really, we guarded our little secret until ten weeks, when we finally found the hope and trust we needed to believe that baby was real.
We also went through a few panic moments earlier in the pregnancy. One day, I was just convinced that baby was gone. My symptoms were gone and I thought for sure it was happening again. So, we went in for an ultrasound at just shy of 8 weeks, and I was blown away by the sweet sight of that little heart beating on the screen. My baby was real. And I was in love. I had an ultrasound about five days later, because it had already been scheduled before my panic moment. I could have cancelled it but passing up another opportunity to see that sweet baby thriving was too hard to do!
Not long after that, I awoke in the morning to some bleeding and clotting. It's so funny in retrospect. I was freaking out at first, crying to Stephen and my mom on the phone. Mom came over, I got ready to go in for an ultrasound to confirm a miscarriage, Stephen flew home from work so he could join me, and in the midst of all of that I had this crazy peace overtake me and I knew. I knew that somehow, bleeding aside, baby was ok. And baby WAS ok. I had a subchorionic hemorrhage, meaning that some bleeding had occurred likely when baby's little egg implanted in my uterine wall, and had become trapped between the egg and the wall. Now that baby was growing, the blood was being pushed out. This comes with a slight risk of complications, but we just knew that things would be ok. And they were. A future ultrasound showed that the blood they'd found previously was gone, and baby was no longer at risk.
Not only did we have these pregnancy scares and apprehensions, but I was sick all the time during the first trimester (which coincided with my insane school term almost exactly). I had the same nausea I'd had with Ella, with the added pleasure of awful stomach acid up til about 10 weeks. I also got the stomach flu for a few days and three separate head colds, one of which lasted for a solid 14 days. All the while, homework was piling up and I was exhausted. Thankfully, though everything difficult was happening at once, it all got easier at about the same time too. My nausea completely subsided by week 15, and had started getting lighter by week 11 or 12. I survived finals week during my 16th week of pregnancy (and got straight A's last term!!!) and spring showed up after what felt like a the longest winter of my life. I should add that spring has been pretty awful, with a record amount of rain for the month of March. But at least the flowers are blooming, I don't feel like puking every two minutes or sleeping until my due date and I'm taking a few terms off so I'm home with my girl. Call it my own personal springtime, despite the rain. ;)
The second trimester has been delightful. It's different than the first time around. I felt baby earlier. People can call me crazy but I felt little flutters during my 10th week, and no, it wasn't gas. Flutters grew into taps by week 13 and full on suckerpunches starting this week (18). This baby also burrows. I've been able to feel baby balled up at the top, bottom or either side of my uterus since about week 12. It's this strange heavy feeling, especially when it's at the bottom. I told Stephen it kind of feels like when you're on an elevator or a plane and you get that pit in your gut like your stomach is being sucked out from underneath you. Very strange, especially if it happens while I'm walking! I've gotten used to poking and prodding a bit to get baby to move into a more comfy position. Well, more comfy for me, that is. I'm sure baby was just fine. :)
I also grew earlier. Like, two seconds after I was pregnant. I compared pics of me at 18 weeks with Ella to ones I took this week. Yeah... it's a lot bigger. My belly compares more with the size it was in my photos at 25-30 weeks with Ella. Based on this rate of growth, I'm a little scared for the 3rd trimester. Hah! I already looked at photos taken at 35/36 weeks with Ella (just before I gave birth at 36 weeks, 4 days) and I was scary giant. I may need my own time zone for this one, especially if I go to 40 weeks. That's the beauty of being short- there's nowhere to go but straight out!
And that's another thing- it is HARD to find maternity clothes in petite lengths. I don't know if they think short people don't get pregnant or what. But it's like most maternity clothes are made for people 6 inches taller than I am. I don't get it. I needed maternity clothes a lot sooner this time around, too, and winter maternity stuff is hard to find and not super comfy. Everyone always tells me how awful it is to be pregnant in the summer and how unlucky I am to be due in August again, but I gotta say- summer pregnancy kind of rocks. There is nothing more comfy than little cotton dresses and super stretchy capri leggings. And the flip flops! Ahhh.... can you hear me sighing contentedly? Cuz I totally am. I couldn't be happier to be due again in August. AND it means another summer birthday party! I can't wait. My only prayer is that I get a week on either side of Ella's birthday, just so each kiddo can have their own birthday time. And since a week after Ella's birthday is August 29th, a day AFTER my due date, I'm gonna go ahead and hope baby is at least a week EARLY and not the other direction. :)
But stop me before I get too ahead of myself, because before the birth there's still plenty to do and a big surprise in store. On Tuesday, April 12th, we'll discover more about who this baby is. Do we have a son? Do we have another daughter? I can't wait to find out! Everyone is saying it's a boy, but I suspect that's because we already have a girl. My first gut instinct was girl, but now with all these boy predictions I'm wondering if they're right. I don't care either way, but it's killing me not knowing! Is this the time that I get to say we have a son? Is this the time that Stephen has a boy to wrestle and play ball with? Or is this the time that we tell Ella she has a sister? Will we dig out her baby clothes that we packed up every time she grew out of yet another size and have another chance to see a tiny girl in them?
Either way, the main thing that has me marveling is how we've learned to trust and hope again through this baby's growth. I was so scared after our loss that we'd never have another baby. Even knowing how common miscarriage is, I don't think there are many women who can feel complete confidence after a loss and don't worry that maybe something is wrong with her. But learning to let go of the fears and trust in the One who gives and takes away has been sweet after the sorrow. I feel this baby kick and move and I KNOW that He is good. And even when we lost the baby that we'll never get to hold this side of eternity, we knew that He was good. I am so grateful for His gifts but I don't feel immune to loss and pain. I rest in this time with my growing baby, though, knowing that He has been whispering trust and hope to us. We will hold our baby this time. I know it. I'm so in love!
Monday, January 24, 2011
Hodge Podge
I keep trying to remember all of the cute/funny/off the wall things that Ella says so that I can write about them and let her read them someday, but then I sit in front of this screen and go completely blank. Let's see how much I can recall. I wish I could just record her life 24/7 so that I wouldn't ever forget any of these crazy funny or crazy sweet moments.
The other day, as she was in her crib, she told Stephen that she didn't need to go to bed yet because she's a grown up. When Stephen asked her how old she was, she said "I'm sixteen." Hah! I don't know what I love more- that she thinks 16 is a grown up or that she thinks she's got a shot at fooling dad into letting her stay up.
Ella's had her fair share of colds and stuffy noses this season. She's gotten used to having a humidifier going in her room to keep the stuffy nose at bay and allow her to sleep. So, the other night, she cries from her crib, "My nose is bugging me!" I go in, realize we'll need the humidifier and ask Stephen to set it up while I try to help her blow her nose. Of course, we really end up just snuggling on the floor while dad does all the work. As Stephen is filling a pitcher of warm water in the bathroom, Ella cuddles me and says, "Daddy gonna turn on my medicine fire." Hah! I guess she's been hearing humidifier as humidi-fire, and since humidi means nothing to her, she made the logical jump to medicine-fire. Extra cute is that she really does think there's some source of fire in it because of the steam pouring out of the top.
This one is a few months old, but Ella threw a monster fit a while ago. Time out in her crib was doing nothing to calm her, and she was shaking the crib rail, smacking the wall with her hand and absolutely going bonkers with her screaming and crying. Then, as she's smacking anything in sight with the palm of her hand, she starts yelling at the top of her lungs, "I'm freaking out! I'm freaking out!" I'm so glad I was in the other room for that one, so she couldn't see me bust up laughing. I also have NO idea where she picked up that phrase. It's not like I say that or anything. *Ahem*
Every time I prompt her to ask for something nicely (hinting at the P word) she sweetly smiles and says, "Nicely!" When she tries to say Bo Peep, she usually ends up saying "Pee Bo." The other day she woke me from a dead sleep at 6 am, screaming bloody murder. It's her bad dream scream. It rips my stomach open and makes me feel like I'm falling for a second before I shake my way back into reality and wake up to realize what's going on. I leaped from the bed, ran in to cuddle her, and asked if it was a bad dream. She weepily confirmed it. When I asked her what was in her bad dream so I could comfort her, she says, "Daddy tell me eat my bites and I say NO NO NO!!!" Uhhhh... THAT is the horror which ripped me from dreamland? On the other hand, I'm glad that those are the worst fears she's contending with right now.
And then there's her scary good memory. I don't know how she keeps track of things so well, but when I'm looking for my keys she's been known to tell me where they are. When she asked for her bink and I didn't know where it was, she told me, "In your coat, mama. 'Member?" And she was right- it was in my coat pocket, right where I stuck it a few hours before. I switched most of the contents to my new purse once my old purse's zipper busted, and was frantically looking for my checkbook one day when she said, "Your old purse, Mom!" She was probably guessing- and she was right. How does she even know to think of things like that? The other night, she wanted to take her Jessie doll to bed. She was sitting in her crib and I was searching the living room with no Jessie in sight. Suddenly, she yells from her room, "In the shopping bag, Mama!" and I look down and see a Target bag full of toys that Stephen had brought in from the car, with Jessie buried inside. I just don't get it. How is it that my 2 year old takes care of ME? How is it that I can barely keep my head screwed on and my toddler knows where my checkbook is? I don't know, but I'm grateful. God knew I needed a genius child to help with my scatterbrained ways.
Now I'm sitting here, trying to think of a few more memories, and I'm frustrated at how quickly they're gone. It seems like at least ten times a day I am floored by the things that she says and does, how much she's learning. How much she understands. I guess I've said enough for now. There's no way I could remember it all anyway. She's way too smart and clever. I get to hear this stuff all the time. :)
The other day, as she was in her crib, she told Stephen that she didn't need to go to bed yet because she's a grown up. When Stephen asked her how old she was, she said "I'm sixteen." Hah! I don't know what I love more- that she thinks 16 is a grown up or that she thinks she's got a shot at fooling dad into letting her stay up.
Ella's had her fair share of colds and stuffy noses this season. She's gotten used to having a humidifier going in her room to keep the stuffy nose at bay and allow her to sleep. So, the other night, she cries from her crib, "My nose is bugging me!" I go in, realize we'll need the humidifier and ask Stephen to set it up while I try to help her blow her nose. Of course, we really end up just snuggling on the floor while dad does all the work. As Stephen is filling a pitcher of warm water in the bathroom, Ella cuddles me and says, "Daddy gonna turn on my medicine fire." Hah! I guess she's been hearing humidifier as humidi-fire, and since humidi means nothing to her, she made the logical jump to medicine-fire. Extra cute is that she really does think there's some source of fire in it because of the steam pouring out of the top.
This one is a few months old, but Ella threw a monster fit a while ago. Time out in her crib was doing nothing to calm her, and she was shaking the crib rail, smacking the wall with her hand and absolutely going bonkers with her screaming and crying. Then, as she's smacking anything in sight with the palm of her hand, she starts yelling at the top of her lungs, "I'm freaking out! I'm freaking out!" I'm so glad I was in the other room for that one, so she couldn't see me bust up laughing. I also have NO idea where she picked up that phrase. It's not like I say that or anything. *Ahem*
Every time I prompt her to ask for something nicely (hinting at the P word) she sweetly smiles and says, "Nicely!" When she tries to say Bo Peep, she usually ends up saying "Pee Bo." The other day she woke me from a dead sleep at 6 am, screaming bloody murder. It's her bad dream scream. It rips my stomach open and makes me feel like I'm falling for a second before I shake my way back into reality and wake up to realize what's going on. I leaped from the bed, ran in to cuddle her, and asked if it was a bad dream. She weepily confirmed it. When I asked her what was in her bad dream so I could comfort her, she says, "Daddy tell me eat my bites and I say NO NO NO!!!" Uhhhh... THAT is the horror which ripped me from dreamland? On the other hand, I'm glad that those are the worst fears she's contending with right now.
And then there's her scary good memory. I don't know how she keeps track of things so well, but when I'm looking for my keys she's been known to tell me where they are. When she asked for her bink and I didn't know where it was, she told me, "In your coat, mama. 'Member?" And she was right- it was in my coat pocket, right where I stuck it a few hours before. I switched most of the contents to my new purse once my old purse's zipper busted, and was frantically looking for my checkbook one day when she said, "Your old purse, Mom!" She was probably guessing- and she was right. How does she even know to think of things like that? The other night, she wanted to take her Jessie doll to bed. She was sitting in her crib and I was searching the living room with no Jessie in sight. Suddenly, she yells from her room, "In the shopping bag, Mama!" and I look down and see a Target bag full of toys that Stephen had brought in from the car, with Jessie buried inside. I just don't get it. How is it that my 2 year old takes care of ME? How is it that I can barely keep my head screwed on and my toddler knows where my checkbook is? I don't know, but I'm grateful. God knew I needed a genius child to help with my scatterbrained ways.
Now I'm sitting here, trying to think of a few more memories, and I'm frustrated at how quickly they're gone. It seems like at least ten times a day I am floored by the things that she says and does, how much she's learning. How much she understands. I guess I've said enough for now. There's no way I could remember it all anyway. She's way too smart and clever. I get to hear this stuff all the time. :)
Tuesday, December 28, 2010
Resolution
This past February I embarked on a pretty intense weight loss adventure, and I had some real success. I didn't reach the long term goal I set for myself, but after 6 months and losing 45 pounds I needed to take a break (mentally, physically and financially, as I was on a program that required purchasing food). It wasn't long after I'd ventured back into the real food world that I found out I was pregnant. At that point I'd gained 5 pounds back, which I'd been told to expect as part of the process of adjusting to higher caloric intake again.
I felt great going into the pregnancy an entire 40 pounds lighter than when I'd begun my pregnancy with Ella, but by the time I was 11 weeks pregnant I'd gained 20 pounds. Talk about bursting my bubble. I could not figure out why on earth my body was gaining so quickly with this pregnancy- I only gained 15 pounds total with Ella, and all in the second and third trimesters. Of course, hindsight tells me now that the reason I was gaining was because I was happily giving in to any craving that would help soothe the nausea (which meant a whole lot of starchy, bland foods) but my body wasn't burning extra calories because I'd lost the baby early in the process. So, feeding a hormonally pregnant body that isn't actually burning calories like a truly pregnant body is, in a word, a disaster. Instead of feeding a calorie burning, baby making machine, it was more like 11 weeks of feeding my body carbs while it was chock full of PMS hormones. And we all know how easy it is for our bodies to wreak havoc during "that time."
So, along with the loss of my baby, I have this constant reminder in the form of 20 excess pounds. Not to mention, it's the holidays and I am avoiding the scale like the plague because I have a sneaking suspicion that the grief eating I was doing after the baby (not to a crazy extent, but I'll be honest- ordering a pizza was much easier than cooking when I was working through the initial grief process) coupled with the almost immediate launch into the holiday season has me worried it could be more than 20 pounds by now.
And I could just cry. Weight loss has never been easy for me. I WISH I could be one of those people who drops their Pepsi habit and loses 40 pounds in two months. But I don't have any habits like that to drop, and in order for me to see any actual loss on the scale requires some serious, long term low-cal eating. We're talking 1,200-1,500 calories a day, for MONTHS. It's not something I can commit to right now, either, because we're still hoping to grow our family soon. And that requires me growing as well. The thought just about bowls me over when I think about all of the hard work I put into losing 45 pounds- and it could literally mean nothing in terms of weight within the next few months. SIX MONTHS of eating 1,200 calories a day, only to see it all come back within a year.
I guess I'm writing this because I feel this inexplicable need to explain myself to someone. My weight loss was obvious- people notice when you lose 45 pounds. And people were cheering me on. Now, I feel like a walking failure. Even the people that know about the miscarriage might not really connect the weight gain to it. I can hardly spend time with people anymore without this constant voice in the back of my head telling me that they have got to be thinking I really flubbed things up. I know it doesn't matter to anyone else as much as it does to me, but I'm not one to take failure lightly, even when it's not my fault.
I also don't like feeling this way. My body feels big again. I'm surprised that I put up with it for as long as I did, because I'm not even as heavy as I was when I started losing weight last February but even at this size I cannot stand my body. It's awkward, hard to dress, tired more often, and everything is a tighter squeeze. I also have that all over feeling of puffiness, like a blimp. I really am resolved to lose this weight again, but the wait is really frustrating.
My husband (who is wonderful in a thousand ways) says he can hardly notice a difference. Of course, he said that even at my heaviest weight. It's kind of sweet but also kind of discouraging. I mean, when he tells me I look as good as when we got married, all I can think is, "Did I really look this bad when we got married? Because I would feel like a hippo trying to stuff this body into a cute little wedding dress right now." I can't tell if it's supposed to be a compliment for my body now, or a major insult to my body then. Of course, I know that he means it in a good way... but leave it to my mind to twist it around. I think I'd rather hear that my weight gain is somewhat noticeable than not at all. I sure would hate to think that I look the same 30 or 40 pounds lighter than I am now, so it has to be a two-way street.
I don't know. I don't even know why I'm writing about this, if not for my need to just get it off my chest and have SOMEONE know and understand that this is not the result of a total lack of discipline and love for truffles. And also, because writing about it makes it real, which means writing about my resolve to lose this weight again makes THAT real as well. It might not be right away. I hope to spend a good portion of the next year growing a healthy baby, which is far more important to me right now than my looks.
Basically, I have to surrender to the idea that my brief glimpse at serious weight loss was just that- a glimpse- and not a long term option at this point. Gee, my body (and my wallet) are SO thrilled about that. But a woman's birthing years are just not a great time to focus on losing weight. They're just not. I refuse to be one of those women who just gives up and lets myself go, but on the other hand, I have to give myself room to live in real life. And real life is about loss and gain, both of which I've experienced in more ways than one over the past year. So, I resolve more than anything to have grace for myself, to try not to care what others think, and to focus on my family more than myself, even at the expense of my body image. While others are likely resolving to lose weight, I'll resolve to be content, be patient, be kind to myself. I hope that doesn't make me sound weak, or like I'm making excuses. But I'd rather make a resolution I can keep, and at this point, that's the best I can do. There will be a year that my resolution to reach my goal weight WILL be achieved. I truly believe that, and I know I can do it. But it's not this year, and I have to be ok with that.
I felt great going into the pregnancy an entire 40 pounds lighter than when I'd begun my pregnancy with Ella, but by the time I was 11 weeks pregnant I'd gained 20 pounds. Talk about bursting my bubble. I could not figure out why on earth my body was gaining so quickly with this pregnancy- I only gained 15 pounds total with Ella, and all in the second and third trimesters. Of course, hindsight tells me now that the reason I was gaining was because I was happily giving in to any craving that would help soothe the nausea (which meant a whole lot of starchy, bland foods) but my body wasn't burning extra calories because I'd lost the baby early in the process. So, feeding a hormonally pregnant body that isn't actually burning calories like a truly pregnant body is, in a word, a disaster. Instead of feeding a calorie burning, baby making machine, it was more like 11 weeks of feeding my body carbs while it was chock full of PMS hormones. And we all know how easy it is for our bodies to wreak havoc during "that time."
So, along with the loss of my baby, I have this constant reminder in the form of 20 excess pounds. Not to mention, it's the holidays and I am avoiding the scale like the plague because I have a sneaking suspicion that the grief eating I was doing after the baby (not to a crazy extent, but I'll be honest- ordering a pizza was much easier than cooking when I was working through the initial grief process) coupled with the almost immediate launch into the holiday season has me worried it could be more than 20 pounds by now.
And I could just cry. Weight loss has never been easy for me. I WISH I could be one of those people who drops their Pepsi habit and loses 40 pounds in two months. But I don't have any habits like that to drop, and in order for me to see any actual loss on the scale requires some serious, long term low-cal eating. We're talking 1,200-1,500 calories a day, for MONTHS. It's not something I can commit to right now, either, because we're still hoping to grow our family soon. And that requires me growing as well. The thought just about bowls me over when I think about all of the hard work I put into losing 45 pounds- and it could literally mean nothing in terms of weight within the next few months. SIX MONTHS of eating 1,200 calories a day, only to see it all come back within a year.
I guess I'm writing this because I feel this inexplicable need to explain myself to someone. My weight loss was obvious- people notice when you lose 45 pounds. And people were cheering me on. Now, I feel like a walking failure. Even the people that know about the miscarriage might not really connect the weight gain to it. I can hardly spend time with people anymore without this constant voice in the back of my head telling me that they have got to be thinking I really flubbed things up. I know it doesn't matter to anyone else as much as it does to me, but I'm not one to take failure lightly, even when it's not my fault.
I also don't like feeling this way. My body feels big again. I'm surprised that I put up with it for as long as I did, because I'm not even as heavy as I was when I started losing weight last February but even at this size I cannot stand my body. It's awkward, hard to dress, tired more often, and everything is a tighter squeeze. I also have that all over feeling of puffiness, like a blimp. I really am resolved to lose this weight again, but the wait is really frustrating.
My husband (who is wonderful in a thousand ways) says he can hardly notice a difference. Of course, he said that even at my heaviest weight. It's kind of sweet but also kind of discouraging. I mean, when he tells me I look as good as when we got married, all I can think is, "Did I really look this bad when we got married? Because I would feel like a hippo trying to stuff this body into a cute little wedding dress right now." I can't tell if it's supposed to be a compliment for my body now, or a major insult to my body then. Of course, I know that he means it in a good way... but leave it to my mind to twist it around. I think I'd rather hear that my weight gain is somewhat noticeable than not at all. I sure would hate to think that I look the same 30 or 40 pounds lighter than I am now, so it has to be a two-way street.
I don't know. I don't even know why I'm writing about this, if not for my need to just get it off my chest and have SOMEONE know and understand that this is not the result of a total lack of discipline and love for truffles. And also, because writing about it makes it real, which means writing about my resolve to lose this weight again makes THAT real as well. It might not be right away. I hope to spend a good portion of the next year growing a healthy baby, which is far more important to me right now than my looks.
Basically, I have to surrender to the idea that my brief glimpse at serious weight loss was just that- a glimpse- and not a long term option at this point. Gee, my body (and my wallet) are SO thrilled about that. But a woman's birthing years are just not a great time to focus on losing weight. They're just not. I refuse to be one of those women who just gives up and lets myself go, but on the other hand, I have to give myself room to live in real life. And real life is about loss and gain, both of which I've experienced in more ways than one over the past year. So, I resolve more than anything to have grace for myself, to try not to care what others think, and to focus on my family more than myself, even at the expense of my body image. While others are likely resolving to lose weight, I'll resolve to be content, be patient, be kind to myself. I hope that doesn't make me sound weak, or like I'm making excuses. But I'd rather make a resolution I can keep, and at this point, that's the best I can do. There will be a year that my resolution to reach my goal weight WILL be achieved. I truly believe that, and I know I can do it. But it's not this year, and I have to be ok with that.
Sunday, October 31, 2010
Islands
It's been three weeks and two days since I took the pill that finished the process. I found out that my prescription HAD been called in, but to a different pharmacy. It was a random mistake on the part of my midwife's assistant, and it made me feel a little better knowing they hadn't realized they made an error, and therefore didn't realize they needed to call me back. It's a pretty bizarre mistake to make, calling the wrong pharmacy, but I have a lot more grace for an honest mistake rather than blatant disrespect. It made me feel a little guilty for being so indignant about the whole thing. The information I'd researched that had led me to question my midwife also turned out to be inapplicable to my particular situation, and her advice had indeed been sound. I overreacted. I wish I'd had the info up front so I wouldn't have felt driven to research on my own, but I digress.
It's weird- a friend had told me that there are stages to grief, and that I should be kind to myself during the process. I didn't really get the stages of grief thing until now, when I can look back and see the changes I've already gone through in the past few weeks. When I last wrote, I felt so incredibly fragile, like porcelain. I felt it was the job of everyone around me to treat me with care and caution, and I would get so incredibly indignant if anyone dared say or do anything even slightly insensitive. It must have been a stage of grief, like my friend had said, because normally I am not that person. I usually go out of the way to give everyone the benefit of the doubt, even when it truly isn't deserved. Something just snapped, though, and I felt like everyone owed it to me to be gentle and kind. I mean, who on earth would have the gall to step on the toes of a grieving mother? And truly, it would have been nice if the situation with my midwife hadn't happened, and I am still unimpressed with the way things were handled all around, but I am a little embarrassed at the uproar it caused in me. Then again, that is where the second part of my friend's advice comes into play... be kind to myself; it's a delicate season.
I hope that we'll be blessed with another child soon. I ache for it, and especially after our loss, it feels like something is missing from our family. I know that our next baby will not be a replacement, and our loss is not diminished, but my dreams of a large, bustling family still well up inside me and I feel this ache for more. More than what we have, more than where we are. It's not that I'm not satisfied or content, but it's just... incomplete. There is joy in the journey, so I don't discount these days of baby makes three. Our little family is precious, and I savor each and every day with Ella, even more now especially. As strange as it seems, I've found comfort in knowing that I have a little more time to relish in her before our family grows. I DO NOT mean to say it was a good thing- this loss- or that I'm glad it happened; I just choose to look at the bright side of life and see my half full glass and this is one way my glass is feeling full right now, this idea that I've got a little more time with my girl before things change forever. It's a strange dichotomy- this ache for more, mixed with this ache for the here and now to just stay forever and nothing to change. I can't explain it. It's illogical, I know, but it's here just the same, twisting and twirling in my head at all times.
I don't want my life to be defined by loss. I don't want my words and thoughts to reflect a pained life. My life is blessed. My God is good. My family is precious. I don't even want to give any more words to it tonight. I want to share about here and now. I want to share about the child that runs through my house, shrieking with delight, coloring on her arms with green marker when I'm not looking, asking me for candy for breakfast. I want to find a place in my life for this loss to exist without taking up too much or not enough space, and without any room for me to feel guilty for giving it too much or not enough space. I haven't found it yet- the place for this loss- and I wonder if I ever will.
But my gain... my child... my daughter, Ella. Who could ask for anything more? Has there ever been a child so smart, so beautiful, so wonderful? To me, she is the greatest thing to walk this earth. And she's growing so fast. Last week, while laying in bed with Stephen and I, she says to me, "Mommy BIG." Of course, it's always delightful to hear of my girth, so I said, "Gee, thanks, Ella." Then, "Daddy big too." Daddy mumbles in agreement. Ella says, "I getting stronger everyday... Ellie!" Smart cookie, that one. I was relieved that she had been talking about my adulthood and not my waistline, as well. And then, the other day, she told her Nana that she was too old to watch a certain cartoon. "No, Nana, I too old." WHAT?! Since when?! And since when do you even know what too old IS? My baby is growing, and she's doing it fast.
Ella likes to ask me for things constantly. She's, well, she's needy. She always thinks if she asks me for something in a high pitched voice, I'll give in to her cuteness. "Mama, I have chocolate milk?" she squeaks with wide eyes and a soft smile, and honestly, it can be hard to resist. I understand now, those moms that want to give their kids everything. I know that giving your child everything they want is a surefire formula for creating your very own Veruca Salt, so I say my share of "No," but I now know the internal battle of wanting to create happiness for your child. There are few things more delightful than bringing joy to those you love, and I am so glad that my little Joy has the same zeal and excitement for life that I do.
I had a little shock to my system, though, when we had friends stay with us last week. It was so much fun- my best friend, her husband and their 2 year old son spent an entire week with us! But I quickly realized that Ella has a serious case of "only child" syndrome. This was HER house, he was playing with HER toys, and it shook her to the core. I could not believe that my sweet, intelligent child was hitting and screaming and refusing to share. I guess I was naive, thinking it'd be easy for her, but she's never been in that situation before and I just assumed she'd take it in stride. BIG mistake. I felt bad for her, though. I know her reaction was wrong, and I definitely had to play "disciplinary mom" more that week than probably the rest of her entire life thus far, but I could sense panic in her at times. This thought that everything was changed and her life wouldn't be the same again. I don't think she could grasp that it was temporary, and she must have been completely thrown by the thought of sharing our home with three other people. Chalk that one up to "things every parent finds out after their first experience with house guests." She did adjust fairly well, and by the end of the week, she'd gotten into a good groove.
Even though the week was chalk full of fun outings, some of my favorite moments were sipping coffee on the couch with Crystal, as we watched the kids play... feeding them lunch, putting them down for their naps, and then talking, laughing, watching chick flicks... moments I will relish forever! The absolute bliss of inviting someone into the routine of my life, sharing moments that are as familiar to me as my own skin- the warm coffee in my yellow mugs, the smell of my apple cinnamon candles, the way the sunlight hits the color on the autumn leaves outside my front windows, the simplicity of my everyday life- these are things I rarely share with anyone and it was a gift to share these times with a friend who knows me so well but doesn't get to live these day to day moments with me anymore.
I know I said I wasn't going to talk about it anymore tonight, but I just want to say this: I am amazed at the ability of life to just go on. Even in loss and pain, God brings joy and comfort in visits from friends and warm cups of coffee, things that would have seemed small but suddenly become very important. My neighbor Ellen shared about a rough season in her life, and she said she found comfort in what she called "islands"... small things like a phone call, a good meal, a new dress... she would crawl up onto these islands and the brief pleasures would give her the strength to dive back in and keep treading water. When she shared this with me, it was like she was reading my mind, because I have been absolutely CLINGING to these little moments that infuse me with strength and hope. Eventually, I think you stay on one of the islands until life's next storm, and I feel like I've found mine, at least for now. The initial sting is gone, and the ache is finding its home in my body, slowly but surely. It won't leave, of that I'm sure, but I think it will settle and find its balance. As Ellie said, "I getting stronger every day!" and it's true- I AM getting stronger every day. I am proceeding with caution, but the point is I am proceeding.
It's weird- a friend had told me that there are stages to grief, and that I should be kind to myself during the process. I didn't really get the stages of grief thing until now, when I can look back and see the changes I've already gone through in the past few weeks. When I last wrote, I felt so incredibly fragile, like porcelain. I felt it was the job of everyone around me to treat me with care and caution, and I would get so incredibly indignant if anyone dared say or do anything even slightly insensitive. It must have been a stage of grief, like my friend had said, because normally I am not that person. I usually go out of the way to give everyone the benefit of the doubt, even when it truly isn't deserved. Something just snapped, though, and I felt like everyone owed it to me to be gentle and kind. I mean, who on earth would have the gall to step on the toes of a grieving mother? And truly, it would have been nice if the situation with my midwife hadn't happened, and I am still unimpressed with the way things were handled all around, but I am a little embarrassed at the uproar it caused in me. Then again, that is where the second part of my friend's advice comes into play... be kind to myself; it's a delicate season.
I hope that we'll be blessed with another child soon. I ache for it, and especially after our loss, it feels like something is missing from our family. I know that our next baby will not be a replacement, and our loss is not diminished, but my dreams of a large, bustling family still well up inside me and I feel this ache for more. More than what we have, more than where we are. It's not that I'm not satisfied or content, but it's just... incomplete. There is joy in the journey, so I don't discount these days of baby makes three. Our little family is precious, and I savor each and every day with Ella, even more now especially. As strange as it seems, I've found comfort in knowing that I have a little more time to relish in her before our family grows. I DO NOT mean to say it was a good thing- this loss- or that I'm glad it happened; I just choose to look at the bright side of life and see my half full glass and this is one way my glass is feeling full right now, this idea that I've got a little more time with my girl before things change forever. It's a strange dichotomy- this ache for more, mixed with this ache for the here and now to just stay forever and nothing to change. I can't explain it. It's illogical, I know, but it's here just the same, twisting and twirling in my head at all times.
I don't want my life to be defined by loss. I don't want my words and thoughts to reflect a pained life. My life is blessed. My God is good. My family is precious. I don't even want to give any more words to it tonight. I want to share about here and now. I want to share about the child that runs through my house, shrieking with delight, coloring on her arms with green marker when I'm not looking, asking me for candy for breakfast. I want to find a place in my life for this loss to exist without taking up too much or not enough space, and without any room for me to feel guilty for giving it too much or not enough space. I haven't found it yet- the place for this loss- and I wonder if I ever will.
But my gain... my child... my daughter, Ella. Who could ask for anything more? Has there ever been a child so smart, so beautiful, so wonderful? To me, she is the greatest thing to walk this earth. And she's growing so fast. Last week, while laying in bed with Stephen and I, she says to me, "Mommy BIG." Of course, it's always delightful to hear of my girth, so I said, "Gee, thanks, Ella." Then, "Daddy big too." Daddy mumbles in agreement. Ella says, "I getting stronger everyday... Ellie!" Smart cookie, that one. I was relieved that she had been talking about my adulthood and not my waistline, as well. And then, the other day, she told her Nana that she was too old to watch a certain cartoon. "No, Nana, I too old." WHAT?! Since when?! And since when do you even know what too old IS? My baby is growing, and she's doing it fast.
Ella likes to ask me for things constantly. She's, well, she's needy. She always thinks if she asks me for something in a high pitched voice, I'll give in to her cuteness. "Mama, I have chocolate milk?" she squeaks with wide eyes and a soft smile, and honestly, it can be hard to resist. I understand now, those moms that want to give their kids everything. I know that giving your child everything they want is a surefire formula for creating your very own Veruca Salt, so I say my share of "No," but I now know the internal battle of wanting to create happiness for your child. There are few things more delightful than bringing joy to those you love, and I am so glad that my little Joy has the same zeal and excitement for life that I do.
I had a little shock to my system, though, when we had friends stay with us last week. It was so much fun- my best friend, her husband and their 2 year old son spent an entire week with us! But I quickly realized that Ella has a serious case of "only child" syndrome. This was HER house, he was playing with HER toys, and it shook her to the core. I could not believe that my sweet, intelligent child was hitting and screaming and refusing to share. I guess I was naive, thinking it'd be easy for her, but she's never been in that situation before and I just assumed she'd take it in stride. BIG mistake. I felt bad for her, though. I know her reaction was wrong, and I definitely had to play "disciplinary mom" more that week than probably the rest of her entire life thus far, but I could sense panic in her at times. This thought that everything was changed and her life wouldn't be the same again. I don't think she could grasp that it was temporary, and she must have been completely thrown by the thought of sharing our home with three other people. Chalk that one up to "things every parent finds out after their first experience with house guests." She did adjust fairly well, and by the end of the week, she'd gotten into a good groove.
Even though the week was chalk full of fun outings, some of my favorite moments were sipping coffee on the couch with Crystal, as we watched the kids play... feeding them lunch, putting them down for their naps, and then talking, laughing, watching chick flicks... moments I will relish forever! The absolute bliss of inviting someone into the routine of my life, sharing moments that are as familiar to me as my own skin- the warm coffee in my yellow mugs, the smell of my apple cinnamon candles, the way the sunlight hits the color on the autumn leaves outside my front windows, the simplicity of my everyday life- these are things I rarely share with anyone and it was a gift to share these times with a friend who knows me so well but doesn't get to live these day to day moments with me anymore.
I know I said I wasn't going to talk about it anymore tonight, but I just want to say this: I am amazed at the ability of life to just go on. Even in loss and pain, God brings joy and comfort in visits from friends and warm cups of coffee, things that would have seemed small but suddenly become very important. My neighbor Ellen shared about a rough season in her life, and she said she found comfort in what she called "islands"... small things like a phone call, a good meal, a new dress... she would crawl up onto these islands and the brief pleasures would give her the strength to dive back in and keep treading water. When she shared this with me, it was like she was reading my mind, because I have been absolutely CLINGING to these little moments that infuse me with strength and hope. Eventually, I think you stay on one of the islands until life's next storm, and I feel like I've found mine, at least for now. The initial sting is gone, and the ache is finding its home in my body, slowly but surely. It won't leave, of that I'm sure, but I think it will settle and find its balance. As Ellie said, "I getting stronger every day!" and it's true- I AM getting stronger every day. I am proceeding with caution, but the point is I am proceeding.
Wednesday, October 6, 2010
Dignity
I am not naive enough to think that I am the only patient at my clinic, or the only person in the world to be dealing with a loss. I am not expecting fanfare or parades, weeping crowds on my doorstep, checks in the mail. But I did expect to be treated with more dignity during this process, and I'm incredibly frustrated at the way this is playing out.
My blood was drawn at the doctor's office, after seeing an empty womb and hearing the worst words I'd ever heard in my life. My midwife told me to come back in to the hospital on Friday for another blood test, to confirm I hadn't conceived again before they gave me the medication that would make this all final. Because my body, which can't seem to do anything conventionally when it comes to reproductivity, is having something called a "missed miscarriage" or an "incomplete miscarriage", which means that the baby passed away inside me but my body is not passing it. Strange that my mind is having a somewhat easier time coping with this than my body: I want this to be over but it's still holding on. But that's a psychological issue that I'm not interested in exploring right now.
Of course, the blood test just had to be on a Friday, which means a long weekend waiting for results... knowing it won't likely be good news, but hoping anyway. Monday finally came and... no phone call. After debating for hours whether I should "inconvenience" the office with a call, I decided that my peace of mind was worth the risk and I called, only to learn that my midwife doesn't work on Mondays. GEE... thanks for the heads up. Early Tuesday, I got the call that I was dreading but anxiously awaiting nonetheless. There is no new pregnancy. There is no way to get around the bleeding.
My midwife suggested giving my body 24 hours to start the process on its own, since I had a lot of painful cramps and contractions on Monday night. She asked where I'd like to pick up the prescription, if needed, which would be ready for me anytime today. I told her the Target nearest my house would be great, which is where I headed tonight because, of course, my body didn't cooperate and begin the process on its own. Stephen was ready to take Ella out for the evening if things got too intense, and my Mom was prepared to come over at a moment's notice if I, well, needed my mommy. But once I arrived at the Target, I realized they didn't have a pharmacy, which totally surprised me. I mean, doesn't every Target have a pharmacy? Isn't that a thing? Apparently it's not a thing, and when I called my clinic, they were closed for the day. Naturally. I headed to another Target and asked if their systems were linked and if they could please tell me if my midwife had called in the prescription at another Target. Yes, they are linked, but no, they have no record of my prescription being called in.
I can't believe that in the last 36 hours, nobody from my clinic thought to call me and ask for a different preferred pick-up location. I can't believe that whoever called the Target nearest my house and learned they didn't have a pharmacy did not then think to themselves that perhaps more action might be necessary. I can't believe that a woman who has already had to deal with the news of a miscarriage, the knowledge of an uncooperative body and the excruciating wait for results of my blood test was made to wait again because of lack of action on the part of my clinic.
I looked up the medication today and I really didn't like what I read... stories of extreme pain, cramping, nausea, vomiting, diarrhea, fevers... none of this was mentioned to me by my midwife. Also, many women spoke of being prescribed pain medication to use during the miscarriage- another thing my midwife said nothing of, and certainly did not prescribe. The worst, though, was reading the drug warning: do NOT attempt to get pregnant for one full cycle after the miscarriage, due to the residual effects of the drug. My midwife had said we'd be fine to try again immediately. And there was no talk of what to expect with the medication, or what signs to look for in case something went wrong. I had to learn on the internet that possible side effects could include damage to my fertility.
I feel very disrespected right now. It is hard enough to know that my body couldn't even get a miscarriage right, and I've been carrying my baby for nearly two months after it passed away. To learn that my midwife was scant on information, and even possibly negligent with her advice, is disheartening to say the least. I just feel so incredibly mistreated. It is cruel irony to realize that I was treated with more dignity and respect and given much more information and support when I had a healthy baby than when I lost a baby. I can understand why some acquaintances might be silent- it's hard to know what to say to a grieving mother- though I still think that saying something- anything- is better than nothing at all. But a certified nurse midwife? A medically trained professional? It is TOO MUCH to be met with silence from someone who is an expert in these matters and should be my advocate right now.
I'm incredibly frustrated and I feel incredibly small. It is strange... when you birth a child, the response is overwhelming: the support, the cards, the gifts, the meals, the visitors, the love, and the greatest gift of all- a healthy baby. When you lose a child, many people avoid you completely, or say a few kind words but don't really know what to do a day, a week, a month after the loss. And honestly, before this experience, I wouldn't have known what to say or how to respond either, so I certainly don't blame those who aren't saying much. I just wish society knew how to supportively respond to loss they way we do with gain. Everyone celebrates with you when you experience good, but the bad stuff- the times when you feel most in need of human contact- are often the most lonely. Everyone at my clinic was so kind when I was there in person- that initial contact is so heartfelt, so gut-wrenching. The woman who drew my blood even hugged me, with tears in her eyes. But here it is a week later, and my pain isn't gone, and I still lost a child, and I'm not "over it"... and I'm treated like any other patient waiting on a prescription. The pain is not gone, the process is not over, and I'd still appreciate being treated delicately and respectfully. I mean, the baby is still INSIDE me, for goodness sake. I certainly haven't moved past the experience yet, because it hasn't even begun in some ways. And I'm scared for it to begin; I'm scared it will hurt. I don't want to go through this. I would appreciate being treated with respect, dignity, honor... and for crying out loud, CALL me when you can't fill my prescription, especially when you know it means further prolonging my opportunity to let this go, to begin the end, to feel the loss physically as well as mentally. It's the decent thing to do.
My blood was drawn at the doctor's office, after seeing an empty womb and hearing the worst words I'd ever heard in my life. My midwife told me to come back in to the hospital on Friday for another blood test, to confirm I hadn't conceived again before they gave me the medication that would make this all final. Because my body, which can't seem to do anything conventionally when it comes to reproductivity, is having something called a "missed miscarriage" or an "incomplete miscarriage", which means that the baby passed away inside me but my body is not passing it. Strange that my mind is having a somewhat easier time coping with this than my body: I want this to be over but it's still holding on. But that's a psychological issue that I'm not interested in exploring right now.
Of course, the blood test just had to be on a Friday, which means a long weekend waiting for results... knowing it won't likely be good news, but hoping anyway. Monday finally came and... no phone call. After debating for hours whether I should "inconvenience" the office with a call, I decided that my peace of mind was worth the risk and I called, only to learn that my midwife doesn't work on Mondays. GEE... thanks for the heads up. Early Tuesday, I got the call that I was dreading but anxiously awaiting nonetheless. There is no new pregnancy. There is no way to get around the bleeding.
My midwife suggested giving my body 24 hours to start the process on its own, since I had a lot of painful cramps and contractions on Monday night. She asked where I'd like to pick up the prescription, if needed, which would be ready for me anytime today. I told her the Target nearest my house would be great, which is where I headed tonight because, of course, my body didn't cooperate and begin the process on its own. Stephen was ready to take Ella out for the evening if things got too intense, and my Mom was prepared to come over at a moment's notice if I, well, needed my mommy. But once I arrived at the Target, I realized they didn't have a pharmacy, which totally surprised me. I mean, doesn't every Target have a pharmacy? Isn't that a thing? Apparently it's not a thing, and when I called my clinic, they were closed for the day. Naturally. I headed to another Target and asked if their systems were linked and if they could please tell me if my midwife had called in the prescription at another Target. Yes, they are linked, but no, they have no record of my prescription being called in.
I can't believe that in the last 36 hours, nobody from my clinic thought to call me and ask for a different preferred pick-up location. I can't believe that whoever called the Target nearest my house and learned they didn't have a pharmacy did not then think to themselves that perhaps more action might be necessary. I can't believe that a woman who has already had to deal with the news of a miscarriage, the knowledge of an uncooperative body and the excruciating wait for results of my blood test was made to wait again because of lack of action on the part of my clinic.
I looked up the medication today and I really didn't like what I read... stories of extreme pain, cramping, nausea, vomiting, diarrhea, fevers... none of this was mentioned to me by my midwife. Also, many women spoke of being prescribed pain medication to use during the miscarriage- another thing my midwife said nothing of, and certainly did not prescribe. The worst, though, was reading the drug warning: do NOT attempt to get pregnant for one full cycle after the miscarriage, due to the residual effects of the drug. My midwife had said we'd be fine to try again immediately. And there was no talk of what to expect with the medication, or what signs to look for in case something went wrong. I had to learn on the internet that possible side effects could include damage to my fertility.
I feel very disrespected right now. It is hard enough to know that my body couldn't even get a miscarriage right, and I've been carrying my baby for nearly two months after it passed away. To learn that my midwife was scant on information, and even possibly negligent with her advice, is disheartening to say the least. I just feel so incredibly mistreated. It is cruel irony to realize that I was treated with more dignity and respect and given much more information and support when I had a healthy baby than when I lost a baby. I can understand why some acquaintances might be silent- it's hard to know what to say to a grieving mother- though I still think that saying something- anything- is better than nothing at all. But a certified nurse midwife? A medically trained professional? It is TOO MUCH to be met with silence from someone who is an expert in these matters and should be my advocate right now.
I'm incredibly frustrated and I feel incredibly small. It is strange... when you birth a child, the response is overwhelming: the support, the cards, the gifts, the meals, the visitors, the love, and the greatest gift of all- a healthy baby. When you lose a child, many people avoid you completely, or say a few kind words but don't really know what to do a day, a week, a month after the loss. And honestly, before this experience, I wouldn't have known what to say or how to respond either, so I certainly don't blame those who aren't saying much. I just wish society knew how to supportively respond to loss they way we do with gain. Everyone celebrates with you when you experience good, but the bad stuff- the times when you feel most in need of human contact- are often the most lonely. Everyone at my clinic was so kind when I was there in person- that initial contact is so heartfelt, so gut-wrenching. The woman who drew my blood even hugged me, with tears in her eyes. But here it is a week later, and my pain isn't gone, and I still lost a child, and I'm not "over it"... and I'm treated like any other patient waiting on a prescription. The pain is not gone, the process is not over, and I'd still appreciate being treated delicately and respectfully. I mean, the baby is still INSIDE me, for goodness sake. I certainly haven't moved past the experience yet, because it hasn't even begun in some ways. And I'm scared for it to begin; I'm scared it will hurt. I don't want to go through this. I would appreciate being treated with respect, dignity, honor... and for crying out loud, CALL me when you can't fill my prescription, especially when you know it means further prolonging my opportunity to let this go, to begin the end, to feel the loss physically as well as mentally. It's the decent thing to do.
Saturday, October 2, 2010
loss
i don't know, it's like some moments i can almost forget about it. we can watch a movie or go see family and talk and laugh and act like everything is normal. but i feel like the sorrow is lurking inside, and just waiting for a quiet moment to hit. and then it's quiet, and it does hit, and i hate it. i'm afraid that i'm stifling it or not dealing with it, but i just don't know how to deal except to try to get back to normal.
i'm so incredibly grateful that baby was so small... not even visible. that would have broken me in half. it's not less of a person, or less of a loss, but it's helping me to cope, as weird as that sounds. i'll have to take this medicine to bring on a miscarriage, and that is what i am afraid of right now... going through the process. being constantly reminded. and i don't know what to expect. how long will it take? does it hurt? how much blood are we talking here?
and, of course, before i can get that stupid medicine i have to wait to hear the results of my blood test. they had to test me on wednesday, then again on friday, just to be doubly sure i hadn't conceived again in the last few weeks. they wouldn't want to bring on a miscarriage if there's a viable new pregnancy in there. and i don't know what to feel about that.
because of course i can't help but hope a little bit that we did, so i could have something to look forward to, but at the same time i feel selfish wanting that... wanting to "get over" this loss so quickly. i could almost pretend it didn't happen. i would never forget, and i would always know that truly, our second child is not going to be our next child we bring home from the hospital. our second child will always be the child we lost. but still, a chance for immediate happiness and hope sounds pretty wonderful right now.
and then, on the other hand, there's this knowledge that it's pretty much the slimmest chance on earth that i'm pregnant again, and i am going to have to wait for that phone call confirming my hcg levels are dropping, which means just another dashed hope and another painful experience. i just can't stop wishing this was all just over and behind me. i wish it was a year from now, when the pain wasn't fresh, and i could feel normal without that constant nag in the back of my head. will it even be like that in a year? i don't know. but i have to think so. NOT that i want to forget this child. i just want to feel normal again, i guess.
and then there's the question of, when do we try again? i mean, i don't want to wait. and i feel bad that i don't want to wait. because i KNOW that part of the reason i don't want to wait is because i'm desperate to be back in that place of joy and hope. but on the other hand, stephen and i have always prayed for a large, close family... 4 kids or more all within 2-3 years of each other. a loud, full house brimming with LIFE. do i let this loss change our dreams forever? do i hide behind fear and let it control our future? what about ella? she's so caring, so maternal with other small children, and SO incredibly ready to have a full time playmate. do i let my sorrow prolong this gift to her?
of course, none of this matters... all of these fears and "what ifs", because it's not us that will give ourselves a child. it's not us that will choose the right time. it's our Father, and we know that. i want to be open to His blessings in His timing. i just hope that it's soon, but i desperately hope that i don't use this next child, this THIRD child, as the happiness to wipe away the sorrow. that's not their job, and it's not my choice to make. our second child will always be a part of us, and i know that. our family won't quite be complete this side of heaven now, and i'm letting that sink in.
and i'm mad, too. i don't know who i'm mad at, but i'm mad. i'm mad at my body for once again not doing what it was supposed to do. it took nearly two years to conceive ella, and it was a long and painful process. this time, i was sure we were being blessed with an easy process as a reward for the long road we walked for ella. maybe reward isn't the right word, but it's all i can think of right now. anyway, not only did i lose this baby, but my BODY didn't seem to get the memo. here i am, thinking i'm nearly 12 weeks pregnant, almost a third of the way there... out of the woods, so to speak. i'm expecting to see a baby nearly the size of my thumb, with tiny fingers and toes. i'm expecting to find out the gender in 8 weeks, to begin planning showers and celebrations and dig out ella's baby swing and look at her tiny newborn clothes and count the days til we're feeding, changing, losing sleep and smiling through the exhaustion at the beautiful family we'd been given.
why, why, why didn't my body just do what it should have done? if the baby was gone so early, likely by 5 or 6 weeks, then why wouldn't by body just respond? almost the entire time i've known i was pregnant, the baby wasn't even there. and that makes me so upset. it just seems cruel, like kicking someone when they're down. even now, if i hadn't gone to the doctor last week, i'd be blissfully carrying on about my baby. of course, in the last week, things have felt different. my hormone levels have finally dropped far enough that most of my pregnancy symptoms are gone. i almost can say that i knew in some ways. i remember thinking a week ago, when i felt so much better, and had all my energy back, that maybe the sudden lack of symptoms wasn't a good sign. but then i remembered the long road to ella, and thought it was just a little blessing to make this pregnancy easier.
i hate to complain like this. i don't ever want to be one of those people who acts like i deserve good things, like i have the right to any good thing in this life, like any wonderful thing that i am given is because it was earned. because i know that every single breath is a gift, and that if we got what we truly deserved, we'd be dead. i don't want to act like i am special, or immune to loss or pain. but sometimes being strong, and putting that suzy sunshine smile on my face in the midst of pain just feels disingenuous. i know God can handle my anger, my pain... and love me anyway. and sometimes it just really helps to throw a little fit. so i'm mad. i don't know at who, but it's there, and i don't know how to deal with it except to yell and cry and ask WHY, even though i know i won't get an answer. and as i grieve, i also praise... because the loss of this child reminds me how incredibly grateful i am for a healthy and absolutely beautiful toddler, and at this point in life i am taking NOTHING for granted.
i'm so incredibly grateful that baby was so small... not even visible. that would have broken me in half. it's not less of a person, or less of a loss, but it's helping me to cope, as weird as that sounds. i'll have to take this medicine to bring on a miscarriage, and that is what i am afraid of right now... going through the process. being constantly reminded. and i don't know what to expect. how long will it take? does it hurt? how much blood are we talking here?
and, of course, before i can get that stupid medicine i have to wait to hear the results of my blood test. they had to test me on wednesday, then again on friday, just to be doubly sure i hadn't conceived again in the last few weeks. they wouldn't want to bring on a miscarriage if there's a viable new pregnancy in there. and i don't know what to feel about that.
because of course i can't help but hope a little bit that we did, so i could have something to look forward to, but at the same time i feel selfish wanting that... wanting to "get over" this loss so quickly. i could almost pretend it didn't happen. i would never forget, and i would always know that truly, our second child is not going to be our next child we bring home from the hospital. our second child will always be the child we lost. but still, a chance for immediate happiness and hope sounds pretty wonderful right now.
and then, on the other hand, there's this knowledge that it's pretty much the slimmest chance on earth that i'm pregnant again, and i am going to have to wait for that phone call confirming my hcg levels are dropping, which means just another dashed hope and another painful experience. i just can't stop wishing this was all just over and behind me. i wish it was a year from now, when the pain wasn't fresh, and i could feel normal without that constant nag in the back of my head. will it even be like that in a year? i don't know. but i have to think so. NOT that i want to forget this child. i just want to feel normal again, i guess.
and then there's the question of, when do we try again? i mean, i don't want to wait. and i feel bad that i don't want to wait. because i KNOW that part of the reason i don't want to wait is because i'm desperate to be back in that place of joy and hope. but on the other hand, stephen and i have always prayed for a large, close family... 4 kids or more all within 2-3 years of each other. a loud, full house brimming with LIFE. do i let this loss change our dreams forever? do i hide behind fear and let it control our future? what about ella? she's so caring, so maternal with other small children, and SO incredibly ready to have a full time playmate. do i let my sorrow prolong this gift to her?
of course, none of this matters... all of these fears and "what ifs", because it's not us that will give ourselves a child. it's not us that will choose the right time. it's our Father, and we know that. i want to be open to His blessings in His timing. i just hope that it's soon, but i desperately hope that i don't use this next child, this THIRD child, as the happiness to wipe away the sorrow. that's not their job, and it's not my choice to make. our second child will always be a part of us, and i know that. our family won't quite be complete this side of heaven now, and i'm letting that sink in.
and i'm mad, too. i don't know who i'm mad at, but i'm mad. i'm mad at my body for once again not doing what it was supposed to do. it took nearly two years to conceive ella, and it was a long and painful process. this time, i was sure we were being blessed with an easy process as a reward for the long road we walked for ella. maybe reward isn't the right word, but it's all i can think of right now. anyway, not only did i lose this baby, but my BODY didn't seem to get the memo. here i am, thinking i'm nearly 12 weeks pregnant, almost a third of the way there... out of the woods, so to speak. i'm expecting to see a baby nearly the size of my thumb, with tiny fingers and toes. i'm expecting to find out the gender in 8 weeks, to begin planning showers and celebrations and dig out ella's baby swing and look at her tiny newborn clothes and count the days til we're feeding, changing, losing sleep and smiling through the exhaustion at the beautiful family we'd been given.
why, why, why didn't my body just do what it should have done? if the baby was gone so early, likely by 5 or 6 weeks, then why wouldn't by body just respond? almost the entire time i've known i was pregnant, the baby wasn't even there. and that makes me so upset. it just seems cruel, like kicking someone when they're down. even now, if i hadn't gone to the doctor last week, i'd be blissfully carrying on about my baby. of course, in the last week, things have felt different. my hormone levels have finally dropped far enough that most of my pregnancy symptoms are gone. i almost can say that i knew in some ways. i remember thinking a week ago, when i felt so much better, and had all my energy back, that maybe the sudden lack of symptoms wasn't a good sign. but then i remembered the long road to ella, and thought it was just a little blessing to make this pregnancy easier.
i hate to complain like this. i don't ever want to be one of those people who acts like i deserve good things, like i have the right to any good thing in this life, like any wonderful thing that i am given is because it was earned. because i know that every single breath is a gift, and that if we got what we truly deserved, we'd be dead. i don't want to act like i am special, or immune to loss or pain. but sometimes being strong, and putting that suzy sunshine smile on my face in the midst of pain just feels disingenuous. i know God can handle my anger, my pain... and love me anyway. and sometimes it just really helps to throw a little fit. so i'm mad. i don't know at who, but it's there, and i don't know how to deal with it except to yell and cry and ask WHY, even though i know i won't get an answer. and as i grieve, i also praise... because the loss of this child reminds me how incredibly grateful i am for a healthy and absolutely beautiful toddler, and at this point in life i am taking NOTHING for granted.
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