It shouldn't really come as a surprise to anyone that I am a numbers person. I don't always put a lot of faith in statistics, but that doesn't mean that I don't know them. Unfortunately, in this season of life, numbers have really been my downfall.
There are so many statistics that get thrown around about miscarriages: approximately 20% of all pregnancies end in miscarriage (though some doctors believe this is actually higher and many women miscarry before they even know they're pregnant) and about 80% of women who miscarry will go on to have a healthy and normal pregnancy. I will admit that the 80% gave me a lot of hope for the future...at least until I read that 78% of pregnancies where there is a strong heartbeat on an early ultrasound (around 6 weeks) will end in a healthy pregnancy. I had that ultrasound, I heard that heartbeat and yet it did not all end fine.
And, so, I will admit to having a lot of doubt. Doubt that we will be able to have another child (I have absolutely no reason to believe this would be true), doubt that nothing will go wrong again, doubt that we will be a family of five...just a lot of doubt. I guess it doesn't help that I would have entered that magical time in pregnancy by now. The time when you're feeling better, when you start to really look pregnant (instead of just fat), and you start to feel the baby move. I think of it often and still wish it were different.
And then there is Woodson. Woodson, who finds a left over pair of baby socks (actually the ones he wore home from the hospital) in the back of his drawer and tells me he is "saving them for his baby sister." Woodson, who tells me almost daily that he is "sad my (meaning his) baby isn't going to be here this summer." Woodson, who asks about an old baby toy that has been in the attic for a long time and then says "my baby can play with that." He came to me a couple of mornings ago and said "Mommy, I still really sad that my baby didn't get to come live with us." I told him that I was too and that hopefully we would be able to have another baby someday. He looked at me and said "It be ok, Mommy. We will have another baby." I guess maybe that's what they mean when they talk about "faith like a child." I know I could use some of it.
Friday, February 21, 2014
Monday, February 10, 2014
In which I wait...
Waiting has never been my strong suit. Perhaps I have mentioned that before. I am a planner by nature. I like schedules and timelines, goals and objectives. You give me a deadline, by George I will meet it. I may cut it close, but I will meet it. I like deliverables. It was one thing I struggled so hard with when I quit working in the corporate world to turn into a full-time mom: How do I know I'm getting it done? I don't feel the need to just be "busy," but I like to know that I am moving forward.
It's an odd trait to have when I look back on my family. Not that I grew up with a bunch of lazy people by any stretch of the imagination, but they are all more laid back and relaxed about time than I am. My mom tells me I was the last person to fall asleep and the first person to wake up as a toddler/preschooler and I can remember being the first person up and about as an elementary aged kid. Now, I'm not going to lie and say that that continued in high school and college (I learned to sleep in!), but once I was out of college and working I was once again an early riser. As a child I used to make schedules for myself. I would sit in my room at night and write out what I was going to do and what time I was going to do it the next day. Like I said, I am a planner.
Our family has (largely) been planned. When Nat and I got married we had talked about 5 years into our marriage being a good time to think about having kids. About 3.5 years in we started talking about it and agreed that we would start trying after we took our trip to Europe that fall. I got pregnant immediately and Alexandra was born 12 days after our 5th wedding anniversary.
After Alexandra was born we agreed that about two years between kids would be good. We jumped the gun slightly on that one as Alexandra and Woodson are 21 months and 1 week (exactly) apart, but Woodson fit into our plan.
After Woodson was born we were on the fence about adding to our family. For starters, we were overwhelmed. Two little ones is HARD and somedays I am still happy to have survived. Then there was the issue of Woodson's birth. It was by no means catastrophic or near death, but it was scary enough to make us both question whether we wanted to go through it again. We also faced some health issues with Woodson as a newborn that really rocked us for a brief period of time (thankfully all of them turned out to be insignificant) and so we agreed that we would think about closer to 3 years between Woodson and another potential baby...if we decided to have one.
We had artificially designated Woodson's 2nd birthday as our "line in the sand" to make a decision about another baby. With Alexandra and Woodson being so close together we didn't want to feel like we had a 3rd baby all on his/her own, but I also wasn't ready to sign up for another round of "2 under 2." The fall and winter leading up to Woodson's birthday seemed to have us heading down the road to being a full-time family of 4. But then April came and went and we didn't make a decision. April was followed by May, June and July (aren't you glad I know the months of the year?) where there was talk of "what if we had another baby," but no decisions. Then came August and the day Nat asked me point blank: "Do you want to have another baby?" I won't bore you with the details of that conversation, but I did, he did and so we decided we would.
I (perhaps naively) assumed I would get pregnant right away. I was running on a "2 for 2" with the others, why would this be any different. Turns out I was wrong. In hindsight, the wait wasn't agonizing, but for me any wait seems that way. A few months later, there it was. The positive pregnancy test. We were going to be a family of 5. We were cutting it close, but even with the new school age cutoffs, this baby would only be 3 years behind Woodson and 5 behind Alexandra (believe me, I know how insanely stupid it sounds to even think of this). 3 kids in just over 5 years...it worked for me.
Then, as we all know, my plan fell apart. And I have been annoyed. I've struggled with a lot of the same issues that a lot of people do: why did this happen to us? did I do something to cause this? could I have stopped it? I have been sad, hurt, confused, and broken, but never angry. The closest I have been to anger is the frustration over this not being "my plan."
Ridiculous, right? Please don't misunderstand me. I'm miserably upset (less so most days, but yes sometimes still), but the sadness has faded in a lot of ways. I have accepted that this is reality and, while I may never understand it, I get it. But what about my plans?
At Christmas last year I remember thinking that I could finally buy the matching stockings I've always wanted. Plan out the window. We were discussing plans for a fall break vacation that would be easy to do with a baby since we weren't going to be able to travel this summer. Gone. I was planning to go through the attic in March when we (hopefully) found out if we were having a boy or a girl so I could organize and finally purge some of the baby clothes. On hold. I was pretty sure this baby was a girl (yes, I know I could have been completely wrong) and I was looking forward to being able to use some of my favorite outfits of Alexandra's since they would both have been born in the same month. Not going to happen.
I feel like everywhere I look there are plans that are gone. And here I am waiting. First it was waiting for my body to officially realize it was no longer pregnant: for the nausea, food aversions and exhaustion to completely subside. While that was going on, it was waiting to heal both physically and emotionally. I dealt with a lot of the same feelings you have when you actually have a baby: the hormone crashes, hair falling out, waiting while your body goes back to "normal." And now we wait to even be able to think about having another baby. I'm not anxious to move on because I think we can replace what we lost (we can't). I am anxious because I have no answers. There are no potential timelines, no definitive answers on when. There is just waiting.
And, so, I am trying to learn something about patience. You would think my children would have taught me that already (believe me, they try!), but this is different. This kind of patience is with myself. It's learning to let go and accept that I am not in control. It's learning to look back on my life and see where things haven't worked out "my way" and it's ended up being a good thing. It's accepting that I can not map out every second of my life and expect it to all fall into place on my time.
And when I can take a deep breath, step back and look at my life reflectively I can see that this (the waiting) has the potential to be a good thing. Losing a baby has brought me to my knees in front of God. It's made me painfully aware of what I have been holding onto and need to let go of. But it has also opened up opportunities to share with Alexandra and Woodson, in a very tangible way, the hope that we have in Christ.
And so, rather than worry about the whens and what-ifs of tomorrow I am trying desperately to learn from today. It seems that growing often takes place in our waiting, if we are willing to slow down long enough to see it.
It's an odd trait to have when I look back on my family. Not that I grew up with a bunch of lazy people by any stretch of the imagination, but they are all more laid back and relaxed about time than I am. My mom tells me I was the last person to fall asleep and the first person to wake up as a toddler/preschooler and I can remember being the first person up and about as an elementary aged kid. Now, I'm not going to lie and say that that continued in high school and college (I learned to sleep in!), but once I was out of college and working I was once again an early riser. As a child I used to make schedules for myself. I would sit in my room at night and write out what I was going to do and what time I was going to do it the next day. Like I said, I am a planner.
Our family has (largely) been planned. When Nat and I got married we had talked about 5 years into our marriage being a good time to think about having kids. About 3.5 years in we started talking about it and agreed that we would start trying after we took our trip to Europe that fall. I got pregnant immediately and Alexandra was born 12 days after our 5th wedding anniversary.
After Alexandra was born we agreed that about two years between kids would be good. We jumped the gun slightly on that one as Alexandra and Woodson are 21 months and 1 week (exactly) apart, but Woodson fit into our plan.
After Woodson was born we were on the fence about adding to our family. For starters, we were overwhelmed. Two little ones is HARD and somedays I am still happy to have survived. Then there was the issue of Woodson's birth. It was by no means catastrophic or near death, but it was scary enough to make us both question whether we wanted to go through it again. We also faced some health issues with Woodson as a newborn that really rocked us for a brief period of time (thankfully all of them turned out to be insignificant) and so we agreed that we would think about closer to 3 years between Woodson and another potential baby...if we decided to have one.
We had artificially designated Woodson's 2nd birthday as our "line in the sand" to make a decision about another baby. With Alexandra and Woodson being so close together we didn't want to feel like we had a 3rd baby all on his/her own, but I also wasn't ready to sign up for another round of "2 under 2." The fall and winter leading up to Woodson's birthday seemed to have us heading down the road to being a full-time family of 4. But then April came and went and we didn't make a decision. April was followed by May, June and July (aren't you glad I know the months of the year?) where there was talk of "what if we had another baby," but no decisions. Then came August and the day Nat asked me point blank: "Do you want to have another baby?" I won't bore you with the details of that conversation, but I did, he did and so we decided we would.
I (perhaps naively) assumed I would get pregnant right away. I was running on a "2 for 2" with the others, why would this be any different. Turns out I was wrong. In hindsight, the wait wasn't agonizing, but for me any wait seems that way. A few months later, there it was. The positive pregnancy test. We were going to be a family of 5. We were cutting it close, but even with the new school age cutoffs, this baby would only be 3 years behind Woodson and 5 behind Alexandra (believe me, I know how insanely stupid it sounds to even think of this). 3 kids in just over 5 years...it worked for me.
Then, as we all know, my plan fell apart. And I have been annoyed. I've struggled with a lot of the same issues that a lot of people do: why did this happen to us? did I do something to cause this? could I have stopped it? I have been sad, hurt, confused, and broken, but never angry. The closest I have been to anger is the frustration over this not being "my plan."
Ridiculous, right? Please don't misunderstand me. I'm miserably upset (less so most days, but yes sometimes still), but the sadness has faded in a lot of ways. I have accepted that this is reality and, while I may never understand it, I get it. But what about my plans?
At Christmas last year I remember thinking that I could finally buy the matching stockings I've always wanted. Plan out the window. We were discussing plans for a fall break vacation that would be easy to do with a baby since we weren't going to be able to travel this summer. Gone. I was planning to go through the attic in March when we (hopefully) found out if we were having a boy or a girl so I could organize and finally purge some of the baby clothes. On hold. I was pretty sure this baby was a girl (yes, I know I could have been completely wrong) and I was looking forward to being able to use some of my favorite outfits of Alexandra's since they would both have been born in the same month. Not going to happen.
I feel like everywhere I look there are plans that are gone. And here I am waiting. First it was waiting for my body to officially realize it was no longer pregnant: for the nausea, food aversions and exhaustion to completely subside. While that was going on, it was waiting to heal both physically and emotionally. I dealt with a lot of the same feelings you have when you actually have a baby: the hormone crashes, hair falling out, waiting while your body goes back to "normal." And now we wait to even be able to think about having another baby. I'm not anxious to move on because I think we can replace what we lost (we can't). I am anxious because I have no answers. There are no potential timelines, no definitive answers on when. There is just waiting.
And, so, I am trying to learn something about patience. You would think my children would have taught me that already (believe me, they try!), but this is different. This kind of patience is with myself. It's learning to let go and accept that I am not in control. It's learning to look back on my life and see where things haven't worked out "my way" and it's ended up being a good thing. It's accepting that I can not map out every second of my life and expect it to all fall into place on my time.
And when I can take a deep breath, step back and look at my life reflectively I can see that this (the waiting) has the potential to be a good thing. Losing a baby has brought me to my knees in front of God. It's made me painfully aware of what I have been holding onto and need to let go of. But it has also opened up opportunities to share with Alexandra and Woodson, in a very tangible way, the hope that we have in Christ.
And so, rather than worry about the whens and what-ifs of tomorrow I am trying desperately to learn from today. It seems that growing often takes place in our waiting, if we are willing to slow down long enough to see it.
Monday, February 03, 2014
Choosing to Find Joy
There is so much that I could write about from the past few weeks. Some of it has been written, but will remain private. Some of it I want to share. These weeks have been filled with moments of intense pain that I want to forget juxtaposed with moments of pure beauty I hope I always remember. This post is about those.
First of all, I feel like I need to openly acknowledge that I am not now (and maybe never will be) in a place where I can say that I am thankful that we lost our baby. My hope is that, years from now, I will be able to look at our three children (yes, we still hope to have another baby) and realize that they are the children that God intended us to have, but I will always long for and miss the one we lost.
For the first few days after we found out we lost the baby there was a song playing over and over again. I have shared it before, but Aaron Keyes Sovereign Over Us was either actually playing or running through my head nonstop. I have always found this song hauntingly beautiful, but hearing the lyrics, crying through them, really feeling them made them come alive for me. One of the things that I realized quickly after we found out our baby was gone was that I was going to have to face a choice: I could be angry and bitter about a life that will never be, or I could choose to find the good that was and is. I chose the latter.
I had to start small. The first hours were filled with good, but good that I could only see in hindsight. For starters, Nat was home. I didn't have to face any of this alone. Along those lines, the friend I chose to text when I first realized something was wrong could not have been more helpful. I didn't realize it when I texted her, but she knew what I was going through and provided much needed support over the days and weeks to come.
Next, my doctor was in the office the morning we found out. I may have heard it from the ultrasound tech, but he was there to discuss options, answer questions, and assure me this wasn't my fault (a fact I am still coming to grips with). His clinical day was also the following day so he was able to perform my surgery. It may not have seemed like it at the time, but knowing he was there was comforting.
The friends that we told initially rallied around us. They called and texted me, sent cards and gifts, brought dinner, offered to keep our kids...pretty much anything we needed they were there. Then we made our "widespread" announcement and the support was astonishing. The prayers, thoughts, kind words, and shared experiences were so comforting to me. Sadly, I was far from alone in the pain I was experiencing, but seeing so many people who were truly able to be happy again at a time when all I felt was sadness gave me hope. So many of you listened to me (in person, on the phone, and over email) grieve, process, analyze, and try to understand why. I was truly never alone.
Finally our families have been supportive. From Nat's parents taking the kids at a moment's notice to my parents driving down for the weekend they have been there when we need them. I know this has been hard on them too as they were excited for a new grandchild.
As the pain has ebbed (yes, like everyone told me it would, it really does happen) I have been able to move from the more tangible and obvious good to more subtle things. For starters, I have been amazed at the fact that I haven't been angry. I remember telling Nat in the early days that I was most scared of the anger, but it hasn't come. I have been sad, hurt, crushed, devastated and pretty much any other adjective you can think of that implies an immense amount of emotional pain, but I have not been angry. I am thankful for ways God has provided that have left me comforted, prayerful and full of hope.
I believe that life is created for a reason and I believe that this baby was no exception to that. I do not know the reason that he/she was taken away from us so soon, and likely never will, but I trust that there is a reason. I spent a lot of time asking why in the beginning. Why was this child conceived if he/she wasn't going to live? Why was my pregnancy so normal at the beginning if things weren't right? I had all of the "good" symptoms: morning sickness, fatigue, a strong heartbeat on the ultrasound...and it was all over so fast. I was finally able to realize that my questions were no different than any other parent's who loses a child or person who loses a spouse. It's never the right time and it's always too soon.
I have tried desperately to blame myself, but even as I scrutinize and over analyze every move I made during this pregnancy I can come up with very little that could have caused this. I sometimes wish this were my fault, the logic being if I caused it I could also prevent it, but truthfully I know that guilt would crush me.
I can't put a neat bow on this post. There's no way to wrap it up that closes the hole in my heart. I am beginning to look forward. I am optimistic about the future. My earnest wish would be that no woman would ever experience this loss again, but I know that isn't realistic. So my hope is that someday, somewhere down the road, I will be able to look back on my experience and be a blessing to another family in their time of crisis, just as so many other people were to me.
First of all, I feel like I need to openly acknowledge that I am not now (and maybe never will be) in a place where I can say that I am thankful that we lost our baby. My hope is that, years from now, I will be able to look at our three children (yes, we still hope to have another baby) and realize that they are the children that God intended us to have, but I will always long for and miss the one we lost.
For the first few days after we found out we lost the baby there was a song playing over and over again. I have shared it before, but Aaron Keyes Sovereign Over Us was either actually playing or running through my head nonstop. I have always found this song hauntingly beautiful, but hearing the lyrics, crying through them, really feeling them made them come alive for me. One of the things that I realized quickly after we found out our baby was gone was that I was going to have to face a choice: I could be angry and bitter about a life that will never be, or I could choose to find the good that was and is. I chose the latter.
I had to start small. The first hours were filled with good, but good that I could only see in hindsight. For starters, Nat was home. I didn't have to face any of this alone. Along those lines, the friend I chose to text when I first realized something was wrong could not have been more helpful. I didn't realize it when I texted her, but she knew what I was going through and provided much needed support over the days and weeks to come.
Next, my doctor was in the office the morning we found out. I may have heard it from the ultrasound tech, but he was there to discuss options, answer questions, and assure me this wasn't my fault (a fact I am still coming to grips with). His clinical day was also the following day so he was able to perform my surgery. It may not have seemed like it at the time, but knowing he was there was comforting.
The friends that we told initially rallied around us. They called and texted me, sent cards and gifts, brought dinner, offered to keep our kids...pretty much anything we needed they were there. Then we made our "widespread" announcement and the support was astonishing. The prayers, thoughts, kind words, and shared experiences were so comforting to me. Sadly, I was far from alone in the pain I was experiencing, but seeing so many people who were truly able to be happy again at a time when all I felt was sadness gave me hope. So many of you listened to me (in person, on the phone, and over email) grieve, process, analyze, and try to understand why. I was truly never alone.
Finally our families have been supportive. From Nat's parents taking the kids at a moment's notice to my parents driving down for the weekend they have been there when we need them. I know this has been hard on them too as they were excited for a new grandchild.
As the pain has ebbed (yes, like everyone told me it would, it really does happen) I have been able to move from the more tangible and obvious good to more subtle things. For starters, I have been amazed at the fact that I haven't been angry. I remember telling Nat in the early days that I was most scared of the anger, but it hasn't come. I have been sad, hurt, crushed, devastated and pretty much any other adjective you can think of that implies an immense amount of emotional pain, but I have not been angry. I am thankful for ways God has provided that have left me comforted, prayerful and full of hope.
I believe that life is created for a reason and I believe that this baby was no exception to that. I do not know the reason that he/she was taken away from us so soon, and likely never will, but I trust that there is a reason. I spent a lot of time asking why in the beginning. Why was this child conceived if he/she wasn't going to live? Why was my pregnancy so normal at the beginning if things weren't right? I had all of the "good" symptoms: morning sickness, fatigue, a strong heartbeat on the ultrasound...and it was all over so fast. I was finally able to realize that my questions were no different than any other parent's who loses a child or person who loses a spouse. It's never the right time and it's always too soon.
I have tried desperately to blame myself, but even as I scrutinize and over analyze every move I made during this pregnancy I can come up with very little that could have caused this. I sometimes wish this were my fault, the logic being if I caused it I could also prevent it, but truthfully I know that guilt would crush me.
I can't put a neat bow on this post. There's no way to wrap it up that closes the hole in my heart. I am beginning to look forward. I am optimistic about the future. My earnest wish would be that no woman would ever experience this loss again, but I know that isn't realistic. So my hope is that someday, somewhere down the road, I will be able to look back on my experience and be a blessing to another family in their time of crisis, just as so many other people were to me.
Saturday, February 01, 2014
Where I am...
The question I am asked most these days is "How are you doing?" I have been answering honestly with "ok." I am ok, not good, not bad...just ok. This is what that means to me.
I said on Facebook yesterday that I made an attempt to start getting us all back on track this week. I've been working on getting caught up on housework, getting the kids and I back into some activities, basically just trying to live again. Honestly, it's been hard. I've said "no" to things that I could have easily done because I have wanted to be home where I don't have to try to hold things together. I've been quiet in some group settings and talked so much at others that I'm sure I was annoying.
Twice this week I was asked by acquaintances (obviously people who were not aware of the baby) if we "just had 2 kids" or if we "thought we'd have more." I stumbled through awkward answers while fighting back tears. Part of me felt guilty because I hate not talking about the baby we lost...one of my biggest fears initially was that this baby would be forgotten, maybe not by us but by others. Yet, at the same time, it feels so strange to even bring it up.
I find myself facing daily (hourly?) reminders of planning we had done for the baby. Whether it's notifications from Pinterest saying someone else has repined my nursery color (seriously, can I turn those off?), mentioning that we bought Alexandra's booster seat partially because it would fit in-between two other car seats, or just catching myself looking at baby clothes when I'm out. I still catch myself glancing in the bathroom mirror every morning checking to see if my "baby bump" has grown before realizing it's gone. I never knew a (relatively) flat stomach could make me so sad.
Earlier this week the kids and I were at the hospital visiting Nat's grandma and we found out she would be heading home the next day. As we were walking out of the hospital I said to the kids "Isn't it exciting that Gigi gets to go home tomorrow?" To which Woodson answered "Why Gigi have to sleep in the hospital?" So I said "Well, Buddy, her heart was sick so she had to stay in the hospital to make it better." He looked at me and said "Mommy, you sleep in hospital and make ours baby better?" If only it were so easy... Three other times this week he has told me that he is "sad that we aren't having a baby" or that he "misses the baby in yours (my) tummy" or that he "wanted a baby sister." Poor thing was so excited to be a big brother.
In a lot of ways I feel like I have been placed in a giant holding pattern and anyone who has known me for longer than about 5 minutes knows I am not good at waiting. I find myself frustrated and annoyed because none of this fits into "my plan," which if you didn't know most of my adult life has. I am a planner and things that go against my plan frustrate me. I have a lot to learn.
Finally, and possibly most shocking to me, is how I've had to deal with my own selfishness. I believe that unborn babies go to Heaven. Thus, I believe that our baby is already spending an eternity full of more joy than I could possibly comprehend. The day I realized that I would rip him/her out of that to have a life here with me was the day that I realized how selfish I could truly be.
The good news is the days are getting better. I find myself smiling and laughing more, though there are definitely times that I just don't feel it. I know three other people expecting babies right around the time I was due and, while I can't say it's easy, I can say that I am genuinely happy for them and their families. The pain has dulled and I am well past the point of the daily ugly cry and the initial feeling of absolute hopelessness has gone. I have several friends who have listened to me ramble (and probably over share) and for them I am grateful.
So, to me, this is ok. Happiness is getting easier, but still takes work. I find myself out and feeling "normal" only to realize how much effort it is taking me to not fall apart at the sight of another pregnant person. I don't know when/if we will have another baby, and am scared that I will face another pregnancy like a neurotic freak instead of with a sense of excitement and joy.
The good news is that I know that life does go on. The sun continues to come up and the days continue to get easier. So I take it all a day at a time and remind myself that the good days are beginning to overshadow the bad. It's a learning experience, this life, and I have a long way to go.
I said on Facebook yesterday that I made an attempt to start getting us all back on track this week. I've been working on getting caught up on housework, getting the kids and I back into some activities, basically just trying to live again. Honestly, it's been hard. I've said "no" to things that I could have easily done because I have wanted to be home where I don't have to try to hold things together. I've been quiet in some group settings and talked so much at others that I'm sure I was annoying.
Twice this week I was asked by acquaintances (obviously people who were not aware of the baby) if we "just had 2 kids" or if we "thought we'd have more." I stumbled through awkward answers while fighting back tears. Part of me felt guilty because I hate not talking about the baby we lost...one of my biggest fears initially was that this baby would be forgotten, maybe not by us but by others. Yet, at the same time, it feels so strange to even bring it up.
I find myself facing daily (hourly?) reminders of planning we had done for the baby. Whether it's notifications from Pinterest saying someone else has repined my nursery color (seriously, can I turn those off?), mentioning that we bought Alexandra's booster seat partially because it would fit in-between two other car seats, or just catching myself looking at baby clothes when I'm out. I still catch myself glancing in the bathroom mirror every morning checking to see if my "baby bump" has grown before realizing it's gone. I never knew a (relatively) flat stomach could make me so sad.
Earlier this week the kids and I were at the hospital visiting Nat's grandma and we found out she would be heading home the next day. As we were walking out of the hospital I said to the kids "Isn't it exciting that Gigi gets to go home tomorrow?" To which Woodson answered "Why Gigi have to sleep in the hospital?" So I said "Well, Buddy, her heart was sick so she had to stay in the hospital to make it better." He looked at me and said "Mommy, you sleep in hospital and make ours baby better?" If only it were so easy... Three other times this week he has told me that he is "sad that we aren't having a baby" or that he "misses the baby in yours (my) tummy" or that he "wanted a baby sister." Poor thing was so excited to be a big brother.
In a lot of ways I feel like I have been placed in a giant holding pattern and anyone who has known me for longer than about 5 minutes knows I am not good at waiting. I find myself frustrated and annoyed because none of this fits into "my plan," which if you didn't know most of my adult life has. I am a planner and things that go against my plan frustrate me. I have a lot to learn.
Finally, and possibly most shocking to me, is how I've had to deal with my own selfishness. I believe that unborn babies go to Heaven. Thus, I believe that our baby is already spending an eternity full of more joy than I could possibly comprehend. The day I realized that I would rip him/her out of that to have a life here with me was the day that I realized how selfish I could truly be.
The good news is the days are getting better. I find myself smiling and laughing more, though there are definitely times that I just don't feel it. I know three other people expecting babies right around the time I was due and, while I can't say it's easy, I can say that I am genuinely happy for them and their families. The pain has dulled and I am well past the point of the daily ugly cry and the initial feeling of absolute hopelessness has gone. I have several friends who have listened to me ramble (and probably over share) and for them I am grateful.
So, to me, this is ok. Happiness is getting easier, but still takes work. I find myself out and feeling "normal" only to realize how much effort it is taking me to not fall apart at the sight of another pregnant person. I don't know when/if we will have another baby, and am scared that I will face another pregnancy like a neurotic freak instead of with a sense of excitement and joy.
The good news is that I know that life does go on. The sun continues to come up and the days continue to get easier. So I take it all a day at a time and remind myself that the good days are beginning to overshadow the bad. It's a learning experience, this life, and I have a long way to go.
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