I held him today. The truth is I do every day. After all, he's only 8 weeks old. But today has been a fussy day. A day filled with too short naps, too short nursing sessions and too many tears. As the afternoon hit, a new wave of tears came on. So I held him and we danced. With his perfect, mostly bald head on my shoulder and his tiny bottom resting on my arm we swayed back and forth to a song that existed only in my mind. As he settled in and traded his wails for the deep even breaths of sleep, I inhaled deeply that intoxicating smell that only your own babies possess. He smelled so sweet, having just had a bath this morning. And somehow, in the midst of this moment, my mind fast forwarded 20+ years and I thought of dancing with him at his wedding. When his tiny body that fits so easily in my arms now will be traded in for the body of a man. When I will likely have to look up to look into the blue eyes that are in that head that rests so comfortably now on my shoulder. Will my head even reach his shoulder then?
It's funny. He's not my first boy. I first learned of my capacity to love a tiny little boy almost four years ago when Woodson came into my life. It was a turning point of sorts. Up until that point, being a Mama had been all about girls. Hair bows, dresses, dolls and strollers. That was my world. A world that I knew and understood from my own time as a little girl. However, the other day I realized that there will come a time when my house is not graced by a girl other than myself and the weight of being the Mama to two boys truly hit me for the first time and has weighed heavy on my mind since then. When I stop to truly consider the task at hand it almost seems impossible: I am (partially--I do have a fabulous teammate alongside me) responsible for raising these two little boys to become MEN. Not overgrown boys, but men.
I don't have to worry about them not having a good role model in their lives. No, the unknown in this scenario is me. Will I be able to rise to the task of raising boys? Can I engage in the rough and tumble play? I've honestly never been very good with dart guns and fart jokes--both of which I have heard I need to brace myself for as these little boys grow. And perhaps most importantly, when the time comes for me to let them go, will I be able to do so gracefully? Will I trust that their dad and I have done our job of equipping them to lead their families and will I respect their new position as the head of that family? Will I learn to offer advice while simultaneously understanding when it is disregarded?
It's a tough gig, parenting these little boys...simultaneously holding on to every moment while cheering them on and letting them go. Realizing the task at hand of raising men in a world that would encourage them to be anything but. Admitting my own selfishness and being determined to not let it stand in the way.
And so, I will continue to hold him...along with his blonde haired, blue eyed big brother for as long as they'll let me and when that day comes for me to let go I will remember what their tiny hands felt like holding mine, the weight of their sleeping bodies on my chest, the snuggles and cuddles and I will hope and pray that I have done my part to send men into this world.
Thursday, February 12, 2015
Tuesday, December 09, 2014
In a Season of Anticipation
Christmas. Regardless of what the holiday means to you, for most of us, this time of the year is widely met with anticipation. For most of us it started as children. First Christmas meant a time of presents, special treats, visits to Santa, holiday visits with family, driving around looking at Christmas lights...the list is practically endless.
As we age, some of the magic of the holiday fades. We discover that Santa isn't real, yet (at least in my family) we kept playing along...for years. It's one of the oddities of having siblings who are so spread out. However, there are still exciting things to look forward to: a long break from school, your favorite Christmas treats (we had neighbors who were more like our second family growing up who made egg kisses every year at Christmas and they were definitely a favorite!), maybe snow to go sledding in, and of course presents...somehow the presents really don't get old.
For many of us, Christmas was also a time of anticipation in our respective religious establishments. I was raised Catholic and thus Christmas followed the season of Advent. A time of waiting to celebrate the birth of Jesus. We also celebrated Christmas at church through Epiphany, which meant the Christmas carols didn't end on December 25th. Growing up, we were certainly taught the meaning of Christmas...in fact, one of my earliest Christmas memories is of my dad playing his guitar and teaching me the words to Away in a Manger. We are working to teach our own kids this. It's why this year the only decorations in our house are our Christmas tree, the stockings and both our pretty Nativity scene and the kids' small play Nativity scene.
Sometime in our adult years, the focus shifts. We may say Christmas is about the birth of Jesus, spending time with family, forming traditions, and making memories, but the truth is it becomes a season of busyness. There are Christmas parties to attend, cookies to bake, presents to buy and wrap, the list just goes on. It seems like everywhere you look there is a new tradition that you need to start. A new way to celebrate that you have to do. Something else that, if you let it slide, will make the holiday less magical for your children. And so we cram. We commit to holiday parties, cookie exchanges, secret Santas and the like. Driving around to look at Christmas lights is no longer good enough...we drive long distances to elaborate (and often expensive) professionally done displays. We volunteer, donate, and do. Gift buying gets bigger and bigger and the list expands. We convince ourselves that our kids probably do need a new gaming system (for the third year in a row) and probably a new tv to go along with it. And then we think, maybe...just maybe, we really should buy our hairdresser's cousin's wife a present. I mean, after all, she did talk to you that one time at the salon. You'd hate to leave her out.
At this point, it may sound like I am jaded towards the holidays. I can assure you I am not. However, this year, we have the added anticipation of adding a new member to our family exactly one week before Christmas. Knowing that I will be largely incapacitated with healing from major surgery and caring for a newborn has really forced me to take about 20 steps back this year. I already mentioned that we did very little on the decorating front. The reasoning here was twofold. First, as our first year in a new house, we are in need of new decorations that fit our space. This means more shopping, which I just don't have the time or energy for right now. Second, I knew that no one was going to be overly thrilled about having more to take down and put away in the midst of the newborn non-sleeping haze. Alexandra, in particular, was upset about this. She loves all things pretty, decorated and overdone. Truthfully, I would LOVE nothing more than to turn our house into a Winter Wonderland for her because I know the absolute JOY it would bring her. But this is not the year to do it. The kids both have Christmas parties (on the same day naturally), Christmas performances, pajama days (at both school and church), and a Polar Express parade (on the day the baby comes) requiring a box large enough to fit Alexandra decorated like a holiday train car...since she's five we can all guess who that task falls to. The list is never-ending. As we were leaving church on Sunday we were handed a stack of cards with ideas for celebrating the Christmas season with our families...the idea being to draw a card every day and do the activity on it. Some were simple: sing Christmas carols together. Others were much more involved: bake Christmas cookies for all of your neighbors. I played the part of the Christmas troll and threw the cards away. We just don't need ONE more thing to DO this year.
Over the weekend Nat helped the kids bake and decorate sugar cookies and we took them to a Nutcracker Tea performance. In the past I have also helped them bake gingerbread cookies that we decorate for Santa...a task which he has promised to take on this year. We also have a gingerbread house waiting to be assembled and decorated which we plan to do this weekend. Presents have been (mostly) bought...at least for them. We still have our families to largely figure out. And everything needs to be wrapped. See I want this year to still be magical for my big kids, but I also want to keep things in perspective. For me, we are reaching the climax of 16 months of anticipation. It has been 16 months since we decided to try to add another family member. As I sat very newly pregnant last Thanksgiving I remember Nat and I laughing about how next year we would have another little one at the table. I'd be lying if I said I didn't shed a tear over that at Thanksgiving this year. At Christmas last year I talked about having to find new stocking hangers as our current set of four wasn't going to work next year. And, yes, I am extremely happy that I got to hang a fifth stocking on our fireplace this year, but it's still sometimes sad to realize it wasn't for the baby we thought it would be.
And so, this year--in a season that has largely been marked by anticipation, I am faced with a new kind of anticipation: the anticipation of holding my brand new baby as we celebrate the birth of a baby more than 2000 years ago. Even 9 days away from delivery, my head and my heart are reluctant. Reluctant to believe that a year that started out so terribly bad, could possibly end so well. Reluctant to understand that almost exactly 11 months later life could look so different than it did. Reluctant to bask in the awe of the season. There aren't many times in my life that I have been more anxious for something to be over and be able to move on to the next season and yet I want to embrace this time to. It's also my last time (ever) to be pregnant, my last time to feel a baby moving inside me. It will be my last time to look into a brand new face for the first time and know that it's my child. And these are my last days with just two kids...the last days before Woodson becomes a big brother and can no longer be my "baby."
I often wonder how I'll look back on this year. Will this be the year that the kids remember Christmas as laid-back and relaxed or the year Mom and Dad phoned it in? Will I look back and remember the anxiousness of this time or the excitement that surrounds a brand new baby. Will the memories of this Christmas fade as the years go by...or will I always remember the anticipation I felt leading up to Christmas 2014?
As we age, some of the magic of the holiday fades. We discover that Santa isn't real, yet (at least in my family) we kept playing along...for years. It's one of the oddities of having siblings who are so spread out. However, there are still exciting things to look forward to: a long break from school, your favorite Christmas treats (we had neighbors who were more like our second family growing up who made egg kisses every year at Christmas and they were definitely a favorite!), maybe snow to go sledding in, and of course presents...somehow the presents really don't get old.
For many of us, Christmas was also a time of anticipation in our respective religious establishments. I was raised Catholic and thus Christmas followed the season of Advent. A time of waiting to celebrate the birth of Jesus. We also celebrated Christmas at church through Epiphany, which meant the Christmas carols didn't end on December 25th. Growing up, we were certainly taught the meaning of Christmas...in fact, one of my earliest Christmas memories is of my dad playing his guitar and teaching me the words to Away in a Manger. We are working to teach our own kids this. It's why this year the only decorations in our house are our Christmas tree, the stockings and both our pretty Nativity scene and the kids' small play Nativity scene.
Sometime in our adult years, the focus shifts. We may say Christmas is about the birth of Jesus, spending time with family, forming traditions, and making memories, but the truth is it becomes a season of busyness. There are Christmas parties to attend, cookies to bake, presents to buy and wrap, the list just goes on. It seems like everywhere you look there is a new tradition that you need to start. A new way to celebrate that you have to do. Something else that, if you let it slide, will make the holiday less magical for your children. And so we cram. We commit to holiday parties, cookie exchanges, secret Santas and the like. Driving around to look at Christmas lights is no longer good enough...we drive long distances to elaborate (and often expensive) professionally done displays. We volunteer, donate, and do. Gift buying gets bigger and bigger and the list expands. We convince ourselves that our kids probably do need a new gaming system (for the third year in a row) and probably a new tv to go along with it. And then we think, maybe...just maybe, we really should buy our hairdresser's cousin's wife a present. I mean, after all, she did talk to you that one time at the salon. You'd hate to leave her out.
At this point, it may sound like I am jaded towards the holidays. I can assure you I am not. However, this year, we have the added anticipation of adding a new member to our family exactly one week before Christmas. Knowing that I will be largely incapacitated with healing from major surgery and caring for a newborn has really forced me to take about 20 steps back this year. I already mentioned that we did very little on the decorating front. The reasoning here was twofold. First, as our first year in a new house, we are in need of new decorations that fit our space. This means more shopping, which I just don't have the time or energy for right now. Second, I knew that no one was going to be overly thrilled about having more to take down and put away in the midst of the newborn non-sleeping haze. Alexandra, in particular, was upset about this. She loves all things pretty, decorated and overdone. Truthfully, I would LOVE nothing more than to turn our house into a Winter Wonderland for her because I know the absolute JOY it would bring her. But this is not the year to do it. The kids both have Christmas parties (on the same day naturally), Christmas performances, pajama days (at both school and church), and a Polar Express parade (on the day the baby comes) requiring a box large enough to fit Alexandra decorated like a holiday train car...since she's five we can all guess who that task falls to. The list is never-ending. As we were leaving church on Sunday we were handed a stack of cards with ideas for celebrating the Christmas season with our families...the idea being to draw a card every day and do the activity on it. Some were simple: sing Christmas carols together. Others were much more involved: bake Christmas cookies for all of your neighbors. I played the part of the Christmas troll and threw the cards away. We just don't need ONE more thing to DO this year.
Over the weekend Nat helped the kids bake and decorate sugar cookies and we took them to a Nutcracker Tea performance. In the past I have also helped them bake gingerbread cookies that we decorate for Santa...a task which he has promised to take on this year. We also have a gingerbread house waiting to be assembled and decorated which we plan to do this weekend. Presents have been (mostly) bought...at least for them. We still have our families to largely figure out. And everything needs to be wrapped. See I want this year to still be magical for my big kids, but I also want to keep things in perspective. For me, we are reaching the climax of 16 months of anticipation. It has been 16 months since we decided to try to add another family member. As I sat very newly pregnant last Thanksgiving I remember Nat and I laughing about how next year we would have another little one at the table. I'd be lying if I said I didn't shed a tear over that at Thanksgiving this year. At Christmas last year I talked about having to find new stocking hangers as our current set of four wasn't going to work next year. And, yes, I am extremely happy that I got to hang a fifth stocking on our fireplace this year, but it's still sometimes sad to realize it wasn't for the baby we thought it would be.
And so, this year--in a season that has largely been marked by anticipation, I am faced with a new kind of anticipation: the anticipation of holding my brand new baby as we celebrate the birth of a baby more than 2000 years ago. Even 9 days away from delivery, my head and my heart are reluctant. Reluctant to believe that a year that started out so terribly bad, could possibly end so well. Reluctant to understand that almost exactly 11 months later life could look so different than it did. Reluctant to bask in the awe of the season. There aren't many times in my life that I have been more anxious for something to be over and be able to move on to the next season and yet I want to embrace this time to. It's also my last time (ever) to be pregnant, my last time to feel a baby moving inside me. It will be my last time to look into a brand new face for the first time and know that it's my child. And these are my last days with just two kids...the last days before Woodson becomes a big brother and can no longer be my "baby."
I often wonder how I'll look back on this year. Will this be the year that the kids remember Christmas as laid-back and relaxed or the year Mom and Dad phoned it in? Will I look back and remember the anxiousness of this time or the excitement that surrounds a brand new baby. Will the memories of this Christmas fade as the years go by...or will I always remember the anticipation I felt leading up to Christmas 2014?
Monday, July 28, 2014
I try not to think about what might have been...
I've debated writing this one for about a week now. See, we've hit that time when we would have had a brand new baby in our house. I was thankful when back in March I finally lost count of how many weeks I should have been, but when July hit I picked it up almost immediately. He/she would have most likely been born by now and we would be in the newborn haze of endless nursing, diaper changes, and sleepless nights. But also the intoxicating newborn baby smell, the impossibly tiny clothes, and the squishy cuddles of a newborn baby that go on for hours. I would be recovering from my third c-section, learning to navigate the waters of being a mom of three, and dealing with the awful postpartum hormones. Of course, I would also be watching my former "baby" become a big brother, seeing Alexandra welcome a baby that she's actually excited about (Woodson was definitely not her cup of tea when he was born), and remembering all over again how love at first sight is not only possible but also completely overwhelming.
Please don't misunderstand, I am so incredibly grateful for where I am. I sit here 18 weeks pregnant with a brand new baby growing inside. A baby that, just like my other three, I have felt an intense love for from the moment I knew he/she existed. But if I'm being honest, I want them both. I know that's impossible, but I want the baby I never saw, touched or felt and I want the baby who wouldn't be here if that one was.
When we told the kids that we were once again expecting a baby their responses were so sweet and yet so tinged in the pain they saw us experience. I know they experienced pain in their own way too, but they are too young to truly grasp what happened. Alexandra's first response was to say "Oh good, we can all be happy again!" and Woodson wanted to know if this was the same baby who went to Heaven. I think we have finally convinced him that there are two different babies and he now tells me that one day we can meet our baby in Heaven. Both of the kids talk to my tummy often and tell this baby "Please don't die so we can meet you." It's a sweet and yet painful reminder of the hurt that took over our family and the sadness that still sometimes looms.
And yet, I can't deny the hope that I feel. 2014 started out just so incredibly bad. I lost what I was looking forward to the most, I lost hope, I lost faith in my body, I lost the innocence of somehow just knowing everything was going to be ok. I was forced to sit on the sidelines as news of new babies seemed to swarm all around me. The first three months of the year were probably the darkest time in my life. I went through the motions of being ok, and even convinced myself that I was, but truthfully I was drowning. A few people asked how I was really doing. I think they knew the answer before they asked because they never accepted my "ok." They always pushed for more. Maybe I should have opened up, but I didn't even have the words to use. Nat called me out on it a few times and I jumped all over him. It's a good man who can stand by his wife when she is on the verge of a complete breakdown and still love and support her. And then Easter Sunday came. I almost didn't take the test that morning. I just knew it was going to be negative, but it wasn't. As I looked at a calendar I realized we had a Christmas Day due date. Hope was born that morning in the midst of a dark and treacherous time.
The beginning was rough. It's hard to convince yourself that the morning sickness is worth it when just a few short months ago it turned out it wasn't. All of a sudden my body, which I had every confidence could carry a baby even if it refused to deliver one, seemed foreign and scary. In some ways that is still true today. Every twinge sends a shock of fear straight through my heart. Every day that goes by with little or no movement puts me in tears. Every trip to the bathroom leaves me holding my breath wondering if the bottom is about to drop out. The two times the doctors have used the doppler to find the heartbeat have been anxiety filled. The first time was still early and they pulled out an ultrasound machine and found the baby easily. The second time took minutes that felt like hours. The kids were with me and Alexandra kept asking why it was taking so long. Meanwhile I'm on the table trying not to cry. When the doctor finally found it I realized I had been holding my breath. I resent the fact that my last pregnancy is filled with fear, but I know what's behind the door marked "Loss" and I'll never be able to un-know it.
As August looms just ahead it is almost surreal to me to think that we started this journey a year ago. If you had asked me then I never would have guessed we'd be here today. When I was a teenager I remember thinking I wanted four kids one day...I guess I got them, just not in the way I imagined. Most days I feel like a terrible parent to our third baby...mostly because I tell people that I am now pregnant with our third. I hate that that child will forever be unknown to most people and is easily forgotten by those who did know. Maybe it's the middle child in me, the one who was always afraid of going unnoticed, who hates that for that baby.
Like so many parts of life, there isn't a pretty bow to tie this all up. Sometimes life hurts. A lot of times life is messy. I knew this time of the year would be hard. I honestly didn't know how hard it would be. I am thankful for the promise of new life and the hope it brings with it. I am optimistic that one day I will be able to say I've truly made it to the "other side"...my guess is that won't happen until this baby is safely wrapped up in my arms.
Please don't misunderstand, I am so incredibly grateful for where I am. I sit here 18 weeks pregnant with a brand new baby growing inside. A baby that, just like my other three, I have felt an intense love for from the moment I knew he/she existed. But if I'm being honest, I want them both. I know that's impossible, but I want the baby I never saw, touched or felt and I want the baby who wouldn't be here if that one was.
When we told the kids that we were once again expecting a baby their responses were so sweet and yet so tinged in the pain they saw us experience. I know they experienced pain in their own way too, but they are too young to truly grasp what happened. Alexandra's first response was to say "Oh good, we can all be happy again!" and Woodson wanted to know if this was the same baby who went to Heaven. I think we have finally convinced him that there are two different babies and he now tells me that one day we can meet our baby in Heaven. Both of the kids talk to my tummy often and tell this baby "Please don't die so we can meet you." It's a sweet and yet painful reminder of the hurt that took over our family and the sadness that still sometimes looms.
And yet, I can't deny the hope that I feel. 2014 started out just so incredibly bad. I lost what I was looking forward to the most, I lost hope, I lost faith in my body, I lost the innocence of somehow just knowing everything was going to be ok. I was forced to sit on the sidelines as news of new babies seemed to swarm all around me. The first three months of the year were probably the darkest time in my life. I went through the motions of being ok, and even convinced myself that I was, but truthfully I was drowning. A few people asked how I was really doing. I think they knew the answer before they asked because they never accepted my "ok." They always pushed for more. Maybe I should have opened up, but I didn't even have the words to use. Nat called me out on it a few times and I jumped all over him. It's a good man who can stand by his wife when she is on the verge of a complete breakdown and still love and support her. And then Easter Sunday came. I almost didn't take the test that morning. I just knew it was going to be negative, but it wasn't. As I looked at a calendar I realized we had a Christmas Day due date. Hope was born that morning in the midst of a dark and treacherous time.
The beginning was rough. It's hard to convince yourself that the morning sickness is worth it when just a few short months ago it turned out it wasn't. All of a sudden my body, which I had every confidence could carry a baby even if it refused to deliver one, seemed foreign and scary. In some ways that is still true today. Every twinge sends a shock of fear straight through my heart. Every day that goes by with little or no movement puts me in tears. Every trip to the bathroom leaves me holding my breath wondering if the bottom is about to drop out. The two times the doctors have used the doppler to find the heartbeat have been anxiety filled. The first time was still early and they pulled out an ultrasound machine and found the baby easily. The second time took minutes that felt like hours. The kids were with me and Alexandra kept asking why it was taking so long. Meanwhile I'm on the table trying not to cry. When the doctor finally found it I realized I had been holding my breath. I resent the fact that my last pregnancy is filled with fear, but I know what's behind the door marked "Loss" and I'll never be able to un-know it.
As August looms just ahead it is almost surreal to me to think that we started this journey a year ago. If you had asked me then I never would have guessed we'd be here today. When I was a teenager I remember thinking I wanted four kids one day...I guess I got them, just not in the way I imagined. Most days I feel like a terrible parent to our third baby...mostly because I tell people that I am now pregnant with our third. I hate that that child will forever be unknown to most people and is easily forgotten by those who did know. Maybe it's the middle child in me, the one who was always afraid of going unnoticed, who hates that for that baby.
Like so many parts of life, there isn't a pretty bow to tie this all up. Sometimes life hurts. A lot of times life is messy. I knew this time of the year would be hard. I honestly didn't know how hard it would be. I am thankful for the promise of new life and the hope it brings with it. I am optimistic that one day I will be able to say I've truly made it to the "other side"...my guess is that won't happen until this baby is safely wrapped up in my arms.
Friday, February 21, 2014
Faith Like a Child
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.
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.
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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