happy birthday to you

A few weeks ago my sister told me that my nephews still talk about the baby I lost. She said one night before bed they asked her if I'm still sad. They wondered if she was still little in heaven, or if she was big.

And oh, my heart.

It's been two years and my life now is so different from the one I had then, when my first pregnancy ended and my little baby died. I have another baby to think about and take care of now, and there isn't as much space in my mind to fill up thinking about my little girl all day. Or even every day. That thought alone makes me feel so sad. I can't help but feel some guilt over it. What kind of mother doesn't think about her child daily? Even one that's not here on earth anymore?

But no. I'm thankful for that. I'm thankful for the passing of time, and I'm thankful that God is giving me exactly what I prayed so hard for-- a little bit of comfort and a little bit of peace. It keeps getting easier.

There are times when I look at Ralphie and wonder if he looks like what she would have looked like. There are times when I hear of another woman going through the shock and sadness of losing a baby. Those are the times my heart breaks all over again. I'm able to mend it back together pretty quickly, but it breaks all the same. And I'm glad for that too. It's good to remember her, even when it hurts.

Of course, it's this time of year that I remember her more often. She was born on a sunny fall day, and the trees that lined the street where we lived turned a brilliant shade of yellow the week we lost her. Those yellow leaves remind me of her so much.

So I baked you a cake, little baby. Happy birthday to you.

. . .

There are a few more posts about miscarriage/stillbirth on the blog if you're interested in reading them: her birth story here, and the post I wrote last year on this day, here.

seek, and you will find

We had our 18 week ultrasound yesterday. Joy to the world! Everything is perfect.

Baby's heart rate is perfect. Baby's weight is perfect. Baby's fluid, baby's kidneys, baby's bladder, baby's four-chambered heart---perfect! It wiggled on the screen as if to say, "Don't worry Mom! Look what I can do!" And then, so sweetly, it relaxed with one arm behind its head, and ankles crossed. We're giddy. So proud and so happy and so thankful.

We came home after the ultrasound and a supper out. We puttered around. Ryan changed out of his work clothes, and I put things in their place in the kitchen. And suddenly, I was crying. I felt so relieved, and so happy about our new baby, and so sad about the baby girl we lost.   Everything about that doctor's visit made me remember her all over again. It hits me hard and fast, when I realize that I'm still so sad about it all. I'm sad that her little sibling will never know her. I'm sad that she was sick, that she might have been hurting, and that I had no way of making it better. I'm sad that she died in my belly without me even knowing it was happening. I'll never not be sad.

But oh, I feel so blessed to have known her! I'm so thankful that I got to be her momma, even for just a short time, and that I was able to know her little life from start to finish. I'm thankful she's in heaven waiting for us, and that she has angels singing to her, since I can't do it myself.

And I'm so thankful for this new little life! It feels wonderful to be able to plan and dream again, without so much fear. The happiness of it all is still sinking in. We're going to have a baby! That's pretty cool.


p.s. Here's a secret: we know baby's gender! I'm trying to come up with a fun way to reveal the cute news. Stay tuned.

p.p.s. I wonder how many of my posts include the words, "I cried." Probably about half? Probably.

February 15th, 2012

Lately our evenings have been spent talking about how different this February was supposed to be. Not in a sad or bitter way, but more in a "Can you believe we could have had a baby by now?" kind of way. Thankfully, it seems that Ryan and I have grown out of the ugly side of grieving. (And by that I mean I'm no longer giving the middle finger to my computer screen whenever someone on facebook or twitter announces a pregnancy or birth.) ((Beyonce got a lot of middle fingers.))

Yesterday was supposed to be my due date. I anticipated having a hard time with it and I didn't want to be alone, so I went to my sister's house and played with her and her boys. I was so thankful for the distraction! Though, I came home last night and felt a little sad that I hadn't done anything to honor the baby that was supposed to be born. 

I constantly tell Ryan that one of the hardest things about losing our daughter is that I feel like a mother, yet I don't have much to show for it. It's so difficult to watch other parents enjoy sharing sweet stories and photos of their children--I want to shout, "I'm a parent, too! Even though my baby went to heaven earlier than she should have, it still counts!" Along with this, not many people know what to say when it comes to miscarriage--it's a hard topic to talk about. As a result, very few people know the story of our baby and her birth. Sometimes the feeling of not being able to talk about it is unbearable. So, please. Do you mind if I take a little time to tell you about her? I'll start here:

At our 20 week checkup, the baby measured at 18-19 weeks, and my fluid was low. My doctor didn't seem too concerned, but still had us make an appointment with an ultrasound specialist to check things over. I spent the week worrying, drinking glass after glass of water, and laying on my left side. That Sunday in church I remembered how the previous Sunday's service had been full of tiny bumps and wiggles. I quietly sat with my hand on my belly, waiting for a kick. I didn't feel anything. I think that was when I knew something was wrong.

We went to our next appointment that Tuesday, and the world's most insensitive doctor told us what we had been dreading. She checked the heartbeat, and there on the screen where the usual whomp-whomps had been in other appointments, was a long blank line. I couldn't breathe, I couldn't cry, and I couldn't look at Ryan. I lay on the hospital bed in misery for 20 minutes while that awful, thin-lipped doctor used the ultrasound to check for "deformities." She stared at the screen as though it were a fascinating science experiment, and my baby was so, so still.

Ryan and I checked into the hospital the next day, on October 5th, and I was given medicine to induce labor. I was terrified. I hadn't gotten to the labor and delivery chapters of my baby books yet. I was clueless about breathing and pushing, and I didn't know what to expect when the baby actually came. Thankfully, my nurses were wonderful and explained how a stillbirth delivery typically happens. I spent most of the day and and evening waiting. Finally, around 8pm, the medicine kicked in. After a short, but not so pain-less labor, my baby was born at 9:30pm. The doctor immediately took her to a different part of the room to examine her. As she was working, Ryan asked if the baby was a boy or a girl. Her response was, "It's a girl! Nope, wait, it's a boy!" They took the baby away to do some tests, and we were left alone.

Later on, after the baby had been dressed in a blue onesie and a much-too-large blue hat, Ryan brought her to me to hold. Since she was so small and fragile, they wrapped her in a blanket and put her in a tiny basket. We looked at her small hands and feet, and opened her onesie to catch a glimpse of her bird-like legs. She was beautiful. We knew we had to give her a name, but all the names we had picked seemed too jolly for our little one. We opened our Bible, hoping for a some inspiration. Because the doctor had told us she was a boy, we searched for boy names, and chose Daniel. The name felt so right.

Two weeks later, we were back at the doctor's office to get the results of all the testing. We were told that 50% of stillbirth cases can't be explained, and ours was one of them. As frustrating as that was to hear, we were relieved to know that I am perfectly healthy, and my body is normal. We were given the go-ahead to try for another baby whenever we were ready. My wonderful doctor assured me that the next time around, I would be monitored closely and that he would do all he could to take care of me and my baby. Then he hugged me (as I sat pants-less on the table--oy) and said, "See you soon!" While I never, ever want to be in the antepartum wing of the hospital again, I would love to see my doctors and nurses again. I'm so thankful for the way they cared for me.

We were also told at that appointment that the baby was not a boy, but a girl. My doctor was so apologetic, but Ryan and I laughed it off as human error. It wasn't until a while later, when we returned home, that I realized we had given our daughter a boy's name and dressed her in blue. It broke my heart a little bit. But, after talking about it, we decided to keep the name we had given her. We love what it means.

A few hours after my baby was born, the nurse on duty brought in a few gifts and keepsakes for Ryan and me. Among those things was a photo album filled with some pictures of our daughter, and four little ceramic molds of her hands and feet. I cherish those little gifts we have to remember her by.

Now. I don't quite know how to close this. However, I will tell you that you can bet your bottom dollar we're hoping for another sweet baby as soon as possible. And that I feel better knowing that I shared my baby's little story with whoever pushed through this terribly long blog post. Thank you for reading it.

home again

I have returned! It's just the two of us again in our little apartment, and Christmas is officially over. As s'wonderful-marvelous as it was to hang with my family for 5 days, it's good to be back home and sleep in my own fluffy bed. And once I clean this place up a little bit, I plan on taking a loooong hot shower. All those 5 minute lukewarm showers I've been taking? Not my favorite.

But I'll tell you what is my favorite: having someone do the dishes for me. I think my poor mother spent most of the weekend in the kitchen, either cooking or cleaning up. And as sorry as I was for her, I was also totally pleased for myself. I'd like to keep a tiny little dishwashing version of my mom in my cupboards, and pull her out when my kitchen is messy. I'd make her a tiny sponge bed and feed her potato chip crumbs. What do you say, Mom?

I'm sure I'm headed into niece/nephew withdrawals for the next few days, too. Each one of them was so darling and hilarious. I wish I could bottle up their chubby sweetness. If you haven't held a fresh newborn recently, go find one, and take a sniff of it's little baby powder-y head. It will do wonders for your soul!

Speaking of babies, this weekend was the first time my mom and sisters and I had all been together since I lost my baby. It was so wonderful for me to talk with them about it. And when I say talk with them, I mostly mean I whined and cried, while they listened (and cried a little, too.) My sister Gretel looked at my baby's pictures for the first time. Even though it's so sad to do, I can't tell you how good it is for me to show her off, even if all I have is a few hospital photos and her tiny knit hat. Thank you, Mom and sisters, for all the hugs, advice, and lovely words. Smooches for you.

I was supposed to go to a meeting this afternoon, but my February-Christmas brain completely forgot all about it. I kissed Ryan goodbye this morning, and he took off with our only car. So instead of meeting-ing it up, I'm stuck at the apartment, determined to catch up on things and get some stuff done. I'm feeling nice and motivated. My plan for the afternoon: season one of Downton Abbey (for the fourth time!) and Valentine's Day crafties. Delightful.

living in color

Here's something you should know: grieving is a strange, surprising thing. When I think I should be feeling sad, I don't feel it. And then, at the strangest of moments, it splashes all over me like a dumped bucket of ice water.

Grieving is flighty and unpredictable. I've found that I can have an entire week's worth of good days, and I'll think, I'm over the hump! I have a handle on this! Only to be followed by terribly low moments filled with tears and wildly swinging moods.

Last week was rough. An entire week's worth of low moments. To the point where I threw something out of anger. (It was only a sock.) But as I watched that stupid sock slide across the floor and skid to a halt I thought, where did that come from? My fits of anger were so sudden and surprising, and I was embarrassed. And then, of course, I cried.

But I realized something.

I

was

tired.

I was tired of feeling sorry for myself, tired of wondering when the next baby will come, tired of thinking about it all, day after day after day. Guys, being sad is exhausting.

So, I found Ryan, hugged him hard, and told him how I was feeling. He was glad I did, and said some wonderful things that made me feel so much better. And then I called my mom, who said these things:

1. Stop it.

2. Take a walk.

3. Enjoy your time with your husband, and do fun things with him.

4. Be creative. Do something artistic.

So I'm trying. I'm remembering that my God has all things in his keeping. I know that he will give me a baby when the time is right, and that it's really really dumb to sit and be sad until then. I'm giving my husband extra attention and love, because even at my grizzliest, he didn't complain once, and he deserves some smooches. I'm surrounding myself with happy things, colorful things, pretty things. 

And it's working.

coolest christmas present ever.

the story of my baby and my christmas tree

is over on nat the fat rat's blog.

i am so excited.

the whole thing made me sweaty.

i am so happy that she shared my story.

it's not an easy thing to talk about.

but i'm so honored

that she helped me honor my little baby girl 

in such a cool way.

super, super cool.

and it's made me even more excited about this whole blogging thing.

ryan, too.

neat, huh?

we're in mishicot with ryan's family for a few days

and internet is hard to come by,

but when we get home i think i'll keep this up!

and just like that

image found via Pinterest

I was right. The prayers, Ryan coming home, a phone call from my sister--it all helped. God is good! He gave me a brand new day today, which is helping me with yesterday. 

Yesterday was hard, but it was a long time coming...and I know that I need those days. They remind me that I am a mother, and that even though she isn't here with me, I have a daughter. They remind me that I am human and it's okay to mourn. I can't always be strong. I'll burst.

And now, because I am an optimist, I'll find some good things in yesterday: the morning snowfall, the email that told me my glasses shipped, the delicious burger I had for supper.

There. That's better.

blue

painting by Lulie Wallace

The tears started unannounced in the shower. In my head, I began running through different parts of my morning, trying to figure out the reason they showed up--I sent a sick husband off to work, the day was cloudy and cold, it's Monday. But, no, I couldn't blame it on hormones or anything else. I could tell-- today was just a day for being sad.
It wasn't until I was out of the shower and dressed that I realized it's been two months since we met our baby. Two long months since we held her, with hearts that were so, so sad. Two months since we sat on that hospital bed, in awe of this tiny baby with perfectly formed fingernails, and knobby knees, and two tiny buds for ears that were just starting to unfold, just starting to hear my voice. I would have been 30 weeks along today, but instead of feeling the jabs from those tiny knees, I am empty. My body is healed and back to normal and so lonely. Two months not pregnant.

Of course, things will turn around. The prayers and devotions will help. I'll perk up in a few hours when Ryan comes home from work. I know tomorrow will be better, as it always is. But for now, I'm missing my baby girl and letting the day be sad.